Elizabeth Jane Grey. What a good little capitalist, don't-rock-the-boat this is. Also, reminiscent of A Door in the Wall. An enjoyable story, but Adam, though resourceful and talented, is not as independent as all that.
Adam is motherless: I really must go through the list of Newbery medalists to see how many protagonists this is true of.
Years ago we used to dress up, go out at night, drink, and dance. Now the Hallowe'en party is at 10:00 in the morning (11 in our heads, so not that bad), has nearly as many children as adults (we do our bit to keep the ratio rational), and the entertainment is jumping in piles of leaves.
Which, I have to say, was big enough for toddlers but not for adults until I asked to use the rake. RDC teased me: I'd rake this lawn but not my own? Hey, when this lawn gets re-leaved over the next few weeks, I won't be frustrated. I raked the backyard, minus the leaves caught in the ivy, and later part of the frontyard. I like to rake, what can I say, especially when there are kids to jump in the heaps.
I hadn't seen Margaret since maybe last year's Hallowe'en, and we were catching up (Buckbeak is going to be a big brother this spring) and RDC interjected about my promotion. She was all happy for me, which was nice, but, either out of modesty or false modesty or just never being able to be happy with what I've got or needing to make everything a joke, I said I was still sending other people's faxes, and that one of my goals in life was never to send anyone else's fax.
My goals in life: to rake a good-size lawn every fall (or a few smaller ones), to read all the Newbery Medal books, and not to send anyone else's fax.
I saw my best friend Gethen, who after 10 months didn't remember me. But she's still Gethen, still sweet and charming, and we and Scarlett played well together. All the children were charming, in fact, but four-year-old girls are among my favorite people ever. Gethen might remember me if she sees me not too long from now, like for a Yule party.
And at such a party, do we have one, I shall have to refrain from quite so many airplane rides. This morning my left bicep was sore, in a reasonable way, from the gardening; this evening my back is viciously painful. I hate being a grown-up: I don't receive the airplane rides anymore, which sucks; and now giving them sucks too. Damn.