So, I'm watching the 2010 Winter Olympics from the snugly warmth of my own couch. Julia Mancuso is hurtling down the slalom course in the fog. I ski, too, but nothing like her. Not even close. Yet I sort of know how she feels. I've skied down in the fog, barely able to see the lay of the terrain in front of me and expecting, any minute, to go careening down, head over heels, scattering my equipment in all directions. Maybe even breaking a limb or suffering a concussion. I had a concussion once from skiing (negotiating the moguls).
Most of them time, however, I don't, because I'm far too cautious. And slightly scared. When I write, however, I sort of feel like Julia or Lindsay or any one of those skiers. I'm hurtling downhill in the fog, down, down, down with the wind in my face, wondering what bumps or ruts I'm going to hit and if I will hold in there till the end. Will I fling up my arms and call it quits or keep going till I make it down to the bottom, down to the end of the trail?
Writing is a lot like flying down a ski slope, unable to see beyond the next curve in the trail. But man, what a trip!
Wednesday, February 24, 2010
Wednesday, February 3, 2010
The Power of Picture Books
Today I read Sarah Stewart's and David Small's Caldecott Honor book, The Gardener, to a group of second graders. It's a lovely, lovely book set during the Great Depression when a loaf of bread only cost a nickel and Franklin Roosevelt was the president. The story is written in the form of letters from Lydia Grace who is sent to live with her Uncle Jim until her parents' economic situation improves.
Her uncle owns a bakery in New York and never smiles. But Lydia Grace, who loves gardening, fills his window boxes with flowers and his world with beauty and in the process attracts more and more customers to his languishing bakery. She even prepares a surprise for her uncle on the rooftop of their bakery by turning it into a charming garden. Uncle Jim still doesn't crack a smile, but he makes Lydia Grace a cake decorated with flowers - "the equal of one thousand smiles" she says. At the end, Lydia Grace gets a letter stating that her papa has a new job and she's going home. Before she boards the train, her Uncle Jim gives her a big, heartfelt hug.
At that point, I started crying and my students looked at me, wondering what was wrong. "It's nothing," I said. It's just that David Small's picture of Uncle Jim hugging her was filled with so much love and feeling and it reminded me of the last time I said goodbye to my dad. He'd hugged me the same way. His diabetes had gotten worse and my mom said that he sensed his end was near. Two months later he died in his sleep.
Picture books can speak to the heart in so many ways.
Her uncle owns a bakery in New York and never smiles. But Lydia Grace, who loves gardening, fills his window boxes with flowers and his world with beauty and in the process attracts more and more customers to his languishing bakery. She even prepares a surprise for her uncle on the rooftop of their bakery by turning it into a charming garden. Uncle Jim still doesn't crack a smile, but he makes Lydia Grace a cake decorated with flowers - "the equal of one thousand smiles" she says. At the end, Lydia Grace gets a letter stating that her papa has a new job and she's going home. Before she boards the train, her Uncle Jim gives her a big, heartfelt hug.
At that point, I started crying and my students looked at me, wondering what was wrong. "It's nothing," I said. It's just that David Small's picture of Uncle Jim hugging her was filled with so much love and feeling and it reminded me of the last time I said goodbye to my dad. He'd hugged me the same way. His diabetes had gotten worse and my mom said that he sensed his end was near. Two months later he died in his sleep.
Picture books can speak to the heart in so many ways.
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