Book Bag - no. 18

That little green book you see is called, This is Just to Say: Poems of Apology and Forgiveness.  I had to do a double take at the library, to make sure I was seeing the title correctly. It is collection of poems written by a sixth grade class, and then the responses to them. Beautiful and Funny and Poignant.

This time we treated, Follow Follow as a game of riddles. One of us would read the poem, and the rest would have to guess which fairy tale it was created for.  I think that's the whole point of the book, but the game deeply satisfied Fiona, who is always asking me for a riddle, at which my mind goes completely blank.  So now she can look back on her childhood with fond memories of her riddling mother. Mission accomplished. Thank you, Marilyn Singer.

***

Tonight is one of those Friday nights that I am actually looking forward to. It feels like it has been a while with March threatening to freeze us to death.  We are dismissing Fiona early from to school to go to one of those crazy trampoline parks. There was a sale running, and a friend going, and with sheets of ice as far as the eye can see; I am more excited about this than I care to admit.  And then we come home to pizza, and root beer, and licorice and Dr. Doolittle.  Fo' shizzle! And this is just even more amplified because I actually got my brother's wedding gift in the mail a good three hundred and sixty days earlier than etiquette required me to. Talk about peace of mind. I found the most amazing, cast iron candle holders at Patch NYC in the south end of Boston. They were exactly what I was hoping to find, along with one of most memorable shopping experiences I have had in years. 

And on that note, I bid you, adieu. I hope that something in your own evening tonight brings you rest. 

Thanksgiving Eve

Tomorrow is Thanksgiving. Therefore loving Fiona means listening to her recite her first grade turkey-day-ditty, without visibly cringing. Something inside me says that this is not the time to nit pick my problems with the public school system. But really, how many more years must we listen to seasonally appropriate creatures make exclamations while sitting on a fence? How about some Margaret Willey rhymes instead?

I'll help you, Mother.

We'll cook a feast!

A tower of biscuits, a bushel of peas,

a tub of potatoes, a wheel of cheese,

a dozen pies, a barrel of juice,

cranberries, plums,

and a Thanksgiving goose!

***

The other day this book came home with us:

Delightful item, but the illustrations reminded me that we had not read, Nana's Birthday Party in far too long. I love this book deeply. Nana throws a party for herself every year in between Thanksgiving and Christmas where there are no gifts allowed, except the homemade kind. Set in the middle of New York City, this book is filled with hat boxes, insecurities, and taking joy in sweet memories. It is the kind of read that refreshes the souls of weary children that come home from a dramatic day at school.

***

Tonight I sit watching, Hannah and Her Sisters and think about the many things that come to mind on this holiday. The joy and the sorrows, the plenty and the want. And how tomorrow, as I host my first Thanksgiving Day feast for the four of us, I want to mirror my mother's grace, walk slowly, and pray for joy. 

Gift again, and again

This one will find its way into the hands of my grandfather and Myles' teacher. It is the perfect gift for your lover of history and iambic pentameter. 

My Christmas spirit feels a little impeached at the moment actually. I just said goodbye to my dearest of childhood friends who was visiting for the night and day. She and her husband brought good cheer and company on a much needed rainy, gloomy Monday.  We discussed Housekeeping, and she doesn't think Sylvie is ill like I had written her off as.  I guess I will have to think a little bit harder. 

This week I must make good on some plans I have committed to. Remember the paper whites in the tins?  Oh yeah, and all that baking.