World Book Encyclopedia

I can still remember when the encyclopedia salesman came to our house to sell us a set.  There were always people knocking on our door. We lived in a neighborhood, and we could see them coming.  This particular salesman said that the World Book Encyclopedia would be  “the window to the world.”  Oh, my God, Mom, did you hear that?  “the window to the world?” I was salivating.

I just had to have these books in our house.

 I begged my mom to buy a set. Oh my God, it would be like having the National Geographic in volumes. I couldn’t stand it. I was almost beside myself, waiting for them to be delivered.

When our World Book Encyclopedias arrived, my mom put them in our antique barrister bookcase.

They looked so nice in there. I realize that I sound like a nerd. I was a hyper nerd. My mom was a little bit nervous, spending a lot of money on books, but after all, the window to the whole world would be opening up. I would gain so much useless information it would not even be funny. I was ready.

When the encyclopedias arrived, we broke open the box and took out each encyclopedia in ABC order and my mom put it in the bookcase. She wanted to make sure they were all there before we started looking through them. Hell, she was no fun. So, I sat there while I watched each book take its place on the shelf. I must have sang the ABC song to myself 26 times. I don’t know why I did that. I was just a weird kid. Finally, the Z was in the shelf, and I grabbed the big A book.

The world did open up, just like the slick salesman said it would. I learned about anteaters and aardvarks and Argentina. How would I remember all of this information? I was on system overload, and I hadn’t opened up the B book yet. I was so happy. My mom was happiest of all because I could see her sitting on her corner of the couch smoking a Salem cigarette with the dog on her lap. She was going to have some quiet moments in the Mendenhall household while her three kids were opening windows to the world.

She told me much later that the box had arrived several days earlier, and she hid it in the front closet. She waited until it was a rainy day to announce that the encyclopedias had arrived. I mean, why give kids the books when they could be outside playing.

Damn, she was smart.

 

 

Two Books and Seven Pounds Later

I just cranked out my second book. I finished my first book on July 7 and have been working on this one ever since. I didn’t get to go to the beach this summer, so I concentrated on my writing.  This book is up for sale as an ebook on Amazon also.

I have always been a fool for play on words Halloween costume ideas.  Some of you may remember my Halloween posts every October in which I share more costume ideas. I bought an idiom two weeks ago and have been highlighting those idioms that I could turn into Halloween ideas. I uploaded the damn book before I realized that I hadn’t even added the ones I found in the idiom book. Live and learn.

2 Bee or not 2 Bee: 430 Puntastic Halloween Costume Ideas

 Anyway, if you plan to attend a Halloween party or wear a costume to work or school, this book has something for everyone. Check it out. And I am going to have to start visting my gym again. I’ve been writing non stop and doing not much else.

I hate my bathroom scales.

Que Hora Es? Es La Una!

I learned Spanish when I was in first through third grades. It’s always fun to throw in a new language when you are still trying to figure out what the hell a vowel and a consonant are in English. Honestly, though, the earlier you learn a foreign language, the longer it sticks in your head.  I learned Espanol when I was incarcerated in my early grades at the Immaculate Conception Mary Mary Quite Contrary Academy.

I have mentioned over and over how much I hated attending that private school. I will never forget my first day of school and coming face to face with Sister Dominica. In my book, Jumping in Mud Puddles (shameless plug), I lovingly describe Sister Donkey:

“…so I opened the door and stepped outside. I must have walked back and forth the length of the car twenty or twenty-one times before that bus pulled up. Shit. Are you kidding me?  It wasn’t a bus at all. It was an ugly blue van. And when that ugly blue pretend bus pulled up that first day of school and opened its door, out jumped a freaking nun. A nun was driving the pretend bus! She introduced herself as Sister Dominica, and she was the bus driver and a teacher at the Blessed Baby Jesus and Mary Conception Academy.

   “I had never seen a nun before in real life. My mom tried to explain where I was going and who I would have for my teachers, but I couldn’t get past the fact I couldn’t see this Sister Dominica’s hair. Did she have hair? If she had hair, what color was it? Was that cardboardy white thing pinching her underneath her chin? I reluctantly got into the van and waved goodbye to my mother from my seat. She was standing there with her hand over her mouth. Shit. Thanks, Mom. This was not going to be good.”

And it wasn’t good. I think I was the only one who wasn’t brainwashed. The other kids seemed really happy to be there. Dear God, I was in Stepford. That’s the only explanation for this parade of smiles and unicorns I could come up with. The only thing I liked about the whole damn experience was the time I sat in Spanish class. Of course, Oompah Loompah Sister Dominica was the teacher, but her whole “I’m a bitch nun, don’t even piss me off” persona was left at the door when she taught Spanish. It was so much fun.

We were in school for a few weeks before we were told we would also be learning Spanish. I was going to love this. Ok, there is one tiny thing I didn’t like about Spanish class. On the first day of school, Sister Dominica pulled down a map of South America and pointed with a long stick, which I think was a yardstick instead of one of those white sticks real teachers use. She told us all about her coming all the way from……Peru? (I don’t know, I wasn’t listening) and how she learned to speak English just like we were now learning Spanish. I had a question.

“Vickie, no, the capital of Peru is pronounced LEE MAH………Yes it is……………..Yes it is………..Vickie, I can tell you for a fact that it is pronounced like that. I lived there for many years……..No, it is not where lima beans come from because it is not the same thing…………..Because it is not…………………It’s LEE MAH, Vickie…………………….That’s enough. Please quit asking questions.”

Well, hell, aren’t you supposed to ask questions in school? Sure, I could sit there like Hansel, the kid who wore suspenders every day. He was dead. He never moved. He looked straight ahead and that was about it. I threw a piece of rolled up paper at him one time, and the damn kid never flinched. Someone should take his pulse. If I had my mom’s bright pink lipstick, I would have put lipstick on him. How fun that would have been. But, anyway, I thought my LEE MAH/Lima question was pertinent. Sister Dominica had the patience of a saint. Oh wait. They are patient. She was no saint.

Sister Dominica pulled the map down on the second day of spanish class and reminded us about her being from South America and asked us what country she was from. Duh. But, oh my god, Hansel raised is hand. I almost fell out of my freaking chair.

“You are from Peru.”   Hansel was alive!  Dear god I had witnessed a miracle! It was like Kathryn Kuhlman, American faith healer and evangelist, had just performed one of her healings. “Heal!”  My mouth dropped open. Thank god he didn’t answer that question while wearing pink lipstick. I just smiled at him. I was going to make him my best school friend. I’d have to find out some day what his real name was. I was so glad he was alive.

Sister Dominica brought down that damn map of South American almost every day of the week. Ok, we get it, Senorita Dominica. Let’s learn some more words. And we did. We first were given spanish names. I didn’t really understand this part, but I went along with it. People were picking great spanish names like Pedro, Paco, Chico, and Miguel for the boys. The girls were choosing Anita, Benita, Bonita, and Lupita. I was seeing a pattern emerging with the names for the girls ending with -ita. Mine was going to end that way also.

“Your turn, Vickie. What is going to be your spanish name for the year?……………..No, you can’t have Vickita……….No, that is not even a name………….No, it is not………………….No, it is not……………….Do you know of one person whose name is Vickita?…………………..No, that is a Chiquita banana, not Vickita…………………….Ok, if you can’t choose one on your own, I will give you one. Your new name is Rosita.”

And with that remark, she wrote it down in her book and I was pissed. I mean, like shoot red lazers out of my eyes pissed. I was goddamn Rosita from LEE MAH.

Ok, so the map and my name and having Sister Donkey as my teacher were the only thing I hated about spanish class. The rest was just awesome. I learned to count in spanish: uno dos tres cuatro cinco seis siesta ocho nueve diez. Sister Dominica always corrected me with numbero 7, but I wanted to be a comedian and say siesta instead of siete. She had enough of me. But, guess what? Hansel/aka Paco laughed out loud. Oh yes, Paco was my new best school friend.

Pretty soon I was speaking fluent spanish. Ok, I wasn’t, but I thought I was. I was learning new words every day:

perro- dog

gato- cat

por favor- please

gracias- thank you

bueno- good

stupido-stupid

Aprende a conducir aweonao!!- Learn to drive asshole!

Baboso-retard

Kieta el stupido elephante- Shut up you stupid elephant

Tu eres más feo que el culo de un mono- You are uglier than the butt of a monkey

Tirate a un poso- throw yourself in a hole

and my favorite,  Las monjas no se puede enseñar- Nuns can’t teach.

Ok, so I may have just learned colors and numbers and places on my body that first year of spanish. But, it was fun.

And years later, I still know that Lima (LEE MAH) is the capital of Peru…..home of sister Donkey. AND, I just found out that lima beans really did come from Peru. So, who is the smart one, now, Sister Dominica? Not you. So, next time you have LEE MAH beans, pronounce them as they were intended to be pronounced. And you will be looking like the smart one. Really.

  Aargh, I’m a pirate.

Free Book Today

My literary debut, Jumping in Mud Puddles  is free for download today, Thursday, July 12, through Amazon. If you don’t have a Kindle, don’t worry. It can be downloaded to your iPad, iPhone or even your computer. There is a quick and painless download from Amazon. I bought a Kindle last week before I knew you could even do this.

Jumping in Mud Puddles is a book of stories that I have taken from my blog of the same name. I have added and tweaked my posts into 44 chapters.

Here is the book description:

“Raise your hand if you-

1) Have ever been chased by a nun.

 2) Have been stung by a bee because it was injured and you tried to hug it and then you went into anaphylactic shock because the damn thing stung you on the cheek and you had to be rushed to the hospital (The bee didn’t make it).

3) Have ever made a tent caterpillar/dandelion meal in your cabin in the woods and have fed it to unsuspecting neighbor children.

 4) Were slipped a mild tranquilizer and was told it was a car sick pill……for years.

 5) Have killed the Boogeyman after lying in wait for it/him under your bed.

 6) Have peed your pants from laughing because a monkey has stepped onto your best friend’s head and the best friend doesn’t know what is on her head.

 7) Have puked on the school bus and all the kids had to raise their feet while the bus was going up hills.

If you have not been able to raise your hand for any of these normal every day experiences, you are invited to join Vickie as she revisits her childhood during the fifties, sixties, and early seventies. Visit the private Catholic school where she was sent because she flunked an early entrance exam. Sister Potato Head is waiting to stick you into the low reading group, “The Slow Sloths.” Follow Vickie as she takes you for a walk around the best neighborhood in Weirton, West Virginia. Don’t eat anything she tries to feed you in her cabin in the woods, however, especially if she is giggling as she hands it to you, but yet promises it doesn’t contain “real” things.

Jumping in Mud Puddles is a witty self-deprecating memoir with stories that will either make you smile because it reminds you of your own childhood or it will make you laugh because you are glad you weren’t a picky, hyper, big fat liar like Vickie.
And for the record, the cursing throughout the book is a really bad habit that grown-up Vickie acquired while teaching fourth grade. I mean, she doesn’t curse in front of the class…..yet. She apologizes for her potty mouth and hopes that you will see that she is just a grown up version of that skinny child of the sixties. Well, you can leave out the skinny part.”

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Thanks! If you feel so inclined to give me a review after you finished reading my little book that would be great, or tag and like me. If not, again, the download is free just today.

Enjoy!

I Just Wrote a Damn Book

I am beside myself. My book, Jumping in Mud Puddles, just went live on Amazon.  This is my literary debut, so I really don’t know what the hell I am doing. I do want to mention to anyone who is thinking about going the ebook route that the formatting is very easy. I mean, I did it, and I can’t find my way out of a sack. I even made my own cover because I am too tight to pay someone else to do it.

  So, I guess I should know what I am supposed to do now, but I don’t.  My book is just sitting there among the thousands of other books.  I just left it there and went for a chocolate ice cream cone. Oh, hell, that was a lie. There was no way I was going out of the house today. It is 102 here in West Virginia. Anyway, I feel like I did when I drove my kids to college for the first time. I dropped them off and left them. I’ve nurtured this book for a very long time now and now I’m done.

   So, my blogging friends, if you get the chance, go take a look see at my literary debut. Wow, I’m a real bonafide author sort of maybe. And If you are feeling generous, leave me a thumbs up or a review. And then more people will say to themselves, “Hey, people are reading this little book. Maybe I should, too.” I’m sure that’s what they would say.

  I guess I should mention what my books is about for all of you who may stumble upon this post. My book is a memoir about my childhood and how I was just a little bit off center. Most of my blog posts are in the book, changed or tweaked in one way or another. The book has 44 chapters and I curse a lot, which I really don’t mean to do, but those damn nuns that I write about are to blame. They really are.

  Anyway, like I said, I don’t know what I am supposed to do right now. I guess I should walk around the place and see what other “authors” are doing to promote their book. I’d rather just sit and take a deep breath, and rest a while. It’s just too damn hot.

Update: It’s the morning after publishing, and I made a top 100 list already! Yehaw!  #70 in Kindle Store-ebooks-Humor-Essays.  And, the book is on the Humor-Essay page as a “Hot New Release.”  I don’t know how long it will stay there, but I’m a happy camper.

The Writing Bug

Well, school is out and I have decided to work all summer on writing my first book, Jumping in Mud Puddles: A Memoir of a Picky, Hyper Big Fat Liar.

Something like this but not really

I have wanted to write a book ever since I first picked up a pen and wrote Ma and Pa Kettle stories a few weeks ago. Ok, kidding. I wrote all of the time when I was little. I’m pissed off at my mom that she didn’t realize that she was living with an Ernestine Hemingway at the time, as she never saved any of my creations.

I was forced to go to a private school when I was in first grade because I was stupid and didn’t pass the early entrance exam. I missed the November 1 cut off by several days. My mom wanted me to go to school, so I had to endure a few years of Sister Maria, that evil nun with sensible shoes. In third grade, I started writing stories about Sister Maria and wrote in a composition book. I don’t think it was a work of fiction. I think I may have been spying on her. I don’t remember specifics, but I have the book somewhere. I just don’t know where the somewhere is right now. But, she inspired the writer in me. I wrote about Ma and Pa after I was able to leave that horrid little convent school.

When I was in seventh grade, we had to bring in a simple fact every Friday in Science class: Facts on Friday.  I think that’s what it is called.  Miss Caldwell would go around the room and we had to read our fact. Most of the time we would just cut out the little filler facts from our hometown newspaper, the Weirton Daily Times. For example, one Friday I might bring in-

“Roger Smith, a carpenter from Dayton, Ohio, was struck by lightning three times at the same spot.”

Something like that.  Ripley’s Believe It Or Not  also had great facts that were slightly bizarre. So, after a few Fridays, my bestest friend Ramaine and I would sit down and make up our own facts. They were “retarded,” our favorite word in the late sixties/early seventies. We may have changed the above fact to read:

“Roger Smith, an electrician from Bombay, India, was struck by lightning at the same time he was turning on a light bulb three different times and lived to tell about it. The electricity was captured in his stomach and he now glows. He no long needs a light bulb.”

Our Friday facts became so popular that we became Friday fact writers. It was like our first writing job. Everyone wanted our facts or maybe we just passed them out on pieces of paper and the kids read them. We would crack up at some of them because they were just soo out there. I remember my weirdest one:

“In Bombay, India, two caterpillars. walking  towards each other from opposite directions, met and crawled up each other and turned into a flower.”

I don’t know why we did this one, but there was a kid in our class named Joe, who we ended up writing about in most of our facts. He was a quiet kid who loved our facts, so we asked him if he would like to be in one of them, and it then sort of snowballed and turned into Facts on Friday with Joe or something like that:

“A woman in Bombay, India (we liked India and China facts for some reason) had twenty children in twenty years. Joe, the youngest, was retarded.”

Ok, remember it was around 1969 when I was in seventh grade. No one was politically correct back then. Anyway, we had a blast and continued to write strange facts. It just recently dawned on me  that Miss Caldwell never called us out on those ridiculous facts because she wasn’t paying any attention. She was using that as a planning period, I just betcha.

I continued to write as I got older and was a feature writer for the Babbling Brooke, that riveting high school newspaper that grew in membership when both Ramaine and I jumped on board. Ok, maybe everyone in the school got the paper free, but you know, we made it worth reading.

I wrote an unflattering poem about Donny Osmond one time and we would make up horoscopes that were hysterical. Well, they were hysterical to us:

Scorpio- This will be the worst week of your life. Stay indoors and don’t drink the water. 

Taurus- This will be the best week of your life. Go outdoors and drink lots of water.

Other times we would write a tv listing of the shows that were going to be on that week. The following is just something I made up right now, but similar to the “retarded” things we would write:

“The Brady Bunch Friday-8:00p.m.-Carole Brady decides to get her hair cut and lets her daughter, Cindy, cut it with pretend scissors. Carole is now wearing an ugly, shaggy hairstyle and Mr. Brady won’t sleep with her.”

  One of the best times I had in high school was in typing class. Ramaine was in the class with me, so you know it can’t be just a normal typing class. We would arrive every morning, take the covers off of our typewriters, and start typing whatever assignment was on the board. Well, that is fine and dandy, but makes for a boring class. So, Ramaine and I began typing notes and would get to class early and put them under the covers of specific “victims.” One may have read, “Watch out. This typewriter is watching you.”  Oh, the fun we would have. Sometimes we would put them under our covers so no one would suspect us. High school was just so awesome.

In college, I started writing ala Sylvia Plath- just- kill- me- now- poetry after my boyfriend, Rick, and I broke up. I still have those poems and they are actually quite good. I mean, if you want to die because life just sucks.

I was a Speech and Drama major and English minor, so I was still writing and acting and pretending to act throughout college. After I married and had children, I continued to write. I mostly researched a lot for a book of names I wanted to write. Not just any baby name book, but I would scour newspaper obituaries for old names, like Zella, or Bathsheba, or Candy and started collecting first names. I had more than 40,000 names. This is about the time I started drinking. Ok, kidding, not a drinker. But, I still have that mound of names somewhere. I know where that somewhere is. Maybe someday…

So, here I am, in my mid-fifties and I’m going to write a book. I’m not going to hunt for a literary agent and publisher.  No, I’m going to take the short route and write an ebook and put it on Amazon for Kindle. I hope all of you will want to download it when it is finished. I really don’t care if I make money. I just want to one-up my ex husband. He just married a really pretty younger woman and all I have is a bad hair style and a 16 year old cat. So, I’m going for a best-seller and fame since I would rather put a needle in my eye before getting married again. Well, I would change my mind if Tim Matheson, my all time dream man would buy my book and then ask me to marry him. You all remember Tim from Animal House and the West Wing, right? Well, I love him. I really do.

The writing is shaky because he signed his picture for me on a subway in NYC. Or I am lying.

I have given myself until August 1 to finish the book and hope to have it on Amazon by September 1….of this year. I will do it. I will.

Wish me luck!

April Fool’s Day, Fool

When I was little, I used to play April Fool’s Day pranks on my family.  They would range from the little “Mom, come quick!! There’s a huge spider in the baththub!” to more elaborate jokes as I got older. I would then hear the same damn story from my mom every year. She was such a kill joy.

“Vickie, did you ever hear the story of The Boy Who Cried Wolf?” 

And then she would proceed to tell me, every freaking year, the story about how a stupid shepherd boy cried “Wolf” too many times and when a wolf really did appear, no one would believe him. And the wolf ate up the whole flock of sheep. I only had one question for my mom….every year.

“Why didn’t the wolf eat the boy?”

That’s when I would get sent to my room. I cry foul, though. I thought that was a very good question. Okay. Say a little shepherd boy is sitting against a tree, watching sheep. Up creeps a wolf.  Shouldn’t the wolf attack the kid first? And this was my reasoning. Sheep have a lot of fur and if the wolf would try to eat it, there would be a lot of fur in its mouth. But, eating a boy would be easy. No fur, just right to the body. I knew that when I was young. But, then again, maybe wolves don’t think humans are tasty. I really didn’t know. Or care. I was just pulling an April Fool’s joke, dammit.

My mom would also question me about the moral of the story. I didn’t know what a “moral” was when I was very young. I did hear the word a lot at the stupid private school I went to. Sister Maria at the Sacred Heart of Mary Mary Quite Contrary Academy was always using that word. I didn’t ask her what it meant either. If it was a vocabulary word, I would have taken the time to know its meaning. But, right now, I was just trying to get my mom off of her butt to come look at a fake spider on April Fool’s Day.

“So, Vickie, what is the moral of the story?”  Oh great. Here we go again. I’m was in fourth grade by now, and still had no idea.

Stare…..Stare……shrugs shoulders…………”It’s about a boy who takes care of sheep.”

“But, what is the moral of the story?”

Shit. I don’t know. “I don’t know what that means.” Finally, I said it.

“You don’t know what a “moral” is?”  My mom’s eyes got big behind her big glasses. “I have asked you every year and you are just now telling me you don’t know what a “moral” is? A “moral”  is when there is a lesson to be learned from the story. A goodness or a badness.”

Goodness or badness? Um okay. Like watching those stupid clay people, Davey and Goliath on Sunday mornings when we didn’t go to church.

“So, Vickie, what is the moral of The Boy Who Cried Wolf?”  She was like a damn teacher. All she needed was a ruler to crack me across my knuckles.

pause

pause

“That children shouldn’t watch sheep.”

“Go to your room!!”

 Now, you have to understand that I wasn’t the sharpest knife in the drawer by no means. But, children really had no business watching sheep. They should be in school, learning what the hell a “moral” was. And, I might add that I watched Road Runner and knew that kids NEVER watched sheep. Sam the sheepdog did.

I finally wised up and decided to just concentrate on my siblings or my father on future April Fool’s Day. I was tired of hearing the damn boy crying wolf story to last me a lifetime.

Until this past week. I have a liar in my fourth grade class. He lies about everything and I catch him every time. A known liar knows another liar when she sees one.

But, I brought out my mom’s arsenal…big sigh.

“Ralph, (not his real name. Protecting the real kid from his stupidity) did you ever hear the story about The Boy Who Cried Wolf?”

Shit. I have become my mother.

Looks like the joke is on me.

Reading is Eating Up My Blogging Time

I was an avid reader when I was younger. I always knew what that crazy Nancy Drew was up to. I knew the Ringmaster’s Secret. I knew where the Hidden Staircase was hiding.  I knew that showboat was haunted. Yep, I read all of the books. I was a huge fan.

And sure, I read Dr. Seuss, but I was years beyond his silliness. Ok, I did fall for One Fish Two Fish Red Fish Blue Fish and I stared a little bit too much at the dog party in the tree in my favorite, Go, Dog, Go, but I really felt a bond with Nancy. In fact, I felt like I could be Nancy. Except that I would have never worn a skirt while solving a mystery. I would have been all about pedal pushers and sneakers.

Fast forward many years and I was still able to keep up with my reading, even after I had my two children. Of course, then I was a huge Dean Koontz fan. His early book, Whispers, will always be my favorite Dean Koontz book. I also read a lot by John Saul. But, my reading time was diminishing. It was no one’s fault but my own. Al Gore had just invented the internet, you know, and I had surfing to do. I surfed the world wide web. And down went the book.

Bad Vickie. I never did sit and read Great Expectations again. Oh, how I love Miss Havisham. I purchased The American Tragedy last summer because I loved the movie version, A Place in the Sun, with Montgomery Cliff and Elizabeth Taylor. East of Eden and Battle Hymn of the Tiger Mother are still staring at me from my nightstand. They realize it is never going to happen. Afterall, I then discovered Facebook and Farmtown. Farmville. Something on a farm.

And it was never going to happen once I discovered blogging. WordPress is really to blame for my inexcusable lack of reading. If I wasn’t writing, I was reading other blogger’s blogs. I was then commenting on them. Soon I decided, “Hell, I want to write my own book.” I was a frenzied writer. I found that I love to write. I don’t know if I am a good writer. I cringe when I notice that I have left out commas or spelled “threw” for “through.” Not professional, Vickster. But, just put me in a cabin in the woods with a typewriter and some paper  laptop and my username and password, and I could just write all damn day long. But, I guess I have to earn a living, so a fourth grade teacher I shall be.

But, something got me back to take another look at books.

No, it wasn’t the new-fangled Kindle Fire. That may get to me to read again. It didn’t.

No, I didn’t fall for the Harry Potter or Twilight books. I hated Eat, Breathe, and Die or whatever it was called. The movie version starred Julia Roberts. I saw the movie and hated it. You know that woman got an advance to write the book before she even took the journey to find herself, right? She surely laughed all the way to the bank.

No, it was Hunger Games.

I don’t know why it was Hunger Games that made me head to the couch, curl up with a lightweight throw on my lap, and settle in for the evening. Ahhhhhh, a good book. I felt like I was home. Oh, sure I was home, but I felt so satisfied, so complete, so intelligent. I was reading again. Yeehaw!

But, wait. I am torn. My lost love of reading has been reborn. But, alas, what the hell is to become of my blogging? I plan on reading all three of the Hunger Game books in the next week. I can’t put the first one down. Well, I did, just to write to all of you a farewell of sorts, until this reading foolishness subsides.

Yes, blog buddies, I am not going to blog again for a week or so. I want to read. And read I must. And I can’t do both. That would feel like cheating.

So, I bid adieu to all my old and new blogging friends as I need but a brief respite….so I can read. After all, I want to go see the Hunger Games movie this weekend, so I must get a move on. All of my teacher friends at school have already read all three books and are getting tired of not being able to talk about it. I need to catch up before they bust at the seams.

I bought the book yesterday and am on Chapter 11 right now. I am hooked.

Well, time is up. I gave myself fifteen minutes to write this. Times a tickin. My book is calling out to me.

My best to you and I will see you in a week’s time.

Love,

Nancy Drew

 

Favorite Books of My Youth

When I was little, I loved to read.  I would mostly read at night, because I just couldn’t sleep. Mexican jumping beans don’t need much sleep. It probably didn’t help that my mom put me to bed as soon as it got dark. We took our baths earlier than any of the other kids in the neighborhood. As soon as the sun was setting, the Mendenhall kids were in the tub. She really liked it when there was a total eclipse. Off to bed we went. Ok, I’m lying about that, but she probably thought about it.

 I shared my bedroom with my sister, who was a nightmare. She had temper tantrums that would make Mike Tyson seem like a marshmallow. But, she fell asleep fast. So, that’s when I would turn on my lamp and read away.

I’d have to say that when I was very young, my favorite books were Go, Dog. Go!  and One Fish Two Fish Red Fish Blue Fish. I liked books that had pictures with detail. I could stare at those pictures for hours.

1.  Go, Dog. Go!  was a book about dogs having a great time. Dogs knew how to have a party. I stared at each page for a long time before going to the next. There were two pages that I studied intently.

One was of an emormous bed with many dogs. One dog had his eyes wide open.

I found this to be the coolest picture ever. I always worried about the dogs under the bed and on the floor. They couldn’t possibly be comfortable. I thought the blue color was great. I loved the detail. The other picture I liked in the book was the dog party. Everyone got to go to this party…in a tree. Which is weird. Now that I think about it, I’m wondering what the author had in his coffee cup.

But, it was a great book with a great lesson. Everyone should be able to climb a tree and have a party. It doesn’t matter if you are a yellow dog or a blue dog.  Big dogs and little dogs…They all got along.

This was my favorite page of all. I don’t know why, but it still makes me laugh.

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2. One Fish Two Fish Red Fish Blue Fish

 I’m sorry, but Dr. Seuss was a weird bird. But, so was I, so I loved this book. I think my mom had to go out and buy a second book, as I looked through this book so much, it fell apart.

Ok, this page scared me. But, and there is always a “but” with me, on the other hand, I really wanted to find a Clark to bring home. What disturbed me when I became a mother and read this to my kids is the fact that they found Clark….in a park…..in the DARK.  So, the mother here let the kids go monster hunting in the park, in the dark, with no adult supervision. Well, you shouldn’t go monster hunting anyway if you are a kid, but that goes without saying. I’m thinking the mom deserved to get the hell scared out of her.

Stealing a quote from the great movie, Jaws, and mutilating it….”We’re gonna need a bigger bottle.”

This one just pissed me off. Yes, some were just bad. But why?  “I do not know. Go ask your Dad.”  So I did. He pointed to him and said  “He’s a communist.

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3.  Nancy Drew- As I got older, I put my Dr. Seuss books away, and took up the Nancy Drew books. I loved reading her adventures. I had a lot of the books. I only have four, because my mom gave away all of my books and toys to the church when I was in high school. Came home one day and everything that was packed away was gone. I’m still mad about this. Anywho, I had some favorite stories:

    

    

   I loved the inside cover of the books. I would circle all of the books that I owned. That really made me feel like I was something special. And it was also to show my mom which ones I did not have. Whenever I finished a book, there was always one waiting for me. My mom said  because I had such a short attention span, it was great to see me staying on task with something. Oh, please. I read these at bedtime. First she wanted me to quit reading and get some sleep, then she was force feeding me books to keep me awake. Make a decision, you loon.

I really don’t remember how many Nancy Drew books I have read. But, they were all good and a part of my childhood I will always remember.

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4. Snow Treasure- I don’t remember how old I was when I read this book. I believe that it was my brother’s book first, and then I took ownership of it. It did seem like a book a boy would enjoy. I loved this book. It made my heart pound though. An action packed movie on pages.

 

    I believe my mom bought this from school from scholastic. Their summary is great, so I will borrow it to share with you.

“In 1940, the German army invades Norway and 12-year-old Peter Lundstrom’s life is changed forever. His father is the local banker and his Uncle Victor is captain of a sea-worthy fishing boat. They, along with the other leaders of their community, conspire to aid Norway by smuggling over nine million dollars worth of the country’s gold bullion to America, where it will be safely kept out of the hands of the German army. But first they must get the gold from the town bank down the snow-covered mountainside to the fjord (a narrow inlet of the sea) below where Victor’s fishing boat awaits its valuable cargo. It is up to Peter and the other children of the town to take to their sleds and sneak the gold brick-by-brick past German sentries.

Snow Treasure is based on events that were said to have actually taken place during World War II. The book includes a brief account of a Norwegian freighter that arrived in Baltimore in 1940 with a cargo of gold bullion, reputedly smuggled past the Germans by children on their sleds. From this rumor, Mary McSwigan tells a riveting tale of adventure and courage that gives young readers a taste of life inside the Artic circle, and simultaneously teaches an exciting history lesson.”

It was a great book. I guess I could go on and on because I read so much when I was little, but these were the ones that I really enjoyed. Others I remember off the top of my head were Charlotte’s Web,  Little Women, and  Patches, (Which I can not find).

 When I had children, I really enjoyed reading Cricket in Times Square, The Indian in the Cupboard, Ralph the Mouse, and The Secret Garden. I really enjoyed reading my kid’s books.

Nowadays, I read Dean Koontz. I finally found An American Tragedy, based on the Elizabeth Taylor/Montgomery Clift movie, A Place in the Sun. I have S*it My Dad Says on my coffee table and just purchased a book called You Might Be a Zombie, as a friend informed me that “YOU of all people need to read this book.” Seems that he thought of me and his drunk buddies while reading this book. ???? I guess when they are sober, I’m just in a class all by myself, aren’t I?

I’m reading that book now. It IS  a Vickie book. You guys should read it.