BookLust

Random Readings 31

With his first George and Martha book, James was already entirely himself. He lacked only one component in his constellation of gifts: he was uncommercial to a fault. No schticking, no nudging knowingly, no winking or pandering to the grownups at the expense of the kids. He paid the price of being maddeningly underestimated – of being dubbed "zany" (an adjective that drove him to murderous rage). And worse, as I saw it, he was dismissed as the artist who could do – should or might do – worthier work if he would only dig deeper and harder. The comic note, the delicate riff, were deemed, finally, insufficient. James knew better, of course, and he was right, or course, but he suffered nevertheless. There was nothing he could do to impress the establishment; that was his triumph and his curse. Marshall did fulfill his genius, and its rarity and subtlety confounded the so-called critical world. The award givers were foolish enough to consider him a charming lightweight, and when Caldecott Medal time came around, they ignored him again and again.

– the foreword written by Maurice Sendak from George and Martha: The Complete Stories of Two Best Friends by James Marshall

Transitory Reading 11

 

Another walking reader!

Seen trotting east along Dundas St West. Wearing coat and mittens on a rather warm day. Scary thin. Very much engaged in The Inheritance of Loss. And speaking of loss – if she loses any more weight, she won't have the strength to hold up that book.

Picture Me Penguins

Here's  a bit more of them thar Penguin postcards I bought me a while back. Purty, huh?

Picture Me This

We've been in our lovely old house now for four years, and in that time, I have managed to make the library into a warm, welcoming room with plenty of books, tchotchkes, and pictures hanging on the walls. And the kitchen has gradually taken form, too, with some stuff on the walls (though my dream of having a kitchen with a charming armoire bursting with quirky kitchen stuff has never come to light owing to the fact that the hubby has stuffed the armoire shelves full of books. See photos below).

But the rest of the house is sadly sporting bare walls. How is this possible if one of the owners is an artist? Well, for starters, money. It seems I always have an excuse for not being able to afford proper framing for my own artwork. And because we live in an old house (93 years old), there are issues with the walls. Some of the walls are lathe & plaster, and are a royal pain to work with, when trying to hang pictures. Other walls feel like they are solid concrete, and so the only way to hang a picture is to use a drill, and well, that means serious committment, and well, I'm bloody terrified of making a mistake. And then there is the whole issue of trying to figure out what to place on the walls. My tastes have changed over the years, and most pictures from our old apartment just feel, well...old.

So what do do? Have no fear. I have been saved by a penguin! But not just any penguin, mind you. I'm talking Penguin penguin. I saw this beauteous box in a bookstore a while back and could not resist:

See? Luverly, luverly postcards of Penguin paperbacks! Soooooo purty...

And don't they look nice when they are framed?

But where to put them? Aha – by the stairs. And why not add an old picture I have of the Brooklyn Bridge? Hmmmm...not bad.

And finally, this little grouping of titles. I quite like the mix of colours and the overall theme, don't you?

Well, it's a start. I have plenty of postcards left to play with, and this is the year I finally frame some of my own artwork, dammit!!

TRANSITory Reading 10

 
For the past year I've been power walking on a fairly regular basis, in order to knock off a few pounds and try and stay healthy as this old bod continues to age. On part of my route, I travel through a beautiful and rather wealthy neighbourhood, because well, it's fascinating to see how the other half lives, and it's also a great opportunity to get inspiration and ideas for gardening (of course, my budget doesn't allow for landscapers and garden designers, but one can always dream).

On many ocassions in the past year, I have walked past a short stout gentleman who also walks quite briskly, and who on his travels, is always holding a book that yes, he is actually reading. While walking. Quite quickly. In the warm weather, he often wears a charming straw hat. How does he do it? No, not how does he wear the hat – how does he walk so fast while reading a book, and not like, collide right into a tree? Can he actually concentrate on what he's reading during his constitutional? Does he read during other activities? Driving a car? Scrambling eggs? In the heat of passion? And speaking of passion, had I my own straw hat, I would tip it in his direction, for truly here is a man who loves books so much, he is determined to use up every precious moment of his time on this earth devouring them. I just hope that his time on this earth is not suddenly cut short by the world outside of his imagination.