Puddn'head

"There's a reason it's taught in high schools," commented the Mister upon his recent completion of Pat Frank's Alas, Babylon.

"And there's a reason Puddn'head Wilson isn't," I added.

Mark Twain's social commentary does have a lot going for it: a fabulous opening with wonderful horticultural description*, a memorable character named Puddn'head, scathing social commentary, lots of potential Mark Twainisms, and crime scene detective work so exuberantly presented the concept seems sweet. It also has a jumble of other characters who don't fit into the story, subtle racism perpetuated in the attack on overt racism, ill-suited shifts in focus and lots of use of the n-word.

I haven't read enough Twain to know if Puddn'head is just a clumsy lesser work of a great writer, or if Twain's greatness can fully be sampled in his little bits: the fabulous description here, the satirical aside there, and the quote just waiting to be made into an epigram, rather than as a writer of whole books. I'm reading The Prince and the Pauper now to collect more evidence.

*In 1830 it was a snug collection of modest one- and two- story frame dwellings, whose whitewashed exteriors were almost concealed from sight by climbing tangles of rose vines, honeysuckles,and morning glories. Each of these pretty homes had a garden in front fenced with white palings and opulently stocked with hollyhocks, marigolds,touch-me-nots, prince's-feathers, and other old-fashioned flowers;while on the windowsills of the houses stood wooden boxes containing moss rose plants and terra-cotta pots in which grew a breed of geranium whose spread of intensely red blossoms accented the prevailing pink tint of the rose-clad house-front like an explosion of flame.

Fuzzy Books

I've waited long enough to write about H. Beam Piper's* Fuzzy Trilogy (Little Fuzzy, Fuzzy Sapiens and Fuzzies and Other People) that I have much less to say than when I first finished them. This is probably not a bad thing, as I was wanting to babble about topics ranging from the role of corruption in government to the importance of cocktail hour to authors in the 1960s. Now enough time has passed that I'll just give a two line summary and make my recommendations.
The Fuzzy books are delightful short books about the discovery of a new species, Fuzzies, on a planet inhabited by (and being exploited by) Terran Humans. Each book has a plot that, more or less clumsily, pushes forth the action. However, if I were to say what the books were "about", I'd say that the first is about what it means to be sapient, the second about how all governments have problems and I'm really not sure about the third.
Despite that lackluster description I have several friends that should definitely read them: SalSis because of her interest in "classic" science fiction and because she will spend the whole time comparing the fuzzies to her pets and her friends' babies. She and TucTrek will both want to live with some fuzzies. Irene and Beth will enjoy the books for the same reasons, and also because the science/legal interface is fascinating to note.
Other friends should read them simply because they are fun and thought provoking, if awkwardly paced and plotted.

*Author of Space Viking, my thoughts linked to here. The Fuzzy books are much more fun.
Image from Amazon.

Dianthus earns his name

He's been taking steps for some time, but on Saturday I felt I could confidently say that the little man is walking.
If he had my last name instead of the Mister's, he'd have to wait for chess tournaments or palatial construction to earn his name.
*Saturday was two days shy of thirteen months, making him smack dab in the middle of average. As for other milestones, he had his center four teeth as of our house hunting trip in late May. His upper left lateral incisor and his lower left lateral incisor popped through on that trip (at 10 months) and no teeth since. So, for three months he has had six teeth, four on one side and two on the other. It appears that the upper right lateral incisor is on its way in now (to which we hope to attribute much of the recent crankiness), making his teeth timing average to average, two early and two late.

Big wheels keep on turning

I live in a town surrounded by windmills (98 of them, in fact). My walk from my house to day care to campus is entirely in the older (i.e. "has trees") part of town, so I don't see the windmills constantly. I was unaware that they were part of my sense of home until last week. For at least three days, two of them pleasantly windy, all of the windmills were stopped. It disturbed me. I felt off-kilter. There's something surreal and disquieting about looking out at a horizon dominated by stationary windmills as the wind gusts around one's skirt.

The windmills are turning today. All is better.

So it goes with the rest of my life as well. I haven't figured out a time to sit down and post book reviews or how to keep the kitchen clean when opening the dishwasher is a Dianthus magnet, but things are settling down. There's a pile of quizzes to grade, a front yard to make into a flower garden, and blank taupe walls waiting for art to be hung. Nothing is caught up. It will never be. But Dianthus is walking, the Mister and I planned multiple weeknight meals when we went grocery shopping, and we're almost through the hideous chemistry part of the semester. Wheels keep turning.

Image from travelpod.

Much as I like CCR, by the way, the Tina Turner version of Proud Mary is now my favorite. "Big wheel keep on turning, Proud Mary keep on burning. Rollin'. . ."

Someday I'll Move the Mirror

The mirror on the mirror hanging in the master bathroom isn't exactly my style, and, as it happens, the frame hits my reflection right in the eye. Except for the hole for the nail that holds the gilded mirror, the mirror in back is completely sufficient on its own. So why haven't I moved the top mirror in the month that I've lived here?
Because I was waiting until I unpacked the bathroom stuff?
Because I can't move the mirror until we're ready to hang all the art?
Because I had to leave it to show our visitors (The Mister's parents, happy cricket, my parents and Sunflower Spinner four weeks in a row!)?
Because school started?
Because I have a one year old?
Because I'm plain tired?

While the former are all true, the latter is what's getting me.
This is supposed to be a relatively light load. The Mister has cooked dinner every night this week. I haven't done a thing except walk Dianthus to day care, walk to work, work and walk home. And I'm beat. Needing high doses of chocolate kind of beat. "I can't believe classes just started yesterday I'm so worn down" kind of beat.
But I don't plan to bring any work home this weekend. So maybe I'll move the mirror and hang the paintings. Or maybe I'll mow.
Or maybe I'll play with Dianthus and pretend to change my personal style so it fits the gilded mirror on mirror and all of these light fixtures.

Why We Moved, Part II

So the Texas panhandle, northeastern New Mexico and southern Colorado (or western Kansas and eastern Colorado or the Oklahoma panhandle and southwestern Colorado) go on forever, but still, they take less time to cross than eastern Colorado, all of Kansas, all of Missouri and parts of Illinois, Indiana, Kentucky (or Ohio) and West Virginia.
The fourth photo was taken in Colorado about a month ago, the rest were all here in Oklahoma this past weekend.

Why We Moved, Part I

Part II arrives Friday evening.