Little Buddha, like his mother, tends towards extreme enthusiasm when speaking of things he loves. Fantastic. Wonderful. Weally Gweat. These are some of his favorite expressions. Last night, after having me read How Do Dinosaurs Say Goodnight? for a third time, he apparently had come to the end of all the best words he knew to express his enjoyment. So he made up his own. “It’s lovelyful,” he whispered, stroking the cover reverently.
I think it is a perfect word, and have decided to use it myself. Today, I find myself thinking of several lovelyful things.
1. You, dear reader. I really loved all the great comments on my post about the public library on Thursday. Not only was it just cool that you share my enthusiasm for the public library, but I learned some things about my own library, too! I learned from Natalie that if the AADL doesn’t have something I want, I can request it, they will order it for me, and then I will be the first person to get it when it comes in! Then Jamie chimed in to let me know that one of the many fairy doors in Ann Arbor is located at the public library’s main branch. Cool! I have read about the fairy doors but have never been on a fairy door quest, and I think my boys would love going around town looking for them. Thanks, Jamie!
Cathy invited me to be her friend on goodreads – a site for seeing what your friends are reading, keeping track of what you’ve read and what you’d like to, and getting book recommendations from people who know your tastes. I had never heard of it before, and since I definitely need yet another net-based time-suck that caters to one of my hobby-related obsessive tendencies, I signed up right away!
Cath delurked and in the process mentioned that she grew up on Prince Edward Island. Yes, PEI, home of a certain redhaired orphan girl I adore. Which brings me to the next lovelyful thing.
2. Anne of Green Gables. Cath’s mention of her was all it took to conjure up old and beloved memories of Anne, Diana, Gilbert, Marilla, and Matthew. I am betting that most of you share my love of her. Right before my 11th birthday, my mother gave me these:
On the inside cover of Anne of Green Gables is her name (in my grandmother’s hand) with the date: Christmas the year my mother was 11
these books are two of my most treasured possessions
Mrs. Rachel Lynde lived just where the Avonlea main road dipped down into a little hollow, fringed with alders and ladies’ eardrops and traversed by a brook that had it source away back in the woods of the old Cuthbert place; it was reputed to be an intricate, headlong brook in its earlier course through those woods, with dark secrets of pool and cascade; but by the time it reached Lynde’s Hollow it was a quiet, well-conducted little stream, for not even a brook could run past Mrs. Rachel Lynde’s door without due regard for decency and decorum; it probably was conscious that Mrs. Rachel was sitting at her window, keeping a sharp eye on everything that passed, from brooks and children up, and that if she noticed anything odd or out of place she would never rest until she had ferreted out the whys and wherefores thereof.
And with that first sentence, off I went, down the lane to Avonlea, not looking back till I’d finished the whole series (I remember closing the last book lying on the floor in front of a fire the next winter). I embraced redheaded 11 year-old Anne as a kindred spirit, and with her spunk and wit she showed me a way that no one else around me seemed to know. It is what the best books do – illuminate for us an alternate world, articulate another way of being in our own world, reveal paths other than we might have come by on our own. I know I had been invited into other worlds by other books before these, but Anne seemed to do so in a spectacular and unforgettable way, and I do not think I have been the same since.
It was that summer, as soon as I’d finished the first book, that I started to write the first of many unfinished novels, about a redheaded orphan named Amber and her best friend Diane. I can remember sitting on the screened-in porch with my dad, reading him the first chapter, which is when I learned that “gingerly” meant the exact opposite of what I thought (what disillusionment!). Later, I was thrilled to overhear my father compliment my writing to my mother (he gently overlooked the fact that my book was more than simply “inspired by” Anne). That summer, my dad decided to order me a subscription to Writer’s Digest. Yes, my dad is That Cool.
Anne of Green Gables, you are still lovelyful to me.
3. Finally, lest you think this is a book blog instead of a knitting blog (though I gather you, my fellow bibliophiles, would not protest if it were), one more bit of yummy this weekend.
the Lovelyful Lace Leaf Pullover
You can possibly tell from the above shot that I did decide to go ahead and knit the body in two pieces, as per the pattern (I’m doing the arms before the upper body just to mix things up a bit). Though I could deal with reversing the lace leaf chart if I kept knitting bottom-to-top (thanks to Karma for pointing me in the right direction for that), I couldn’t quite get my mind around how to reverse the entire rest of the top of the sweater. Also, grafting in the middle will keep me from having to bind off the neck, which my gigantic head will appreciate (since I have a well-documented tendency to bind off ribbing too tightly).