Kelly Bennett's Blog, page 77
October 1, 2014
Ban It. Pan It. But Don’t Ignore It.
As we wave farewell to Banned Book Week 2014, and move into October--the season of the most widely banned holiday of them all, HALLOWEEN,
I’d like to share what sounds like the start of a joke: I was sitting in the Candlewick Press booth one day when 2 librarians walked up . . .
Not These Two--Children's Librarians! (Who Knew there was a TV Series?)
I smiled cheerily, and Vanna White-ish-ly motioned toward the picture book on display.
“This is my newest book,” I gushed, “Isn’t it adorable!”
"Would you like to take a look at it?"
“Feel free to take a few NO BITE pins,” I offered.
“A bookmark? Maybe a NO BITE sticker?”
The two librarians leaned in for a peek at the cover, then jumped back, shaking their heads.
“No, no,” They told me.
“I’m sure it’s very nice,” one offered. “But . . .
We don’t buy that kind of book.
The book was Vampire Baby, a picture book illustrated by Paul Meisel. The event TLA: Texas Library Association 2013 Annual Conference.
These weren't the only librarians who hurried past and/or tisk-tisked disapprovingly at Vampire Baby. (I think a few may actually have made a special trip past the booth just so they could cast dispersion.)
What were they afraid of? That adorable Tootie-Wootie was going to jump off the cover and bite them? That Vampirism was contagious? That children exposed to it might suddenly sprout fangs? Or maybe, horror of horrors, they might actually . . . like it???
While it sounds like a joke, it’s not a laughing matter.
Later, at the Texas Blue Bonnet Award Luncheon, after one table-mate actually squealed with delight when she learned Vampire Baby was mine!—my Rock Star Moment—I learned why Vampire Baby was shunned. That same librarian who had squealed, later apologized because while she would happily be buying copies for herself, her children, and her friends, she could not buy it for her school library. Why?
Turns out the word “Vampire” is taboo in many libraries—school and otherwise. And in school book fairs and clubs, such as Scholastic. So, rather than buying Vampire Baby, rather than reading it, rather than even looking inside, librarians at those institutions ignore it, pretend it doesn’t exist. Sound familiar?
It took me back to a long ago Fourth of July Weekend when after sharing a jolly holiday with friends at a cabin they had rented on Oklahoma’s Grand Lake, we decided to book ourselves a cabin for the upcoming Labor Day weekend. The proprietress happily passed me a registration for to fill out, read as far as my name, then smiled politely as she declined my booking, saying “I’m sure you are very nice people, but you are not our kind of people.”
Ironic, isn't it, that time of “Inclusivity” and “Celebrating Diversity” Vampire Baby, a teething story, a sibling story, a story of a brother learning to accept his sister’s “differences” and ultimately embrace and defend her, fangs and all, rather than being embraced or challenged, is ignored.
Frankly, I don’t blame them. If I were a children’s librarian, I’d probably do the same thing. (Although I’d like to think I wouldn't.) As delightful as Vampire Baby is—and it sooooo is—if I knew adding it to my library’s picture book collection guaranteed me having to defend it, fill out more paperwork, perhaps pull it from the shelves anyway, I probably wouldn't buy it either. (The tots won’t know the difference. . . ) So much easier to ignore it and hope it goes away…
I wouldn’t be alone in this thinking, it seems. In a Google search of “Banned Picture Books,” the last picture book listed is And Tango Makes Three, published in 2005!
Does this mean the last offensive to some faction picture book published was 9 years ago????
Of course you can't compare Vampire Baby to And Tango Makes Three . . .
. . . Not until you've read IT!
Here’s to Banned Books! And Banning Books!. Being banned is so much better than being ignored.
Do me a favor: Ban it if you must. Pan it if you will. But, first, READ IT! (Or at least listen.)
I’ll make it easy for you. Here’s the Link to VAMPIRE BABY Author Read-Aloud
If you decide it's offensive, go ahead, BAN IT! (I double-dog dare you...)
If you decide it’s worthwhile, and you’d like a chance to WIN FREE BOOKS FOR YOURSELF AND YOUR LIBRARY, enter the I Vant My Vampire Baby Contest. HERE’S HOW!
The views expressed here are strictly mine. The do not reflect those of Candlewick Press, Paul Meisel, Scholastic Bookfairs or Vampires other than Tootie.
September 25, 2014
Big Wheel Keeps on Turning
Big wheel keeps on turning, churning up snippets so long forgotten they might not be rightfully considered mine anymore. (Reading over that line, I'm feeling a little too much like Miss Daisy...better get some of that there "blueing shampoo."
A name, in author and VCFA faculty advisor, Sharon Darrow's Write at Your Own Risk post, "The Imagination Has Its Orders," prompted the stop and pried the cage open this go round. Bonnie Riedinger, not even the correct name--off by one letter--but close enough. Yep, like horseshoes and hand grenades, memory works that way.
Halloween, Junior Year, my BF Valerie is Alice. Get what that leaves me? We were having too much fun to graduate!
My senior year of high school, I only had to take two required classes, Government and Senior English. I didn't need to take either really, could actually have graduated early, but why? I had a good paying job--school hours only, weekends and holidays off--in the Career Guidance Center, (I would have had to quit if I graduated.) My friends were all still in school. I wasn't ready to be big.
Instead, I padded my schedule with Volleyball P.E. with a plan to slide through my senior year.
A certain Huntington Beach High School English teacher named Mrs. Riedlinger (note the "l") was my is responsible for turning my slider into a home run.
People ask why I became a writer. It took reading that one-letter-wrong name all these years later for me to come up with an answer: Mrs. Riedlinger. I doubt she'd remember me (even a year later.) I wasn't that kind of student. But Mrs. Riedlinger was that kind of teacher.
Going round and round and round in the circle game. . .
— Joni Mitchell
Here's what I remember from Mrs. Riedlinger's class: We read the Odyssey AND Travels with Charlie. She taught poetry, by way of the classics--AND Dylan AND Elton AND Mick. Unheard of! (This was 1975-76, back before the age of reason.)
She assigned 10 SAT words a week. "Define them and use them each in a sentence."
That name stopped me. I Googled my teacher and 2 yearbook pages popped up. Judith Riedlinger, teaching at HBHS in 1971-1985.
I raised my hand. "Do we have to write one sentence each?" I asked. "Or can we use more than one word in a sentence."
(The smart girl in the class, Deirdre, who by the end was my friend and still is, thought up the question. She was a sophomore who'd already skipped a grade or two, and unlike me, had every intention of graduating early.)
"Use as many as you like per sentence. Use them all in one sentence if you can. But," Mrs. Riedlinger challenged. "If you want it to count, it had better be a proper sentence."
Each week of that semester Deirdre and I went for it. Doing so took much more time, no doubt, but we managed to cut our sentence production. And at least once we succeeded in correctly using all 10 of that week's words in one sentence. If memory serves, two of those were sagacious and parsimonious.
My story, of a passionate teacher changing a student's life, isn't unique. Still, it's lovely to know it happens--can still happen--especially as this brand new school year begins. Here's hoping our students connect with their Mrs. Riedlinger!
To keep the feel good going, here are my top 5 Favorite Teachers in Movies:
Danny Divito as Bill Rago in R enaissance Man Sidney Poitier as Mr. Thackeray in To Sir With Love Michael Cane and Julie Waters in Educating Rita (not sure who's the teacher?)Robin Williams as John Keating in Dead Poet’s SocietyPeter O’Toole as Mr. Chipping in Goodbye Mr. ChipsIf that's not enough, here's a list of MORE inspiring Teacher/Student Movies.
This blog's playlist:
To Sir With Love, Lulu Proud Mary, Creedence Clear Water Revival The Circle Game, Joni Mitchell--Thanks for reading!
Click on SUBSCRIBE if you'd like to receive email notification when entries are posted on Kelly's Fishbowl.
September 18, 2014
Why? Why Did You Do This to Me?
Here's what I want to know: Of all the baby sisters in the world, why did mine have to be a vampire baby? WHY? Tell the truth, Kelly Bennett aka Ms. Bigshot Author: are you vampire crazy? Or did you turn Tootie into a vampire baby just so you could cash in on the vampire craze?
KB: Of course! I totally wanted to cash in on the vampire craze! (And rake in Armored truck loads of cash)...Who wouldn't? BTW: I'm still waiting....
Who knows: I could go Vampire--I have the fangs for it!
As for vampire crazy: Maybe I would be a vampirepheliac. (I do love writing that word), if I could. But, there's one teeny problem with me going vampire: I have fainted at the sight of blood.
To be fair, it was my son Max's blood. He cut himself picking a piece of glass out of the grass. (Caution: don't play with glass.) Hey! At least I waited until the doctor was finished sewing the top of Max's thumb back in place before my eyes rolled. I remember saying, “I'm going….” The next thing I knew I was on the emergency room floor with my feet propped up on a chair and everyone staring down at me. That's not to say I might not turn vampire . . . I do have fangs.
VBB: Now that's SCARY! So, where did you get the idea for Vampire Baby?
KB: The title came first. It sprang from a workshop at Vermont College of Fine Arts (VCFA). Cynthia Leitich Smith was one of our workshop leaders. Her Tantalize series was hot, so she was the VCFA resident expert on all things Vampire. Someone in the group suggested that certain topics were off limits in picture books. Cynthia and I jumped on that foolish notion.
“Such as?” we asked. That wonderfully-misinformed person looked at Cynthia and said, “What about, well . . . vampires.” And just like that (insert finger snap) I blurted out, “Vampire Baby!”
VBB: How long did it take you to write the story?
KB: About two years and 12 revisions.
VBB: Two years! But it doesn't have very many words? You must be a really slow writer. Why so long?
KB: The title, Vampire Baby, floated around in my head like a guilty secret, stirring and swirling, popping up every so often to remind me it was there for quite a while. But that's all it was, a title. I didn't have a story to go with it.
VBB: What were you waiting for?
KB: YOU! I had to figure out who I was writing about, and who I was writing for. The answer to both was you: an eight-year-old boy with sibling trouble.
VBB: So you invented Too-too-Tootie...
KB: Exactly! I was actually gathering material for a non-fiction book about teeth. A friend shared that unlike most babies, whose bottom teeth come in first, her canine teeth had come in first. That's when the story idea hit me.
VBB: Don't you mean “bit” me? Ha-ha! Canine means “dog.” Why couldn't Tootie have been a dog instead of a sister?
KB:You already have a dog. As I was saying... I actually wrote Vampire Baby with three people in mind: my Candlewick editor, Sarah, because she busted out laugh-snorting when she heard the title; my nephew, Devin; and his little sister, Grace, who has the best giggle.
VBB: How did you come up with the silly name, Tootie, anyway?
KB: It's from the movie Meet Me in St. Louis, starring Judy Garland. The littlest sister, played by Margaret O'Brien, was named Tootie. That name always made me laugh, and so it seemed perfect because you wouldn't expect a dangerous vampire baby to be named Tootie.
VBB: I still don't get it. Having a baby sister is tough enough. Why turn Tootie into a biter?
Ooops! Did I do that????
KB: Confession Time: some babies hit, some kick, some scream, some bite. To hear my family tell it, I did all of them! In my defense, they were all bigger and stronger and knew more words than I did. So I did what I had to do to get my point across. Biters are misunderstood: we're not bad, but we can be dangerous... And that's all the time we have. If I'm going to write more stories, I'd better get busy.
VBB: Wait! Just one more question, please? What's my name?
KB: That's for me to know and for you to find out in what I hope is the next adventure ofVampire Baby!
VBB: Thanks, Kelly... Uh oh! Here she comes...
“Youch Tootie! No Bite!”
September 10, 2014
Riding a Bike? or Yoga Schmoga!
You know that saying about riding a bicycle? How, once you know how to ride a bicycle, you’ll always be able to ride a bicycle. Folks—friends—say it to reassure us that whatever IT is we used to be able to do (FILL IN THE BLANK) we'll still be able to do at some undetermined future date.
It’s a nice thought. In the same way Harold Hill’s If-you-think-you-can-you-can “Think System,” is an sure-fire way method for learning to play a flooglehorn.
How to play a flooglehorn: Step 1, Think middle C; Step 2, push down key and blow. It's that easy!
Much as I—we?—wish it were, life isn’t a musical.
Remembering how to do something, even something we used to be able to do well, does not mean we can do it now.
It could, in fact, make it worse: Having ridden a bicycle before, also means we know how tough it was to learn to ride in the first place.
And what about those falls we took? We fell then, we can fall now, harder.
The knowledge can make:
The thought of doing something you haven’t done in a while scary.The thought of doing something you haven’t done badly in a long time, even scarier.The thought of trying to do something you used to be able to do and failing now, scarier still.
Out of fear, we put off, avoid, resist trying to do IT again.
Last week, that rusty bicycle I tried getting back on is called Yoga.
This is YOGA!
After more than 2 months absence, I had planned to start back the week before. (Honest!) But, the yoga studio was closed for summer holidays. I feigned disappointment, while muffling relief:
It’s not my fault, I told my aching back.
I was up for it, I told my creaking joints.
Then, last Tuesday morning, the first day the Yoga studio was open, as I was taking Curtis to work so I could have the car and drive to yoga, I told myself, I really should stay home today; it’s not as if I haven’t been exercising; I've been walking and take the stairs; I’ll walk tonight; it’s a short week anyway; I’ll start yoga next week. . .
I had myself nearly convinced, then Curtis asked, “What time is yoga?”
Mistake #1: I told him about my plan.
Mistake #2: I went to Yoga!
This was a mistake! is definitely what I thought when it turned out I was the only student who turned up. It was just me and the instructor.
No one to hide behind. Nothing between me and that huge mirror. No one to follow.
You expect me to be able to do what????
The worst part was waiting for class to begin.
To make it worse, while I waited, my eyes wandered to the Astanga Yoga Chart on the wall.
I might have feigned a tummy attack and left. But I was afraid, with me being the only student there, Katherine might follow just to be sure I was all right. (My yoga instructors, Katherine and Erica, are that nice and caring.)
This is not! Okay, so maybe I forgot a few things . . .
Then it went from bad to better: Going back to Yoga felt like going back to school. New but familiar.
Sure, there was a lot I didn’t know and some stuff I’d forgotten over the holiday.
But that was to be expected, wasn't it?
Then it got bad again.
You know that bicycle thing? It’s all about the rider. No one mentions the bike.
When they talk about it being easy as riding a bicyicle, no one ever talks about the bike . . .
If the bike is new, jumping on a riding away might be a possibility. But . . .
If the bike is old, the chain’s rusted, the tires flat and worse for wear, it’s a whole different story . . . I’ll leave it at that.
Enough said . . .
Then it got really bad:
Once I limbered up a little and ground off some of the rust so I didn't have to worry about IF I could move, I began to worry about how I looked doing the moves. When I looked, I judged, then came disgust, then revulsion, then collapse—literally! Concentration lost, focus gone, I wobbled.
Then, I quit.
Not yoga. I quit trying to be MORE and accepted what I was. I let myself be a beginner again.
Following the advice my British choir director gave just after threatening to give me the boot: “Just sing the notes. That’s all I ask, just sing the notes.” Or in this case: Assume the position as best I could. It is called practicing yoga, so I did. I practiced.
And day two, I returned for a second class. And you know what?
I was the only person in class again. I was still rusty. And it wasn’t easier.
But, I was easier on myself. Instead of worrying about what I couldn’t, I did what I could. Until, about 1/3 of the way through the class, when Erica told me to move my hand farther around my back into an even tighter pretzel, I tipped my head back and howled:
“Mimi! Julia! Pablo-Paco! Help! Save me!”
And we laughed, which must have dislodged some of the rougher bits of rust because after that class was: not prettier, but better, enjoyable even . . . in a Mr. Beanish painful to watch way. And while I didn't relearn all-most-many moves on the Yoga chart. I learned this:
There are tricks to getting back on the bicycle (whatever that bicycle might be). Maybe they’ll work for you, too:
Tell someone your plan: It makes it harder to back outSet a timer: Set the time for the minimum allowable time. For example, one 50-minute yoga class; 15 minutes of writing. If you do more, great.Look ahead not back: Don’t think about what used to be or what you used to be. Start from now, ground zero, and go forward. Fake it till you make it: My mother always said “Give it three days!” That magic 3. She maintains it takes 3 days/times to break or make a habit. Three may not be enough, but the point’s the same, give it time.Be nice to yourself: Laugh. Holler if you want. You showed up!
In case you want to sing along, here's The Post Playlist:
76 Trombones by Meredith Wilson, from The Music Man Raindrops Keep Falling on My Head, B.J. Thomas Bicycle Built for Two, Nat King ColeI couldn’t resist sharing some bicycle quotes for motivation. (No I didn't google motivational quotes for yoga; yoga is all you need!)
Life is like riding a bicycle. To keep your balance you must keep moving.
— Albert Einstein (It’s said, he thought of the Theory of Relativity while riding a bicycle)
It never gets easier, you just go faster.
— Greg LeMond
What do you call a cyclist who doesn’t wear a helmet? An organ donor.
— David Perry
Whenever I see an adult on a bicycle, I have hope for the human race.
— H.G. Wells
In down times I do things like go for a long bike ride or run. The other thing I’m doing in that quiet time is just observing
— Robin Williams
These quotes and more can be found here:
http://www.desicomments.com/quotes/subject/bicycling_quotes/http://theargonauts.com/bicycle-quotes/Thank you for reading!
Click on SUBSCRIBE if you'd like to receive email notification when entries are posted on Kelly's Fishbowl.
September 3, 2014
Granny's Plea: Help Me Off This Bench!
With Grandparent’s Day this coming Sunday, I’m taking stock of what I have and what I haven’t. So far, there's not much on the credit side.
Whooooooooa there! Hold your retort! That observation has absolutely not one thing to do with my grandboy, Ben.
Ben peeping out his birthday teepee from Great Grandmadele
Why, just thinking of him makes me bust out singing: My boy, Ben, he’ll be tough and as tall as a tree, will he! Ben’s truly . . . well, GRAND!
The deficit is mine. And Grandparent’s Day—curse those Holiday Maker-uppers—has me keenly aware of what’s wrong.
When it comes to the whole Granny-Mimi-Nanny-Magah-Oma-Nana-Gigi-Grandmother thing, I’m a Rookie, fledging, novice, newbie, minor-leaguer—definitely lacking in credit and credibility. Especially when compared to friends like Marty with 6 grans (two under 6 months) and 13 years practice; Beverly (whose granny name is Grandmother, as in Would you care to dance. . . ) she's clocked about 8 years experience with both kinds of gran; Marcia, with 3 grands she sees all the time even though they live hours away, and Mimi (not her granny name), with 4 grands—2 sets of each same kind, same age.
Mimi and Brian with their 4 grans sang in Mimi's Milestone Birthday Aug. 11th.
Numbers-wise (Not that being a grandmother is a competitive sport or that I’m comparing….), my sis-in-law, Liz (aka Oma) with 2 grangirls, isn’t far ahead of me. Soon (come the end of the year), I’ll have 2 granboys of my own.
Liz with her newest gran, Felicity, born July 19th, 2014
But, in terms of time on the field, in the trenches--Play Time--Liz, and my other gran-friends are days-years-diapers-hugs-highlights beyond me. Real Pros!
The other night, coming out of the movie theater, Curtis and I met up with another expat couple we hadn't seen for months, Graham and Kerri. Most every expat in Trinidad vanishes over the summer, so come September, there’s lots of catching up to do. During our catch-up, Kerri, asked, “Have you adjusted to being a grandmother, yet?” then leaned over and whispered, "I know how worried about it you were.”
Worried, me? You bet!
Now, with another grandboy from different parents in a different state, coming soon, make that Gran worryx2!*
Like a 47th round draft pick, I had been stressing over being a grandmother. Still am. Not because I wasn't ready to be one, but because I know great grandparents. And being a great Gran takes commitment, practice, effort, time!
My grandmother, Nanny, at my baby shower for Max, July 81. I'm sorry to day I don't have any pictures of my grandfather
I only had one set of grandparents, my mother’s parents, Nanny & Poppy, who took the job seriously! The time—play and otherwise—they lavished on me and my brother, is the reason we are the adults & parents we are today. (BTW: Wholly deserving of their own holiday.)
However, Nanny & Poppy lived close, in the same house, or a few blocks over for our early years, a day away after that. about 2000 miles, oceans, borders, schedules lie between me and my gran. I can't just pop over for a quick visit, recital, ball game, etc. the way my grandparents did.
Is it any wonder I worry? How are me and my grandbabies supposed to bond with all that's keeping us apart?
What’s my Grandparent Wish? That one day, after my grandson stops trying to eat the phone, he’ll pick it up and say, ‘I’m telling Grandma on you,’ the way my kids did.
Grandma Lee never lived close by, but that never kept her from being close to Lexi & Max. This is in Phoenix 1985
When Gran worries hit hardest, as they have with Grandparent's Day--the annual time for Gran self-appraisal--looming, I calm myself by thinking of these Gran-friends, Mom and my 2 mothers-in-law. They never let distance or technological difficulties come between them and their grans.
Grandma Lee called herself "The Coat Grandmother" because she always gave coats for Hanukkah. She could write with either hand, backwards, forwards and both at the same time.
Gramadele used to live in Texas. Now she divides her time between there and Montana. She's up for anything!
Gramadele is "the Birder Grandmother". Sort of the Auntie Mame of the bunch, always going off on adventures, and laughing about them later.
Having come into the Max and Lexi Gran game when they were 8 & 10, she's proof that starting late doesn't matter. What really counts with grans is heart.
Post Disneyland adventure with Grandma Mary, Max, Lexi and their Wonka pops collapsed in a heap.
My mom, Grandma Mary, was "the Toy Grandmother." Infamous among friends, known for huge sunglasses and a passion for chocolate!
When the kids were small, she never failed to send goody boxes of decorations & treats on holidays. And every school holiday and summer break, she'd send herself to visit us.
She and Nanny invented what our Watsonville neighbor, Donna (now a Gran to 2--both kinds), called the "30 mile vacation." We'd load up the car for a road trip, 1st stop might not get us out of town, drive over the pass, pull in at the first hotel with a pool (often Anderson's Pea Soup), stay a few nights, then return home. Total trip: 30 miles, tops.
Grandparent's Day is Sunday. In honor of the holiday, I'm getting off this bench and into the Grandparent game. I aim to score some big league Granny-to-Gran bonding time. I've started a HOW TO BE A GREAT GRAN list. Suggestions please:
How can we long-distance Grandparents get in more Gran-to-Grand Play Time?
Let's hear it for Grands!
*How do grans with more than 2 children in different places, do it? (I've asked Marty, just back from the birth of her sixth, but she's too jet lagged to answer.)
Here’s this blog’s playlist:
I’ve Got the Sun in the Morning from Annie Get Your Gun Billy’s Soliloquy from Carousel Getting to Know You from The King and I Dance Little Sister by Terrance Trent Darby
Click on SUBSCRIBE if you'd like to receive email notification when entries are posted on Kelly's Fishbowl.
August 29, 2014
One Candle, My Ferris Wheel, a Potato
Marvelous the way memory works. I think of mine like a Ferris Wheel*. When the music starts, the squeaky wheel spins for a while, slows to a stop, the door on the little cage closest to the ground swings open to let someone--or some memory--out, the door closes, the wheel starts spinning, that cage swings up out of reach, another cage swings to a stop.
I know what's in the close by cages. I can almost reach them, but not quite. Frustrating!
As for those cages way at the top, If I squint hard, I can see them, too, but danged if I know what's in them . . . might be nothing.
A book review of Eve Bunting's One Candle, on Lori Norman's writer blog: StoryQuill conjured a cage that must have been so far up on my Ferris Wheel it was lost in the clouds.
The door swung open to a long ago Christmas Eve when in a panic, I pulled off the highway to call Ronnie because I'd forgotten the menorah.
I'd called from a gas station pay phone because we didn't' have cell phone back then. Rosie (as we called Lexi back then) and Max (ever Max) were especially excited because that year Hanukkah and Christmas Eve were on the same day, so we NEEDED a menorah!
With the last name of Goldman, everyone but the few acquainted with the prominent "Catholic Goldmans" of Tulsa, assumed we were Jewish, and I, a non-practicing anything, with two half-Jewish as possible--considering the Jewish half was not their mother's half--children was committed to upholding all traditions. Fortunately, my dear friend and writing partner, Ronnie, a full-blood Jewess and, as it happens the first women in Oklahoma to have a Bat Mitzvah.
In addition to baking & decorating the best Hanukkah sugar cookies, was educated enough for both of us.
"You can use a potato!" Ronnie told me. She went on to explain how during the Holocaust, because Jews were not allowed to keep traditions, were, in truth, imprisoned or killed if any religious accouterments were discovered in their possession, they improvised: thus the Dreidel game, a secret way to study the Torah; the common potato, a secret menorah.
We stopped at a grocery story before we stopped for the night. And that night and for the following seven nights, light our potato menorah, said prayers, and opened gifts.
This photo is not mine, but this is including the birthday candles--sans the gold paint--what our menorah looked like.
In One Candle, Eve Bunting shares another grandmother's potato menorah story. Hers wasn't a Piggly-Wiggly supermarket russet, hers was stolen from a Buchenwald prison kitchen. Here's a snippet of the review:
With a little stolen butter and a thread from Rose’s skirt placed in a hollow she’d carved out of the potato, and with a stolen match, they made a candle in their barracks on the first night of Hanukkah. ‘It lifted us to the stars,’Grandma says.
— http://storyquill.wordpress.com/2014/...
Up up up to the stars . . . And on the way, nudged my Ferris Wheel. The power of words: it takes so few to coax down a distant cage.
*Wait! Before the music plays and the wheel spins again: Be sure to check out Dani Sneed's book, THE MAN WHO INVENTED THE FERRIS WHEEL. about George Ferris and his World's Fair Wonder! You and every kid you know will be glad you did.
Thanks for reading!
Click on SUBSCRIBE if you'd like to receive email notification when entries are posted on Kelly's Fishbowl.
August 22, 2014
LISTEN!
/I’m not at home in my own home/
MY Life Is A Musical! Yes, it's true, Songs play in my head all the time. Almost any phrase suggests a song, or a line from one, sometimes an entire score.
And it's the title of a new musical comedy. I’m not like Parker, the lead in the show. No one around me burst into song or busts out dancing. I’d love that! Unfortunately, singers, dancers or otherwise, there is no one near. I am alone. Alone at a crossroad . . .
Cast from the play belting out a song in Parker's personal musical.
I saw My Life is A Musical at Bay Street Theatre in Sag Harbor. (You can see it too, if you hurry; show runs until Aug. 31.) That title is what drew me to the play--that and because my visitor Dawn suggested it. (That’s the Truth About Visitors…can’t deny them.) Here’s the blurb:
MY LIFE IS A MUSICAL is about Parker, who isn’t like anyone else. When Parker wakes up in the morning and leaves his apartment, he hears people singing, he sees people dancing - and no other person on earth knows this is happening. Because Parker’s life is a musical. And Parker hates musicals.
This morning, my fourth day back in Trinidad after being gone for more than 2 months, that line: I’m not at home in my own home/ from that song Listen sung by Beyonce in the movie version of Dreamgirls, is cycling in my head I’m not at home in my own home/
Have you ever noticed how, as soon as you share a problem with certain someones, they respond with a solution? Usually the perfect fix! Exactly what you need to do! According to them… and without you even-ever-asking for their advice, expert though it may be. (I know--squirm, squirm--I’m guilty of jumping in with the quick fix, too.)
Then why share our problems if we don’t want answers? Why not keep it to ourselves?
The answer is the title of that song; we want you to Listen!
Maybe more than that, we want to/need to talk it out. We know something wrong. But it’s all tangled up in other stuff. First, we need to figure out exactly what is the problem. And in order to do that, we often have to pull a situation apart, study it, turn it over, dissect it, chew it up and spit it back out in order to break apart to find out what it’s all about, Alfie. . .
Hashing out a problem with someone else is easier, more fun, maybe less painful, definitely more social acceptable than talking to ourselves.
But, but, but, all we want you to do is Listen, not solve.
This crazy life I’m living—bouncing from home to home, Tulsa and Texas, Westhampton Beach and Port of Spain—sounds exciting, but the truth is, it’s strange. I'm not feuding like the Hatfields and McCoys, but I'm close . . .
Wait! James was helping me pack in Vermont. Did he take it?
Have you ever been on vacation, and woken in the night and not known where you are? Walked the wrong way to the bathroom? (One long ago Christmas, my brother turned left instead of right, opened the door and peed on the furnace.) Looked everywhere for a certain blouse or dress, but couldn’t find it?
With part of my wardrobe there, the other part hanging here, and more still stuffed in my suitcase, that’s every day for me. It's frustrating, but it’s not the worst of it. The worst of it is, it's lonely. Unlike the song, I am alone in my own home/
STOP! – I feel your wheels turning, already thinking up solutions to my aloneness. Thinking how much better off I am that someone else—just, Listen!
I know I’m one of the lucky ones. I’m not alone, alone. I have somebody, lots of somebodies. . . Yeah, but. . . . But, I’m alone—now—and it doesn’t feel good, so . . .
See, this is what we do: Writers. This is why we write it: to figure it out. Folks are called CRAZY for talking to themselves. But, when we write to ourselves, it’s called work.
That being said, er, written, on with the song: Now I’ve gotta find my own . . .
And, just in case you want to be like Parker, here are the links to today's playlist:
Listen: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=J1P8SEJyaME
Dreamgirls: http://www.imdb.com/title/tt0443489/
Alfie: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=pCZNzydsLzU
Luckenbach Texas: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=HXYsLhTUvBo
Crazy: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=na5Y9FxR0lg
August 18, 2014
Play it Again, Pal! or 2:48 Minutes More
Reruns played a huge part in my summertime's past. (And, good or bad, are the reason why Gilligan's Island, Petticoat Junction, Beverly Hillbillies, "Dah-dah-dah-DA-daaa/Dah-dah-da-DAHHHHHHH"* & "People Let Me Tell You Bout My Beeeesssst Friend**...are high on my personal playlist.) We never minded--frankly enjoyed--watching reruns. Still Do!
With that in mind, I'm rerunning my blog post FREE BABYSITTING from a few weeks past. For those of you who viewed it then, and aren't into reruns, take heed: If you scroll to the bottom, you'll find a SURPRISE!!!! 2.48 minutes more (Thanks to Ink In Motion) and a chance to win a sweet SURPRISE!!!!
Here's What You May Remember From the July 30th Episode of Kelly's Fishbowl:
Summertime is fun time. Summertime is laz time. Summertime is read-all-those-books-you-don't-have-time-for-other-times. Summertime is I-don't-have-an-original-thought-in-my-head time.
Here's something that addresses all those Summertimes, especially if you may have had a little too much sun or fun time and need some laz time:
FREE-ABSOLUTELY NO OBLIGATION--BABYSITTING SERVICE!
"We want to hear you read it!" they tell me. "How do you say:
Bom bom bom baaaa Ba ba ba booo Bo bo bo beee?
Oogie, boogie, bah bah lou.
Glug . . . Glug . . . Glug . . .
The wondering is over! Thanks to my nephew Will O Bennett who recorded me reading, and Ink In Motion for their video magic, Author Read-Alouds are now available on U-Tube.
So, here's my Summertime Free Babysitting Service:
Settle your little ones in front of the monitor, click on an Author Read-Aloud video (below), and let them watch and listen while you enjoy some lazy time. Okay, you can view, too--if you promise to act OUR age!
And a preview of coming attractions:
If all went well, you've enjoyed 12:49 + 2:48 minutes = MORE! free time.
Don't you feel terriffic!
P. S. Should you need more time: Teaching Guides, Activities & Puzzles for these books and others are downloadable from my website. Click on the ACTIVITIES tab.
BTW: Yes, it's Beethoven's 5th Symphony on the sousaphone courtesy of Curtis.
* ** Play "Name the Theme Song" Correctly match these theme song snippets with their associated TV programs, post the name of the show in the comments section and you'll win a sweet surprise! (One entry per reader; No limit on how many can win!)
Bonus prizes if you
August 6, 2014
Happy Tears, “The Gap,” and Embracing Rudy
Max in the dessert around Prescott College
I’m clicker challenged. After my boy Max left for college, I'd phone him when Curtis was out of town. Not because I was lonely. Not because I missed him. Not to see what he was doing or how he was doing. But to ask how to play a movie (“Videos” we called them.)
I share this not to show what a heartless mother I was. But by way of an explanation as to why, from 10:30-midnight last night, I watched a football movie called “Rudy.*"
The only clicker I’ve mastered in our uber tech media system is the TV channel changer “Guide” button.
So it was either Rudy, HGTV, Full House, Crime or Reality. Faced with a pile of ironing and nursing a HGTV hangover, I opted for Rudy. By the final scene I was sniveling, slobbery, soggy mess of happy tears.
As I sniffled and dripped through the final credits, I found myself wishing it were replaying so I could watch it again. Which got me wondering:
What about it made me so miserably, snottily, soggily happy?
If you haven't watched this move, you should. If you've watched it before, you should too!
I’m Rudy. I'm not be the 3rd of 14 children; dyslexic, or a 5'6" 165 lb. pip-squeak aspiring to play Notre Dame Football; nor would Sean Astin play me in a movie (I hope). But, when it comes to hopes and dreams, I’m Rudy.
Everyone striving to do creative work—be that as a writer, artist, actor, et al—is a Rudy.
Unless—UNTIL—we are recognized for our creative work, we are a Rudy. Every one of us is an underdog. We are the little engines they say “can’t.” We are too this; not enough that. We may be almost, but . . . We are wrong.
And the biggest-baddest-hardest part of being a Rudy is that even after we are recognized for our creative work, we will still be Rudy.
Because our appreciation for creative work is what draws us to do it, there is a disparity between our skill level and what we recognize as good—what Ira Glass calls “The Gap” in a vimeo of that title*. And because that drive to go farther, experiment, stretch is inherent to creators, our skill level will always chase our sense of taste, our appreciation. So while it can shrink, the Gap never goes away.
We begin as Rudy, and unless we quit, we will finish as Rudy.
That’s why watching Rudy brings on the Happy Tears. Because it is so darn hard, but that doesn't stop him. Rudy set a goal, fought his his way to it, and won.
He could. He did. So maybe we—all of us Rudys—can too!
So what’s a Rudy to do? Here's Ira Glass's Advice on how to close the gap:
Do a lot of Work
Put Yourself on a Deadline
Know it takes a while
Fight your way through the doubts
— Ira Glass from the vimeo (Link below)
Watch: Ira Glass on “The Gap”
Read: More about Rudy Ruettiger
*Rudy, in 1975, was the last player ever carried off the Notre Dame field.
Happy Tears, "The Gap," and Embracing Rudy
I’m clicker challenged. After my boy Max left for college, I'd phone him when Curtis was out of town. Not because I was lonely. Not because I missed him. Not to see what he was doing or how he was doing.
Max in Prescott, AZ (note the squatter behind him.)
But to ask how to play a movie (“Videos” we called them.)
I share this not to show what a heartless mother I was. But by way of an explanation as to why, from 10:30-midnight last night, I watched a football movie called “Rudy.*"
The only clicker I’ve mastered in our uber tech media system is the TV channel changer “Guide” button.
It was either Rudy, HGTV, Full House, Crime or Reality. Those were my choices. Faced with a pile of ironing and nursing a HGTV hangover, I opted for Rudy. By the final scene I was sniveling, slobbery, soggy mess of happy tears.
As I sniffled and dripped through the final credits, I found myself wishing it were replaying so I could watch it again. Which got me wondering:
What about it made me so miserably, snottily, soggily happy?
I’m Rudy. I'm not the 3rd of 14 children; dyslexic, or a 5'6" 165 lb. pip-squeak aspiring to play Notre Dame Football; nor would Sean Astin play me in a movie (I hope). But, when it comes to hopes and dreams, I’m Rudy.
“Everyone striving to do creative work—be that as a writer, artist, actor, et al—is a Rudy.”
Unless—UNTIL—we are recognized for our creative work, we are a Rudy. Every one of us is an underdog. We are the little engines they say “can’t.” We are too this; not enough that. We may be almost, but . . . We are wrong.
“And the biggest-baddest-hardest part of being a Rudy is that even after we are recognized for our creative work, we will still be Rudy.”
Because our appreciation for creative work is what draws us to do it, there is a disparity between our skill level and what we recognize as good—what Ira Glass calls “The Gap” in a vimeo of that title*. And because that drive to go farther, experiment, stretch is inherent to creators, our skill level will always chase our sense of taste, our appreciation. So while it can shrink, the Gap never goes away.
“We begin as Rudy, and unless we quit, we will finish as Rudy.”
That’s why watching Rudy brings on the Happy Tears. Because it is so darn hard, but that doesn't stop him. Rudy set a goal, fought his his way to it, and won.
He could. He did. So maybe we—all of us Rudys—can too!
So what’s a Rudy to do?
Here's Ira Glass's Advice on how to close the gap:
“ Do a lot of Work
Put Yourself on a Deadline
Know it takes a while
Fight your way through the doubts”
— Ira Glass from the vimeo (Link below)
Watch: Ira Glass on “The Gap”
Read: More about Rudy Ruettiger
LIsten: To the Rudy Theme Song.
Thanks for Reading!
Click on SUBSCRIBE if you'd like to receive email notification when entries are posted on Kelly's Fishbowl.
