Book of the day

Doing new books again. Get out the deep woods Off and pull your socks up over your jeans:  The Biology of Ticks by Daniel E. Sonenshine and R. Michael Roe. But what really unnerves me?  It is only volume one.  Lucky you, no cover art available.

Reading Room Revivial

When I went to University in the late 80s the walls of the stalls were filled with commentary and discussions ranging from philosophy, politics, the environment, religion, and in the those ancient days, women's rights.  There were few personal comments, though many dissenting opinions around the original writing.  When I started working at the University in the mid 90s the writings on the walls of the reading room had devolved into verbiage best left to 12 year old bullies.  And then, by the 00s: silence.  Acres of unmarked bathroom walls.  Not the fresh coat of paint to allow new conversations, but silence.  I thought in this ithingy age that the silence would be everlasting.  But recently, and in more than one building on campus, I have found signs of life again.  Encouraging comments, statements and responses about the environment, women's lives.  Is this some Luddite underground emerging?  Is it digital babies finding a place where they can not be 'Snowdon'ed. What ever it is, I am glad of it.  Anonymous conversation with others of my sex, or those becoming my sex, that can be open and untraced.

The only moment better in the reading room of my educational institution was toilet tennis - which saved my sanity one day of great stress in the mid 90s.  I sat down.  My eyes wandered to the wall where one small sentence was written.  "Toliet tennis: look left", which I did.  "Toilet tennis: look right".  Which I did.  And in a moment, back and forth, I was laughing and my stress fled.

blind book date

apparently second floors are allowed

Pink.  All three books were wrapped in pink.  The public library . . . because a university library would never want to have this much fun . . . has mystery books for patrons to sign out.  In honour of the month of love: Blind book dates. All were wrapped in pink paper with a barcode on the outside and a brief description to give you some guidelines as to what was behind the wrapping.  I got three.  It was so delightful to sit after lunch with my hot chocolate on a snowy Saturday and find out what I'd got.  My 'classic, British, good characters, hopeful' turned out to be Great Expectations sporting the most undickensian cover I have ever seen.  I watched the most recent BBC production last month, so I set that aside and opened the next present:  'plans, making, family fun'.  Wahooooo a book by a dad who makes the coolest stuff out of cardboard and marbles and crayons.  Spent some time dreaming along with that.  But then, oh then, I opened the third package:  'small, cozy'.  I spent the next hour picking out my dream house.  It is on page one hundred and one.  I will be putting the kitchen in the area they have off to the right beyond the stairs and keeping the whole of the great room for living and studio space.  It is 885 square feet and is called Sea Grass.  I will also extend the porch on the back so that you can walk all the way around the glassed in area off the living room. Oh, can't you just see it?

Limited Edition

So, yes, I spent the second half of my holiday sorting, filing, and piling.  Three boxes to the goodwill, and seven bags to the recyclers.  I won't frighten you with the story of the fridge.  I know it was a year old, but honestly, there was no mold on it.  Ain't homemade yogurt amazing.  But I will tell you about the bookcases.  I have several in varying sizes, most with doors on, which is good, that way the books are held in place by the latch.  This doesn't stop me from getting more books, especially in the children's section of the library sale room...I can't resist the pictures.  I recommend Wings by Shinsuke Tanaka.  It has no words beyond the title and pictures that make me want to strive for greater skill.

When I have too many books they are piled on the floor under the bookcases...they also have feet as well as doors.  And when the piles get to big I pull everything out, pick out what is ready for a new life and pack the bookcase puzzle back together.  I find all kinds of treasures I have no seen in some time.  The King's choice, retold by K. Shivkumar and illustrated by Yoko Mitsuhashi.  Ah-choo by Mercer Mayer. Many others.  And, a handmade book from Christmas of 1989.  Written, illustrated, printed and assembled on Christmas Eve of that year by my co-workers at the Saskatoon Bookstore.  It is made on the back of index cards used for the then high-tech filing system for the titles.  The Lion who shot Bach, Little White School House, Last Hiding Place, and others. The story is about me trying to make the evening bus to get home for Christmas, and what I had to remember to take with me.  I don't know who was getting a shirt for Christmas, but it figured large in the story.  A very special limited edition.

Christmas dinner

 And the dog dined on bear.

four daughters, eight sons, three mothers, four fathers, two grandmothers, two grandfathers, three uncles, two great uncles, two aunts, one great aunt, three nephews, one niece, one great nephew, four grandchildren, one great grandchild, one turkey, twenty-six home carrots, one hundred and five home potatoes, countless peas, one pot of gravy, two pumpkin pies, and a tiny carton of whipping cream, whipped, three boxes of chocolates, two plates of goodies. Twelve people stuffed to the gunnels.

To the Mooooooon!

My day is made.  Top of the pile of the new* books:  Space Mission Analysis and Design.  Oh my mind off instantly designing space craft, and shall we stop at the moon?  Never.  Out, out into the inky blackness white with stars, and possibilities.  Wide wings on our craft to catch the wind of stars and glide in graceful circles round the moons of Jupiter, slip with elegance between the many shapes of the Kuiper Belt and out to dive into the darkest matter and mystery of the universe.


*Apparently a prof ordered it.  It is from 1999.  But hey, we can still go.

Today's Count

Blue, cold, sharp air.  My yellow coat and blue jeans and red laces.  The sun, turning the frosted grass green, but not melting the snow flakes caught in the ice on the man made pond. Leaves race across the surface, clatter into groups to crow their winnings while small aquatic creatures made their singular progress, oblivious beneath the ice: long round, doing the breast stroke and little furry tadpoles look a likes snapping side to side to glide through the water, passing each other unconcerned.