tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-17135098334250240712024-03-14T06:08:29.978-04:00 bingbangcrashboomThe more people watched the faster and better they dug.*Emilyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11874668283871295532noreply@blogger.comBlogger225125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1713509833425024071.post-35929555573190226722022-07-06T08:22:00.000-04:002022-07-06T08:22:47.506-04:00Let's start with Skeet<p> It's summer again. School let out on June 29, 2022. This sounds like I am beginning a dystopian novel, but I wouldn't do that. Life is hard enough without imagining something worse. The past two years I have been working as an elementary school librarian with my sidekick, Skeet. We had some good times. We made people laugh, we read some great books, and then the show ended. If I had had the resources I would have finished program year, with Skeet launching into the atmosphere to return home to Planet Snurp. I have thought about doing birthday parties. Anyway.</p><p>It's summer again, and I will be teaching at a different school in the fall. A school where I got my first job in a library. A school where I will be Auntie librarian. This is great in theory. </p><p>But the summer again. A blank canvas? A comeuppance? It's a challenge for me to slow down so abruptly. My mind has a chance to catch up on all the wondering and worries I hadn't had time to consider during the school year. But I am trying to rewire a few things. I want to build patterns of thought that are uplifting to myself and others. Others, meaning the people living in my home. All 700 square feet of it. There isn't much extra room to blow off steam. Yes, we moved again. Raising teenagers is SO HARD. </p><p>Their minds and their persons are beautiful to watch flourish and develop on the good days. But, Lord on the needs-improvement days, I feel like punching my hand through drywall. I didn't realize how repetitive parenting would be. I am saying the same things I have been saying for over a decade, just louder. Deep breath. My summer mantra is: Present Moment. Beautiful Moment. And my prayer is: May we be devoted to you with our whole heart, and united to one another with pure affection. Yes, i have started praying again. I need all the unseen musings to help me believe that it won't always be this hard. Parenting, not life. I have given up on thinking that life gets easier. </p><p>For what it's worth:</p><p></p><ul style="text-align: left;"><li><a href="https://docs.google.com/document/d/1KyXhEk1PdPhpJIMijEbR9bSUYd3B4YobMkjjke93LAQ/edit?usp=sharing">Skeet's Unofficial Summer Reading List</a></li><li>I'm reading my college professor's <a href="https://www.goodreads.com/book/show/58438531-african-founders">new book</a> that he had been working on for DECADES!</li><li>I just finished, <a href="https://www.goodreads.com/book/show/56461570-beautiful-country">Beautiful Country</a>. it was BEAUTIFUL. </li></ul><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh3LRxaTW_jJD0TCjJkGbwwmP-dd0_81Qq5vsPbkQT3At8w0oH50CcsAr3lAhZWz1i0Wu0Un_z0wX4C6lRL_rwvoLuxdlmgffs9noF1_1PSabBRvdt4CVJ-wrWOUQ_7MAdD3sptsTTpOmm5QPKOQX6G9EkUbAIM6JOmBAyWD1Zt1uCeENF4Fi0XY0Le/s556/Emily%20and%20Skeet.PNG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="556" data-original-width="496" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh3LRxaTW_jJD0TCjJkGbwwmP-dd0_81Qq5vsPbkQT3At8w0oH50CcsAr3lAhZWz1i0Wu0Un_z0wX4C6lRL_rwvoLuxdlmgffs9noF1_1PSabBRvdt4CVJ-wrWOUQ_7MAdD3sptsTTpOmm5QPKOQX6G9EkUbAIM6JOmBAyWD1Zt1uCeENF4Fi0XY0Le/w356-h400/Emily%20and%20Skeet.PNG" width="356" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Me and Skeet.</td></tr></tbody></table><br /><div><br /></div><p></p>Emilyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11874668283871295532noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1713509833425024071.post-38813735559349480282020-05-31T12:21:00.002-04:002020-05-31T12:21:37.040-04:00A Morning In MayWhen you sit by an open window while the lilacs are in bloom you can be easily tricked into thinking the world is a perfect and wonderful place. Perfume in the air transports. Ignorance is bliss. The windwoman sings you her wonderful ripply song. But ignorance this morning is impossible. People protest, and shout, and stand. Things are burning. Good things and bad things. The belief that things are better than they once were is up in flames. It's hard to imagine what will be born from the ashes.<br />
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This week, I discovered a new resource called <a href="https://openlibrary.org/" target="_blank">Open Library</a>. I found it looking for a book called, <i>Bright April</i> by Marguerite de Angeli. I was looking for <i>Bright April </i>because Carla Hayden, the fourteenth Librarian of Congress said that it was her favorite book in a <a href="https://www.nypl.org/blog/2020/05/22/125th-anniversary-video-reading-brings-us-together" target="_blank">video celebrating the New York Public Library's 125th birthday</a>. According to Wikipedia, <i>Bright April, </i>published in 1946 was the first children's book to address the
divisive issue of racial prejudice, a daring topic for a children's book
of that time.<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhIQnEJzZwBTlV6NpkQBCQfQf_xUTPOEiUROgY9tiKCZTfsJ-rXK9RhNaeLGJp0CR2cj7F72AR45ipvS8ut0r8U8gtDVKMc27uShnKDVjJr4sSDJ3xj2Yg5NplCJwFaKiN8ktiuSB8J93w/s1600/Bright_April.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="327" data-original-width="305" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhIQnEJzZwBTlV6NpkQBCQfQf_xUTPOEiUROgY9tiKCZTfsJ-rXK9RhNaeLGJp0CR2cj7F72AR45ipvS8ut0r8U8gtDVKMc27uShnKDVjJr4sSDJ3xj2Yg5NplCJwFaKiN8ktiuSB8J93w/s640/Bright_April.jpg" width="596" /></a></div>
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I won't pretend to have helpful words during a time such as this. George Floyd should be alive right now enjoying a beautiful May morning with his family. But instead he is dead because he was killed. Let us disrupt systemic racism, resist easy answers, and talk to our children about race and equality. Justice for George Floyd.<br />
Emilyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11874668283871295532noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1713509833425024071.post-9139275278540557052020-05-15T11:38:00.004-04:002020-05-15T11:38:55.224-04:00The Covid19 Life<blockquote>
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<span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: "arial"; font-size: 11pt; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre;">I hear the voice of Jim Dale in the other room reading to my children. </span></div>
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<span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: "arial"; font-size: 11pt; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre;">I spread orange marmalade on my warm toast. I drink hot coffee from my favorite mug. </span></div>
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<span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: "arial"; font-size: 11pt; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre;">Look at all the things I have. </span></div>
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<span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: "arial"; font-size: 11pt; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre;">And yet I feel like crying. </span></div>
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<span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: "arial"; font-size: 11pt; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre;">Our part of the world is breaking apart and we wonder what it will look like when it's put back together again. </span></div>
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<span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: "arial"; font-size: 11pt; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre;">It is easier not to think about the future. </span></div>
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<span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: "arial"; font-size: 11pt; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre;">Then add rain. </span></div>
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<span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: "arial"; font-size: 11pt; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre;">Showers brings too near a physical representation of how we feel on the inside that is not welcomed even at the prospect of flowers.</span></div>
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<span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: "arial"; font-size: 11pt; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre;">Its easier to push aside the dread while the sun shines. </span></div>
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<span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: "arial"; font-size: 11pt; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre;">The rain confirms your worst fears. </span></div>
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<span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: "arial"; font-size: 11pt; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre;">I attempt to stay in the given moment and remember the good health of the people in my home. </span></div>
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<span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: "arial"; font-size: 11pt; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre;">We are so strong and so fragile.</span></div>
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<span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: "arial"; font-size: 11pt; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre;">Humans are so strong and so fragile.</span></div>
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<span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: "arial"; font-size: 11pt; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre;">Our planet is so strong and so fragile.</span></div>
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<span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: "arial"; font-size: 11pt; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre;">We are both at the same time. </span></div>
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<span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: "arial"; font-size: 11pt; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre;">And yet fragility seems to be the last one standing many days. </span></div>
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<span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: "arial"; font-size: 11pt; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre;">I made chocolate cookies today and it felt like I lassoed the moon. They were sickeningly sweet. </span></div>
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<span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: "arial"; font-size: 11pt; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre;">I rage cleaned the tub while listening to </span><span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: "arial"; font-size: 11pt; font-style: italic; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre;">Americanah </span><span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: "arial"; font-size: 11pt; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre;">by Chimamanda Ngozi Adichie. </span><br />
<span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: "arial"; font-size: 11pt; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre;">For some reason I didn’t feel the usual high from the exertion of completing such a task. </span><br />
<span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: "arial"; font-size: 11pt; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre;">Maybe it was because I only cleaned 70% of it. </span><br />
<span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: "arial"; font-size: 11pt; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre;">Maybe it was because of the mean thought that tells me if I spend time cleaning my house </span><br />
<span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: "arial"; font-size: 11pt; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre;">with my spare forty-five minutes, it means that I won’t be using that time to achieve my goals, </span><br />
<span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: "arial"; font-size: 11pt; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre;">and I must not really want to achieve my goals because I'm choosing to clean instead.</span><br />
<span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: "arial"; font-size: 11pt; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre;"> But how can I really achieve my goals with a repulsive tub in the foreground?</span></div>
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<span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: "arial"; font-size: 11pt; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre;">Interesting how a person’s brain works.</span></div>
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<span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: "arial"; font-size: 11pt; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre;">My spouse says that he doesn’t think he is getting enough work done. </span><br />
<span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: "arial"; font-size: 11pt; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre;">So I said, well maybe you shouldn’t work in the kitchen, it being the high traffic zone that it is.</span><br />
<span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: "arial"; font-size: 11pt; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre;">I agree that he is allowed to vent. But for some reason, I feel somewhat responsible for creating </span><br />
<span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: "arial"; font-size: 11pt; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre;">an unproductive atmosphere. Is that making it about me? This is very possible. </span><br />
<span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: "arial"; font-size: 11pt; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre;">And so I rage clean the small room off the back where life remants have been collecting, </span><br />
<span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: "arial"; font-size: 11pt; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre;">to help create an insulated work cave. One factor that contributed to my guilt is that </span><br />
<span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: "arial"; font-size: 11pt; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre;">there is a part of his job where he has to scour through thousands of pieces of digital chemical samples.</span><br />
<span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: "arial"; font-size: 11pt; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre;"> It's the work that his bosses don’t like to do and work that I wouldn’t touch with a ten foot pole</span><br />
<span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: "arial"; font-size: 11pt; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre;"> and so I feel bad for him. He does it for our family, mostly without complaint. </span><br />
<span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: "arial"; font-size: 11pt; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre;">I know I shouldn’t go so far as feeling guilty, because he still has a job. </span><br />
<span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: "arial"; font-size: 11pt; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre;">He isn’t one of the 20 million people that no longer can claim employment. </span></div>
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<span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: "arial"; font-size: 11pt; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre;">I have a job too. But I don’t have to scour through small bits of data, so distracting me while at work</span><br />
<span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: "arial"; font-size: 11pt; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre;"> takes smaller toll on productivity. But maybe that isn’t true. I am trying to write a short novel. </span><br />
<span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: "arial"; font-size: 11pt; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre;">It’s the personal goal I referred to earlier. But it's really hard to finish it. How do people do it? </span><br />
<span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: "arial"; font-size: 11pt; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre;">I heard Margaret Atwood explain in a Master Class Instagram advertisement that “distractions are the</span><br />
<span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: "arial"; font-size: 11pt; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre;"> biggest hurdle facing a writer.” She said it really pointedly; like, don’t even bother trying to accomplish </span><br />
<span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: "arial"; font-size: 11pt; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre;">anything if you have distractions. I don’t want to give up but it doesn’t seem I have much of a choice. </span><br />
<span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: "arial"; font-size: 11pt; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre;">She very well may be more gentle once you register for her class, but who knows?</span></div>
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<span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: "arial"; font-size: 11pt; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre;">I’m so tired of hearing people, say what day is it? All the radio hosts are saying that. </span><br />
<span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: "arial"; font-size: 11pt; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre;"> Literally I heard three different people say that today on the radio. Check the calendar, people. </span><br />
<span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: "arial"; font-size: 11pt; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre;">It’s not that hard. I know this stay-at-home situation is weird but it has also become kind of old news now.</span><br />
<span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: "arial"; font-size: 11pt; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre;"> This is our situation. And it's time to put our game face on. </span></div>
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<span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: "arial"; font-size: 11pt; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre;">I bought a new game for the family to play and no one wants to play it. That's cool.</span><br />
<span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: "arial"; font-size: 11pt; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre;"> It was more about online shopping than anything else. I'm sure we will get to it one day. </span><br />
<span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: "arial"; font-size: 11pt; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre;">And I'm sure when we do play the game it will be the cause of many tears and insults and strife, </span><br />
<span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: "arial"; font-size: 11pt; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre;">so maybe it's better that no one wants to play it. </span></div>
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<span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: "arial"; font-size: 11pt; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre;">Joy comes when my twin sister and I realize we have been drinking the same brand of coffee </span><br />
<span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: "arial"; font-size: 11pt; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre;">during the days of social distancing. And it comes again when we describe the same coincidental</span><br />
<span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: "arial"; font-size: 11pt; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre;"> t-shirt purchase from an online retailer. The victory that our psyches have not been socially distanced </span><br />
<span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: "arial"; font-size: 11pt; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre;">carries me through a few hours of not fretting about the future. </span></div>
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<span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: "arial"; font-size: 11pt; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre;">Often my days are marked by two anchors; a cup of coffee in the morning and a glass of wine</span><br />
<span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: "arial"; font-size: 11pt; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre;"> in the evening. I never tire of these daily milestones. As if auditioning for the lead in a coffee commercial, </span><br />
<span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: "arial"; font-size: 11pt; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre;">I breathe in deeply the aroma of my coffee. And like Paul Giamatti at the beginning of the movie, </span><span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: "arial"; font-size: 11pt; font-style: italic; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre;">Sideways</span><span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: "arial"; font-size: 11pt; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre;"> </span><br />
<span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: "arial"; font-size: 11pt; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre;"> I close my eyes and take teeny sips of my wine in search of oak or blackberries or whatever</span><br />
<span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: "arial"; font-size: 11pt; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre;"> even if its being poured from a box. I don't want my friends the drinks to leave me because </span><br />
<span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: "arial"; font-size: 11pt; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre;">the moments in between are complicated. As my coffee loses its heat it signals that life’s </span><br />
<span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: "arial"; font-size: 11pt; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre;">business is pressing in around me, unavoidable. </span></div>
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<span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: "arial"; font-size: 11pt; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre;">I read headlines that the return to school in the fall is going to be complicated. </span><br />
<span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: "arial"; font-size: 11pt; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre;">I will be working at a public school librarian and the thought of safely gathering a group of</span><br />
<span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: "arial"; font-size: 11pt; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre;"> first graders on the rug for a story sounds impossible. What will we do? </span><br />
<span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: "arial"; font-size: 11pt; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre;">What kind of shape will we all be in at that point? </span></div>
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<span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: "arial"; font-size: 11pt; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre;">I am reading aloud </span><span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: "arial"; font-size: 11pt; font-style: italic; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre;">Anne of Green Gables</span><span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: "arial"; font-size: 11pt; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre;">. Last night, we just read the chapter where Anne</span><br />
<span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: "arial"; font-size: 11pt; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre;"> comes in first place on her entrance exams to Queens. </span><br />
<span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: "arial"; font-size: 11pt; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre;">Mathew knew all along this would be the case. </span><br />
<span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: "arial"; font-size: 11pt; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre;">The joy of fiction overwhelms me in this moment. </span><br />
<span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: "arial"; font-size: 11pt; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre;">It is the most beautiful escape. </span></div>
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<span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: "arial"; font-size: 11pt; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre;">Yesterday, I finished </span><span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: "arial"; font-size: 11pt; font-style: italic; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre;">The Warmth of Other Suns </span><span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: "arial"; font-size: 11pt; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre;">by Isabel Wilkerson. </span></div>
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<span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: "arial"; font-size: 11pt; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre;">This book is deeply moving and an education of the highest order. </span></div>
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<span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: "arial"; font-size: 11pt; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre;">The characters grip your heart until they become a part of you. </span></div>
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<span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: "arial"; font-size: 11pt; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre;">I feel like I am plagiarizing something when I write that mini review, but it is so true. </span></div>
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Emilyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11874668283871295532noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1713509833425024071.post-4677954730403958722019-07-16T17:56:00.002-04:002019-07-16T17:57:16.509-04:00AdventuringWhen people ask me if I like being a twin I often reply, "yes, but of course its all I've ever known." I could write volumes about what <a href="http://foodandtheamericanindustrialcity.blogspot.com/" target="_blank">my sister</a> means to me as a friend and family member but sometimes the relationship is best expressed as having someone to embark with on a semi-preposterous adventure and be able to pull it off. This past Friday morning the two of us mothers and five children between us drove down to Ocean City, NJ. Our goal was to visit a place that brought us much amusement as children and to share it with our own. The place is largely untouched from when we were kids and so it succeeds in bringing the same kind of cheap yet meaningful thrills that it always has. The familiarity yields great reward. We don't have to think about where to go, or what to do because the prescription has always been the same.<br />
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The two of us share a spontaneity gene. In our minds, a carefully laid plan can bring on its own set of anxieties and so the thought of throwing everyone in a rental car for such a trip brings a variety of freedom and excitement that makes summer feel like a genuine adventure. We searched far and wide for a beach rental to house our crew for the night to no avail, so the only plausible alternative was to head back north and stay over in NYC, right? Right! After four and a half hours of fun in the sun, pizza and birch beer, porpoise sightings, salt water taffy, and the tilt-a-whirl we hop back in the car and head for the Lincoln tunnel. Two hours later we are pulling onto West 97th street, find free parking out front and step in to our lodgings for the night. The hotel was really more of a hostel and providentially and affordably perfect. All seven of us slept comfortably thanks to the friendliest staff in town and a few pallets on the ground. In the morning Lenny's Bagels welcomed us as did the Westside Market for everything a body could need for the last leg home.<br />
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I nearly forgot to tell you about the other companion on our journey. His name is Samuel West. We owe so much to dear Sam. He faithfully narrates Phillip Pullmans <i>Grimm Tales for Young and Old </i>for us and the trip really couldn't have been possible without this friend of ours. He's quite a flexible chap and I recommend bringing Mr. West with you for any trip planned in the near future.<br />
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<i> </i>We completed our mission safely and generally unscathed. I will not bore you with the finer details in an epilogue to this story. But to keep things a bit honest I will say that some sleep was lost and that the eldest of the youths has always struggled with this sort of deficit and began to show some signs of behavioral decline in the immediate hours and days after.<br />
I will also say it was worth enduring and that I am thankful we took on this challenge.Emilyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11874668283871295532noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1713509833425024071.post-61425966279913711772019-07-10T10:48:00.000-04:002019-07-10T14:01:35.779-04:00On gratitudeThe thing about social media that I hate is the breeziness of it all. Oh just a few pictures here of an exotic vacation. Oh and a few pictures there of a gathering financed by family heads so that children and grandchildren can congregate with nary a worry. No big deal. This kind of stuff happens all the time right? Wrong. Firstly, it is has never been easy for me to be light and informal. I was a serious child, and then became a serious adult. I try to participate in certain forms of social media when I channel my easy going self. I post things that may also appear glossy and enjoy the glossy posts of others. But in my natural more broody state what I hate the most about social media are the constant questions I ask myself. Are you grateful for what you have? Are you content without all the beautiful things? And sometimes I have to realize, no I'm not very grateful. In the summer in the Cambridge when it feels like everyone has evacuated the hot city streets for their cottages in the country, it is hard for me not to think about how much better my life would be with one of those places too. It makes me miss my mother who would be throwing my sister and I lifelines of help, both emotional and physical. It is likely she would be hosting these sorts of moments for her own family. It feels like we lost everything when she died, and the things that she took with her like stability, love, assurance, kindness are gone forever and ever. This is not true. But it sure feels true.<br />
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I have much to be grateful for. The city of Cambridge offers middle school students free math mornings from 8:30-11:30 and my own very reluctant middle schoolers are enrolled. Yay. It has been beautiful outside. I have a cat, a family, a sister. I have libraries. I am in good physical (not to be confused with mental) health. My kids got to swim with Canadian geese yesterday.These are real blessings. Everyday I want to see these things and be glad.<br />
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The library came up with this game for adult summer readers and I am having so much fun.<br />
I wish us all more gratitude (and luxuries..shhhh).Emilyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11874668283871295532noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1713509833425024071.post-19713391294843097422019-07-05T17:29:00.002-04:002019-07-05T17:29:57.511-04:00How to make mochi and live deliberately If you give a thirteen year old a cookbook he's going to make mochi. When they make mochi, they are going to want some ice cream to go with it. This is what we have been up to this summer. Myles checked out three ten pound cookbooks and has been pouring over them ever since. He made mochi today, and vanilla ice cream and a then dairy free version, for a family dietary need. He and I have been like two partners waltzing through summer. Stumbling over each other's feet, finding our stride, and happy enough at the end of the day for from the effort of surviving the first days well enough. We hosted our 1st annual Auntie Camp. Myles was the lead counselor. He led littles on treasure hunts, selfie photo shoots, and water balloon games. I couldn't have done it without him.<br />
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What does it mean to live deliberately? This is what Myles asked me this morning when we visited the site of Thoreau's house in woods by Walden pond. And so we contemplated that question. I do know are minds are torn asunder by distractions of the physical and non, and so I alluded to that struggle. And then prayed that the pond could offer its own answers.<br />
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Emilyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11874668283871295532noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1713509833425024071.post-20556637961331399262019-06-24T09:56:00.000-04:002019-06-24T09:56:02.410-04:00Resurfacing On Saturday I told the kids, "Today we will journey to Concord." We needed fresh air, cool water, and books. Concord, Massachusetts is good for all of these things. The library is situated downtown and its shelves are overflowing with hard to find books. It smells musty and familiar and is reliably quiet and peaceful. Yes, there are busts of old white men following you with their staring eyes, but there is also Louisa May, thankfully. And she is actually spoken of by the librarians as if her presence lives. They said, "Take the stairs beside Louisa and then a sharp right at the top to find the adult fiction." "Why thank you," I replied enjoying the inclusion of Louisa May in the conversation. The kids each made a stack for checkout. Myles an ambitious one filled with Gaiman artifacts after reading and viewing the momentous <i>Good Omens. </i> Fiona's was smaller. She likes to have one or two carefully selected good books on hand, nothing more.<br />
Afterward we went to Walden Pond for a swim so Fiona could cram for the dreaded swim test. At camp, in order to avoid swim lessons which are scheduled during choice activity slots you have to pass the "stroke test." This requires a swimmer to successfully swim four different strokes for a set distance. Preparing for a swim test in romantic pond is still a chore, but an enjoyable one. (Below is the site of her actual swim test)<br />
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This Saturday felt significant in that I had the freedom of mind to be present. Graduate school responsibilities were not nipping at my heels. My job was to spend time with my kids and give Eric some space to get some of his work done. It was lovely. I hope it goes without saying that it wasn't literally perfect. There were grumbles about the lunch spot choice, and differing opinions about other minor details, but in general it was lovely.<br />
Time has been my friend these days. I find myself sitting and staring and thinking. And I don't feel lavishly idle, like I should be doing something else. It feels restorative and I am thankful. These moments don't come often or freely enough for all of us in this challenging world.<br />
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I am reading the first chapter of piles of young adult books to prepare for a new job this fall. I will be a high school librarian in a nearby town. It wasn't the urban site I had imagined at first, but it was a good offer and one I couldn't afford to pass up. I am looking forward to hanging out with teenagers :)<br />
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<br />Emilyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11874668283871295532noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1713509833425024071.post-43289483517342516372018-10-11T18:13:00.001-04:002018-10-11T18:13:30.410-04:00OctoberOctober is a lovely month, this be true. But it is a bit more challenging to enjoy such a lovely time when it rains every day and your windows are taped shut because the first floor flat you rent is being painted. Our land ladies take wonderful care of our shared home but currently all the light is shut out and there is no end in sight to our situation because of the relentless rain. Like a friend said at work, "Nothing happened to me, I'm fine. It's just the weather." Yes, the weather indeed and a few other things that will go unnamed.<br />
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I believe I mentioned at some point that I was suffering through graduate school? Well that is very much still the case, but right now the blow is a bit softened by the fact that I am currently the full-time caregiver of a beautiful library. This is wonderful in many ways because the birth mother is bettering herself in graduate school as I get valuable work experience and credit towards my degree. It is amazing, and also really hard. And also amazing, and the paper work nightmare is a real thing. I have to create a literal 3 ring binder filled with dead trees etched with lesson plans and photos me standing like the statue of liberty holding a book for all the little people to see. To prove that I am a librarian who does in fact put books into the hands of trusting children. Rant over.<br />
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I have missed you all and this space. But I must tell you that you haven't missed all that much (if anyone is still out there.) There was much weeping and gnashing of teeth as I trained my mind and hand to think like traditional student again. This was not easy. But alongside me the kids did grow a bit in strength and stature which is miraculous and humbling. Praise be to God.<br />
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Today was a good day. I walked Myles to school and met my sister for a warm beverage. Then she showed me some photos of our mother that she had dug up. As we approach All Souls Day and her birthday I can feel the grief cloud thickening and gaining matter. Who knew 11 years later, this blog would be like a wailing wall of sorts for me.<br />
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But it is. The loss of my mother lives with me every day. And with my children. Myles said to me last night, "you know that piece of music that Marmie really liked, Im singing it at Father Jarvis' funeral on Saturday. I guess I had mentioned that she would play a Sarah Brightman CD at her store, Friends & Daughters and on it was <a href="https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=N12zCiY-xWk" target="_blank">Pie Jesu</a>.<br />
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And then moments later (today) my sister and stumbled into this book. I guess Mary Shelley lost her mother at a young age too. For me the most poignant moment of the story is when the brilliant author writes, "As a girl, Mary learned the alphabet by tracing the letters on her mother's tombstone." This book is so beautiful. My siblings and I were raised on the 1931 film courtesy of my <a href="https://www.instagram.com/p/BLgY74rj6pS/?taken-by=cleverlyemily" target="_blank">grandfather</a>, but now I must actually read Shelley's true account. I hope I will soak in some of her kindred spirit as I turn the pages.<br />
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I love being a librarian. The first few times people asked me for some book recommendations, I struggled for words at the wonder of it. This is something that I have dreamed about for a long time. And then I'm doing all the wrong things in the best of ways. Like I'm buying books that I want to give to kids because I'm too impatient to wait for them to arrive the traditional way. I am checking books out for students on my own public library account like their my own children so they can get them faster. And it thrills me.Emilyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11874668283871295532noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1713509833425024071.post-58007524431807738932017-12-23T22:18:00.001-05:002017-12-23T22:18:28.003-05:00A Cloved Christmas<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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There were a few moments in December when I didn't think Christmas would ever come to our household. Always winter but never Christmas. Or if it came I wouldn't recognize it. But like an old friend with a haircut it arrived unchanged. Being "behind" bore its own fruit. The children were patient with me. Fiona decorated a bit on her own and sent a few family Christmas cards while I was in the back room trying to furiously finish off final papers and projects. I missed two of Myles' concerts, but the final one, the Britten one was well worth the wait.<br />
It also meant that I never had time to drive to my favorite local book shop, but instead found treasures waiting for me in the Bryn Mawr used book store down the street; a beautiful fairy tale for Fiona, Agatha Christie paperbacks for Myles, a vintage Beverly Cleary and Rumer Godden for nieces, and more.<br />
But now I am finished and have had a moment to clove an orange with Fiona, get a tree, make some cookies and think about another year gone by with happiness and sorrow both. The mystery of Christmas is upon us and I am thankful that its sanctity disregards our lowly state, prepared or not.Emilyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11874668283871295532noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1713509833425024071.post-20704298417750781742017-09-24T21:20:00.000-04:002017-09-24T21:27:48.189-04:00Eggplant Rituals<div dir="ltr" style="background-color: white; line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;">
<span style="font-family: "arial"; font-size: 12pt; white-space: pre-wrap;">During the agony and ecstasy of fall when harried schedules and responsibilities seek to spoil the storehouses of tranquility from summer, do not despair for that eggplant you are eyeing at the market is asking you to slow down. I am learning to never say no to its invitation. You’ll need to hold it first and give thanks for its marvelous beauty, then peel it, slice it, flour it, dip it, bread it, and yes, fry it. The transfiguration of the aubergine from humbleness to majesty is not an easy endeavor, but there are few other dishes where the reward is greater. Layered in slow-cooked sauce and dry aged cheese and mozzarella, its comfort will keep and give you the most satisfying sandwich for lunch the next day. We bake ours in Eric’s grandmother’s pan who immigrated from Italy as Domenica and then changed her name to Emily. You never want it to end. But then it does and you dream of the next weekend when the ritual is repeated.</span></div>
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<span style="background-color: transparent; font-family: "arial"; font-size: 12pt; white-space: pre-wrap;">These same evenings we cross a few continental countries and read <i>All Things Bright and Beautiful</i> together. It feels like the English literary equivalence to Eggplant Parmesan. It is the perfect lullaby before bed filled with humor and charm and beautiful sentences. These are the days I want to remember. Days filled with good books and eggplants. A life worth savoring. </span></div>
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Emilyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11874668283871295532noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1713509833425024071.post-57395789344282992782017-08-18T17:19:00.001-04:002017-08-18T17:25:35.969-04:00Roll Call in AugustWhen summer is slow and beautiful, the cliches you always hated suddenly become necessary and appropriate. Most of them referring to the passing of time. Our New England summer has been exquisitely beautiful. For weeks we have had cool mornings and pleasantly warm afternoons. Its how you imagine summer to be like. And we all know how often our imaginings come true. I am so thankful for this backdrop. The school year was one of the busiest on record for our family. And when it came to a grinding halt the luxuries that are books and glasses of lemonade reminded us that it is possible to enjoy life and not just endure it. We haven't really done much apart from camp here, farmers market there, and libraries of course. No grand vacations or getaways. Aside from a trip to the Hudson Valley to visit FDR's birthplace we've been home, hosting family, recovering. This is not out of the ordinary for us, but it was welcomed because we all craved rest and open schedules above all. And I'll be the one to admit that I do not enjoy traveling with my kids. I don't think its fun. Like at all. Myles tries to take over as head vacation planner and Fiona just wishes her brother would chill out and that we were back on our street again. So to be able to say that we've read some great books and pent time with family, is all I can ever wish for. And I, myself have been reading with even more of a fervor, for in the fall I am heading back to school to become a full fledged librarian. I am thankful for this opportunity, and only slightly concerned about my current word retrieval abilities. Here are some words this week that other people had to supply me with: 1. Enable 2. self-deprecation 3. congruent. Hopefully grad school will turn this slide around.<br />
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"Despair has a way of making tea taste bad." Despite the summer's blissful temps, 2017 has had a date with despair destiny. The ten year memorial of my mother passed by in June and the months preceding and following have been acute. Acute meaning I've been emotionally flattened by a large eighteen wheeler hauling a wide load of grief across the country to my doorstep. That's what ten years feels like in a nut shell. Worse than ever. My new neighbor obsession who happens to be a Pulitzer Prize winning writer thinks that our subconscious craves a calendar to rationalize loss and express grief, which is why memorials are so freaking hard. I thinks she's right.<br />
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My mom would love this book ( the one I quoted earlier) because its just so British and witty and poignant and true and just flat out great fiction. Reading things that I know she'd love brings me comfort.<br />
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Two graying twins wearing feeble smiles on the memorial day from hell. </div>
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When I am in the depths of despair sometimes the only thing legal and available to me in the quantity I require are raisins. I eat them in excessive amounts and feel my blood sugar soar to dizzying heights. It dulls the pain a bit. I was forced to use this cheap coping mechanism last week when we received news that Myles' beloved literature teacher resigned. I know Marilla condemned Anne when she would travel to the depths of despair preaching that to despair meant to turn one's back on God, but I disagree with this. For me it feels right and good to despair. And only then you can realize that all you actually have is God. I actually sent this teacher a weepy email quoting Anne by saying "It was all too good to be true. You don't want me because I'm not a boy" Okay well I left the last part out, but I felt as grieved as Anne on behalf of Myles and his classmates and of course me, because her emails and book lists I would pour over again and again for their charm and insights. She was priceless. Like the sudden tragic death of beloved aunt we have lost the most passionate caring teacher I have ever come into contact with. She made the school a special place to be and I don't know what it will be like without her. Well actually I do: terrible.<br />
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On a happier note Fiona turned nine in July. One day she was eight and the next she was begging to read the book, <i>Fifteen</i> by Beverly Cleary. This was tough for me. ALL librarians in these parts tell you not censor your child's reading. "If they want to read it, then their ready," to quote the director of libraries in our city. But I've always paused at this advice, because I don't entirely agree with it. But given my new career swing and the fact that it doesn't get more innocent and G rated than Beverly Cleary, I just went with it feigning "no big deal." She then proceeded to read it three times straight through. Hmm. That's all I'll say about that for now.<br />
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Myles read this book a hundred times and labeled, <i>The True Confessions of Charlotte Doyle</i> by Avi one of the best books he's ever read. <br />
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And here are just some therapeutic reads laying around the house in case I run out of raisins. Hehe. Okay, I think we are all caught up.<br />
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<br />Emilyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11874668283871295532noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1713509833425024071.post-70228468933550654322017-04-11T09:24:00.000-04:002017-04-11T09:24:52.839-04:00Beautiful Tony<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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The beauty of this book hurts me a bit. I am happy and sad at the same time. I think I have told you that I tell stories on Sunday mornings. In some of those stories I tell about the complexity of how happiness mixes with sadness to make joy. Like a potion. When I first encountered this concept I didn't really get it or believe it to be true. But now I see. Especially when I read books like this. There is so much emotion in the poem and in the sketches. It is alive. Yes, there is nothing more alive than poetry. I think about how much work it took to make this piece of art and my hand starts to cramp. It must have been painful. Like most things. As I grow older I am struck by how much effort and work it takes to accomplish tasks with excellence. To cook, to clean, to write, to parent, to live. Everything takes more time than I ever thought it would. It is hard to realize this in our American culture. When everything is faster, faster, more, more.<br />
I have reread <i>Bird by Bird </i>by Anne Lamott this past week and it has changed me. I tried to read it about 15 years ago, but I wasn't ready for it. My mind was too small then. Anne Lamott voices universal truths that no one cares to admit. And now her words will help me live through this week and then tell the story. I hope. <br />
<br />Emilyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11874668283871295532noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1713509833425024071.post-72489019460036311012017-04-04T10:03:00.000-04:002017-04-04T10:03:32.724-04:00Reentry<span style="background-color: white;"><span style="color: #222222; font-family: arial, sans-serif;"> When you live in a climate that brings long hard winters, there is a silver lining. During the dark months of the year everyone has the trump card of rotten weather to excuse you from functioning as a normal person. No, I can't leave the house, tonight is hygge night and you aren't invited. No sorry, it doesn't look like we're gonna make it, we wouldn't be able to find our way in all this darkness. Or more believable is, I literally can't see my car because its buried in snow. It is all understood and supported. So here is a tip for you to tuck away. Don't offer to host a dinner party between the days of January 1st and April 15 because you will be praying that snow or indoor borne viruses will require a cancellation and then if its not cancelled you will become angry that you are forced to cook dinner for people who didn't have the good sense to understand that your invitation was a mere gesture. Yesterday was our first day of real Spring weather and I felt panicky realizing that my time was short to say No, thank you to life. This season of reemergence is just awful. All the squinting and awkward chats with people you haven't seen for the last 6 months. There is no where to hide anymore. And once we force our vitamin D deprived selves to step out in our scurvy like condition we are </span></span><span style="background-color: white; color: #222222; font-family: arial, sans-serif;">quite touchy and desperate. I question the normalcy of ever leaving your house. And what do you even do with asparagus? I can't remember. Do I even own a decent t-shirt? Then you find one balled up in the back corner of your drawer, only to realize that it has mysteriously shrunk.</span><br />
<span style="background-color: white; color: #222222; font-family: arial, sans-serif;"> Welcome Spring. Here's to hoping that our vocabulary and conversation skills come back in time for Independence Day. </span><br />
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<span style="background-color: white; color: #222222; font-family: arial, sans-serif;">Here's what we are reading.</span><br />
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<span style="background-color: white; color: #222222; font-family: arial, sans-serif;"><br /></span>Emilyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11874668283871295532noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1713509833425024071.post-68191987027830422592017-03-14T10:34:00.000-04:002017-03-14T15:11:39.562-04:00On a Snow Day<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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On a snow day my thoughts drift to other homes and I wonder what everyone else is doing. I wonder if the students that I helped find books yesterday are enjoying their titles or if they are still buried in their backpacks. Is Alise reading, <i>Al Capone Does My Shirts? </i>Is Rosalind enjoying <i>Sing a Song of Tuna Fish</i>? <br />
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I wonder what will become of us all. <br />
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I wonder what <a href="https://www.nytimes.com/2017/03/03/style/modern-love-you-may-want-to-marry-my-husband.html?_r=0" target="_blank">Amy Krouse Rosenthal's</a> family is doing right now. I think of the years of grief and loss that lay before them and I cringe at how young she was at her death and how young my mother was.<br />
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I think of Shinichi Suzuki's idea that to surrender to the thought of having no talent and give up the effort is cowardly.<br />
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I wonder why I even bother with this annoying blog.<br />
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I wonder about the events in Mia Farrow's life that gave inspiration to this quote: "I get it now, I didn't get it then that life is about losing and doing is as gracefully as possible and enjoying every minute of it." This is my new mantra.<br />
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I wonder if I am creating an environment in my home that will produce abilities in my children so that they will have an easier time enjoying life.<br />
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I wonder if this snow day that brings rest and unrest to our home is doing the same to others.<br />
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I wonder if my manuscript is as terrible as I fear.<br />
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The snow has finally started and now maybe the noise outside will be a background to good things in this home of mine.<br />
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I read the first chapter of <i>Farmer Boy </i>last night to my family<i>. </i>This chapter is one of my favorite first chapters of all time I chose it in hopes that it would ward off any bad omens lingering in the house after a tumultuous weekend. I always turn to it for comfort. After I finished, Fiona told me that it is her favorite chapter in the Little House Books and then Myles crawled in bed with a nightcap of this, <i>Midnight is a Place</i>. I think this is what enjoyment is for me.</div>
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<br />Emilyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11874668283871295532noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1713509833425024071.post-7464879203169055532017-02-28T09:20:00.001-05:002017-03-03T10:34:35.740-05:00Dear Sunshine<div style="text-align: center;">
"Dear sunshine, what a potent medicine you are." </div>
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Before the current day trend of addressing personified seasons in clever captions of social media photos, L. M. Montgomery was a woman ahead of her time. Clearly I am still in the grips of the <i>Emily of New Moon</i> series. Every three paragraphs I pause and marvel at her use of metaphors and impeccable clairvoyance. I am as much enrolled in a writing class as I ever could be. Today the sunshine <i>was</i> the perfect remedy. It appears that New Englanders may be served up a Spring this year. A scandalous claim at this spot on the calendar, but the hope is real.<br />
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I am working on a middle-grade piece of historical fiction, so yesterday when I visited my ninety-five year old friend I shared a bit of the story with her. She then looked at me hard and asked me what the resolution will be. "What is your heroine getting at?" I stared blankly for a minute searching for a simple reply, but nothing came. It was exactly what I needed to be asked and I give thanks for her wisdom and the work that is before me to answer that question. <br />
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"Oh, God, as long as I live give me, 'leave to work.' Thus pray I. Leave and courage."</div>
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I will stop with the Lucy Maud quotes now. <span style="text-align: left;">The other day at the library, this book was lying next to the checkout counter and Myles exclaimed, "Mom that's what my teacher is reading!" In a classic moment of, "I'll have what she's having," I plucked this book up and have been enjoying it ever since. See what you think. </span><br />
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And this one too; such a heart warming tale that contrasts nicely with other fluffy stuff found everywhere.<br />
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Emilyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11874668283871295532noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1713509833425024071.post-7837096202926113262017-02-15T10:15:00.001-05:002017-02-15T10:22:43.501-05:00A FarewellYesterday our cherished local children's librarian retired. There was a farewell gathering hosted in her honor and it was standing room only. Many, many people were touched by her kindness. She is someone that you feel lucky enough to know. As my sister and I stood together listening to her co-workers speak of her unique ability to show love to each patron, young and old we knew we were witnessing a special moment and a precious chapter coming to a close. Her service to her community is something that we will never forget. She created a space between her shelves that sheltered us. It was a comfortable home that we returned to again and again. Whenever we checked out an old, favorite title of hers she would smile and say, "It makes me so happy when I see this go home with someone." And then we would smile thankful to know we were meeting one of her friends. My sister lives on the same street as this local branch, so my nieces and nephew have grown up in her reading room; truly an extension of their home. She blogged about it <a href="http://foodandtheamericanindustrialcity.blogspot.com/2015/10/library-tuesdays.html" target="_blank">here.</a><br />
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It is not often that one experiences life the way it should be. But at this place, this sanctuary; one does. Cue the Cheer's theme song. Thank you, Lise for all that you gave us. May you enjoy the fruits of your labor.<br />
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Here's one of the newer titles that she acquired that I will always remember on account of her.<br />
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Emilyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11874668283871295532noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1713509833425024071.post-88572732329049305292017-02-14T09:54:00.000-05:002017-02-14T10:30:28.931-05:00February <div>
Yesterday was a snow day. One of those glorious snow days that you pray for on a Sunday when the reality of a full week looms before you. I was returning home on the train after attending a conference for writers and illustrators when I heard the news. I shared an Amtrak four seater with three other young women who were congratulating themselves on a job well done after a victorious law school feat that landed them a trophy (which was on display) and a delicious looking chocolate cake which they cut, served, and ate right in front of me without offering me a morsel. I found this rude considering I could smell the desert and obviously would have politely declined had they thought to make the gesture. But they had the manners of pigeons and even after I laboriously inserted the ear plugs I conveniently acquired earlier in the day at one of my workshops titled, <i>Unlocking the Power of your Unconscious Mind</i> they failed to dampen their loud conversations. My hopes of getting some writing done were dashed, therefore the phone call telling me that school was canceled was music to my ears. </div>
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I was reading, <i>Emily Climbs, </i>of the,<i> Emily of New Moon </i>series by L. M. Montgomery.<i> </i>At first I was concerned that the young lasses were going to think I was reading a trashy romance novel due to the dated portrait of a starry eyed damsel on the cover, but as the enchanting and skillful writing of Montgomery swept me away, I proudly held the paperback before me. It was and is the perfect post conference read. </div>
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I learned some things this weekend at the conference. Brian Collier challenged us to make people feel something. Andrea Pinkney said to kill the committee that stands in the way of your writing. Sarah Pennypacker said the story is the boss. And then there was the lady next to me who wants personify her guinea pigs in her next manuscript. Go for it, my friend.</div>
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And so I am back at my kitchen table determined to do these things and hope that one day I will find a home for my stories. </div>
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Emilyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11874668283871295532noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1713509833425024071.post-83399756015656413162017-01-11T16:42:00.003-05:002017-01-11T16:42:59.098-05:00JanuaryPostlude to Christmastide: The review on the back of Rumer Godden's, <i>The Doll's House</i> says it best, " For little girls who love dolls, women who remember dollhouse days, and literary critics who can recognize a masterpiece." This book took Fiona and I on a ride to the edge of a cliff where we stared into the dark abyss below and pleaded for mercy. And we were granted it. Mercy and honor and sacrifice were put in their rightful throne and we will never see things quite the same again.<br />
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Tomorrow Myles turns 11. <i>Asterix</i> and <i>Redwall</i> will always be his first loves. I can still picture his four year old self curled up on a red beanbag chair flipping through the pictures, or listening to Brian Jacques and his band of storytellers read aloud the tales of heroism in a woodland abbey. This past week he has picked <i>Redwall</i> up again to read before bed. How interesting it is how much they change and how much they stay the same.<br />
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Tomorrow we will give him this:<br />
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<br />Emilyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11874668283871295532noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1713509833425024071.post-79095215824712345272016-12-30T21:20:00.000-05:002016-12-30T21:20:00.062-05:00Christmastide <div>
When I want to remember my mother I turn the oven to 425 degrees and roast onions. The delicious, comforting smell that wafts through the kitchen tells me that I am doing something right. My mother loved onions with a passion that caught my attention as a child. I can still hear the delightful crunch they made as she ate smiling while we watched, envious of her pleasure. I remember the feeling of wanting to enjoy something, anything as much as she enjoyed onions. </div>
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The holidays, when virtually everything I do I learned from my mother, are very complicated. I am thankful for the many yuletide traditions that she taught me, but I also feel her absence acutely in carrying them out. Merrymaking and festiveness, together with sorrow; always and forever. This Christmastide week has been quiet and therefore most welcome. There is time to read, reflect, and roast onions and toss them with herbs and a vinaigrette. And then to munch happily in the knowledge that I come very close to matching my mother's enjoyment level of onions and hopefully many other things. </div>
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Here are the books that were given in our home this year:</div>
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PS. I read this today and was swept away. Thanks be to Myles' literature teacher for I am now acquainted with Rosemary Sutcliff.</div>
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Emilyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11874668283871295532noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1713509833425024071.post-77325162371945154822016-11-18T09:52:00.002-05:002016-11-18T09:52:21.721-05:00On a FridayI have begun to work at a school library; Fiona's school library to make things that much more convenient. I love it. I spend three mornings a week placing my favorite books into the hands of first, second, and third graders. I feel humbled that I get to do such gratifying work and I never want to take it for granted. One of my favorite perks is running my hands along the spines of titles that I have never seen before. I grabbed this one as I ran out the door on Wednesday and I can't stop reading it. The words run like a harmonious babbling brook through my mind. Voigt's descriptions paint a vivid picture of coastal Maine as I could not have imagined. And the heroine is name, Clothilde. There's a name that got away. I love seeing it written in type again and again. Clothilde has struggles and asks difficult questions. It feels like a story just right for this day. And there is a lot of charming talk about clam chowder, being in Maine and all.<br />
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"...so it was Clothilde who chopped wood, year-round, for the stoves, and shoveled coal into the boiler that supplied hot water for the house; who dug potatoes out of the garden with Mother; it was Clothilde who- whose future didn't matter."<br />
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It is Friday and the sun is shinning, but yet I am bracing for the weekend. Fiona has a play to perform tonight and Sunday, and Myles has his usual Sunday morning choir boy obligations, as well as the rest of us. I hope to find a bit of rest in the midst of all the ought-tos. Even as I write that I feel guilty complaining about being busy. What nerve I have. Emilyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11874668283871295532noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1713509833425024071.post-77287645380204966882016-11-11T17:06:00.000-05:002016-11-11T17:06:18.148-05:00And Two Boys BooedFiona said today that this is her favorite book of all time. That was a happy moment for me. There is something charming and wonderful and sentimental about this story. I love books that tell about the awkward moments of childhood. The ones that people like to think don't happen to children. The times when things don't go as smoothly as we imagine. And to beat all there are soothing flaps to turn throughout the whole thing. It is simply the best. <br />
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Today was a glorious late autumn day in which we walked back and forth to Harvard Square to get Myles a haircut. On the way we found a bright pink wallet on a bench right in the middle of the hustle bustle. We picked it up and posted a sign that read, "Dear So and So, we found your wallet!" along with my phone number. Thirty minutes later we received a call from a relieved citizen and reunited the person with their wallet. It was a moment that boosted all of our spirits to see a happy ending unfold particularly in the face of a very skeptical ten year old who thought we should run in the other direction of the whole situation. I remembered how much better it is to give, than to receive. To be hopeful instead of dower. To be empowered by doing was exactly what we needed. Emilyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11874668283871295532noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1713509833425024071.post-14673646182767601882016-11-04T16:53:00.001-04:002016-11-04T16:53:39.765-04:00The Friday afterThis week left a mark. But despite the chaos of starting the week off with Halloween Monday, somehow we are all still standing and happy to be home. These books I could read over and over again. <i>Come Home, Angus</i> is getting some press as a Caldecott maybe. It is so beautiful and features a hangry (did I just write that word?) kid and a firm, loving mother. I love books like this. Especially when the kid eats something interesting in the end, like a sardine sandwich for example.<br />
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<br />Emilyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11874668283871295532noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1713509833425024071.post-65510059763629075262016-11-03T20:44:00.001-04:002016-11-04T10:37:18.727-04:00Memories of a Move<div dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;">
<span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: "arial"; font-size: 14.666666666666666px; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">Tomorrow I am moving to New Hampshire. It is a very small state up in the top corner of the country. I have never been there before.</span></div>
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<span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: "arial"; font-size: 14.666666666666666px; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">Right now I live in Georgia. It is big state in the bottom corner of the country. All of our things are in boxes. All of our things are in boxes in a big truck. </span></div>
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<span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: "arial"; font-size: 14.666666666666666px; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">Some of the things don’t fit. My brothers crib won’t fit in the truck. It is made of iron and it is painted white. My mom is sad because it won’t fit and it took her a long time to find such a crib as this. But we are still going to New Hampshire even without the crib.</span></div>
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<span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: "arial"; font-size: 14.666666666666666px; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">We are moving without the crib and without our friends. It is just us going. My grandma cried when she found out. We are moving without some of our family too. </span><span style="font-family: arial; font-size: 14.6667px; white-space: pre-wrap;">We are leaving our chickens. We found a new home for them. We would be leaving our goat, Betsy. But she had already found a new home. Someone took her without asking. That was sad.</span></div>
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<span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: "arial"; font-size: 14.666666666666666px; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">My best friends and my sister wrote our names on a piece of paper. Friends Forever. We folded up the piece of paper and stuck it through the cracks in the floor of our barn. The barn with the roof that we dared people to jump off of. The barn that we found a scorpion in. The barn that we raised baby chicks in. The barn with the dogwood tree in front. </span></div>
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<span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: "arial"; font-size: 14.666666666666666px; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">We are leaving our garden. Mom’s raised bed garden that she copied from Old Williamsburg. She grew herbs and lettuces and flowers. My dad built it for her.</span></div>
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<span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: "arial"; font-size: 14.666666666666666px; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">Now we will build a new life in a new state in a new home.</span></div>
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<div dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;">
<span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: "arial"; font-size: 14.666666666666666px; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">We are excited. New Hampshire gets very cold. The houses are close together where will live. We will be able to walk to the movie theater. We will be able to walk to a candy store. </span></div>
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<span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: "arial"; font-size: 14.666666666666666px; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">I like cold I think. I won’t have to ride a bus a long way to go to school.</span></div>
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<span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: "arial"; font-size: 14.666666666666666px; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">We are driving the whole way to get to New Hampshire. We are bringing Jessie our dog and Wellington and Claudia the cats. I wonder what they will think about the new place. We are bringing a lot of other things too. Our friends and our families are coming with us in a different way. We will still get to love them. We will still get to remember being right up close to each other. We will be together in a way that is different that being right up close. It will be good to learn these new ways. I think.</span></div>
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Emilyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11874668283871295532noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1713509833425024071.post-89791507210934821422016-10-03T09:17:00.001-04:002016-10-03T09:17:16.917-04:00Sad BookMy life is a wordless book right now. Its pages are full of scenes bright and vibrant, turning quickly. I flip back over them in my head trying to catch some details that I missed on the first look. Some pages are more blurry on the second go. And some images become more defined. Fall quickens the pace. The slow summer days are flung into a world where everything is hurrying to find its proper rhythm. There is life around every corner. And you think to turn to someone and show them autumn's first fallen chestnuts, but they aren't there. <br />
<br />
And then this book fell into my lap. It is just the right sort of read when you need to be in the good company of those bereaved. <br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjO9zIq2cYCeWtWtzB2oStoeNYj9WoE2QopEqBEFkBCJF5RjJs9DF7Oe8cTWVsHQKk5yCyL5hVVdlk4zmgF7DScmuos76vbwmVyqy5vN4GjzIUCct-GM6Z6jLumLYtsFn4b1PQiBVBILgQ/s1600/IMG_1653.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjO9zIq2cYCeWtWtzB2oStoeNYj9WoE2QopEqBEFkBCJF5RjJs9DF7Oe8cTWVsHQKk5yCyL5hVVdlk4zmgF7DScmuos76vbwmVyqy5vN4GjzIUCct-GM6Z6jLumLYtsFn4b1PQiBVBILgQ/s640/IMG_1653.JPG" width="580" /></a></div>
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<br />Emilyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11874668283871295532noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1713509833425024071.post-59591771096550116982016-09-24T16:58:00.000-04:002016-09-24T16:58:23.692-04:00The stories we chooseEvery day in a library, I watch<br />
for the people<br />
and the stories they choose<br />
<br />
Every day in a library, I see<br />
the books<br />
and the people they chose<br />
<br />
Every day in a library, I listen<br />
for the questions<br />
and what they ask<br />
<br />
Can I get the pink one?<br />
Can I get the fast one?<br />
Can I get the black one?<br />
<br />
Yes, you can get the pink one<br />
Yes, you can get the fast one<br />
Yes, you can get the black one<br />
<br />
But with the pink, comes the brown<br />
But with the fast, comes the slow<br />
And the black, comes the rainbow<br />
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<br />
This is some of what we have been reading. Fiona bingeing on some Cushman, Myles a lovely Arthurian series, and I have been savoring DeJong's poignant childhood tales.<br />
<br />
The other day I overheard Myles asking our librarian to request, <i>Shane</i>. He enjoyed it and I enjoyed having at title lying around that didn't come from me. And the cover was just plain great.<br />
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<br />Emilyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11874668283871295532noreply@blogger.com1