Lit Kid: reading, and rereading

I’m noticing a certain phase at the moment. All those days and weeks and months of reading to Junior Reader are being repaid by return visits.

Time for the apprentice reader to work through the same titles; take in what was missed in the listening, perhaps.

Sometimes books are tackled again shortly after they are finished as readalouds. (There’s a certain pride in tackling a ‘big book’ solo. The graphic novel version of The Hobbit, for example.)

More and more, these are chapter books that are returned to. The picture books are still there on the shelves; they’re not forgotten just yet. (And The Beano is returned to very regularly too.)

A friend and I talked a little while ago about reading, and how many new books to introduce when. Rereading is seen as a good thing, where the junior reader can absorb more vocabulary, kick back a bit with a story that is already familiar.

Rereading is a comfortable thing to do. A good chunk of my own reading this spring seems to have been rereading, mostly working my way back through my Dorothy L. Sayers collection, and certain other crime novels.

Some are not quite rereading, but revisiting in a different form. We are eking out the Montalbano novels by Andrea Camilleri. It’s interesting to experience them on the page, having loved the TV adaptations that introduced us to the character.

Junior Reader meanwhile can have a whole series of spy adventures, alongside Jack Stalwart, whose junior spy travels around the world were part of last year’s holiday reading. (We have also referenced the Alex Rider books for the future, but it’s not quite time for junior James Bond just yet.)

Sometimes the rereading is returning to a favoured character: in my case, Lord Peter Wimsey, or Inspector Montalbano. Sometimes it’s a chance to revisit the first read; to see how the story holds up some time on.

These days, I’m more interested in the mechanics of the writing, as well as getting caught up in the story. I don’t think that’s Junior Reader’s intention, but I certainly see the little stacks of books mounting up; dipping into the back catalogue on the shelves.

Perhaps at some point we will do a bit more pointing out of what’s new: the books higher up the shelves, ones that were mine or Dan’s, that are there for further adventures in print.

But for now, familiarity breeds not contempt, but coziness. It’s spring, but it’s still chill.

A reread can be as good as a favourite jumper, and there’s not the problem of overheating either. You can layer on as many as you like.

That was the week that was: early May 14

We’re into May. It’s a strange time of year in school circles – feels like pretty much every week has a different pattern.

Occasional days here; school productions there (not yet for Junior Reader, but the school got to watch the final year classes going through their paces).

Junior Reader has become interested in birds – so it was off to look at ospreys on the Monday holiday. More accurately, you look at a TV screen, with cameras trained on the nest, but the ospreys are also on a webcam, so maybe we can see what the chicks are up to next week.

The lambs have stopped their jumping in the fields, and are growing a bit more sedate. Pink blossom starts to come down, covering cars parked beneath the trees.

We tread petals into the pavements as we walk – a mixture of pink and slush, because it is usually rain that brings the petals down.

Cold and warm, cold and warm. The trees and flowers know it’s spring; the temperatures keep going up and down. We dance the late spring coats and gloves dance a little longer. (And rescue the missing child’s glove.)

It’s a time for losing things this week – glasses, glasses case – and, thankfully, finding them again. (And apologising to others who have also been looking for them on our behalf.)

School is looking at non-fiction: so homework includes a sheet where you pull information from different places in a reference book. And a reading book which has penpal correspondence between the UK and the US.

I find myself wondering whether people will keep writing letters or not, in the future. Won’t they just find it all out from Skype – or someone’s online account?

The search for a tent is finally over. Junior Reader proudly lugs it home. It’s really for back garden type activities, at least to start with. (I recommend a sleeping mat too. Thankfully they come in RED, which goes with the red sleeping bag. These things are important.)

We do a bit of DIY, and get down some of the reference books Junior Reader doesn’t normally get to see. Off to Pompeii, a quick survey of classic cars, and the very old British Empire style atlas that is delicate, but fascinating.

Dan and Junior Reader are spending more time on games now. Another go at Cluedo, and some other shorter board games. (I am permitted to nurse a heavy cold and emerge more at mealtimes.)

Junior Reader crafts a card handprint. It’s for the bedroom door, so that you are ‘scanned’ before entering. (I think it’s more of the ongoing spy fascination.)

That’s the idea, except it’s a bit low down for the adults to use. Dan pretends that the voltage is too high when using it for the first time, and we ask Junior Reader to turn it down.

There is also a sudden flurry of homemade cardboard scrolls, with little red circles on the outside, when they’re rolled up, to look like a seal. The most recent one says:

‘My dear people, I am sorry to tell you that we are at war again. From Looey [sic] the 14th, King of France.’

Oh yes, and we finished watching Dogtanian episodes (on DVD) too. Could you tell?

Friday phrases: though his shoes were far too tight

I am thinking of the Lion Book of Humorous Verse again. I am tempted to include some more Hilaire Belloc, but I feel it only fair to devote a few lines to Edward Lear.

Lear’s work received several mentions in the book, and I know it had an impact on me. Some of it, I was less taken with (a bit too much repetition in the Akond of Swat, for my liking).

Lear could easily be celebrated purely for The Owl and the Pussycat – and I have on occasion surprised young visitors by singing their book to them rather than just reading it.

However, I do like the repeated throwaway lines in Uncle Arly, one that I do remember more out of his wider collection of poems.

Arly belongs in that category of slightly too particular types who meet their end sooner rather than later: like Solomon Grundy, or, I suspect, Jack Spratt and his wife.

I have shared before of my love of catchphrases being used for new purposes. Next time someone is removed from a game show, or ends up worse for wear in a film, you can (reprovingly) tell the others around you why it happened.

Bis spaeter!

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Incidents in the life of my Uncle Arly

“…On a little heap of Barley
Died my aged Uncle Arly,
And they buried him one night;
Close beside the leafy thicket;
There – his hat and Railway-Ticket;
There – his ever-faithful Cricket
(But his shoes were far too tight).”

Edward Lear

[View the link above to read the whole poem.]

Sweeping clean

Remember all that spring cleaning earlier in the year? It kind of ground to a halt. But we’re trying to get going again – or at least, a bit more clean and tidy.

A new broom sweeps clean, we’re told – and when you’re sweeping the same mess (or variants on it), sometimes you just give up. Or stop. Or hide those final few things that you can’t find homes for, because you can’t quite face doing any more that day.

One good thing is that we are finally putting pictures back up. We’ve lived with fairly clear walls for about a year, after finishing off all our building work (and the aftermath of putting things into new homes afterwards).

The wondrous height chart has a new home outside the bathroom. Now we can check where Junior Reader is up to – as tall as a red postbox? Bigger than a crocodile’s open mouth? Larger than an emperor penguin? (Better find out quick.)

We’ve finally agreed on what is going where for pictures and about half of them are up. Including framing a teatowel with this design – if you’re unsure why, read this post on the importance of Creamola Foam.

We are sweeping clean a bit on bedding – new pillows all round, after nearly 15 years’ wear (for some of us). Now to find a reasonably eco way to use the old stuffings. (I’m thinking stuffed toys, and possibly homemade quilts? That won’t happen overnight though.)

My mum and I have done a deal on some sheets and towels, extending the largesse of my granny’s linen cupboard a bit further.

And in a slightly different ‘reuse’ mood, our two blown-down fence panels have now made their way to join the wood pile at my parents, where they will be efficiently turned into heat for them (and maybe for us, when it’s wood stove season there again).

Nothing like a bit of swapping too to get the eco juices flowing. So I pass on some of Junior Reader’s clothes, now outgrown; I then get an invite to help clear someone else’s stash a bit. Which means that we now have some Hairy Maclary jigsaws. Bonus.

And Junior Reader has a monster-making project for school. That ought to clear at least three cardboard boxes. (I think.)

It’s little by little, but the broom is finally in motion again.

Friday phrases: and his ball and his teddy

Over at Lit Kid, I wrote a while ago about the impact of recurring phrases – the ones you know are coming, the ones you are longing to hear.

Some authors do far more. They weave a pattern of repeating words and sounds that is inseparable from the story itself. They are the basis of the enchantment that the author builds.

There are lots of children’s books that do this, some more successfully than others. But one that is particularly soothing (should you have had a hard week) is Janet and Allan Ahlberg’s Peepo.

Lots of people have weighed in on why it is a good book. Lots of repetition of words that babies need and recognise in their daily lives. Lots of focus on the details that a baby sees in its day.

The fun of the holes to look through, showing the scenes in miniature. There is all that, and the now-historical setting too: the bath in front of the fire, the coal shed, the father in uniform.

But part of the spell is the continued rocking of the words, now one way, now another. Everything the baby sees needs to include ‘his teddy and his ball’; but in the next scene, the words reverse.

Fortunately, I found a link which shows you the final scene in the book, along with the pictures. Night night.

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Peepo “…He sees the bedroom door

The cot made ready

His father kissing him goodnight

His ball And his teddy.”

Janet and Allan Ahlberg