I’m reading The Cottage at Bantry Bay to Rose, Beanie, and Rilla. Funny to think that in all these years, I’ve never read it aloud. It’s lovely this way: makes me glad I took all those theater classes in college and learned to fake my way through accents. The problem with my Irish brogue is it keeps slipping into a Scottish burr. Back when I was doing lots of readings for the Martha books, I used to listen to an actor’s dialect tape to coach me in the accent. It’s awfully rusty, but it keeps wanting to sneak in when I’m trying to read the Sullivan family.
I hadn’t planned to start this book last week, but one morning Rose said she’d like to learn more about Ireland—she has recently taken up pennywhistle, so Ireland’s in the air, so to speak. We were between read-alouds just then, and sure and wasn’t Bantry Bay looking at me from across the room? Jane read the whole series long ago, but none of the others had tried it. It’s perfect for the rather wide age range we’re spanning—13, nearly 11, and 5 1/2 (oh my)—with that blend of comical domestic adventures and interesting historical detail that I especially enjoy, and enjoy sharing with my kids.
Jane’s busy with a Python programming class she’s taking (Great Campus Academy online, if you’re interested—we give them high marks) and other Jane pursuits. Wonderboy’s new favorite hobby is writing out math problems: things like 3 + Beanie = car.
Huck and I picked peas this afternoon. Well, that’s stretching it a bit—we picked a single pea pod, and he looked at the tiny not-quite-ready peas and pronounced them “sticky,” which is his word for “icky,” I think. So I ate them all myself: sweet, sunwarm, crisp. Little crunches of summer on this blue-gold autumn day.