December 30, 2008
Christmas update
I received a Slanket for Christmas, after years and years of longing, and so I will never have to suffer the agony of cold arms again while reading. It really is the most remarkable bookish accessory, the only problem being that whenever it’s on me I very soon find myself falling asleep. But it did keep me snug as I make my way through my Christmas books. Already did the trick with Lush Life, and I’m sure there’ll be more of the same as I read Great Expectations: Twenty-Four True Stories About Childbirth. I also received Inside the Slidy Diner by Laurel Snyder and Jaime Zollars for me and my yet-born babe, and I bought the baby Night Cars, which I think it really liked. Our beloved Smiths gave us each a book by Todd Parr— The Mommy Book and The Daddy Book. (We now wonder if it might be safe to be prepared, knowing where this kid comes from, and buy it an early copy of Parr’s It’s Okay to be Different). Oh, and we also got us a copy of Pulpy and Midge in our house via a present for Stuart, which meant I was startled in bed the other night as we were reading by Stuart exclaiming in woebegone tones, “Oh no! Pulpy just fell on his potluck contribution!!”
December 24, 2008
Merry Christmas
Christmas Eve was always such a funny day, so wondrous and yet so ordinary. You’d have to keep reminding yourself, “It’s Christmas Eve!”, all the while incongruously eating your cheerios, brushing your teeth, going through the motions. This all to push yourself forward, because the magic is never apparent until after the sun goes down, so you have to conjure it in the meantime. And enjoy this lazy lovely day, should you be so fortunate to be spending it as a holiday. It is to be hoped that those who aren’t so blessed are granted an early dismissal.
Merry Christmas, and Happy Holidays from Pickle Me This. If you don’t have any books on your tree, I’ll cross my fingers you find some good ones under it.
December 23, 2008
A sound economic prospect
Over at the Descant blog, I’ve written about why book buying for Christmas is a sound economic prospect.
December 16, 2008
Postal Motherlode
Today we arrived home to a bundle on the doorstep– ten (10!) Christmas cards, all for us. It was as good as Christmas morning, really, and we opened them one-by-one, delighting. And then had to add a second string to our fireplace display, which is quite remarkable for one day’s pickings. Oh, for the love of December and perpetual post.
We are also happy this year to have a fireplace at all, though of course hanging our stockings on the bookcase was never a bad thing, but there is a certain authenticity here at the new house, even if the fireplace is a wee bit bricked up and a storage space for magazines. We trust Santa will find his way…
December 4, 2008
Notable
What are the odds? That for the second year in a row Pickle Me This has read six (6) books out of the New York Times 100 Notable. And that also for the second year, I’ve read the first and second books listed (which raises one’s expectations a bit, no? But then they’re in alphabetical order). Books featured that we love including American Wife by Curtis Sittenfeld, Atmospheric Disturbances by Rivka Galchen, Home by Marilynne Robinson, Unaccustomed Earth by Jhumpa Lahiri, When Will There Be Good News? by Kate Atkinson, and Yesterday’s Weather by Anne Enright. The list also includes Richard Price’s Lush Life, which I just might be receiving for Christmas.
From the Globe and Mail 100, we’ve read a far more respectable 12, having noted here The Girl in Saskatoon by Sharon Butala, Lucy Maud Montgomery: The Gift of Wings by Mary Henley Rubio, The Mitfords: Letters Between Six Sisters by Charlotte Mosley, The Flying Troutmans by Miriam Toews, Stunt by Claudia Dey, Coventry by Helen Humphries, The Boys in the Trees by Mary Swan, Girl Meets Boy by Ali Smith, Home by Marilynne Robinson and Goldengrove by Francine Prose.
Stay tuned for the Pickle Me This Picks of ’08, still to come.
November 30, 2008
Those Saturdays
Aren’t they the best, those Saturdays you have to be up early in time for the exterminator’s arrival? They certainly pave the way for the best lazy Sundays at least, because though today’s weather is les misérables, I don’t even have to go outside (or at least not much farther than one would venture for a paper). Because I was up so early yesterday that I’d finished reading a book and written 1200 words of fiction before it was time to go out for lunch. Lunch was delightful, yum roast vegetable sandwiches you never fail to satisfy. And then to Book City, to buy a stack of Christmas gifts, fully confident in the direction I was flinging my money. I also had occasion to pick out a jar of luscious jam at the grocery store, which is one of my favourite delights (along with the very fact of preserves in general).
It was coldish outside yesterday, but not really, and the sun was shining, so our walk down to the wool shop was perfectly delightful. I purchased the wool of my dreams for my baby’s blanket, that which we’ll reserve to be the first object to envelop it (save for our arms). The wool is greyish blueish and not babyish at all, which is what I wanted. The blanket will be beautiful and two rows in is (still) perfect.
We continued along Queen St., stopping in at Dufflet for a cake break. Chocolate banana mini-bundt cake did the trick, and then further onwards to Type where I bought another stack of books for other people (oh, book buying without compunction– such a delight!), and then we walked north through Trinity Bellwoods Park and down College Street, through our old hood. We stopped at She Said Boom and I was compelled to buy a copy of the Paris Review Interviews Vol. I, which was book buying with (only) some compunction. I am very excited to read it, and thought it wouldn’t be fair for me to be the only person yesterday for whom I did not buy a book.
We arrived home as the sun went down, and I was cooked my favourite meal for dinner (sweet potato and black bean quesidilla yum). And though I was zonked to death there was energy left for Alex and Bronwyn’s housewarming party, which was thoroughly unnecessary I thought, as their house was already the warmest place I knew. Turned out it got warmer, and the evening was wonderful, but I very did nearly require carrying up the subway stairs as we stumbled home towards bed.
And now an avocado is in my immediate future: fun never, ever ends.
November 21, 2008
Outside the kitchen this morning
A changing season shouldn’t be remarkable, but it is.
October 31, 2008
On Tilly Witch
For Halloween’s sake, I bring you Tilly Witch, the 1969 book by Don Freeman (who was also the author of Corduroy). I had forgotten about Tilly, until I encountered her by chance this summer, and remembered that I had been obsessed with this book as a child. I have a feeling now that being obsessed with a book back then meant being in love with the pictures, pictures you could gaze into for extended periods of time, and detect new entire stories.
The pictures are pretty wonderful, dark and spooky, but made magic by juxtaposition– Tilly’s yellow surfboard, the witch doctor’s mask, the colour from the window in the picture shown here.
The story begins with Tilly Ipswitch, Queen of Halloween, suddenly finding herself in a rather jolly mood. She doesn’t see why she shouldn’t be– after all, “if boys and girls get to have fun pretending to be witches, I don’t see why I can’t play at being happy and gay, just for a change!” But Tilly soon finds that playing at happy is sort of like pulling faces– once in a while, you might stay that way. Tilly dancing around with flowers, and on the eve of Halloween– even she knows something has to be done.
Naturally, and most politically incorrectly, Tilly hops on her surfboard and flies the the tiny island of Wahoo to see a Doctor Weegee. (Walla walla bing bang). He is horrified upon examining her, and writes an emergency prescription to Miss Fitch’s Finishing School for Witches.
Upon re-enrolling at the school where she’d once been star pupil, Tilly’s problems only get worse. The lessons fail to take, she keeps giggling, and finally she is sent to the corner to wear a dunce cap. Such degradation proves too much for the Queen of Halloween, and Tilly begins to get angry. Seething– she is not a dunce! She leaps up from her stool and stomps on her hat. It is Halloween night, and she has duties to attend to.
Tilly flies back home, takes some great joy in frightening her cat, and then sets out on her broomstick to scare children the world over. The story ends with a moral: “For Tilly had indeed learned her lesson. As long as Halloween comes once a year you can count on her to be the meanest and wickedest witch in all Witchdom”.
So the lesson is bad is good– and as a little girl, I think I appreciated such a complex message. The greater lesson being that non-conformity (and rich pictures) can really make a children’s book delicious.
Happy Halloween.
