Killing Time

I have 90 files pending upload to a website that does photo books, so I have nothing better to do right now than explain why I haven’t posted much lately. It’s because I’m working on photo books. First, I started one for Livia’s first year. That took forever—looking through folder after folder of great pictures, narrowing it down to just the best, copying all the “Dear Livia” posts over to the book, and then doing the typesetting/layout. It still isn’t quite finished, because I want to include Christmas pictures, but the basic framework is done. All I have to do is drop in those last few pictures (and posts, if any happen between now and then).

Then, worrying that Marshall might feel left out, I decided to do one for him, too. His would have to cover 2.5 years, though. That’s a lot of photos, a lot of posts, a lot of stories to tell. Oh, my. Thank goodness I had already uploaded so many pictures last year.

But part of my justification for doing all of this was to help get ready for the Christmas photo books that I’m putting together for family and friends. Once all the photos are there, it’s easy to import them to new projects. So, having gone through the bajillion pictures of the kids, and having narrowed down the selection to a manageable number, I started the download.

Only 72 files to go.

What should I do now?

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Jigsaw Puzzling

At Hercule Poirot’s elbow was a tisane prepared for him by George. He sipped at it and thought. He thought in a certain way peculiar to himself. It was the technique of a man who selected thoughts as one might select pieces of a jigsaw puzzle. In due course they would be reassembled together so as to make a clear and coherent picture. At the moment the important thing was the selection, the separation. He sipped his tisane, put down the cup, rested his hands on the arms of his chair and let various pieces of his puzzle come one by one into his mind. Once he recognized them all, he would select. Pieces of sky, pieces of green bank, perhaps striped pieces like those of a tiger…

from Third Girl

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True to Form

I think Poirot was probably right when he said,

There are not so many round pegs in square holes as one might think. Most people, in spite of what they tell you, choose the occupations that they secretly desire. You will hear a man say who works in an office, “I should like to explore, to rough it in far countries.” But you will find that he likes reading the fiction that deals with that subject, but that he himself prefers the safety and moderate comfort of an office stool.

from Death in the Air

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Mommies Would Write

Sometimes I don’t know which is worse—being forced out of bed to take care of a screaming Livia at 4:00 a.m. and then having several hours of time for reading and writing, or being allowed to sleep until 7:00 a.m. and having no time for my hobbies. Of course, sometimes I can say for sure which is worse. Those are the days when I’m so sleep-deprived that almost everything ticks me off, and though I have time to write, my mental capacity is so low that the words probably don’t even make sense.

This morning Livia woke me at 6:45. Not bad. Marshall got up shortly after that. Now that I’m just about done with all the diapering, dressing, feeding, and cleaning, it is just about time to wake up my husband so that I can go to work. No time for my activities. After a week of getting near-normal quantities of sleep, I’m feeling pretty good, and so those days of absolute exhaustion seem like ancient history. They have an almost romantic quality in my poor, damaged memory. “Ah,” I think to myself. “Those were the days!”

Whichever situation is worse, they’re both bad. It just isn’t fair. I shouldn’t have to sacrifice sleep in order to have time for my hobbies. But, as the old saying goes, “If wishes were nannies, mommies would write.”

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Hmph

“It is true that America is the country of progress,” agreed Poirot. There is much that I admire about Americans. Only—I am perhaps old-fashioned—but me, I find the American woman less charming than my own country-women. The French or Belgian girl, coquettish, charming—I think there is no one to touch her.”

from Murder on the Orient Express

Well, even Poirot couldn’t be right all the time.

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Mixed-Up Memories

“But you know, my dear,” said Poirot gently, “people are never like what you remember them. You make them, as the years go by, more and more the way you wish them to be, and as you think you remember them. If you want to remember them as agreeable and gay and handsome, you make them far more so than they actually were.”

from Third Girl

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Cats and Kisses

Dear Livia,

At nine and a half months old, you were able to say “mama” and “dada” pretty well, but no amount of coaxing would get you to say “mama” to me. So imagine my surprise when I pointed to the cat and told you what it was and you said, “Cat!” And then you did it again and again. I could hardly believe it. Your father could hardly believe it either. You had to demonstrate it for him several times before he would admit that you really could say “cat” and, what’s more, that you seemed to understand the meaning.

Now, a couple of weeks later, you’ve given it up. When I ask you to say “cat,” you just make a guttural “kkhhhhh” sound. That’s fine. No pressure. But you still obviously know what it means, because this morning I told you to say it, and you walked over to the gate and stared at the cat in the kitchen. Then, when Marshall and I pointed to it, you pointed to it, too. It’s amazing that you even realize what pointing means.

I’m a doting parent, so of course I think this behavior means you’re smart. But then again, if you were really smart you’d be saying “mama” to me, right? There’s not much point in kissing up to the cats, after all, but it can’t hurt to be on mommy’s good side. 😉

Speaking of kissing, you’ve learned how to air kiss. Sometimes, when you want attention, you send a few little smooches my way. I air kiss you back, and then you smile, happy and reassured of your position at the center of the universe.

Mwah! You are so adorable!

Love,

Mom

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I Just Can’t Help Myself

OK, I know I said I wasn’t going to do regular book reviews, but it really bothers me to grade a book without saying why I gave it that grade. So, I’m going to do a brief round-up of the unreviewed books on my Books Read in 2011 page.

  • Death in the Air by Agatha Christie, B+
    A notorious moneylender is murdered on a plane. Everyone on board is a suspect, and only Hercule Poirot (asleep at the time of the murder!) can solve the case. I read this so long ago that I don’t remember why I gave it a B+.  I only remember that I didn’t enjoy it quite as much as some of the other Poirot mysteries.
  • Heck: Where the Bad Kids Go by Dale E. Basye, B
    This was an amusing story about a goody-goody boy and his troublemaker sister. They die and go to Heck which, as the title explains, is where the bad kids go, because even a bad kid doesn’t deserve to go to Hell quite yet, right? But Heck is darned miserable, too, and if there’s any chance that the kids can escape, they will. This book is clever, fast-paced, and humorous, but it’s not the least bit believable, so you never “fall into” the story and forget you’re reading.
  • Hercule Poirot’s Casebook by Agatha Christie, A+
    I had already read at least half of the stories in this book, so I didn’t read the whole thing. I enjoyed the “new to me” stories. Some were short, some long. Some were great, others mediocre. The selling point of this book is that you get all of the Poirot stories in one place. This is a book I’d like to own someday.
  • A Holiday for Murder by Agatha Christie, B+
    This book is made especially amusing by Poirot’s explanation of how murder is actually more likely at Christmas (the so-called “time for good cheer”) than other times of year. In this story, a family patriarch requests that all of his estranged family members get together for Christmas, but he doesn’t have exactly a pleasant family reunion in mind. He’s so mean that it’s no surprise when someone kills him. Hercule Poirot is fortunately nearby for the holiday, and he takes up the case. It’s another perfectly acceptable mystery, but not particularly memorable.
  • Mr. Summer’s Story by Patrick Suskind, A-
    When my husband found out that I was reading this book, he said, “You’ll have to blog about this so you can tell how you read the whole thing on the pot.” It’s true. The book belongs to my husband and he left it in the bathroom. I picked it up because it was there, and it was good enough to pick it up the next time I was there, and the next, and the next. It’s a story told by a nameless narrator, recounting the period of his life when a local character, Mr. Summer, had a profound effect on him. The book is charming, nostalgic, and beautifully illustrated by Sempé. The descriptions of the narrator’s childhood piano lessons are absolutely priceless. My only complaint about the book is that you’re never told the whole story about Mr. Summer. I think there should have been just a little bit more of a revelation at the end, hence the minus attached to the “A” grade.
  • Princess Academy by Shannon Hale, B
    This is the story of a girl from a mining village who, along with the other teenage girls in the village, is forced to attend the Princess Academy. There the girls will be taught everything they need to know to be a princess, and at the end of their studies, one of them will be chosen to marry the prince. Honestly, I didn’t particularly like this book. All of the girls except one were so obviously unsuited to be princesses, and the main character was so obviously not headed in that direction. In other words, there was no suspense. Also, most of the events struck me as being extremely unlikely. The very premise is sort of absurd, really. Royalty is almost always snobbish. Can you imagine a prince allowing himself to be wed to a mining girl whose family kept their goats in the house at night for the added warmth? If he had fallen in love with her before he knew that, maybe. But I doubt he’d be interested in falling in love if he knew it in advance. He’d probably just look down on her and all of the other girls. And though the Academy teacher complains that the girls all smell like goats, there is never the obligatory bath scene! Not a single mention of baths! The focus of the story is on the girls’ education, not their appearance. That is so PC but hardly realistic. A princess needs to look (and smell) good, but it isn’t until near the end of the story that the girls finally try on some fancy dresses and get their hair done! So my final verdict is that it’s well-written but utterly unbelievable.
  • Sad Cypress by Agatha Christie, A-
    I read this one too long ago to remember why I gave it an A-. It is, as I recall, about a young woman who inherited a home from her aunt. When her aunt’s death turns out to have been a murder, the woman naturally becomes a suspect. Then, when the woman’s rival in love is also murdered, she’s in big trouble, because she so obviously had motives for both murders. Though all signs point to her, Hercule Poirot never takes anything for granted, and he will not rest until he uncovers the whole truth.
  • The Wolves of Willoughby Chase by Joan Aiken, B+
    I so wanted to love this book. It is #58 on the Top 100 Children’s Books list. That should have made it nearly a shoo-in. But I was quickly turned off by some bad exposition near the beginning of the book, and the action soon departed from Willoughby Chase, which was by far the most interesting setting in the book. If I had read this book when I was a child, the plight of the two main characters might have resonated with me. It is harder to love certain books when you’re an adult. Anyway, by virtue of being mostly well-written, I give it a B+ grade, but I cannot give it my love.
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Watch Your Mouth!

Said Poirot,

In conversation, points arise! If a human being converses much, it is impossible for him to avoid the truth!

from A Holiday for Murder

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Picking Favorites

It seems like most people have a favorite this and a favorite that. I don’t. I have a hard time making decisions on even on the most inconsequential subjects. So today, as an exercise in decision-making, I’m going to try to pick some favorites. It will be interesting to see how I feel about them after a week, a month, a year. Will they feel all wrong, or will I finally be able to say that I have a favorite something?

  • Color: Green. People who know me might say, “But hasn’t green always been your favorite?” Once upon a time it was purple, actually. In recent years I have gone back and forth between blue and green. I’m going to take a stand now, though, and go with green.
  • Month: September. Of course!
  • TV show: Stargate SG-1
  • Band: Coldplay. How mainstream! I know. Once upon a time, I might have said Metallica was my favorite band. That was long before they hit the mainstream. There’s nothing inherently wrong with being mainstream, though. Metallica and Coldplay got there by being very good. I just hope that Coldplay continues to be good (reviews of their recent album make me wonder…). Metallica stopped being good, oh, some time between 1991 (“The Black Album”) and 1996 (Load), and, as far as I know, they haven’t looked back. Shame.
  • Ice-cream flavor: mint chocolate chip. I’ve been thinking about this one for weeks. It’s actually what got me on the subject of “picking favorites.” I realized that I didn’t have a favorite ice-cream flavor, and I thought to myself, “Doesn’t everyone have a favorite? And shouldn’t they? I mean, if I were about to die and someone offered me my pick of ice-cream flavors, and it would be the last thing I tasted before dying, which would I choose?” So I decided on mint chocolate chip, but I hope to eat many more bowls of ice cream before I die. For the record, I am also quite fond of black raspberry, cookie dough, and Cherry Garcia.
  • Book: Oh, this question is cruel. I love so many of them! Falling back on that hackneyed idea of the “desert island,” if I were going to be stuck on such an island, and I could only have one book, it would be . . . The Little White Horse by Elizabeth Goudge. I once read it three times back-to-back and did not get bored with it.
  • Movie: Another cruel question. So many to choose from. I’m going with Star Trek II: The Wrath of Khan. The music, literary allusions, humor, special effects, beloved characters, and Ricardo Montalban’s chest—all combine to make this such a wonderful movie. If I ever got tired of watching it, I could just listen to the music and be happy.
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