Category: Reading

Sunday Morning

Re above: our living-room, Sunday morning, post-breakfast, while Albus and parents plan for his upcoming birthday party in the kitchen. Musical track in the background: Christmas music. (Nooooooo!!!!). Of course, this scene has since dissolved, is dissolving as I type, with the addition of Albus as Santa Claus. Apple-Apple is sitting on Albus, Fooey has just come to report rather urgently.

Literacy Rocks

Reading has transformed our mornings and evenings. The two eldest children have graduated to chapter books, and are utterly drawn to the written word. Apple-Apple and Albus both read in bed, and it’s meant we can tuck them in earlier, while letting them stay up a bit later. And in the morning, Albus gets up early and snuggles in a blanket on the kitchen floor … with a book. (I should add that the kitchen floor is heated, and it’s his favourite place to read). The difference between an hour spent devouring a book, and an hour spent sedated before the television is quite remarkable. Television, while temporarily diverting, inevitably leads to “TV Brain,” as we call it: you know what I mean–that irritable, bored, restless state of mind and being. The kids raise their eyes from a book wanting to talk and share and describe.
That said, Fooey does watch television most every day, because I rely on that “quiet time.” But both Albus and Apple-Apple seem bored by it, and it is never be their first choice for an activity.

Scoops Aren’t My Forte

Here’s something I’ve never done before: blogged while watching an event live on my computer. I’m sitting here in our disastrously toy-littered living-room, kids in bed, Kevin at hockey, watching the 2008 Giller Awards unfold live online, computer perched on the piano bench. The Giller is just about as exciting as a literary event gets anywhere–in Canada, certainly nothing comes close to topping it. Though in my younger, more Communist days, I held a smallish disdain for the wine-and-dine-them-with gala-glamour of the Giller; the medicinal, humbler, early morning non-dramatic announcement of the Governor General’s Awards seemed somehow better. Or better-for-you. I had a Pilgrim’s Progress streak back then.

Well, all proletariat disdain is gone. What a wonderful, generous gift to the Canadian literary world: of course these hard-working, creative, utterly underpaid people should get one evening to shine and dine and wine. Who cares if it’s illusory. And never mind that the nature of all prizes is to eliminate a whole passel of potential worthies; though that’s sad. Let’s just say that those chosen are the most fortunate of the fortunate and leave it at that.

Okay, if I type the winner’s name, then press “publish post” will I scoop the Canadian Press?? Heh.

Joseph Boyden.

There we go. He’s telling his mother not to cry, but of course she is. Wish I could remember the name of his book … Through Black Spruce, maybe? I read his first, very fine book, Three Day Road, and this one features some of the same characters. I think. I’m not proving very useful in the fact-checking department, which is ironic, because once upon a time that was how I earned a living. Fact checker.

And, no, I did not press “publish,” but instead watched the speech. So much for this bit of reportage. Were filing a coherent piece on tight deadline my actual job, I would not have an actual job.

Back to the living-room. Bedtime. Will take to the comfort of my humidifier-enhanced sleeping chamber last year’s Giller prize winner: Late Nights on Air by Elizabeth Hay. And enjoy. Or maybe not. Did I just dare to write in my very last post, mere hours ago, that baby CJ is sleeping well these days? I knew that was tempting fate. Sigh. He’s howling upstairs, after being put down less than an hour ago. Here I go, off to said chamber, not to read after all …

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