One of the best things about having a child is being able to read your favorite children's books again, as well as ones that you hadn't read. In two months, we've completed Peter Pan, Alice in Wonderland, Charlotte's Web, Winnie-the-Pooh and The House at Pooh Corner. Last night we started reading Treasure Island.
We read three to four chapters a day: first thing in the morning, just before naptime and just before bedtime.
Sometimes it's a challenge to answer my son's questions -- on a 4-year-old's terms -- about what's happening in the book. "Why did Peter Pan's mother bar the window?" "Why is the Queen of Hearts always beheading everyone?" "Why does the farmer want to eat Wilbur?
As a girl, I never read Treasure Island. But I can tell that it's going to be a good book. As my husband came in and out of the living room last night and this morning, he kept inquiring excitedly if we had gotten to the black spot yet. This book obviously made an impression on him when he was a child. Not yet, but we have met the Black Dog, I replied.
"Is the Black Dog good or bad?" my son asked. So far, I haven't been asked to explain why Captain Bill's fingers shake when he hasn't had his rum.
Friday, April 17, 2009
Tuesday, April 14, 2009
The little wagon that could
My husband started walking to work this week, part of his plan to gear up for summer cycling and other outdoor activities.
My son and I were invited to rendezvous with him Monday afternoon on his walk home. Knowing the uphill trek might be too much for my son, I carried his bright red Radio Flyer town and country edition wagon up from the basement. He happily climbed aboard and we set off.
The initial hill, a block-long climb up from our house, was easy. So was the straight shot to and across the bridge. But midway up the second of three hills we had to climb, I could feel the pull on my upper back and chest. Our pace slowed. Too-high curb cuts, lingering snow piles and muddy spots became a challenge.
We met Daddy midway up the third hill. "I'll drive," he volunteered cheerfully, turning the wagon around and heading downhill.
My son and I were invited to rendezvous with him Monday afternoon on his walk home. Knowing the uphill trek might be too much for my son, I carried his bright red Radio Flyer town and country edition wagon up from the basement. He happily climbed aboard and we set off.
The initial hill, a block-long climb up from our house, was easy. So was the straight shot to and across the bridge. But midway up the second of three hills we had to climb, I could feel the pull on my upper back and chest. Our pace slowed. Too-high curb cuts, lingering snow piles and muddy spots became a challenge.
We met Daddy midway up the third hill. "I'll drive," he volunteered cheerfully, turning the wagon around and heading downhill.
Monday, April 13, 2009
"Best years ever"
USA Today founder Al Neuharth's "Plain Talk" column April 10 references the owner of my former company as Neuharth opines about a feeling of hope and optimism about the economy that he has found in mid-America.
With some necessary staff reductions at The Forum, the company, which includes 11 daily newspapers in North Dakota and Minnesota, is having "one of our best years ever," Bill Marcil is quoted as saying.
His comment disturbed my inner peace so much that I exploded in anger over the simple matter of misplaced objects in one of my kitchen cabinets.
I am one of those staff reductions, though not from Marcil's Forum. And I personally know many of the other staff reductions from his recently acquired Duluth and Grand Forks newspapers. (My incomplete tally puts the number of employees he has laid off since March of 2008 at 85. And that doesn't include employees who received buyouts, were fired or simply left -- but were never replaced.)
I can't begin to imagine what happens during one of his company's worst years ever.
With some necessary staff reductions at The Forum, the company, which includes 11 daily newspapers in North Dakota and Minnesota, is having "one of our best years ever," Bill Marcil is quoted as saying.
His comment disturbed my inner peace so much that I exploded in anger over the simple matter of misplaced objects in one of my kitchen cabinets.
I am one of those staff reductions, though not from Marcil's Forum. And I personally know many of the other staff reductions from his recently acquired Duluth and Grand Forks newspapers. (My incomplete tally puts the number of employees he has laid off since March of 2008 at 85. And that doesn't include employees who received buyouts, were fired or simply left -- but were never replaced.)
I can't begin to imagine what happens during one of his company's worst years ever.
Friday, April 10, 2009
Chickens (part 3)
My kosher chicken did arrive -- around 1:30 Wednesday afternoon. It was too late for my matzah ball soup, of course, as my chicken stock was cooling already in the refrigerator.
To be fair to the kosher meat man, whose efforts we truly appreciate, he forgot my chicken on Monday, then got home from work and running errands with his wife way too late on Tuesday to drop it by our house.
No matter. My soup received rave reviews from the other seder guests -- "matzah balls so light they float on air". And my family and I enjoyed an excellent lunch of grilled chicken on Thursday.
I'll be sure to let you know when I pull that kosher pullet out of my freezer.
To be fair to the kosher meat man, whose efforts we truly appreciate, he forgot my chicken on Monday, then got home from work and running errands with his wife way too late on Tuesday to drop it by our house.
No matter. My soup received rave reviews from the other seder guests -- "matzah balls so light they float on air". And my family and I enjoyed an excellent lunch of grilled chicken on Thursday.
I'll be sure to let you know when I pull that kosher pullet out of my freezer.
Wednesday, April 8, 2009
More about those chickens (part 2)
So.... I happened to be in the office of the education director while he was placing the order with the kosher meat man for the synagogue's second night seder and his first night seder. "And a cut-up chicken for Mrs. Buck," he added, knowing that I had matzah ball soup detail for the first night seder my family was attending.
The synagogue's order arrived late last week -- sans cut-up chicken. The education director, concerned about us keeping kosher on Passover, set aside a frozen whole pullet. It was waiting for me Saturday morning. I took it home and put it in my refrigerator to thaw.
Then the kosher meat man called. He would deliver my cut-up kosher chicken to my house on Monday, sometime after 7:30 or 8. I put my nice, plump, still-frozen kosher pullet back into the freezer. Monday came and went. He must have gotten behind, I thought. He's sure to drop off my chicken after work on Tuesday. That night, my husband called the kosher meat man. No answer. He probably already left town for second night seder with his relatives, my husband theorized.
How goes that saying, "a bird in the hand?"
The synagogue's order arrived late last week -- sans cut-up chicken. The education director, concerned about us keeping kosher on Passover, set aside a frozen whole pullet. It was waiting for me Saturday morning. I took it home and put it in my refrigerator to thaw.
Then the kosher meat man called. He would deliver my cut-up kosher chicken to my house on Monday, sometime after 7:30 or 8. I put my nice, plump, still-frozen kosher pullet back into the freezer. Monday came and went. He must have gotten behind, I thought. He's sure to drop off my chicken after work on Tuesday. That night, my husband called the kosher meat man. No answer. He probably already left town for second night seder with his relatives, my husband theorized.
How goes that saying, "a bird in the hand?"
Up with the chickens (part 1)
It's 5:20 a.m., and I'm off to the grocery store to buy an Amish chicken.
I wasn't going to get kosher chicken for the matzah ball soup I'm fixing for Passover. That would have required a drive to the Twin Cities. And my Passover seder hosts had assured me an Amish chicken would do just fine.
But then two men offered to assist me in getting a kosher bird. It's a complicated tale that I will return to once my chicken is stewing on the stove.
I wasn't going to get kosher chicken for the matzah ball soup I'm fixing for Passover. That would have required a drive to the Twin Cities. And my Passover seder hosts had assured me an Amish chicken would do just fine.
But then two men offered to assist me in getting a kosher bird. It's a complicated tale that I will return to once my chicken is stewing on the stove.
Wednesday, April 1, 2009
Waiting out the storm
I noticed her around 7: 30 a.m., when I checked on Tuesday's snowstorm from my living room window. The female rock dove (Columba livia) was hunkered down on the southern side of our porch post ledge, struggling to stay out of the snow and wind. I pulled the window blind all the way up so my son and I could check on her while we finished re-reading Peter Pan.
"There's another one," my son cried out excitedly. A male rock dove had landed on our porch roof, awaiting an invitation from the female. They huddled together on the ledge, her head often buried under his wing, as the snow swirled around them. They stayed for about 5 1/2 hours. During that time, my son and I marveled at the different markings on their feathers and the delicateness of their tiny beaks.
They left during a lull in the storm. The female stopped back a couple of times today. But the feeling of connectedness is gone. They're just a couple of pigeons we pitied during a storm.
"There's another one," my son cried out excitedly. A male rock dove had landed on our porch roof, awaiting an invitation from the female. They huddled together on the ledge, her head often buried under his wing, as the snow swirled around them. They stayed for about 5 1/2 hours. During that time, my son and I marveled at the different markings on their feathers and the delicateness of their tiny beaks.
They left during a lull in the storm. The female stopped back a couple of times today. But the feeling of connectedness is gone. They're just a couple of pigeons we pitied during a storm.
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