children’s literature

Mole Just Wants To Live By A River

By in children's literature, nature

We went for another hike by another mountain stream over the weekend. (I couldn’t get in this one, since it’s a watershed; very hard for Moley.)

I don’t know where this fascination with running water has come from but I’m about ready to see if I can go make a life on a river, just like Mole:

This day was only the first of many similar ones for the emancipated Mole, each of them longer and full of interest as the ripening summer moved onward. He learnt to swim and to row, and entered into the joy of running water; and with his ear to the reed-stems he caught, at intervals, something of what the wind went whispering so constantly among them.

(The entirety of The Wind in the Willows is online, btw.)

Mole Visits The River

By in children's literature, nature, weekend report

Instead of a hike, we went wading yesterday. I’m not a great swimmer and have no desire to become one, but rivers (or creeks, in this case) have my heart. Let me stick my feet in one and see the hidden banks and suddenly I’m thinking of becoming a river guide and breaking out The Wind in the Willows quotes:

Never in his life had he seen a river before—this sleek, sinuous, full-bodied animal, chasing and chuckling, gripping things with a gurgle and leaving them with a laugh, to fling itself on fresh playmates that shook themselves free, and were caught and held again. All was a-shake and a-shiver—glints and gleams and sparkles, rustle and swirl, chatter and bubble. The Mole was bewitched, entranced, fascinated.

A happy Mole, “bewitched, entranced, fascinated.”

 

Equinox

By in children's literature

We made it to another Vernal Equinox, the sun has been shining, bulbs are coming up, and when you come in from a walk you smell like outside.

There is, of course, a quote for that:

“You smell like flowers and – and fresh things,” he cried out, quite joyously. “What is it you smell of? It’s cool and warm and sweet all at the same time.”

(from The Secret Garden, when Mary comes in to see Colin after working in the garden for the morning.)

Friday Links

By in children's literature, swole

1. I didn’t get a new max on bench on Tuesday, but last night was max effort on deadlifts (my favorite) and I broke my last record by 15 pounds–for 150 pounds! More than my body weight! Soon, I will deadlift a car.

2. I didn’t realize this but Heather Havrilesky, quoted yesterday, writes the Ask Polly advice column for The Cut. (Again, Austin Kleon clued me in, this time via his newsletter.) This week’s column was like one of my therapy sessions, i.e. very true to how my anxious brain gets worked up about something and how I get called out (gently) for thinking instead of feeling. (That is praise; you should read it.)

3. We got a lot of snow Wednesday; it’s already starting to melt and today is going to be over 50 degrees. It’s time to break out this quote from The Lion, The Witch, and The Wardrobe:

And now the snow was really melting in earnest and patches of green grass were beginning to appear in every direction…Every moment the patches of green grew bigger and the patches of snow grew smaller. Every moment more and more of the trees shook off their robes of snow. […]

“This is no thaw,” said the Dwarf [to the White Witch], suddenly stopping. “This is spring. What are we to do? Your winter has been destroyed, I tell you!”

 

Getting Hatched Is Hard Work

By in children's literature

I’ve been thinking about a role change at work (from copy to content strategy) since the beginning of the year and have started to take steps to make it happen. Yesterday I presented my first content audit and it went great. Then I was exhausted later and thought of this book:

I quoted it back in 2013 right after a breakup, but I think The Little Duck  is here to tell us that life changes are hard, and take work, and make you tired–and that naps are ok.

The S Word

By in children's literature, weekend report

“This is no thaw,” said the Dwarf [to the White Witch], suddenly stopping. “This is spring. What are we to do? Your winter has been destroyed, I tell you! This is Aslan’s doing.”

In Rooms

By in children's literature

I know it’s still early, but I’ve felt a little like Colin in The Secret Garden lately and missing out on spring because I’ve been spending too much time “in rooms.” But at least I’m not ill. (Or, to use the language of early 1900s children’s lit, an “invalid.”)

 “Is the spring coming?” he said. “What is it like? You don’t see it in rooms if you are ill.”

“It is the sun shining on the rain and the rain falling on the sunshine, and things pushing up and working under the earth,” said Mary.

Friday Unrelated Information

By in children's literature, Friday Unrelated Information, Toby

1. I remembered a passage from a children’s book (The Princess and the Goblin) about getting old:

“It is so silly of people to fancy that old age means crookedness and witheredness and feebleness and sticks and spectacles and rheumatism and forgetfulness! It is so silly! Old age has nothing whatever to do with all that. The right old age means strength and beauty and mirth and courage and clear eyes and strong painless limbs.”
I am going to stick with that philosophy and the New York Times can just stop with their old-age-fear-mongering.
2. Toby says, “OMG Mom, quit worrying about everything. And probably get more sleep like me.”
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It’s That Time Again

By in children's literature, Laura Ingalls Wilder, quotes

Time to make handmade Christmas gifts, that is.  Everyone’s getting a Laura Ingalls Wilder Christmas this year:

In the morning they all woke up almost at the same moment. They looked at their stockings, and something was in there. Santa Claus had been there. Alice and Ella and Laura in their red flannel nightgowns and Peter in his red flannel nightshirt, all ran shouting to see what he had brought. In each stocking there was a pair of bright red mittens, and there was a long, flat stick of red-and-white striped peppermint candy, all beautifully notched along one side.

They were all so happy they could hardly speak at first.

In other words, everyone’s getting the modern equivalent of mittens and peppermint.

(Read the whole chapter from Little House In The Big Woods here.)

 

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