Space Invaders

Have I mentioned that we have a bug problem? It’s not a continuous one, but rather a recurring one. Our first year here, we were invaded by caterpillars in the spring. Next it was millipedes, and they’ve returned every year since, though never as bad as that first season. Other annual events include the early food forays of carpenter ants, the brief swarm of pavement ants, and the occasional summertime attacks by katydids, who flock around the back door at night, drawn by the light.

We’ve gotten used to these incursions, but enough is enough. How many bugs must be put up with? Alas, our space is being invaded yet again. Meet our newest nemesis, the weevil.

I call him Agent Smith, because from a distance he looks black and quite menacing, just like the character in The Matrix. And you can kill him as many times as you want, but that won’t get rid of him. No sooner is he gone than he’s replaced by another who looks exactly the same. It’s like being invaded by an endless stream of clones.

We don’t know what kind of weevil Agent Smith is. After doing some research, I came to the conclusion that there’s a weevil for every type of plant in existence, making identification almost impossible without the help of an entomologist. Chances are that the weevil is not interested in infesting our pantry, but how do we know for sure? Because we don’t know, that makes him weevil non grata, and I’m not necessarily going to be nice about removing him from the premises.

Sorry, Agent Smith. I suggest you stay outside.

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Unforgettable

Dear Livia,

You turned eight months old just a few days ago. You have done a lot in 8 months. You’ve been standing and cruising for quite a while. This is amazing to us, given that the baby books say you should only have recently learned how to crawl. A few days ago, you started standing without holding on to anything. You must be very close to walking, and I have my camera at the ready.

You’ve started babbling. You say “mamamamama” when you’re upset and “dadadadada” when you’re happy. Marshall used to do the same thing. We wonder if it’s instinctual to call on your mommy when you need something and to try to get your daddy’s attention when you’re at your most adorable. In any event, you say “dadadada” so sweetly that I forgive you for saying it so much more often than “mamamama”

You’ve made yourself an integral part of our life. As engaged as we are with Marshall, it would be easy to overlook you from time to time, but you have an intense quality that makes it impossible to ignore you. It’s not because you scream and cry (though you do sometimes, naturally). It’s because you’re eager to join in the activities going on around you. You try to make eye contact with other people, and when you succeed you positively beam back at them. You love to play, and you have the cutest little laugh. You’ve only been with us for eight months, but already you’re unforgettable.

Love,

Mom

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And Now For Something Completely Different

Portuguese Irregular Verbs (A Professor Dr von Igelfeld Entertainment) by Alexander McCall Smith
Grade: B+

Alexander McCall Smith is most famous for his mystery series, The No. 1 Ladies’ Detective Agency. Portuguese Irregular Verbs is apparently quite different from the books of that series. It is not a mystery, but rather a collection of short stories about Dr von Igelfeld, German professor of philology, fool at large.

The book starts out strongly with a story about von Igelfeld and two of his colleagues. They decide to play a game of tennis though none of them has played before. Indeed, none of them is typically inclined to any kind of athleticism, but as von Igelfeld says,

That’s no reason not to play. . . . Tennis, like any activity, can be mastered if one knows the principles behind it. In that respect it must be like language. The understanding of simple rules produces an understanding of a language. What could be simpler?

So they locate an old rulebook and, having absorbed the rules, two play while the third keeps score. Unfortunately, neither player can mange a proper serve and, according to the rules, the match must continue until a lead of at least two games is established, which is never going to happen. Von Igelfeld says,

This is quite ridiculous. . . . A game must have a winner—everybody knows that—and yet this . . . this stupid book makes no provision for moderate players like ourselves.

They all agree to quit, and off they go to take a refreshing swim, even though none of them has ever tried swimming before….

If all of the stories were this funny, I would have given Portuguese Irregular Verbs an A+ and a glowing review. However, the stories seem almost to be arranged by quality, from best to worst. By the time I reached the end of the book, I’d had quite enough of von Igelfeld and his travels. So I half-recommend it, or recommend half of it, whichever way you want to look at it.

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A Little Older, A Little Wiser

On the eve of my 39th birthday, and just in time to tack on to my previous wise-bits post, I offer you some wisdom that I gained the other day, right after the novel experience of being called a libtard.

Never discuss politics with strangers.

Seriously, you don’t want to debate politics with people until you know that…

  1. They have an IQ above 50.
  2. They’re at least somewhat civilized.
  3. They don’t listen to Hannity, O’Reilly, Beck, or Limbaugh, because if they do then they probably don’t meet the first two criteria.

I’m almost certain that you shouldn’t discuss politics with casual acquaintances, coworkers, or family either, but I’m not 100% sure, so I’ll probably go ahead and prove it the hard way, then ruefully expand my wise-bit to read “Never discuss politics with anyone.” Meanwhile, I’m not even acting in accordance with my wise-bit as originally stated. By sharing this post, I have technically opened up a discussion with strangers, and the discussion is at least partly about politics. Ooops.

Some people never learn, no matter how old they get.

;P

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An Exercise in Wordplay

Ella Minnow Pea by Paul Dunn
Grade: A

There is something that potential readers of this book need to understand before attempting to read it. Ella Minnow Pea is not really a novel, or at least not a traditional one. It’s an exercise in wordplay. Some of the consequences of this are

  • it is written in epistolary style.
  • the plot is contrived and predictable.
  • the characters are not highly developed.
  • you can read it in a single sitting.

Ella Minnow Pea takes place on a fictional island, called Nollop, located off the coast of South Carolina. The island was named after Nevil Nollop, the man credited with the invention of the famous pangram “The quick brown fox jumps over the lazy dog.” The island’s residents revere language and shun technology, and Nollop is a hero to them. There is even a monument dedicated to him. On it hang lettered tiles spelling out his pangram.

One day, a lettered tile (the Z) falls from the monument and shatters on the ground. Some people think it’s a message from Nollop from beyond the grave. They town council decides that the fallen tile means Nollop no longer wants them to use the letter Z, so they ban the letter from the island. As other letters fall, they are subsequently banned, creating great difficulties for the residents of the island who want and need to communicate with one another.

The punishment system for using the banned letters is quite severe. The punishment for the first offense is a warning and public censure. The punishment for the second offense is either a lashing or time in the stocks (the offender gets to pick between the two). The punishment for the third offense is banishment.

It would be impossible for this premise to work if the characters actually spoke to one another. That’s why the author uses letters (epistles) sent back and forth between characters. It is also imperative that the authorities read the epistles (so people who use banned letters can be punished) but the authorities have to ignore the meaning of the words (so that characters can make plans for freeing themselves from the tyranny of the council). That’s one of the hardest challenges to the reader’s suspension of disbelief. In order to enjoy the book, you have to get past this and other unlikely scenarios.

As letters fall and are taken away, so is the island’s population diminished as residents leave or are banished. Toward the end of the story, few people remain on the island. However, the last few residents convince the council that should anyone write a better pangram than Nollop did (i.e., using fewer total letters) it would prove Nollop was not omniscient and that they don’t have to give up all of the fallen letters. The council agrees. Everyone tries their hand at the pangram.

This book gave me an enjoyable evening of reading. I was able to forgive its flaws, because I saw them as part of the structure necessary to frame the wordplay. I think I’d like to read it again someday just to revel in the author’s use of language (I often get caught up in the story and the meaning of the words and forget to enjoy the language itself). I also would like to try writing my own pangram.

I liked Ella Minnow Pea and I recommend if for people who love words and wordplay.

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My Reading Rainbow

August was Rainbow of Reading Month for me. I read three “colorful” books that month in celebration.

The White Deer by James Thurber
Grade: B

The White Deer is a fairytale about a deer who turns into a princess. She sets each of three princes on a different quest. The one to return soonest is the one she will marry.

The White Deer is cute and clever, but it’s not nearly as cute or clever as I have come to expect from Thurber. I have two copies of this book: one an old softcover and one an even older hardcover. Certainly the book isn’t good enough to justify having two copies, so the softcover goes to the Chopping Block. The hardcover, because it is a first edition by one of my favorite authors, will have a place of honor in my library.

Wasn’t the Grass Greener? Thirty-Three Reasons Why Life Isn’t as Good as It Used to Be by Barbara Holland
Grade: A+

Barbara Holland was a great essayist. I am just old enough to remember the things that she talks about in these essays. The subjects, all but gone in today’s society, are things like radiators and clotheslines and childhood freedom and pianos. Oh, but she makes me ache for simpler times! Barbara Holland’s other collections of essays will go on my list of books to read someday (even Endangered Pleasures, which I already read).

Forever in Blue: The Fourth Summer of the Sisterhood by Ann Brashares
Grade: A-

This is the third sequel to what was arguably a gimmicky premise. The book ought to be bad, but somehow it’s not. It’s simplistic, predictable, and even at times unbelievable, but I still identified with the girls and their problems. I remember similar times in my own life. Call Forever in Blue a guilty pleasure if you please, but I like it.

There is one thing I have to add, though. One of the rules regarding the pants is that they’re never supposed to be washed. After four years of being worn repeatedly and by multiple people and in all sorts of conditions, they must be pretty darned disgusting by now. Ew!!!!!

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Remembering

I can’t believe it’s been ten years since 9/11. How can a whole decade have passed and my feelings still be so raw that I can hardly stand them? When I think about that day, my eyes fill with tears, but they are tears that should be cried, so today I remember and I weep.

In honor of the anniversary, I have decided to share an excerpt from my journal entry for that day.

9/11/2001

I cried almost all the way to work. It was so strange driving on a sunny day with little traffic, so normal, while listening to report after report about the terrorist bombings. . . . Thousands of people are dead today. There were sirens all day. . . . I keep wondering how many people, realistically, of the 50,000 people who worked in the WTC, could have escaped before the towers collapsed into a pile of rubble and paper. . . . I am so alone right now. I feel so bad for all those poor souls who died today and their families. I feel bad for the country. I worry that our president is a moron who will manage to screw this situation up and, if it’s possible, make things worse. Even worse than not retaliating would be retaliating against the wrong people. I worry that the country will go to war. Someone, it seems, has declared war on us. On me. On everyone I love.

Reading this journal entry now, it seems that I grieved not just for the horrors of the day but for the future which was to come. I still feel the same way. I am still grieving not only for the ten years behind us but also for the aftershocks still to be felt. I grieve, but I also hope. Let there be better days ahead.

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Youth is Beauty

Poirot once said,

To me, nowadays, anything young is beautiful.

from Peril at End House

Shortly after I moved to Rhode Island, I was driving to the grocery store, vaguely listening to an interview on NPR, when the interviewer asked the interviewee (whoever she was), “What would be your message to all the young girls out there?” Of course I don’t remember the exact wording of the answer, but I remember the gist. It was this: youth is beautiful. Girls worry about their weight and their skin and fitting in, and they let these worries blind them to the beauty that is inherent to their youth.

That’s not exactly a new idea, but it was the first time I’d ever heard it phrased in a way that meant anything to me personally. Perhaps it was because I was aware of my own increasing age and not feeling terribly happy about it. Maybe I needed someone to remind me to appreciate the youth that I still had.

Looking through a photo album recently, I was amazed to see that I was beautiful during my teen years. I didn’t think so when I was a teen, but now I can see the evidence before my eyes. I was reminded of that NPR interview, and I was disappointed that I still hadn’t learned to fully appreciate the present.

This is the wisdom I’ve tried to glean from these experiences:

No matter your age, you are younger now than you will be later. One day, you will look back upon yourself as you are now and think, “How young and beautiful I was!” But if you did not live your life as though you were young and beautiful, the revelation of your former beauty will be bittersweet. “Why,” you will ask yourself, “did I not appreciate what I had?” So don’t wait until you’re older. Keep that future perspective in mind and have your revelation today. Say “How young and beautiful I am!”

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Letters Through Time

Knowing that someone might read my posts, I try to have an actual subject for each post, rather than just list the events of the day or dwell upon my feelings of the moment. In that way this blog is unlike the journals and diaries of my past, which are a chore to read now because they’re so pointless. Not only did I spend a lot of time whining back then, but I also frequently neglected to mention the big events of my life. Reconstructing my past (when I finally get around to it) is going to be quite difficult, since I didn’t leave myself a good record.

I wish I had written more and better “letters through time.” Not just way back then, but as recently as a couple of years ago. Though this blog inspired me to record some of the events of Marshall’s infancy, I didn’t write nearly enough. As we watch Livia grow, my husband and I say, “Marshall must have been just as cute, but I don’t really remember what he was up to at the same age.” It’s a good thing we have so many pictures and videos, or else we might even forget what he looked like as a baby!

It has fallen to me to be the keeper of the family’s memories, simply because my husband will never make it a priority. It’s not that he doesn’t care, it’s just that he won’t get around to it. That leaves me. I accept the challenge. I will probably never do the job as well as I’d like, but I will always try to do it well. This blog is the most convenient vehicle for the purpose, and here are two of my goals for improving my job performance.

  • Write a post about each of the children at least once per week.
  • At the five-year anniversary of my blog, I’d like to print a copy of it. There are supposedly services that can do that for you. A print copy would be good to have, just in case anything ever happens to the digital record.
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My New Reading Challenge

I seem to have acquired a collection of Roald Dahl books.

I also have the urge to start a new reading challenge.

Hmmm. I guess I’ll have to do a Dahl marathon.

Starting September 13 (Dahl’s birthday), I will begin my challenge. I can’t read everything he ever wrote, so I have selected a group of works based on what’s available, the amount of time I have for reading, and my interests. Fortunately, most of the books are for children and consequently short. I’m going to read the books in roughly chronological order, saving the posthumous books for last. Note: I read Matilda recently. When I get to that book in the list, I may opt to watch the movie in its place.

  1. The Gremlins (1943)
  2. James and the Giant Peach (1961)
  3. Charlie and the Chocolate Factory (1964)
  4. The Magic Finger (1966)
  5. Fantastic Mr. Fox (1970)
  6. Charlie and the Great Glass Elevator (1973)
  7. Danny, the Champion of the World (1975)
  8. The Enormous Crocodile (1976)
  9. My Uncle Oswald (1979)
  10. The Twits (1980)
  11. George’s Marvelous Medicine (1981)
  12. The BFG (1982)
  13. Revolting Rhymes (1982)
  14. Dirty Beasts (1983)
  15. The Witches (1983)
  16. Boy (1984)
  17. The Giraffe and Pelly and Me (1985)
  18. Going Solo (1986)
  19. The Roald Dahl Omnibus (1987)
  20. Matilda (1988)
  21. Esio Trot (1989)
  22. The Minpins (1991)
  23. The Vicar of Nibbleswick (1991)
  24. My Year (1994)
  25. The Mildenhall Treasure (1999)

Roald Dahl died on November 23, 1990. I will end my reading marathon on next November 23, which leaves me slightly more than a year to finish all of these books. Wish me luck!

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