Something about the holidays sends me to my shelf of worn books, that somehow found their way to me. This particular edition of Charles Kingsley's The Water Babies is missing the copyright date page, but my best guess is that it was printed in the late 1930's or early 40's. Researching, I discovered this a rare edition, but the brittle pages didn't discourage me from reading it. I love the comfortable way old books fall open. It makes me wonder who the first reader was, and why certain spots within the book seem more relaxed than others.

Fairy tales frustrated me as a child. I had a tough time distinguishing between fantasy and reality, and spent more time worrying about the troll under the 8th street bridge, and the mice sewing dresses in the attic than enjoying the magical stories. Maybe next week I'll confess why I was never able to watch "The Mickey Mouse Club" on Fridays.

Anyway, loving all things British, this book has long been on my backlist. But, I have to tell you, this was the oddest story I have ever read. This Victorian morality fairy tale begins with, Tom, a young chimney sweep, who winds up in the bedroom of a pale, sickly rich girl. She awakens to see the dusty little guy in her room; she screams; he flees. Now, that' s all fine, and even a bit fun, but then Tom ends up falling into a lake and dying. When he somehow comes back to life, he is a water baby with fins; he is greeted by other water babies, and, I think he has to prove his moral goodness somehow to the serpents and other creepy people of the kingdom before he can become real again.

This might have been good stuff when it was first published in the 1800's, but, I have a hard time believing that. Can't you just hear parents telling their kids that if they weren't good, they' toss them in a nearby creek and they'd become water babies? My parents told me they'd give me to the street sweeper, but at least I would have gotten to ride around in a fancy truck and get to see the town.

Needless to say, I didn't finish. Instead, I moved on to the second in the Miss Julia series by Ann B. Ross, Miss Julia Takes Over. Fun stuff. These books remind me of my favorite screw-ball comedies with a modern twist. They're silly little pieces that make me giggle. This time around, Miss Julie has lost Hazel Marie Puckett, the mother of Little Lloyd, fathered by Julia's late husband. Julia has taken in both Hazel and LL, much to the delight of the town's wagging tongues; but Hazel has gone missing, and an unethical preacher is trying to get Little L away from Julie to get the inheiritance that Big Lloyd left to him. Amid that chaos, Julia is advising a neighbor whose husband is plagued with ED, an acronym Julia only pretends to understand. There are about seven Miss Julia books...perhaps those will be my holiday go-to's from now on. At least I will have one handy as Plan B in the event I grab another Water Babies at Christmas.

*****

You all had fine Thanksgivings, right? Me too. My neighbors call Thanksgiving at my house "the Orphan Train" . I gather people who might not be able to get home for the holidays, or who This year five people came over. We ate at six, and when everyone left at one A.M., I was not on my toes. After dinner I had packed goody containers for someone, but when the clock struck one, and I prepare his to-go bag, I grabbed the wrong containers, sending him home with all the leftover gravy and couple celery sticks. I hope he enjoyed his leftovers.

Thanks for stopping by.

Steve and Bev...not to be confused with Steve and Edie

Last week, I got a surprise phone call from a customer who I am happy to call a friend. Her name is Fran, and she called to tell us that she turns 91 this week. Good for her.

When Fran first walked into our Washington Street location fourteen or so years ago, there was no doubt this was a special person. I remember thinking she could be the secret offspring of a Kathryn Hepburn and Ernest Hemingway liaison. Her tiny frame was all decked out in fishing attire - vest, man's fishing hat, boots flopping as she walked. Then she spoke. A lovely, smoky sound asked for poetry, and that started it all.

For the past few years, Fran has not been able to get to us, but she calls frequently, and three or four times a year, she sends a nice picture of what she sees from her windows on Sandy Bay Road. She told us about her husband, and we heard the tears in her voice as she shared details of his illness. We have gotten to know Fran's son, a holistic doctor, and her good friend, Kathy, who runs errands...including picking up books for Fran.

My first employees were fortunate to know and enjoy Fran, and current employees read her letters. I think one or two have been lucky enough to answer the phone and find Fran at the other end.

I hope that each and every one of you has a Fran in your life. Thanks Fran, for all the warmth and smiles you have brought to us over the years.

*****And...thanks to Steve for being such a loyal guest blogger and swell friend!

Have you ever caught the last 30 minutes of a movie and wished you had seen the entire film? That was my reaction upon completing The Ignorance of Blood by Robert Wilson. I knew from the book jacket this was the last in a four book series set in Seville, Spain with Inspector Javier Falcon as the protagonist. In the final installment, Falcon is following up on his pledge to find the persons responsible for the June 6th Seville bombings while investigating the graphic accidental death of a Russian mafia figure operating in Spain. He is also caught between Spanish, English, and American intelligence services as the liaison for an undercover operative in a Muslim radical group who will only deal with Falcon. And then there is his girlfriend and her kidnapped youngest son, probably taken because of something Falcon has done.

Amid all this action are descriptions and background of Seville and Andalusia, the state or province at the southern most part of Spain. The area sounds like a paradise in spite of vicious politics, crime, and corruption. A full cast of supporting characters are at work for the good guys, policemen, judges, crime scene technicians, intelligence officers, and elected officials. The bad guys are composed of two feuding factions attempting to control drugs, prostitution, construction trades, and more in the region.

As the title suggestion, there is an underlying element of family relationship in this book. The things family members will do to protect and defend children and relatives. Falcon faces his own willingness to sacrifice principles while discovering the complexity of a twisted family tree.

This book is primarily an action based novel although the characters are well developed and believable. I fully expect the three earlier books, The Blind Man of Seville, The Vanishing Hands, and The Hidden Assassins, would have provided even more texture and background to the climax of this quartet. I look forward to making time to see the rest of this film.

As mentioned in the previous review, I did witness a 'movement piece' presented by a university-based student group of Dante's "The Inferno". Many films have attempted to depict the circles of hell with varying success, "What Dreams May Come" with Robin Williams among them. Watching 12 actors helped by lighting, props, incredible make-up, and choreography make the descent into the 9 circles of Hell was stunning and exhausting. Since this was an original work by a senior drama student it will probably not come to a theater near you. Which is why we must always pay attention to the arts offerings around us, not letting rare opportunities pass by from our own neglect. Support the performing arts. Please.

***

My apologies to Keith Richards for bashing his book, Life, prematurely. I actually learned a lot about post-war life in England. Of course, that was between all the debauchery!

*****Keep an eye on our events blog for info on our Dec. 16 book signing with Amy Hanten. If you're up early, you can watch her cooking her heart out on WLUK-TV.

So, it's Thanksgiving week. And, in the spirit of the holiday, let me say thanks for your friendship and support over the years. LaDeDa should have been a statistic by year three, but you didn't let that happen. Our store is healthy and strong (but the owner is a disheveled mess!) thanks to you. The best thing about the book-biz (at least our take on it) is that people know they can stop by for some chatter without any expectations. I am the luckiest!

Lakeshore Holiday Parade on Wednesday. Macy's thanksgiving Day Parade on Wednesday...with all those great cuts from B'way show. And turkey. Life is good.

Destiny or Coincidence by guest blogger Steven Head

I had not intended to do a review of The Curious Incident of the Dog in the Night-Time. In fact it was only whimsy that led me to listen to the audio-book version. While checking into another book I found this one. And while reading about teens is not my usual genre this one caught my attention.

But it was settled on Monday night when ABC's Rick Castle referenced 'the curious incident of the dog in the night-time' from Conan Doyle's The Silver Blaze. Too many coincidences not to be meaningful. The last time this type of thing happened was when two people put the same book in my hands within a 24 hour period.

Mark Haddon wrote "Curious Incident" and while the promo material identifies the main character, Christopher Boon, as a 15 year old with Asperger's Syndrome, Haddon dislikes the label. He prefers the description of an aspiring mathematician with behavioral problems. And Christopher has a box of problems including not wanting to be touched, not liking new places or people, not liking yellow or brown, not liking the different food items on his plate touching one another, and on and on.

Christopher is the narrator so the reader gets excellent insight into the thought process of this math whiz. We start with the discovery that Wellington, the neighbor woman's dog, has been killed. When a policeman arrives to investigate we follow along as Christopher goes from liking policemen to hitting the policeman to being taken to the police station. Being a fan of Conan Doyle, Christopher decides he needs to determine who killed Wellington, and in spite of his father's direct instructions forbidding it, he pursues his investigation.

Along the way we learn of Christopher's world, the special ed school he attends, the neighborhood, and his home life with father. All in an entertaining first-person storytelling style with plenty of internal dialogue and bits of science and math information along with his personal rules for living. I found myself smiling much of the time and even had a few LOL moments.

It should be no surprise that Christopher finds a reason to propel himself out of his comfortable world, exposing him to lots of new experiences with plenty of troubling interactions. But I don't want to spoil the pleasure of any potential reader/listener with unnecessary details.

I cannot say if this book is appropriate reading for teens or not. I recall reading 1984, Brave New World, and Catcher in the Rye at that age without too much permanent damage. Like most of the books I review there are adult situations and language.

Later this week I'm off to a stage performance of "The Inferno" and hope to have a report for you next week. Keep turning those pages until then.

*****Thanks Steve. I caught that reference on "Castle" also, and planned to check out the Conon Doyle Piece. As far as "Castle" goes, it is the only show on my must-see list...even the re-runs. Very clever plots lead me down the wrong path each week, and when I am sure I can outwit Castle and Becket, they mix things up enough to throw off my game.

*****Last week, I had a chance to spend some time with my old friend Julie Lindemann, co-author of Season's Gleamings, the little pink book paying homage to aluminum Christmas trees. I hadn't been in her studio or seen her personal art collection in a while and I was so fascinated, and spend so much time roaming, looking, oohing, aahing, and asking questions that Julie had to politelyusher me to the door so she and John could get back to work. They are finishing up a project commissioned by Kohler. The exhibit, which follows the progress of several cancer patients, will open at the Kohler Art Gallery in December. Both Julie and John are up for tenure at Lawrence University in Appleton. Good for them.

Julie's sister, Heidi, and I also had some catch up time last week, She works as an administrative assistant at George Washington University, where (it's a week of coincidences!) friend and former employee, Jacque, attends law school.

Are you ready for yet another coincidence? Heidi is married a man named Michael Perry...her sister Julie does the cover photography for our Mike Perry's books. Heidi and her Michael are swamis. Yup, you read that right. They are ordained to practice and performs spiritual rites grounded in Eastern philosophies. They teach meditation classes, perform rites of passage ceremonies, and live happy lives. They will be in the area to visit family in the summer and Heidi plans to hold an event here.

***On the book front...I own Keith Richards a small apology for my premature review of his book, Life. More next week...maybe.

I Fell Off the Organization Wagon!

This is why there will be no post today! I have to get this mess under control. The holidays are coming, I can't have piles. So, today is devoted to getting back on the everything-in-its-rightful-place wagon, and staying there. Wanna come over and help?

I am still working my way through Keith Richard's Life. Artists'-visual, performing, visionaries - lives and their processes fascinate me. I figure if I can't be one, the next best thing is lurking on the edges of their worlds. Reading about them is good, too. I still haven't figured Richards' "process" but I can say for sure that he is creative, and he has many, many intriguing, shocking and ridiculously hedonistic stories to tell. I wish he would tell them in a linear way, but I am beginning to feel that his fancy fretwork way of relating tales will be half the fun of the book.

Hey...go see "Rent" at UW-Manitowoc, Wednesday-Saturday. You'll get a gritty glimpse into the Bohemian lifestyle of a group of artists trying to do what they love while facing big challenges. Great music and highly talented cast from the Lakeshore and Sheboygan.

Now...I will put on an apron, arm myself with a feather duster and let loose with a spirited, albeit sour, rendition of "I'm the happiest girl is the whole USA" while pretending to adore cleaning.

Thanks for stopping by.

A Reliable Wife...Amolng Other Things

Last week I bellyached a little about A Reliable Wife, our book discussion group's choice for November. Turns out, this novel held my attention to the last page. The sweeping storyline, filled with twists and coincidences often plays out in soap opera proportions, but the powerful underlying intentions linger. First, this is a chilly story - location, character and deed. The author was inspired by the pervasive and unexplainable insanity during a grueling Wisconsin winter as chronicled in Michael Lesy's Wisconsin Death Trip. I remember attempting to watch a documentary based on the book, but found it too disturbing.

So, there's the weather situation. That, and the isolation that it causes, combine with three of the coldest characters I have ever found in a novel. Catherine hopes to put her lurid past behind by marrying a rich man and ultimately poisoning him. Ralph contracts a mail order bride to help him in any way necessary to locate his prodigal son. Ralph needs to soothe his conscience. He expects to be forgiven for allowing his first wife to die, and for beating his son. The son, Antonio desires only to see his father dead.

There are attempts at redemption, but the intensity of the individual's need is so twisted that redemption is impossible. I can see how their back stories could arouse sympathy is some readers, but for me, each had ample opportunity to walk away from the evil they created. Instead, they chose to pursue it with a vengeance.

There's more to say, but doing so could give away too much of the plot, and I want you to discover that on your own. I stand by last week's observation that the author, Robert Gooldrick, does not have a soft spot for women. That aside, his writing lured me in page after page. It is melodious, intelligent, and crafty. There is little dialogue. And although I love dialogue, this did not bother me. He fills his narrative passages with commentary on character's angst, cynicism and internal conflicts. With great clarity, he shows us the workings of hedonistic, evil minds. At times, he almost convinced me to take sides with one of the three, and that's a scary thought. But, as Gooldrick tells his readers time and time again...these things happen.

*****Here I am on my Saturday adventure. An unnamed friend (UF from here on out...you'll understand the anonymity in a few sentences) and I set out for a Chicago trade show at about 7 A.M. The day began with my alarm failing to go off at 6:15, as planned. Instead, there was frantic doorbell ringing and door pounding to alert me that we were off schedule.

The show was at the Chicago Hilton. Real fancy! I made a few contacts, placed a small order, and had great pizza with a sales rep. In the parking lot, I was called a racist by a panhandler. He mentioned, in a pretty hostile manner, that if it had been nighttime, he would have kicked my *&@.

Now the adventure begins. UF and I walked up Michigan Avenue for a while, but that's just not my style. (Did I mention it was 70 degrees?!) Instead, we headed to Old Town, an artsy, more bohemian neighborhood where I knew I would feel comfortable. The streets in OT are lined with art galleries, coffee shops, vintage stores...colorful friendly, casual. I picked all that up as we drove up one street and down another. "So, are we stopping?" I asked. The answer was abrupt and confusing. "No, I don't know how their parking system works. They don't have meters. They have boxes on corners."

We drove off. Real fast. I pouted. UF drove. Real fast. Heading home. Suddenly, we took the Lake Forest exit. Once again, I was happy. This is a neat community with a train depot in the middle of town, and a strip of stores worth exploring. The Boy Scouts were celebrating Halloween in a mid-town park, and there was happiness everywhere. For a while.

Suddenly, UF announced, "You stay here.,, I'll be back in a few minutes." What was I to do? It all happened so fast. UF was gone, and I was alone on a park bench in front of a bookstore (great location) that was about to close. As a matter of fact, everything was closing and the temperature was dropping. Fast. UF did not even toss my jack out of the car upon leaving. So I sat on the cold metal park bench. ((See picture). After about 20 minutes of bone chilling wind, and a bench that showed no signs of warming, I moved to the edge of a concrete planter, thinking it may have soaked up some of the 70 degree heat. Wrong.

At this point, I started worrying., Where was UF? Had I been abandoned. Was there some sort of Twilight Zone fugue state thing happening? What would I do? How would I get home? Notice, there was no concern for UF. That came later. I am sure my brain was freezing along with my butt, and I was alone. Everyone cleared out quickly. After forty-five minutes, I launched my plan. I would call the police, telling them about UF knowing full well I had no proof that UF even existed. I knew the type of car we would be looking for, but not the license number, make or model. (I know what you're thinking. NO. I do not have a cell phone.) To make matters worse, UF uses a number of different name forms on documents...not aliases...just sometimes a full first name, other times a common nickname, still other times a first initial and middle name...of boy, I knew that could mean trouble. Who would believe me? Than name business has a Bonnie and Clyde vibe to it.

Just then, I saw it...the little car came around the corner and out jumped UF. When I opened my door, I saw it. p It appears as if UF had opened a pharmacy The floor was filled with opened packages of Imodium. A half consumed bottle of the pink stuff...Pepto...lay on the floor, UF caressed a container of Kaopectate. Things became real clear, and there's not much more to tell...you can figure it out... except that UF and and the bathrooms at Burger King and Walgreen's had become intimate friends. Some intestinal nastiness was messing with UF, beginning shortly after we arrived in Chicago. And that is the story of my whirlwind trip to the big city. These things happen.

This is the annual Halloween photo of the beast waiting for trick-or- treaters yesterday.

What am I reading? May holiday novel was an old suspense tale called Dragonwyck by Anna Seton. It has a governess, a weird uncle, a creepy housekeeper, a cold-hearted little girl...all living in a big house lit by candles. It's all very Bronte-esque.

I also dug into Life by Keith Richards...he's the Rolling Stone who is not Mick Jagger. I figure, if I'b goikng to read a celeb bio, it shoud be one filled with danger, craziness, fist fights, diva-like behavior and a few mentions of Johnny Depp. Isn't it silly that Richards can pen a 600+ page book and the only title he can come up with is Life?

Thanks for stopping by