The books of youth�
9:03 a.m.
It�s time to answer Harri3tspy�s query about children�s books. I read voraciously as a child, rarely reading a book more than once. But there were a few that stand out: Follow my Leader by James B. Garfield, anything by Ray Bradbury, an edition of Greek myths for children that I read over and over and, of course, the Narnia books by C.S. Lewis. As a parent I have read all seven of the latter to both children, reread them myself, and look forward to the next time I pick them up. My only complaint is all the Christian stuff at the end of The Last Battle, but I can forgive it because the story is just so beautiful. Other than those, I can�t remember any other children�s books that leap out of my memory from my own youth. I think more fondly on the books that I have read to my kids, or read because of them. Books that I should have read as a child I only became acquainted with as an adult, including Dr. Seuss and Collodi�s Pinnocchio. Any kind of fairy tales have always held a fascination for me, and this probably fueled my love of fantasy and science-fiction. Mind you, I think that book of Greek myths had a lot to do with it too.
I have been trying to think of things to add about my recent sojourn to Western Canada that I missed out in last night�s entry. After our mini-recital, we adjourned to our hotel restaurant with the guitar teacher from LU and indulged in coffee and strawberry cheesecake (Hubby and I shared a piece, and it was still too much for me). Dale had brought along his guitar which he was anxious for Hubby to play and admire. I don�t understand instrumentalists showing off their instruments really, since singers simply cannot share theirs. Can you imagine transferring your voice to another person�s body so he can test it out? Let�s get really silly for a minute, and have a basso profundo try out my lyric coloratura. Oh yes, it has great agility and facility in the high register, but you ought to change your strings more often. Guitarists also have to talk about fingernails and playing off the left or right, different brands of strings and whether they prefer high or medium tension. I kept up with the conversation as best I could, mostly talking about repertoire. But after a while I had had enough and left the two beardos to their shoptalk, retiring to the hotel room and having a short snooze before Hubby finally came upstairs.
We then had a lovely walk from the hotel to the river, where we wandered along admiring the eroded cliffsides, skipping flat stones and looking for fossils. We didn�t find any. It was such a pleasure to get out of high heels. I had been dressing the �soprano� all week: leather pants or skirts, nylons, high heels, makeup, hair. I wore my new over-priced dress and jacket to the banquet with one of my cicadas on the lapel even. It was just so nice to get into my jeans and running shoes for a break. I didn�t realize how sore my ankles were, or the different muscles that are used when you wear high heels constantly, until we scrambled up the ravineside and traipsed over the rocky shoreline. Exercise is good. I just don�t get enough of it.
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