My Reading Origins

At the top of the stairs and down the hall, was the front bedroom of my grandparent’s house. I can still close my eyes and see every corner of the room, from its castle like turret of windows to the mahogany sleigh bed. When I was four, I visited this room every single day, because this is where my grandmother spent her time. Propped up on pillows in this huge sleigh bed, because bone cancer had made it impossible for her to walk more than a few steps, she beckoned me to join her atop this magnificent bed to hear the story of Peter Rabbit. She knew Peter intimately, as she was in his original audience, the generation of children for whom the stories were written.

Oh, how she could tell this story. She could tell me all of Beatrix Potter’s stories, but she had long ago stopped trying to interest me in Benjamin Bunny or Jemima Puddle Duck because she knew what I really wanted to hear was Peter’s adventure in Mr. MacGregor’s garden. I had to hear every last detail, from that bunny mother who went off to shop and left all her children on their own, to Peter, who while enjoying the buffet of veggies in MacGregor’s garden was discovered by the angry farmer who chased him with a hoe. Along the way, Peter lost his very handsome bunny suit, ending up in the pail of water, chilled and frightened. I loved Peter and his exploits. To me, Peter was a risk taker, a daring, charming, young rabbit, who did things on impulse and didn’t always listen to his mother. Being the very good girl, who always listened to her mother, I revered vicariously, his mischievous deeds. I cheered as he ran lickety split across the garden and squirmed under the gate with the help of his bird friends. I’d let out a little cry when his mother would put him to bed without supper.

We’d talk and giggle about Peter and his antics and then my grandma Jenny would shuffle a few feet to the card table set up in front of the biggest window. There we’d enjoy tea, cucumber and watercress sandwiches, served by my Aunt May in her crisply starched white apron, and imagine that Ms. Potter had come to tea to talk about naughty Peter and her other characters. Those days were glorious and emblazoned in my memory banks.

In the months leading to her death in July of 1955, my grandmother sent my aunt on a quest, to find me my own copy of this book so I could forever remember the story and our days of sharing it. Those magical days made me a reader. They led to days of independent reading through the shelves of my neighborhood library. Those wonderful, happy days of childhood, when my dear grandmother took the time to introduce me to stories and books, produced a librarian and teacher who loves introducing children to books.

Gone Too Soon

I spent the afternoon watching the memorial service for Michael Jackson. It was a celebration of his life and thousands waited in line to find their place at this moment in history. Millions more were glued to their televisions as friends performed his music, unfolded favorite memories and inspired all of us to remember the best of what was the phenomenon known as Michael Jackson. Personally, I was touched by the poem from Maya Angelou. Later in the afternoon, while looking for the poem online I ran into a hateful blog by Dallas Morning News columnist, Ron Dreher, that demonized Michael and everything that occurred at this event. I had to ask why--in his comment section--not once but twice. I was irritated and annoyed that he wrote this column as a right wing Conservative Christian and he and his blog followers made comments that vilified Michael and those who would celebrate his life as if they were speaking for all Christians. He did not speak for me and judging by the rest of the material that appeared later today in his blog he most certainly never will. Let us not forget in the hours of television footage about Michael, that more than an entertainer of millions, he was a son, a brother, a father, a friend.

Michael Jackson was an icon, plain and simple. I remember clearly when Michael's song Ben, replaced Hey Jude in the number one spot of my mother's top ten list. It didn't matter how old you were, his music affected you, made you happy, sad, reflective, excited, wanting to get up and dance. My daughter quantified events in her life by releases of Thriller, Billie Jean and Bad music videos. They were, after all, events.

Two of his friends, Brooke Shields and Magic Johnson, delivered the most poignant stories. They were snapshots of a man who could have fun, laugh, enjoy his friends, his family, his children outside the glare of public life. In the countless hours of interviews that Michael did with Martin Brashears for ABC, his innocence was apparent. He repeated often, how shy he was off stage. His life from age 5 was performing. He did it well and was most comfortable when in front of an audience. It was evident that Michael truly was Peter Pan--the boy who never grew up.Was this the tragic flaw of Michael Jackson--wanting his lost childhood to last forever?

Judy Blume

Those of you who know me, know that a writing idol of mine is Judy Blume. I regularly read her blog here at blogspot. In fact it is in my list of blogs. If you've never read her blog, take a moment and read her current post. She's a great writer and this post may give most of you--I am thinking Texans here--a reason to rethink NYC as a den of iniquity.
Big City Saga

July 2, 2009

Here we are, just two days until the fabulous 4th. I love what the holiday stands for, although I detest fireworks. Not that their beauty and magic goes unnoticed by me, but the noise--I am not a loud noise person. I think that comes from years as an only child in a very quiet household.

Today, I would just rather write about July 4th and what it stands for with all its pomp and circumstance; along with the facts and fiction that surround it. Let's start at the beginning. The Second Continental Congress approved a resolution of independence in a closed session on July 2, 1776. The Declaration was written by Thomas Jefferson. He sought the editorial voice of both Benjamin Franklin and John Adams "because they were the two members of whose judgments and amendments I wished most to have the benefit." Ironically, both Jefferson and Adams died on July 4, 1826.
July 4, 1776, the Congress officially adopts the document and John Dunlap prints multiple copies. Twenty four of these "Dunlap broadsides" are known to exist. Copies of the document are sent to the New Jersey and Delaware legislatures. The declaration is read publicly in Philadelphia as well as to the American Army in New York. On July 19, 1776, The Second Continental Congress orders the document to be engrossed--which means officially inscribed--and the signing begins on August 2. It isn't until January 18, 1777, that the Congress, now meeting in Baltimore, Maryland, orders copies of the signed document be printed and sent to the various colonies. I think it is a remarkable history lesson for our children that things did not happen instantaneously as they do today--no email, fax, cell phone or facebook transmissions of news. Simply men on horseback passing the document and the word. My home state of Pennsylvania had the largest number of signers of the Declaration, 9, although only three of them have any strong name recognition. They were Benjamin Franklin, Robert Morse and Dr. Benjamin Rush. Maybe those names only had meaning to me as a Pennsylvania school girl. The other six were George Clymer, James Smith, George Taylor, John Morton, George Ross and James Wilson. Of note is Robert Treat Paine, a signer from Massachusetts, who descends from the same Paine ancestors as me.
The holiday has been celebrated continuously in various parts of the US, but wasn't officially called Independence Day until 1791. The longest continual celebration by parade occurs in Bristol, Rhode Island. The parade has been held every July 4 since 1785. Fireworks have been part of the celebration of the fourth since 1777. Even hotdog eating became part of the celebration when Nathan's Hotdogs on Coney Island began their hotdog eating contest in 1919 as a way for four immigrants to decide who among them was the most patriotic. Perhaps that is one of the reasons we include hotdogs in the "baseball, apple pie and hotdogs" statement of American tradition.

My sources for this blog were Wikipedia and The Declaration of Independence site from ushistory.org.