The Queen said
“Oh!”
And went to his Majesty:
“Talking of the butter for
The royal slice of bread,
Many people
Think that
Marmalade
Is nicer.
Would you like to try a little
Marmalade
Instead?”
— A. A. Milne

Many people think of A.A. Milne, if they know his name at all, as the creator of Winnie the Pooh, and, while I love that silly old bear, and will probably talk about him later today, it’s Milne’s poetry that hooked me on him when I was really young.

“Marmalade” (which is really called “The King’s Breakfast”) is my favorite, not just because it’s a great rhyming story, but also because some words are inherently fun to say, and “marmalade” is one of them. Don’t believe me? Say it, and tell me you don’t start to smile.

When I was in high school (yes, high school) I volunteered for a literacy group. Among other things we shared favorite children’s books, but we also read books to little kids, and this poem was a favorite of mine, and theirs, because there is a pattern in the dialogue, and kids pick up patterns really well.

Of course, there is an inherent problem in posting about toast, bread, and marmalade twice before having breakfast: I’m now very hungry.

An aside, especially to those reading via OD or LJ: I’m going to be shifting to MoBlog mode for the next few hours while I’m at my froufrou salon having my roots re-done. (The Color that Shall Not be Named is perilously close to making an appearance, and MUST BE STOPPED). I’m fairly certain AudioBlog (now HipCast) doesn’t parse correctly through RSS, so you’ll have to go to to MissMeliss.com to follow along.

And a note to Elegy, who is my monitor today: This post is a few minutes early because I need to throw clothes on and drive half an hour up the road. Next one will be (hopefully) from the salon, or just outside it.

Did you ever hear of Mickey,
how he heard a racket in the night and shouted, “Quiet down there!”
–Maurice Sendak

My grandfather was a man of many hobbies, including bread making. I remember playing with his copper and steel dough mixer, this deep tub with a crank and floured sides, the pre-cursor to any kind of bread machine. I remember his raisin bread with the perfect golden brown crusts, and the mix of black and yellow raisins, and I remember experimenting with sourdough, til we’d come up with the perfect starter, bubbling away on the shelf above the dishwasher.

I also remember him reading to me, and one of the books we shared was In the Night Kitchen, by Maurice Sendak. It’s this great picture book about a boy named Mickey who hears a racket in the kitchen of the building he lives in, and goes to investigate and demand silence.

In the process he falls into the dough for the morning baking, and is baked into a sort of bread plane, and proceeds to soar around the kitchen. This image is central to the book, the iconic image, just as the toothy monster is the key image from one of Sendak’s other popular works, Where the Wild Things Are.

I remember being afraid to go to sleep lest I, too, be turned into bread and I also remember thinking it would be kind of cool, but really? The coolest thing about this book, other than it’s imaginative plot and fabulous artwork, is that I would read it while sitting on my grandfather’s lap, and sharing a slice of homemade raisin toast.

I HAVE a little shadow that goes in and out with me,
And what can be the use of him is more than I can see.
He is very, very like me from the heels up to the head;
And I see him jump before me, when I jump into my bed.
— Robert Louis Stevenson

I grew up in a Seuss-free household, but that didn’t mean growing up without rhyme. Rhyme engages your brain, it’s sing-songy, and innocent, and makes words into a game. I love rhyme. But I’ve never been fond of Dr. Seuss, I think because by the time I was introduced to him, I was already beyond that level of reading.

Instead, I grew up with a collection of poems by Robert Louis Stevenson. Better known for his novel Treasure Island, and more British than British can be in tone, his poems made me feel like I really was flying in a swing, or playing with toy soldiers on the bed, or, in this case, reciting an ode to my shadow.

In any case some of my fondest memories involve reciting Stevenson’s work with my grandmother, laughing if we made mistakes, and feeling smug and somehow accomplished if we did not.

One morning, very early, before the sun was up,
I rose and found the shining dew on every buttercup;
But my lazy little shadow, like an arrant sleepy-head,
Had stayed at home behind me and was fast asleep in bed.

I hadn’t intended to make my first Blogathon post from the bathroom, but when Nature calls it’s not always at the most opportune moments. And yet, it’s oddly appropriate. I mean, I come from a family of bathroom readers. In the tub, on the pot – location wasn’t relevant so long as there was something to read.

One of my most frequent childhood memories is of someone shouting, “Put the book down, I need to go, TOO,” and really, I think this is why I live in a house with 2.5 bathrooms – one for me, one for Fuzzy, and one for guests – the latter doesn’t come stocked with reading material, though.

So, here I sit. I dragged in a snack tray, which required the moving of a stack of mostly-finished novels, and the frightening away of two small dogs. I’ve got a loose theme in mind for the next 48 posts – 48 because it’s one per half hour PLUS a final on-the-hour post. People always forget that last one – I’ll be talking a lot about books I’ve read, how they impacted me, what my perennial favorites are. I’ve been a book geek for as long as I can remember, after all.

Of course, my theme ties in nicely with my chosen charity First Book.

And so, we begin, with me reminding all of you to please sponsor me, and inviting you to take my reading survey (it’s linked in the sidebar here at MissMeliss.com).

Thank you, and happy reading.

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That’s what’s on the menu tonight. Fuzzy’s still en route back home – his plane was delayed for no apparent reason. I told him that’s the risk you run when flying AirTrans. He grumbled.

I should make something to eat, and feed the dogs, but I’m suddenly really tired. Eight hours to blogathon. I’m really excited about it this year.

…to check out some really cool musical parody.

(Clicky on the piccy)

(Alt link: http://www.myspace.com/moronlifemusic )

Do you remember your first book? Whether it was read to you by a loving parent who held you on his or her lap, or with a patient teacher helping you sound out the words one at a time, at some point you probably made the connection that those funny typewritten symbols were the key to an entire world of imagination, a land where every story was a new adventure that you could experience as many times as you felt like turning the pages and looking at the pictures.

Wouldn’t you love to help a child visit the land of reading, and get hooked on words and images and possibilities?

Here’s how you can:
Tomorrow, Saturday July 29th, I’m participating in a BLOGATHON. Beginning at 8 AM, I’ll be posting to my blog at MissMeliss.com every half an hour for 24 hours, in an attempt to raise money for First Book, an organization that gives new first books to children in low-income families, getting them involved not just in reading, but also in the special pride that comes with owning books. (They do more than this, of course, including helping to restock the shelves of the public libraries in New Orleans after Katrina.)

If you’d like to plege on my behalf – and I hope you will, because even $5 will help significantly – please go to this sponsorship link. You’ll be asked to register with your name and email address, but you can choose to be anonymous if you don’t want your name all over the web. In
addition, you will receive about three email messages from the folks at blogathon.org. The first will be a pledge verification – that one’s crucial. The second will be a general info email. The third, which will happen post-blogathon, will tell you where to go to actually pay your pledge. Your name and email will not be sold. After the Blogathon, you will make your donation directly to the organization your blogger sponsored, and no blogger ever sees or touches a single cent, or any credit card information. If you
can’t pledge at this time, consider forwarding this email to five friends, or, if you have a blog or website of your own, please link to me, and mention my blogathon.

While we’re not allowed to pre-write, I’ve had friends and family taking my reading survey for a few weeks now (if you haven’t participated, and would like to, go here. I’m drawing
inspiration for my 49 required posts from the survey results and my own favorite childhood books, as well as from whatever’s going on around me during the day, and I’d love for you to be involved. (Also, consider popping onto Yahoo IM, AIM, MSN Messenger or ICQ to chat with me during the Blogathon. Interacting with others helps me stay awake.)

Thank you in advance for your support.

Last year, on the day I submitted an entry to the summer essay contest over at Toasted Cheese, a large argiope spider took up residence in our garden. While I am generally the kind of person who shrieks in terror and calls her husband to come out with a large flat object whenever arachnids appear, this one seemed special – almost pretty, even – and she was outside in the farthest corner of the yard, so I let her be.

Friends told me that argiopes are beneficial spiders because they snack on mosquitoes, and anything that eats mosquitoes is a good thing, in my book. In addition, one particular friend pointed me toward information about these spiders including the fact that the variety visiting me is a “writing spider,” so called because of the letter-like zig-zags in the stablementium part of their webs. (There’s also this cool legend about writing spiders, which states that if they write your name in their web you will die. So far, I’ve only ever seen them write ZZZZZZZZZZ, however, so I’m not terribly concerned.)

Argiopes only live about a year, but ever since summer started, I’ve been scanning the yard along the back fence, hoping a new argiope would arrive. I enjoyed having her quiet presence last year (the pretty ones are female, the males are smaller and not as flashy), and yesterday, while I was refilling the pool, I felt like there was someone watching me. Turning, I looked at the fence post where last year’s spider had taken up residence – nothing. But a few feet away, in a different section of fence, there was an argiope, basking in the sunlight.

She may not be the daughter of my writing spider from last year, but the chances are good that she is, and I’ve welcomed her into my yard, and taken her presence as a sign that I need to write more, and a blessing upon my blogathon tomorrow.

The last few weeks at work have made me feel brutalized. My job is not particularly difficult, really, I mean, basically I do simple math for a living, but sometimes it can be intense. Especially around month end, which, for us, was yesterday. (Our month-end is 4 business days before the end of the month, the cut-off date for refinances to be closed, so they can fund by the end of the calendar month – recissionary transactions are so much fun.), and while the people I work with are great, I feel trapped by the work part of work right now.

It’s probably got a lot to do with my impending birthday. Sky would say – has said – that Mercury being in retrograde is a contributing factor. What I know is, by the time I went home yesterday, I’d already worked 33 hours, and since I already have Monday the 31st off to recover from Blogathon (you can still pledge, btw) and was literally in tears in the car on the way home this past Monday, I asked for today and tomorrow as well, taking one as a vacation day, and the other instead of the overtime I’d earned this week. And so I am here in bed, reclining against pillows at 11:18 in the morning, groggy because even though I was up yesterday at FIVE, I was in that wired stage where I get too tired to sleep and didn’t go to bed til four (practice for the Thon maybe?), with Zorro draped on my ankle and Miss Cleo sleeping on Fuzzy’s pillow.

Fuzzy is in Florida.

I miss him. The bed is too big, and the dogs are faintly agitated, and my routine is disrupted. I like exploring new things, but I like the comfort of a routine as well.

I’m trying to decide if I should do anything productive today, or truly just rest. Does filling the pool count as productive? The pool guy lectured me on the low water level via door-hanger. I’ve got a stack of videos, but it seems criminal to waste a day watching movies. I should write. But I’m afraid to write. I’m afraid it’ll just make Tuesday, which I’m already dreading, even WORSE.

I should have been independently wealthy.
Or less in love with froufrou things.

I’m three weeks away from my 36th birthday, and I still have no clue what I want to be when I grow up.

*Le sigh*