"All the forces in the world are not so powerful as an idea whose time has come."*

When I was what is these days called a “tween,” I was enamored of orphan stories. Anne of Green Gables, Emily of New Moon, Rebecca of Sunnybrook Farm. Sarah Crewe and Mary Lennox and Pollyanna and Rose Campbell and Elizabeth Ann Putney. But much as I adored each and every one of these poor, parentless girls, my all-time favorite was Judy Abbott, of Jean Webster’s Daddy-Long-Legs. Judy is plucked from an orphanage and sent to college where she wholeheartedly enjoys her studies and living life as a normal girl. Her education is paid for by a rich benefactor, one of the trustees of the orphanage, and in return she is obliged to write a duty letter occasionally, informing him of her progress in her studies. Instead, Judy enthusiastically adopts said trustee, pretending he is an elderly uncle, and writes him amusing, anecdotal letters (accompanied by adorable little sketches) about everything she is doing and learning and loving. These letters comprise the book Daddy Long Legs (the nickname is what she affectionately calls her “uncle.”)

Judy Abbott is exactly the sort of girl you'd want for your roommate, so she could involve you in all her adventures large and small. Her sunniness, openness, and enthusiasm make her a joy and a delight to be around. The novel is comfort reading of the first degree and I have no idea how many times I have reread it, and its sequel, Dear Enemy.

Until I opened The Guernsey Literary and Potato Peel Pie Society yesterday evening, I had not encountered such an enchanting heroine detailing her life in letters since my first encounter with Judy. And now Juliet Ashton has captured my heart and my imagination. Written in the form of letters, the book details the German occupation of Guernsey Island, and the ways in which its occupants, cut off from the world for five years, cope. Juliet, an author interested in writing the island’s story, is charming and funny and wry. The book is completely captivating; I could not stop reading. I was in love, with Juliet, with the island, with its inhabitants, with Sidney, Juliet’s editor, and with Sophie, Sidney’s sister and Juliet’s best friend. And indeed, there is a feisty and engaging orphan featured as well. I don’t want to tell you more – I want you to go read it. I want to buy my own copy to have and reread and look at on my shelf. It’s a wonderful little book. (And I have to say it would make a fabulous Christmas gift for anyone on your list for whom you have absolutely no idea what to buy.)

And now, just as Juliet points out how wonderful it is that a book captures you with a tiny detail which leads you to another book and a detail in that book leads you to a third, I must go read up on the history and inhabitants of Guernsey, embarking on yet another tangential treasure hunt.



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*Victor Hugo

"I don't want to go to PTA meetings." *

I generally like to craft my posts.

I disdain those rambling, stream-of-consciousness, badly spelled posts that most people, including my husband, think of when they think of your typical everyday blogger.
I view my blog as a venue for my writing; it affords me practice and polishing and often valuable feedback.

However, my life is caroming out of control right now, nothing major, just, you know, life with four children and a workaholic husband and the holidays looming (and we all know how I loooove the holidays), and as I hang gamely onto the reins and wildly mix my metaphors, I offer you a random, streaming post straight from my consciousness. Although I am pretty sure everything is correctly spelled.

I am reading:
Volumes seven and eight of the Fables graphic novels. Unfortunately, I got my husband hooked on them, so I am now waiting for Mr Slowpoke (who is plodding through Grapes of Wrath at the same time) to finish volume eight so I CAN READ MY OWN LIBRARY BOOKS.
The Monk Downstairs. I am enjoying the fine writing, and the steady character development.
Laura Lippmann’s No Good Deeds. I continue to heart Tess and find Crow annoying and smug and self-righteous and immature.
The Light Years by Elizabeth Jane Howard. If you liked Rosamunde Pilcher’s big books (Shell Seekers, Coming Home), or Penny Vicenzi’s Spoils of Time trilogy, you would enjoy this, too, the first in Howard’s Cazalet series.

Books I have sitting on my nightstand: Vikram Seth’s An Equal Music, Allan Moore’s Watchmen, Georgette Heyer’s Venetia.

Books I must pickup from the library: that book about the potato peels, Fun Home, and Telex from Cuba, recommended by Lauren Groff, whom I emailed recently about something on her blog, and she emailed me back, a lovely, funny response. I love her even more now. And I loved her quite a bit already, if you recall. (Monsters of Templeton - have you read it? No? What the heck are you waiting for??)

Things going on this week: a movie the boys want to see showing at their school one evening, courtesy of the PTA; a members-only preview of the model railroad Christmas set up at the science center; the usual piano, drumming, etc. lessons.
A meeting regarding the gifted ed pilot program at the boys’ school, same night as the trains.
H’s band practice, the same night as the movie.

I MUST go grocery shopping.
And I have a ham I bought totally spur-of-the-moment last week that I must bake.
I need to have my new glasses readjusted AGAIN.
I have envelopes to deliver to the PTA mailbox for my husband, and envelopes to pick up.

And I am dreading school pickup this week. Because – have I told you about my run-in with smoking parents at school pickup? No? Stay tuned for tomorrow’s post, but suffice it to say that I am dreading picking up the boys after school. Because I can only be bold and brave for so long, and then I just want to curl into a ball and cry.

I want this bumper sticker:

But now I must gird my loins, bundle the snotty baby and my three-year-old Dalmatian-costume-wearing boy, and go buy eggs and bread and milk and butter and applesauce and diapers. Mostly diapers.

Here, have some baby butt:

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*Stevie Nicks