So we took this little road trip. The girls packed their
own backpacks with a week’s worth of clothing and (prepare to gasp in
horror—at least, that was their reaction when I told them) only two books each.
TWO books. Not twenty-two, which is about how many Jane figured she’d
need for a six-day trip. I reminded her that 1) she was going to be too
busy talktalktalktalk- talking with her bosom buddies to (gasp) do any
reading while we were there and 2) if by some unimaginable chance there
came a lull in the talktalktalking (and swimming and eating and singing
of songs from the Snoopy soundtrack),
she was going to be staying at possibly the only house on the east
coast with MORE BOOKS THAN OURS.
(Actually, that’s not true, and is in fact somewhat of a slander against Alice. Between us, Scott and I have amassed more books than is sane and reasonable for any one person. Alice is both sane and reasonable. She has a lot of books, but not a basement full. But then, a lot of what we have are comp copies of our own books, and it is fairly reasonable to keep those around. Then, too, we have wound up with a lot of freebies. And both of us have kept pretty much every book we ever owned since, um, birth. And then all the stuff I’ve collected for homeschooling. It adds up. However, a massive subtraction will have to occur very soon, because with gas prices what they are there is no way I’m putting all these (beloved, sob!) volumes on a moving truck. And horrors! I hear they don’t have basements in Southern California! Nowhere! It is the Land of Perfect Weather But No Basements! I believe it’s a state law, and that border check Scott had to pass through as he entered California was not, in fact, to screen for illegal aliens but rather to make sure he wasn’t trying to smuggle any basements through in his trunk. They have specially trained German shepherds who can sniff out a basement a mile away. Grrrr…I smell cellar! What do you think this is, New England?)
So. Two books each. When I saw the girls’ choices, I had to laugh.
Sometimes it’s like we’re a parody of ourselves. I do believe I have
blogged about every one of those books at one time or another. For
example, Beanie picked one of her beloved Tintin books—a fine choice for a long ride, I must say. She can’t quite read them yet—Go Dog Go is more her speed—but she loves to pore over the pictures and puzzle out the story. Her other choice was one of Scott’s Disney adaptations, I think.
And Rose chose The Children’s Homer and her tattered, read-to-shreds copy of Adventures of the Greek Heroes. Because no trip is complete without a little Hercules. (Whose little-known thirteenth labor, by the way, was to smuggle a basement into California. Since California as such didn’t even exist in his day, this was quite a feat indeed.)
Who needs books when you can watch the traffic on I-81?
Dump Truck Huck
No, Seriously, I Mean It
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