1. Search closet for suitable clothes. Regret vow to buy second-hand clothing this season, and pledge to rejoin the consumer economy immediately.

2. Spritz armpits with natural deodorant. Wonder if natural deodorant is best suited to work behind a desk, alone, and Acme Epic Chemical Version would be more suited for present occasion. See vow above.

3. Straighten hair in attempt to look less like frizzy-haired witch. Notice that straightening hair makes grey hairs more obvious. Wonder if frizzy or grey is actually more indicative of witch-hood.

4. Wish it were possible and/or socially appropriate to carry a flask. Then remember that MC at wedding carried a flask, while wearing a reasonably form-fitting dress. Resolve to ask said MC for strategy pointers.

5. Remember hearing of a recluse who once lived in what is now Mount Seymour Demonstration Forest. Resolve to check if hut/cave is still available.

6. Dig for shoes from sister’s wedding, on the assumption that sister is more fashion conscious than you and would not have made you wear socially inappropriate footwear. Remember that sister’s wedding was several years ago, and footwear appropriateness may have since changed. See vow above.

7. Check wallet for cash. Finding none, pillage spouse’s wallet for cash, thus perpetuating the subsidizing of the arts in Canada.

8. Go out. Return home. Shower. Attempt to sleep but end up repeating all conversations held throughout event, in attempt to discern whether appearance of sanity was conveyed.

9. Sleep.

10. Repeat as necessary.

I take my son to the library every few weeks and point him straight at the picture book section. He chooses a few titles, which we take home, read once, and put on the shelf. He likes the choosing, but he’s never been as interested in the actual books. (With the exceptions of Don’t Let the Penguin Drive the Bus and Where the Wild Things Are, read approximately 6,354 times each.)

Well, we went on vacation with some other kids this summer, and one of them happened to have a book about subways. My son wanted that book read at least twice a day, every day.

This is where I admit that I have never thought to take him to the non-fiction section of the library. Despite the fact that I’m a non-fiction writer. Despite the fact that his father reads only non-fiction.

Yes, I am an idiot.

This week, we have chosen a book about submarines, a book about passenger trains, and… the immediate all-time favorite… a book about sharks.

I have just finished reading The Graveyard Book by Neil Gaiman, which fully lived up to its reputation. (I believe I am the last person in the English-speaking world to read it.) I laughed, I cried, and I bit my nails in between.

What I really need, though, is someone to stop by my house every afternoon and impersonate my mother. Grab the book from my hand, hide it, and tell me I can have it back when my work is done.

Occasionally, when it’s the middle of the afternoon and you’re supposed to be working, you get no work done at all because you can’t stop reading something.

Something like, for example, The Boy in the Striped Pajamas, which you started reading because you picked it at random from the junior chapter book section of the library, where it must have been put by mistake because it’s the most un-junior-chapter-book you’ve ever read.

You start reading with no idea what the book is about, because the back of the book doesn’t say, because if it said, it would ruin the slow discovery of the first few chapters. And half way through the book, you feel like you have to tell everyone you know to read it, because it’s so well executed.

Then, at the end of the book, when you’ve accomplished no work, you find that your insides have been scraped out with a spoon.

The ending is decidedly un-junior-chapter-book.

I happened across this letter, and then this interesting piece on the need for more awesomeness in life. Hard to argue with that, isn’t it?

The guy’s a little harsh on the baby boomers, but if you’re a non-boomer and you need to feel warm, fuzzy, and inspired for the day, then read away!

Two random events:

1. My daughter’s been having nightmares all week.

2. I cleaned out my son’s closet.

Here’s how they’re related: In the back of my son’s closet, I found a copy of Dream Helmet, which I had intended to give my daughter for her birthday in June.

Well, it just so happens that Dream Helmet is a book of poetry about a boy who sleeps with a special helmet on, a helmet that brings him strange and wonderful dreams. It’s a great read-aloud book, full of silly sounds and fun rhymes.

I couldn’t resist buying it last spring because William New is also a literary critic. Years ago at UVic, I wrote a Canadian Lit paper about Emily Carr’s writings in relation to a William New essay about early literature and the assumption that native culture would soon be assimilated. (Don’t ask me why I remember this, but I do.) And how often does an author of academia turn up writing children’s poetry books?

Not often enough!

My kids and I have now cracked open the rediscovered pages of Dream Helmet, and there were no bad dreams last night.

I’ve been reading this woman’s blog for a couple weeks. I don’t really understand it, but I’m thinking she sounds awfully clever. If I were a salmon, I’d be on her side.

I’m not actually sure if I’m allowed to release this cover into the world yet, but isn’t it amazing?!?

How do they put a picture of the cover onto the cover? And then inside the cover on the cover, there’s another cover. It gives me a headache if I try to think about it for too long.

I went to a book launch at Christianne’s Lyceum on Saturday. I took both kids and we made great paper bag drawings of Jack the Bear, Christina Leist’s newest creation.

The book is absolutely lovely. It has a wonderful story about how to change the world one small smile at a time, and the illustrations are completely unique. (I had a conversation with Kari-Lynn Winters last week about developing visual literacy in my children, so we’re paying extra attention to illustrations these days!)

The launch itself was a testament to Christina’s creative abilities. There was music, a reading, art projects, leaf rubbings, bear-shaped cookies, and even honey at the door to take home.

Congratulations on a gorgeous book, Christina!