Halloween Baby

Our daughter, Jamie, was born on Halloween. What a beautiful Halloween baby, and what joy she brought into our lives 29 years ago! For years I made her a new Halloween costume for her birthday, and she always chose to be some kind of animal. She'd put the costume on at Halloween, and then wear it every day for months. She'd literally become that animal and play the role of tiger, bluebird, or mouse until the costume had holes in the knees and just had to be retired. Her imagination was boundless.

Jamie has grown up to be a lovely, sensitive, creative artist. Her projects and her vision have always taken my breath away. Even her first sketches and colorings as a very little girl showed her ability to see the world through unique, creative eyes. She is still a joy to us, with her art, her humor, and her beauty. Happy birthday, Jamie.

RIP II Challenge Completed

With my post yesterday on A. A. Milne's The Red House Mystery, I celebrate another reading challenge completed! Carl V's Readers Imbibing Peril II challenge was as much fun as his Once Upon a Time challenge last spring! For this challenge, I chose his "Peril the First," which was to read 4 books of any length from any sub-genre of scary stories. From my "Peril Pool" I chose to read A Study in Scarlet, by Arthur Conan Doyle; The Woman in Black, by Susan Hill; Strange Happenings, by Avi; The Melancholy Death of Oyster Boy, by Tim Burton; and The Red House Mystery, by A. A. Milne. Even though I've officially completed the challenge, I'm still in the middle of reading Bram Stoker's Dracula (which is taking me a lot longer to read than I anticipated); and Charles de Lint's The Wild Wood is sitting patiently on my nightstand; and Our Man in Havana, by Graham Greene, is downloaded and waiting on my iPod. So I will definitely continue reading and listening to books from this genre. I just ran out of challenge time!

Thanks, Carl, for another very enjoyable reading challenge. You host terrific challenges, and I look forward to your next one, whatever it might be!

The Red House Mystery

I love A. A. Milne. I was raised on Winnie-the-Pooh, and Mr. Milne's phrases are part of the basic fabric of our family. We still occasionally say things like, "I'm not very how..." or "Silly old bear..." and things like that.

I didn't know he wrote a mystery, especially one that became very popular when it was published in 1922. I came across the book by accident, and after reading the dedication in the front, I decided I wanted to read this book for Carl V's R.I.P., II Challenge.

To
John Vine Milne,
My Dear Father,
Like all really nice people, you have a weakness for detective stories and feel that there are not enough of them. So, after all that you have done for me, the least that I can do for you is to write you one. Here it is: with more gratitude and affection than I can well put down here.
A. A. M.

It was a slow read for me, due to my hectic schedule of late, and that made it more difficult to keep track of the somewhat tricky plot. The story was set in an English country manor, and one brother is killed when the second brother returns from self-imposed exile in Australia. It is assumed that he killed his brother during an argument when he returned home. The local police are completely inept, so it falls to an amateur sleuth, a gentleman named Antony Gillingham (who just happened to arrive at the moment of need) and his friend, Bill, to sort through all the clues and unravel the mystery. There are some interesting plot twists, but it's a light-weight and fun mystery. It was interesting that the author would occasionally stop the narrative and talk directly to the reader about a character. And I chuckled out loud at one point when Gillingham referred to his sidekick as "Silly old ass." It reminded me that I was indeed reading A. A. Milne.

Autumn

Fall has been lovely here in the last week, so to celebrate the season and the colors, I'd like to share one of my grandmother's poems with you:

Autumn Artistry

With artistry the Autumn
Has hung a vast display
Of paintings rich with color,
In a riotous array.

Along the slopes and by-ways,
The aspen's golden hues
Give accent to the maples
In crimson and chartreuse.

Beyond are purple mountains,
With sun-tipped peaks that rise
Above the hills and valleys
To pierce cerulean skies.

This brilliant Autumn showing
Will please you and enthrall,
Just bring a love for beauty,
It is free to one and all.

The Joy of That First Library Card

Yesterday at school, I found a library bag in my mailbox in the staff room. When I opened it, there were 27 little King Country Library cards on bracelets for my students. All the kids have to do is take their bracelet card to the library to be activated and they will have their own library card. They were thrilled! And I was very impressed that the library system (or at least our local branch) would put together this wonderful gift for all the second graders in the school. I remember my Dad telling us that 8 is the "age of responsibility." My students (most of them turning 8 this year) were delighted to be told that they were old enough, and considered responsible enough, to be given their own library card by our neighborhood library. Isn't that great?

Che

Forty years ago today, when I was living in Argentina as an exchange student, I wrote a letter home about the death of Che Guevara. The news filled the Argentine newspapers and was the talk everywhere I went.

"Nobody knows for sure if he's really dead or not," I wrote. "Last Sunday, October 8th, a number of "guerrillas" were killed in one of the many Bolivian battles. This battle took place in the southern part of Bolivia, in the province of Santa Cruz, near a small village named Vallegrande. Among the dead, the Bolivian government presumed, was Che Guevara."

Growing up in the 60's, we had all heard of "Che." But because of the year I spent in Argentina, and being there when he died, I felt a special connection to him, and the story of his life and death is still fascinating to me. I didn't understand or have enough information at that time to make a judgment about him--whether he was the mass murderer some claimed or an heroic revolutionary according to others. And I don't know where to find the truth about him even today. Which sources or which versions of his story can I trust? In the last few years government documents have been declassified, many books and articles have been published about Che, and the controversy still rages.

I just know that I have always viewed him as a person rather than as an icon. I have preferred to read his own writings rather than biographies of him written by various people. I read The Motorcycle Diaries a few years ago and was captivated again by his youth and idealism. It transported me back to my own youthful idealism as an exchange student in 1967. I loved reading about his journey and his expanding awareness of the complex world of Latin America. And I felt that he spoke directly to me when he described the impact of his journey through South America:

"The person who wrote these notes passed away the moment his feet touched Argentine soil again. The person who reorganizes and polishes them, me, is no longer, at least I'm not the person I once was. All this wandering around "Our America with a capital A" has changed me more than I thought."

Che will be forever 39..."his face captured in eternal youth." And I will always be fascinated by this charismatic and enigmatic Argentine.

Foggy Fall Morning

It's another foggy fall morning...just right for reading and listening to music. My Sunday mornings have always been full of books and music. My dad used to listen to Beethoven on Sunday mornings, and I would read my books while the music played, so I have very fond connections between stories and some of the family's favorite music. One of my very earliest memories is of my mother braiding my hair while reciting a favorite poem to me. The poem was Eugene Field's "Little Boy Blue," a sad poem in which the little boy lines up all his toys at night before he goes to bed, but he dies during the night so never returns to them. The hair braiding, the poetry, and Ravel's "Pavane Pour une infante defante" (which also was played a lot on Sunday mornings!) are all mixed together in my memory. Sunday mornings full of books, poetry, and music...no wonder I love to read!

The Gentle Books of Rosamunde Pilcher

It's been an intensely busy month for me in my new position as second grade teacher, and by the end of the day, there's been very little energy left for reading and blogging. But things are beginning to settle down now, the routines are established, the toothless ones are working hard, and this teacher is finding her way to the heart of this new grade level (after 16 years at a different grade level!) and enjoying it very much. And in the meantime, I actually HAVE been able to finish a couple of books--both of them by Rosamunde Pilcher.

I thought I had read ALL the Rosamunde Pilchers, (my favorite one is The Shell Seekers) but made a happy discovery at the library that there were some newer ones that I had somehow missed. So, I listened to the audiobook version of Another View, have just finished reading The Day of the Storm, and am in the middle of The End of Summer.

Rosamunde Pilcher's books are gentle reads, with characters I enjoy meeting (young and old), beautiful descriptions of Cornwall or Scotland, and are stories that focus on communication and relationships. The stories are told mostly through dialogue, and when I'm reading one I'm completely immersed in the atmosphere and the story. When I finish one, I feel that all is well with the world afterall. Pilcher's books are comfort reads in the best sense. She's a lovely lady who has written some lovely books that can be read and enjoyed no matter how tired or stressed you might be.

There's a website on Rosamunde Pilcher that posts a fun and silly list called "You Know You've Read Too Much Rosamunde Pilcher When..." I got a kick out of some of the responses, such as:

"You wish a large storm would suddenly descend and somehow resolve all your inter-personal problems."

"Corduroys suddenly sound attractive."

"You name your house and use the name as your address."

"Getting to your house includes going over the bridge, up the slope, where the drive is bordered on both sides by rhododendrons, before you reach the wide cobblestoned yard where the main house sits, overlooking the sea."

"You go out and buy Yardley's Lavendar soap."

"You start craving scrambled eggs for dinner."