Happy holidays, my dear chickadees! I hope you’re reading this while you’re snuggled in your new sweater, you have toasty toes in your new socks, and you’re drinking your tea from the cool new mug that Uncle Herbert and Aunt Mildred gave you (so much better than last year’s misspelled mug).
I’m back at work today. They apparently didn’t tell my town that the library’s open, because practically no one is here. It’s honestly quite nice to get back into the groove.
Hanukkah is over, and Mama Claus came through with some excellent gifts. She made gifts in my and Sister A’s names to help digitize the 1816 Emma (and we got tattoos and buttons and stationery) – how cool is that? It’s really exciting to be part of this project. She and Daddio found – and this is a true Hanukkah miracle – DVDs of A Tree Grows in Brooklyn, which has been out of print for. Ever. EVER. One for each of us. We are very excited. It was directed by Elia Kazan, did you know that?
I must say this one, though, is my faaaaaavorite, even though no one gets it (sigh). I had asked for a few books, too, and learned that the easiest way to creep out one’s mother is to ask her to buy you a graphic novel about a serial killer. “Amazon probably now has me on some sort of watch list,” she said.
The things a mother does for her child, huh?
SPOT ON. (Poor Addy, she was always so one-dimensional.)
Edmund Bertram, except for that whole wanna-be-a-preacher thing. He was always so very gallant.
How awesome would it be to be a cruise ship librarian? I am utterly, completely serious.
From Friend D:
I really think the hand-knit (wand-knit?) sweaters should have been ranked higher.
Forgot to ask for this for Hanukkah. Oh well.
A truly good graphic novel is more than just a well-written comic book on thick stock. This looks like it’s going to be one of those.
From Mama Bear:
I always read my own books with a pen in my hand. And I love reading my own annotations years later. You should see my copy of Their Eyes Were Watching God, which I had to read in ninth grade, twice in college, and once in grad school. It’s marked up in many colors, with marginalia in varying degrees of maturity. My copy of Annie John has the word “bitch” in the margins so many times, I can’t even tell you.
In What’s Annabelle Reading, I finished the last of my pile of Lizzie Skurnicks – all the ones that aren’t All-of-a-Kind Family, at least – with And This is Laura, by Ellen Conford, who I had forgotten I loved. (The Jenny Archer books and A Royal Pain, particularly. What girl didn’t want to discover she was secretly a princess? I’m STILL waiting!) Then I read two short-ish memoirs: In the Sanctuary of Outcasts and Cut Me Loose (because I can never resist a memoir by anyone who was once ultra-Orthodox.)
Coming up in my next post: Annabelle’s 2014 Book Year in Review! Don’t miss it!