Where the Windwalk Begins
Title: Where the Windwalk Begins
Poet: Todd Dillard
Illustrator: Paul K. Tunis
Too cute. These poems are ideal for lazy breakfast reading or luncheons on the patio. We love to read over our meals and kiddo has really enjoyed Where the Windwalk Begins.
I personally loved Airlephant, mostly because I have a ridiculously large soft spot in my soul for all things regarding elephants. Kiddo’s ears perked up the most, however for Flock of Flying Carpets, which I admit is pretty awesome. The alliteration of that particular poem fascinates little people, and her eyes lit up with delight at hearing the same sounds over and over again. We’ve been working on our phonics lately and you could see the recognition of certain letter’s sounds all over her face.
The poems are really fun and the illustrations are equally so. I was pleased with how well paired the illustrator was to the over all vibe of the book. Sometimes you can have a great illustrator and a really great storyteller or poet, but they don’t necessarily make the best pairing, but these two seemed pretty in tune to each other. Spunky and very light heart-ed, moms and dads everywhere should keep this title in their personal library stock.
Love is a Choice
Title:Love Is A Choice
Authors: Dr. Robert Hemfelt, Dr. Frank Minirth, Dr. Paul Meier
Publisher: Thomas Nelson Publishing
Genre: Psychology/ Self-Help/ Christian Living
Length: 275 pages
Back in college I read Happiness Is A Choice with a few girls I knew. We went to a Baptist school, but clearly weren’t behaving like the other little Christian girls we knew, so of course we devoured a book that seemingly addressed all that was wrong with us and how to fix it God’s way. Mostly, it just made us feel better.
Naturally, I spotted this in a giant giveaway pile, knew it was by the same authors, and impulsively picked it up. Approximately 3 years later (now), I got around to reading it.
It did not make me feel better.
At least not at first anyway.
Reading Love Is A Choice from a parental perspective can be daunting and, to say the least, overwhelming. The first half of the book had me completely convinced that everyone on the planet has been abused in some form or another… active abuse, passive abuse, this abuse, that abuse. Unless you’re Jesus, NO ONE IS SAFE. I am not Jesus, so essentially, all I determined was that my kid was going to grow up to have issues. NO MATTER WHAT I DID. For that, I kind of hated it.
However, because all these very human issues and mistakes run rampant in the world – because we are human – it ends up being a good read. Handy. Fair warning, so to speak. Be careful of this, be careful of that, be warned that these kinds of actions effect your children this way or that way into adulthood. And above all, put God first.
I can get on board with that.
Just remember when looking at this cover and judging whether or not you think this applies to you, codependency probably doesn’t mean what you think it means. I know I was fooled. Essentially the core sort of means the same as what I thought, but all the nuances are different. If you’ve read my blog for long, you know I love a few good nuances!
Anyway, it took up the better part of a week after my kiddo was asleep… when I wasn’t reading a Thomas Jefferson biography or going over homeschooling stuff… and I don’t feel like my time was wasted. Self-help isn’t typically a genre I care much about, so that means if I mostly like it then it’s probably pretty stellar. Check it out.
Below is a picture of me and my kid, who along with my husband, I choose to love every day – the best I can. P.S. The first week of October is Banned Books Awareness Week. BE AWARE! Read a ‘banned book.’ As far as I know, Love is a Choice isn’t banned anywhere and this statement has nothing to do with the review, just my t-shirt.
Photograph by Michael Palmer
Introducing the Octopus… and Tolkien Week
Weekly Low Down on Kids Books and Adventures in Homeschooling with an Octopus and Tolkien…
Title: Squishy the Octopus
Author: Mary Reason Theriot
Illustrations: Zoie Mahaffey
The last few weeks have been exciting. With the start of fall and the new school year and kiddo turning three in October, we’ve been diving more heavily into “school time.” There was a video floating around on facebook, courtesy of the Libertarian Homeschooler or maybe Practical Homeschooling – not sure which, dealing with the camouflage abilities of the octopus.
The video we watched (Where is the Octopus?) is here: http://www.sciencefriday.com/video/08/05/2011/where-s-the-octopus.html.
Add in discussions of legs, all things regarding the prefix “oct,” and an a event where Mary Reason Theriot debuted her children’s books, we’ve had quite a big week!
Authors Mary Reason Theriot & Jennifer Theriot
Theriot is quite a popular novelist on Amazon. Living in Louisiana with her husband and daughter, she avidly writes spooky thrillers with a southern twist that only the home of the Cajun seem to be able to offer. But most recently, with the aid of her extremely enterprising daughter, she’s branched out and started writing children’s stories as well.
In Squishy the Octopus, a little octopus with a big anger management problem learns to control his temper with the help of his other sea creature friends. On various pages, like in the video above, Squishy changes color. My own little kiddo got really excited when this happened, “Let me see the picture!” she’d exclaim, “What color is he now?”
Unrelated to sea creatures, but highly related to our homeschooling life, is the fact that this week is Tolkien week. September 21st was the 76th anniversary of the publication of The Hobbit by J.R.R. Tolkien. An day that was celebrated with the first annual Fall Festival at
Archie Rocks Acoustic, little Theriot and my own kiddo in the garden at GBITW.
Good Books in the Woods. There was a costume contest, a toast to Tolkien, Mary Reason Theriot doing a book signing, Aoristos portraits being drawn and more. It was a pretty neat event, which we wrapped up at home with the kiddo indulging in a long time favorite The Lord of the Rings cartoon (the 1978 one, we have it on VHS… and yes, we still use our VCR).
September 22nd (yesterday) was Bilbo and Frodo Baggins’ birthday! They were born in different years, but on the same day! Something, I suppose, only truly geeky Tolkien fans care about. So this week is Tolkien week.
I may work for Half Price Books, a company I absolutely adore for so many reasons, but I spend a good chunk of my spare time at Good Books in the Woods. It is definitely my home away from home these days. My kid plays in the garden and with the toybox set up in the kids section while I absorb the ambiance of a house taken over by books. If my husband ever let me, the inside of my house would look exactly like Good Books…
Not So Surprised by the Joy of Lewis
Title: Surprised by Joy
Author: C.S. Lewis
I don’t remember when C.S. Lewis was not a part of my life. Really, I don’t. I am sure at one point in time, possibly even recently, I may have remembered that first moment that I discovered the world beyond the wardrobe – but I can no longer recall it’s newness. I only have the strong sense of having always been to Narnia before. I can only remember various occasions that I visited, like a beloved vacation spot that has become home.
But now I am a grown up, and often when I have a longing for Lewis and his darling brain, I dive into his grown up things. It started with The Screwtape Letters, which I read for the first time in high school or so. Then I moved onto Til We Have Faces, kudos to a fellow named Brian Franklin, who somehow got that into my hands although I don’t recall by what means. Then, finally, most recently, I really started to grow up… and I started reading his nonfiction.
In my mid-twenties I picked up Mere Christianity. Something I wanted to read together as a family. I think I was newly pregnant. I recall being pregnant, maybe, but I don’t recall the big-as-a-house-belly. (After all, when you are pregnant, you are a house – literally – for the tiny human you are growing.) Either way, we read most of it aloud together, I think I ended up finishing the last half on my own, impatient for a conclusion. Now that I’m thinking of it, perhaps I wasn’t pregnant yet at all. Perhaps I just have a hard time imagining life without our little person, even in the memories she wasn’t present for…
Image from Jesse Furey
So now, during a month of what Holly Golightly would refer to as The Mean Reds… during the stress of true adulthood… during moments when my brain (as the brain of the ‘creative’ is wont to do) attempts to dive into a deep melancholy… I have picked up Surprised By Joy: The Shape of My Early Life.
Am I suddenly ecstatic? Does Lewis propel me into a sanguine excitement, heart all a flutter with happiness? No. Not even close. But Lewis has reminded me what a lack of joy can really look like. He has reminded me that my joy is never truly gone – even when I don’t feel it.
Sitting here in the wee hours of dawn, because I couldn’t sleep, debating how soon I should brew my coffee while the sun just barely peeks up into the tree branches and a haze of Houston smog, I am with Lewis. I am with him at Wyvern and Chartres. I am with his father. I am with his atheistic sadness and in turn his Christian philosophies. I am with his love for fantasy, satyrs, heroes, and mythologies. I am with him in his distaste for other children and his desire to be alone, except for one good friend.
What I am not with? My own bad mood, which I like to call The Funk. Apparently, Holly, we all have silly names for it and I stopped borrowing yours long ago. Am I surprised that Lewis can scoop me from my mood, at least temporarily, with such ease? No. (Although I admit he had the aid of my daily endorphin dose… the morning kick of pushups and crunches…) Would I do almost anything for the most gorgeous set of leather bound C.S. Lewis books for sale at Good Books in the Woods? Probably, but if I had the money there would probably be a throw down for it in the parking lot between me and my Emily, but at least I know she’d share if she managed to win.
The Debt & The Doormat & The Socially Awkward
Title:The Debt & The Doormat
Author: Laura Barnard
The Debt & The Doormat is a number one selling book on Amazon. It’s fun, flirty chick lit with glowing reviews about how hilarious it is.
I believe them.
But in the words of one of my co-workers, “Andi doesn’t like fun.” Apparently it’s true because my socially awkward self had the hardest time relating to the mentalities of the people in the book. On top of not being able to relate, I didn’t laugh, because what I did relate to just makes me tired. I have a lot of debt (students loans), I lead what some might find a boring life (like Poppy). My debt exhausts me and my boring calms me.
I see how it would be funny to other people. I can see this being one of those films starring Keira Knightly and/or Cameron Diaz, in an American version, and me not having any desire to go see it at all whatsoever. It’s There’s Something About Mary funny. It’s Adam Sandler funny. It’s Sex in the City funny. It is not Jane Austen funny. It is not Paul Collins funny.
Me not getting into it is not Laura Barnard’s fault. I can think of a dozen people I’d love to share this book with, because I know they will think it’s the best thing ever. Once I pass the book along, I will even invite them to share their thoughts as a guest blogger here on my blog.
The cover art is spunky, the premise is very Freaky Friday meets Sex in the City, and the writing itself is good. Try as I might, I’m just not that girl. Instead, I spent the better part of a week trying to get into Poppy and Jazz’s story, only to find myself distracted by a biography calling my name on the shelf, or a football game on television. I was almost head over heels involved in the story when the Texans were losing and I found Poppy tied to a bed by a British Thelma (of Thelma & Louise)… but then, of course, the Texans started scoring touchdowns.
Let me be clear, this is not a bad review. Please do not walk away from this post thinking, “I’ll never read that.” I’d say if the cover calls you, you SHOULD read it. If this is your genre, it’s probably one of the best in it. This is more of a testament to me and my reading habits and how much of a typical girl I am not. I will probably recommend this book to customers seeking Laura Giffin and Sophie Kinsella books. If you are a die hard McLaughlin & Kraus (The Nanny Diaries) fan, you will probably want to purchase this book STAT.
My Rundy
(This is supposed to be a review of My Antonia, HPB Humble book club selection for September’s discussion. But it’s not.)
With every book I read, I miss my high school English teacher more and more. I’m nostalgic by nature, so this should not be misconstrued as any overly dramatic longing. I only regret the times I was too exhausted to stay awake in class. I want to hear him talk about something I’m currently reading that wasn’t part of the curriculum ten to fifteen years ago. I feel desperate to hear his literary thoughts.
I miss Mr. Rundell – casually referred to in the classroom as Rundy – I miss conversations we never had. Which is ridiculous. Who misses their high school English teacher so much?
Sadly, it’s because somewhere in my seventeen year old brain, I was convinced that when I was a grown up, Mr. Rundell might be my friend – join my book clubs – hang out. I always thought that if he hadn’t been the teacher and I hadn’t been the student we would have been friends. I think everyone thought that about him. He was so cool, but super nerdy. He made being a little bit geek look fun.
At seventeen I was also convinced that I would never marry or have children. I thought this because the love of my life had me pretty convinced we were never going to be anything other than platonic. Now, we’ve been married for seven years and have a daughter. The point? What I thought at seventeen turned out to be pretty irrelevant. And the love of my life finally did fall in line with all of my heart’s desires. So why can’t my old English teacher?
I want to hit him up on facebook like I do my old college professors. Discuss random things that pop in my head as they come up organically. Why shouldn’t I? I’m still paying for the degree that’s sitting in my closet with a dog chew tear in the corner of what was probably meant to look like very expensive paper.
Selfishly, and a bit stalker-like, every few years I start googling him to see if I can hunt him down. Last time I was dying to discuss East of Eden (we read Grapes of Wrath for school) with him over a whiskey. Now, it’s Willa Cather’s My Antonia.
I watched the new Gatsby movie with a friend the other night and all I could think was, “I would have loved to see this movie for the first time with Rundy.” Even if it meant I had to sit in an uncomfortable plastic chair bolted to a crappy desk to do so.
People shape our lives in ways we do not expect. I was always a reader, I always loved literature. He did not ignite something in me that wouldn’t have already been there. But the man knew how to balance that fine line between teacher and friend. Teenagers really need to feel like someone is on their side sometimes, and Rundy had being on our side down pat. There was a rapport that made us desire his classroom and approval alongside a pure, true teacher student ambiance.
I knew he was one of my favorite teachers then and there, but I never expected to actually wonder what he was up to or hear half his lectures in my head when I re-read old classics. I especially didn’t think that I would feel the absence of his lectures when reading a title I didn’t even know about at age seventeen.
So this is not so much a review as an ode to my favorite English teacher of all time. The tall, lanky, hunched-over-geek that sat on the bottom of his spine as he leaned awkwardly into the stool beside the podium. The guy who had us write essays on Pink Floyd and Army of Darkness. The man who arched his eyebrows at my best friend and me when I told him we were just friends and said, “Sure.” I think he was the first person to get me wondering if I had a shot with the boy who swept me off my feet and became my husband.
This is an ode to the guy that made us think.
As for Cather’s work, I nearly died at a quote on page 187 by Lena: “[…] I don’t want a husband. Men are all right for friends, but as soon as you marry them, they turn into cranky old fathers, even the wild ones. They begin to tell you what’s sensible and what’s foolish, and want you to stick at home all the time. I prefer to be foolish when I feel like it, and be accountable to nobody.”
I laughed and laughed at this. Oh, Lena, how I thought that too! But that post is for another day.
Aphrodesia
Title:Aphrodesia
Author: John Oehler
Genre: Mystery
Length: 342 pages
I should not have been surprised with a title like Aphrodesia, but ironically, I was. I had half a mind to add Erotica to the genre line, but I wasn’t quite sure if the shoe fit. Oehler’s book is definitely erotic, but there’s a story and a purpose to his rated R material, so I found myself drawn in by things that would normally repulse me. If that’s not good writing, I don’t know what is.
Oehler has managed to capture the world of perfuming in a pretty intense way. I’ve never read anything like it, and highly doubt I’ll ever find or read anything like it again. It’s truly unique.
I’ve read foodie books, coffeehouse style with baked goods, travel books with exotic cooking recipes… nothing has tickled my nose so that I could smell the story so well. It would not surprise me to discover that the author develops fragrances in his spare time as well. His descriptions are gritty, a little dirty, and down right accurate; which, for me, made the whole reading experience a little disconcerting.
If you follow my blog and have previously read Mary Reason Theriot or Kendall Grey, this might be right up your alley. Although Oehler isn’t really comparable to either one of those authors – he’s in a sub genre of all his own making. I don’t quite know what to do with him. I’m simultaneously reminded of the old classic, The Monk, written in 1796 by a guy smitten with the writings of Marquis de Sade, and Elizabeth George with her mysterious detective dramas. Needless to say, I’d like to read something else Oehler has written and see what his non-erotic mysteries read like… or if he writes non-erotically. (This is where that nasty habit of not reading the backs of books or other reviews or blurbs on books comes to bite me in the butt, I know little about an author or their work, until I’ve read most their work. But that keeps life interesting AND keeps me reading, right?)
John Oehler will be signing books at Half Price Books Humble Saturday August 24th and then at the HPB North Oaks the following Saturday. Join the event page here: https://www.facebook.com/events/505154219566449/ for all the details and come out and pick up a copy of his book in person. Probably best done before you read the work, as I anticipate not being able to look him in the face after being made to blush on nearly every page for the first 100 pages of his book. We’ll see how that works out tomorrow. P.S. I’m a little bit of a literary prude, and I’m ok with that. Despite my prudishness… I like this book.
Also, sometimes I include this, often I forget but today I think it is relevant: I had Frank Sinatra playing and Ace warming (Scentsy product).
Coffee… Starbucks… God… Gospel… What?
Title:The Gospel According to Starbucks
Author: Leonard Sweet
Publisher: WaterBrook Press
Genre: Christian Living
Length: 210 pages
So reading this I realize why I rarely read Christian Living books. I pretty much disagree with most of them. Sometimes they are blatantly wrong, sometimes their nuances are misleading. Sure, I think it’s good to pick one up every now and then, but mostly I’d rather read The Bible, theology, or philosophy, rather than suffer through a water downed less than truthful version of God.
The story of the copy I have of this book is an interesting one, to me. My college room mate’s little sister had it first and her tiny little handwriting (that looks freakishly like my old roomie’s) is peppered throughout. That’s my favorite part about used books – the notes.
Mostly she’s witty… funny little quips from having actually worked at Starbucks creep onto the pages. Cutely reprimanding customers for their silly choice in drink, which I cutely got indignant over because some of those drinks are things I order, seep onto the pages and make my lip curl up. But sometimes she writes something spot on that is exactly what I’m thinking and embodies my entire personal view of this book:
“You can be grateful and enjoy the ‘experience’ but don’t place your walk’s ‘value’ on whether or not you had some ultimate experience.” – Hannah’s note on pg. 51
Indeed. At one point I scribbled a response that said, “Church becomes an entertainment fiasco… the Baptist equivalent of a Vegas Headliner.” Because the Gospel of Starbucks is experience, and Sweet implies over and over that we should be focused on our experience with God. Human beings are kind of crazy and moody… I don’t want my walk with God to be based on my personal experience and how I’m feeling that day. Instead, I’m sorry, but I think we should be focused on GOD… not how we feel so much. Feelings are fleeting. God is steady.
Don’t get me wrong, there’s some good stuff in here. I’d give it a 3 stars “I like it,” but I like it with a shrug. I think I mostly like it for the fun little notes in the margins that Sweet inspired out of previous readers. I like the coffee talk and the Picasso quotes. I like that Sweet encourages people to “live with a Grande passion,” I think living with passion is important. It’s the nuances that get me every time with a book I sort of don’t care for… all those tiny little nuances that leave an after taste. Kind of like Starbucks. I like Starbucks, I do. But everything just kind of tastes like Starbucks after awhile and I’m always eager to find that hole in the wall mom and pop coffee shop that stayed true to the basics. That goes for church too… teach me the word of God, end of story.
The best thing about Sweet’s gospel? It compliments my morning coffee. As it was a hand-me-down title, however, I plan to hand it down to someone else. It’s worth reading, but not a keeper.
A link to Hannah’s blog can be found in my right hand margin: Musings From the Tardis.
My old Roomie writes Coffee Cups in Trees.
But something to take a look at that is a much better view of the world and is quick and to the point is here: http://www.thinkingthroughchristianity.com/2013/08/let-there-be-coffee.html
This Is Monstropolis
A Weekly Low Down on Kids Books and Guest Blog by Maura M! (2 in 1!)
Title:This Is Monstropolis!
I’m excited to share this little piece of toddler entertainment gold. This Is Monstropolis is an adorably illustrated flap book that is stuffed to the brim with things for little hands to explore. There is not much text here. The real beauty of this book is the vast amount of things there are in the illustrations to describe to your little one. In the 3 days that we have owned This Is Monstropolis, I’ve probably spent more than an hour discussing the scenes on the 14 pages of this book and what is happening behind each flap. This book is recommended for 3 year olds and beyond, but my 2 year old enjoys it immensely. The Richard Scarry-esque illustrations can be adored by child and caregiver alike and curious 2 year olds can’t get enough of the flap flipping.
Anakalian Whims 