Wednesday, February 19, 2014

ice cream WEDNESDAY (while the rest of the country freezes without the aid of icy treats)

we love Scoops

(we did pine for Miss Kitty and those long-ago Fridays)

he is a very good chair
through the security gate of a LACC parking garage,
down the street from the ice cream shoppe
(snapped & digitally altered by Ander)

Thursday, January 09, 2014

Kindred Spirits: As Now She and I Will BOTH Think of Anne and Smile When We See Puffed Sleeves or the Word 'Liniment'



I finished reading it to her tonight, and I cried big hot tears when I got to taciturn Marilla's longest piece of dialogue:
"'I don't know what I'd do if you weren't here -- if you'd never come...  It's never been easy for me to say things out of my heart, but...I love you as dear as if you were my own flesh and blood and you've been my joy and comfort ever since you came to Green Gables.'"
I last read Anne of Green Gables when I was in 8th grade, on the recommendation of my mother who had loved it as a girl.  I instantly, passionately adored Anne, and felt that somehow Lucy Maude Montgomery had reached forward through time and across the Canadian border and had written a book about me.  

But somehow, as I grew up, Marilla -- beyond the fact that she was the stricter of the two siblings who adopted Anne -- disappeared from my memory of the story.  I don't know if I simply didn't understand Marilla when I was thirteen, or if I didn't even notice her because she was a grownup, or if I did in fact notice but subsequently forgot all those passages that clue the reader into Marilla's often hysterically funny inner dialogue (which almost always runs counter to what she says out loud).  

But this time around, as I read Anne of Green Gables out loud to Aliza, Marilla came to life, spoke through me and to me, and broke my heart.

For her part, Aliza loved the book, and was touched by it, but remained dry-eyed throughout.  She was properly (and loudly) frustrated by Anne's years-long grudge against poor Gilbert Blythe.  She lulled herself to sleep each night by imagining walking arm in arm with Anne and Diana down Lover's Lane.  She twisted handfuls of quilt at the very mention of mean, mean Josie Pye's name.  She fidgeted, stood up, sat down, fidgeted some more, and was simply unable to sit still while worrying about Matthew.  And when she figured out the story's one sad plot twist just before it happened, she bleated, "Oh no!" and clutched her face.   

She felt that Anne grew up too quickly, wishing that more of the story featured the adventures and "scrapes" of a more Aliza-aged Anne.

I agreed, and cried big hot tears all over again (not so much about Anne growing up) as I read the following passage:
"'Why Anne, how you've grown!" she said, almost unbelievingly.  A sigh followed on the words.  Marilla felt a queer regret over Anne's inches.  The child she had learned to love had vanished somehow and here was this tall, serious-eyed girl...with the thoughtful brows and the proudly poised little head, in her place.  Marilla loved the girl as much as she had loved the child, but she was conscious of a...sorrowful sense of loss.  And that night...Marilla sat alone in the wintry twilight and indulged in the weakness of a cry."

Tuesday, January 07, 2014

A Prescription For a Serious Case of Post-School Snark

What I forced him to read today, for half an hour, before starting his homework, in hopes that he would slough off a couple of his newer nesting doll layers and remember what it was like to be nine.
If nothing else, it bought us all half an hour of bicker-free time.


The gist of the one-sided 'conversation' I had with one of the children today (but also a conversation I have with myself, daily):



I don't care if you're hormonal.  
I don't care if you're a boy or a girl.  
I don't care if you're the older or the younger child.  
There are no excuses.  

Snarkiness is lazy.  And mean.  And hurtful.

You are bigger than that.

Yes, your feelings are real, but that means they are real enough to poison the people around you.  You may remove yourself from our company for a short while to remember or imagine being X's age, and to remember who you want to be.  

Read.  

Write.  

Have a good cry.  

Think of this as time in a decompression chamber, between the depths you explore with your peers, and your home on the surface.  Adjust your attitude, your tone, and your expression.  Level off, and then come back to us.

You do not always have to be right.  You do not always have to have the last word.

But you do have to mostly be kind.