Wednesday, February 12, 2014

browsing history: first post of 2014!

Wednesday, February 12, 2014
It's been a considerable amount of time since I compiled a group of particularly interesting gems.  I don't know what my loyal few have done without me.  How HAVE you gone on? 

I admit that there is really no good excuse to bring Jack Bauer back.  We had closure.  Yet I am still completely excited about this mini-season.  I'm intrigued by the London setting, but why has Chloe become Lisbeth Salander?

Fashion inspired by Franny and Zooey.  I think I might have to start checking out this feature, despite my sad lack of style.

Michael Pollan provides thoughtful info on the paleo diet

Excerpt from a talk by my favorite, Molly Wizenberg.  Love her so, so much.

Some uses for my massive quantities of Meyer lemons that do not involve making Molly's French lemon yogurt cake over and over.

I never thought I would enjoy Matt Damon as much as I do.  He continues to be great.

The final (?) trailer for Divergent has arrived.  Considering that it arrived just before the first trailer for The Fault in our Stars, I am still struggling a bit with the fact that Ansel Elgort, who plays Gus in TFIOS, is Caleb Prior in Divergent.  So brother in one, lover in another.  A bit weird.  On a positive note, both look like solid adaptations.  John Green, the author of The Fault in our Stars, has actively expressed support for the film's production and this first trailer, which is always encouraging for those of us who need the film adaptations to be faithful to the books.

The Fault in our Stars first trailer:

A nice way to review Phillip Seymour Hoffman's best scenes.  I'm especially partial to Along Came Polly.  The most light-hearted fare of the bunch to be sure.  He was a fine talent.


I could have included this in my latest "browsing history" post, which, I PROMISE, is forthcoming. However, Molly's book trailer truly deserves its own post.  I am ridiculously excited about Delancey.  A Homemade Life is one of my favorite books in general (outside of the cookbook category, even!)-I've read it over and over, and I feel about it the same way one might feel about a warm, familiar blanket.  There is something intimate and welcoming about Molly's writing-she is funny and wry to be sure, but also emotional.  You feel as if you know her personally once you've read even a chapter or two.  Sometimes I will stop in the midst of a page (or blog post) and wish that I could just talk to her.  As though she is my old friend.

Needless to say, Delancey was long ago pre-ordered for me. I'm pretty sure I placed my order on the day that it became an option.  There wasn't even any cover art at the time.  I know, I might have a problem.

If you haven't read A Homemade Life, I highly recommend it (obviously).  It happens to be a Kindle Monthly 100 Pick for February, which means that it's only $1.99.  Far more exciting than the price is the fact that if you do order it as an ebook now, you'll receive a bonus chapter of Delancey.  I'm jealous (it should not surprise you that I own the book in both print and ebook formats).

Friday, February 7, 2014

lessons from the snowy day

Friday, February 7, 2014
Ezra Jack Keats pictured with Madeline L'Engle-they won the Newbery and Caldecott awards in 1963.  What an auspicious year! 

I'll be the first one to tell you that the joys and pleasures obtained from reading a good book are not exclusive to that age of adulthood when you can truly comprehend its value.  I've written before on my mother's tendency to hold back certain books from me until I was deemed "ready" to read them.  Most of the time, this had little or nothing to do with the book's more mature content, but rather my mother's desire that I be at a point in my life when I could really appreciate it.  Of course, she was right, 100% of the time.  I am quite sure that I would not have given Lonesome Dove the proper respect had I devoured it when I first heard about it, for example, and I'm certainly glad that I never met Pat Conroy's novels until I was an actual adult.

Though books and literature hold great significance in my life, and I happily tout the importance of exposing children to good books at a young age, I never dwelled much on the idea of being "ready" for a children's book.  I am well-versed on the classics, and I can probably list at least forty Caldecott and/or Newbery winners from the last century.  There is no elementary classroom library in which I wouldn't feel completely comfortable.  Yet, I have neglected to consider some of these wonderful books as instructive and meaningful to me now, in my current state of life as a youngish mom of a boisterous toddler.  It took, of all things, a special anniversary edition of The Snowy Day to inspire me to pay a bit more attention when I am reading to my little one.

Granted, the story itself, with its beguiling, simple watercolor illustrations was not in and of itself what inspired this post.  It was this quote, which appeared in the special section at the end of the book, that really captured my attention.

I realize now that we have so many levels of experience that even when we are despairing and we feel cut off and alone, other, life-saving forces are working through the sadness.  Like strata of water in hard rock.  Where do they come from?  Sometimes I would feel that life was one vast desert, relentless, remorseless, and I could pick up a stone and water would spurt out.  Hidden fountains of feeling we carry inside us, and we don't know it.  I wonder what ripples of laughter and joy and love are buried-to surface one day just as the meaning of Peter's pictures had finally emerged for me.
Isn't that beautiful?  I loved the notion of "hidden fountains of feeling" and the idea that hope and joy and wonder are present even in the midst of the harder times of our lives that will inevitably come.  I suppose it's that idea of wonder that comes across so eloquently in The Snowy Day, which  depicts Peter's day in a slow, quiet fashion, yet never strays from giving the reader the strong sensation of how each little moment of his day, even something as simple as tapping a snow-covered tree with a stick, filled him with awe.