New Feature! Get Yer Shiny New Feature, Here!

See that? Up there on the top of the right hand column!

That’s right — I’ve decided to keep a small compendium of my favorite snippets of info gleaned from the kidlitosphere from the past few days. Doesn’t it look all lovely, streamlined, and alphabetized?  (Just like those numerical binders!)

Alas, figuring out how to make that thing ate up my alloted blogging time for the day. And . . . someone has stolen my copy of The Tale of Squirrel Nutkin off my desk, so I can’t write about it tonight as planned. Is someone sabotaging my blog? Or do I just need to clean my desk off more often?

(Don’t answer that.)

In Other News, I feel it would be remiss unless I mention the main reason why my work on this blog has been shortened to weekends only: I’ve started a second blog about my family. I’m just figuring that, thirty years from now, I’ll be happier that I spent more time recording The Tale of Eleanor vs. The Blue Marker, or The Tale of the Embalming of My Glasses, or The Tale of the Lamest Game of Charades Ever than, say, my thoughts on How the Hangman Lost His Heart (and, for the record — it’s pretty swell).

An Announcement . . .

The last post I wrote was over a week or two ago, right?  To my shock and horror, I found that someone had left a comment on it recently, which means people are still actually reading this blog.  Augh.

Now, don’t get me wrong.  I LOVE that people are still reading this blog.  The problem is — if people read it, then the pressure to write the thing is all the greater.  And with three kids under the age of six in my house, that becomes a problem.  I have, maybe, twenty minutes a day in which to spend online.  Maybe.  Things aren’t helped by the fact that the seven-month-old has taken it into his little head to stop sleeping in the wee sma’s.  Blogging takes a backseat pretty quickly whenever there’s an opportunity to grab a nap.

So: the Big Announcement is that I’m only going to be posting on weekends anymore.  (Heh.  I made that decision a week ago, and didn’t have the chance to post about it then.)  Which, as I figure, is about as frequently as people look in on this blog, anyway.

Come back in a week, and I’ll have some Sparkly New Content for you all.

Cheers!

AUGH!

Bad news: the childhood home of Sarah Josepha Hale was burnt down by a pair of idiots over the weekend. Because some people apparently have a thing against lil’ lambies and Thanksgiving.

Sarah Josepha Hale is best known as the author of “Mary Had a Little Lamb” — one of the few well-known nursery rhymes that have a traceable author — but she was also one of those 19th-century Superwomen who still consistently put me In Awe.

• She was the editor of Godey’s Lady’s Book — THE women’s magazine of 19th-century America — for forty years. (Imagine taking Vogue, Good Housekeeping and Popular Mechanics and rolling them into one publication. And then making it the only periodical available to most women of the rural U.S.)
• She spent DECADES involved in a letter-writing/lobbying campaign to get Thanksgiving declared a national holiday.
• AND . . . she had five children. Five!

There’s also a little something about the creation of the Bunker Hill Monument being attributed to her, but whatever. Superwoman.

I confess, when I first learned about her life in my children’s lit. history course in library school, Hale immediately became one of my personal historical role-models. She gave us a song that all children can satirize on the playground with glee (”. . . and then she had a little more”) AND made it acceptable to have an entire holiday which revolves around gorging and sleeping.

For further reading: Check out Laurie Halse Anderson’s Thank You, Sarah: the Woman Who Saved Thanksgiving from your local library and give it a whirl. The nutty illustration of the sad football player is worth the price of admission alone.

Blog of a Kindred Spirit

I just discovered the delightful blog Vintage Kid’s Books My Kid Loves (again, thanks to Esme Codell) and fallen head-over-heels in love with it.  Brief, enthusastic reviews of picture books found at yard sales, thrift shops, and anywhere else fun old tales lurk are accompanied by small, well-chosen samples of illustration.  Like so:

Best of all?  “Scribbler” has already included a review of The Crows of Pearblossom, the infamous Aldous Huxley/Barbara Cooney collaboration that justly earns the title of “the freakiest kid’s book of all time.”

Set Coveting Sensors on “Stun”

Ooooooh. It’s only February, and I already know what I want for Christmas:

“Yeah,” you may say. “I’ve seen tabletop theaters before.” Take a closer gander:

Those are tiny little marionettes! With spiffy little 3D pop-up scenery! You can do your own rendition of the “Lonely Herdsman” from The Sound of Music! Also:

It does shadow puppets, too. A feature after my own heart. Pretty, although a bit pricey.

Learn more here. Thanks to Planet Esme for the info.

Baker’s “Dozen”: IT’S GROUNDHOG DAY!

As a Pittsburgher, Groundhog Day is something of a Big Deal — admittedly, not a tremendously big deal — something on a scale between President’s Day and a Steelers Super Bowl win. We’re the closest major city to Punxutawney, the home of Groundhog Phil, who is the designated rodent for predicting the weather via shadow. (Yes, I know you probably knew that. But there are many who don’t. My father once spent a Feb. 2nd on an airplane next to a British gent. Said gent listened to my father’s explanation of the day and seriously thought he was getting his leg pulled. If you really need to know All the Facts, go to groundhog.org, where you can find interesting tidbits such as the fact that Phil was, until the reign of King Philip, once known simply as “Br’er Groundhog.” Huh.)

I meant to pull together a full Baker’s Dozen booklist of the best Groundhog Day books, but to tell the truth, there really aren’t that many worth getting excited about. My library system buys every single Groundhog Day-related book it can get its paws on, and Lo, many are lame. There’s one that actually called — I kid you not — “Andrew McGroundhog and His Shady Shadow.”  (Can a shadow be anything besides shady?  The word makes it sound as if the shadow was up to dodgy dealings in some dark alley.)  But here’s what is worth taking a gander at:

Note: A common theme I’ve noticed with these books is that the plot usually goes like this: Joe Groundhog is about to predict the weather.  An Obstacle prevents him from doing this.  Joe racks brain, overcomes Obstacle via Clever Solution, does/doesn’t see shadow and Life is Good.  I understand that there’s only so much a person can do with this nutty wannabe holiday, but really.  The repetition made me a little jaded at the end of writing this booklist, and I’m only annotating five books.

Substitute Groundhog by Pat Miller –   In this case, the groundhog is sick and must interview other animals to take his place for the Big Day.  But I’m not complaining in this case — the text is funny and interesting enough to get a roomful of preschoolers to engage in some creative thinking about what animal they would choose for the job.

Gregory’s Shadow by Don Freeman — This title was published posthumously by Freeman’s estate, and as a result, the illustrations look a little sketchy and unfinished, but I don’t mind.  He who gave the world Corduroy can do little wrong, in my opinion.  In this sweet story, Gregory’s best friend and confidante is his shadow, but when Greg accidentally leaves his shadow on a friend’s doorstep, it disappears.  How will Gregory do his weather forecast without it?  There’s a sweet solution, but the what’s appealing to me is the whole notion that a shadow can be lost — as I child, I encountered this idea in Peter Pan and Jack Kent’s The Biggest Shadow in the Zoo.  Chances are, your kids will think it interesting, too.

Go to Sleep, Groundhog! by Judy Cox, illus. Paul Meisel — Hibernation takes a holiday — three of them, in fact — when Groundhog decides to wake up earlier than Feb. 2nd and experiences Halloween, Thanksgiving, and Christmas for the first time.  Fearing that he will be too tired to predict the weather (see what I mean by this pattern?) various holiday characters — Santa, a witch, etc. — take turns tucking groundhog back in.  Meisel’s acrylics are colorful, bold, and full of fun details — who wouldn’t want to be sung lullabyes by a Thanksgiving turkey?

The Secret of the First One Up by Lois Hiskey, illus. Renee Graef — the story gets cuteseyfied in this book, and by that, I mean that the illustrations feature a groundhog sporting a waistcoat and bow tie.  Which I think is pretty wonderful.  All groundhogs should, by law, be required to wear bow ties.  But, anyway, in this story, a young groundhog discovers why her Uncle Wilbur is always the first to rise on Groundhog’s Day (I, uh, won’t give away the obvious reason why).  But it’s neat to see the Groundhog Ur-Story done over as a passing-of-the-torch kind of family tradition.  Besides, most little kids I know wake up at the crack o’ dawn anyway, and this book does a good job at capturing that bit of magic at being the first one up and about in the house.

Punxutawney Phyllis by Susanna Leonard Hill, illus. Jeffrey Ebbeler — Phyllis wants to predict the weather — BUT — her family won’t let her because she’s a girl.  When she decides to take up the job anyway, she proves to be superior to her Uncle Phil (the current official forecaster) and proves that Girls Can Too.  Okay, okay — I do seem a little jaded with this book.  But you read the note at the beginning, right?  The redeeming part of this book are Ebbeler’s illustrations.  Oh, how I loves them cute groundhog clothes.  They really are adorable lil’ cuddly animals.

Vaguely Kitlit-Oriented, ah, Stuff

Here’s what’s great about today: I found out from Educating Alice that dwarves in Sweden have been hiding inside of suitcases in order to steal from tourists.  Eoin Colfer’s referenced as a . . . what?  An authority on fictional criminal dwarves?  The hey?

Also, I discovered that there is such a thing in the world as Gummi Lights:

Thanks to Children’s Illustration for that.

But here’s what’s bad about today: I discovered the horrid collection of recipes that the Girl Scouts of America created to use with their cookies.  You know, I’ve no problems with such things as the Thin Mint Brownies or the Tagalongs Shake (although why anyone would want to consume Thin Mints in any fashion other than scarfing them from the box as fast as possible eludes me).  But “Do-Si-Do Peanut Thai Chicken” and “Samoas Sweet Potatoes” — that’s where I draw the line.

Actually, I drew the line way, way behind the sweet potatoes.  Shudder.

Video Sunday: Potter a’ Plenty

. . . and by “Potter” I am of course referring to Beatrix, not . . . you know.

I thought it would be nice to dig up some Potter-themed videos to kick off the Potter Project (more books coming soon, I mean it!). Here’s an interesting little segment about the Royal Opera House ballet production of the “Tales of Beatrix Potter.” If you’re able to dig up the old VHS release of this production, I highly recommend you do so:

This is from the GO-ORGEOUS animated series of the books. Love that theme music:

And in case you’re still confused as to what this Peter Rabbit business is about, this should fill you in pretty well:

The Potter Project: The Tale of Peter Rabbit, or, Stay Away From the Man Who Ate Your Father

Peter gave himself up for lost, and shed big tears; but his sobs were overheard by some friendly sparrows, who flew to him in great excitement, and implored him to exert himself.

Here’s why I love this book: it uses the word “implored.” Also “dreadfully,” “fortnight,” and “chamomile.” There are a lot of abominable dumbed-down versions of this story on the market, and I detest them all. Not just because it marrs with perfection, but because I’ve learned that the prose of Beatrix Potter has a similar-yet-gentler effect as that of Shakespeare: when you read it out loud, you sound like an embroidered-tongued GENIUS. Even the bunnies’ names ring out with a simple rhythm that I love: “Flopsy, Mopsy, Cotton-tail, and Peter.”

This book is the Big One — the Potter story that just about every kid in the English-speaking world is somewhat familiar with; if not with the story, then with the cartoon, the film, the puppet show (my library puts on one of these every spring), or the various P.R. merchandise that was invariably given to their parents at a baby shower. (The levels of Peter merchandise is astounding — almost reaching Pooh-levels of stuff.)

It’s also one of the few Potter books that I have a strong memory of being read to by my mother. I still remember dutifully repeating the Moral of the Story afterwards to her, and feeling awfully lucky that I wasn’t as naughty as poor Peter. There’s something to be said for that little feeling of smugness that comes with a book wherein the protagonist is far, far dumber than you are.

Let’s start with the pie, shall we? I love how specific Mother Rabbit is with her warning: not to stay away from Mr. McGregor’s garden because of “danger” or “Because I Told You To,” but because “your father had an accident there; he was put into a pie by Mrs. McGregor.” And yet — “accident.” As if — whoops! — Mrs. McGregor mixed up her bunnies and cherries and put Father Rabbit in a pie by mistake. Silly misunderstanding, that.

Peter, one of the great dim bulbs of children’s literature, runs off to the garden the second Ma makes for the bakery (oh, how I love the way his jacket turns up at the edges when he ignores his mum!). He then proceeds to stuff his bunny belly until he is sick, setting an odd custom in the Potter books — characters who eat lots of vegetables almost always end up getting sick. Alert the pediatric nutritionists, if you will.

Then — the exciting part of the book! Mr. McGregor pops up from behind a cucumber frame and proceeds to chase our hero until he’s in naught but his nuddy-pants, but then — just gives up. No, he doesn’t fall down a cliff like a Disney villain, or get outwitted by Peter, he’s just “tired of running after Peter” and goes back to his work.

It’s here that I really notice what makes the Potter books different from other stories with anthropomorphized animals — although they walk, talk, and wear clothes, humans and animals tend to have the same kinds of relationships as they would in the real world — that of hunter/prey, or bandit/gardener, in this case. Mr. McGregor responds to Peter in the way that any middle-aged gardener would — he chases him for a while, then gives up — and Peter is very bunnyish in that he spends most of the book randomly running around scared without any sense of direction.

It’s that lack of direction that makes the middle of this story sag a bit; Peter runs in random circles around the garden before finding his way out (again, not through wit or cleverness, but by randomly passing the gate through which he came in). Every kid I’ve read this story to tends to get bored during this part. But perhaps Edwardian children knew more about the various pitfalls lurking in an English kitchen garden. Beware the white cat! Look out for that gooseberry net! The SIEVE! Stay away from the SIEVE!!!

Finally, Peter escapes, his clothes are scarecrow-ed, and once at home he is punished with — oh no . . . I can’t even type it! Camomile tea.

Nooooo! Er, well . . . I suppose I’d yell “noooo!” if I’d ever drunk camomile tea.

Again, this is something that I think the children of 1902 would appreciate more than the kids of today. Except maybe the children of hippie herbal tea enthusiasts.

However, every kid, Edwardian or not, can appreciate the good bunnies’ reward: “Flopsy, Mopsy, and Cotton-tail had bread and milk and blackberries for supper.” That’s good eatin’, folks.

The Potter Project

I grew up in the kind of household where I was given a cross-stitch sampler to do when I was nine years old. Where antique washboards and darning tools were artfully displayed on the wall. Where rotary fabric cutters were considered a newfangled contraption for lazy seamstresses. A house where the old-fashioned and antiquated were held in high regard.

But best of all, it was a household in which I received a new Beatrix Potter book every birthday, Christmas, and Easter until I had them all. They were the old-fashioned, greenback editions, and I loved to see them lined up in perfect numerical order on my bookshelf (a portent of my future career as a librarian, if ever there was one).

As for reading them, I found them enjoyable but cryptic. I was definitely entranced by the books’ charms — anthropormorphic animals in cute little outfits! — but puzzled by others. A world where pigs trotted off to sell themselves at the market? Where mice sewed buttonholes with “cherry twist” (which I was certain was some sort of Twizzler)? And what the heck was a “patty pan” or a “pinny”?

As I’ve grown up and had children of my own, I’ve passed on a few of the books to my kids, but only the “safe” ones — the ones that made sense to me in childhood — like The Tale of Miss Moppet or, of course, The Tale of Peter Rabbit. The strange ones like The Roly-Poly Pudding or Little Pig Robinson? Sadly, they’re gathering dust.

Which brings me to the new project: a fresh re-reading of all 23 Beatrix Potter books, with the keen hope that the contrast between the child and adult perspective will prove, if not interesting or enlightening, at least bloggable.

Tomorrow: The Tale of Peter Rabbit, Or: Do As Your Mother Says or Someone Will Steal Your Clothes