Books, Oprah, and dalmatians

It's cold and rainy again, and while I'd revel in the fact that it is rain instead of snow, we're under a winter storm warning through tomorrow morning that might mean ice, and that's worse. Nothing like being reminded by nature not to get too flippant. Calvin has asked to go for a walk, but now that we're back from the morning's swimming lessons the rain and hail are keeping us in. Instead we've set up a box castle, played Mammoth Hunt, tried out some chess, read a lot of books. It's a warm, warm feeling when he reads to me instead of the other way around. I've waited years for that feeling. A lifetime, to be exact, although not my own.

Make believe play is rampant in the house today. We have Oz in the sitting room and knights and dragons in the kitchen. Since I'm in the middle of cataloging our books there are piles everywhere you look, delicious piles of literary art with a few cheap flings on the side, and Calvin careening in, out, and around the landscape of my slow progress. As I reshelve, do I section them by genre? Or do I go by centuries instead? I'd rather go with a rainbow display, but most of our books are rather drab in color. Then, as the knight comes swinging through, riding on the Woozy from Oz, the tallest pile finally loses its grip and succumbs to gravity.

As an aside, it occurs to me that Oprah's Book Club has done for many books what the 101 Dalmatians movie did to the spotted dog. For years after the movie was re-released animal shelters everywhere were flooded with dalmatians being given up by parents who hadn't really wanted them in the first place but couldn't resist their begging children. I figure that the flood of classic books sporting the Oprah stamp given up to the book sale each month, most with completely unbroken spines, are suffering that same unwanted fate. I am reminded of this as I restack, along with the rest of the collapsed pile, my newly acquired sale room treats, copies of Anna Karenina, One Hundred Years of Solitude, and The Good Earth, all nearly brand new and decorated with the Oprah seal, all rescued from the sale room recycling bin because there were just too many of them to shelve, even for a sale. They wouldn't be my first choice as far as book collecting goes, but they needed new homes, and we all know what happens when I am faced with unwanted things that need new homes.

And when the tallest stack has been re-built as two smaller ones, my knight and I ride into the kitchen to share a snack, finish making dinner, and read another book. I am done with piles now for the day, though I am sure they will be waiting for us tomorrow which we are likely to spend inside again, reminded by a frigid rain that spring has only a tentative foothold as yet.

Dirt under my nails

How many puddles can he find on a sunny afternoon following a night of thunderstorms and rain?

Unless you count that third one as a pond or a lake, then I guess he can find four.

And in the garden this afternoon we found buds on all our new trees and bushes, and we even started pulling weeds. I know spring is near when I find myself going to bed (or about to go to bed) with dirt under my nails.

We spent our early morning inside, though, doing laundry (he changed his bed all by himself!), reading books, and practicing piano. He drew pictures while I ran on the treadmill (I can't wait for warmer weather), then we compiled all the Africa exploration paraphernalia from all over the house and put it in a folder, which he decorated and labeled before putting on the shelf. The topic was well lived and we had a great time exploring the continent, but I can tell when interest is waning.

The timing is good because I had planned on introducing another Five in a Row book this week, The Clown of God by Tomie dePaola. I specifically chose this book and marked it on the calendar for this week, because the FIAR guide linked it to the topics of aging and, basically, retirement. Since we are going to my (still very young!) dad's retirement dinner on Friday I thought it would be a good book to help Calvin understand the concept a little better. Then I read the book. It's a dark book, actually, and it deals not really with retirement, but with depression and death, two things I don't want Calvin to associate either with my dad or with retirement. But there is a fortuitous side connection here. When I first read the book to Calvin yesterday (thankfully without mentioning my earlier plans for comparison) I mentioned the setting of the book as being Italy during the Renaissance. He promptly demanded to know where Italy was on the map (somehow he already knew it was in Europe), and then launched directly down the Renaissance road. Apparently I've mentioned the time period before, and he associates it with knights and castles and is even more excited about the prospect of exploring those than he was about being in Africa (although maybe the difference is his increasing familiarity with the exploration process, since each topic we've explored has trumped the last on his excite-o-meter).

Our Monday afternoon visit to the library, which usually is just an afternoon of sorting in the book sale room, ended up a major harvest of books on the new topic, all of his choosing. More was added to the castle tonight, too, and he's already talking about expanding it further, and creating armor to wear around the house. His excitement is infectious, which is a darn good thing if I am expected to keep up with him for all these activities this week.

Super Moon

We all took naps in the afternoon so that we could stay up "late" for a moon hike. In reality I think my nap made me more tired and I ended up in bed early, but early for me was post hike time anyhow. The super moon rose at just past eight o'clock and we were bundled and out in the field near our house by then. It was amazing—beautiful and large—just off the horizon, and beautiful as it rose into a hazy sky. It turned out to be a good thing that we'd hiked into the field the day before because we knew then where the deepest mud was.

I spent a lot of the time being frustrated with the camera. The shutter wheel is broken, making it unreliable, and while it really doesn't stick all that often it picks the most inopportune times to do so, like during time sensitive shooting as the once in a lifetime moon makes its run skyward. But it was fun to be out and enjoy the warmer weather of spring and the stillness of the night.

The sun descending in the west,

The evening star does shine;

The birds are silent in their nest,

And I must seek for mine.

The moon, like a flower

In heaven's high bower, With silent delight,

Sits and smiles on the night.

from Night, by William Blake

Rain boots

New rain boots.

They took us to the park.

They took took us through the muck to the path,

where we drew and observed nature.

They took us into the meadow,

through fields of muck where we could track the raccoons,

and the dogs and the deer ("look, mommy, this deer was here after that dog." "Good, little boy, we'll become trackers yet").

They took us down to the pond, where we found an animal foot path, a muskrat lodge (look closely!), and beauty in general.

New rain boots took us lots of places we couldn't otherwise have gone. And since you can clearly see that Calvin still fits in last year's awesome rain boots, you might have guessed by now that the new pair belongs to me.

A kiss of gentle warmth

"...earth tilted her icy northern face imperceptibly closer to the great shining star she circled...felt a kiss of gentle warmth and slowly awakened from the sleep of a deeper and colder winter. Spring stirred reluctantly at first, then with the urgency of a season whose time was short, threw off the frozen cover in an exuberant rush that watered and quickened the soil." (from The Mammoth Hunters, by Jean M. Auel)

Who doesn't yearn for spring as the snows are finally receding and the early flowers pushing out of the ground? It's become a trite expression, but it's the only one I want to make right now. I am re-reading the first five Earth's Children series books, in anticipation of the new release in two weeks. The books are heavily punctuated with seasons, or preparing for seasons, something that you'd think was behind us now that we have homes with indoor heating and cooling, roads cut through difficult terrain and plows to care for them, grocery stores with in and out of season foods, freezers, you name it. But we still define our lives by the seasons, something that is evident in articles, journal entries, and social network posts everywhere. Right now, spring, spring, spring, it's all anyone can talk about.

Watching a child live the seasons is a completely different story, though. It's not that Calvin doesn't understand seasons, but when you live for the now, the season really matters little. Warm and sunny? Let's go bird watching and ride our bikes. Rain? Let's find puddles, or read books in bed. Snow? Let's sled, or stay in and play games. It doesn't matter, it's all appealing. I'm trying to learn from his example, but right now all I can think of doing is soaking up as much sun and warmth as I can because I'm sure it will snow again. If not next week, then the week after, and as much as I love snow in December and January, it's green grass and blooming flowers that I'm longing for right now, as trite as that sounds.

We woke to a shining sun and warmth in the air, so we did our chores early, made quick work of our Wednesday store trip, then broke into the spring air flooding the neighborhood. We walked to the pond to look for our muskrat (too early) and we explored the castle tree (it really looks like a castle turret from up the path). We found moss, talked to bugs, abused the leftover snow in our front yard, and the sidewalk chalk made a comeback (that's an elephant eating spiny melons off a palm tree in the desert). I ran outside, actually outside, into town and back, then we grilled dinner, and when Calvin went to bed I could still see the houses across the street in the waning light of day.