All the (books) of the earth

Can we read? No. 116

My kids are off school for a few days and I am not, which, for parents who work full-time outside the home like I do, is always a bit of a jig over hot coals, only without the transcendental spiritual practice and meditation that overrides the pain. I’m driving many places, attending a conference for work, solo parenting while my husband is out of town, and throwing a children’s Halloween hunt — like an Easter egg hunt, only in the cold and dark, with flashlights, and 64 people 😳 — in two days.

That last thing is of my own doing, and I have zero regrets — I spin these ideas up and execute them with complete joy, no sarcasm, and it’s not only because of the legacy of magic-making that my mom passed on to me (herself a full-time-work-outside-the-home mother who danced on hot coals without my ever noticing it), but because I need to make this magic for myself.

I’m alive in the world and I read the news every morning. And even though I’m familiar enough with history to know these are not unique times — we are not, actually, living in a period that is any worse than what has come before; humans have been awful to other humans since time immemorial, over and over and over again — I still wonder how to go on, bearing witness to what feels and has felt absolutely unbearable for years now, and I don’t have any more answers than I ever do, which is to say: none.

So I wake my children up, safe and warm in their beds every morning, with kisses and gratitude I can feel right down to my feet; I send a voice memo every day to my best friend saying this all out loud, all the things I am grateful for, all that I have; I check in with my loved ones; I smile at people at work; I decide (entirely against my deeply introverted nature) to throw parties and do everything I can to make people feel welcome in my home and buy a 5-foot purple tree with orange pumpkin lights, not only because I believe that’s all its own kind of making-magic, and that I have control over that, at least, but because I also believe if I do not make an active effort to stay sane and grounded in the goodness of my life, I might as well give up now.

I’ve been on a spontaneous, unintended Instagram break for the last three weeks because sometimes I am surprisingly able to listen to my better self, who is trying so hard to help me; and I’ve read 35 (out of 70) books as part of my work as a CYBILS Awards poetry panel judge, which has been overwhelming and fun (more fun than overwhelming); I’ve made sure drunk colleagues get back to the their hotel rooms on their feet; I’ve sent so many bouquets of flowers I’ve lost count; I’ve made three batches of kombucha, two half-gallon jars of fire cider (I start this too late every single year), and one shrub (lemon-orange-thyme). I have tried to love my people as well and as deeply as I can (successfully, I think), and to give myself the same kind of care and grace (mixed results, but I persist).

It’s so easy, as we head into the darkest part of the year (and perhaps greater metaphorical darkness on several fronts), to succumb to whatever’s pulling us down. And when I’m tempted to go there — for some reason, I am particularly susceptible to going there while I’m commuting, that space of time where I wear no mask and, no pun intended for once, have only myself to face — I remind myself that my ancestors did not suffer and survive for me to submit, either to the dumb stories in my own head, or the real things that are stretching me beyond, sometimes, what I think I can take. They did not live their (mostly very difficult) lives so that I could be born and just white-knuckle my way through my life, unseeing and unwilling to see, turning my heart only toward whatever’s hard and hurting, refusing to enjoy everything I am so damn privileged to have, spurning my blessings. Absolutely not.

The big things matter enormously — I have clean water that I do not have to walk hours to procure or carry on my body; I have a home, and I am safe there; I am not daily trying to keep my children alive — but so do the small, even weird things that mean next to nothing to other people — the pumpkin-apple muffins I bake (from a mix; I’m not superwoman) to send in backpacks for afternoon snack; fresh air; the Halloween candy I’ll hide in my yard for toddlers to pre-teens; doing my best to find whatever shred of joy I can.

This is your permission slip, if you need one:

Find some joy, even if you have to make it on your own.

Grab it and hold it with both hands.

Grab it, however you’re able.

Grab it anywhere and everywhere you can.

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Kai and the Monkey King by Joe Todd Stanton (2019)

The Brownstone family’s mission is “to collect and protect mythological artifacts and creatures” and here, one of three titles in the Brownstone’s Mythical Collection series, the reader is introduced to a spunky Brownstone named Kai.

One day, bored and banished to the other side of the library by her beleaguered mother Wen, Kai comes across an ancient golden scroll that tells a riveting story-within-a-story about the Monkey King, trapped inside a mountain, just waiting for “a great and powerful adventurer” to free him.

Kai, of course, is up for the challenge, and her journey — full of danger, hard choices, and explosions — will force her to muster all her courage and ask herself what it really means to be a warrior.

This lively adventure tale — jam-packed with action via both the text and Stanton’s digital illustrations, which have an almost comics-like feel to them — will appeal to elementary readers who are up for just the right amount of peril, excitement, and possibility.

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All the Colors of the Earth by Sheila Hamanaka (1994)

Children come in all the colors of the earth…

So begins this very simple but deeply sweet, poetic book about all kinds of children with various shades of skin, different types of hair, and a million permutations of love. By comparing kids to various things in nature (late summer grasses, falling leaves, tiny seashells) through sensory-rich language and soft, warm oil paint-on-canvas illustrations, Hamanaka helps toddlers to pre-K kiddos understand the idea that they are — all children are — connected to the earth and perhaps even more important, to each other.

For more titles that celebrate the skin we’re in, see my Spotlight On: Bodies and bodily joy.

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Wings by Sneed B. Collard III, illustrated by Robin Brickman (2008)

I’ll be honest and admit I don’t always love reading this book aloud — though the main text is sparse and rhymes, the detailed text on each page (which covers various types and functions of wings in all sorts of different birds, animals, and insects) is cumbersome to get through in one sitting.

That said, this is an excellent book chock-full of information about wings, the creatures that have them, and their purpose, and is perfect for an in-depth study or unit about winged creatures, or to hand to an independent reader who can’t get enough of information like this. (You could also, like I have, read this a page or two at a time, which makes it easier to appreciate.)

I’d be remiss if I wrote about this book without taking more than a sentence to practically fall out of my chair praising the illustrations — three-dimensional images made of sculpted and painted paper that are so detailed and exquisite they look as if one could reach out and touch them. They add a far greater-than-usual depth and value to this book, which you should get your wings — er, hands — on if you can.

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World Without Fish by Mark Kurlansky, illustrated by Frank Stockton (2011)

The day I finished this — after voraciously consuming it in two sittings — I knew I was going to rearrange my newsletter plan to fit it in ASAP. I had to knock another title further down my schedule, sure, but it’s worth it to share with you this book that I not only couldn’t stop reading but took the top of my head off, exploding-emoji-head style 🤯

Let me say right up front: the back cover says for ages 9 and up and that is very true. No way could my 9yo handle the content of this book, but if you have a 9yo+ nonfiction lover who isn’t upset by doom, okay. This book is not for anyone who has climate anxiety (though it’s worth reading if you feel you can manage those feelings). This book is not for anyone unable to keep an open mind about issues you may have strong feelings about.

This book is for anyone who believe only scientists are right and not commercial fishermen, and it’s for anyone who believes only commercial fishermen are right and not scientists. (Guess what? Turns out everyone has some valid knowledge and experience.)

This book is for anyone fascinated by complicated subjects you know very little to nothing about. (Ahem.)

This book is for anyone who eats fish of any kind. (I think it should be required reading for anyone who eats fish of any kind.)

This book is for anyone who cares about the future of the planet and all its plants and animals — including humans, of course.

Here Kurlanksy has taken a complex topic — the fishing industry and the dire future of fish, which is full of history and myriad contributing factors — and made it accessible and enjoyable to a layperson. (I recommend this for middle and high schoolers, but as I said, I was entirely wrapped up in it even as an adult.) Photos, maps, scientific images, and a few pages of comics — created by Stockton — make this a rich and deeply informative book I wish everyone would read.

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Thanks for reading today and always! I appreciate you.

Sarah

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