One of the nice things about having a blog is having complete editorial control. That I should exercise more qualitative restraint might be a valid assertion, but I am the editor and publisher and the decision rests with me. What power!
I've been thinking about children's books. Miss Mila's visit, of course, required some reading. She particularly enjoyed Green Eggs and Ham and Olivia. She is only two, so she likes repetition and the ability to point out things. "Where is Olivia's red bathing suit?" "Dere it is!" I can't wait until her next visit when we will try Eloise by KayThompson. Mother gave my girls their first Eloise book, and it remained one of their favorites and my favorite to read. I also read it to my senior English students where it was received with much the same delight.
When I was young, my favorite books ranged from age appropriate to whatever Mother received from the Book-of-the-Month club. I loved the Box Car Children and Nancy Drew. In the 6th grade, I still read Nancy Drew, but after seeing the movies, I read Exodus and Gone With the Wind. My ability to switch with pleasure from children's to young adult to adult remains.
Our family once went on vacation to Hot Springs, Arkansas when I was in the third grade. My memory of the trip consists of the fact that my Aunt Corry gave me The Secret Garden - how wonderful! I can still read and enjoy it, but not without recalling the pleasure of the first occasion, although nothing much else remains in my memory about the trip to Hot Springs.
In the 4th grade, my father said I couldn't bring home another Nancy Drew from the library without bringing something of WORTH. At a complete loss about what was of WORTH, I went to the adult stacks of non-fiction and began bringing home books about archaeology. Still remember the Etruscan necklace with gold as thin as rose petals, Doric and Ionic columns, aquaducts, and pyramids. My father's real purpose was to curtail my reading (he thought it was bad for my weak eyes), but he opened such broad horizons, and my glasses were strengthed every six months.
I read Brief Gaudy Hour a novel about Ann Boleyn at that time, one of my mother's Book-of-the-Month choices. Oh, history and England and fat Henry and Ann disguising her extra finger nail with flowy (sp) sleeves.
Was I a bookish child? Yes, but there was almost nothing on television then. I played hard after school, went to dance and acrobatic lessons, and read at night. Pretty much a live wire that only settled down when given a book. Or when designing houses with English Manor House libraries and long narrow dance studios with a mirrored wall.
My gosh, I've wandered on and away from the original subject,. Editor! Edit!!!