Watching the Groceries: Wrapping Up the Third Quarter of 2026!

 

With the start of the fourth and final quarter of 2026 just begun (how did that happen?), I have looked at our grocery spending to see where we stand for the year.

And the short version is? Better than I had hoped, given the prices of food and some of the splurges I made. I keep a running spreadsheet on my computer and will sometimes make editorial comments as I go, some of which make me laugh and some of which make me wince when hit the end of a quarter.

So numbers first. In the third quarter, we spent $628.19 on groceries, which for purposes of tracking means food items and common household items such as detergent and toilet paper. Of that, only $23.33 was spent on household items, just under 4% The monthly average for third quarter? $209.40. 

Okay.

Year to date, we have spent $1854.61, which comes to an average of $206.07. 

I can live with that!

Looking back at my second quarter post, I see that I called attention to the price of milk, which was on an upward trend. Three months later, the price of milk has come down substantially. (Good, because I love milk.) Probably the biggest "splurge" was when we were recently at Mayo Clinic I picked out some items at Trader Joe's (and note that the one in Rochester, MN is the only TJ we shop at, period) to help shove more complex carbohydrates into my diet as my doctor and I work with my diabetes. So yes to the wild rice and the penne pasta made from brown rice. 

We will have a large stock-up at Aldi in the coming days as we have been eating out of our pantry and garden much of the summer. I know what we don't need: we have A LOT of frozen chicken in our freezer from some walloping sales at Kroger. But I will grab my Aldi list and check on our supplies of staples so I can fill in the gaps.

There has been a lot (A. Lot.) going on in this household, much of it good, much of it complex (even the good stuff), and a chunk of it in the "just get through it" category. My health is stable, but there are some issues that my personal physician and I are watching. Will that impact our grocery spending? Maybe. Who knows?

It is what it is.

There is one very recent development that takes the first place blue ribbon (our county fair just ended) and has nothing to do with grocery spending, but is too good not to share. Last Friday, Warren's daughter Elizabeth gave birth to Gideon, the first child for Elizabeth and her husband Justin, and the first grandchild for both immediate sides. 

Yes, Warren is over the moon. (As we all are.) 

Let's see how we finish 2026 on the grocery front! 

July Money Review

Following the extravagance of May and the parsimony of June, our July grocery bills looked pretty darn normal. When I sat down yesterday to run the totals, I confirmed this: $184.20 for food, $4.00 for household items, total $188.20. Yes, we nudged over the $175.00 I am hoping for each month, but just barely. And our year-to-date monthly average came in at a cool $161.33.

Our eating out expenditures were $80.99, about half of which were meals out with out-of-town friends. (I only count our share of those meals, not the total bill.) That's a huge reduction (about 75%) from our June expenditures.

Clearly the anticipation of meeting us is just overwhelming. 

August is going to be a challenge to come in around $175.00. We will be heading west for time with family, including the long anticipated introduction to Orlando, who will be just past the six month mark when we finally meet.

Last year when we were out west, I counted the groceries I bought, even when buying for the whole family. I will do the same this year. Even shopping at my beloved Winco, which will keep the costs rock bottom low, adds up when buying for ten to twelve people.

The bigger challenge for the August grocery spending will be that, even though it is only August 4 while I write this, we have already spent $142.43 in food ($119.45) and household ($22.98).

No, we did not buy lobster. Or anything remotely resembling lobster. But we did spend money restocking some basics (toilet paper among those items). We also spent some serious bucks on meat: about $10.00 on chicken thighs and $50.00 on salmon (8.5 pounds, but who's counting?). The salmon was a whale of a sale for local salmon prices; I cut it up this morning and wrapped it to freeze in meal portions. In the quantities we eat, that's a whole lot of meals; the final count was 13. (The chicken thighs already met a similar fate.) That comes to $3.85 a salmon meal, incidentally. What with all of our purchases and the items already in the freezer, I said to Warren, "We really only have to buy perishables from now until we leave."

And that simplistic sentiment was not inaccurate until I realized we are buying zucchinis at a locally owned farm market because dad's zucchini plant might get something on it before the first frost. (Let's just say it was a bad season for dad and his garden.) Warren and I eat a lot of zucchini during the winter; we slice and freeze it in quart bags all through the summer and into the fall.

Oh, and the first sweet corn is hitting the local farm market too. We do not eat as much sweet corn (cut off the cob and frozen into quart portions) as we do zucchini, but still, there will be sweet corn purchases.

So who knows what August will look like when all is said and done?

In other financial arenas, July held some major expenditures, chief among them airline tickets (which I had been saving for). It held some unexpected medical costs when an unexplained fever sent me to Urgent Care, at which the doctor took less than five minutes to send me straight on to the ER. I have really good health insurance through my job with Delaware County, but it was still a pricy night. I have a modest amount of money in an account separate from my regular checking account, so I could cover the costs, but it made me acutely aware of the whole issue of financial sustainability.

Financial sustainability is something that is out of reach of about 43% of the US population. It is very roughly defined as having enough income to meet your monthly expenses, ranging from housing and food to transportation, without having to beg, borrow, or go without. While some of those Americans in that 43% are those who live below the poverty line, a large and growing portion of them are what sociologists, United Ways nationwide, and a lot of others of us now refer to as ALICE.

ALICE stands for Asset Limited Income Constrained Employed. ALICE is in every state. ALICE knows no geographic, age, ethnic, or racial boundaries.

ALICE is a topic near and dear to my heart for several reasons. One is that many of the clients who come to our monthly free legal clinic are in the ALICE group. Another is that this fall I will be presenting at a national conference on the topic of ALICE and the legal system: how do we make sure those without means have access to justice?

But the major reason I am so keen on ALICE is that I have been ALICE. If I were not married to Warren, I would be ALICE now. And but for the fact that Warren owns his house without a mortgage, we would likely be ALICE. I have close friends and family members who are ALICE. And they are ALICE not because they are lazy or profligate spenders, but because the reality of today's economy is that financial sustainability is increasingly impossible to attain.

So as I sat there in ER and the very nice staffer informed me that my ER cost would be $150.00 and how would I like to pay that, I was grateful I had the means to take care of it right then and there, without having to calculate wildly how many months I could stretch it out over (as I have had to do in my ALICE past). And it made me think of all those who come through those doors (or through the grocery line or to the landlord) who do not have that ability.

As I mentioned back in January, I knew 2019 would hold challenges. We are both starting to look at retirement "somewhere" in the future. I don't turn 65 until April 2021 and cannot retire until Medicare kicks in (assuming that such a thing even exists in 2021) but am starting to look at that date (assuming I don't die before then). Warren sailed past his 65th birthday, a huge relief for me knowing that if I did die while still employed by the County, he would have medical insurance. While we are just starting to kick around what-might-this-look-like? when we talk, we are aware that our financial situation will change significantly when we both step away from drawing a paycheck. Other friends in our age range are having the same discussions; we compare notes in letters and emails and conversations.

More to come.

But first comes our trip and these little ones:

Lyrick will be turning 3 next month. Ramona is on the cusp of turning 7 and starting 2nd grade. Her school got a whole new building built over the summer. I'm excited because we will be there to tour it at the open house and watch her head off on her first day of school, an experience we missed last year because of the strike.

Wonderful times await.

Jumping to the Daylight

For the first time in years (decades?), the switch to Daylight Savings Time last night was seamless for me. Usually I wake groggy and stumble around all day in a fog, cursing the stupidity of moving the clock an hour ahead. But today, smooth sailing.

The difference between this year and all the other years? The myeloma in me. Don't get me wrong. This is not a new announcement about my crappy health. I am stable. But what "stable" means and looks like at 14 years out is very different from what "stable" means in other contexts. The sensation of myeloma, the distinct feel of it, if you will, is something I live with now pretty much around the clock. That feeling typically recedes when I am involved in something, such as a round of attendance mediations, but reasserts itself when times are quiet Accompanied often by fatigue, the myeloma is the reason I have cut back steeply on evening activities, joining friends for coffee, traveling, and the like. It is an increasing reason I read a lot (A LOT) because I can read without having to leave my chair (and my comfort zone) every evening.

There is no quieter fort me than when I go to bed each night, so guess what? The myeloma wakes me up in the deep night, sometime just enough to remind me it is here, sometimes for a long, whiney chat. It is an annoying alarm clock that I cannot set to the time I need.

But this morning it did me a favor. When it went off around old 4:30 a.m., we were already at 5:30 a.m. And it was easier (okay, marginally) to wait out another hour before getting up for the day.

Lots of people comment on my positive attitude as I move through this disease to its inevitable conclusion. I don't know about positive attitude. I think rather than a positive attitude, I am pretty realistic about what this is and what it means. Accepting that I have an incurable, progressive cancer that progresses even when it is stable allows me to savor the time I have and move through my days a little (a lot?) more easily. But today, I will go so far as to say "okay, myeloma, that was a gift."

I take them where I can find them.

And speaking of gifts, Orlando has been in the world and part of our family for a little over three weeks. Three weeks! Time flies. Ramona is very much the big sister, reading to him nightly per reliable reports. That makes me smile extra wide; I was in first grade (like Ramona) when my baby brother Mark was born, and I read to him all the time. (So much so over the years that he jokingly blames me for his being a slow reader because, as he puts it 56 years later, "I didn't have to learn. You read to me all the time!") So here is our Ramona (dressed up for Read Across America as Charlotte's Web; her top half is Wilbur, her bottom half Charlotte), Orlando in arms:

Now that is a gift.

Cultural Identity

Orlando arrived by scheduled C-section, so plans were made ahead of time for Ramona to be at the hospital for part of that day. Papa (Alise's dad, Joe) picked her up from school early last Friday (has it only been since last Friday?), and then he and Nana (Alise's mom Mona) helped her pass the time until she could see her mom and meet her brother.

While waiting, Ramona made the above picture of her family. Ben is easily identifiable on the far left, complete with beard. While sizes are all relative, I'm guessing Alise is next (albeit blond) and Ramona on the far right as the smaller figure. New addition Orlando is in between the two females.

What I especially love about this drawing is that Ramona put Orlando in a cradleboard. This is my Native American grandchild being raised with immersion in her culture. So of course her little brother is in a cradleboard.

That is how my brilliant, assertive, secure-in-who-she-is granddaughter makes sense of her world at age six.

These are difficult times for those of us who are not dominant culture because of race, ethnicity, tribe, gender identity, sexual preference, religion, economic status, language of origin, and so on. Last night our community's newly formed African-American Heritage Council put on a first ever Black History Month Celebration, which Warren and I attended. Students volunteered their talents—oratory and artistic—and many of them made thoughtful and provocative observations about being black in a predominantly white community.

I listened closely and at times got teary. Ramona and Orlando and my far-flung family were foremost in my thoughts. What would Ramona's education and sense of tribal identity look like if she were here in this town in our schools? Not as good as I would want, and that is written by someone who believes in our local schools. And in America at present? Not even that good.

Even in the best of times in this country, we as a nation have a long ways to go to being truly inclusive, whether we are talking about school youth or adult policy makers or just everyday folk. Last night was the right step forward for Delaware.

And way out in Washington last Friday, sitting in a hospital waiting room, a little girl drew her beautiful family, complete with her little brother in his cradleboard.

Ramona, you are amazing.

Look Who's Here!

Back in October, I announced that Ramona was getting a baby brother sometime in the early months of this year.

Orlando James Sanchez entered this world yesterday in the early afternoon. 6 pounds, 3 ounces. When Ben's text came through, I started crying with relief and joy and love.

Alise and Orlando are doing well. Ben and Ramona are doing well. All of us, out there and back here, are doing well.

Lots of pictures are flooding the social media venues, but this one is the one that absolutely melted me:

New Big Sister. New Baby Brother.

Not A Small Moment

This is NOT a small moment. Not by any stretch of the imagination.

Baby Sanchez #2 is coming in, with arrival slated for late February/early March 2019. I have been sitting on the news since the first night we were out there in August. Ramona gets to be a big sister to little brother Orlando (Ben's grandfather's name) and cousin Lyrick gets another boy in the family.

Yes, my heart is overflowing.

Laughter

Ben, chuckling, at about three months old

 Ben called last night and in the middle of recounting the story of a recent meal, he started laughing.

Genuine, spontaneous laughter.

Ben and I have been more in touch the last three weeks than the last several years. There are lots of reasons for the long silences, just as there are lots of reasons why we are suddenly talking and emailing so much. I am grateful, not analytical. Ben generated the call last night and was so talkative that I hung up with tears in my eyes, I was that happy.

His outburst of laughter triggered a memory of Ben's early days of laughing.

I chronicled a lot of my children's early lives. Ben more so than Sam, because when there is only one child, it is much easier to mark down the milestones and the "firsts." (Sorry, Sam.) And because I did chronicle so much, I know that Ben laughed first on February 10, 1986, when his father shook a pair of baby sweat pants over him. Per my notes, Ben "kept breaking into chortles."

That was not the memory of first laughter I had, but mine is similar in vein. I remember hauling up one baby and a basket of clean laundry to our second floor apartment. I put Ben on his back in the middle of our bed while I folded and stacked laundry all around him. I picked up one of a multitude of "burp rags," this one a long, gauzy kind, to fold. As I shook it out, it floated above Ben, who proceeded to let out a string of laughs.

I whisked the cloth back and forth above him, almost grazing his forehead. Ben's eyes widened and his laughter spilled out. We played the "whisking burp rag" game for several minutes until Ben giggled and chuckled himself to sleep, napping amidst the laundry.

J. M. Barrie wrote in Peter Pan, "When the first baby laughed for the first time, its laugh broke into a thousand pieces, and they all went skipping about, and that was the beginning of fairies."

Barrie was on the right track. A baby's first laugh is so full of wonder and delight that it breaks into a thousand blessings, and they all skip about about filling our hearts and lives with joy.

To hear Ben's laughter last night—unforced, natural, heartfelt—brought back that long ago little baby laughing and giggling a thousand blessings into my life.

Ben and Alise are just starting out with Ramona. She is still so new and unacquainted with the world that laughter probably isn't on her agenda yet. But Ben is laughing and, while he laughed, I could hear Alise in the background with rich laughter in her voice. Ramona will catch on soon enough.

And when she does, may a thousand blessings flow.

Sleeping Ramona, at about two weeks old 

The Project (With Literary Annotations)

"Even Belinda is learning to make tiny careful stitches."
"I'm not," said Belinda.*

I. Don't. Sew.

This must be distinctly understood, or nothing wonderful can come of the story I am going to relate.**

I don't sew. Oh, I can mend things and, if pressed hard, I can stitch a little with the aid of a sewing machine and a lot of time. So whatever possessed me to undertake a sewing project, most of which had no patterns, only descriptions and an occasional instruction online? 

The project came about after Mona, my son's mother-in-law, wrote on Facebook that she saw Ramona, our soon-to-be-here granddaughter, as a fancy shawl dancer at future powwows. And after I read those words, I saw Ramona as a fancy shawl dancer.

Fancy shawl dancing, which is performed only by women, is a 20th century addition to the pantheon of tribal dances. It is a featured event at powwows. The dancer's outfit, also called regalia, is very, well, fancy.

Really, really fancy.

You can't be a fancy shawl dancer without the regalia, even if you are a baby. Alise has already made Ramona a pair of moccasins. After the Facebook comment, I found myself thinking about fancy shawl dancing and a fancy shawl dance outfit. What would it take to put together one for Ramona?

Quite a bit, as it turned out. I spent a lot of time on the internet, looking at fancy shawl dance regalia. Finally, with the help of some internet sites, a Simplicity pattern, a large dose of what my father calls "field expediency," and a whole lot of love and determination, I sewed Ramona her first fancy shawl dance regalia.

In looking back, now that I am done with the project, I can only conclude I was delusional at the time I undertook it. An experienced sewer would think twice before jumping in on this, especially since these outfits are often made of satin and brocade and are elaborately appliqued. But there is something to be said for inexperience (and delusions). Fueled by what I can only assume is a grandmother-to-be's fierce desire to make something special for the baby-to-be, my lack of experience carried me into, through, and out of a three week immersion in sewing the outfit.

"That's why," said Azaz, "there was one very important thing about our quest that we couldn't discuss until you returned."
"I remember," said Milo, eagerly. "Tell me now."
"It was impossible," said the king, looking at the Mathemagician.
"Completely impossible," said the Mathemagician, looking at the king.
..."but if we'd told you then, you might now have gone—and, as you've discovered, so many things are possible just as long as you don't know they're impossible."***

Not that there were not pitfalls along the way. When you don't sew and don't know what you are doing, every step is a potential for disaster. My first pass at using bias tape to finish off the leggings resulted in this, looking like an awkward attempt at a potholder:

I almost cried. Then I sat down and ran the bias tape around continuously and came up with this:

Bill gets the tape measure and, kneeling, stretched it across the breakfast nook...He's storing up memories of decisions that seem right and ones that seem lucky, for the same reason footings are laid in order to build on. The tape snaps back into its case. "Now I understand what ten-feet-six by thirteen is,"says Bill. ****

The dress was almost my downfall. Halfway through sewing the pattern (this was the one piece for which I had a pattern, Simplicity 9784), I realized I had committed a major error in interpreting the sewing instructions. Small wonder, given my lack of sewing experience.

I emailed Cindy, who was my constant companion and champion throughout this project: Totally botched the skirt extensions—oh, they look great but they are on the inside and not the outside! I think it was kind of a "suggested" pleat in the back. So what I am going to do is cut them off entirely, because I cannot get them to the outside without destroying the whole skirt, and just set the skirt to the bodice. If it is totally screwed up, I will need more material...and start all over again on the dress. I hope not! 

As it turned out, it wasn't totally screwed up and I didn't start over. I also didn't complete the dress as per the pattern and instructions. In fact, I went so far afield that I folded them away and finished the piece with a fair amount of field expediency, to borrow again from my dad. Field expediency works. While the end result is not Simplicity 9784, it is a dress.

And when paired with the leggings, the vest/cape, and the fancy shawl, it is fancy shawl dancer regalia, just about the right size for a little one.

Ramona can go to powwows in style.

Many cultures, including a number of tribes, believe that the artist or crafter should make a deliberate mistake in a work to show that the world is not perfect and only God, the Creator, is capable of flawless work. I did not have to make any deliberate mistakes because I made so many without deliberation that there is no question of my humanity. Over the three weeks of sewing, I ran the needle into my finger countless times, and, in one brilliant move, ran the eye of the needle into my thumb. (Yes, it did hurt.)

The eye of Laura's needle slipped through a tiny hole in her thimble and ran into her finger. She shut her mouth hard and did not say a word.*****

As noted, fancy shawls are elaborately appliqued and beaded, often with a repeated motif such as a flower or bird. (My appliques are humble and within my limited skills.) As I thought about what motif to pick, I felt almost as though I were picking a spirit for Ramona. I could have picked something traditional and girly: butterflies or hummingbirds. I thought about fireflies and dragonflies. I could have picked something that carried a family connection: books or the Doyle owl. But in the end my heart told me to choose a comet, thinking of the blaze of light etching its way across the firmaments. As Ramona grows, she will have her own vision and find her own spirit, but for now, I am wrapping her in stars.

Back side of vest, with cape. Front of vest is seen in preceding picture.

For the longest time, I kept calling the fancy shawl, which is the piece I made first, by other names. Sometimes I would call it a spirit shawl. Sometimes I would call it a prayer shawl. It seemed to me to be all three. Of all of the pieces I made, this was the one that spoke to me most deeply of past and future.

The day came when I sewed the last stitch, which was on the white star on the cape back. In tying the past to the present and beyond, I sewed the trim on the cape with gold metallic thread I had originally bought years ago to sew trim on a Halloween costume for Ben. I knotted and snipped the thread, and then sat back. After days of working on and thinking through this project, it was done. After days of living with bobbins of threads and snippets of ribbon and satin, it was over. The next morning, the dance regalia headed west to Alise and Ben. 

I am not yet used to not working on the project. There are still stray pieces of thread on the floor of the kitchen (where I did most of the sewing). The extra bedroom, my staging area, is still in a jumble of cloth and spool of thread and pattern pieces. When I drafted this post, the package had not yet arrived, so I felt I was waiting, suspended somewhere between done and there. (And, as I indicated yesterday, I was beginning to wonder whether I would ever be able to publish this post!) 

As I sewed, sometimes by hand, sometimes by machine, I found myself thinking of Ramona and wondering about this unknown yet known and already loved child coming into our lives. I found myself stitching my hopes and dreams and love into the garments. 

So she had made her wedding gown herself, sewing into it the tender hopes and innocent romances of a girlish heart.******

I hope she grows up healthy. I hope she is bright and strong and creative. I hope she has her parents' love of books.

And I hope she dances. With her parents, with her family, with her tribe, with the world.

*****Literary Annotations*****

While I sewed, quotes kept coming to mind, causing me to jump up and go track them down. The references are as follows:

*Miss Happiness and Miss Flower, Rumer Godden
** A Christmas Carol, Charles Dickens
***The Phantom Tollbooth, Norton Justin
****House, Tracy Kidder
*****The Long Winter, Laura Ingalls Wilder
******Little Women, Louisa May Alcott

Feathering the Nest

When Ben was born, his grandmothers helped feather his nest.

Abuela Sanchez crocheted a soft throw to tuck him under for a nap.

Grandma Shirley cross-stitched a nursery rhyme that hung over his crib. (Yes, I have the cross-stitch piece put carefully away, but I did not crawl up into the attic to take a picture of it.)

With Ramona's arrival less than 90 days away, there are starting to be signs of feathering activity.

I bought a little tie-dye dress at our local Arts Festival in mid-May.

And I have already sent books out to Portland, with many more to follow.

The blanket, the dress, and the cross-stitch will soon head west as well.

Grandmother Susan,  Ben's stepmother, recently took Alise out on a baby clothes shopping spree. Jenna, Alise's sister, admits to being eager to buy baby clothes and "cute bath toys."

I have no doubt that Mona, Alise's mom, has already started buying items as well.

We are all helping to feather the nest.

Alise is no slouch at feathering her own nest. Recently she sent us all pictures of a project she had just completed for Ramona.

These will be Ramona's first (well, probably her second, per Alise) moccasins.

Ramona Dawn will be a member of the Little Shell Chippewa tribe. With Alise working at the Native American Youth and Family Center (NAYA) in Portland and given her family's involvement in tribal events back in Montana, my guess is that Ramona will have a fair number of powwows and other Native American events under her belt before she ever takes her first step.

Whenever and wherever Ramona Dawn takes those first steps, she will be taking them from a well-feathered nest, full of books and dresses, bath toys and moccasins, dreams and hopes.

And full of love.

The Man Who Took Us Outside Over There

Maurice Sendak is dead. When I heard the news this morning, I emailed Warren: "I may need to go home."

I didn't, but I sure felt like it. I felt I needed to go home and pull his books off the shelf and reread each of them again.

"And now," cried Max, "let the wild rumpus start!"

Now Ida in a hurry snatched her Mama's yellow rain cloak, tucked her horn safe in a pocket, and made a serious mistake.  She climbed backwards out her window into outside over there. 

Did you ever hear of Mickey, how he heard a racket in the night, and shouted "QUIET DOWN THERE!"...

I read a lot of Maurice Sendak to my boys when they were little. We would study the pictures of Mickey in his airplane over the kitchen city. For a long time, a poster of that very scene hung in Sam's bedroom. We would read about the Wild Things, about Ida and her wonder horn, about milk in the batter.

A poster of that very scene hung in Sam's bedroom.

And now the man who created all those wonderful images and characters is gone. 

I had kind of been waiting to see who died before Ramona Dawn arrives this August. I was thinking Beverly Cleary or E. L. Konigsberg, but it turned out to be Maurice Sendak.

That sounds grim, "waiting to see who died," but I don't mean it that way. I don't believe in some giant cosmic balancing act: you get a grandchild, but I get to take this person away. But given my deep love of books, and knowing that Ramona Dawn will be blessed with two parents who also love books (let's face it, Ben eats books for breakfast), I mourn when a giant in the pantheon of children's literature exits the world just before someone dear to me is scheduled to make an appearance. 

I was pregnant with Ben when E.B. White died. I remember crying that night when I heard the news on  MacNeil/Lehrer, thinking how sad it was that my child was being born into a world in which E.B. White no longer lived.That was shallow thinking, of course, which I now chalk up to prenatal hormones. Andy White was dead, physically, but his books were still there. They still are. I just reread Charlotte's Web last night with its evocative ending lines: It is not often that someone comes along who is a true friend and a good writer. Charlotte was both.

And I know it will be the same with Ramona Dawn and Maurice Sendak. The man is gone, but the Wild Things, Mickey, Ida, and all the rest of his amazing cast are still here. They will always be here. They are here waiting for someone to open up the books and let them out. They are here waiting for someone to fall into the batter or climb out the window backwards into outside over there. They are here waiting for someone to sail to the island where the Wild Things are.

And they are here waiting for Ramona Dawn, waiting for her to discover them.

Another One for the List

As I often vent to my friend Margo, how did I get to my age (almost 56) and not know about this or that book? How, I ask you?

The latest book to add to that list is The Princess and the Goblin by George MacDonald, a Scottish writer in the nineteenth century. MacDonald was a friend of Charles L. Dodgson, and helped encourage him to publish Alice's Adventure in Wonderland. The Princess and the Goblin came out as a book in 1871, the same year as Through the Looking Glass.

1871. This book was long in print before I read it in 2012. As I raved to Warren over breakfast this morning, "Your mother probably read this book. My grandmother probably read this book. Heck, your grandmother probably read this book!"

Note: Warren is a most tolerant man when it comes to listening to me talk endlessly about whatever book has captured my heart at the moment. Add that to the very long list of his wonderful attributes.

The Princess and the Goblin is noteworthy, historically and literarily, for many reasons. I'll spare you that discussion. But I will share something about it that fascinates me, and that is the number of authors whom it influenced: J.R.R. Tolkein, C. S. Lewis, and Madeleine L'Engle among them. It was Madeleine, in fact, who lead me to The Princess and the Goblin, citing it as a very important book in her childhood pantheon.

I have already earmarked a number of books for Baby Sanchez. The Princess and the Goblin just joined that list. I am sure there are more to come. Other grandparents out there may knit blankets or build cribs. Me? I build libraries.

Recently Alise asked me what I wanted to be called when the baby arrived? I laughed at the time, as that question had never crossed my mind. As I peruse my book list, though, I find myself thinking "Granny Books."

Granny Books. Yeah, that has a nice ring to it.

Wild With Joy

Everything happens in life. Some of what happens in life is terrible. We know this is true because it has always been true. But there is another truth available, an inexplicable and sometimes crazy truth that is no less compelling. The living of a life, day by day and moment by moment, is also wild with joy. Reeve Lindbergh, Forward From Here.

I have been sitting on this story since Christmas Day at the request of two people very near and dear to me who asked me to keep quiet. But they just lifted the ban, oh, about fifteen minutes ago and it is time to go public.

As I have mentioned before, my dearly loved daughter-in-law Alise is a beautiful writer. So I am going to let her tell the story:

Coming August 2012: Baby Sanchez! That's right, I'm totally incubating as we speak. Saw the little bean on an ultrasound today, and he/she has a super strong heartbeat and is doing water aerobics as we speak. Exciting!

The living of a life, day by day and moment by moment, is indeed wild with joy.