Daily Kos

What are you reading vol 80: Picture Books, guest host

Fri Apr 11, 2008 at 03:11:55 AM PDT

If you like to trade books, try Bookmooch.

To keep track of what you're reading and link to other readers, try goodreads.com.

cfk hosts Book flurries on Wednesday nights.  Last one was about dragons!  

plf515 is hosting Frugal Fridays this afternoon, and will return next week.  

Please leave ideas for future WAYR topics in the comments!

We have a very special subset of children's picture books.  When our son was 22 months old, we moved to Germany for a year.  We took along every book he owned at the time, including a Sesame Street alphabet collection, a few other board books, and several inches' worth of picture books (fewer than 50).  Our son became a huge fan of reading, and we read those books over and over - probably 8 to 15 a day.  Today I am going to share some of our favorites with you.  

Of course we loved all the books we had by author/illustrators like Eric Carle - I may wallpaper a room with those pages someday!  We had Polar Bear, Polar Bear, the followup to the classic "Brown Bear Brown Bear."  We also enjoyed Leo Lionni - especially Tico and the Golden Wings - all of Mr. Lionni's books have a little lesson subtly included in them.  Of course, all the Seuss books were favored as well.  We didn't have any of the "real" books at that age, but we did have a few Seuss picture books, many of which we acted out.  The Foot Book and There's a Wocket in my Pocket! were especially good for this.  

When our son was between 1 and 2, he was in daycare, and his teacher there processed Scholastic orders.  I ordered from Scholastic as a child (and I am quite sure I am not alone in this).  I do think it's hilarious that the first published offered "Harry Potter" turned them down, and Scholastic ended up with that contract.  Anyway, this is an affordable way to acquire children's books, and it benefits the person ordering too.  

After the big 3, I also tended to order  Caldecott Winners.  Frog Went A-Courtin' won in 1956 - and it was so enjoyable.  I did not know how famous it was when we first started reading it.  Also, Owl Moon's tender story of parent love and love of nature was very appreciated.  

No toddler's book collection is complete without some alphabet and counting books, and I think I could write an entire diary on alphabet books.  Love each and every one!  I know we had "10 Apples on Top" in board book, but our two favorite counting books were "Ten Dirty Pigs/Ten Clean Pigs" by Carol Roth and Pamela Paparone, and George's Store at the Shore.  This set of I Spy board books is similar to ours - we had letters, numbers, animals, wheels, and bunnies.  Walter Wick took the photos, and Jean Marzallo wrote new rhymes for the younger kids.    

I had an decided preference for books with very good art, and a variety of styles.  I really dig picture books wherein the author explains the illustration methods.  David Frampton uses woodcuts very cleverly in The Whole Night Through, one of our bedtime stories.  Woodland Indians inspired Lois Ehlert's illustrations of Mole's Hill, and she implemented the ideas of ribbon applique' and beadwork magnificently.  There are a lot of quilt motifs in Sally Rogers's Earthsong, illustrated by Melissa Bay Mathis.  Marianne Berkes adapted Ms. Roger's song in Over in the Ocean in a Coral Reef, and Jeannette Canyon used polymer clay to construct the scenes, which were then photographed.  Really spectacular, this one!  Finally, a very special book to me is titled To Every Thing There is a Season.  Using the famous Ecclesiastes verses, Leo and Diane Dillon incorporated a different traditional art style in every spread, then explained everything in the back!  

Stories of parent/child togetherness are important too!  Hardie Gramatky's classic Little Toot and Jan Carr's Big Truck, Little Truck both became beloved daddy-son stories for us. Other family-oriented stories include Little Bunny Bobkin, Look Out for the Big Bad Fish!, and the very tender Have You Got my Purr?.  Looking at the various reviews for these books, which include "a counting book", etc., it seems like there are multiple themes in them.  

Sometimes the simple books are best!  Simpler pictures or a more simple storyline - we enjoyed both.  Tomie De Paola has many books in his long career, but it was ANDY - That's My Name that charmed us.  The little boy with the wagonload of letters of his name, the big kids using his letters to spell - it was so much fun to read.  John Prater wrote this kind of odd book called "Once Upon a Time" where he blended famous scenes of a variety of fairy tales together in a contemporary foreground.  It really left a lot of room for branching off into the other stories!  Minerva Louise is the most daft, silly, empty-headed hen evah!  We even found a Minerva Louise book published in German, that I could read!  She is really a riot!  

Humor books are very important.  They are a great stress relief for the parent, and a good way for the child to develop a sense of humor.  There are many knock-offs of traditional fairy tales, but the only one that really caught on with us is Dusty Locks and the Three Bears.  Maybe it was the western setting?  Underwear!, with orangutans, zebras, and egrets all wearing underwear, is a ROFLOL funny book!  And can lead to silly games too.  The Caterpillow Fight, by Sam McBratney, is LOL with tears running down our faces sometimes.  

April is Poetry Month, and poetry is good for babies and toddlers too.  Our favorite poet is Jack Prelutsky, and we enjoyed Awful Ogre's Awful Day for humor with poetry, and The Frogs Wore Red Suspenders was excellent for poetry with humor and geography!

This little book didn't seem to fit into any other categories, and I don't want to leave it out.  Tikki Tikki Tembo came alive to us, retold by Arlene Mosel with Blair Lent's illustrations.  Of course, we were waiting for our daughter from China while we were in Germany that year.  :-D  And it is an excellent story with great pictures.  

What I am Reading:
Collapse, by Jaren Diamond:  I am about halfway through, and trying hard to read one chapter a day.  It is well-referenced, and goes along quite well with 1491.  The author was right to warn us of the length of the first chapter.  I am alternating with chapters of an old favorite:

The Two Towers.  I am finding great pleasure in re-reading classics and favorites very slowly.  I am a voracious reader, and I can read quite fast.  I tried this with Harry Potter & the Philosopher's Stone, and enjoyed it so much, I am applying it to the Tolkien books too.  I read one or two chapters every two or three days, and I try to hear the words in my mind, maybe picture some scenes, to slow myself down.  

After those are finished, I have two Star Trek novels I was in the middle of when Lent started.  I am going to finish those while I sort through the books I've read this year and select from my "waiting" stash for the next group to read.  

The Bookflurries and WAYR diaries have improved the quality of my reading - both in terms of the books I am reading, and what I am getting out of them.  

Please share your favorite picture books - from your childhood, your children's or grandchildren's childhoods, or just picture books you like.  We have an extensive library, and it was very lovely to focus on the beginnings of our children's collections for this diary.  

And share what else you are reading too!

Tags: books, reading, WAYR (all tags) :: Previous Tag Versions

Permalink | 115 comments

  •  Tips for a tour through our library? (30+ / 0-)

    I hope you enjoyed these links.  Reading with children is just so cool in so many ways.  

    I tried to use a wide variety of links - there are so many resources out there!  

  •  Great diary (16+ / 0-)

    and thanks for guest-hosting!

    I'll go browse through my kids' shelves looking for favorites.  Several of the ones you mention are or were on our shelves, for sure.  Do you know Harold and the Purple Crayon?  Wonderful book.  

    As to me, I am reading

    Quicksilver, by Neal Stephenson (having re-read Crypotonomicon, I decided to re-read this.

    Digital Dice, by Paul Nahin, about "computational solutions to practical probability problems"

    Alexander Hamilton, by Ron Chernow, about, well, Alexander Hamilton.

    Gaming the Vote by William Poundstone, about how elections aren't fair (not hanging chads and stolen votes, but third parties and spoilers and alternate voting schemes).

  •  I am unpacking my son's books (12+ / 0-)

    and rediscovering what we've collected for him. I've had to make decisions about what goes up on the (for now) limited shelf space. Keepers include:

    "Where the Wild Things Are," Maurice Sendak
    Dav Pilkey's "Captain Underpants" series
    "The Magic Schoolbus" books
    Anything by Chris Van Allsburg
    Mo Willems -- "Knuffle Bunny" and the pigeon books
    Dr. Seuss ( I scored the entire Seuss/early reader series for $5 at a yard sale)
    Laurie Keller's "Scrambled States of America"
    "I Stink!" by the McMullens
    Ian Falconer's "Olivia" series
    Babar!
    The Madeline books
    Just about anything by David Shannon, but especially the David books
    "Click, Clack, Moo"
    Graham Base's "Animalia"

    ...I'd add more, but I don't want to go into his room while he's still sleeping.

    We've been listening to chapter books in the car (God bless the volunteers at Librivix, org and my local library) -- "Charlie and the Chocolate Factory," "The Lion, the Witch and the Wardrobe," "The Wind in the Willows," "Matilda" -- and it's wonderful to revisit such old favorites.

    IGTNT: Our war dead. Their stories. Read "I Got the News Today."

    by monkeybiz on Fri Apr 11, 2008 at 03:34:55 AM PDT

  •  I'm into a biography of Pete the Great (9+ / 0-)

    right now...by Lindsey Hughes. Its turning into a very good read.

    Just finished Dumas Key by Stephen King. Sometimes I can't resist the call of a fun, no thought required, King book. The ending was cheesy. Not his best.

    Also, just finished Georgiana for the third time (I was short on reading material here in the UK). A biography by Amanda Foreman of the Duchess of Devonshire. Great..detail after detail. A wonderful perspective.

    ..and also just read Marie Antoinette by Antonia Fraser, one of my favorite biographers. Probably why I decided on Pete the Great for my next read..estrogen overload.

    Its the delegates that count

    by Morgan Sandlin on Fri Apr 11, 2008 at 03:36:37 AM PDT

  •  Little Prince author news (8+ / 0-)

    Clues to the Mystery of a Writer Pilot Who Disappeared

    nyt has this touching story up on their web site this morning.  i am not sure when it will appear in print, as i only read online.  

  •  Both my kids liked 'The magic school bus' (8+ / 0-)

    series a lot. They're pretty good.

    My older son (now 11) liked Thomas books for a while (yes, he was one of those Thomas-obsessed kids).  

    The little one (5 1/2) has started writing (well, dictating and illustrating) books.  He's been very into drawing and making up accompanying stories for about a year.  He is less into reading than many kids - I think it's too passive for him - but he does like being read to just before bed.

  •  Still working on ... (9+ / 0-)

    This and this. Both are so delicious. I did pick Lenny Bruce Is Dead up this week. It'll be a nice dessert after the main course of Conrad and Greene. Thanks for filling in for plf and thanks for the marvelous take on children's reading.

  •  Scholastic Books (9+ / 0-)

    Boy do I remember those.  It was so exciting to get those books!

    On plf515's recommend, I am reading Ghost Map.  Great, great book about the cholera outbreak in London in 1854.  Part history, part mystery, part medical, part sociological.  A fascinating read albeit fairly graphic in parts.

    Thanks, plf515 and WAYR!

    And thank you, jlms qkw, for being the gracious host today.

    Support the Troops Proceeds support Ninepatch's Care Packages to the Troops

    by donnamarie on Fri Apr 11, 2008 at 03:52:41 AM PDT

  •  Nice diary! (8+ / 0-)

    We're familiar in our home with a lot of the books you mention.

    Rather than romp all the way through our shelves, I'll mention just a couple of additional picture-book favorites from here:

    -- Cinderella by K. Y. Craft (lush Pre-Raphaelite-style illustrations)
    -- The Village of Round and Square Houses, by Ann Grifalconi
    -- My Family Plays Music, by Judy Cox and Elbrite Brown

    I'm currently reading Loving Frank by Nancy Horan, a novel based on the love affair between Frank Lloyd Wright and Mamah Borthwick, the woman for whom he built Taliesin.  It's told from Mamah's perspective, a point of view much tied into the women's movement of the early 1900s.  I think I'm going to have to visit Taliesin after I'm done with the book -- it's not too far from where I live, but I've not made the trip yet.

    "Unless someone like you cares a whole awful lot, nothing is going to get better. It's not." -- Dr. Seuss

    by AnnieJo on Fri Apr 11, 2008 at 03:55:16 AM PDT

  •  great diary (9+ / 0-)

    I've just started Seeds of Destruction by F. William Engdahl. this book was mentioned as a source in truong son traveler's diary from Wednesday, Food as a Weapon - The Rape of Iraq.

  •  My fave books from childhood (7+ / 0-)

    were three illustrious, illustrated collections of Chinese, Japanese and Oriental Fairy Tales.

    Every word was like a poem, every image beautiful, even scary, terrifying, and stunningly attractive. The stories all contained a deep lesson on life, and more than a hint of sensuality.

    To fully understand Christianity's duplicity, first recognize that the Vatican's St. Peter's Square is actually an oval.

    by agnostic on Fri Apr 11, 2008 at 04:13:34 AM PDT

  •  Well, I zipped through (7+ / 0-)

    'Bad Moon Rising' this week, and I shouldn't have been able to.  It's got valuable information in it, but it's disorganized and repetitive to the point of being maddening.

    For fun, the 'Lucia' books in the huge unfriendly library edition that I found, and I'm rereading Anne Tyler's 'The Amateur Marriage'.  

    I've been too busy to read much.  Better next week.

    "Republicans are poor losers and worse winners." - My grandmother, sometime in the early 1960s

    by escapee on Fri Apr 11, 2008 at 04:25:18 AM PDT

  •  Mind if I share what I am writing? (6+ / 0-)

    Chapter One
    WINTER

    She had turned nine just a week earlier. She didn’t get any presents, not even a special meal. No one had ever given her a present, not once. She didn't have any birthday cake either. But then she never had any cake, not once in her life, not even for someone else’s birthday.  In fact, she had never been to anyone’s birthday party.

    The only place she had even seen a birthday cake was in a book. It had candles and icing and sweets and pretty blue flowers on it. If she closed her eyes, she could still see it whenever she wanted.

    It was cold outside. It had been bitterly cold all winter. The wind howled angrily around the house. Her friend Old Mr. Pine’s longest limbs kept knocking against the edge of the house, right above her room’s tiny window. She would have said something, but her dad was a very strict man. He would not change his ways or his days to listen to a little girl’s worries. He would get angry if she mentioned it, so she just hoped that Old Mr. Pine wouldn’t hurt himself with all of that banging around.

    Regimen. That is what he called it. She liked that word. It rolled off the tongue like oil, but without the bitterness that Mother’s castor oil had. She didn’t blame her dad. He always said that times were tough and their bills were too high. Maybe that was why he yelled so much.

    She liked words. She knew many of them. She just didn’t have a chance to see them in books. Once she heard a new one, she savored it until she fully got its meaning and flavor. For her, words were another universe. She once looked at the dictionary at her school, but found that all the words after R were missing. She often wondered what mysteries or treasures could be found in U, V, or even W. The letter Z seemed so far away, that she couldn’t even imagine what words starting with Z were like.

    There was a candle on the little table next to her bed. Her room had only the one window, a little one above her tiny drawer that held her all of her clothes. Except for the slightest corner of the barn and a little bit of sky, most of what she could see was a willow and a pine tree. Those trees and their many guests had become her best friends. There was Mr. Robin Red Breast and Mrs. Blue Feather and that tiny little wren she called Blinky that sang to her in the Spring, even if her window was closed.

    She had read all of the books in her school library, all 14 of them. She had always done her schoolwork, and while she could still walk, managed to finish each school task early. For some reason, her father was not pleased. Quite often he would come home late at night, smelling of that tavern smell and shout,  “I don’t need some sick, brainy girl. I need a SON to help me in the field.”  He would glare at her as if it were her fault that she were a girl, then stomp off to the meal table. After he ate, he would sit quietly, looking into his drink, until finally Mother led him to their bedroom.  

    Many months ago, sometimes late in the night, her father would come, and kiss her on the forehead. But that stopped as she got more ill. In the last few months, he hadn’t done it at all.

    For some reason last year, her legs stopped working. Quite suddenly, and without any warning, she could not walk anymore. Her mother tried camphor, castor oil, hot bindings, all of the old wives’ treatments, but nothing helped. She could hear her mother plead with her father to call in a Doctor, but it always ended up in a fight, with him stomping off back to the tavern.

    She never had seen a real Doctor. In her mind, the Doctor would be a huge, terrible man, all dressed in white, with a mean look in his eye and an evil tube around his neck, ready to search all the way to her inner soul. He would have the most horrible needles and other strange devices. Of course, armed like that, the Doctor could read her mind and all of her innermost dreams.

    Still, as her pain got worse, maybe she really did need to go see a doctor. But last month when her mother asked again, her father refused. He began shouting, “Doctors cost money. I won’t waste my hard earned money on a little girl.”

    The little girl knew that Mother could not argue against Father. If Mother tried, bad things would happen to her. Only after Father had gone to bed, Mother would come in and bring her meals and help her wash.

    Her Uncle Ivan was nice, though. She wasn’t quite sure how he was an uncle. He couldn’t always make it, but when he did come visit, it was wonderful. One time, he even made it three times in a week. She felt like a little angel. And he brought the most fantastic books to read to her. She used to be able to read them herself, although she needed help with some of the big words.

    But after last month, with the first snow, even Uncle Ivan’s visits seemed to fade away now. Last month, she heard Father and other voices arguing. She recognized her Mother’s voice, but after Father started yelling, she lost track of all the other voices. All she knew was that they were arguing about her, because she heard her name again and again. She felt small and sad.

    Lately, she was having problems holding the books up so she could read them, so when he did visit, Uncle Ivan had to read aloud to her again. She looked out of her little window at the snow blowing through the trees. Even with all her blankets and her warmest winter night clothes, she always felt a chill.

    It was still snowing out when Uncle Ivan came by for a visit. She had not seen him for many weeks. Seeing Uncle Ivan again filled her with joy. Even the snow falling outside seemed brighter.

    “So my little one, how are you?” He wiped the snowflakes still clinging to his bushy grey and brown beard before kissing her on the forehead. He was large, much larger than her Father, but to her, he was as gentle as a lamb. She always thought of cuddly, big brown bears when he visited. His cloak was glistening with snow. He shook it off and laid it on her dresser.

    “Uncle Ivan! Thank you for coming! Did you see the snow? Is there much outside? Is it very pretty?” Her little round face beamed with happiness.
    “Oh, yes, it is beautiful snow, and there is so much of it, my dear. Even the horses and cattle are coming inside. The snow is almost as tall as you are, my little one.” When Uncle smiled, his whole face seemed to radiate warmth. Just then, he gave her a big one, one with a twinkle in his eye. She recognized that twinkle. Uncle Ivan had a trick up his sleeve.

    “So, what shall we do tonight? May I sit on your bed?”

    She nodded politely. Somehow his smile made her feel stronger. With Uncle Ivan sitting this close, she could smell his smoking pipe, made out of this milky white stone he called meercham. The pipe had this wonderful scary bird’s claw carved into the bottom. Parts of his pipe had turned a rich color from his smoke, a beautiful yellow brown that somehow looked warm. Uncle loved holding his pipe in her room, but he would never light it. This smell was much nicer than the nasty cigarettes that Father smoked.

    “Today, my little one, I brought you a little something, as well as a very special book. May I read it to you in a bit? Do you think you can stay up while I read?”

    “Yes, please, Uncle. I would love that.” She nodded eagerly.

    Uncle Ivan sat next on her bed and nestled himself against the wall, so her candlelight could shine on the pages. He moved closer to her so she would be able to see the words as he read to her. He lit the candle, and pulled out two extra ones if this one should go out.

    He pulled his rucksack from the floor and pulled out something floppy wrapped in bright red, shiny gift paper. There was a pink ribbon with a tiny bow on top. He handed it to her without a word.

    She carefully opened up the paper. Inside, she saw a beautiful rag doll with orange hair made of yarn and a painted mouth and eyes. She was so surprised that she couldn’t say anything to Uncle, not even thanks. She hugged the doll as hard as she could. She had never gotten a toy before. This doll was just beautiful. Tears started running down her face. Her first present – a wonderful, beautiful rag doll, all her own.

    Uncle Ivan gently smiled at her. No words in the world could explain just how she felt. With her eyes closed, she rocked back and forth with the doll held tightly in her tiny arms.

    After several minutes, Uncle Ivan reached back into his rucksack and pulled out a large, old, leather-bound book.  He opened it to the very beginning. He looked over to her. She nodded at him, as though she were ready. The doll was still deeply in her grasp. Her tears were replaced with a wide-open, happy look.

    He cleared his throat and began the story:

    Chapter Two
    “A Winter’s Tale”

    Once upon a time, deep inside the dark forest, there lived a little girl. She was named Kasha and she lived all by herself. Well, except for her brother, who didn’t count because he was such pig-head, and her parents, but they worked all day long and sometimes even long into the night.  There was also Grannie Ivanov, but Grannie usually stayed near the big fireplace in the kitchen, especially in winter.

    The fireplace took up half the kitchen. During the winter, it was kept burning all the time. Grannie even slept near it so she would stay warm.

    Actually, Grannie mainly slept on TOP of the oven all winter long. Whenever it got cold,  Grannie would ask Kasha and Pig-head to add the wood to the hot coals, or to take her bucket and empty it. So really, in Kasha’s mind, she lived all alone.

    Last year, it had started snowing early, in the middle of October. Here it was early February, and still the snow seemed to fall straight from the sky. The snow was now much higher than Kasha, so it was not easy to go and play.

    One time, she dug a tunnel into the snow, but when she was inside, Pig-head stomped on the top until all the snow fell around her and she couldn’t breathe for a while. Her father pulled her out and yelled at Pig-head, but he just stuck his tongue out at her. Later behind Father’s back, Pig-head promised that he’d get her again later.

    Boys could be so bad, especially if they were older brothers.

    Kasha had one friend in the whole wide world, a rag doll she named Annushka, or Anna for short. Anna was her best friend. Anna even promised Kasha that she would never to tell anyone about Kasha’s secrets, so Kasha told her everything, her dreams, her fears and even a love story she once saw in her sleep.

    Her dream had a big shiny golden castle in the sky, a handsome prince and wonderful fir green and daisy yellow fairies who flew around the clouds. She was dressed all in white, except for the flowers in her hair that the fairies brought her every morning.

    One time a huge, evil ogre had caught her and was about to eat her when the handsome prince jumped out of the forest and stabbed the ogre with his shining, silver sword.

    The ogre screamed and ran away, dripping steaming drops of black blood. She and the prince lived happily ever after, and the prince did not have any big brothers to tease or bother them.

    It was a fun dream.

    Today was her first day of school. After Pig-head and she finished breakfast, they walked down through the snow, over the bridge and waited at the bottom of the hill for a cart that would carry all the other kids from nearby farms. Pig-head had started school last year.

    He always told her scary stories about how the Teacher ate bad little girls. He said that because she was such a bad little girl, that she would be the first to be eaten this year.

    Kasha would never admit to Pig-head that she was scared, especially of the Teacher. (But, deep down inside, she was!) The cart ride sounded exciting, even though Pig-head would be going with her. She put on her thickest coat and gloves to keep the bitter wind out. Just before they left,  Grannie Ivanov called out to both of them.

    “Watch out for Morozko, Old Man Winter. He loves to eat little girls and little boys for dinner. He is very hungry this season. Dress warmly.”

    Their Uncle Vanya had told the story of Morozko many times, about how he froze children in their sleep, and how he tricked grown men into walking and talking on and on, even in the bitterest cold, until they became lost in the forest, and how you could never rest when Morozko was near. Old Man Winter was sneaky, mean and loved little children most of all.

    Pig-head and Kasha walked down the trail, over the rushing, frosty river, and to the road. You could see the path left by many carts’ skis and where the horses had trampled down the snow and ice in between. Finally, the cart arrived and the driver helped them both up. There were four other children in the cart.

    Kasha looked at the other children, but they did not look scared. She turned her face so they would not see her fear.

    The ride to school took almost half of an hour. The school was a one-room wooden building with a little fireplace near the teacher’s desk. The teacher sat in the front of the class. She had a hooked nose and thick wire glasses. Teacher’s face wore a frown that seemed to be made out of stone. She was dressed in layers of black, matching her mood perfectly.

    Kasha was told to sit in the front row. The other students found their seats.

    Pig-head sat behind Kasha.

    The teacher started with the older students, asking them to open their spellers and take out their writing tablets. She started giving them grammar problems and words to write down. Kasha soon got bored and started thinking about her doll Annushka. She wondered if Anna missed her as much as she missed Anna.

    Kasha jumped with a start. The Teacher had just slammed her long wooden ruler on Kasha’s desk. “Why are you day dreaming? You cannot learn if you do not listen. You have just earned one detention.”

    Kasha did not know what detention was, but it sounded bad. The Teacher continued her lessons with only one short break for lunch. Kasha managed to stay awake and alert for the rest of class, even if it was for the older children.

    The Teacher passed out small pieces of paper. Each student was instructed to print his or her name on it with an ink pen.  Kasha carefully filled out her name on the top, being very careful not to drip any ink on the rest of the scrap of paper. She heard something fly past her ear, and saw a wad of paper hit the front of Teacher’s desk with a bang.

    The Teacher looked up, frowned even more, then walked to the front of the desk. She stooped down and picked up the wadded up paper. She unfolded it and turned to Kasha. The paper had Kasha’s name on it.    

    “Is this what you do with your trash? Throw it at the Teacher? Shame on you! You wicked little girl. Your detention starts tonight, right after class.”

    Kasha tried to explain that it wasn’t her paper at all, but the Teacher refused to listen.

    “You will go kneel in front of the class. Then you will stay after school and wash each and every tablet in the classroom.” Kasha walked to the corner the Teacher pointed at. She saw from the corner of her eye, Pig-head trying to keep from laughing. She was sure that he threw the paper with her name on it. Kasha tried to keep the tears from running down her face. She was there for the rest of the class.

    Finally, class was over. Kasha’s knees hurt from all the kneeling. She started washing the writing tablets. She heard the cart approach just as she dried the last tablet. She ran to get her coat and hat, but by the time she ran outside, the cart had already gone. She saw Pig-head whispering something to the cart driver as they left. She tried to chase the cart, but the snow was too deep.

    She fell face down into the snow. She saw the cart moving further away with each breath.

    Kasha began to cry. She turned back to the school. The door locked behind her and everyone else had left. It was getting cold and dark outside. Kasha began to walk.

    It was hard work, even if she tried to stay in the path made by the cart’s skis. Finally, she tried walking in the tracks of the horses. That was a little easier. The wind was still blowing all around her, but luckily, the snow had stopped falling.

    The last bit of sunlight was now gone. A few wispy clouds moved across the night sky. Behind the clouds was a smallest sliver of the moon. It gave her a little light to see by. On and on she walked. Kasha was getting very cold and tired. Her empty tummy made loud noises to her. She could not feel her fingertips even though she wore thick, woolen mittens. The wind seemed to grow even louder and angrier.

    Finally, she got to the hilly road that led to her house. She had lost track of time.  Because her family always talked about how far that was, she knew that she still had two more kilometers to go.

    Because of the snow and wind, the hill leading to her home was steep, icy and slippery. She heard the trees rub back and forth against each other. The wind was making them talk to each other. The clouds now covered the moon. It was all dark except for the slightest hint of light over the hill.

    She thought that she heard someone behind her. Could it be Morozko? The terrible Old Man Winter, coming after her? She tried to run, but found that she could not keep her footing if she hurried. On and on she climbed the hill. Often she would slip, and have to climb back to where she started. By the time she came to the bridge, she was sure that that someone was behind her.

    As she tried to cross the icy bridge, she slipped again, but this time, she fell down the snow bank. Down and down she tumbled. Finally, she landed on the river’s ice. She heard it cracking under her weight. The river moved so quickly that it hardly ever froze up completely. The cracking sound was horrible. It sounded as though the river wanted to eat her up.

    Kasha was terrified. She heard someone calling her name, just like Morozko would do if he were after her. She was even more terrified.

    Finally, she yelled back, “Hello, Morozko? Is that you? Please leave me alone. Please don’t hurt me.”

    She heard her name being called again. If it was Morozko, would he help or hurt her? She decided that she had no choice. The ice was cracking faster and faster. She felt it move under her.

    Just then she saw Uncle Vanya hurry over the bridge. “Wait there, little Kasha, don’t move!” She almost fell with relief. Uncle Vanya grabbed a broken tree branch and held it out to her.

    “Take this, Kasha and crawl towards me slowly.” Just then the ice broke through. Kasha fell into rushing water that was at least knee deep. The cold was so painful that Kasha couldn’t even scream.

    Uncle Vanya dropped the branch and jumped into the river to grab her before the rushing water pulled her away.  He picked her up like a little doll over his shoulder and ran back to their cabin.  Kasha could barely tell what was happening. Everything was getting misty, dark, and oh, so cold.

    The next thing she knew, she was back at home. Mother and Grannie had taken off all her wet clothing and started to rub her with coarse linen towels.
    They sat her right next to the roaring fire. Grannie wrapped her with Grannie’s biggest and longest gown. Mother put Father’s thick wooly socks on her feet. They came up way above her knees. The feeling started to return to her fingers, legs and face. It tingled and hurt a lot as she warmed up.

    Her mother and Grannie were still in tears. Uncle Vanya handed her a mug of hot tea. He poured in a little brandy. The brandy made her eyes water, but she drank it down just like Mother told her.

    “Oh, my little Kasha, we were so worried. Why did you not take the cart home?” asked her mother.

    Kasha saw Pig-head peering around the corner, looking at her with tearful eyes. She knew that finally she could get back at Pig-head. He had been so mean to her. But, still, he was her brother. And he looked more scared than she ever was.

    “Mamushka, I forgot something at school, so I thought I could hurry back and get it.”

    There, Kasha did it. She had lied. She had never lied to her mother before. She saw Pig-head looking at her with grateful thanks and relief. She knew from that then on, Pig-head would never tease her again.

    Only Uncle Vanya saw the looks that Pig-head and Kasha exchanged. He looked funny with his pants were off. While they dried, he was wearing a funny night gown. Vanya grabbed his own tea, and added a lot more brandy to his mug. He decided to put a stop to any more questions.

    “Come, little Kasha, it is time for you to go to bed. Let me read you a story.”

    Uncle Vanya picked her up in his bear-like arms and took her upstairs to her little room, but not before Mother and Father and Grannie kissed her.
    Uncle Vanya pulled out a sack and sat in a chair next to her bed.

    “You are a brave little girl, Kasha. You walked five kilometers at night without any help, in the deepest winter chill. That is really brave. I am so proud of you. But please don’t do it again.” He smiled at her and patted her head gently. Annushka the doll was waiting for her under the covers.

    “Kasha, I can guess what your brother did. But, Kasha, you should know that he was scared when you didn’t come home.  You were brave not telling on him. I think he’s learned his lesson. Let’s just keep it a secret between us.”

    Kasha nodded her head, still shivering a little in her bed. She pulled all the covers over her tightly.

    “Do you mind if I read to you?” Uncle Vanya had a great deep voice and she loved it when he made different animal sounds and other noises as he read.

    She nodded to him eagerly. Uncle Vanya pulled out a big leather book from his sack. “This is a story about another brave little girl. Her name is Haruko.  She lives in Japan, a beautiful country far away. Japan is filled with magic and sorcerers and dragons. It has beautiful mountains, deep rivers and many, many secrets. She has a beautiful name, Haruko, almost as sweet as yours, little Kasha. Would you like to hear it?”  

    Kasha nodded between her shivers.  He started reading:

    To fully understand Christianity's duplicity, first recognize that the Vatican's St. Peter's Square is actually an oval.

    by agnostic on Fri Apr 11, 2008 at 04:26:02 AM PDT

  •  What am I reading? (8+ / 0-)

    Hmmm, the new McMaster-Carr catalog came.  Everything in hardware...EVERYTHING.

    La Repubblica showed up from Italy.

    Car Craft came in too, along with Maximum PC for escape.  

    Found a copy of "Call of Cthuhlu," starting that one.

    Today, 5/11/08, 4075 Americans, and untold Iraqis are dead, tens of thousands more maimed. Bush lied, how soon before your family pays the price for that?

    by boilerman10 on Fri Apr 11, 2008 at 04:26:51 AM PDT

  •  Bike book and bed book (8+ / 0-)

    The current bike book is "The world without us" by Alan Weisman; I'm a little more than halfway through. I just got done reading the chapter about the Korean DMZ and how it has become a de facto wildlife refuge.

    Bed book is "The Sharing Knife: Legacy" by Lois McMaster Bujold, I am rereading it yet again because I expect the sequel before the end of the month. (I pre-ordered autographed copies from Dreamhaven Books in Minneapolis.)

    Picture books - you mention Leo and Diane Dillon above, did you ever see Pish, Posh said Hieronymous Bosch? Another one I love is Rain Makes Applesauce.

    Sig: A rose by any other name would probably be deadly thorn-bearing attack vegetation. I am STILL an Edwards Democrat!

    by RunawayRose on Fri Apr 11, 2008 at 04:42:02 AM PDT