“A real book is not one that we read, but one that reads us.”

— W.H. Auden, poet (1907-1973)

Just learned of this event, from alert reader Anne…

Radical Book Fair
Sunday December 2nd
11 a.m. – 5 p.m.
Liberty Hall
311 N. Ivy (just North of Fremont and Williams)

Sponsored by Portland IWW (International Workers of the World) and Glaberman Library
Rumor has it that there will be a puppet show at 3 p.m.
Childcare available.

Richard Avedon took some pictures on January third, 1961 in Palm Beach, Florida. They were nice photos. So nice, in fact, that people are still poring over them, almost fifty years later. They were of the most famous four of the Kennedys — Jack, Jackie, Caroline and little John-John, and he took them at the family’s compound. They were gorgeous photos, of course. Have you ever seen a bad photo of any of them? You’ll find sad photos, sometimes, but never bad ones. So you have a brilliant photog, coupled with one of the most photogenic families of all time. Excellent set-up. The original pix ran in LOOK and in Harper’s Bazaar, and you’ve seen a few of them here and there. But the entire shoot, with proof sheets? That’s something you haven’t seen before, and that’s what you get with this collection from the Smithsonian. (Collins Design, $29.95, 127 pages.)

It’s the ultimate coffee table book and a nice holiday gift, for yourself or someone else.

Next up for gift ideas: Feng Shui — a complete house re-do would be nice, or at the very least one of those sweet little ceramic tiles that says JOY or BLISS or something. Those are good — they look nice just about anywhere — on a shrine, in the entryway, on a nightstand, paired with one perfect white tea light. Yes, dear, as long as we’re at it, let’s talk about the concept of feng shui. Mine is a mess. Nancilee Wydra gives us “150 simple solutions for health and happiness in your home or office.” (McGraw-Hill, 276 pages.) The cure for my karmic twist-up can be found on page 26:

“To be in the Tao is to be connected. Whether your home is rural, suburban, or urban, to feel deeply at peace you should feel positively enmeshed with your surroundings.”

I. Do. Not. The immediate surroundings? Yes, enmeshed. Beyond that? No.

Thus, we continue packing. We’ve moved more things into storage. We’re still hashing out the whole do we or do we not decorate for the holidays? I say, no. Hockey God and kids say, yes. I’ll let you know how it turns out. In the meantime, how do you feel about pre-lit, fake Christmas trees? Yay or nay? Please advise.

Lauri Ward’s book, “Downsizing Your Home with Style: Living Well in a Smaller Space,” was just the handbook I needed and received a few weeks ago. (Collins, $24.95, 182 pages.) Turns out when you’re packing and repacking, painting and patching up, pruning, mowing, raking and tidying — you can get burned-out pretty dang fast. I’ve got a second burst of adrenaline from reading Ward’s tips. (I appreciate, too, that she gave buying tips — stores, prices — for furniture, containers, screens, etc., but was discreet about it, with product round-ups at the ends of the chapters.) I have been devouring this book. And it’s a little mis-titled. It could have just as easily fit under the categories of simplifying your life, home decor, or “how to get your tail in gear and pack to move.”

A few suggestions:

*If downsizing, stick with a bed that does not have a footboard. (Also nice if you’re looking for clean lines in a room.)

* Using artwork properly means not hanging things too high and not scattering it all over the place, and always leaving one blank wall for the eye to rest on. (Extra tip: Hold up the art where you think it should go, then lower it three inches.)

* Try for multi-sectioned furniture when possible to add versatility.

* With limited space, a writing table can take the place of a larger desk and offer a comfortable place to work on a laptop or write thank-you notes.

Happy reading.

WM

“I sent a message to the fish:
I told them ‘This is what I wish.’

The little fishes of the sea,
They sent an answer back to me.

The little fishes’ answer was
‘We cannot do it, Sir, because –‘

‘I’m afraid I don’t quite understand,’ said Alice.
‘It gets easier further on,’ Humpty Dumpty replied.

‘I sent to them again to say
‘It will be better to obey.’

The fishes answered, with a grin,
‘Why, what a temper you are in!’

I told them once, I told them twice:
They would not listen to advice.

I took a kettle large and new,
Fit for the deed I had to do.

My heart went hop, my heart went thump:
I filled the kettle at the pump.

Then some one came to me and said
‘The little fishes are in bed.’

I said to him, I said it plain,
‘Then you must wake them up again.’

I said it very loud and clear:
I went and shouted in his ear.’

Humpty Dumpty raised his voice almost to a scream as he repeated this verse, and Alice thought with a shudder, `I wouldn’t have been the messenger for anything!’

‘But he was very stiff and proud:
He said, ‘You needn’t shout so loud!’

And he was very proud and stiff:
He said ‘I’d go and wake them, if — ‘

I took a corkscrew from the shelf:
I went to wake them up myself.

And when I found the door was locked,
I pulled and pushed and kicked and knocked .

And when I found the door was shut,
I tried to turn the handle, but –‘

There was a long pause.

`Is that all?’ Alice timidly asked.

`That’s all,’ said Humpty Dumpty. `Good-bye.'”

— “Through the Looking Glass,” by Lewis Carroll

Reviewed today:

Well, well, well. What should appear recently in the Wacky Mailbox but “How The Grinch Stole Christmas!” by our dear Dr. Seuss (Random House, 52 pages, $14). (Yes, I know it’s too early for Christmas for some of you. Please bookmark this page and come back in a month.) The story of the Grinch is fifty this year — how can that be? That makes Cindy-Lou Who fifty-two. Yikes. And her anntennas are still so darn cute.

We received the “Party Edition,” which means, “brand-new clean and no Christmas cooky crumbs.” My favorite page? This one:

“And the one speck of food
That he left in the house
Was a crumb that was even too small for a mouse.”

Wacky Girl’s favorite page? The last one, of course:

“…HE HIMSELF…!
The Grinch carved the roast beast!”

We also received a commemorative Christmas ornament, which is just about perfect, and as if that weren’t enough, a copy of “How The Grinch Stole Christmas! The 50th-Anniversary Retrospective” (by Dr. Seuss and Charles D. Cohen, 85 pages, $24.99). My son is partial to this brand-new edition, but he cannot have it, it is all Mama’s. It contains everything a Grinch addict like myself could possibly want, including info on his international appeal (he’s der Grinch in Germany, il Grinch in Italy and o Grinch in Brazil, did you know?), details about the route Dr. Seuss (aka Theodor Geisel) took in creating the Grinch (he wanted to combine Santa, his reindeer, the Stork, the Sandman and the Boogeyman — why mess around with so many characters when one would do?), and background on how Chuck Jones storyboarded the book. The old drawings are spectacular.

These are both great additions to my, I mean, our Christmas book collection — I think you’ll enjoy both copies as well.

I heard about “The Book of Story Beginnings,” by Kristin Kladstrup (Candlewick Press, 360 pages) when my daughter read it for the first time, when it was released last year. Her review went something like this:

“There’s this kid, Oscar, and he uses a magic potion and a book, The Book of Story Beginnings, to make an ocean appear. In Iowa. In Iowa!! Mom, there’s no ocean in Iowa!”

I told her I’d love to read it, too, but then someone else had it on hold, I forgot to reserve it again and you know. It’s a year later. But we’re finally re-reading it — it’s as fantastic and magical as she told me.

Now, Wacky Girl:

“It’s interesting, because Oscar turns into a cat, and then turns back into a boy and wooooooooooooo… woo-woo! Ha ha ha. Erase that woooooooooooo ha ha ha part, okay?”

(me: “No.”)

“And my favorite part is when they ride on the boat to…”

Yes, the ocean comes back, along with Oscar. Now, I must stop her because this book — I am not going to spoil this book for you. The plot? Amazing. The writer? It’s her first book and she gives us this? More, more, more. The writing about writing? I love writing about writing. I love a book within a book, a play within a play, a poem within a poem. The characters? Well-developed. The heroine’s parents? Always in a fight. (One of the biggest conflicts in the book is how the heroine, Lucy, grapples with how much she should do independently and when (and how???) she should ask her parents or other family for help.

Fabulous read, your kids (boys or girls) will love it. Best for ages five or six and up. (To adulthood.)

“The Daring Book for Girls,” by Andrea J. Buchanan and Miriam Peskowitz, with illustrations by Alexis Seabrook, was just released. It’s a partner to “The Dangerous Book for Boys,” (Collins Books, 279 pages). Wacky Girl got her mitts on it and I hadn’t seen it since — until today. I spotted it on an end table where she had carelessly left it in my grabbing distance. I will now review, with help from my dear daughter, before it disappears again.

What do we like about it?

You can learn how to read palms (my daughter wants to know how), or play fourteen kinds of tag (“That looks cool!” sez one Wacky Girl). You can figure out how to put your hair up with a pencil, perform first aid, learn about Zenobia, Queen of the East, do yoga, build a tree swing, or learn to spy. And there is much, much more, but I will not be able to tell you because there goes the book again, out the door.

Reviewed today:

(more…)

Quote any of these and everyone will think you’re a little smarty!

Have fun reading!

love,

WM

(I found these on Litline)

100 Best First Lines from Novels

1. Call me Ishmael. —Herman Melville, Moby-Dick (1851)

2. It is a truth universally acknowledged, that a single man in possession of a good fortune, must be in want of a wife. —Jane Austen, Pride and Prejudice (1813) (more…)

Is it the cussing? Am I dull as a butter knife and no one has known how to tell me? Pick me! (Jumping up and down, waving her arms around.)

Just for you:

* Last Friday (Oct. 12, 2007) there was another shooting outside of Jefferson High School. Two, in fact. No one was killed. Thanks, Jeebus. We appreciate your attention. (Please send good thoughts to the kids in my neighborhood, would you?)

* In spite of the violence, the tough schools, the white parents bringing their white privilege to the table (“We are here to save the neighborhood! To save you from yourselves! Do what we say!” etc.), the pitbulls, the jerks who look like an angry white mob, with red faces and bulging muscles in their necks at neighborhood meetings re: name change from Intercourse Ave. to Chavez Blvd. (my favorite line in the string of comments on that link was “Wacky Mommy, you ARE wacky.” Yeah, tell me something I don’t already know), in spite of the traffic, in spite of the meth labs and the police with their SWAT vehicles and all of that?

* In spite of all of that, when our (new & improved) realtor told us, “When people think of Interstate Ave. and North Mississippi, they have preconceived notions about prostitutes, drug use, gangs, and whatnot,” (she may not have said “whatnot,” it is just my favorite word lately) all I could think was, “What the fuck do you know, bitch?” and I really wanted to go all North Portland on her ass. Especially when she suggested that perhaps my neighborhood isn’t “all that” and perhaps we should wait until spring to put it on the market? After we remodel the kitchen?

* (I’m fucking not remodeling the kitchen. The kitchen is functional and the lighting is good. Go look here here and here to find out why pigs will need to zoom across the sky before I tackle another big project here. Edited to say: We have since found an awesome incredible painter and no, I won’t give out his number.)

* You know, when my realtor (who is a west sider, by the by) went off about hookers and guns I wanted to say something tactful at that point. Like, “Why don’t you stick it in my eye and then I’ll be able to see that you’re fucking me?”

* I do not feel that she was being positive enough.

* This is a great neighborhood, shootings and SWAT teams aside. Ten minutes from downtown Portland, 15 minutes from Vancouver, Wash. Several schools nearby that, while my husband and I may not always be so keen on them, are loved by a lot of parents, kids and teachers. These are schools, some private, some public, with waiting lists. We have the Mississippi and Alberta “arts districts,” with fancy restaurants, galleries and bars, right up the street. We have fancy-shmancy restaurants and coffee houses right in my neighborhood, up the street. A farmers market within walking distance. Several community centers. A fancy grocery store and a regular grocery store. Yadda yadda blip. And we have a nice house. I am sorry to be a jerk and brag, but it’s pretty, my house. And good-sized. It’s vintage, for pete’s sake — its celebrating its 100th birthday this year. We’ve babied it and it shows.

* It is “Old Portland,” whatever the hell that means. Some people are impressed by it, they’re all “oooooooooh, Old Portland.” But not our realtor.

* Anyway.

* We decided to fix her up even a little bit more, This Old House. Because we haven’t spent enough money here yet. New carpet, maybe some new landscaping, touch-up paint here and there, yadda yadda blip blip, and wait a couple of months “until the market isn’t so smooshy” to list it. My mellow was pretty harshed after we made this decision, especially since we’d already found a really decent house across town and of course in my mind I was there, in my new kitchen, drinking coffee, so I took myself out for coffee to get my mind off things.

* I was reading Andrew Merton’s bio/autobio of Princess Diana — so good, but so heartbreaking, of course — and drinking my boring little decaf. (It may have been caf. You will never know, will you?) These two idiots sit by me and one starts bragging loudly of how he screwed someone on this real estate deal. He wanted this house in my old neighborhood (Rose City/Madison South) and they offered them thousands under what they wanted, and the owner countered with how about this much, instead? and yadda yadda blip and, smugly, “We just out-waited ’em. They finally had to drop the price and ha ha ha! I want them to pay closing costs and ha ha ha!!! I am not fixing the whoozit, they need to pay for that, too…”

* At which point his friend, who may I say to his credit was not being all gleeful and smug, said, “Who much would it cost to fix the whoozit?”

* “Just two thousand, but fuck that! Ha ha ha.”

* At which point of course I rolled my eyes at him and was tempted to crack a chair across his head because next he started bragging about how huge the house was (3,200 square feet). And hello? You just ripped these people off, don’t gloat. Instant karma’s gonna get you, buddy. That’s a sweet deal you got in my old neighborhood. I don’t want my mom to have you as a neighbor, you jerk.

* Then he starts bragging about the East coast, and “Back there it would cost you…” And I’m thinking, dude, pay for the whoozit yourself, you scam artist.

* But I’m glad I ran into him because it made me realize that while I do like getting a killer deal (who doesn’t?) I do not enjoy the gleeful pride of knowing that I screwed someone over.

* So I do want to get a fair shake for our (beloved, beloved awesome pretty) house, and I don’t want to pay tens of thousands more than I should for our new house. But. I do not want anyone coming away from the deal feeling all, nyah, nyah.

*Because that is wrong.

* Really, really, really wrong.

* So now I feel more okay about the whole thing. We’re still selling, just not this weekend. Because that smug guy? The thief? He’s that way, but you and I are not that way, savvy? Are you with me on this, Internet? I know my readers, I know you’re decent people. The housing market is in a little slump here, and there are way too many “PayDay Loan”-type home foreclosures going on because some loaners are opportunists and jerks. People’s lives are getting ruined because of it. Which is messed up and not fair to anyone. Is that instant karma? No, not usually. It’s usually someone who desperately wants to own their own place, and housing prices here can be pretty intimidating, and even though they can’t afford it, the loaners are all, “Suuuuuuure you can, sign your life away right here and I’ll go ahead and keep two of your kids.”

* I have karma on the brain today. Then when I got home, my favorite guy next to Hockey God stopped by: the UPS Guy! He brought me Sharon Stiteler’s book, “Disapproving Rabbits.” It’s all pictures of rabbits! With funny captions! Man, oh man, did I need this book today. And he also brought…

* Richard Avedon’s “The Kennedys: Portrait of a Family,” with seventy-five images from the Smithsonian Collections. I just glanced through it — it’s spectacular.

* So more later on those three books.

* Let’s not crack open any heads out there, okay people?

Love,

WM

Reviewed today:

(more…)

Reviewed today:

It pains me to say this, Internet. But until I picked up a copy of “When French Women Cook,” Madeleine Kamman’s “gastronomic memoir” from 1976, I did not know how to make a pie crust. I longed to make blueberry pie. Apple. Chocolate. Lemon meringue! (That would have been a dazzling feat, requiring both the pie crust and the meringue, which I also didn’t know how to make.) Now, I can make a pie crust. No, I won’t tell you the tricks — you just have to buy a copy of this book or get it at the library.

Bon appetit!

Anna Jane Hays (author) and Linda Davick (illustrator) have put together the sweetest little book, “Kindergarten Countdown.” (Ms. Hays spent 29 years with Sesame Street and the Children’s Television Workshop.)

Wacky Boy’s review: “I don’t want to read any more of those books.”

So I read it by myself. It’s a rhyme book, and goes over everything a kindergartener-to-be might be thinking about: backpacks, lunches, saying the ABC’s, sneezing, games and writing. The illustrations are adorable. Don’t be put-off by my son — he is just not interested in anything that is unrelated to dinosaurs or snakes. The book came with a little sheet of stickers — I think he’ll like those.

Who’s Rumi? Not Raffi! Rumi! The Sufi mystic Rumi is what is getting me through this first month of school. I really appreciate his works.

“Move Within”
Rumi

Keep walking, though there’s no place to get to.
Don’t try to see through the distances.
That’s not for human beings. Move within,
but don’t move the way fear makes you move.

Namaste.

WM