Showing posts with label jane. Show all posts
Showing posts with label jane. Show all posts
10.9.10
Sea Monkeys 1.0, RIP
Yesterday we fed the baby sea monkeys according to the directions. Today they are all dead. Upgrading to version 2.0 after grief stage 5. RIP SeaMonkeys 1.0.
23.1.09
16.12.08
Some Good News
USA Book News selected Samuel Shem's THE SPIRIT OF THE PLACE (which I reviewed here) as the best book of 2008 in the general fiction category. Hooray! It's great to see a book get the attention it deserves. I'm also selfishly glad about this, because I loved the book, too, and it's nice to have one's passions confirmed. It is the sort of thing that makes crazy love seem not so crazy after all.
Sometimes I think publishing just is passion.
Anyhoo.
Another book on the list, First Snow in the Woods, which took first place in children's books, is on its way to my house as I type. At least from the marketing material, the book seems to fits with some (still vague and ill-formed) ideas I've had lately, about kids and nature, and overparenting as a form of neglect.
This has something to do with the development of a capacity to be "at home" while "away," to be at home in the world; and also, just as crucially, especially at mid-life, the capacity to feel like home can still be excitingly undiscovered territory. (This is harder than it sounds.)
The poet and animal trainer Vicki Hearne talks about the necessary and reciprocal and mutually enriching relationship that can obtain between "home" and "away," the quest and the hearth. It seems to me that one could make a good case for hothouse kids as one symptom of a larger, related poverty, a poverty of epic, in our ideas of the good life. More specifically, I mean a lack of resources that would help to make sense of perfectly ordinary but underappreciated qualities that one often finds in "unruly" or difficult-to-domesticate personalities, which is to say in people with affinities for epic, like sincere enthusiasm and largeness of heart and vulnerability to being impassioned.
Shem's novel has much to say about this as well, but in an more complicated way -- how sometimes leaving home can (alas) be pretty much the same as not leaving, and how sometimes coming back can precipitate a greater revolution of consciousness than going away.
Sometimes I think publishing just is passion.
Anyhoo.
Another book on the list, First Snow in the Woods, which took first place in children's books, is on its way to my house as I type. At least from the marketing material, the book seems to fits with some (still vague and ill-formed) ideas I've had lately, about kids and nature, and overparenting as a form of neglect.
This has something to do with the development of a capacity to be "at home" while "away," to be at home in the world; and also, just as crucially, especially at mid-life, the capacity to feel like home can still be excitingly undiscovered territory. (This is harder than it sounds.)
The poet and animal trainer Vicki Hearne talks about the necessary and reciprocal and mutually enriching relationship that can obtain between "home" and "away," the quest and the hearth. It seems to me that one could make a good case for hothouse kids as one symptom of a larger, related poverty, a poverty of epic, in our ideas of the good life. More specifically, I mean a lack of resources that would help to make sense of perfectly ordinary but underappreciated qualities that one often finds in "unruly" or difficult-to-domesticate personalities, which is to say in people with affinities for epic, like sincere enthusiasm and largeness of heart and vulnerability to being impassioned.
Shem's novel has much to say about this as well, but in an more complicated way -- how sometimes leaving home can (alas) be pretty much the same as not leaving, and how sometimes coming back can precipitate a greater revolution of consciousness than going away.
6.5.08
Everything I Know About Parenting...
...I learned from the Hobans' Frances books.
"How much allowance does Gloria [the new baby] get?"
"She is too little to have an allowance. Only big girls like you get an allowance. Isn't it nice to be a big sister?"
"May I have a penny to go along with my nickel, now that I am a big sister?"
"Yes," said Father. "Now your allowance will be six cents a week because you are a big sister."
"Thank you," said Frances. "I know a girl who gets seventeen cents a week. She gets three nickels and two pennies."
"Well," said Father, "it's time for bed now."
-- From A Baby Sister for Frances (1976)
(Mother is in the other room, giggling.)
"How much allowance does Gloria [the new baby] get?"
"She is too little to have an allowance. Only big girls like you get an allowance. Isn't it nice to be a big sister?"
"May I have a penny to go along with my nickel, now that I am a big sister?"
"Yes," said Father. "Now your allowance will be six cents a week because you are a big sister."
"Thank you," said Frances. "I know a girl who gets seventeen cents a week. She gets three nickels and two pennies."
"Well," said Father, "it's time for bed now."
-- From A Baby Sister for Frances (1976)
(Mother is in the other room, giggling.)
2.5.08
The Language of Pingu
I note, with nervous amusement, that the language spoken by the characters in the Swiss claymation Pingu series is not babble -- that's merely what it sounds like -- but reflects a calculated decision on the part of Pingu's creators to make the show as distibution-friendly as possible. Pingu does not need to be translated.
Thus ... Pingu's Penguinese is a market-driven dream of a universal language. But when Jane listens to Pingu, she learns something else. If Pingu can speak his own language, which sounds like no other language on earth, then Jane is entitled to her own language, which she makes up as she goes along. (That's not so strange. How would YOU make up a language?) Unfortunately, I am required to converse with her in this new "Jane language," and alas, my linguistic talents are not up for it. She is happy to correct my mistakes, though.
Part of growing up is figuring out all the ways you might fit into a world that you didn't create and over which you have only limited control. Pingu is definitely not teaching any lessons in this regard. On the contrary! Pingu's creator, Silvio Mazzola, reflects on twenty years (!) of Pingu's development: "His adventures are still the same everyday stories and he has not learnt so much that he has had to change his character or his behaviour." In other words, Pingu is Pingu-Pan -- he never grows up. For that reason, he is infinitely merchandisable. Mazzola brags that "MIGROS, the largest retailer in Switzerland, has fallen in love with PINGU and is offering an incredible range of food and non-food products. Soon PINGU will be as famous as Swiss watches and Swiss cheese."
Well, there are some growing pains: "PINGU has reached a size that requires a lot of administration. The trademark has to be registered and protected, the partners have to be monitored, the proposed items have to be checked in a short space of time, the finance of the administration and the protection of the rights require high capacities." Hmm.
Later. Mazzola muses, "Perhaps PINGU will start to speak." By this, I think he means, perhaps Pingu will start to speak in a language someone else might understand. But frankly, I'm not optimistic. He reminds me of the wild boy of Aveyron. I hope Pingu is saving his money. He's going to need a lot of expensive psychotherapy.
Thus ... Pingu's Penguinese is a market-driven dream of a universal language. But when Jane listens to Pingu, she learns something else. If Pingu can speak his own language, which sounds like no other language on earth, then Jane is entitled to her own language, which she makes up as she goes along. (That's not so strange. How would YOU make up a language?) Unfortunately, I am required to converse with her in this new "Jane language," and alas, my linguistic talents are not up for it. She is happy to correct my mistakes, though.
Part of growing up is figuring out all the ways you might fit into a world that you didn't create and over which you have only limited control. Pingu is definitely not teaching any lessons in this regard. On the contrary! Pingu's creator, Silvio Mazzola, reflects on twenty years (!) of Pingu's development: "His adventures are still the same everyday stories and he has not learnt so much that he has had to change his character or his behaviour." In other words, Pingu is Pingu-Pan -- he never grows up. For that reason, he is infinitely merchandisable. Mazzola brags that "MIGROS, the largest retailer in Switzerland, has fallen in love with PINGU and is offering an incredible range of food and non-food products. Soon PINGU will be as famous as Swiss watches and Swiss cheese."
Well, there are some growing pains: "PINGU has reached a size that requires a lot of administration. The trademark has to be registered and protected, the partners have to be monitored, the proposed items have to be checked in a short space of time, the finance of the administration and the protection of the rights require high capacities." Hmm.
Later. Mazzola muses, "Perhaps PINGU will start to speak." By this, I think he means, perhaps Pingu will start to speak in a language someone else might understand. But frankly, I'm not optimistic. He reminds me of the wild boy of Aveyron. I hope Pingu is saving his money. He's going to need a lot of expensive psychotherapy.
13.4.08
Tucked in an Alcove at the Hôtel de Ville
The historian Jules Michelet, a guiding spirit. "There I walked, from age to age..."
24.3.08
8.3.08
Confusions
Jane is wiggling.
"Go pee," MJ says.
"No."
"Jane, you are wiggling so much it is making me uncomfortable."
"Well, maybe you should go pee." Pause. "So I'll be more comfortable."
Oh, adolescence is going to be fun.
"Go pee," MJ says.
"No."
"Jane, you are wiggling so much it is making me uncomfortable."
"Well, maybe you should go pee." Pause. "So I'll be more comfortable."
Oh, adolescence is going to be fun.
5.3.08
Wishes
It's 7:30 AM. I'm in the middle of a pleasant dream, in which a cherished person grants me a wish.
Jane wakes me. She doesn't want to go to school. She wants to go out for breakfast, wants a pain au chocolat, wants above all for me to do this special thing with her.
Honestly, selfishly, I want to go back to my dream.
"Sure," I tell Jane, pushing myself out of bed. "Let's go."
I got a wish and gratified one. But this was not a two-party transaction. It was neither tit-for-tat, nor win-win, but something else entirely. A little like paying it forward.
Now the whole world seems wonderfully bewitched, pregnant with magic. My next book might just be possible after all, and today might be a great day to begin!
I should stop here. There's a nice aesthetic quality to this conclusion. But it's too neat. And it's untrue. The truth is, I immediately cast a rather liverish eye on my own exhilaration, telling myself that maybe it is just a fantasy of omnipotence fueled by my own grandiosity.
Or, what the heck, it could just be hope.
Jane wakes me. She doesn't want to go to school. She wants to go out for breakfast, wants a pain au chocolat, wants above all for me to do this special thing with her.
Honestly, selfishly, I want to go back to my dream.
"Sure," I tell Jane, pushing myself out of bed. "Let's go."
I got a wish and gratified one. But this was not a two-party transaction. It was neither tit-for-tat, nor win-win, but something else entirely. A little like paying it forward.
Now the whole world seems wonderfully bewitched, pregnant with magic. My next book might just be possible after all, and today might be a great day to begin!
I should stop here. There's a nice aesthetic quality to this conclusion. But it's too neat. And it's untrue. The truth is, I immediately cast a rather liverish eye on my own exhilaration, telling myself that maybe it is just a fantasy of omnipotence fueled by my own grandiosity.
Or, what the heck, it could just be hope.
11.1.08
Not So Much A Name as a Function
When Jane needs something and neither of us is in sight, she calls out "Parents? Parents?"
7.1.08
Funny
"What do you want for breakfast?"
"Pancakes!"
Hmm.
"What do you think you'll actually get for breakfast?"
"Toast."
"Pancakes!"
Hmm.
"What do you think you'll actually get for breakfast?"
"Toast."
30.11.07
On Our Own
Last night, it was just me & Jane, and we had the best time. We went out to eat early at a fancy restaurant where we had the usual: Jane had buttered cappellini, and I had tomato soup. Then we went to Whole Foods in search of marshmallows. At home, we impaled the marshmallows on chopsticks and roasting them over a candle. Then a friend stopped by, in desperate need of black Mary Janes, and Jane graciously offered hers. (Well, more or less graciously. I'm still really proud of her, though.) We watched TV until really late and then we went to bed.
And then, this morning, I caught Jane sitting on the floor of her room, writing in her diary.
"Whatcha writin?" I ask, and then regret it, because I don't want to be intrusive. But I have to say something...I'm so charmed to see her sitting there, lost in her own world, scribbling like you-know-who.... Could it be? Is she writing ... A poem? A novel? The Next Great American Novel? Is she, at this very moment, penning the Elusive Giant Squid of American Literature?
"D-O-G," she says, matter-of-factly. "Dog."
Oh. Yes. Gotta start somewhere.
And then, this morning, I caught Jane sitting on the floor of her room, writing in her diary.
"Whatcha writin?" I ask, and then regret it, because I don't want to be intrusive. But I have to say something...I'm so charmed to see her sitting there, lost in her own world, scribbling like you-know-who.... Could it be? Is she writing ... A poem? A novel? The Next Great American Novel? Is she, at this very moment, penning the Elusive Giant Squid of American Literature?
"D-O-G," she says, matter-of-factly. "Dog."
Oh. Yes. Gotta start somewhere.
8.11.07
Forget Monster.com
"Today I was the snack helper. We all voted and lots of people voted for me, so that's how I got that job."
Preferences
"Grandma's scrambled eggs are delicious. Your eggs? Well, I don't know about your eggs."
21.9.07
Playing Princess
"Want to play 'princess' with me?"
"Princess" is a dreadful game in which two plastic Disney Princesses say mean things to each other, do handstands, and change into different dresses. It is not so much a game as a ritual. Jane reserves the right to make all the rules, to change those rules when she likes, and to make up all the dialogue.
"Okay," I say.
She hands me Sleeping Beauty. "Now I am Cinderella, and you are Sleeping Beauty."
"Yes. I think Sleeping Beauty needs some coffee to wake up."
"NO! You say..." And Jane tells me what to say.
"Jane," I say, "if you are always telling me what to say, playing 'princess' is not very much fun."
She looks at me blankly.
"For me," I clarify. "Not much fun for me."
"But you are supposed to say..." And I get the same instructions again.
"Sleeping Beauty is sitting down," I say. "She is resisting your orders. I can't make her do anything."
"What?!"
"That's right. This princess is so stubborn, I can't believe it."
"What?!"
"She says she is engaging in a form of nonviolent protest against a despotic regime."
"Tell her to say..."
"Princess" is a dreadful game in which two plastic Disney Princesses say mean things to each other, do handstands, and change into different dresses. It is not so much a game as a ritual. Jane reserves the right to make all the rules, to change those rules when she likes, and to make up all the dialogue.
"Okay," I say.
She hands me Sleeping Beauty. "Now I am Cinderella, and you are Sleeping Beauty."
"Yes. I think Sleeping Beauty needs some coffee to wake up."
"NO! You say..." And Jane tells me what to say.
"Jane," I say, "if you are always telling me what to say, playing 'princess' is not very much fun."
She looks at me blankly.
"For me," I clarify. "Not much fun for me."
"But you are supposed to say..." And I get the same instructions again.
"Sleeping Beauty is sitting down," I say. "She is resisting your orders. I can't make her do anything."
"What?!"
"That's right. This princess is so stubborn, I can't believe it."
"What?!"
"She says she is engaging in a form of nonviolent protest against a despotic regime."
"Tell her to say..."
22.8.07
20.8.07
Mama-School, Day One: Anthropomorphic
"You be the mama kitty."
"Okay. I'm the mama kitty. Meow!"
"I'll be the baby kitty. Meow!"
This goes on for a while. Then: "You're an anthropomorphic kitty."
"What does that mean?"
"You're a kitty shaped like a person."
"What if I were a person shaped like a kitty?"
"Cat-a-po-morphic!"
"Okay. I'm the mama kitty. Meow!"
"I'll be the baby kitty. Meow!"
This goes on for a while. Then: "You're an anthropomorphic kitty."
"What does that mean?"
"You're a kitty shaped like a person."
"What if I were a person shaped like a kitty?"
"Cat-a-po-morphic!"
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