At the Grahamsville Library, as the light of the early morning sun fills the sky, Strega Nona, Harry and Harold, Alice and Willie and their buddies emerge from between the pages of the books that hold their stories. With his purple crayon, Harold sketches big fluffy clouds—his specialty—and Willie wakes the late night partiers with his whistles.
Rise and shine, my famous companions, the sun is up and so must you be to begin your storied days.[...]
Post Dedication: To all of us and any of us who answer to the following: Grandmothers, Grans, Grannies, Grandfathers, Grampas, Opas, Nanas, Nonnos, Abuelas, Abuelitas, Avós, Farmors, Großmutters, Grootmoeders, Grandmères, and the other millions of parents-once-removed from around the world whose names or titles I can’t track, or reproduce in print on my key board.[...]
“But I don’t want to do a story!”
Storytelling in the last thing Mathew, my 7-year-old grandson, and I do before lights out when he stays over.
“You’re good at starting off,” I say.
He squints. “Ok. I’ll do the starting, but you’ll do the finishing.”
I nod in agreement to this familiar clause in our contract: if he begins, [...]
On the first page of George’s Marvelous Medicine, author Roald Dahl introduces us to George’s Grandma, as loony an old lady as ever existed. She lectures George that he should be growing down, not up.
“Before it’s too late!” she rants. Her recipe? Eat insects, all manner of small crawly creatures.
I chose the book to read to my six-year-old grandson, Matthew. The title sounded interesting.[...]
Believing Begins with Books
Long ago in the war-plagued world of 1944, my family moved up and down the East coast according to my Dad’s assignments as a Navy Supply Officer for troops over seas. Ripped from my classroom in my hometown, I fumbled my way through the year; annoyed each new teacher who had to acclimate the new student, endured exile from the kids on the block, and teetered on the brink of academic failure in first grade.[...]
Click to listen to post podcast.
In Support of the Sense of Wonder
I read Silent Spring, Rachel Carson’s book about the dangers of the uses of chemicals in 1962, the year it was published. Carson opened her narrative with an ominous fable. A village had gone quiet. The inhabitants, even young children, died from no discernible cause. The birds had stopped singing and vegetation withered. [...]