Poetry Thursday - Beloved Books

Treasure Island

Comes a little lady, a book in hand,
A light in her eyes that I understand,
And her cheeks aglow from the faery breeze
That sweeps across the uncharted seas.
She gives me the book, and her word of praise
A ton of critical thought outweighs.
"I've finished it, daddie!" – a sigh thereat.
"Are there any more books in the world like that?"

No, little lady. I grieve to say
That of all the books in the world today
There's not another that's quite the same
As this magic book with the magic name.
Volumes there be that are pure delight,
Ancient and yellowed or new and bright;
But – little and thin, or big and fat –
There are no more books in the world like that.

And what, little lady, would I not give
For the wonderful world in which you live!
What have I garnered one-half as true
As the tales Titania whispers you.
Ah, late we learn that the only truth
Was that which we found in the Book of Youth.
Profitless others, and stale, and flat; –
There are no other books in the world like that.

~ Bert Leston Taylor, in Lifelines, Niall MacMonagle, editor

My partner has just started reading a version of Treasure Island to D during evening storytime. His eyes have never seemed quite so wide. I have loved libraries for as long as I remember, and can still re-live the thrill I felt when I got my very first library card. Some of the books I loved as a child were books that everyone loved, and some of them were books that I felt sure no one else had every truly read. And then, when I went back to them, they were sometimes just not the way I remembered. (E.g. Search for the Crescent Moon, by Eth Clifford. Bet you've never heard of it.) The version I lovingly held in my head was MUCH better than the one written down by Ms. Clifford. Sometimes I went back looking for a book but couldn't find it (my hometown library reorganized their entire children's section once I grew up, with some disastrous effects to my shelf-location-based memories of books I'd loved). In my early thirties, while traveling in Canada on business, I suddenly re-discovered the Enid Blighton Adventure series, and bought the entire set on the spot, heart pounding with joy. The owner of the shop smiled at my sheepishness and said, "This happens about once a week."

I'd love to hear a story about the stories that shaped you...

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Who Else Can I Still Be?

(Written to this week's prompt at Sunday Scribblings.)

I can still be the aunt my nieces turn to when the going gets tough.

I can still be the mom who always sang "I See the Moon" at bedtime.

I can still be a published essayist and poet.

I can still fly to Reykjavik on a whim someday.

I can still hone my craft as a storyteller.

I can still be an enthralled bystander at a sheepdog trial.

I can still attend the Battle of the Bands at the Georgia Dome.

I can still sing in another choir.

I can still be a tourguide for the Historical Society of Princeton.

I can still dream about time travel.

I can still grown my own corn-on-the-cob some summer.

I can still lose my eyesight, hearing, or mobility.

I can still take my boy to his first Broadway show.

I can still be a season ticket-holder to the theater series at McCarter.

I can still work in a library.

I can still get paid to speak in public.

I can still learn new folksongs.

I can still be a camp counselor.

I can still apprentice myself to a classic car fanatic and rehab some old clunker back to glory.

I can still run for office.

I can still get arrested for civil disobedience.

I can still live my gay life without benefit of legal protection ('cause I don't seem to have much choice in the matter).

I can still live to see a woman successfully run for President (not Hillary, though, I think).

I can still be a grandmother.

I can still watch my son navigate falling in love for the first time.

I can still learn a slew of new recipes.

I can still eat a piece of pizza without burning the roof of my mouth. Someday.

I can still thank my parents.

I can still pray.

I can still skinny-dip.

I can still be the friend who writes letters. The kind you mail. With stamps.

I can still learn to be a better listener.

I can still resist continuous partial attention.

Thank you for yours.

Where's My Icepick?

Friends, you may have to speak up a little. I'm having trouble with one of my ears (again).

While I was growing up, my mother would sometimes amuse us by imitating the doctor who told her, while he was trying to examine her ear canal, "Mrs. K, you have very torturous ear canals!"

Now, in the light of retrospect, not so funny.

'Cause apparently I inherited said canal structure, and now one or the other of my ears periodically gets so gunked up that my hearing is actually impaired.

The good news? This time it's not my phone ear. (T heard this and said, "You have a phone ear?" "Ye-eess," I said, thinking, duh. "You mean you use the same ear all the time when you're talking on the phone?" she marveled. "You mean you DON'T?" was the only thing I could say. Takes all kinds.)

Anyway, I've tried all the over-the-counter stuff, and, not surprisingly, none of it seems to do the trick. My primary care physician does a great job of addressing the problem, but she's on vacation and booked solid on Monday, her first day back, which means I'm going to be asking people to repeat themselves and just generally feeling crabby all the way until Tuesday.

I'm trying to think of it as an opportunity to reflect on how temporary our able-bodied status is. But mostly what I want is to jam an ice pick in my ear!

Poetry Thursday - Lyrics

Next weekend we'll be treating ourselves to dinner at Serrano followed by a show upstairs at the Tin Angel. Alice Peacock, who sings this song:

I'll Start With Me
Kristen Hall, Alice Peacock, Emily Saliers (!)

"Well, we do okay with the things God gave us,
But, will it be enough when it's time to save us.
One in three can't read, so many mouths to feed,
We just sit and wait like a loaded gun,
We cloak ourselves in the great tradition,
The United States of acquisition.

Every man for himself, it's just me and no one else,
Will we ever learn there's a price to pay.

America the free, wake up from your fantasy,
Is the nation so divided we can't see.
That there's work to be done, somethin' there for everyone,
I know - I'll start with me.

Six o'clock it's another story, gunman down in a blaze of glory,
Only ten years old, makes my blood run cold,
And the press descends like birds of prey.

Politicians stay in office, far too long to vote their conscience,
Lobbied, bought and sold, trading votes for gold,
They've forgotten that they work for us.

America the free, wake up from your fantasy,
Is the nation so divided we can't see.
That there's work to be done, somethin' there for everyone,
I know - I'll start with me.

For the beast to stay alive, it has to feed,
That's why in times of peace, they create an enemy,
What we called the big, red scare is just my neighbor over there,
With hopes and dreams, the same as me.

America the free, wake up from your fantasy,
Is the nation so divided we can't see
That there's work to be done, somethin' there for everyone,
I know - I'll start with me."

I try not to live in the land of anticipation, but then again, sometimes it's just a good place to be.

Lamont Win = Cause for Hope?

Can it be that the tide is finally starting to turn? Be still my Quaker heart.

"Time is running out for Republicans. Unless something dramatic happens before Election Day, Democrats will take control of the House. And the chances that they'll seize the Senate are rising toward 50-50." Charlie Cook in the National Journal. Full piece here.

From the DSCC today:

Democratic Leader Harry Reid and DSCC Chair Chuck Schumer issued the following joint statement today on the Connecticut Senate race:

“The Democratic voters of Connecticut have spoken and chosen Ned Lamont as their nominee. Both we and the Democratic Senatorial Campaign Committee (DSCC) fully support Mr. Lamont’s candidacy. Congratulations to Ned on his victory and on a race well run.

“Joe Lieberman has been an effective Democratic Senator for Connecticut and for America. But the perception was that he was too close to George Bush and this election was, in many respects, a referendum on the President more than anything else. The results bode well for Democratic victories in November and our efforts to take the country in a new direction.”

And, of course, DailyKos has something to say.

"What tonight showed is that democracy can work. That even the most powerful, entrenched forces can be dislodged by people-power. That the combined mights of the Democratic and Conservative establishments couldn't hold the gates against the barbarian intruders.

We can make a difference, and we will. We have just seen what we can accomplish if we set our minds to it. Now while we'll work to seal the deal in Connecticut, we'll also take our energy, our passion, and yes, even our dollars and use them to teach the ruling Republican ideologues running our country into the ground that they face repercussions for their incompetence."

Let's hope. And roll our sleeves up.

A Day In the Life

To aid us in our endless quest for content, Sheryl of Paper Napkin fame offers us this opportunity to share our day. The beauty of this? You don't need to have an idea, you just have to have a life. The downside? Chances are your life is kind of dull, and that you're not quite as amusing as your kid thinks you are. Nevertheless, here goes!

6:15 Wake up. No need to be awake, but awake anyway. Sigh. Try to go back to sleep. Instead, lie in bed and think about "to do" list... plane tickets for October, rear tires for car, call pharmacy, figure out if raise has kicked in, find second swim suit...
6:38 Give up and get up. Shower. New soap was given as birthday gift to partner. Smells great. Fun to give a gift that I get to use, too. Shoulder muscles a little sore from swimming some laps yesterday. Cool.
6:41 Telltale squeak of bathroom doorknob. "Mommy, can I get up now?" The day begins in earnest.
6:43 Clocks in house (other than bedside one, which is battery powered for just this reason) are all blinking due to some middle-of-the night powergrid event. Try to reset clocks. Spend what feels like forever watching the numbers on clocks whip past the correct time, forward and back, forward and back. Wish they could all be microwave clocks. Arggh. Breathe deeply to regain good humor.
6:46 Get dressed. Whatever's lying around; no one will see me today. One of my favorite aspects of summer. Remember to brush hair before it dries sticking straight up. Bonus points. Sneak peak at email... WAYA likes my "camp" post for Mama Says Om. Yay!
6:47 "Which constrictor is the goodest in our entire universe?" (First of today's endless stream of which is the best, strongest, fastest, most powerful, longest, favorite, etc. etc. of the _____ [fill in category here] questions. The kid is relentless in his pursuit of knowledge.)
6:48 "Who is the king of all the snakes? Probably the king cobra, right, because he has king in his name."
6:50 D successfully lobbies for role-playing games before getting dressed.
6:55 Nice long game of Gorilla (D) and baby (me). Touch and go for a while there, but ultimately a deep friendship is formed. Gorilla snuggles baby. Baby picks bugs out of Gorilla's hair. T still fast asleep.
7:00 It's raining. Did I leave my jacket at the office?
7:20 D agonizes over what to wear. Finally comes up with a combination he can live with.
7:30 Breakfast. Special K + Go Lean! for me, instant oatmeal (!) for D. Can't listen to NPR in the morning anymore because I don't want our mornings full of war. Paper mysteriously AWOL.
7:43 T awake. Still no NYT. Call NYT and request replacement paper (which will arrive after we've all left the house).
7:50 Goodbye kisses.
8:15 Drop D off at Friends Camp.
8:20 Wait to merge back onto the Pike. A black Hummer hulks by. What are these people thinking?
8:21 Drive to work, now listening to NPR. Worsening situation in Lebanon, Iraq, you name it. Importance of Connecticut primary tomorrow (go, Ned!). BP might have to shut down part of the Alaska pipeline; gas prices likely to go even higher. Landis likely to be stripped of his Tour win. Macintosh possibly going to announce new iPod product.
9:03 Exit car. First time in a week that glasses haven't fogged up getting out at work.
9:05 No voicemail messages (YES!), put lunch in fridge, reset office microwave clock (nice and easy).
9:10 Fill up orange Nalgene bottle w/ water, pee, stop by faculty book exchange to drop off a book and leave with four more... not how that was supposed to go. Snag a few tomatoes from someone's garden that have been left on the "take me" table. Working in this school rocks.
9:15 Create, certify as official, and mail transcript for graduated student applying for grad schools. Document entire process. Paper pusher extraordinaire.
9:33 Email. Delete offers of junk stock, various snake oils, Viagra deals, college degrees within days. Reread last week's unreturned message log. Try to figure out what I meant by "email B kids to figure out plans." What the hell did I mean?
9:50 Receive logo from NJ Council on Humanities in .jpg format. Yay! Save myself half an hour of cursing at decrepit scanner. (I'm working on some PR for one of their grantees in my copious spare time this week.)
9:55 Prep work for new letter of recommendation for graduating senior. Read teacher comments, student autobiography, parent questionnaire. Review transcript. Gather extracurricular information. Start thinking about angles of approach and "through lines."
10:17 Email from E. Playdate achieved! Great news for me and the kid.
10:50 WaPo email re: AOL giving up on selling internet access. Ya think? I remember trying to explain why trying to sell a gated community within the wild west environment of the internet was a temporary proposition. About 10 years ago. They held on a lot longer than I thought they would.
10:58 Alarm testing dude is here; random test beeps are driving me nuts.
11:05 Fellow administrator in the outer office has his volume knob turned way up... put "gone writing" sign up on door and bail to library, where no one has ever bothered me.
11:54 Well into work of rec letter now. Turn off email reader so as to better resist temptation. Writing letters of recommendation is a little bit like falling in serial platonic crush with each of "my" kids in turn. When I get it right, I get to the end of the letter thinking, "I love this kid!" Warty kids aren't that hard, actually... as a former high school goat, I can empathize. Shiny kids are easy because they've helped themselves at every turn. The hardest ones – for me, anyway – are the super-quiet, ghost-like kids. Tough to figure them out.
12:03 Hunger clock kicks in. Try to resist in order to finish first draft of letter.
12:41 Done with first draft! Good, but will still need some work. Kid is a bit of a grade-grubber, which is hard to know what to do with... don't want to gild the lily, also don't want to completely torpedo the kid's chances. Always a balancing act. A little like cutting a diamond. The trick is to proceed knowing that every kid is a diamond.
12:45 Confirm membership in Church of Obsessive Backup by backing up newest letter to network folder.
12:53 Back to office. Transferred into the void twice while trying to call about tires. Sigh.
1:02 Put leftovers in wimpy office microwave and go pee.
1:04 2 voicemail messages. Business office w/ a question re: an invoice, and a hang-up. (Yay!)
1:10 Inhale lunch while surfing the internet
1:35 Discover Wikimapia and have some fun with it.
1:52 In flash of inspiration, figure out cryptic note to self re: "B kids"
2:00 20 minute head-clearing walk along Delaware-Raritan towpath. Realize (belatedly) how much better this all would have been with pictures.
2:22 That shirt will need a wash.
2:23 More surfing; eyes starting to protest "screen only" diet.
2:45 Return emails and phonecalls... use the word "connect" twice in a voicemail message and wish in vain for "do overs." Fail to reach mom who is wondering what to do about the fact that her son got a "D" in Chemistry during the year but then got earned a 4 on the AP exam. Gotta be a story there, but it'll have to wait until tomorrow.
3:20 Pee one last time and pack up.
3:30 Leave. NPR's Fresh Air is interviewing actor John C. Reilly. Pretty interesting, especially his discovery that con artists are sort of like actors, but gone to the Dark Side.
3:50 Raining. So much for the pool.
3:54 Sunny. Weird. But cool.
3:58 Back into driveway without hitting ANY of the four recycling cans we set out on Sunday night. Damn I'm good. Look excitedly around. No witnesses.
4:00 Key in lock, realize still haven't met new next door neighbors. (Trucks came over the weekend.) Oh well, all in good time. It's nice not to be the newcomer.
4:05 One voicemail message, super-annoying nagacious from someone I don't know all that well, and who clearly doesn't know me. Need to inform everyone I know that if you hassle me about doing something, thereby implying a lack of faith in my trustworthiness, the odds are good that I'll dig my heels in and start slow pulling. (Think Amtrack on a day when every train seems to inexplicably creep along.)
4:06 Conked on couch.
4:35 Pack pool bag, drive to camp.
4:45 D's full speed running "Mommy!" hug almost knocks me down. I could live on these.
5:08 Pool. No noodle in sight. But we don't care anymore.
5:15 Arrival of D's beloved friend I, who can't swim. I assure I's parents that they can go to dinner; I won't let him drown.
5:18 D tries to show I how to use a kickboard.
5:20 I fish an all-but-drowning I out of the shallow end and recommend the kiddie pool for a while. Yikes.
5:21 Complete vegetation by the side of the pool while the boys invent endless games. Ahhhhh.
5:55 Everybody out of the pool. Neither boy has underwear packed. Oh well. Gentlemen, welcome to the wonderful world of freeballing.
6:01 See T walking down the street and offer to scoop her up for one block of air conditioning. She accepts and we continue home.
6:05 T on couch reading NYT at long last. Boys upstairs in search of Superman undies. Me in kitchen working on halal dinner. (I is Muslim.)
6:15 Boys go from not wanting to help with dinner prep to arguing over who gets to husk the most ears of corn. A total Tom Sawyer moment.
7:07 Everyone has eaten. I's folks come to peel him away. Both boys disappointed that the playdate is over, but happy to have spent time together.
7:26 Moms enjoying some quiet time and dessert while D plays for a few more minutes.
7:27 "Mommy, I have a poop, could you come check my bucket?" Never fails. Maybe it's just as well that I didn't turn this into a photolog.
7:30 A little more playtime.
7:40 Upstairs for books (Click Clack Moo, Nabulela), nail trimming ("Tama, that's TOO close!"), jammies, songs (Stay Awake & I See the Moon), and a true life story (The Day Tracy Bit Shelley's Finger).
8:20 Boy is conked.
8:30 Clean kitchen, exchange stories of day, fend off marketing calls.
9:00 Brush teeth, ignore laundry, neglect to make lunches, read to each other in bed. Show T the superfun OK Go video, which she actually kind of likes. Usually she just puts up with my You Tube offerings. But I do a good job of feigning interest in golf techniques, so we're good.
9:22 Type this up
Sometime later: crash (too tired even for Gear Taker!)

We have a swimmer!

Two weeks ago, we had a kid who would sometimes duck his head underwater for a split second, but who mostly was deeply and firmly attached to his "noodle."

We didn't sign him up for lessons during camp, because at the time we were making those decisions (February or some such), it was impossible to imagine where he might be once July rolled around.

Then our friend and personal swim coach Jenny recommended at least a few one-on-one lessons from someone really good, and we called one of the lifeguards at our pool who has also been giving lessons on the side (literally and figuratively) for the past three summers.

D was extremely excited about his lesson, especially when he learned that his teacher would be a lifeguard (!).

And last Tuesday, he and E worked together for about a half hour. We hung back, out of earshot (in fact I swam laps for a good chunk of the time), but he seemed very happy throughout.

Still loved his noodle.

Then yesterday, seemingly out of the blue, D decided to try to swim back to the steps from where we'd been playing, without his noodle.

"Sure, buddy," I said, "and I can give you a belly boost," because that's what we'd been doing.

"No, I'm fine," he said in a studiedly casual tone. And then he swam.

It pretty much felt like a miracle. And it still does. You should see him go! The best part, I think, is that he really understands how all those little steps he took added up to this unbelievably cool thing. Playing in the ocean w/ JT, in Rainbow Lake with Aunt Chelle, and in Broadmead Pool with us set the stage. Half an hour of confidence-building encouragement from a trained professional was all he needed to make that final leap. I think his smile muscles are probably almost as tired as his arms and legs.

Goodbye, noodle.

News of the Incredibly Obvious

Here's the big newsflash from central New Jersey: it's hot. To quote our fearless newsfolk: "It's really hot out there, people. We've got temperatures climbing into the triple digits, and with the heat index it could feel more like 115." Right now, whoever invented the "heat index" had better stay the hell out of my way.

Earlier today, hearing the phrase "triple digits" for approximately the quadruple digit-th time, I wondered idly if our car's external temperature display even HAS a third digit.

It does.

PS: Remember my talking about thinking about forgiveness and the abilty to be quiet as if they were muscles? Check out this article about willpower as a muscle... the metaphor goes on and on!

PPS: Okay, next time we have a heatwave, I'm gonna try this!

Cape Camping Report & Recipe

We're STILL unpacking from our two-week vacation. Everything has slowed to a crawl because of the heat. But we did have a fabulous time, and here, as much a reminder to myself as anything else, is this year's photolog of the ever-evolving recipe for camping success:

Bring a friend.

Rent some bikes.

Relax the rules.

Get wet every day.

Face paint!

Wear 'em out.


Bring poetry & games, but "forget" earrings so you'll have to shop.

and finally, shake out the tents BEFORE you roll 'em up!

We had a great time. It's our twelfth summer at North of Highlands Camping Area (we took a few years off after D's arrival until he was old enough to camp happily). With any luck, we've still got some good camping years left in us. (Let's hear it for air mattresses !)

(I'm really hoping that some of the other Mamas of
Mama Says Om fame do an alternative take on "camp"..
you know, with feather boas and stuff! Please go check 'em out!)