I adore January. I adore it because my kids stay home and we are all wearing socks, reading brilliant books, and watching bad T.V. This month I read A Tree Grows in Brooklyn, one of the best books ever, right up there with To Kill a Mockingbird, or The Wind in the Willows. I miss dear Francie from Brooklyn. I could read her over and over again.
Now I am slowly working through Moby Dick which is the first book I've read recently that has inspired me to write. The book has such an interesting construction, beginning with pages and pages of whale quotes before coming to Ishmael in Chapter 1--
Whenever I find myself growing grim about the mouth; whenever it is a damp, drizzly November in my soul; whenever I find myself involuntarily pausing before coffin warehouses, and bringing up the rear of every funeral I meet; and especially whenever my hypos get such an upper hand of me, that it requires a strong moral principle to prevent me from methodically knocking people's hats off-- then, I account it high time to get to sea as soon as I can.
Brilliant, yes?
Together, Max and Mira and I are reading The Evolution of Calpurnia Tate. I am such a sucker for narratives with science and nature themes; think Barbara Kingsolver or Terry Tempest Williams. Calpurnia Tate is a girl from Texas who discovers that the new and frightening idea of evolution is happening in her own backyard. We follow her discoveries about worms, grasshoppers, and possums as if reading a field notebook--and fall in love with Calpurnia along the way.
I take a bit of a nap when I get home from teaching, do some cleaning with the dustbuster and cook dinner, often the eggs and toast variety. Charles comes home in the evenings and we play Banana Grams or Ticket to Ride and tell the stories of our day. The pesky ninth graders always provide something wonderful.
Charles and I discuss recent news stories. Julian Assange. Tunisia. Egypt. Isn't it amazing what truth can do? If I ever met Julian Assange, I would kiss him on the mouth.
February, March, and April are coming. These months are a little manic--never certain about what they ought to be. January knows its place, has no airs about being something other than what it is, Winter.
'Til next time, dear January. I heart you.
5 comments:
Wow. I tend to be a despiser of January, so seeing your blog title of facebook really caught my attention. Who could adore this miserable time? But I have to say you definitely romanticized it for me. I feel a little cozy now, and I think I need to go pick up a good book. Thank you for that. And by the way, happy belated birthday!!
Nice to see you back at blogging?
oops! I meant to end the sentence in my previous post with an exclamation point (!) but somehow ended up with a question mark (?). I realized that would make it quite ambiguous.
If you ever take time out of your busy schedule to visit Provo and want to catch up, let me know. I'd love to see you.
I heart January too! I LOVE your blog! Keep em coming!
I heart Erica.
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