Tell It To COACHIE

One of the books Aislinn picked out at the book fair today was “If I Ran the Rain Forest” by Bonnie Worth. The cover includes the cat and the kids from The Cat in the Hat. The back states that, “There is a big gap between ‘concept’ books written for preschoolers and nonfiction that requires fluent reading skills. The Cat in the Hat’s Learning Library books introduce beginning readers to important basic concepts about the natural world.”

Okay, I’ll buy that. I’ll agree that this is a worthwhile venture. But if you are going to appropriate the characters and style of a genius, you’d better be sure that you can rise to his level, or as close to his level as the average mortal could hope to climb. The writing has to be snappy and perfect. When someone reads it, she should not be thinking to herself, “You know, this idea would be clearer if it was phrased like this.”  I have never held that thought during repeated, continuous, and incessant readings of many, many Dr. Seuss books. However, on the second page I found this:

“It is a rain forest.
The reason is clear.
About one hundred inches
of rain falls each year.”

One hundred inches falls? I’m no English major, but shouldn’t that be “fall”? Maybe this is a grammatical grey area. But if you are going to claim a kinship with Dr. Seuss, shouldn’t you try a little harder or at least postpone the questionable grammar until later in the book? Couldn’t this have been rewritten? I’ve been on my feet all day, holding long conversations with numerous children under 8, and still I managed to come up with this:

“A place where it rains
One hundred inches each year
is called a rain forest.
Let’s see what lives here.”

Isn’t that a little better? The next most annoying page?

“Find six hidden things
and you’ll win a prize.
The sure way to win
is to sharpen your eyes.”

As soon as we turned the page, both Lauren and Marty asked what the prize was. If you want parents to buy your books, you should never, I repeat not ever, refer to a nonexistent prize. Kiddies expect a prize on the next page, so why not put a picture of a blue ribbon? Better yet, why not ditch the prize reference?. And is “sharpen your eyes” something new that the kids are saying these days, because while I’ve been told to”keep a sharp eye” on something, I’ve never been asked to “sharpen my eyes.” How about this:

“Find six hidden creatures.
Be a detective!
You can see that their camouflage
is very effective.”

Camouflage is defined on the previous page, so why not use it again for reinforcement? Some of the phrasing is just awkward and confusing:

“This plant gives an insect
a most deadly ride.
It slips when it sips
and gets trapped inside.”*

As a chemistry major, I’m reluctant to make any sweeping grammatical judgments, but doesn’t â”It” in the third line technically refer to the “ride” since it is the most nearby noun? I know that I of all people should not be quibbling with other people’s pronoun matching, but I write all of this crap for free. I don’t charge people $8.99 for it, so I feel justified in expecting a little bit more from Ms. Worth. How about this:

“Some plants catch insects
that crawl in for a sip.
They can’t get away
once they’re in the plant’s grip.”

At one of my former jobs I was reviewing a colleague’s report that included a sentence something like “Trash has been deposited at the top of a steep incline where some of the debris tends to move down the slope due to the force of gravity” instead of “Some of the trash has fallen into the ditch.” The following page reminded me of that episode:

“This little bird helps
the flowers to grow
because pollen sticks
to its body, and so,
when the pollen gets brushed
from its feet and its head,
it causes the pollen
to scatter and spread.”

Again, does the pollen have feet and a head? I appreciate that this breathless sentence is Seusslike, but it is also stupidlike. How about this?

“A hummingbird has
a critical job.
As it eats it gets messy
But don’t call him a slob.
That mess is just pollen
that the small bird delivers
to other flowers and plants
as he flies, flits, and quivers.”

Another bad one:

“Who makes their home here?
Those who like heights best,
an eagle named harpy
here makes her nest.”

“Here makes her nest?” Another version I wrote in about 20 seconds after a glass of wine:

“What kind of animal
thinks this home is best?
The harpy eagle’s proud
to choose this spot for her nest.”

There’s a lot of information in this book, and theoretically, my kiddies could learn some things from it. But all of the writing seems convoluted and strained, and the kiddies definitely sense that something is not right. I’m not claiming that what I’ve done is any better (actually I am a little bit), I’m just trying to demonstrate that with a little more care, a professional could have made this book more engaging and enjoyable.

I have done some research into writing children’s books, and over and over again books emphasize that if you are going to write a rhyming book, the rhyme cannot seem forced. In fact, the books recommend that most authors abandon the notion of rhyming altogether. After reading this, I can understand why. Rhyming is hard, that’s why we have yet to meet the next Dr. Seuss. The pictures are pretty good, but they can’t overcome the writing. Random House, you can’t just slap a Cat in the Hat on any book. The marketing can’t trump the writing. Try a little harder.

*Quotes from If I Ran the Rain Forest by Bonnie Worth, 2003.

First me, now San Fransisco.

Previously, on Law and Order: Arbor Victims Unit:

Who was out to harm this tree? Evidence pointed to several suspects, but in the end the pin oak itself seemed the most likely culprit.

***************************

Yesterday, after I finished with the yard and swept the sidewalks, I turned my attention to the other eyesore on the estate: the backyard pin oak. Little did I know that like all of the the TV Law and Order shows, this tale would provide one final brutal and unexpected twist.

I got my trusty rake (just like I promised to on January 12th) and started to gather up all of the sticks and leaves encircling the tree. There were lots of sticks. Lots and lots of sticks, but not nice straight easily managed sturdy sticks. Instead I had piles of dainty little branches that were impossible to pick up in large numbers, bundle, or in any way organize for deposition into a lawn and leaf bag. I tried stomping on the piles, which did cause the sticks to break into flatter pieces, but not small enough that I could just rake them. Eventually I had to just pick them up by hand, three or four at a time and shove them into a bag inside a trash can. Eventually, I was left with a pile that was mostly leaves and small sticks that I could rake onto a sheet and force into a bag.

Cleaning up that little area took almost 45 minutes and resulted in little scrapes all over my hands and fingers. Not deep enough to draw blood, but more than deep enough to be annoying and painful when I’m doing the dishes. The bags are out by the curb with so many sticks poking out of them that they look a little like a pair of sweet gum balls.

Where is the sinister part you may ask? Well a few weeks ago I found out that pin oaks don’t really burn unless the wood has been seasoned for 9 to 12 months. Clearly the tree was in no danger of burning, and it threw all of those sticks down there to make me pay for repeatedly insulting the size, shape, and unrakableness of its leaves. Not only did it make me feel sorry for it and all the things I’d said about it, but then it reached out and cut me when was trying to help it out.

But there is still one more Law and Order twist. When I was with Marty by the swingset later in the afternoon, I saw this:

Call me crazy, but those look like woodpecker holes, and I’ve seen some woodpeckers hopping around the yard lately. A tree infested at the top is one thing, but I don’t get a warm happy feeling when I consider that this tree

may be infested at the bottom and possibly prone to snap and fall over during the next big windstorm.

What stands between this tree and my house? Those branches in the upper left corner belong to no other than the pin oak. It seems large and strong enough to catch that woodpecked tree if it ever started to fall towards my house. That is, it could catch the tree if it wanted to. Now not only have I been fooled by the pin oak, I’m at its mercy. It might as well be sitting in the interview room with Mariska Hargitay, a cocky smirk on its face. This time the bad guy won.

But like Mariska, I always have hope that the relatively nonviolent offenders can be rehabilitated. The start of the next episode of Law and Order: AVU may find me sitting on the patio repeatedly reading The Giving Tree aloud.

Today I spent some time with an old acquaintance that I haven’t seen in almost 8 months. One that I, in some ways, hoped I’d never see again - the lawnmower. Last April I provided an exceedingly detailed report of my first encounter with the mower, and periodic updates of our rocky relationship. When I finally turned the estate over to the lawn guy for the summer, I thought I would never again hear the distinctive sound (or smell the distinctive smell) of the pebbles* in our yard pinging around the mower blade.

I clearly remember remarking to the HP that the yard was starting to get shaggy, and he assuring me that we still had several weeks before we had to worry. Conveniently, he is currently spending two of those weeks out of town. Therefore, while I like buttercups and other tall flowering weeds as much as the next girl, if I do not want to look like white trash when our friends possibly come to visit this weekend, I’ll have to spruce up the grounds of the manor. Again.

I decided I would only do the front yard and one of the sides, because nothing mowable really grows in the back or the other side, probably due to all the shade provided by the %&$#ing pin oak. As far as mowing outings go, I must admit that the mower was very cooperative. It started right away, it did not run out of gas, and it cut most of the wide variety of weeds that make up our “lawn”. Since the assorted greenery was so long, I didn’t hit too many pebbles (although I did hit one golf ball) so the pinging and aroma of ground rocks was minimized.

Mercifully, the %&$#ing squirrels have not started pulling branches from the tree and throwing them in the “grass”, because once I get the mower started, I really don’t like to shut it off to pick stuff up. I’m always afraid that it won’t restart and then the “lawn” will look ridiculous because the onion grass on one half will be so much longer than the other (However, if that does ever happen, my plan is to put up a sign that says “Natural Area -Do Not Mow,” and now that I think about it, maybe the whole yard could be a natural area.)

Last fall my next door neighbor hired my lawn guy to aerate and seed his “lawn” (technically the Army’s “lawn”) which he dutifully watered every morning and night. His initiative was both impressive and confusing to me, since I can’t imagine a single reason why a person would want to encourage the green stuff to grow. Now that spring is here, I can see that all of his expense and work have not produced a single blade of grass. He does have some very green patches in his front yard, but when I looked at them closely, I could see they were clover. His backyard, like my backyard is entirely composed of dirt, rocks, and moss, just like it was last year. The only thing that could cause grass to grow in this housing area is an infusion of 2 feet of topsoil across the whole place.

Today was a beautiful day, with a cool breeze and just enough sun so that I could see what I was doing while I was mowing (for want of anything else, my sunglasses double as eye protection - my HAZWOPER teachers would be so proud). But I don’t need noisy chores when I’m trying to enjoy the weather, I’d prefer a magazine and a margarita. And I’d rather smell the flowers than the rocks.

* For reasons known only to the Army, our roof is not made up of shingles, or slate, or tarpaper, or even thatch. It is asphalt covered with pebbles that dislodge, travel down the gutters and then hide in the grass to startle me when I’m mowing.

You can have your own set of wings
With your feet on the ground,
you’re a bird*** in flight!
With your fist holding tight,
to the string of your kite!

Friday was kite day. One hundred kindergarteners, 75 parents, and 25 fifth-grade “helpers” (for kids’ whose parents had to work), all trying to launch kites at the same time. The directions, but no explanation, for kite day came home last month. We were to buy a kite, assemble it, bring it to school, and help Lauren fly it.

Here’s what I know about Lauren and kite flying: She’s got about 45 seconds worth of interest. We have taken many kites to the beach at Cape May, and although all of the kiddies enjoy the excitement of getting it airborne, none of them really cares to hold the string. Usually we get it up there, and then the kiddies wander off to sit in the sand and eat pretzels while I (and whatever other unlucky adults are left holding the string) attempt to reel in 50 yards of kite string, four inches at a time.

I thought kite day might be different, because Lauren loves everything to do with school, and the walk from her classroom to the field was considerably shorter than the walk from her grandparents to the beach.

As we approached the kite area, we could see a lot were already airborne, so I thought we just might get lucky.

I was wrong. A butterfly is apparently not the preferred shape for a kite. I should have just bought a diamond, but they were all plastic and covered with Barbie or Hello Kitty. The plastic ones can rip as you’re pulling them out of the packaging, and that would have been a sad end to kite day. As you can see, our kite day was much more successful.

There really wasn’t enough wind to fly a kite. On the beach in Cape May, you can’t help but get your kite airborne. In a field in Virginia, it’s rather touchy. We almost got it up a few times, but the butterfly just wouldn’t stay flat to the wind long enough to get it up to where the real breezes were blowing. I never did hear an explanation as to why the kindergarteners have kite day, but “Let’s Go Fly a Kite” is my favorite Mary Poppins song, so if nothing else, I got to have that stuck in my head (and torture Lauren with it) all day.

And also, while she was having her sweaty pout in the grass, Lauren pulled out the camera and later informed me that she had taken this picture of my behind:

A budding artiste wouldn’t you say?

*$4.99

**nylon

***butterfly