Many years ago, I went to see Batman in the theatre. There's one scene where the Joker says, "This town needs an enema".
"Aha!" I thought, "that's how you pronounce 'enigma'."
Many years later I learned it's not.
Suddenly a lot of things started to make sense.
Showing posts with label nostalgia. Show all posts
Showing posts with label nostalgia. Show all posts
Thursday, June 20, 2013
Thursday, August 14, 2008
Tripping Teresa Day
August 14 is an important day for us: it's my baby sister's birthday.
My baby sister is one of my favourite people, for all that I haven't seen her in a few years. In fact, I just recently saw my older sister for the first time in 7 years... there seems to be a pattern here.
Gwen's clever and witty: I try to keep up with her, but truth to tell, I can't. To misquote Blackadder, she's as witty as a very witty person who enjoys good wit.
We used to be good buddies at one point. Not that we're enemies now or anything, but the course of life tends to affect one's relationships just as it affects one's waistline. We're no longer found bombing around in my old VW Rabbit or a Cessna 152. We don't rise at 4:30 to go fishing in Dad's canoe like we used to.
But although I rarely see her in real life, I certainly hold her in the same affection as then. And I suspect a great deal more respect.
So many happy returns, Gwennie. I look forward to seeing you again in real life when the days get shorter.
My baby sister is one of my favourite people, for all that I haven't seen her in a few years. In fact, I just recently saw my older sister for the first time in 7 years... there seems to be a pattern here.
Gwen's clever and witty: I try to keep up with her, but truth to tell, I can't. To misquote Blackadder, she's as witty as a very witty person who enjoys good wit.
We used to be good buddies at one point. Not that we're enemies now or anything, but the course of life tends to affect one's relationships just as it affects one's waistline. We're no longer found bombing around in my old VW Rabbit or a Cessna 152. We don't rise at 4:30 to go fishing in Dad's canoe like we used to.
But although I rarely see her in real life, I certainly hold her in the same affection as then. And I suspect a great deal more respect.
So many happy returns, Gwennie. I look forward to seeing you again in real life when the days get shorter.
Monday, April 28, 2008
Pottymouth
Well, I have to get another crown tomorrow. Ames told me I've got so much porcelain in my mouth, she's going to call me "Pottymouth" from here on.
But here's the deal: I've had this cracked tooth for years, and I've been told (by 3 dentists) to put off fixing it until it hurts. Fine. So in the last couple years, it's gone from hurting once in a while to hurting more frequently. Not constantly, not even close to constantly, but everytime I hit something hard on that tooth. Crushed red pepper is the worst: those seeds are small enough to escape notice, but when one gets in that molar, I know it.
So this morning, the last day before they grind it down and crown it, I hit a blackberry seed in my breakfast. That hurt. It's been a couple hours, and it still hurts. I couldn't have waited one more day...
My last crown was on a live tooth: they decided I didn't need a root canal. That sounds good, except I lost the crown a few months later in a sticky bun. Caramel on a live nub is not a pleasant feeling. So while I hope I don't need a root canal tomorrow, I'm not sure it would be a bad thing. Live tooth under a crown is like a ticking time bomb: crowns eventually come off, and that live tooth is all ready to let me know about it.
But here's the deal: I've had this cracked tooth for years, and I've been told (by 3 dentists) to put off fixing it until it hurts. Fine. So in the last couple years, it's gone from hurting once in a while to hurting more frequently. Not constantly, not even close to constantly, but everytime I hit something hard on that tooth. Crushed red pepper is the worst: those seeds are small enough to escape notice, but when one gets in that molar, I know it.
So this morning, the last day before they grind it down and crown it, I hit a blackberry seed in my breakfast. That hurt. It's been a couple hours, and it still hurts. I couldn't have waited one more day...
My last crown was on a live tooth: they decided I didn't need a root canal. That sounds good, except I lost the crown a few months later in a sticky bun. Caramel on a live nub is not a pleasant feeling. So while I hope I don't need a root canal tomorrow, I'm not sure it would be a bad thing. Live tooth under a crown is like a ticking time bomb: crowns eventually come off, and that live tooth is all ready to let me know about it.
Wednesday, March 12, 2008
Pills and Peppermints
Granddad died when I was four. I don't have a lot of memories of him, but I have a few.
I remember once he was staying with us, and he had the small bedroom next to mine (we eventually ripped out the wall between them and merged them into a single room). I remember getting up early in the morning to go visit Granddad in his room (which I'm sure he appreciated). He would start the day with his pills: he'd open a pill bottle and take a handful of various tablets: I assume he put all his prescriptions in a single bottle for ease of travel. There were always peppermints in that handful, so he would take out "my pills" and give them to me, then take his own.
I was in my twenties before I realized he had to have put peppermints in his pill bottle beforehand so he could share them with us kids.
Granddad used to shave with me too: he would shave with his electric shaver, then I would.
I'm sure he had his warts, but from a four-year-old's perspective, Granddad was pretty cool.
I remember once he was staying with us, and he had the small bedroom next to mine (we eventually ripped out the wall between them and merged them into a single room). I remember getting up early in the morning to go visit Granddad in his room (which I'm sure he appreciated). He would start the day with his pills: he'd open a pill bottle and take a handful of various tablets: I assume he put all his prescriptions in a single bottle for ease of travel. There were always peppermints in that handful, so he would take out "my pills" and give them to me, then take his own.
I was in my twenties before I realized he had to have put peppermints in his pill bottle beforehand so he could share them with us kids.
Granddad used to shave with me too: he would shave with his electric shaver, then I would.
I'm sure he had his warts, but from a four-year-old's perspective, Granddad was pretty cool.
Sunday, February 24, 2008
Picti
I was looking through some old photos this weekend. I thought I'd share a couple.
This is our backyard when I was growing up. I have no idea who took this photo: probably one of my sisters. Somehow it ended up on my computer:
That was a great house for a kid. The trees at the end of the grass were the start of a small forest in our yard. That forest extended past our property and was at one time several acres. They eventually cleared most of it and built a subdivision there, but they never hit the "real" bush at the end of the road. That's still more or less intact, as far as I know. When I was still at home, you could walk off the end of the road and literally go 100 miles without seeing significant civilization. Again, a great place to grow up.
When we got married, we took a "honeymoon" to go fly fishing in Colorado. Here's the lake where we first tried fly fishing:
We didn't catch a thing, but it was fun. That was August.
This is looking out the entrance to the apartment complex where we lived in Grand Rapids. Grand Rapids gets a lot of snow, but doesn't really get very cold. There was a micro-brewery in the building in the front: Robert Thomas brewery. They made a great pale ale, and the Applebee's next door (not in the photo) carried it on tap. They had a tap room in the brewery, but I never actually went there.
Mocha was abandoned by her mother, so we took her far too young: it was that or let her starve, her eyes weren't open yet. We eventually gave her back, for some reasons that don't matter now. It was hard to let her go, but sometimes life's like that. She was somewhere around 30 lbs when we gave her back: this is a baby picture
This car was stolen right out of our driveway. My youngest daughter had helped me wax it a couple days before, and there was thick white wax caked into every seam. Turns out that's how the police identified it when they pulled over the driver.
We went to Niagara Falls in the Fall of 2006. I got a few pictures of Japanese tourists taking pictures: that seemed to really capture the spirit of Niagara.
Another ex-pat Canadian
This is our backyard when I was growing up. I have no idea who took this photo: probably one of my sisters. Somehow it ended up on my computer:
That was a great house for a kid. The trees at the end of the grass were the start of a small forest in our yard. That forest extended past our property and was at one time several acres. They eventually cleared most of it and built a subdivision there, but they never hit the "real" bush at the end of the road. That's still more or less intact, as far as I know. When I was still at home, you could walk off the end of the road and literally go 100 miles without seeing significant civilization. Again, a great place to grow up.
When we got married, we took a "honeymoon" to go fly fishing in Colorado. Here's the lake where we first tried fly fishing:
We didn't catch a thing, but it was fun. That was August.
This is looking out the entrance to the apartment complex where we lived in Grand Rapids. Grand Rapids gets a lot of snow, but doesn't really get very cold. There was a micro-brewery in the building in the front: Robert Thomas brewery. They made a great pale ale, and the Applebee's next door (not in the photo) carried it on tap. They had a tap room in the brewery, but I never actually went there.
Mocha was abandoned by her mother, so we took her far too young: it was that or let her starve, her eyes weren't open yet. We eventually gave her back, for some reasons that don't matter now. It was hard to let her go, but sometimes life's like that. She was somewhere around 30 lbs when we gave her back: this is a baby picture
This car was stolen right out of our driveway. My youngest daughter had helped me wax it a couple days before, and there was thick white wax caked into every seam. Turns out that's how the police identified it when they pulled over the driver.
We went to Niagara Falls in the Fall of 2006. I got a few pictures of Japanese tourists taking pictures: that seemed to really capture the spirit of Niagara.
Another ex-pat Canadian
Sunday, February 10, 2008
We're Baaaaaaack!
Feeling encouraged by my sister, I bought a new pair of kicks.
There might have been a little nostalgia at work here, I won't deny it. But there's something indefinably comforting about wearing a pair of Docs. Maybe it's the comfort of the boots, maybe it's the memories... but I love wearing Docs.
There's a slightly guilty pleasure to wearing calf-high boots in public. Everyone else can only see the bottoms: they think you're wearing shoes. But there's a little secret that only you know: they're boots! It's even better with dress slacks or a suit: you look like you're wearing shoes, but you're wearing boots!
Simple minds, simple pleasures.
I used to wear Docs all the time: I bought my first pair in 1995, and have worn them more or less faithfully since. My first pair were 4-hole shoes, then I tried the 8-hole boots, then tried 6-hole boots, and then I bought a pair of slip-on dress shoes last year.
But in 2005, I replaced my worn-out 6-hole boots with a pair of Columbias. The Columbias are comfortable, durable, and good for support; but in the end, they're not Docs.
My Columbias are wearing out, so I started looking for a new pair of boots.
One parameter is my jacket, which is a brown leather:
As you can see, it's a dark brown. It's hard to match shoes with that jacket, it's too dark for virtually all the shoes I've looked at. Then a brilliant thought occurred: I can get black Docs. I know, brown and black aren't a match, but this jacket is dark enough that the black boots match it better than pretty much all the brown shoes or boots I examined:
So yesterday I bought some black Docs.
I never realized how much I missed Docs.
This is my first pair in black: the black leather's a little thinner than the brown I always used to buy, which is a little strange. I can't help but notice they're made in China too. I'm not a big fan of "made in China," but I didn't notice until I had already bought and worn them, so that removes my obligation to decide whether I want to support a totalitarian regime. Of course, show me shoes for sale in the USA that aren't made in China, right?
It's good to have them back.
There might have been a little nostalgia at work here, I won't deny it. But there's something indefinably comforting about wearing a pair of Docs. Maybe it's the comfort of the boots, maybe it's the memories... but I love wearing Docs.
There's a slightly guilty pleasure to wearing calf-high boots in public. Everyone else can only see the bottoms: they think you're wearing shoes. But there's a little secret that only you know: they're boots! It's even better with dress slacks or a suit: you look like you're wearing shoes, but you're wearing boots!
Simple minds, simple pleasures.
I used to wear Docs all the time: I bought my first pair in 1995, and have worn them more or less faithfully since. My first pair were 4-hole shoes, then I tried the 8-hole boots, then tried 6-hole boots, and then I bought a pair of slip-on dress shoes last year.
But in 2005, I replaced my worn-out 6-hole boots with a pair of Columbias. The Columbias are comfortable, durable, and good for support; but in the end, they're not Docs.
My Columbias are wearing out, so I started looking for a new pair of boots.
One parameter is my jacket, which is a brown leather:
As you can see, it's a dark brown. It's hard to match shoes with that jacket, it's too dark for virtually all the shoes I've looked at. Then a brilliant thought occurred: I can get black Docs. I know, brown and black aren't a match, but this jacket is dark enough that the black boots match it better than pretty much all the brown shoes or boots I examined:
So yesterday I bought some black Docs.
I never realized how much I missed Docs.
This is my first pair in black: the black leather's a little thinner than the brown I always used to buy, which is a little strange. I can't help but notice they're made in China too. I'm not a big fan of "made in China," but I didn't notice until I had already bought and worn them, so that removes my obligation to decide whether I want to support a totalitarian regime. Of course, show me shoes for sale in the USA that aren't made in China, right?
It's good to have them back.
Wednesday, November 21, 2007
Happy Thanksgiving!
Happy Thanksgiving to all my American friends! Have a good and safe holiday. I'll be eating fried fatback, collards, chicken-and-pastry, turkey, pumpkin pie, and pound cake tomorrow. Hope you fare as well as I.
Thanksgiving might be my favourite day, but I'll be honest with you: I see no real meaning to it except a day off work. Ames' family enjoys Thanksgiving, which is sort of ironic: I mean, if they hadn't fed us, we wouldn't have survived to attempt genocide on them. Like Ames says, "I have no idea why we celebrate Thanksgiving."
Since Gwennie asked, the walks are proceeding slowly. We're getting back on track since work has calmed down again. We're planning to have a walk early tomorrow, before bundling in the 'burb and driving to Ames' parents' house. Thanks for asking.
Our house has been on the market just over a week, and we've had one showing. Not great; but not terrible, given the holiday season. We'll see how this all pans out...
Jeanne asked where "Clumsy Ox" comes from. Good question, actually. What happened was this: when I was about 10, my baby sister was drawing a silly little comic strip. I suggested she name a character "Clumsy Ox," and she delightedly did so. But then, by some cruel twist, she deluded herself into thinking that she had come up with that clever name. Over the years, I have borne silently with having my one (rather small) contribution to her comic strip misattributed; I finally decided to "take back Clumsy Ox," and hence this blog. But by happy chance, I have discovered Clumsy Ox is a perfect screen name: easy to remember, but also unique. See, "all things work together for good," even one's little sister taking credit for one's creativity.
Finally, I figured out the secret to professional typing. It's always interesting to note how few people in IT actually know how to type. Like me, they sort of hunt and peck, really quickly. But the secret to professional typing is, hit the Backspace with the same rhythm as the other keys. If you manage to learn that one skill, people hear a constant rhythm and figure you know how to type.
Thanksgiving might be my favourite day, but I'll be honest with you: I see no real meaning to it except a day off work. Ames' family enjoys Thanksgiving, which is sort of ironic: I mean, if they hadn't fed us, we wouldn't have survived to attempt genocide on them. Like Ames says, "I have no idea why we celebrate Thanksgiving."
Since Gwennie asked, the walks are proceeding slowly. We're getting back on track since work has calmed down again. We're planning to have a walk early tomorrow, before bundling in the 'burb and driving to Ames' parents' house. Thanks for asking.
Our house has been on the market just over a week, and we've had one showing. Not great; but not terrible, given the holiday season. We'll see how this all pans out...
Jeanne asked where "Clumsy Ox" comes from. Good question, actually. What happened was this: when I was about 10, my baby sister was drawing a silly little comic strip. I suggested she name a character "Clumsy Ox," and she delightedly did so. But then, by some cruel twist, she deluded herself into thinking that she had come up with that clever name. Over the years, I have borne silently with having my one (rather small) contribution to her comic strip misattributed; I finally decided to "take back Clumsy Ox," and hence this blog. But by happy chance, I have discovered Clumsy Ox is a perfect screen name: easy to remember, but also unique. See, "all things work together for good," even one's little sister taking credit for one's creativity.
Finally, I figured out the secret to professional typing. It's always interesting to note how few people in IT actually know how to type. Like me, they sort of hunt and peck, really quickly. But the secret to professional typing is, hit the Backspace with the same rhythm as the other keys. If you manage to learn that one skill, people hear a constant rhythm and figure you know how to type.
Friday, August 10, 2007
Reunited
This is a little self-indulgent, but this is my blog. Deal with it.
University was hard for me, because I was young, hot-blooded, arrogant, and stupid. Not stupid as "below 16 IQ", but stupid as "had not the slightest clue how to relate to people". I didn't so very well there: I mean, I got acceptable grades and all that, but I didn't do very well. There were a lot of growing pains, and a whole lot of that pain could have been avoided except for my poor judgement, aimlessness, and laziness. I was, in a word, a slacker.
But in the last year and a half of my time at university, I made some incredible friends. I've tried to get a hold of them off and on for the last thirteen years (I graduated and left in 1994), but always failed. This week, exactly 13 years after I left, we have re-established contact. I've emailed with Rachel, Karina, Herb, and Kelly. There were others, and I hope to run across them too, but this is a good start.
So I'm a little irrationally happy right now. It'll probably pass, but I'm so very excited to be in contact with such great friends again. I'm enjoying it while it lasts.
It was tough being a Christian on campus: it was a very hostile environment. And in the middle of all that, there was Kelly, one of the campus chaplains. He was a wonderful influence on all of us, but particularly on me. Kelly really demonstrated Christianity as a holistic thing: emotional, intellectual, ethical, mystical. He did them all without emphasizing any one at the expense of the others. He knew his Bible, but didn't worship it. He reached out to the people who needed Jesus, but not in a naive, baseless optimism. Kelly is still one of my heroes.
Herb and I were in a Bible study at Kelly's house (Monday nights?) with Chris, Wayne, and (I can't remember his name). We were all a little disgruntled, and joked that we had all been declared heretics by at least one major denomination. Come to think of it, I'm not sure what Wayne was doing in that study: he seemed awfully normal for us. I can't remember a lot of what we studied, but I can remember the way Kelly would bring everything into a holistic focus. I wanted to have knowledge: Kelly satisfied that without worshipping the intellect. And he pushed me to go further than just having the answers.
Herb might be the smartest person I've ever met. He was smart. Not "college kid smart" but "really, really smart". Herb and I were inseparable: at one point, I suddenly realized everyone thought we were gay. Oops.
Herb taught me that the Bible is not nearly the book I thought it was. He had the habit of reading something like Derrida or Kierkegaard and relating that to something like Hebrews. My respect for the Word of God has increased from that. I remember Dean, another friend of ours, saying the most convincing part of the Bible is that Ecclesiastes is in it.
Finaly, Rachel and Karina were very dear friends. How we ever got all of us into my VW Rabbit is baffling even now. I remember Rachel would start laughing so hard I thought she'd choke. I can't imagine Rachel without a grin. I still have horrors thinking of her careening down the ramps in the University auditorium, or casually crossing the street through thick traffic. Rachel was busting at the seems with personality, and it was worth while just to bask in it.
Karina sent me a very nasty letter when I moved away, chiding me for leaving without telling anyone. That letter's haunted me for years: there's more to friendship than joviality, isn't there? I've always had an easy time making friends; but like Mr. Wickham, whether I can keep them remains to be seen. I think it was Karina who first showed me that there is a certain amount of responsibility in friendship. That's a lesson I'm still trying to learn.
I remember one time complimenting Karina on her English (not her first language), and she started laughing, saying she only understood half of what we were saying. I guess she had mastered the "smile and nod." Every conversation with Karina would lead to some form of revelation. A lot of people seem to be shocked by what I say in conversation: rest assured, if you had spent enough time with Karina, you'd find me rather flat.
So Rachel, Karina, Kelly, and Herb, you've no idea how much I missed you and how happy I am to have emailed with all of you again. And everyone else (Dean? Jeff? Chris?) I'd love to hear from you if you ever stumble across this and recognize my ugly mug on the side.
University was hard for me, because I was young, hot-blooded, arrogant, and stupid. Not stupid as "below 16 IQ", but stupid as "had not the slightest clue how to relate to people". I didn't so very well there: I mean, I got acceptable grades and all that, but I didn't do very well. There were a lot of growing pains, and a whole lot of that pain could have been avoided except for my poor judgement, aimlessness, and laziness. I was, in a word, a slacker.
But in the last year and a half of my time at university, I made some incredible friends. I've tried to get a hold of them off and on for the last thirteen years (I graduated and left in 1994), but always failed. This week, exactly 13 years after I left, we have re-established contact. I've emailed with Rachel, Karina, Herb, and Kelly. There were others, and I hope to run across them too, but this is a good start.
So I'm a little irrationally happy right now. It'll probably pass, but I'm so very excited to be in contact with such great friends again. I'm enjoying it while it lasts.
It was tough being a Christian on campus: it was a very hostile environment. And in the middle of all that, there was Kelly, one of the campus chaplains. He was a wonderful influence on all of us, but particularly on me. Kelly really demonstrated Christianity as a holistic thing: emotional, intellectual, ethical, mystical. He did them all without emphasizing any one at the expense of the others. He knew his Bible, but didn't worship it. He reached out to the people who needed Jesus, but not in a naive, baseless optimism. Kelly is still one of my heroes.
Herb and I were in a Bible study at Kelly's house (Monday nights?) with Chris, Wayne, and (I can't remember his name). We were all a little disgruntled, and joked that we had all been declared heretics by at least one major denomination. Come to think of it, I'm not sure what Wayne was doing in that study: he seemed awfully normal for us. I can't remember a lot of what we studied, but I can remember the way Kelly would bring everything into a holistic focus. I wanted to have knowledge: Kelly satisfied that without worshipping the intellect. And he pushed me to go further than just having the answers.
Herb might be the smartest person I've ever met. He was smart. Not "college kid smart" but "really, really smart". Herb and I were inseparable: at one point, I suddenly realized everyone thought we were gay. Oops.
Herb taught me that the Bible is not nearly the book I thought it was. He had the habit of reading something like Derrida or Kierkegaard and relating that to something like Hebrews. My respect for the Word of God has increased from that. I remember Dean, another friend of ours, saying the most convincing part of the Bible is that Ecclesiastes is in it.
Finaly, Rachel and Karina were very dear friends. How we ever got all of us into my VW Rabbit is baffling even now. I remember Rachel would start laughing so hard I thought she'd choke. I can't imagine Rachel without a grin. I still have horrors thinking of her careening down the ramps in the University auditorium, or casually crossing the street through thick traffic. Rachel was busting at the seems with personality, and it was worth while just to bask in it.
Karina sent me a very nasty letter when I moved away, chiding me for leaving without telling anyone. That letter's haunted me for years: there's more to friendship than joviality, isn't there? I've always had an easy time making friends; but like Mr. Wickham, whether I can keep them remains to be seen. I think it was Karina who first showed me that there is a certain amount of responsibility in friendship. That's a lesson I'm still trying to learn.
I remember one time complimenting Karina on her English (not her first language), and she started laughing, saying she only understood half of what we were saying. I guess she had mastered the "smile and nod." Every conversation with Karina would lead to some form of revelation. A lot of people seem to be shocked by what I say in conversation: rest assured, if you had spent enough time with Karina, you'd find me rather flat.
So Rachel, Karina, Kelly, and Herb, you've no idea how much I missed you and how happy I am to have emailed with all of you again. And everyone else (Dean? Jeff? Chris?) I'd love to hear from you if you ever stumble across this and recognize my ugly mug on the side.
Monday, June 11, 2007
Good evening, friends, and welcome!
My ten-year-old read Lord of the Rings by J. R. R. Tolkien. In three days. Four years ago. And she understood it: I had a little tete-a-tete with her when she was done, and asked her some basic comprehension questions: "Who was Aragorn?", "How did Denethor die?", "Where did they meet a balrog?" "Who was the brown wizard?" questions like that. She got them all right. We won't let her watch the movies, but she's read the books.
And like me, she liked Tom Bombadil the best. I can never forgive Peter Jackson for completely ignoring the most interesting character in the whole story.
Last year, she wanted to read A Christmas Carol by Dickens. I gave her permission to read my Charles Dickens "omnibus": a single volume containing four or five of Dickens' novels. She seemed to be taking quite a while to read A Christmas Carol, so I asked her how she liked it. She liked it a lot; but she liked Hard Times better, and Great Expectations was good too, although A Tale of Two Cities was too depressing, so she didn't finish it.
She occasionally refers to Ames and me as the "A. P. s"
The hardest thing with having a bona fide reader in the house is, finding age-appropriate material. She loves the Redwall books by Brian Jacques, but he's not writing them fast enough. So now I scour used-books-stores, looking for the wonderful novels I read as a kid. I found a used copy of The Mad Scientists' Club, which was a wonderful find. We also found The Egypt Game, and a bunch of sundries I read as a kid. And I obtained a complete set of The Dark is Rising by Susan Cooper in a single volume a few years back. My ten-year-old's put quite a dent in that too.
But the real treasure was this:
That, friends, is a partial set of Children's Classic Library. We had a set when I was a kid: I think they were a gift from Uncle Mel. At any rate, I've been slowly piecing together a whole set from various used-book sources.
My favourite volumes as a kid were: Arabian Nights, King Arthur, and Robin Hood. I don't know how many times I read "The Genie and the Merchant", or "The Man with Two Hinds". I loved that book. In fact, I read it through the other night, and it was everything I remembered.
Gift idea for clumsy: a complete, "adult" (i.e. not a kids') edition of 1001 Nights (Arabian Nights). Just a helpful hint there...
A lot of people are shocked to learn we don't have T. V. Sure, we can watch DVDs on the computer if we need to: and it's a decent system. Or at least, it's convenient enough to use, and inconvenient enough to not become a habit. But people always ask "What do your kids do?". Well, reading is high on the list.
And you know what? They seem to like it that way.
For my own part, I've tried to gather good kids' books from before we had any kids, or before I ever met my wife. It's nice to be able to walk into a library and have an idea what books and authors my kids will like. Frankly, it's nice to know I got at least one thing right...
And like me, she liked Tom Bombadil the best. I can never forgive Peter Jackson for completely ignoring the most interesting character in the whole story.
Last year, she wanted to read A Christmas Carol by Dickens. I gave her permission to read my Charles Dickens "omnibus": a single volume containing four or five of Dickens' novels. She seemed to be taking quite a while to read A Christmas Carol, so I asked her how she liked it. She liked it a lot; but she liked Hard Times better, and Great Expectations was good too, although A Tale of Two Cities was too depressing, so she didn't finish it.
She occasionally refers to Ames and me as the "A. P. s"
The hardest thing with having a bona fide reader in the house is, finding age-appropriate material. She loves the Redwall books by Brian Jacques, but he's not writing them fast enough. So now I scour used-books-stores, looking for the wonderful novels I read as a kid. I found a used copy of The Mad Scientists' Club, which was a wonderful find. We also found The Egypt Game, and a bunch of sundries I read as a kid. And I obtained a complete set of The Dark is Rising by Susan Cooper in a single volume a few years back. My ten-year-old's put quite a dent in that too.
But the real treasure was this:
That, friends, is a partial set of Children's Classic Library. We had a set when I was a kid: I think they were a gift from Uncle Mel. At any rate, I've been slowly piecing together a whole set from various used-book sources.
My favourite volumes as a kid were: Arabian Nights, King Arthur, and Robin Hood. I don't know how many times I read "The Genie and the Merchant", or "The Man with Two Hinds". I loved that book. In fact, I read it through the other night, and it was everything I remembered.
Gift idea for clumsy: a complete, "adult" (i.e. not a kids') edition of 1001 Nights (Arabian Nights). Just a helpful hint there...
A lot of people are shocked to learn we don't have T. V. Sure, we can watch DVDs on the computer if we need to: and it's a decent system. Or at least, it's convenient enough to use, and inconvenient enough to not become a habit. But people always ask "What do your kids do?". Well, reading is high on the list.
And you know what? They seem to like it that way.
For my own part, I've tried to gather good kids' books from before we had any kids, or before I ever met my wife. It's nice to be able to walk into a library and have an idea what books and authors my kids will like. Frankly, it's nice to know I got at least one thing right...
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