Books, more books, and a magic chicken🐔

Can we read? No. 94

Hi there.

At the time I’m writing this — five days before you’re receiving it, which for me is pretty much as last-minute as it gets — I’ve taken down 95% of my Christmas decorations, I’ve vacuumed up all the glitter, I’ve wandered the house looking for anything else to tidy. I’m restless, having a hard time settling, and have done close to zero reflection about 2022 nor thought very much about 2023 beyond the next few weeks in front of me.

Here’s what I need to tell you today, without going too deep into the details: my beloved grandmother, who is 101yo and has lived alone for 20+ years, is no longer able to do so. It has been a heavy few months on a variety of fronts — I won’t get into it all here, but those of you who have done any kind of caregiving for your elders, even of the secondary, backup sort — know what it takes.

Last fall, insanely, I decided I’d tackle the herculean task of finishing everything required of my newsletter through the end of the year before Thanksgiving. That’s all of my most intense seasonal and holiday issues, regular issues, collaborations, extras — basically a full-court press (omg I am using a sports analogy, and I don’t even know what that means) from September-December every year. I did it, with a few weeks to spare, even, and it’s a good thing, too — then-Sarah apparently knew something Future Sarah didn’t, which was that she would need to devote the space and the energy normally occupied by thinking, planning, reading, photographing, and writing Can we read? to something else, namely supporting her mother and grandmother as best she possibly could.

That brings us up to now. I did not, in my wisdom, work further ahead than the end of December — meaning I have scrambled this past week to write furiously, almost exclusively in moments stolen from my husband and children, only to realize there is more to be done. I mean, there is always more to be done — I work full-time outside my home, I’m a wife and a mother, a daughter and sister and friend, with hobbies and interests and really, a whole rich life into which I fit the work of this newsletter, but because of that, I’m efficient as hell. The “more” that needs to be done just gets done because I literally do not have time to procrastinate or mess around.

A lot needs to happen in the next two weeks. My mom and my husband and I will be moving my grandmother into an assisted living facility where she will be safe and well cared for, and hopefully, happy. This means — among many other things — taking a condo full, and I mean full of 101yo years of life and pulling out the most important things to make a person feel comfortable in a place that is not really home, packing and transporting them, getting everything set up, and helping her settle. It’s like moving into a dorm, only instead of going to IKEA to get extra-long sheets and dishes and a plastic caddy to tote your toiletries to the bathroom, the IKEA is a house with at least one davenport (this is a uniquely Great Lakes word, did you know? and any source that says it’s “rarely used today” hasn’t talked to a Wisconsin grandma lately), and eight million pieces of paper and a lot of Chicago Cubs memorabilia and more pantry items than can be found in the bunker of your nearest prepper.

I’m going to do everything I can re: this newsletter, is what I’m taking forever to say, but I just don’t know. I was planning on taking March off — to accommodate a super busy time at work that hasn’t occurred in three years (or, since I began writing this thing) — but I am scared to, because what if my grandmother passes away and I need to take unscheduled time? Maybe I’ll take a break sooner than March or later than March and maybe only for a week or two or maybe not at all. Maybe I’ll pause paid subscriptions; maybe I’ll republish old content, from the beginning when I had like 12 subscribers, to get me through; maybe I’ll do absolutely none of this.

I don’t know.

I don’t know.

As someone who likes nothing more than to know, it’s very hard not to know.

(Is there anyone — anyone at all — that copes well or even thrives in uncertainty?)

I wanted to be honest with you about what’s happening behind the scenes — even though as I am writing this a little voice in my head is screaming shut up shut up shut up — because I don’t want any changes here to come as a surprise. (Sometimes I think my whole life is avoiding surprises, which is probably pretty closely connected to that whole “massive discomfort with uncertainty” thing, but I don’t have the energy to examine that right now.) And because, frankly, I really love it when I see other people treating their energy as a precious and sacred resource, even if I am not at the point of doing that myself.

Thank you for your incredible ongoing support, appreciation, and enthusiasm for this endeavor. When I started this newsletter in May 2020, I had no idea how much I would receive from it — I thought of it as a low-traffic, quiet one-way street and instead, it has turned out to be a busy highway going both ways, bringing me so much more than I ever expected or even imagined. To say that I’m grateful isn’t enough, but nevertheless: I am so grateful.

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My Papi Has a Motorcycle by Isabel Quintero, illustrated by Zeke Peña (2019)

In this lovely, warm tale, a little girl and her papi take a long ride around their neighborhood on his motorcycle after his work day — speeding through both personal memory and cultural history at the eye-level of a child, but with all the heart as well. As Quintero notes in the back matter, it’s both an ode to a lost time — specifically, the Corona, California of her childhood — and a very real place that still exists, inside people and their community.

This is a compelling narrative — excellent for a classroom, to discuss history, change, and where we come from — but it’s hard not to say Peña’s unique illustrations are the best part of this book: his vibrant, cinematic images, created with the Wacom Cintiq 13HD graphic pad tablet mixed hand-painted watercolor texture are simply delightful.

If you’re looking for the literary equivalent of just driving around with nowhere to be and nothing to do but enjoy the ride, this one is a journey worth taking.

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The Wizard, the Fairy, and the Magic Chicken by Helen Lester, illustrated by Lynn Munsinger (1983)

One can rarely go wrong with any Lester/Munsinger collaboration, and this silly little gem of a book is no exception. “There once lived a Wizard, a Fairy, and a Magic Chicken.” (You had me at magic chicken.) Each thought they were the greatest in the world and were furiously jealous of the other two.

They duke it out with their powers — kissing bicycles into bowls of soup, kissing soup into singing frogs, etc., all brought to hilarious life with Munsinger’s always-perfect watercolor illustrations — until together, they accidentally create a trio of scary monsters that they can’t handle.

Can three people — er, humans and poultry — put their egos aside to work together to save themselves? Little ones will love to find out and then read and re-read again.

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Curious George Learns to Count from 1 to 100 by H.A. Rey, illustrated by Anna Grossnickle Hines (2011)

Once my husband said to me, “If George lived with us, I’d boot him out the window,” and to be honest, I agree 😂 but nevertheless he’s a classic and beloved character for many families — we have plenty of Curious George titles — so if this little monkey is gonna take up space on your bookshelf, why not make the most of it?

If you’re looking for an engaging read that introduces the concept of counting from 1 to 100 to little ones who are ready for it, this is a great choice. While this is not an original Margret and H.A. Rey creation, it’s a worthy part of their legacy — Grossnickle Hines does such a convincing job with her digital images, it’s nearly impossible to tell they’re imitations. There’s plenty to count, of course, and there’s just enough of a storyline to carry you from, well, one to one hundred (though you need to be prepared to take your time, as many kids will want to tally all the items on every page — fair warning.)

If you are looking for counting books for younger kiddos that are simpler than learning 1-100, see my Spotlight On: Counting Books. And if you’re interested in learning more about developing mathematical thinking through children’s books, see my Spotlight On: Math.

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What the Most Beautiful Thing You Know About Horses? by Richard Van Camp, illustrated by George Littlechild (1998)

In this unusual but absolutely enchanting prose poem, Van Camp explores both the connection between dogs and horses as a member of the Dogrib nation from the Northwest Territories of Canada and his own personal family history as a biracial man. Throughout, he asks questions that lead to poignant answers that are about so much more than horses:

My dad is chopping wood.
I ask him: “What the most beautiful thing you know about horses?”

“The most beautiful thing I know about horses,” he says,
“is they always know their way home.”

Until this line of questioning brings the reader close to the end, where he wonders, “Now that we’ve found out all these beautiful things about horses, what could we find out about all the animals of the earth if we called everybody in the whole world?”

Beyond Littlechild’s wildly vibrant and dynamic mixed media paintings — informed by his own heritage as a Plains Cree nation, “horse people” — it’s hard to explain the raw, singular beauty of this book. All I can say it that it’s one of a kind, strangely moving, and I highly recommend it for mid-elementary kiddos through middle school.

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Thank for being here and for reading today.

Sarah