So Maddy’s kindergarten has a new “borrow a book” program, in which a book comes home in a little plastic bag and we’re supposed to help her point to letters, find patterns and basically admire the pretty colours and stuff while we read it to her over and over until she’s memorized it. Once they’ve “read” (their term, not mine) the book, the parents are supposed to fill out a little form and she can then trade the book in for a new one. Five books = 1 sticker prize or some other incentive.

I left Maddy’s book with her while I showered this morning. She read it to me easily when I came out (including words like Umbrella and Elephant), so I handed her the little little form to fill out by herself. “Date, title, who I read to, comment. Ok mama!”

Her comment, in sparkly pink gel pen: “ET WUS TOO ESSI”*

Um, yes! And I am glad she wrote it and not me!

I hope her teacher has stocked up on stickers.

*: It was too easy

By Sylvanus P. Thompson

I once had a logic professor, the rumpled/ bespectacled/ round/ beaming English type, who announced in the first class of the term “it is my job to make logic as pleasant as possible.” This book (which was first published in 1910 — I notice it’s recently been updated and modernized, which is kind of a shame) is the equivalent of that little speech, but for calculus.

The full title is Calculus Made Easy: Being a very-simplest introduction to those beautiful methods of reckoning which are generally called by the terrifying names of the Differential Calculus and the Integral Calculus. Sylvanus P. Thompson — and who can resist a name like that — takes a very clear, gentle, first-principles approach to explaining calculus. He does in spots sacrifice accuracy to get his point across, but isn’t that always the case with intro-level texts?

My copy of this book got both my Dad and I through first-year university calculus. It’s a nice counterpart to whatever the official text is, since Thompson comes at ideas from a different angle. Very useful.

Edited by Lynn Crosbie

I love Lynn Crosbie; she writes excellent book reviews that icily savage books she hates. Mostly I agree with her so they’re fun reading. No suckup, she. But as a book editor she could be a meaner: the word “uneven” features in a number of reviews of this book and I can’t disagree with that. It came to mind mostly because Gigi the Galaxy Girl‘s included story For the Love of a Good Toaster may be the seminal (as it were) mention of the lesbian/toaster-oven meme, even though the story’s main protagonist is in fact a blender. It also includes the previously-mentioned Barbara Gowdy necrophilia story We So Seldom Look on Love, obviously deeply peculiar in a unique way.

The collection is… harsh, for the lack of a better word. It certainly is neither passive (such a common complaint about women’s writing on this topic) nor heterosexist (a common complaint about most such collections), so there’s that. But it’s not cozy reading; this isn’t one for a curled-up-by-the-fireside read. Graphic artist Julie Doucette (Dirty Plotte, etc.) has a piece in here, as does Roberta Gregory’s Bitchy Bitch.

A much smoother? calmer? — something like that — suitable for fireside reading, anyway — collection by women writers is Touching Fire. I’ll put a sample poem from that collection below.

More…

by Salman Rushdie

I often find Salman Rushdie hard reading — he writes in images more than he writes in words, to my mind — but it’s a technique that works to great effect in Haroun and the Sea of Stories. I re-read it recently, debating whether it should go into the Read To Five-Year-Old Kid pile. The answer is yes.

To borrow from one of the Amazon reviews:

It’s almost as if Rushdie has invented a new form, the meta-fable. Rather than retreating under the famous death threats, Rushdie reiterates the importance of literature, stressing not just the good of stories “that aren’t even true” but persuading us that these stories convey the truth. As Haroun realizes, “He knew what he knew: that the real world was full of magic, so magical worlds could easily be real.”

Adults will enjoy the meta-story, but for kids, it’s a great fairy tale, with lots of action, imaginative characters and a bunch of fun characters.

Ooo, she got mad when we out-cheated her….

M to D: You’re It!
(chase ensues, D rather hindered by several heavy bags of groceries)
M: T.O!
D, deciding to play the game her way: No, only metal poles with signs on them are T.O.
M: This rock is T.O. just for me.
D: That’s cheating! You’re cheating again!
M: Mama, you’re It!
Me: (also staggering under the weight of groceries) We’re almost home — you two better run!
(M & D run)
D has a sudden burst of brilliance: Guess what? Mommy secretly made me It. (touches M) You’re It! Haha! T.O.!
M, furious: NOOOOOOOOO! THERE IS NO SECRET IT! YOU’RE WRECKING MY GAME!

by Vikram Vij & Meeru Dhalwala

This is our current favourite cookbook. My Mom bought it for us right when it came out, because Vij is our favourite restaurant in Vancouver and she knew we’d love it.

The great thing about these recipes is that they are, for the most part, cheap to make. We had to stock up on a bunch of spices we didn’t previously keep around, but they were all the kind that come in big plastic pouches for about 79 cents. Then we were set.

Two things to watch out for. The recipes are HUGE — the ones we’ve made would easily serve eight, and needed some mighty big pots. And a few have instructions that end with “…and then simmer for four hours,” so they’re no good for making on a whim.

A couple to start with: the Vij Family Chicken Curry is quickly becoming a house favourite. It doesn’t take all that much longer than a Patak’s curry does, assuming you’ve already made or bought some garam masala. The Tomato-Ginger Soup is likewise excellent and pretty quick to make (I cheat and use a tin of pureed tomatoes instead of fresh ones).

OK, now I’m hungry.

by Diana Gabaldon

Oh, this is fun stuff. There’s nothing highbrow or pretentious about Diana Gabaldon’s stuff, it’s just good, light, gripping historical fun. There’s a time every once in a while when I spend an awful lot of time for a few consecutive days sitting about waiting in doctor’s offices, and these are perfect books for that sort of thing. That’s not meant to be negative or insulting at all; Gabaldon’s books are wonderfully entertaining. As with Patrick O’Brian’s books, once you’re a hundred pages into the first one you may as well just buy the rest and save yourself the bother of picking them up one at a time. Fortunately Outlander is the first of a six-book (so far) series, vs. O’Brian’s twenty-one, so it’s a good bit cheaper to indulge.

Who cares if you wait ninety minutes to see the doctor when you’ve got one of these books in your bag? Once I even let someone go ahead of me just so I could finish a chapter.

by Neil Gaiman

Neil Gaiman is a wonderful writer. He makes English bend to his clever whims in ways that make me terribly jealous. But for a seemingly nice guy ( you can read his journal here) he’s awfully cavalier with his protagonists, and he comes up with some elegantly creepy ideas.

Stardust, though, is a fairy tale for adults. It’s a good first exploration into Gaiman, with all the elegance of his fabulous imagination but with somewhat less eccentricity than, say, his (excellent) short story collections and with somewhat less darkness than his graphic novels. I don’t actually have a copy right now… I think I gave mine to someone who needed airplane reading or something… books so often want to travel. I’ll pick up another sometime, though; it’s that good.

A conversation recounted to me from the walk home yesterday:

M: Tag! You’re It!
(a few seconds later)
M: Tag again! You’re It!
D: No way! You just touched me, so you made yourself It! Haha!
M: No, you’re just more It.
(runs away)
(D chases, gets kind of close)
M: T.O.! [time-out]
D: Tag is the simplest possible two-person game, and you’re cheating!
M: I don’t want to play anymore.
(pause)
M: But you’re still It.

I’m not going to say it out loud so I won’t jinx it, but it looks like we have a new daycare arrangement starting in February.

It’s a home-based daycare quite close to our house, with kids all from one school, a cook, and two utterly calm and happy dogs to play with. In the late afternoons they head over to the gym at the church just around the corner from our house for some running around and games and stuff like that. Their kid:staff ratios are half what they are elsewhere and the staff have been there forever. They take co-op students too so there’s a good combination of freshness and experience.

The owner is cheerful, open, great with kids (or with Maddy, anyway), and talkative. By her anecdotes she is clearly intolerant of snottiness, disrespect and/or condescension from parents, which is great because we don’t want to have to deal with those folks either and if I start to behave that way I want a good sharp verbal smack. I know exactly the type of parent she was talking about — they’re the ones that annoy me at school dropoffs.

We’ll see how it goes, but all three of us felt it was a huge improvement. Maddy wanted to start there immediately despite being mildly scared of the dogs.

It’s more expensive, of course, but that’s life. They’re also much more flexible. The cost differential will be less of an issue once Maddy starts Grade 1 in September and needs many fewer hours of care. (For Toronto parents: the preschool-to-kindergarten daycare transition only saves maybe $50-$100 a month. It’s the kindergarten-to-grade-school transition that provides serious relief.)

Now I’m arguing with the old daycare, naturally. They feel three weeks notice of withdrawal is inadequate and would like “the next full month”, i.e., seven weeks notice. Arrant nonsense. I called them this morning and if the spot isn’t filled by now I’ll fall off my chair in surprise.

by Steven D. Levitt with Stephen J. Dubner

I wasn’t terribly impressed with this book. But then, economics of any sort rarely impresses me; what’s the use of something with next-to-no predictive value? Economists are forever assuming away anything that doesn’t work with their theories. As a scientist I found the whole subject appalling when I took economics in grad school — and I was even MORE appalled when I did very very well in the course.

And so goes this book: near the beginning he talks briefly about correlation vs. causation, but he then pretty much ignores that extremely critical distinction for the rest of the book. Typical economist, despite his assertions otherwise.

In addition, it could’ve used more editing. I found it quite repetitive.

Read it for fun if you like. It’s good to see an economist at least attempting to think about things outside their usual range of topics. But please take it with a great huge grain of salt.

edited by Andrea J. Buchanan

My sister bought this book for me for Christmas — it had been hanging about on my Amazon wishlist being neglected for some time, so it was wonderful to have it turn up as a surprise!

It’s a well-done collection. The writers are a diverse bunch, and they write about birthing daughters, adopting daughters, even not having a daughter.

They cover some of the usual issues (Barbie, dealing with all that pink, eating disorders) and some I hadn’t seen before: How do you explain your three plastic surgeries while simultaneously trying to teach body acceptance? Why is the daughter of two rather butch lesbians such a fashionista, and should they wear lipstick to please her? It covers the light and the dark, the fluffy and the heavy, sometimes all in the same piece.

There’s a companion volume also edited by Andi Buchanan, It’s a Boy! Women Writers on Raising Sons which I may pick up as well.

by Jane Jacobs

Jane Jacobs died last April, shortly before her 90th birthday. I’m still sad. I really hoped she’d live forever.

Ten years ago (!) when Citizens for Local Democracy was active, Jane Jacobs would give the most wonderful speeches at meetings, shuffling slowly up to the microphone in her white sneakers. I was (and am) terribly fond of her, and not only because she spoke slowly enough that I could type her words verbatim for meeting notes. She had a real knack for common sense, plain (but slightly old-fashioned) speech, immense stubbornness and understated wit — all of which are plentiful in The Death and Life of Great American Cities.

Don’t let the rather dry title put you off — this is a wonderfully readable book, full of stories and anecdote, distinctly short on pretense. Jacobs was interested in what makes a city (or neighbourhood) livable. She sets out a few basic principles (I’m making this sound dry and nasty, I know), talks about them, and talks about the various unconscionable ways in which urban planning fails to pay any attention to these commonsensical notions. After you’ve read this book you’ll look at neighbourhoods (and cities) with extra interest — or perhaps you’ll just have your own casual observations confirmed.

Death and Life was published in 1961 and I’ve yet to see a credible refutation of any of her basic principles. I’ve also yet to see urban planners pay much attention to them. Talk about institutional inertia.

The principality of Sealand is for sale.

Asked to describe the delights of living on what he described as a cross between a house and a ship, the 54-year-old said: “The neighbors are very quiet. There is a good sea view.”

by Jim Munroe

Jim Munroe’s a bit of an anarchist/anti-corporatist guy; he dropped Harper Collins to go out on his own and created No Media Kings.

His books are cute, although I’m sure he’d hate that word. He has a knack for creating interesting, credible characters despite plots that veer wildly away from any kind of recognizable reality. In Flyboy, the protagonist is able to turn himself into a fly. His girlfriend can make things disappear. Adbuster-type hijinks ensue. It’s fun stuff, a bit fluffy… Edward Abbey it’s not. As I said: cute.

Elephant calf Thabo-Umasai at Germany’s Zoo Dresden joined camels, deer, and sheep in a traditional new-year feast of Christmas trees yesterday.

“Elephants around the country will enjoy a delicious lunch today consisting of about five Christmas trees each,” Ragnar Kuehne of Zoo Berlin told the Reuters news service on January 3.

(from National Geographic)

Rosetta Stone, the language-learning folks with the cute ads you might’ve seen in the Economist or the New Yorker:

“He was a hardworking farm boy. She was an Italian supermodel. He knew he would have just one chance to impress her.”

… have an Endangered Languages program. What a great idea — they’re apparently working with the Mohawks in Kahnawake, among others. Even the copyright/ownership issues seem not to be terribly onerous:

Community-Owned
The final product is owned by you. Distribute it as you wish: in schools, in homes, or online. Sell through the Rosetta Stone web site with royalties, sell at cost locally, or distribute it free to your community. You are creating a permanent asset for your community.
Culturally Relevant
Rosetta Stone is customizable. It can teach from images that reflect your community. Photos can come from tribal archives, the local paper, from our photographer, or yours.

They clearly understand that it’s about adaptation, not translation. Good for them.

by Barbara Gowdy

In The white bone Gowdy, author of the short story that was turned into the surprisingly sympathetic necrophilia movie Kissed (We So Seldom Look on Love) puts herself into the minds of elephants.

The culture and language she imagines for the elephants are the book’s main successes; the story itself is heavy on death, destruction, and the elephants’ constant struggle for survival and doesn’t quite manage to maintain the same high level of creativity.

Still, as a thought exercise it’s interesting to put oneself in the (imagined) minds of elephants, and Gowdy’s writing is, as always, cool and assured. It’s worth a read.

by Inga Muscio

Inga Muscio does a great job hitting all the feminist-sexual high points (um. as it were.). As well as the good stuff, she covers rape, abortion, assault… you wouldn’t think this would be an empowering series of topics, but it is. I don’t know anyone (any female anyone, at least) who hasn’t felt cheered by the way Ms. Muscio tackles the topics in this book.

Muscio covers similar territory to Riane Eisler, but in a more accessible, less directly pagan way. She tells a good tale, with outrage and anecdote in appropriate spots and lots of practical advice — this is more a manifesto than a rant. You’ll be buying sex toys and kicking ass in no time after you pick up this book.