The Wizard and the Trees

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From the first day his family arrived at their new village, Jack knew that a wizard lived in the big dark house on the other side of the square.  

For one thing, tight ranks of enormous trees grew on all four sides of the place like some kind of living fence, pierced only by a single wrought-iron gate with a lightening bolt marked in the middle.  For another thing, Jack had actually seen the man on that very first night, slipping out of the gate just as darkness fell, wearing a hood that covered his face but not the long grey beard that fell from his chin.  The man had been carrying some sort of rod with a metal tip, probably a wand or magic staff, but in the darkness, Jack hadn’t been able to make out the particulars.

“Don’t be ridiculous,” said Jack’s father the next day as they set up the tools in the new blacksmith shop. “There are no such thing as wizards.”

“But his gate has a lightening bolt right on it,” Jack argued. “Did you see it?”

“I did,” said his father. “It was a very fine gate, high quality materials and workmanship.  Rich folk like fancy decorations of that sort, and if this neighbor is as rich as he seems, I expect he’ll be a regular customer, so see to it that you don’t say anything impertinent.”

“He’s just an old man, out for his evening walk,” said Jack’s mother when he tried the subject again with her after dinner.  

“But he had a hood and a wand and a beard longer than Opa’s!” said Jack stubbornly.

“Lots of old men have beards and most lean on staffs, too.  And as for the hood, it’s getting chilly enough these nights, it’s about time you brought out your own winter cloak.”

Jack hated his winter cloak, made of a scratchy wool that itched his neck, so he quickly dropped the subject.  

He didn’t stop thinking of it, though, or keeping his eyes open for another glimpse of his new neighbor.  Through constant vigilance, he was able to discover that the old man went out his gate each night at the exact moment the light disappeared from the sky.  Jack tried several times to stay up late enough to see the man return, but he always fell asleep without seeing a thing.  

It wasn’t until his father asked him to come into the blacksmith shop early one day to help that Jack finally saw why he had been missing the old man’s return.  Jack’s mother had woken him up while it was still dark, and he was standing by his window splashing water on his sleepy face just as the sun peeked up over the horizon.  Just then, he saw his neighbor, hood still drawn approach the lightening bolt gate.  Something sparked from his hand and the gates opened.  Jack’s jaw dropped and water dripped off his chin. Had he just seen a spell being cast?  Quickly he rubbed his eyes, and when he looked again, the old man disappeared behind the trees.  The gate was closed again.

He couldn’t help but mention it to his father later as he pumped the bellows for the roaring fire.

“Like as not he was just out for a morning walk and not all night as your imagination is telling you,” said his father between blows of the enormous hammer onto the anvil in front of him.  “And even if he was, it’s no business of ours. You’re best served focusing on your work and learning your trade.  There’s no good goggling at every oddity you see, for you’ll find that life is full of them and it takes no magic to make it so.”

Jack did focus on his work.  He loved the smithy, with its roaring fire radiating heat and the sparks flying up from his father’s hammer.  He wanted to be just like his father, to have strong arms and skilled hands.  Jack already knew how to fashion simple things like nails.  He was eager to learn more.

Still, he didn’t stop watching the wizard’s house closely.  He was sure something mysterious and wonderful was going on there, and he wanted to know more.  He worked hard but his mind wandered to that shadowed place across the street.  Of course he would finish his apprenticeship, but he would not let this mystery go unsolved.  He didn’t see any reason why he couldn’t do both.

Jack started waking up early in the morning.  From his bedroom window, he saw his neighbor return home each morning just as the sun came up.  Always that little flash caused the gate to open, but Jack could never see what caused the little flash.  Finally, one day he determined to get a closer look.

Just before sunrise, Jack crept across the town square and found a convenient shrub to hide behind.  He pushed deep into the leaves to be sure he couldn’t be seen.  Then he waited.  It didn’t take long.

Soon the old man came up the street, carrying his dark staff.  He paused as he approached the lightening bolt gates and took a large silver key out of his robes.  The sun peeked over the horizon just as he slipped the key into the lock.  The light reflected off the silver, flaming out for just a second, and then the old man tucked the key away again into some inner pocket.  

Jack was disappointed.  There was no magic here after all.  Just a key glimmering in the sunlight.  His mother and father had been right.  He had let his imagination run away with him.

Just as he was about to turn and creep home, though, something caught Jack’s eye.  The old man had now stepped through the gate and was passing under the trees down a path that presumeably led to his front door.  As he walked past, each tree bent its trunk, leaning forward in a most unnatural manner, as if bowing to their returning master.

A spurt of excitement coursed through Jack.  The trees were enchanted!  The old man truly must be a wizard! 

Over the course of the next week, Jack couldn’t stop thinking about the wizard and his magical trees.  Jack’s father kept him so busy at the smithy that he couldn’t stay awake at night or get up early enough in the morning to continue his spying, but that didn’t stop Jack from imagining what other wonders might be inside that house or from dreaming at night of walking through the gate and having those forbidding trees bow in greeting.

At last, Jack could take it no longer.  He asked his father for a day off from the smithy to go fishing, and his father, pleased at how hard Jack had been working, agreed.  Jack rose early the next day, gathered his fishing gear and slipped out of the house.  It didn’t take long to find a good spot in the square for hiding his fishing pole, and then Jack slipped across the road and approached the lightening bolt gates.

Cautiously, he reached out a hand and touched the iron lightening bolt.  Nothing happened.

Braver now, Jack grabbed hold of the bars.  He only had a few minutes before the sun would come up and the old man would return with his shining key.  Jack intended to be inside the gate before then.  With a burst of terrified energy, Jack scrambled up the bars and threw himself over the top and onto the path on the other side.

He landed with a crunch of dried leaves and looked around. The giant trees that lined the fence also stretched in long rows up toward to the house. Jack stepped forward on the path, holding his breath.  

The trees bent.  Their tops dipped toward the earth.

They were bowing!

But instead of bending low and then straightening again, the tree tops ducked down and and down.  The branches stretched out.  They reached Jack and wrapped around him.  Jack struggled in terror as they lifted him off the ground, completely enmeshed in their limbs and suspended him high in the air.  No amount of writhing could free Jack.  He was well and truly trapped.

A glimmer of light and a clanging of metal.  The crunch of footsteps.  Jack stopped his struggling and looked down   into the upturned face of the old man on the path below.

“Hello, neighbor,” said the man.

“Help me, please!” Jack squeaked.  “Make them put me down!  I’m sorry I sneaked in! I’ll never do it again!”

“I will help you, of course,” the old man said calmly, “but I’m afraid I cannot make the trees to do anything they don’t wish to do.”

“But you’re a wizard!” Jack cried. “They bow down to you!”

The old man smiled.  “I’m no wizard,” he said. “And as for the bowing, if they do it is only from common courtesy. After all, I live here.  This is where I belong, and even trees know a man deserves courtesy in his own home.”  He raised his eyebrows at where Jack hung tangled.  “You, on the other hand, are not where you belong.”

Jack nodded miserably. “I’m sorry,” he said again.  “I was just curious, and my curiosity got the better of me.”

The old man smiled.  “Curiosity can do that.  It’s always wise to get the better of our curiosity before it leads us into trouble.  I confess, though, I have often been unwise in this myself.”

The trees slowly began to lower Jack toward the ground.

“And as you can see,” said the old man, “trees also understand curiosity.  I don’t think they’ll hold your discourtesy against you this one time.  But you might want to be on your best manners from here on out.”

Jack gasped with relief as his feet touched the ground and the branches slowly pulled away and left him free.

The old man cleared his throat and nodded significantly upward.

Jack turned red.  “Thank you for letting me go,” he said very politely to the trees.  “I’m sorry I broke in so rudely.”

The treetops rustled gently.  Jack couldn’t help but feel that his apology had been accepted.

“Well done!” said the old man.  “And now, as your curiosity has brought you here, perhaps it might also induce you to come inside and share my morning cup of tea.”

Jack followed his neighbor up the path, each tree bowing to its master as he passed.  From up close, the house did not look so forbidding.  Large, of course, and shaded by many branches, but also very clean and with many flowers growing in baskets and barrels.  

The old man boiled water in an ordinary kitchen and made tea in a simple white teapot.  He served it to Jack with little raisin buns on the back porch looking out at the lawn.  It was all so unmagical that Jack began to be rather disappointed, even though the raisin buns were delicious.

After tea, the old man yawned, and Jack realized that after being out all night, he must be ready to sleep now.  Jack wanted to ask what the man did all night, but now that he had seen the consequences of rudeness, he worried it might be impolite to ask.

“It’s nearly time for my morning nap,” the old man said.

Jack swallowed his questions and nodded.  “Thank you for the breakfast,” he said.  “I can find my own way out.”

Jack shook the old man’s hand and turned to go.

“You’ve learned your lesson well,” the old man said.

Jack turned around with a question on his face.

“You’ve mastered your curiosity and remembered your manners.  I think that deserves a small reward.”

Jack’s heart began to beat as the old man drew out his metal-tipped staff.

“You are a wizard,” he said before he could stop himself.

The old man laughed.  “No, at least not in the sense that you mean it.  I am only a man with as much curiosity as a boy.  Come with me.”

The man led the way into the house and up several flights of stairs to a locked door.  He unlocked it with his shining silver key and opened it up to a tiny attic room.

Inside was giant telescope, pointed up through a window in the roof toward the sky.

“You won’t be able to see as much in the light of the sun,” said the man, “but perhaps it will be enough to be worth the effort.”

He fitted the metal tip of his staff into a hole in the telescope and began to make adjustments. “Come look,” he said when he had finished.

Jack stepped forward and put his eye to the tiny hole.

What he saw, dimly, through a slight haze of sunlight, was a star.  A star in all its glory, brought close enough that he could almost touch it.

Jack lifted his head in wonder.

The old many’s eyes twinkled at him.  “Not magic, but perhaps just as good?”

Jack pressed his eye to the glass again.  The universe within reach.  He didn’t care what the old man said, this was magic and the man was a wizard.

“Your next lesson must be in the night,” said the wizard as Jack left. “Bring your father. I’m in need of new fittings for my telescope.”

So Jack did.  He and his father and his mother went often to the old wizards house, sometimes to drink tea and sometimes to work and more often to look at the universe beyond.  Jack’s father showed him how to use a smith’s tools to make delicate instruments and the wizard showed Jack what those intruments could do.  

Jack was very careful to always knock politely at the gates, though, and wait to be let in.  He was very careful to whisper a thank-you to the trees each time he left.  

And in time, when Jack had spent so many hours at the wizard’s house that he, too, belonged, there came a day when he received his own silver key.  It glinted in the sunlight as he unlocked the gate and went in all alone..

And the trees bowed to greet him.

My Life In Trees

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I don’t know how tall the tree next to the driveway really was, but it seemed like a giant to me.  I was five, and the streets of small-town California were my whole world.  I had already watched my father fall out of this same tree, but it didn’t stop me from loving it, from climbing up the little two-by-fours nailed to the trunk and stepping onto the branches and going higher and higher until it felt like I was all alone on the top of the world.

Or, mostly alone, at least.  My brother was usually with me, just a branch or two below. Being two years older meant he was bigger and more cautious.  He told me not to go up too high, not to step out so far.  Naturally, I didn’t listen.  Do little sisters ever listen?  Not the stubborn, independent kind.  I don’t recall exactly, but I’m pretty sure that’s what brought on the dare.  Me venturing out too far, ignoring his warnings, no doubt bragging that I wasn’t afraid.  If you’re so unafraid, he said, why don’t you crawl across the carport, over the roof, and down the porch rails on the other side?

I dare you.

It probably seemed like a safe dare, so outlandish that he could prove his point without fear of any danger.  Let’s just say he learned two things about me that day (and maybe that was when I discovered them myself): 1. I truly wasn’t afraid (not of things in the real world, at least) and 2. I would always take a dare.

I held my breath on hands and knees the whole way across that fiberglass carport roof.  I scrambed nimbly and much more sure of myself over the sloping shingles of the house roof.  I was assailed by a moment of doubt at the thought of swinging my legs over the edge to climb down the porch, but the thought of that dare pushed me to action.

I was just climbing onto the porch rails when my mother came out the front door.  Now that I am a mother, I am truly sorry for the heart attack I gave her.  Everyone was amazed.  Shocked.  Angry.  Terrified.  But amazed.  I was pretty impressed with myself, to be honest.

I’ve been daring myself to do terrifying things ever since.


You know that girl will do absolutely any crazy thing.

I still remember when I discovered the little stand of silk trees behind our neighbors’ houses. They were a whole land of imagination all by themselves.  We were really living in military issued housing, a tile-floored ranch on a little housing development plopped in the middle of some fields on an Oklahoma Army base.  But across that quiet street and behind that row of boring yards was a magical world.

The branches swooped low and waved their fronds of fern-like leaves.  The blossoms were pink puffs of softness, perfect for decoration or for gathering to be woven into magical garments.  The long seed-pods hung down in clusters to be gathered for stews or to be stowed as provisions for all sorts of adventures.  Even now when I think of the endless private world of wonder that is childhood, of long afternoons outside, of skinned knees and twigs in my hair, of sun and shade and the smell of honesuckle, those silk trees are the picture I see.

There I learned to create worlds and to be rich while owning nothing at all.  I played in those worlds alone and I also brought friends in to play along, only to discover that nothing seemed the same through someone else’s eyes.  So there it was that I came to the sad conclusion (childish, but then, I was a child) that I should always only hug my magical worlds close and keep them safe from prying eyes.


For the record, this is the only time I can ever remember my mother holding a gun, but if those red pants and that pointed hood don’t say “doesn’t fit in this all too real world” I don’t know what does.

Later the tree was in our back yard.  For as much as it was my favorite place to be, for as many hours as I spent in its branches, I couldn’t now describe even a single branch to you.  I know it was off to the side, up against the neighbor’s fence.  I know that the bottom branches were low enough that I could reach up and, holding on tight, walk my feet up the trunk until my whole 13-year-old self could scramble up into the tree and disappear among the leaves.  I know that somewhere up above the roofline was the perfect forking branch where I could settle in, leaning back against the trunk and reaching up to the perfect little branch above where I kept the box.

I’m not sure when I thought to start keeping the box in the tree, but I do know once I put it there, it stayed there for a long time.  It was only an old cardboard shoe box, but inside I could keep a few treasures, things I thought were beautiful and should be stowed in a secret hideout in a tree.  A rock.  A pinecone.  A few faded flowers.  And a book.  Always a book that I could pull out and read, sitting on my branch, hidden from the world that contained middle school and poufy bangs and acid washed jeans.

I could just be me, in a tree, where things were green and other lands were just a page-turn away.

How did that book get wet? my mother asked.  Did you leave it outside?

I just nodded, not wanting to explain that I hadn’t really considered the ineffectiveness of a cardboard box as protection against the Oregon rains.  But the book dried out.  And I loved it all the more because it had had its own treetop adventure.

It turns out a book can take you away from your adolescent self and drop you in someone else’s life and also be a wrinkly-paged reminder that rains will change you but never stop you from being who you are inside.

Not long after, I sat up in that tree while a gentle rain fell down and felt that life was a pretty beautiful thing after all.


It was an awkward time.  You would have hidden in a tree, too.
The Indiana tree was miles down the road, tucked away in a park only a few a locals ever visited.  When I just had to get away, to be out of the dorm life of college friends and the pressures of trying to be someone grown up and headed somewhere, I sped down the country road to the empty park and stared at the lonely little trees and breathed.

Breathing really only works when you’re looking at trees.

Then I would drive back, get on with life, be social again and enjoy the thrills of becoming.

As college neared its end, the panic began to grow.  The visits to the out-of-the-way park became more frequent.  The breathing became more determined.

One day in a burst of desperation I got out of the car and strode over to the nearest little tree.  With great difficulty, I pulled myself onto the bottom branch.  I scraped my leg.  My shoulder ached.  I climbed one branch higher and had to stop.  I wasn’t sure the poor tree could handle my weight.  I stood there, clinging to the trunk, feeling huge and awkward, and it hit me.

I was a grown-up.

Without trying or achieving or performing any sort of ritual, I just was what I was.  An adult.  Too big to climb little trees.

A wave of sadness came over me.  I couldn’t be as light and care-free as I once was.  I was all grown up now, weighed down to the earth, confined to the realities of my real-world age and size.

And then I relaxed.  The breathing got easier.  Because just living had gotten me here to this place, so just living would get me through it.

I got back in my car and went back to my living.

A few short weeks later I sat in a different car looking at that same tree when the man who would become my husband gave me my first kiss.  The tree waved in the wind, just being a tree, not trying to be anything else.

All felt right with the world.

I wanted to go on and on. There are probably half a dozen more significant trees in my life. But time is short and memories are hard work. Thanks to Lil Blue Boo for the idea. It gave me an excuse to think about trees, which is another way of saying, it made me happy. More of life should be spent on things like remembering trees. Especially since, as you can see, I have no pictures of those places. This is my snapshot, probably as poorly lit and unevenly colored as all old snapshots are, but what’s the use of memories if not to be slanted in just the way you want them?

Announcements, Announcements, Annou-ouncements

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You know you’re singing the song now.  You’re welcome.

This is a special one for those (few, loyal) of you who have been waiting for Book 4 of The Book of Sight series.

We have a release date!!  And a title!!  And we’re ready to tell you what it is.

Ready?

I’m proud to announce that Book 4, The Poisoned Cure, will be released on Sept. 8, 2015!

Yes.  The Poisoned Cure 

You’ll understand when you’ve read it.

And yes, Sept. 8.

Not at all coincidentally one year after the release of The Secret Source.

Not at all coincidentally my birthday.

And if you haven’t read Books 1-3, you still have time!  Click the links over there to the right and get your copy in ebook or paperback.  They are a quick and fun summer read, so the month of August is the perfect time.

Stay tuned for the cover reveal for The Poisoned Cure, coming very, very soon!

(You guys are going to love it.  It’s my favorite one yet.)

Storytelling Aids: Sticker Fun!

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I have a houseful of children this week, as we’ve added four friends to the mix for a few days.  (That makes seven, if you’re counting.)  So far, it’s been a pretty great time, but there isn’t much left over for writing, so I’ll keep this quick.

Just wanted to share with you all this fun little packet of stickers I found at Wal-Mart last week.  The second I saw it, I knew I had to have it.

  
See that little fox?  That was the true selling point.  That and the $3 price.  So much cuteness.  I brought it home, thinking of fun storytelling times with little girls (did I mention the houseful of children?) and then I had to spend two days beating my daughters off with a stick until I had time to take a couple of pictures.  As soon as I took these, they went to town.

It has two little backgrounds to work with:

  
And then four pages of darling little stickers to make all the action:

 
The orange racoon!  The pink fox!  The funny little frog thing!  The hedgehog!  I don’t know what adventures they’re all going to get up to, but if there isn’t some fighting over apples and falling off of logs, I’ll be disappointed.
The stickers themselves really do appear to be reusable, can be peeled off and moved around and rearranged, which is perfect for storytelling.

Three dollars, people.  Just thought you should know.

And happy last week of July!  Next week we’ll be going back to school, so this houseful of children will drop from 7 to 0, at least for a few hours each day.  

Oh, glorious quiet!  Oh, tremendous pile of work.

See you all then!

Denouement

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Cinderella married the prince, attended by all her woodland friends and congratulated by the entire kingdom.

And they lived happily ever after.

They really did.  Happiness stuck with them all their days.

But he had to admit it didn’t really look like he thought it would.  

She was wonderful, of course.  Lovely and intelligent and kind and, by some miracle, in love with him and not just with his crown.  Who wouldn’t be happy with a wife like that?

It’s just that happiness, it turned out, was so much work.

They had hopes and dreams, plans for what they wanted to build in their kingdom.  They wanted to see to it that their kingdom was just, that everyone was treated equally and had all their needs provided for.  They wanted to see to it that their kingdome was beautiful, with roads in good repair and green spaces available to all and art of all kinds being created often.  

So they worked tirelessly to learn to know their people, to create fair laws, to set up systems to provide for the poor, to patronize artists, to fund the building of roads and parks.  It was happy work.  They could be together.  They could end each day with a sense of accomplishment.  Their people loved them.

It was also endless work.  No matter how many injustices they righted, there were always more that had been missed.  No matter how many buildings they restored, there were always more that were crumbling.  At times it was hard not to despair.

Of course, even in this sense of forever incompleteness, he had her by his side, so in spite of the nagging sense of failure, his life was still, in its essence, happy.

Then came the children.

Of course, they had children, first of all for love but also to have a new generation to carry their dreams and accomplishments on into the future.  And the children were wonderful.  They were a constant source of joy and pride.  They added new depths to the happiness of life.

It’s just that children, it turned out, were so much work.

They needed care every day, of course, but that was only the beginning.  Their every lovely quality had a corresponding pitfall that must be faced on a daily basis.  The boy, so spirited, so determined, so hardworking, could be stubborn and willful and disdainful of others.  The girl, so creative, so luminous, could be thoughtless and careless of others.  Their emotions, so intense and powerful, were a force to be reckoned with, a force that could be turned to good or to destruction.  

So their parents worked tirelessly to show love, to teach restraint, to model a mature life.  It was happy work.  They could be together.  They could see the slow progress of good in their children’s lives.  Their children loved them and were happy.

It was also exhausting work.  Though some days ended in a sense of accomplishment, many ended with a sense of failure.  A good many days never ended at all, but extended straight through the night.  This did not bring out the best in either the prince or Cinderella.  For every charged moment successfully navigated, there was a corresponding one that left them all in doubt.  And there would be no end to these moments.  They stretched out to the horizon in endless years of dangerous waters.

Of course, even in this sense of high stakes, of walking a tight rope above a pit of alligators, he had her by his side, so in spite of the nagging worries, his life was still, completely, happy.

It’s just that happiness was not the same as bliss.  Happiness emcompassed highs and lows.  Happiness grew up amidst anxiety and discouragement.  Happiness dripped with sweat.

He wouldn’t have traded it for anything.

For this happiness was not just a fairy-tale illusion.  This happiness was real.  This happiness was built to last.

Ever. After.

Monday Morning Treasure

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Only two week of summer break left!  We are busily cramming in as much swimming and sunning and playing with friends as we possibly can.  We are really good at cramming.  We want to be sunsoaked and happy and pleasantly tired as we head back to school to be serious again.  I think we’re going to achieve that goal.

  
In the mean time, we still have the gentle summer mornings: the sleeping in a little later, the sitting in the window seat and reading for an hour before getting down to the business of the day.  Some of that reading has been really grave and disturbing lately.  The world is a difficult place.  

Here is a smattering of other things, though.  Things to stimulate your mind and lift your spirits.  We’re not ignoring the harsh the realities, but we’re giving ourselves permission to take a break.  After all, that’s part of the beauty of having these kids.  We work hard to give them a safe and happy childhood, a sunny summer to remember as they slog through the hard work of living the rest of the year.  And while we give it to them, we get ot briefly enjoy it, too.  Let’s take it all in.

  • Have I showed you this yet?  Cheap books!  What could be happier than that?
  • I should probably be embarrassed by how much I enjoyed this, but I’m not.  Good-night, Dune.  Brilliant.
  • These are beautiful and haunting.  The fact that they are also ground-breaking is just a bonus.  
  • Now I want to make my own list of beautiful lines.  There are just too many to choose from…
  • This.  Motherhood is wonderful on so many levels, but this.  This is why I wanted to do it in the first place.
  • NASA will always be a favorite, but it was the comments on this post that made my day last week.  Somehow this distant planet has an actual hold on our hearts.  Humans are funny creatures.
  • I can’t decide if I particularly love any of the words they’ve invented, but the Dictionary of Obscure Sorrows deserves a read for its name alone.
  • Have any of you read this book?  I really want to see the movie, and I keep reading that the book is amazing.  It’s definitely on the list.
  • Also! Our copy of Go Set a Watchman came yesterday.  I can’t decide if I’m excited or terrified to read it.  Are any of you already on it?  Thoughts so far?

Enjoy your Monday, everyone, and soak up that summer while you can.


Off the Shelves, Week 2

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The need for the library is only growing, at least here in Indianapolis, where rain is making all of our gardens grow and flourish to a degree none of us will ever get to enjoy, as we will all be locked up in an institution after our constantly fighting children cause us to snap. 

What?  I’m fine.  Really.

Really.

Um…let’s look at some books, shall we?

  
This first one is for the littles among us.  I absolutely love books with imaginative stories told mostly in pictures.  Before learning how to read, all three of my kids loved to flip through books on their own and “read” the story they saw in the pictures.  This book would be ideal for that.

   
 As you can see, there are some words, but there are many pages without any words at all, and it’s such a lovely simple little imaginative story.  Super fun.

And for the slightly older among us, a little spin on the fairytales.

  
This whole story is told back in forth in letters from various fairy tale characters.

  
I love it when someone comes up with a creative new format.  This is fun conceptually, fun visually, and it weaves a new story across several fairytales.  What could be better?

Except sun, I mean.  

I’m happy to report that the forecast says today will be sunny!  So we’re putting books aside and going swimming while we can.  

We’ll be back at the library tomorrow during the next round of thunderstorms, though, so I’m sure I’ll have a fresh new crop of fun finds for you  next week.

Assuming I’m still sane, that is.

Supine

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Here I am and here I’ll stay
My skin warmed by the sun’s fierce rays
I hear the buzz of insects’ play
I breath the sweet, fat summer day
Merge with the ground on which I lay
As hours pass by as they may
I let my mind just drift away

Here I am and here I’ll stay

Echoes

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It’s funny how the stories stick with you.

How they’re buried deep down inside and you don’t think about them for years until the moment life rips you open and through the jagged tear you see light streaming out and when you lean in close you can see the story glowing.

How they fill your mind with adventure and excitement and laughter, all of which fade quickly, leaving only the truth echoing around in your heart, ready to catch your ear when you least expect it.

When I was a kid, one of my favorite series to read all my own was, unsurprisingly, The Chronicles of Narnia.  I read each one of those books at least eight times.  What might be surprising is that my clear favorite of all of them was The Horse and His Boy.  That one never gets the attention it deserves.

I loved it for the simplest of reasons.  It was a great story, with all the classic elements.  Boy is mistreated, finds out his horrible father is not really his father, runs away from home, takes up with talking horses, meets a princess, saves the day, falls in love, finds out he’s really a king. What’s not to love?  Also, it’s funny.  At least, to a nine-year-old.  So I read it over and over, thrilled at the adventures, felt satisfied at the ending where everyone gets what he or she deserves.

It wasn’t until much later that it came back to haunt me.

I was thirty.  It had probably been ten years, at least, since the last time I’d read that book.  I lived in a slum in Argentina, and everything was going wrong.  People I’d been trying to help were being lost on every side.  Some were lost to terrible decisions, some to anger, and then some were actually killed, tragically, unepectedly. On we worked, trying to hold things together, to save what could be saved, to keep everything from falling apart, and just when I felt I’d performed some heroic feat of self-sacrifice, something new would be needed.  I remember the day someone showed up on my doorstep with a new horrible story (the tragic drowning of a small child), a new desperate request (an all-night wake with a hopeless family).  I remember saying to my husband, “It’s too much.  I don’t have anything left.”  He could only say that he felt the same.

But there was this echo.  It sounds a little silly, but it wouldn’t stop tumbling around in my head.  This:


Shasta had just run, as far and as fast as he could to save himself and his friends and bring warning to the King.  He thought he had made it to the end of his journey.  But he hadn’t.  He had to run more.  No one else had to do it. The others got to rest. It was completely unfair.

Want to know what happens next?

“But all he said out loud was, ‘Where is the king?'”

Just that.  “Okay.  What do I have to do?” And then he ran.

If you do one good deed, your reward usually is to be set to do another and harder and better one.

Echo, echo, echo.

I carried on.  One step at a time.  Inspired and challenged by a small story I read when I was a child.

Because I remembered the end.  I had seen it all. I had seen him run past endurance, get lost in the fog, nearly fall off a cliff, find himself landed in a battle that was beyond his skills.  I had seen him do the next thing and the next thing  until it all came out the way it was supposed to.

And I recognized with my grown-up mind what I had decided in my little girl heart all those years ago.

I wanted to be a hero like Shasta, and heroes run on.

With the echoes in my head, I ran.

Off the Shelf

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It’s summer, and we’re barely breathing.  Swimming, picnicking, playing with friends.  And then there are the trips to the library.

Oh yeah.  It’s summer reading time, and hello, selection.

  
So many books!  So many colors…so many words…so many silly pictures.  (Quick side note: how insanely amazing is it that in our country we have access to this kind of awesomeness for free? Talk about wealth! When I count my blessings, this is in the top ten, easy.)  

How do you even choose? 

If you’re anything like me, you walk in, herd the kids through the fun of admiring the fish in the tank and playing for a few minutes on the computers and then you grab some books randomly off the shelf and get yourself home.

Please tell me you’re something like me.

My older kids are getting pretty good at browsing for themselves now, but this is stil my go-to move with the six-year-old. And believe me, we have brought home some seriously weird books with this method.

  
Can I be honest and say that I’d rather not have any books that are trying to teach my kids things?  I mean, I want my kids to be brave, but could we at least be a little subtle about it?

Also, I’d like to confess that I avoid ones that remind me of old Coke commercials.

  
But! Now that I don’t have to spend every second of library time worrying about where my kids have gotten off to, I have time to browse the shelves more thoroughly.  So I thought in the next few weeks I would bring you a few true gems that I found by just randomly pulling things off the shelf.  This week I have two great ones for you.

Ready? Here we go.  

  

Have you seen these Pig in a Wig books?  This is my first, though apparently it’s a series? It’s an early reader, and I’m super excited to have Lucy read it.  Because it really is simple, but it’s also fun.  If you haven’t taught anyone to read lately, you can’t know how rare that is.

Check it out:  

See? Simple.  But with each, page, more silly rhyming things get in the boat.

  

And it keeps going, getting more silly and wonderful with each page.  This one is a winner.

Next up:  

I mean, the title.  The warning at the bottom.  I’m already hooked.  But then you open the cover.

  

It’s like Wes Anderson made a book for kids.  The trees in the dome! The stowaways in the water tank!  And any book that uses the word “larder” is  book for me.

  

A nice Star Trekish adventure done in this psuedo comic book style makes for a book that entertains my older kids as well as the youngest.  I hesitate to admit it, but the story itself barely matters at this point.  Though a story about searching for mystic space nuts is bound to be pretty good.

Go online and reserve these ones now, and they’ll be waiting on a shelf with your name on them the next time you herd your littles through the library.  Because technology rocks. 

And we’ll be back next week with a few more gems.  And the week after that.  And the week after that.  

And then the kids will go back to school. And we’ll all take a deep breath.