like so

How do you discover new picture books? I used to go into libraries and physical bookstores, but these days teaching takes up much more of my free time, and browsing in person feels increasingly indulgent and rare. School Library Journal’s free summertime digital event, Picture Book Palooza, has been a great resource for me these past few years – publishers highlight their latest releases all in one place, and I’m able to spend as much or as little time as I have on discovery. All of that to say, Picture Book Palooza introduced me to poet Ruth Forman and illustrator Raissa Figueroa's Like So, a beautiful picture book I am sure I wouldn’t have encountered otherwise.

From bestselling author Ruth Forman and Coretta Scott King Illustrator Award Honoree Raissa Figueroa comes a lyrical and vibrant picture book honoring the love and bond that exists between family and child even in complicated times.

Told from Nana’s point of view, this simple, affirming, and comforting read-aloud shows how every family’s love is natural and connected to the world around us. Just as the sun loves the day, the moon loves the waves, and the night sky loves the star glow…so is our love for each other: innate, wondrous, and infinite.

Ruth Forman’s narrative in Like So is about the love between a grandmother (or perhaps even a great-grandmother!) and granddaughter. That love spans time and place, and illustrates how love is felt in different contexts. Forman’s story begins with kisses and hugs exchanged in a domestic environment and then moves out into nature. Nature is used to compare how big their love is – with the titular repeated “like so.” Their love for each other is as big as butterflies on a sunny day, the moon and waves at night, days, trees, chickadees, and more. No matter where or when, the love between them is as big as the universe.

 

Neither grandmother nor grandchild are named or given those specific titles or relationship within the story, so it is possible that it could be about elders and children in general, or a great aunt and a great-niece, for instance. Through extended similes the text assures younger readers (or listeners!) that they are safe, loved, and secure. Overall, the word choices throughout are spare, simple, and poetic – with just a few words or a sentence at most on each page, and full phrases sometimes set over several page spreads, such as this excerpt:

 

“I got love like you

you got love like me

we got love

like so.”

 

Raissa Figueroa’s expressive and expansive art combines with the brief text for a picture book experience that seems at first almost entirely visual. The sky is a huge focus in the outdoor illustrations – appearing in ombre pinks, purples, and blues of daylight, sunset, and deep night, depending on the page. The paired figures of granddaughter and grandmother appear together both throughout the seasons and on every page until the last few, when they appear together only in the stars – indicating perhaps that the grandmother figure has passed away, but her love is still present. Little smears of white, which at first seems to be flour from working on a project together in the kitchen, and then maybe the glittering of butterfly wings, and then perhaps snow – connect each of the different scenes together, until it becomes the starlit love up in the sky.

 

In all, Like So is a beautiful marriage of both text and images that celebrates intergenerational relationships and love. It’s brief enough read to appeal to very young readers and their adults as well. There’s an excellent read aloud by the author available on YouTube, if you don’t have time to go out and get a copy right away!

 

Recommended for: read alouds for young ones ages two to five, and their adults, and anyone looking for stories that beautifully illustrate the relationships between elders and the very young.

 

Fine print: I received an advanced digital copy of the text from the publisher at Picture Book Palooza. I did not receive any compensation for this post.

dear sister

I’m somehow on the side of TikTok (yes I am over there, but only as a lurker) where couples consisting of one partner who had siblings and another who was an only child tell horror stories. The sibling stories alway make me laugh, because no matter how outlandish or annoying the antics seem, I think to myself “yes, that tracks.” I’m the oldest of five, and being an older sister will NEVER not be part of my identity. Author Alison McGhee and illustrator Joe Bluhm's middle grade graphic novel Dear Sister is a sweet, middle-school-type tale of a new big brother’s relationship with his baby sister, told through his notes and drawings to and about her. And let me tell you, this book is packed with emotion and hilarity.

What do you do when you have an incredibly annoying little sister? Write her letters telling her so, of course! From New York Times bestselling author Alison McGhee comes a wickedly funny, illustrated, heartwarming, and searingly honest collection of letters from an older brother to his little sister.

Whininess, annoyingness, afraid of the darkness, refusal to eat lima beans, and pulling brother’s hair. These are the criteria on which little sisters are graded. Inspired by the notes Alison McGhee’s own kids would write each other, this heavily illustrated collection of letters and messages from an older brother to his little sister reveal the special love—or, at the very least, tolerance—siblings have for each other.

 

Sister arrives when the narrator is eight-years-old, and the book unfolds as a series of notes and drawings both to, and eventually back, from sister. As they age, both siblings’ drawings and penmanship grow in sophistication, and there are occasional spreads where the whole family is depicted as well. Brother provides progress reports on items like whininess, annoyingness, being afraid of the dark, and the unfairness of being forced to eat lima beans. Meanwhile their parents are the wardens, who punish him when he is unkind to Sister. Over the course of the book, annoyance slowly changes to grudging fondness, and eventually to brotherly love (but still with annoyance mixed in because no one is perfect!). 

McGhee’s narrative succeeds because it feels so authentic. Brother is typical in some ways, leaving messages like “Leave me alone” and “I don’t want to talk about it,” but these messages are mixed in with genuine worry when his little sister gets appendicitis. The ending is moving – maybe what you’d expect or maybe not – and the book ends when Brother goes off to college. Themes throughout are adjusting to a growing family, and learning how to be a good big brother, coming of age, and how friendship changes over the course of life no matter what. 

Bluhm’s art is mixed media, with most of the notes that make up the majority of the text in pencil or pen. As mentioned above, the illustrations and penmanship become more complex (and hilarious) as Brother grows older. The palette of blues and blacks pop against a white background, and Bluhm does a great job of letting the letters and notes themselves take center stage, and using illustrations for comic effect and to add to the overall meaning. It really feels as if you get a view into their life, but that the epistolary nature of the text still takes center stage.

In all, Dear Sister is a poignant, true-to-life illustrated take on becoming an older sibling and all that entails. Its portrayal of the funny, honest, and you’re-annoying-but-i-love-you realness of sibling relationships (without the rivalry aspect) is spot on.

Recommended for: readers ages 7+ (especially those with siblings of their own), aspiring artists, and fans of epistolary storytelling.

estranged

When I first read Ethan M. Aldridge's middle grade fantasy graphic novel Estranged, I jotted down a few disjointed notes and thought I’d post a review almost immediately. Several years later… I had to reread the book in order to interpret those scribblings. Ha! Ah well, it was time well-spent, because this middle grade fantasy is an engaging, inventive adventure with entwined main characters, has interesting things to say about society and family, and features an epic race to save the world.

Edmund and the Childe were swapped at birth. Now Edmund lives in secret as a changeling in the World Above, his fae powers hidden from his unsuspecting parents and his older sister, Alexis. The Childe lives among the fae in the World Below, where being a human makes him a curiosity at the royal palace.

But when the cruel sorceress Hawthorne seizes the throne, the Childe and Edmund must unite on a dangerous quest to save both worlds—even if they’re not sure which world they belong to.

Edmund is a fairy (or Fay, in this book) changeling. That means that his own parents, the rulers of the Fay court, switched him with a human child at birth, and that he has grown up with a human family he must constantly keep secrets from. The Human Childe, as he is called in the Fay court, doesn’t have a name – and has grown up stifled and dissatisfied by his life as a curiosity and a pet to his Fay “parents.” When the usurper Hawthorne leads a magical coup of the Fay court, The Human Childe knows he must escape – but to where? He decides to go find his counterpart in the human world, and thus kicks off an epic journey through both worlds, and a quest to defeat Hawthorne.

Hands down, my favorite thing about his book is the character design. Edmund and The Human Childe are mirrors of each other, but they differ in important ways too – Edmund feels constantly constrained, hiding his secret heritage, and The Human Childe feels like an afterthought without a family. When they meet, the Childe wants Edmund’s life, and Edmund refuses to give it up because his family is great. That family includes older sister Alexis, a brave and somewhat reckless older sibling, who is integral to the story later on. Other really cool characters: Whick, a golem in the shape of a lit candle, the witch and her apprentice Isaac, and Hawthorne’s henchmen, who have creepy hands covering each eye. Elements of traditional myth and legend are strewn throughout the narrative, but Aldridge plays with them in fascinating ways – this is both a beautiful book, and an exciting one.

Aldridge’s art is a mix of watercolors, ink, and Photoshop, and is most successful in its character design and fairy tale elements. The world below is drawn in meticulous detail – the reader’s eye will be drawn to the setting first (the Below is just plain cool!), and Aldridge’s style encourages this with lots of full-body shots and sequences, as well as landscapes. As a result, facial expressions and human faces are a secondary focus – there are not many closeups, and perspective angles do not change much over the course of the book. Illustrations are in full color, with lots of greens, blues, and an overall more menacing – and magical – feeling in the Below. Another interesting stylistic choice is using black gutters (the space in between panels) for the Below, and white for for the Above. This results in a very clear demarcation between settings when flipping through the book (and of course when reading it).

Estranged is a middle grade fantasy quest with themes of feeling like an outsider, even in your own family, the power of found families, and what it means to cultivate “human” traits. It’s an adventure and a half!

Recommended for: fans of changeling stories and portal or fairy fantasies, graphic novel readers ages 8+, and those who appreciate beautiful and detailed fantasy art.

marshmallow & jordan

Now that I’m a teacher, it’s much harder to keep track of all of the awesome books releasing each week. I don’t have the attention span (or time) I used to have to track what’s going on in the book world! Luckily, the folks at Macmillan and First Second do a great job of getting the word out about their books to bloggers, librarians, and educators. And when I heard about Alina Chau’s middle grade graphic novel Marshmallow & Jordan, I perked right up. A mysterious white elephant, a story set in Indonesia, playing sports with a disability, and water polo (which I played myself!) all rolled into one story??! Sign me up. And the result, you’ll be glad to hear, is enchanting.

Jordan's days as star player for her school's basketball team ended when an accident left her paralyzed from the waist down. Now, she's still the team captain, but her competition days seem to be behind her...until an encounter with a mysterious elephant, who she names Marshmallow, helps Jordan discover a brand new sport.

Will water polo be the way for Jordan to continue her athletic dreams--or will it just come between Jordan and her best friends on the basketball team? And with the big tournament right around the corner, what secret is Marshmallow hiding?

Jordan, a former basketball star growing up in Indonesia, is still on her school’s team even after an accident left her paraplegic. However, Jordan misses playing in games – she’s not allowed to compete in a wheelchair, even though she can still make amazing shots. Enter Marshmallow, a mysterious white baby elephant who needs Jordan’s help and friendship. With Marshmallow’s help, Jordan learns how to play water polo, joins the water polo team, and works for her chance to compete again. Two mysteries remain: who, or what, is Marshmallow? And will Jordan’s new team get to compete next year at nationals?

 

Oh my goodness, this is SUCH a cute book! It’s solidly middle grade, with adorable art, bittersweet moments of loss and could-have-been futures balanced by a solid here-and-now main character, and a fantastic setting and cultural milieu. Jordan’s family, including her parents and her nenek (grandmother) are a welcome change from many YA and middle grade books – they’re alive! and present in Jordan’s life. Their banter and support are refreshing to read, and help the reader understand how Jordan has become who she is. Jordan also has an amazing friend group through her basketball team, and throughout the book she gets to know girls on the water polo team as well. Overall, Chau’s storytelling is fairly simple, but the setting, amazing network behind Jordan, the mystery and cuteness (kawaii!) of Marshmallow, and the gorgeous artwork raise the book a level above.

 

If there is a weakness in this book, it is that there’s not quite enough of it – but isn’t that always the way? I was having such a good time with Jordan and her crew that I wanted to keep reading. Marshmallow’s fantastical origins could have been explored a little more? But really, what you get as a reader is a sweet, good-hearted story with just a bit of angst to carry you through. And it is a wonderful read for those reasons!

 

Let’s talk a bit about the art. When I first saw it I thought refined watercolors, vibrant colors, attention to cultural setting and details (especially food and flowers!), and an elephant that is too cute to be real – and I was right on that point! Chau’s art was sketched and cleaned up in Photoshop, watercolors painted by hand, and then composites were detailed in Photoshop, according to the back matter. Chau captures movement well, including illustrating plays in both basketball and water polo, which is tough! Her background in the film and game industries no doubt helped develop that skill, and she brings it and the storytelling to the page with grace.

 

In all, Marshmallow & Jordan is a heartwarming, thoroughly middle school tale of overcoming obstacles, making (and keeping!) friends, and familial love. The dash of fantasy at the end just adds to the delightful whole.

 

Recommended for: fans of Shannon Hale’s Real Friends, Victoria Jamieson’s Roller Girl, and Raina Telgemeier’s books, anyone interested in sports depicted in graphic novels, and readers ages 8+ looking for wholesome, pure-hearted heroines and reads!

 

 Marshmallow & Jordan will be available from First Second on October 26, 2021.

 

Fine print: I received an advanced e-ARC for review consideration from the publisher. I did not receive any compensation for this post.

a gift from abuela

I’ve spent the last few weeks in upstate New York, and it’s been a gift to be able to see my grandmother (now 101 years old!). For many months she couldn’t have visitors because of COVID-19, and we’re all very aware that that could happen again—so any time together is precious beyond measure. Thinking of how much I value my grandmother’s presence and appreciate her support as an adult made Cecilia Ruiz’s picture book A Gift from Abuela feel even more poignant.

The first time Abuela holds Nina, her heart overflows with tenderness. And as Nina grows up, she and Abuela spend plenty of time together. Abuela can’t help thinking how much she’d like to give Nina a very special treat, so she saves a little bit of her money every week — a few pesos here, a few pesos there. When the world turns upside down, Abuela’s dream of a surprise for Nina seems impossible. Luckily, time spent together — and the love Abuela and Nina have for each other — could turn out to be the very best gift of all. With a soft and subtle hand, author-illustrator Cecilia Ruiz draws from her own history to share a deeply personal tale about remembering what’s most important when life starts to get in the way.

In this Mexico City-set picture book, a child and grandmother are fast friends. However, as the child grows up, life gets in the way of visiting, and slowly they grow apart. One day, the child learns that their grandmother was saving money for a special gift, but because of political/economic upheaval, those savings became worthless. Together, grandmother and grandchild decide to make banners out of the old paper currency, and bond anew.

A Gift from Abuela is a heartfelt and bittersweet story notable for its unique setting and its celebration of the small habits and special moments spent together that make relationships memorable. Children who have seen the film Coco will find much to identify with in this story, as the same threads of family, remembrance, and art are woven through out. The narrative itself is simple and universal, and while it could be set anywhere in the world, the Mexico City setting is uniquely lovely. The papel picado (cut paper art used in celebratory banners in Mexico) border design on the cover, textures used throughout the book, and varying colors all add to that sense of setting and place.

The highlight, as it often (always?) is with picture books, is the art. Ruiz’s designs are symmetrical and almost architectural—and the page spreads often rely on these idealistic outlines of the grandmother’s kitchen/building/city for structure. In addition, Ruiz uses lots of patterns in primary colors, with a screen-printed effect. The art will appeal to adults just as much as the children.

This book would make a wonderful gift for a grandparent to share with their grandchild (no guarantees that the grandparent won’t cry, though!). It’s also a good candidate for cultural learning units that include Day of the Dead traditions (without a specific reference to that holiday). It’s a must for libraries that are looking to add to or feature diverse voices and experiences in their collections.

In all, A Gift from Abuela is a meticulously-illustrated and poignant look at the relationships between grandparents and grandchildren.

Recommended for: fans of culturally diverse picture books, parents, grandparents, and libraries looking for stories featuring Latinx characters, and anyone who enjoyed Dreamers, Juana & Lucas, and Duncan Tonatiuh’s picture books.

headed west

[art from poppyandpinecone's etsy shop]

I'm going home to the Seattle area today. One week of awesome with the family, coming right up!

the kid table

I’ve said it here before, and I’ll probably rave again – I’m a fantasy geek. I love escaping the here-and-now and experiencing the only-in-someone’s-wildest-imaginings. BUT. Every once and a while contemporary fiction punches me in the gut. In a good way, if you can picture that. Well, never mind, I can’t either. I meant to infer that there’s something so very raw and honest and mirror-like about it that you can’t help but be caught up, moved, and possibly even changed forever. Andrea Seigel’s novel The Kid Table was a bit like that for me. Or a lot. You decide.

It's there at every family event. A little smaller, collapsible, and decked out with paper napkins because you can't be trusted with the good ones. But you're stuck there. At the Kid Table. Because to them- to the adults- you're still a kid.

Ingrid Bell and her five teenage cousins are in exactly this situation. Never mind the fact that high school is almost over. They're still eating mac and cheese with a toddler. But what happens when the rules change? When Brianne, the oldest cousin, lands a seat at the Adult Table, the others are in shock. What does it take to graduate from the Kid Table?

Over the course of five family events, Ingrid and her cousins attempt to finish childhood and send the infamous table into retirement. But as Ingrid turns on the charm in order to manipulate her situation, the family starts questioning her motives. And when her first love comes in the form of first betrayal, Ingrid is forced to consider how she fits into this family and what it means to grow up.

First off, you should know that I’m from a large family of VERY close siblings. I mean there are five of us kids, and only six and a half years separating us in age. So there’s that parallel with the story already. I could picture Ingrid’s family (albeit extended, while mine is immediate) so clearly that it startled. I felt like I’d lived the scenes. The ones where one relative does that THING or someone else has THAT quirk – it was just real, you know? I discovered a very rare and authentic connection. With a fictional family.

And then there was the narrator, Ingrid – who discovered (for herself) what she was really like over the course of the book, and if she was okay with that. I identified with Ingrid's psyche, and not always the good things, either. The Kid Table was seriously eerie in parts, because I found myself in it. I was tempted to write to Ms. Seigel immediately after finishing the novel to demand to know how she’d gotten in my head. It wasn’t a comfortable feeling necessarily, but it was true.

As for the novel on its own merit, it’s about coming of age/adulthood. In other words, it’s a universal story. It has real-seeming characters, making real mistakes, on a very real stage. I think it will appeal to a lot of young adults, and probably even more so to the older readers of young adult fiction – those of us a couple of years on, who are still wondering faintly if we did it right? If we’re there. Adults. Or wherever it is that we’re supposed to be. I really enjoyed The Kid Table. Go read it, find bits of yourself in it or perhaps bits of others. But I hope you’ll find that it’s as true and beautiful (in a hard-as-diamond sort of way) as I did.

“This book is the real thing—hilarious, original, and as true as your mother thinking your boyfriend's too good for you. Boy do I wish I'd written it.”

—Meg Rosoff, author of the Michael L. Printz award winner How I Live Now

Recommended for: older teens, anyone with a large family or a treasure trove of stories from family gatherings, fans of contemporary young adult novels, and those looking for honest fiction.

family notions

Elizabeth and I have been trading writing prompts, and this is her latest for me: “Kids are too expensive. You can only afford two.” Respond.

First, I want to clarify that I’m not a parent, and I’m not in a position to even think about being a parent. So these thoughts and opinions are necessarily born of inexperience. I’m not commenting on any specific situation or family dynamic except my own upbringing. And I’m definitely NOT judging folks who choose not to have children or who choose to raise their children in a specific environment. These are only my thoughts (and thank you?, Elizabeth, for giving me a topic that makes these stipulations necessary).

I’m the oldest of five. I’m the oldest of five raised in a typical suburban household in the Metro Seattle area. I’m the oldest of five kids raised in a one-income household. I’m the oldest child of a tribe, a clan, or perhaps just a very well-loved and close-knit family. I’m well aware that families of five are rare these days. You don’t have to tell me…I’m probably the only one who remembers the looks my mom got (and they weren’t friendly), the snide remarks, the ‘amazement’ that wasn’t complimentary. Now that we’re older and seem to have turned out well, I tell people how my mom had five children age 7 and under at one point, and they can only comment that she was very brave.

But the fact was we lived in a very normal house in a very normal neighborhood, surrounded by families with 2.5 kids and unaccustomed to anything out of the ordinary. Later on we met families with eight, or even ten children. How did my parents (and those other families) do it, when so many people these days have trouble imagining supporting more than two kids? I think the answer comes in two parts: they made important sacrifices, and that once those were implemented, three or four children weren’t necessarily less expensive than five.

Things that DO make children expensive: diapers, brand-name clothing (brand-name anything, really), shoes (kids grow out of them so fast!), sports and hobbies, eating out, traveling and vacations. Probably there are plenty more that I missed. But maybe you can see where I’m going? My parents made sacrifices that reduced the costs associated with feeding, clothing, entertaining and providing a roof over our heads. Thankfully they didn’t skimp on diapers.

Examples! My parents didn’t buy me new clothing, and found me discount shoes. Thrift stores, hand-me-downs, and gifts were our friends. If I wanted new clothes, I had to buy them for myself. It was a tough policy, maybe, but it taught me responsibility and self-reliance. And not to be too proud to find a bargain or reuse and recycle. The whole family played the same sports until high school. This cut down on equipment, training and traveling costs for competitions, and made it possible for us all to get together in the evenings. We RARELY ate out. No delivery pizza or drive-through fast food when you could shop for bulk food and make it at home!

For family vacations we camped and visited historic locations (preferably without an entrance fee). If we flew, we were extremely careful about expenses. We played board games and cards and used the library liberally rather than go to the movies or the arcade or to play mini-golf. My dad built us tree forts with spare plywood in lieu of buying a swing set. We played kick-the-can and flashlight tag instead of video games and laser tag. We visited local parks, volunteered at church, went hiking, belonged to the local pool. If we wanted a car, we paid for it, for the insurance, and for the gas.

And my parents didn’t pay for college. You heard that right. We knew growing up that my mom and dad had made a lot of sacrifices. That they’d given us a pretty normal life on one income. We also knew that they expected us to be resourceful, and find our own way to pay for school. It’s not that they didn’t value education, because they definitely did. I was homeschooled for six years because my mom didn’t feel like the local public school was doing a decent job, and then I went to a private high school. And my other siblings were homeschooled and privately schooled as well, for varying amounts of time. It’s just that there were different expectations. If you want to go out of state, you find some place to give you a scholarship or you take out loans. Four of us went to a great college in Pennsylvania. The youngest is getting his AA at a local tech school in a trade, and will make bank when he’s done.

If you go over the things I’ve mentioned, it sounds frugal, sure. But it’s also not un-imaginable. I think sometimes the money argument against more children is a lack of creativity, or an unwillingness to realize that you CAN raise children on less than you imagine. Is it always fun? No. Is it easy to cut those costs? No. Is it hard to say ‘no’ to a child? Yes. Is it doable? Yes. I know so because I’m the child of just such an upbringing. I’m a big advocate of larger families, if the parents are capable. I’m not talking Jon and Kate Plus 8 here. I’m talking about parents who stay together (yes, forever!) and are committed to raising their children with a certain philosophy. Siblings who are best friends, who can’t imagine growing up any other way, who as adults still can make a party happen just by getting out a Monopoly game board. And if you’re willing to raise two or three children that way, then another couple are going to add to the joy, not the burden. Because it is joy.

The siblings, Christmas 2008

My sister suggested that I end by examining the ‘what if’ scenario. What if my parents had stopped after having two healthy kids? They certainly wouldn’t have been quite so stretched for funds. Maybe they could have helped us pay for college. Maybe we’d still be best friends. But we’d probably be a bit spoiled and a lot brattier, because instead of two girls and three boys, my parents would only have two girls. No Peter (training to be a fireman), no Lincoln (thinking about heading to seminary), and no rambunctious Joey. There’d be a whole different dynamic to our family. There wouldn’t be anyone who looks exactly like my Grandpa Hal, no slow-talking, sweet-natured giant, and no teddy bear of a boy-man who is so enthusiastic about life that you can't help but be caught up with him. There wouldn’t be three tall, deep-voiced, athletic and hilarious boys complaining about their bossy (and wild) older sisters. We’d be missing part of ourselves, even if we didn’t know it. I can't tell you how glad and grateful I am that my parents decided to have a big family, even though it was late in life and necessitated sacrifice. I truly believe that adding five well-adjusted, loving and decent people to the planet's population qualifies my parents for instant hero status.

coffee obsession: the beginnings

I am a coffee addict. Not recovering, not proud, just…addicted. I established that fact in my very first blog post, actually. What I haven’t shared so far is the story of how I arrived at this state of affairs. It all began in my twelfth summer…

Actually, back that up. I’m fairly sure (although NO, I don’t have any DNA or genetic marker evidence in front of me at the moment) that my coffee obsession is inherited. I say this because every one of my mother’s siblings is a little obsessive about hot drinks. I know, it sounds bonkers. It probably is. But my theory is that there is a hot beverage addiction that runs on my mother’s side of the family. Coffee and tea, mostly, but after years of observing my own relations, I know that hot chocolate and hot water will do just as well in a pinch. I have an uncle who does NOT leave the house without at least one thermos of hot tea, and who orders it either hot or iced at every meal. My mother will not leave the house without a hot beverage, regardless of lateness or number of people waiting. And then there’s my own unhealthy obsession. So it all started with genetic predisposition, and watching my mother drink prurient amounts of coffee throughout my childhood. My dad, on the other hand, gave up coffee sometime before I can remember it clearly. And I remember my mother admonishing us kids several times when we were younger and telling us that we should never drink coffee, or we’d end up like her (and for a while, that was a very successful threat, let me tell you!).

But to get back to my twelfth summer: the long and the short of it is that I went to summer camp. Summer camp was glorious (just thought I’d put that in there as I’ve recently met people who had dismal experiences). I adored the early morning Reveille wake-up calls, the activities, crafts, Frisbee, water slide, inner-tubing on the lake, water balloon wars, evening speakers, singing by the campfire and enormous late-night games of kick-the-can, flashlight tag or pony express. It was FUN. It was also incredibly tiring. Even kids who normally careen off the walls can be over-scheduled at camp. So by the fifth night or so, I needed an infusion of something to keep up my energy levels. Wonder of wonders, the camp cafeteria had coffee. Coffee had mystical powers back then. Sure, it tasted gross (I’d sipped some from my mothers’ cup on previous occasions), but it smelled delicious, I knew that it helped keep you awake, and all of the counselors guzzled it as if it were ambrosia. Its merits were therefore several: it had a strange usefulness, popularity, and the allure of (possibly) conferring ‘maturity’ upon its drinker.

I downed a couple of cups at every breakfast thereafter, and went home to tell my astonished (and unhappy, I’m afraid) mother, fait accompli, that “I drink coffee now.” It was relatively easy to so pronounce it as an established fact. I knew my mind and what I wanted and thought I deserved, but looking back I might have also been in a ‘forceful’ stage (nicer than saying ‘bratty’ straight out). Of course that experience didn’t immediately morph into my present addiction, but it was the start. At the end of the same summer we went on a family vacation to a beach in Maine, and there were plans to watch the sun rise over the Atlantic. One morning at 6am, shivering in the cold and a little damp from sea spray, I was included in the 'adults-only' coffee-drinking group for the first time.

And I have been a coffee imbiber ever since. My mother is very thankful to report that none of her other children have taken up the habit (although Lincoln will drink a cup to be sociable).

To end with, the YouTube clip that inspired this post:

lincoln

I’m the oldest of five kids. We’re all really close in age, but with two girls and then three boys, you can imagine that there was a bit of a divide in responsibilities, activities and personalities. Right now I am being visited by #4 in line, Lincoln. He’s hanging out in my TINY Atlanta apartment until he has to report for his summer internship. It’s been fun (and dare I say it, lazy?), but consequences of two people trying to share this much (or little, as it were) space are by turns hilarious, annoying, and ridiculous.

Maybe I should explain a bit about Link. He’s almost 21, very witty, athletic, slightly introverted leaning strongly towards social, and a multi-talented guitar player, juggler, unicycle rider and reader of Ancient Greek. I also, by way of explanation to my friends, describe him as the sibling most like me, in pure personality terms. We’re both private people with serious social tendencies, we’re basically intellectual, and we like the same foods. There was a point in my childhood where I thought Lincoln was mine. Not as in, I thought he was my child, but I felt very proprietary about him. I would translate his toddler mumblings for my mother, make his sandwiches at lunchtime (we were the only two who refused to eat mayonnaise), and read to him from picture books.

Lincoln has grown into an interesting, humorous and amusing young man. He doesn’t dispute my assessment of our similarities, but to be fair and balanced (for posterity and for when he reads this post later and is horrified) I asked him the other night how he thought we were different. I, of course, proffered the question with the attending statement, “Beyond the obvious stuff. Like you’re a guy and I’m a girl, etc.” This is what he came up with. 1. He’s just plain better looking. 2. He likes camping more than I do. 3. He has different interests, including a different major (Christian Thought…I was Spanish), different musical tastes (he likes The Beatles and oldies in general, basically everything except and I quote “stupid rap and hardcore scream-o. And heavy metal.”), and he swing dances.

Lincoln is a self-confessed lyrical learner. Or something like that. Basically he knows all the lyrics to any song he’s ever heard, and will start singing at the least provocation if he makes a connection between conversation and song lyrics. He’s also been enjoying sitting on my bed, strumming his guitar and making up song lyrics. In the space of writing this post, he’s made up songs disparaging my pet rat, praising jelly beans, and disagreeing with my decision to see a movie later tonight. It’s a trait he gets from my dad, this making-up-nonsense-songs bit. You would think it would be endlessly annoying, but he’s FUNNY. It’s not fair. If I were bugging him this consistently, I would be the evil, nagging, bossy, boring sister. But he just has this quality that makes you laugh or at least smile and lose any anger you were trying to hold onto. Which makes him great entertainment.

So I’m enjoying his visit. We’ve been to a Braves game, out to dinner a couple of times, and around my neighborhood. We’re saving the Georgia Aquarium and the World of Coca-Cola for Monday. And no week would be complete without some misadventure. So far we’ve (correction: he has) broken the hot water tap on the shower, had to trek down past the airport to find a bank he could make a deposit at, and woken up most days at 11am or later. That’s where the lazy comes in. And last night we tried to go to Twain’s, a cool bar in Decatur to play pool, and got kicked out because the small one is too young (lest you think he is actually short, he’s 6’5”…"small one” is just my nickname for him). These events, combined with the fact that this must be the only 10-day stretch of the year in Atlanta without a predicted sunny day are conspiring to make his visit somewhat ridiculous. Fun, yes, but still ridiculous.

He's asking now if he'll want to read what I've written. The words libel and slander were bandied about. So little faith!

adventures in flight

It has been rather a long time since I last posted.  In the meantime, I’ve been to my brother Peter’s college graduation (from my own alma mater), and afterward road-tripped back down to Georgia with the next youngest sibling, Lincoln.  He is visiting me here in Atlanta for a week and a half before he goes off to his summer internship in South Carolina.  A state which is not that far from Atlanta, really.  At least, it doesn’t look like it on a map.  It’s a quarter inch to a half inch away, depending on how big your map is.

Anyway, with such goings on and traveling things, I haven’t been near a computer in a while, and am hopelessly backed up with fun little stories and adventures (many of which I have already forgotten or will forget and not post).  I likely wouldn’t have gotten around to blogging at all until Lincoln was gone if I hadn’t had the (bad) luck to get a cold.  So now, though I feel like putty recently scraped off a wall in a tenement somewhere, I have the time to write.  Er, blog.  In case you wondered, Lincoln is feeling well, and is out on the porch reading.  I am the invalid resting indoors on a perfectly lovely day.  Who knows what that fresh air might do to me!  I could get well!  Or something. 

The following is a bit of an entry that I started at the Atlanta airport when I was on my way to the graduation last Thursday.  It seems vaguely wasteful not to post a paragraph’s worth of useful material, so I’ll begin there.

The Wednesday night before I flew out, I went to see Star Trek (2009) for the second time.  I heartily enjoyed the film the first time around, when I saw it with friends on opening day, and I had to share the experience with Elizabeth, my fellow movie buddy here in Atlanta.  She was skeptical.  Said she wouldn’t go see it.  I offered to pay for her ticket.  She acquiesced (and drank cider in the theater!).  I think we both enjoyed it.  Last night I found myself at yet another showing of Star Trek with Lincoln, because he didn’t want to go alone.  He paid for tickets, and I really can’t complain, but please, oh please!, next time I go to a movie, can we see something new?  I was trying to remember last night if I’d ever seen another movie thrice in theaters, and the only thing I could come up with was Pirates of the Caribbean: The Curse of the Black Pearl.  And that was only because it was playing on the $1 screen at my college campus the last two times.

Having said all that, Star Trek gets 5 stars.  It’s fun, it’s big, it’s action, it’s personal conflict and growth, it’s flashy, new and exciting.  In other words, everything you want a summer movie to be.  Elizabeth and I did go and see Wolverine, the first true summer movie, and it was mediocre and left me feeling unsatisfied.  Trek does not leave you feeling anything but full of excitement and maybe a little wonder at the glory that is big time film-making.  May all the rest of the summer movie lineup be as enjoyable.

Odd note:  Leonard Nimoy, who played Spock in the original TV series, makes an appearance in the new film.  When I was listening to his dialogue, a little sensor went off in the back of my brain, and I kept thinking, ‘Where do I know this guy from?’  He was strangely familiar, but I’ve never watched the TV series or anything… so that was a really peculiar feeling.  Then I looked up his imdb.com profile, and voila!  Nimoy is the voice behind Civ IV, my one admitted computer gaming habit.  It was his voice that is always saying things like “As the potter is to the clay…” and “I got pig iron, I got pig iron!” to me in the middle of the night from my laptop speakers.  Weird.  With a capital ‘W.’  He has a nice, deep voice that sounds very like the grandfather in all of the stories that I’ve ever read.  Well, you know how when you’re reading (to yourself, silently) you give the characters voices to differentiate them?  No?  I’m the only one who does this?  Yeesh.  Maybe I should talk to someone about that…

Now where did I leave off on the real storyline?  Oh yes.  So the night before I left I went and saw a movie.  That was not the best choice.  Because the next morning I’d made plans to breakfast with my mother’s cousins (they’re from Portland, but were visiting Atlanta for a week, and wanted to see me), and I wanted, hypothetically, to sleep at some point.  Between packing and a head that wouldn’t stop whirring (happens a lot, I’m thinking of getting it replaced.  Anyone have a spare brain floating around?), I slept a maximum of two hours.  And then went to a very agreeable breakfast at a place called The Flying Biscuit.  This restaurant has a couple of locations, and is something of an Atlanta institution.  We went to the one Candler Park.  I had an amazing raspberry French toast breakfast and listened and laughed at the foibles of the extended family, and was toted back to my apartment in time to head off to my flight.

I rode to the airport with Elizabeth (she keeps cropping up, doesn’t she?), because her flight left at approximately the same time as mine, and Why waste a good ride to the airport when there’s one to be had?, which isn’t my motto, but is probably someone’s out there.  There are enough people on the planet to practically ensure that.  The plane that arrived prior to mine hailed from Sarasota.  Watching the off-loading process was quite a kick.  I don’t think I’ve ever seen so many airport attendants (aka wheelchair helpers) preparing to greet a single flight.  The plane was absolutely chock-full of the elderly.  And when I use that term, I don’t mean anyone with grey hair.  I mean a physically impaired, possibly walking with a canister of oxygen at their side type of crowd.  Sarasota is a popular destination with the old, old set, apparently.

And then, lickety-split, I was on my own plane and off to Pittsburgh.  Star space, flying biscuits, and plane rides…that’s enough winging for a while!

presenting mellicent

This is the part where I introduce my pet. Pet in grad student speak equals attempt to stave of insanity by adopting something alive/warm (and preferably furry) that will love you unconditionally, no matter how many deadlines you miss or how stressed you get. So it makes sense that lots of grad students have pets. Especially those of us without roommates. After Christmas, a friend of mine got a cat from a local shelter, and I was thinking of my own situation, imagining how nice it would be…

But I live in a postage stamp-sized apartment, and I travel quite a bit, and a cat or dog is a big commitment. I mean, they live for like 15 years! That’s obligation, dedication, a lot of time I wasn’t quite ready to pledge when I don’t even have a five year plan…

So I thought to myself, what’s still a warm, fuzzy pet, and semi-intelligent but isn’t going to live forever, is portable, and awesome? The answer is: a RAT. Now, before you start questioning my sanity (though I do, quite often), I need to explain about my pet history. My dad, when he was young, had just about any pet you can think of. You name them, his family had them. My mom’s side is a little more traditional…I think there was a golden retriever and maybe a cat. BUT! The important bit is that in my immediate family, we adopted more of my dad’s pet-keeping strategy. While I was growing up, we had cats (3, but only one at a time), a dog, a rabbit, two gerbils, two parakeets, a degu (cross between a chinchilla and a squirrel) and a rat. Guess which small animal was the universal family favorite? Whiskers, the tan-colored rat. He was seriously awesome. Would crawl good-naturedly all over you, and explore anything and everything. PLUS, all the neighborhood kids thought it was edgy and cool that we had a rat (well, he was my brother Lincoln’s, but Whiskers didn’t discriminate in his affection). We all cried at Whiskers’ funeral, and buried him with pomp and paper flowers in the backyard. Yes, I’m serious. With that kind of good experience, I thought, “Why not again?”

I got a friend to take me rat shopping (much to her chagrin, and trust me, she was trying to convince me to get a cat the whole time), and we looked at a couple of stores (I went the big-box store route). One I shall not name had rats basically just as snake bait, which was terrible, and we left in a hurry. The other had quite the selection: several different colors and sub-genres, including white, blue (really a slate gray), beige, Dumbo (ears on the side of the head), etc. I scoped them all out, and bought a smallish blue with the least-gross tail. I know that may not be the best selection method, but really, think about it. What is it that turns people a little green when you talk about rats? It’s the idea of the tail. Well, my little choice has a fairly decent one.

So I brought her home, named her Mellicent (means ’honey’ in French), or Melli for short, and we get along fine. She looks like Remy from Ratatouille, likes to sit on my shoulder or explore said small apartment, and I have a tiny companion to make me laugh and keep me sane.Everyone thinks I’m weird, of course. I am, I’ll admit that. But a pet rat is probably one of my less-weird decisions. And anyway, she grows on you. Several friends have admitted that their anti-rat prejudice was actually based on reputation, and they think Melli is either cute or at least tolerable. See for yourself!

More tales and adventures to follow, of course.