Reader's Theater Staring...Norman the Goldfish

Not Norman, A Goldfish Story is now Reader's Theater! After garnering a 5-glug review at its debut at Bear Pond Books in Montpelier, VT the Reader's Theater version of Not Norman, A Goldfish Story is ready to take on the road. Next stop: Your Place!

Download the Not Norman Reader's Theater Script.

(If this link fails, click on the "Activities" Tab and scroll down to Not Norman's Activity Box

Ready all you Normans? (Come on you know you always wanted to play a goldfish.) Puff up your fish cheeks, puff out your fish lips and give us a "Glug!"

IF Inspires

Inspiration:  The Civil Rights Movement. Fighting for Right. Rudyard Kipling

The March from Selma to Montgomery protesting unfair voter registration practices in the South was actually 3 Marches:

The first march took place on March 7, 1965. The 600 peaceful marchers were viciously attacked on Edmund Pettus Bridge by state and local police with clubs, gun butts and tear gas. It’s remembered as "Bloody Sunday."

The second march, on March 9th, 1965, was more a show of solidarity, of support, of honor as a restraining order prohibiting the March had been issued. Martin Luther King Jr., along with about 2000 protestors, marched to the bridge,  knelt and prayed.  After prayers they rose and turned the march back to Selma.

The third march is the one most remember.  On March 21, 1965, 3200 protestors stepped forward to begin the 54 mile march to Alabama Capitol building in Montgomery. It took them 5 days to reach the capitol. When they arrived their numbers had swelled to more than 25,000—25,000 people of varying colors, nationalities, social and economic backgrounds and religions stood together outside the capitol—but not on the lawn—as one of the conditions in the petition to march had been a promise to “keep off the grass.”

Less than 5 months later, Congress passed the Voting Rights Act of 1965, which outlawed discriminatory voting practices.

David T. Greenberg, son of National Defense League attorney Jack Greenberg, wrote a novel called A Tugging String (Dutton Children’s Books, 2008) about growing up during the Civil Rights era, specifically the time between the 1st March and the 3rd.  Greenberg calls the book a “constellation” saying “it is not a scholar’s rendition of history; it is fiction,” his efforts to illuminate events and personalities from the 1960s civil rights movement and “bring them to life.” Toward the end of the story, David shares a poem his father had shared with him. “It’s called IF,” his father said. “It’s a very important poem.”

IF

If you can keep your head when all about you

Are losing theirs and blaming it on you;

If you can trust yourself when all men doubt you,

But make allowances for their doubting too;

If you can wait and not be tired by waiting,

Or, being lied about, don’t deal in lies,

Or, being hated, don’t give way to hating,

And yet don’t look too good, nor talk too wise;

If you can dream—and not make dreams your master;

If you can think—and not make thoughts your aim;

If you can meet with triumph and disaster

And treat those two imposters just the same;

If you can bear to hear the truth you’ve spoken

Twisted by knaves to make a trap for fools,

Or watch the things you give your life to broken,

And stoop and build ‘em up with worn-out tools;

If you can make one heap of all your winnings

And risk it on one turn of pitch-and-toss,

And lose, and start again at your beginnings

And never breathe a word about your loss;

If you can force your heart and nerve and sinew

To serve your turn long after they are gone,

And so hold on when there is nothing in you

Except the Will which says to them: “Hold on”,

If you can talk with crowds and keep your virtue,

Or walk with kings—nor lose the common touch;

If neither foes nor loving friends can hurt you;

If all men count with you, but none too much;

If you can fill the unforgiving minute

With Sixty Seconds’ worth of distance run—

Yours is the Earth and everything that’s in it,

And—which is more—you’ll be a Man, my son!

By Rudyard Kipling  (from Rewards and Fairies, published in 1909)

Remembering Real

I’ve often imagined my brain as a merry-go-round of colorful carousel horses swirling to the music. Just as the merry-go-round stops to let people off and on, my brain stops, tiny doors pop open and snippets, will-o’-the-wisps, flibbertigibbets of memory, fact, song pop out.

This past weekend my memory merry-go-round wasn’t slowly turning; it was spinning with snippets flying. One wisp of a scientific notion of how none of us is actually solid, that instead we are constantly swapping molecules with every sight, smell, thing, person—everything and then forming and reforming from these molecules, came to mind. You know the way odor molecules break off, float into our noses, hit our receptors and so we smell. I’m thinking the same thing happens with memories.

Why now? It was a reunion weekend. Along with our 2 kids and their sweeties, Curtis and I were in California for a wedding and impromptu family reunion. The wedding was that of my grandparent’s cross-the-street-neighbor’s son, Chris—our son, Max’s, lifetime best “Summers and Christmas Vacations friend.”

The reunion, organized by my first cousin, once removed, Jodi, was an impromptu gathering of family members prompted by our wedding attendance. (Jodi’s mother, Evelyn, and my Grandmother, Nellie, were sisters—for specifics on the once-removed/twice-removed/first cousin/second cuz connections click here!

When you live busy lives far apart, it’s easy to forget the importance of extended family. And the longer you’re apart, the easier it is to make excuses not to spend the money or time to connect. I’ve spent almost 20 years—ever since my grandmother died, and we packed up her belongings and sold her house—making excuses. Aside from my immediate family—mom, the kids, my husband—the last time I’d seen any of my extended family had been at our last family reunion a well-organized weekend affair, 4 years ago. And before that had been 19 years ago, the summer after my grandmother died, when Max, Lexi, Grandma Mary and I took Curtis to meet the family…

Those cousins’ once-removed know the “back when" us. Back when we were tiny, naughty, silly, sweet, and more than once “cried til we were blue in the face.” The relatives who actually knew the “rotten, just plain rotten” cousin, Corky, mom named our dog after.  That those “Summers and Christmas Vacation friends” are the ones son Max buried and unburied the rotten mole with, and know the Lexi who always wore hair bows and refused to wear pants. Those second cousins are the ones we snuck cookies and shot bb guns with, who remember how our aunties and grandmothers “laughed til they peed their pants,” how Uncle Jimmy drove mom to the hospital the day I was born—that knew the glamorous teen mom was, the “cool cousin” who gave them lipstick samples and taught them to kiss the mirror. Cousins who also still have the taste of Great Grandma’s sugary milky “starter coffee,” and splinter scars from her back fence and flat patches on our knees from hours of kneeling at church as well as at the window in the back room from hours spent peeping through a crack in the blinds to spy on the neighbor kids and their “wild friends”…

Those years of swapped molecules and shared memories are the stuff of families. Family who remind us who we were, where we came from, and why we look, act, laugh the way we do now—families who pretend not to notice, and definitely don’t care, that we’re looking worse for wear (or maybe love us better because we are?)

Family make us real; family keeps us real—the real as defined by Margery Winifred Williams' Skin Horse in the Velveteen Rabbit (originally published in 1922):

“Generally, by the time you are Real, most of your hair has been loved off, and your eyes drop out and you get loose in the joints and very shabby. But these things don't matter at all, because once you are Real you can't be ugly, except to people who don't understand."-excerpt from The Velveteen Rabbit by Margery Winifred Williams, originally published in 1922.

(Thank you Erin Stead for referencing The Velveteen Rabbit in your Caldecott Award Acceptance Speech. Read more:

Year Of Inspirational Thinking

It's a new dawn/Its a new day/It's a new life...

That line from the "Feeling Good Song" as sung by Michael Buble- his name makes me laugh-is playing in my head. Adding to that: It's a new blog year for me! I'm going to take this opportunity to change my blog. Not to say I won't post anymore Jakarta stories or book news, but that's no longer my primary focus. My intention is to declare a YEAR OF INSPIRATIONAL THINKING!

Each week I will post quotes, stories, poems, words that inspire thoughts, ideas, emotion, interaction and maybe change.  (Warning: I am not going to spare the exclamation points)

The Year of Inspiration Thinking begins now with this quote from Antonia Fraser,  author of Must You Go? My Life with Harold Pinter, among others:

"I love hearing details of writers' craft, as cannibals eat the brains of clever men to get cleverer."

The Most Wonderful Present!

"Some one gave me a wonderful present/something I needed and yet never knew/so start the whistling and clapping cause under the wrapping was you!!!!!" --from the Jermome Lawrence Musical, Mame, based on the book "Auntie Mame" by Patrick Dennis

Twenty eight years ago today, July 28, 1983, at 12:35 pm in the afternoon, I received that most wonderful present:  Alexis Rose. Today we celebrate her!

And what better way to celebrate that with a memory...just one, I promise. And since this is what Lexi calls her "golden birthday" since she is turning 28 on the 28th, a "golden" combination, I'll share a memory that's pure gold:

"Rosie" as we called Alexis (because she was rosie pink and joyful), was not much of a talker. On her 2nd Christmas, Grandma Mary gave Lexi a Madame Alexander doll with brown hair and eyes that looked "just like her."  As 2 year olds faced with a mound of colorful wrapped gifts do, Lexi  unwrapped the doll and tossed her aside to reach for another gift. The doll let out a "Whaaaaah!" Lexi looked down, scooped up the doll and that was it. From then on Whiney Baby  was Lexi's baby

People often ask writers what inspires a story.  No surprise that the inspiration for every scene in my newest picture book came from memories of Lexi as a baby and growing up. What is suprising, and amazing, and incredible is that without ever talking with me, or seeing a photo of Lexi, David Walker so beautifully captured the little her in the illustrations for this book.

Happy Birthday, Alexis Rose. No matter how big you get, or how smart you get, or how oooooold you get, you will always be my baby!

Independence Day

Happy 4th of July! Here in Jakarta it's already the day after. If it weren't for 2 zealous expats--one British and one from Panama--the day would have ended as it began, Just another Monday workday. As you might imagine the 4th of July isn't cause for celebration in Indonesia. But, August 17th is, and is celebrated much the same way as the 4th of July is celebrated back home: fireworks, games, picnics and parades. Americans wear and wave red-white-and blue; Indonesians wave and wear red and white. 4th of July commemorates the beginning of a war, as does August 17th. Americans fought for "Freedom", Indonesians call it "Merdeka", the cause is the same: life, liberty and the pursuit of happiness. Celebrating holidays away from home is bittersweet. Distance makes it easy to forget...actually forget is not the right word. Distance makes it easy to ignore holidays--or try to ignore them. Maybe because it hurts a little to be away and missing out on the fun back home...

There weren't any fireworks or parades at last night's Fourth of July celebration. But there was red-white-and blue (everyone dug through their closets to pull out whatever patriotic clothing they had-a red batik shirt won the prize), there was laughter and chatter (in a variety of accents), there was music (in varying styles--we finally settled on country western as being the "most" American). Even with all that, it was the food that made the holiday. As my mother would call it "good, old fashioned American": hot dogs and burgers with buns, potato salad, cold slaw, beans and watermelon (Delsy, our Panamanian-American friend and hostess pulled me aside to ask "When do we serve the watermelon? With dinner or dessert?) Brownies and pie with ice cream-cherry, blueberry and apple, of course!  Each mouthful was a taste of home, a reminder of 4th of July's past, and promise for the future.

I woke this morning, with a feeling of having a foot in 2 time zones. It was 7 am. here in Jakarta--which is 7 pm central time. On the other side of the world, back home in the USA, Fourth of July celebrations are in full swing--sea to shining sea! I'm lamenting the extra servings I indulged in last night at the exact same moment that you might be dipping in for more. I'm putting away my red, white and blues while you're pulling yours on.

In spite of CNN news, I am also feeling hopeful. Our 4th of July celebration included 20 or so people of different races, genders, nationalities, religious and political beliefs. Festivities right now, today and tonight, include millions of people whose ancestors fought on opposite sides of battlefields with all the hatred, anger, hurt, and vengeance of the people battling today.

Happy Independence Day; Pray for Peace.

SAVE BOOKSTORES SUMMER

Saturday, June 25th,  was SAVE A BOOKSTORE DAY. Part of a movement to support local bookstores. I read about it on one of my favorite blogs Writing On The Sidewalk.

Agent Kelly Sonnack of Andrea Brown Literary Agency sent out the call to rally everyone in support of bookstores and books.

Why is a "buy a book" campaign needed? Because, as Kelly wrote in her letter promoting Save Bookstores Day, "Bookstores are dropping like flies and we want them to stay alive!"

I'm hoping Saturday every single one of you went out and bought a book. All those who did breathed a little life back into the bookstores. But it's going to take more than that to save them. So, let's give them more. Let's dub this, the summer of 2011:

Save Bookstores Summer!

DO YOUR BIT...BUY A BOOK

Wednesday, Work Day?

A writer friend of mine maintains an office in a strip center near her Texas home. She has a lovely home with no small children or other obvious distractions to keep her from writing. In my mind I could never justify the expense. Why pay for an office, have to get dressed and leave home to work,  when it is so much easier to sit in your comfy home in cozy jammies and write?

So far this week this week ( a designated "writing-only week") the ice maker  and 2 air conditioners have had unscheduled repairs, one rat caught, touch-up painters arrived brushes in hand, the Blue Air filters were serviced, the local duty free shop manager stopped by asking for advice on her brochure,  and Sani, the gal who helps our house keeper, Rusnati, had a scare with cancer in her breast (that, thankfully, turned out fine.)

--And it’s only Wednesday...

Anyone know of a nice office space for rent?