Reading to children

I noticed this post over at bookninja today. A short one, all about reading to children. Apparently, only 3% of fathers read to their children, compared to 89% of mothers. The statistics could be wrong, there appears to be no more information than that, and I'm not quite sure what they're measuring (read to their children every night, once a week, ever ... ?). Being a writer and a lifelong book lover, I've read to T from birth. It never occurred to me not to read to her, really. It is only recently, though, that I've started to notice she is really starting to understand the stories we read. We've been reading some longer books recently ("chapter books" in T-parlance), a chapter every night over a week or two, and it is lovely being able to discuss the simple plots with her before and after the night's chapter.

We just finished Fairy Dust and The Quest for the Egg, beautifully illustrated and a nice story that didn't play too heavily on its Disney origins.


T was also lucky enough to be given a copy of Bob the Builder and the Elves signed by the author, Emily Rodda, and we are now embarking on that story too (while giving me a great opportunity to bang on about how valuable some books can be).

Of course, the question is, where do we go next? Well, Mothers for Women's Lib to the rescue! They've found the Amelia Bloomer Project which is a US list of books suitable for children, all with a strong female character. Not just any females, though:

We need not just cardboard “feisty” or “spunky” female characters, but tales of girls and women who have broken barriers and fought to change their situations and their environment.

Wheeee! I'm off to start my Amazon shopping list, who's coming?

Why is it that finding books and toys that are gender neutral (not just feminist) is so difficult? T got given a bag of lollies at her birthday party on the weekend, and it contained a chocolate with Batman on the wrapper. Naturally, it was in blues and blacks. She holds it up and says "Look, it's got Batman on it, Mum". I respond with "Cool" or whatever other non-committal monosyllable I chose to employ, since I was busy with the massive cleanup. T, in the meantime, is obviously studying this and pipes up with "why is Batman always wearing black clothes?". Well, good question, I think. I half-heartedly suggest that perhaps Batman should try a brighter outfit sometime. T agrees, adding her opinion that Batman should consider pink and purple. Of course, his crime-fighting potential might be harmed, but would it threaten his masculinity? Naturally, things don't have to be pink to appeal to girls, but this goes further than that. T is a huge fan of the Pixar movie Cars, but have you ever tried to buy a Cars winter jacket in the girls' section at Target? For that matter, have you ever tried to buy a winter jacket in the girls' section at Target that didn't feature faux fur trim? Take my advice, head straight to the boys' department. I'm hoping that by doing so, I'm at least proving to my daughter that there's no rule that says you can't wear 'boys' clothes, or play with 'boys' toys, or - heaven forfend! - use 'boy' colours in your colouring-in.

The moral of the story? Find positive role-models for your little girls, don't fall prey to the gender segregation of consumer culture, and always - always - debrief your children on the way things actually are, not the way the media portrays them to be.

Resurrection

Thanks to my wonderful friend Greg Sydney-Smith, and his most stunning web-dev skills, my blog has been restored to more than its former glory, complete with working comments!



Thanks Greg, your generosity and talents are very, very much appreciated!

Apocalypse

My blog is in serious disrepair, and needs some love. I don't have the talent or the time to be able to fix it, so for now I'm going to leave it in its sorry state. Unfortunately, the comments section is entirely broken. If you want to leave me a comment, either drop in and see me on Twitter (username: Loquacities) or sling me an email to loquacities(at)gmail(dot)com. In the meantime, here's a short story. This one comes with a disclaimer, it's a depressing, bleak story, borne of the horrible news that has come out of Victoria in the past few days. With that in mind, I would like to send my very best wishes to all those with friends or family in that ravaged state, my thanks to the hardworking volunteers, and a reminder to do whatever you can.

-~=oOo=~-

The depression started the same year I started school. By the time I finished, only the elderly and the insane held out any hope of it ending. I can't remember exactly, but it was some time during my teens that the fresh food started to become sparse. I remember my mother squabbling with a young man over the last over-ripe peach in a fruit store. The weather was ridiculously hot, and perhaps she had been having a bad day, because it was out of character. Eventually, the owner of the store, desperate to sell the stock and get the fighting pair out of his shop, probably, cut the peach in half and Mum and the man both handed over a bunch of coins for the precious fruit. She offered me a bite, and the too sweet juice running down my chin is the clearest part of this memory for me. Mum took a bite herself, ecstasy on her face as she savoured it. When we got outside a grubby girl with running sores on her arms, no more than four, came up and begged for food, money, whatever we could give. Perhaps the sight of the child brought about guilt over her behaviour in the fruit shop. Whatever it was that made her do it, my mother reached down to the girl, and gave her the remaining bite of the peach. The girl made the fruit disappear so quickly I thought she had dropped it at first, but then we saw tears cutting pink lines through the grime on her cheeks, and realised that she was crying with pleasure at the fruit. My mother smiled at the child, but wept to herself on the way home, when she thought I wasn't looking. To give up not just food, but fresh food, was almost too hard to bear.

Children like this were common since the fires. As the country had progressively burnt to a cinder - first the southeast corner, then gradually north and west, sparing only those in the very inner-city suburbs - more and more children were left without families, without support, and without hope. It was really the fires that started to make people realise that we were in a lot more trouble than anyone had realised. At first, when the first state went up in flames, it was hailed as a disaster. Grief for the ever-increasing list of victims grew, support flooded in from all corners of the country - even some from overseas. As a nation we mourned the dead, supported the survivors, congratulated the heroes and urged the government to provide financial support. By the time the last square kilometre of farmland had gone to ash, we had grown immune to the horror. Small enclaves survived in the very hearts of the biggest cities, the people who had run from their burning homes in the outskirts found themselves homeless, hungry and desperate in a city that no longer had enough to spare for themselves. The natural urge to reach out and help those less fortunate died, as our own fortunes died.

We were considered lucky, to start with. We had a small yard, with an established vegetable garden, and a couple of fruit trees. Even once the fires got hold of them, we managed to hang on to one lone apple tree, but eventually the ash in the air, the toxic rain and the lack of water put paid to it, and by the time I was twelve fresh fruit and vegetables had become a treat. From someone who wouldn't have touched a sultana with a long pole, I became someone who would have committed the most indecent acts for a single grape.

While we fought fire in the southern half of the country, the north battled flood. While the fire fighters prayed for rain, the residents in the north prayed for it to stop. Where the two met, somewhere just north of the middle, the flood waters put out the fires, began to dry up in the hot air, and then got overtaken by the next wave of fire. In the days when the fire appeared to have nowhere else to burn, even the silted streets provided fuel. By the time that our northern-most cities had burned, the surviving population were so consumed with just staying alive that we could no longer grieve.

I finished school, one of the last years to do so. Most schools had closed by 2021, although a very small number - mine included - struggled along until about 2024, when finally too few resources and poor attendance finally drove them to close their doors. After that, I stayed with my mother. After all, where else was I to go? The idea of starting a family was laughable, and Mum was getting older, she needed all the help I could offer her.

Mum died last year. She was old, nearly fifty. The people around me are all ill, or dying. Few people I knew even five years ago are still alive. There is no food except what we grow ourselves in scrubby little plots. Plants are hoarded for their seed and their fruit, and the owners of the plants stand guard around the clock, fighting off attackers. Now that I am alone, I am unable to stand guard. I survive from the jealously hoarded tins dating back, in some cases, over ten years. I open a tin every fortnight, and make it last. Water is almost impossible to get, and clean water a thing of fiction. I'm ill, and have been for years now. Now that I don't have to look after Mum anymore, who is going to look after me?

This is for all the luvvers in da house

I was going to post something about the US Presidential Inauguration tonight, but before I could finish the post, I had an idea for a short story. Stay tuned, I will post about Obama soon. In the meantime - enjoy!

-~=oOo=~-

The thumping bass of the last song drifts away, and the sexy notes of a saxophone glissando ease across the dance floor. The deejay, bloated with his own importance, growls through the mic, "This is for all the luvvers in tha house...". Most of the dancers, still high on the heavy drums of the previous song, sigh in disappointment and drift over to stake a place in the queues at the bar.

Out of the milling crowd, I see Cassandra drift towards me. Her legs, long and white as the spotlight passes over them, take my breath away. I meet her eyes, and she gives me a little crooked smile. She is beautiful. She is holding a short glass, filled with a lot of ice and a clear liquid - top-shelf vodka, almost certainly - but she places it gently on a table as she walks past, never breaking her stride. Her face is clear, her eyes bright, and I find myself lost in her gaze. The nigthclub surrounding me, the music, the dancers, and the crowded bar all fade into the background. Nothing matters but her, nothing ever again will matter except her. We are locked in this moment, a connection sizzling between us that is as fine as filament, but as strong as copper wire.

She drifts closer, and the spell breaks as she puts her arms around my neck, whispering in my ear words that are not in any earthly language, but are drops of love. I can feel her body pressed up against mine, and even though we are both wearing light clothes in the stifling nightclub, even the thin cotton between us is too much. I want to tell her how stunning she is, how she makes my heart feel like it will burst, how she makes my body react to hers, but before I can find the words the music swells, and the moment to tell her these things is lost. Instead, I hold her close. As close as that is, it is not close enough. It will never be close enough. Even the act of lovemaking would not bring us as close together as I want to be right now. I want to be within her, I want to crawl into her mouth, travel through her veins, nestle inside her stomach. I want to become one with her. Instead, we dance.

I become aware that people will start yelling soon, and when the first cry goes up, I push my face deeper into Cassandra's hair. The smell of her shampoo, and the cloying scent of the perfume on her neck, fill me with desire and I nearly forget how to make my throat make words. I swallow, and in the instant before others take up the cry and drown them out, I say the words, "I love you". Simple words that convey only a small fraction of what I feel. All the same, I feel the muscles in the side of her face move against mine, and I know she is smiling. Her warm lips find my own ear, and I almost melt on to the floor with desire, begging her silently to nibble, bite, kiss, but instead she breathes, "I love you, too". And the yells have started to turn into screams, panic flows over us like a wave, and I imagine I can still hear the saxophone underneath the hysteria.

The people around us start to flow into the outer corners of the night club, and I relish the empty space in the moment before the flames start sucking the oxygen away from us. I hold Cassandra close, still trying to think of the words that will tell her how I feel. She tightens her arms around me, and ducks her head slightly, so she is protected from the heat by my shoulder. I lift my chin, as though tucking her into the protective shield of my body.

The heat on my back gets warmer, until I can feel the skin searing, blisters rising almost instantly. Suddenly, my hair is alight, and I feel Cassandra judder against me as her hands, locked behind my back, start to burn. I wonder if saying "You are beautiful" is too cliched for her to be able to take seriously.

The fire has engulfed us, the hiss and pop of the flames drowning out the terrified screams of the people still in the building. We cling to each other like a life raft, still in our spot on the dance floor, still slightly swaying to the faded saxophone. And then it is over.

The thumping bass of the last song drifts away, and the sexy notes of a saxophone glissando ease across the dance floor. The deejay, bloated with his own importance, growls through the mic, "This is for all the luvvers in tha house...".

Girl Geek Dinners Are Go!

I've launched the inaugural Girl Geek Dinner over on the GGD Blog and have been fielding all sorts of traffic since then ... the blog has just about melted down with visits, I've had a bunch of RSVPs already, Facebook has been going nuts and Twitter - wow! Twitter is amazing! According to the stats on the GGD blog, Twitter has driven something like 20% of the traffic to the site, which I think is massively impressive.

Anyway, I'm off to approve some more comments, add some more Facebook friends and Twitter about the event some more!

What a week

Between an upcoming release at work and the whole Girl Geek Dinner thing, I've been snowed. It's not all bad though, the response to the GGD idea has been well ... overwhelming, actually. I set up a Twitter feed this morning and, much to my chagrin, will be fumbling through Facebook at some stage very soon (probably tonight). I've had so many ideas thrown at me for getting the word out, and so many people seem all too happy to help out that I'm hoping to gain an offsider (or three?!) or at least a lot of enthusiastic supporters. Enthusiastic supporters will at least continue to talk about the events to friends, and should bring in speakers and - with any luck - sponsors.

Next on the list ... a venue and a date ...

Full steam ahead!

Girl Geek Dinners Canberra

Girl Geek Dinners have been around for a few years now. They were originally started in London by Sarah Blow, and have been gradually spreading all around the world. Last year saw the Sydney dinners arrived, followed closely by the Brisbane group.

So, naturally, when I heard on the grapevine that there were plans for a Canberra branch I got a bit excited and tried to work out who was organising it so that I could meet this wonderful person, and maybe help out a bit. Well, then I heard the bad news that this person had apparently drifted into the ether - taking her plans for a Canberra GGD with her.

Have you ever had one of those conversations where you realise that you've all of a sudden offered to do something you didn't actually intend to do? I had one of those the other day.



And so now it appears as though I'm the one responsible for getting Girl Geek Dinners up and running in Canberra. Eek! Right now, all I'm looking for is some kind of idea of how many people might be interested in something of this nature. Feel free to post in the comments here, or trot along to the brand spanking new blog at http://girlgeekdinnerscanberra.blogspot.com and respond to the survey.

And if anyone is really good with this kind of thing ... help?!