I read about a little girl who
just today said she was thankful -
for her little dog
and for - I'm not sure if more - but
for the crisp sound (of?) fall
leaves on the ground.
Another was thankful
for a life with no troubles
only with mastakes.
And that, just how she said it -
happily, mistaken.
Good Kate has done it again. And this time she's done it in a different medium than her usual masterpieces - a medium that, as it were, is not all too far from Calvin and Hobbes. Not that she's started a new comic series - no, none of that. But her newest book (co-written with Allison McGhee) is more about images and colour than narration. In fact, there isn't any narration - the entire plot is told in dialogue and watercolour - an a fabulous duo it is.
The medium she chose, of course, is no accident. Just like The Tale of Desperaux glories in the fact that it's a book, Bink and Gollie glories in the fact that it's a picture book...if that's what you can call it. It feels like an altogether new genre, really - taking the best from the world of picture books (beautiful watercolour illustrations) and the best from the world of comics (dialogue that develops character, dialogue that says "this is true").
I won't tell you anything about the story, of course, because it's far to cruel to give anything away in a book so short. You could read the whole thing just standing up at the book store (which I did), and laugh out loud when Bink smells pancakes (which I also did), but that shouldn't keep you from buying it and reading it again and again and making all your friends read it too (which I will, have no fear).
Everyone who plays Calvinball, everyone who appreciates harmony and joy, everyone who just needs a good story every now and again - everyone, in fact, should read this book.
If you ever get bored, fear no longer.
If you're ever lonely, rest a ease.
If you ever want a small rat to talk to...
your days of waiting have come (at long last) to a timely end.
Reepicheep (!) is here. The mouse talked to dragons, fought with giants, the mouse who sailed to off the end of his own world - has come back (that's right!), and now awaits you in the cyberworld.
Why? we have no idea.
Truth be told, he's probably an imposter. The real Reepicheep would have him tarred and feathered in a heartbeat. But that's no reason not to talk to him. And you can! Here: http://www.thelionscall.com/activities/talk_to_reepicheep.cfm
...and do let me know if you get him to say anything as strange as this...
Me: What is my purpose?
Reep: Hopefully, all of us are here to do our Creator's work.
Me: Who is our Creator?
Reep: King Edmund.
Me: That, my friend, is blasphemy.
...later...
Me: Why are you here?
Reep: Because Aslan created me.
Me: But you said that King Edmund created you.
Reep: Oh dear, I gave the wrong answer.
Me: You should be ashamed.
Reep: Name one other Mouse who is ashamed.
"...I landed in the peace of evening. Punta Arenas! I leaned against a fountain and looked at the girls in the square. Standing there within a couple of feet of their grace, I felt more poignantly than ever the human mystery.
In a world in which life so perfectly responds to life, where flowers mingle with flowers in the wind's eye, where the swan is the familiar of all swans, man alone builds his isolation. What a space between men their spiritual natures create!
...I lean against a fountain. Old women come up to draw water: of their drama I shall know nothing but these gestures of farm servants. A child, his head against a wall, weeps in silence: there will remain of him in my memory only a beautiful child forever inconsolable. I am a stranger. I know nothing. I do not enter into their empires. Man in the presence of man is as solitary as in the face of a wide winter sky in which there sweeps, never to be tamed, a flight of trumpeting geese..."
Wind, Sand and Stars - Antoine de St. Exupery
Josh, Anna, Michael and I wrote this jolly poem in honor of Deborah and Evan's wedding. and yes, the existence of a real Kevin is completely fabricated... enjoy. :)
Leaven La Vida Loca
(based on a true story)
There once was a boy named Evan,
A lad who baked bread without leaven.
"Alas, O my soul,"
Said the lad to his roll,
"I wish I could bake like that Kevin."
The boy that he spoke of, this Kevin (fiend)
Was a sprightly young lad of just seven (teen).
He made cakes a la carte
And strawberry tarts
That could satisfy angels in heaven (winged).
Now Deborah liked Kevin, not Evan.
And Evan liked Deborah, not Kevin.
"Alas, O my soul,
"A lass make me whole,"
Said Evan whilst looking towards heaven.
An angel then came down from heaven
To help the poor leaven-less Evan.
"Deborah, don't fear,
"The right man is near.
"The lovin' lies not in the leaven."
The angel receded to heaven
And Deborah looked up and saw Evan.
"Alas, O my soul,
"This lad makes me whole,
"But a cake we will need at the weddin'."
So Deborah was married to Evan,
A match that was made up in heaven.
The party was swell.
The cake was as well,
Its baker none other than Kevin.
It will all sound contrived,
the forest being hungry
for naught knows what --
the sea of ivy,
poisoned. And the thorns
- the ones I'd rather have than spiders.
And just after saying it,
running into webs - one
after the other.
What of it?
A shattered pile of sticks from childhood --
one unrotten log.
And all of it
coming together just in time
for me to run back and wash it off --
if it was on time.
But there it is, anyways. We'll call it
brown.
