tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-33025387958161971222024-03-19T04:42:58.470-06:00Barbara DaCostaWriter, AuthorUnknownnoreply@blogger.comBlogger66125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3302538795816197122.post-81160813522775126522024-02-11T11:28:00.000-06:002024-02-11T11:28:22.049-06:00Ed Young, Children's Book Artist, Passes Away<div class="separator"><p style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img alt="e5a02-lon_po_po" class="wp-image-1016 alignleft" data-attachment-id="1016" data-comments-opened="0" data-image-caption="" data-image-description="" data-image-meta="{"aperture":"0","credit":"","camera":"","caption":"","created_timestamp":"0","copyright":"","focal_length":"0","iso":"0","shutter_speed":"0","title":"","orientation":"0"}" data-image-title="e5a02-lon_po_po" data-large-file="https://barbaradacosta.files.wordpress.com/2013/10/e5a02-lon_po_po.jpg?w=169" data-medium-file="https://barbaradacosta.files.wordpress.com/2013/10/e5a02-lon_po_po.jpg?w=169" data-orig-file="https://barbaradacosta.files.wordpress.com/2013/10/e5a02-lon_po_po.jpg" data-orig-size="169,212" data-permalink="https://barbaradacosta.wordpress.com/2013/10/02/nighttime-ninja-artist-ed-youngs-lon-po-po-recognized/e5a02-lon_po_po/" height="261" src="https://barbaradacosta.files.wordpress.com/2013/10/e5a02-lon_po_po.jpg" width="208" /> <br /></p></div><p>Ed Young, friend, mentor, and artist, has passed away at the age of 91. I had the honor of working with him on three children's books: <i>Nighttime Ninja</i>, <i>Mighty Moby</i>, and <i>Night Shadows</i>. </p><p>Ed was a favorite of teachers and librarians as his books were so gorgeous and well-done, often with layers of meaning and sharing of stories from around the world, particularly from his native China. <br /></p><p>Ed received many accolades for his work. He received the Caldecott Award for <i>Lon Po Po</i>, two Caldecott Honors, Eric Carle Lifetime Achievement Award, nominations for the Hans Christian Andersen Award, and more. Our <i>Nighttime Ninja</i> won the Children's Choice Award.<br /></p><p>You can read more about Ed Young at my children's book <b><a href="https://barbaradacosta.wordpress.com/">website</a></b>. <br /></p><p><br /></p>Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3302538795816197122.post-82657663244044698632022-11-07T20:57:00.000-06:002023-04-14T23:31:35.158-06:00The World's Tiniest Watercolor Kit<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgiSJsC7etzJs5hX-ZmZBAWPf5-ZM6fUblXBIcL6V3JKkHrviL0Sd8uIIgnDjCcHj4HM49nz2j6ILQhexEq3nYHiWlvG2daLmm5OKuMnFRm3y86vrK2d2y6FnCnrDrgpXUCmP_FbQ7VqXVC/s1600/dacosta+watercolor.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="139" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgiSJsC7etzJs5hX-ZmZBAWPf5-ZM6fUblXBIcL6V3JKkHrviL0Sd8uIIgnDjCcHj4HM49nz2j6ILQhexEq3nYHiWlvG2daLmm5OKuMnFRm3y86vrK2d2y6FnCnrDrgpXUCmP_FbQ7VqXVC/s200/dacosta+watercolor.jpg" width="200" /></a><b>Writers distract themselves</b> by doing crossword puzzles, making labels for file folders, and by sharpening pencils. <b>Artists, on the other hand, are quite unique and distract themselves</b> by doodling, sorting art supplies, and by sharpening pencils. Some painters go over the deep end spending hours preparing convenient and functional travel kits for trips or outdoor work. Since the invention of Fimo clay, painters have used Fimo to make paint wells to fit in metal boxes such as those from Altoid Mints or Sucrets. In fact, there's a whole underground culture <a href="http://www.instructables.com/id/Movable-Pallet-Altoid-Tin-Watercolor-Set/step9/The-Divider/">online</a> about creating these kits.<br />
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhQclyDUKslgnn4ZmT72TvqEtHSEm4HiA5f-2So6V5GsW_DkEz5tUPIZsVHqonM4-ZxZKtrbxWPGz-KitpxbvrnfnVcpUUAiWrveApjeYIyenXC3x_HjuT-75Wen-05rvt-Ik_I8zYno9t6/s1600/dacosta+watercolor+travel+it++a.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="145" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhQclyDUKslgnn4ZmT72TvqEtHSEm4HiA5f-2So6V5GsW_DkEz5tUPIZsVHqonM4-ZxZKtrbxWPGz-KitpxbvrnfnVcpUUAiWrveApjeYIyenXC3x_HjuT-75Wen-05rvt-Ik_I8zYno9t6/s200/dacosta+watercolor+travel+it++a.jpg" width="200" /></a><b>I found an even smaller and easier method:</b> dispense with the Fimo, and use a box that already has an acceptable interior paint job. I found the perfect one in the junk drawer. The only drawback with not having paint wells is that the paints mingle some as they're used, which is not to everyone's taste. <br />
For my mini-kit, I only needed to cover the box edges with clear tape, so that my brushes wouldn't get damaged (unlike the Altoids boxes, this one has no "lip").<br />
This amount of paint kept me and three kids in business, painting to our hearts' content, for almost an hour. Not that I was wasting time distracting myself, you understand.<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgiSJsC7etzJs5hX-ZmZBAWPf5-ZM6fUblXBIcL6V3JKkHrviL0Sd8uIIgnDjCcHj4HM49nz2j6ILQhexEq3nYHiWlvG2daLmm5OKuMnFRm3y86vrK2d2y6FnCnrDrgpXUCmP_FbQ7VqXVC/s1600/dacosta+watercolor.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><br />
</a></div>Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3302538795816197122.post-42668896215638057662022-10-14T11:22:00.000-06:002023-04-14T23:32:39.328-06:00Supersize Me—Organic Style<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: left; margin-right: 1em; text-align: left;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi1llBzrNq4ynKh9xi5gv1GiOOpcruXJYq8SbmV8YtWaCNugQCmH-YJYnwp7sHr0HDRE6klD4Nxs6IvxoFjNc6w3lEizNCwt0Ffu40vhxMZnYlzcB2QyFKtezYF199HKflU7KoHWD6sIfl6/s1600/organic+apples+size++.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="139" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi1llBzrNq4ynKh9xi5gv1GiOOpcruXJYq8SbmV8YtWaCNugQCmH-YJYnwp7sHr0HDRE6klD4Nxs6IvxoFjNc6w3lEizNCwt0Ffu40vhxMZnYlzcB2QyFKtezYF199HKflU7KoHWD6sIfl6/s200/organic+apples+size++.jpg" width="200" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">"Super-apple" <i>©2011 Barbara DaCosta</i></td></tr>
</tbody></table><b>If an apple a day keeps the doctor away,</b> and apples have more than doubled in size since that adage was coined, what are we to do? Eat a half apple a day or a whole one? <br />
Even organic apples have become supersized. Here are two apples that I bought on my quest for my one-apple-a-day snack. No wonder I barely had room for dinner after consuming the hefty one on the left! By my calculations, at close to three-quarters of a pound, it had <i>three times</i> the volume of the smaller one, which was a "standard" lunch-box-sized apple. <br />
<b>"Organic" once meant </b>getting something safe and scrumptious that might not be cosmetically perfect. The main thing was that it was not plumped out with fertilizers or hormones. Now, however, organics have become big business, and with that has come the new standard shown here: perfectly shaped, perfectly sized, perfectly colored, and, as with the apple on the left, as perfectly super-sized as any hormonally plumped out, genetically manipulated, chemically sprayed commercial apple might be.Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3302538795816197122.post-76798619224095882262021-01-26T17:35:00.001-06:002023-04-14T22:25:07.905-06:00NIGHT SHADOWS Publication 2021<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgIzYGK0sxVZbIJgkVVPEVgXgIv57PZYC93xWljujOtkKPLaAZXM_JqSYoqSspqAIpXpwOPLaEs7MZBovSrlip_puCze6IlYDrfoYlbTPqEdoiPxeZAtLlCyGZG32WWVOyVTl6Z_1Z4o2te/s1600/NIGHT+SHADOWS+cvr+s.jpg" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="180" data-original-width="144" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgIzYGK0sxVZbIJgkVVPEVgXgIv57PZYC93xWljujOtkKPLaAZXM_JqSYoqSspqAIpXpwOPLaEs7MZBovSrlip_puCze6IlYDrfoYlbTPqEdoiPxeZAtLlCyGZG32WWVOyVTl6Z_1Z4o2te/s320/NIGHT+SHADOWS+cvr+s.jpg" width="256" /></a></div><p>
<b>Night Shadows tells the story</b> of a lonely girl who
finds an unlikely friend in her elderly neighbor. Each night kids have
been creeping around and spray painting houses in Tasha’s neighborhood.
Two days in a row, her neighbor Mrs. Lucy awakes to find graffiti
outside her home. Tasha helps her paint over it. They discover that they
are alike, except for their age, and become inseparable. This nuanced
story shows young readers that honesty and respect are the most
important elements for friendship. This third collaboration of Caldecott
Medal-winner <b>Ed Young</b> and and <b>Barbara DaCosta</b> shows the intensity with which a child experiences solitude and companionship. From <a href="https://www.sevenstories.com/books/4244-night-shadows">Seven Stories Press/Triangle Square</a>.</p><p><span style="color: red;">★</span> <em>Kirkus Reviews</em>:<em> “</em>Conversations about motivations and actions will abound as children absorb the impact of grace.” <br /></p><p>Visit Barbara's <b><a href="https://barbaradacosta.wordpress.com/">website</a></b> for further information!<br /></p>Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3302538795816197122.post-40634720217292370742020-10-14T22:27:00.006-06:002023-04-14T22:44:39.585-06:00DaCosta Story in "Minnesota Not So Nice"<div class="separator"><p style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"> <br /></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgZAhN_JKzkcYD5ZgyxvlcxURd1v-YzFCewLLPRbMfAde4ccJQPO2906Nnbe7XoB9ctIW-yKxYJSqvYfQFQQWJXDjnps1Ite-8iIxgAr5rst-hAWQFhHhbKLk4ACw9QdEm7LwdX85xMRmT3BsYLY9hMP0mhLePu-O2JzGgu6DFZ3G4In_JjWXTj26-dog/s486/minn%20not%20so%20nice%20cvr.png" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="486" data-original-width="346" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgZAhN_JKzkcYD5ZgyxvlcxURd1v-YzFCewLLPRbMfAde4ccJQPO2906Nnbe7XoB9ctIW-yKxYJSqvYfQFQQWJXDjnps1Ite-8iIxgAr5rst-hAWQFhHhbKLk4ACw9QdEm7LwdX85xMRmT3BsYLY9hMP0mhLePu-O2JzGgu6DFZ3G4In_JjWXTj26-dog/s320/minn%20not%20so%20nice%20cvr.png" width="228" /></a></div><br /></div><div class="pdp-header-title text-lg-left text-sm-center mr-md-l ml-md-l mr-sm-l ml-sm-l" itemprop="name" style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><b>Barbara DaCosta's latest short story, "Mary, Marry, Merry" </b>appears in the entertaining anthology <i><b><a href="https://onceuponacrimebooks.indielite.org/">Minnesota Not so Nice: Eighteen Tales of Bad Behavior </a></b></i>from the Twin Cities </span><span style="font-family: inherit;">chapter of </span><span style="font-family: inherit;">Sisters in Crime.</span></div><p>
<span class="contributors pdp-book-author" id="key-contributors"> by <a href="https://www.barnesandnoble.com/s/%22Barbara Merritt Deese%22?Ntk=P_key_Contributor_List&Ns=P_Sales_Rank&Ntx=mode+matchall">Barbara Merritt Deese (Editor)</a>, <a href="https://www.barnesandnoble.com/s/%22Pat Dennis%22?Ntk=P_key_Contributor_List&Ns=P_Sales_Rank&Ntx=mode+matchall">Pat Dennis (Editor)</a>, <a href="https://www.barnesandnoble.com/s/%22Michael Mallory%22?Ntk=P_key_Contributor_List&Ns=P_Sales_Rank&Ntx=mode+matchall">Michael Mallory (Editor)</a>, <a href="https://www.barnesandnoble.com/s/%22Timya Owen%22?Ntk=P_key_Contributor_List&Ns=P_Sales_Rank&Ntx=mode+matchall">Timya Owen (Editor)</a></span></p><div class="text--medium overview-content p-lg-4 p-sm-0 bookseller-cont">
<div class="bs-content">
<div class="overview-cntnt" itemprop="description">
<b> 2021 Silver Falchion Award Finalist for Best Short Story Collection
presented by the Killer Nashville International Writers' Conference</b><p></p><p><i>Minnesota Not So Nice</i>
is a collection of eighteen short stories written by local Minnesota
authors. We poke holes in the legendary "Minnesota Nice" to expose the
darker side of our great land of 10,000 lakes.</p><p>When "Minnesota
Nice" flies out the window, Bad Behavior takes center stage. The Twin
Cities Chapter of Sisters in Crime explores what defines the legendary
"Minnesota Nice" and why Bad Behavior sometimes has its own rewards in
their latest mystery anthology. Eighteen tales of Bad Behavior from some
of Minnesota's best crime fiction authors.</p></div>
</div>
</div>Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3302538795816197122.post-51975677149568846482020-04-07T09:09:00.000-06:002020-04-08T07:47:54.044-06:00"Through a Window" by H.G. Wells<b style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img alt="Hitchcock's masterpiece, REAR WINDOW – Once upon a screen…" class="rg_i Q4LuWd tx8vtf" data-atf="true" data-deferred="1" data-iml="960" height="121" 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" width="200" /> </b><b style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"> </b> <br />
<b>If you're feeling confined by coronavirus quarantine...imagine the stories you could write! </b><br />
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Here's <b>"Through a Window," </b>a story about a man confined by injury, written by the English writer <b>H.G. Wells</b> (1866-1946), published in 1894. Wells is considered to be one of the "fathers" of science fiction, and wrote such works as <i><a href="https://www.blogger.com/null" title="The Invisible Man">The Invisible Man</a></i> and <i><a href="https://www.blogger.com/null" title="The War of the Worlds">The War of the Worlds</a></i>. As a boy, Wells had been laid up with a broken leg, which undoubtedly helped spark the idea for this story. Wells' story inspired an American writer <b>Cornell Woolrich</b> (1903–1968) to write "<b>It Had to Be Murder</b>" (1942). Woolrich, like Wells, had also been laid up by injury. Woolrich's story in turn became the basis for <b>Alfred Hitchcock's</b> 1954 movie, "<b>Rear Window</b>." The movie, regarded as one of Hitchcock's best, starred James Stewart, Grace Kelly, Raymond Burr, and Thelma Ritter.<br />
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Text courtesy of Project Gutenberg, an online library of out-of-copyright material. <br />
http://gutenberg.net.au/ebooks06/0609221h.html#c16<br />
A couple of offensive words have been removed for this post; the story content reflects attitudes of the time. <br />
<h2>
THROUGH A WINDOW--H.G. Wells</h2>
After his legs were set, they carried Bailey into the study and put him on a
couch before the open window. There he lay, a live--even a feverish man down to
the loins, and below that a double-barrelled mummy swathed in white wrappings.
He tried to read, even tried to write a little, but most of the time he looked
out of the window.<br />
<br />
He had thought the window cheerful to begin with, but now he thanked God for
it many times a day. Within, the room was dim and grey, and in the reflected
light, the wear of the furniture showed plainly. His medicine and drink stood
on the little table, with such litter as the bare branches of a bunch of
grapes, or the ashes of a cigar upon a green plate, or a day old evening paper.
The view outside was flooded with light, and across the corner of it came the
head of the acacia, and at the foot, the top of the balcony-railing of hammered
iron. In the foreground was the weltering silver of the river, never quiet and
yet never tiresome. Beyond was the reedy bank, a broad stretch of meadow land,
and then a dark line of trees ending in a group of poplars at the distant bend
of the river, and upstanding behind them, a square church tower.<br />
<br />
Up and down the river, all day long, things were passing. Now a string of
barges drifting down to London, piled with lime or barrels of beer; then a
steam-launch, disengaging heavy masses of black smoke, and disturbing the whole
width of the river with long rolling waves; then an impetuous electric launch,
and then a boatload of pleasure-seekers, a solitary sculler, or a four from
some rowing club. Perhaps the river was quietest of a morning or late at night.
One moonlight night some people drifted down singing, and with a zither
playing--it sounded very pleasantly across the water.<br />
<br />
In a few days Bailey began to recognise some of the craft; in a week he knew
the intimate history of half-a-dozen. The launch Luzon, from Fitzgibbon's, two
miles up, would go fretting by, sometimes three or four times a day,
conspicuous with its colouring of Indian-red and yellow, and its two Oriental
attendants; and one day, to Bailey's vast amusement, the house-boat Purple
Emperor came to a stop outside, and breakfasted in the most shameless
domesticity. Then one afternoon, the captain of a slow-moving barge began a
quarrel with his wife as they came into sight from the left, and had carried it
to personal violence before he vanished behind the window-frame to the right.
Bailey regarded all this as an entertainment got up to while away his illness,
and applauded all the more, these moving incidents. Mrs. Green, coming in at
rare intervals with his meals, would catch him clapping his hands or softly
crying, "Encore!" But the river players had other engagements, and his encore
went unheeded.<br />
<br />
"I should never have thought I could take such an interest in things that
did not concern me," said Bailey to Wilderspin, who used to come in, in his
nervous, friendly way and try to comfort the sufferer by being talked to. "I
thought this idle capacity was distinctive of little children and old maids.
But it's just circumstances. I simply can't work, and things have to drift;
it's no good to fret and struggle. And so I lie here and am as amused as a baby
with a rattle, at this river and its affairs.<br />
<br />
"Sometimes, of course, it gets a bit dull, but not often.<br />
<br />
"I would give anything, Wilderspin, for a swamp--just one swamp--once. Heads
swimming and a steam launch to the rescue, and a chap or so hauled out with a
boat-hook...There goes Fitzgibbon's launch! They have a new boat-hook, I see,
and the little blackie is still in the dumps. I don't think he's very well,
Wilderspin. He's been like that for two or three days, squatting sulky-fashion
and meditating over the churning of the water. Unwholesome for him to be always
staring at the frothy water running away from the stern."<br />
<br />
They watched the little steamer fuss across the patch of sunlit river,
suffer momentary occultation from the acacia, and glide out of sight behind the
dark window-frame.<br />
<br />
"I'm getting a wonderful eye for details," said Bailey: "I spotted that new
boat-hook at once. The other n--- is a funny little chap. He never used to
swagger with the old boat-hook like that."<br />
<br />
"Malays, aren't they?" said Wilderspin.<br />
<br />
"Don't know," said Bailey. "I thought one called all that sort of mariner
Lascar."<br />
<br />
Then he began to tell Wilderspin what he knew of the private affairs of the
house-boat, Purple Emperor. "Funny," he said, "how these people come from all
points of the compass--from Oxford and Windsor, from Asia and Africa--and
gather and pass opposite the window just to entertain me. One man floated out
of the infinite the day before yesterday, caught one perfect crab opposite,
lost and recovered a scull, and passed on again. Probably he will never come
into my life again. So far as I am concerned, he has lived and had his little
troubles, perhaps thirty--perhaps forty--years on the earth, merely to make an
ass of himself for three minutes in front of my window. Wonderful thing,
Wilderspin, if you come to think of it."<br />
<br />
"Yes," said Wilderspin; "isn't it?"<br />
<br />
A day or two after this Bailey had a brilliant morning. Indeed, towards the
end of the affair, it became almost as exciting as any window show, very well
could be. We will, however begin at the beginning.<br />
Bailey was all alone in the house, for his housekeeper had gone into the
town three miles away to pay bills, and the servant had her holiday. The
morning began dull. A canoe went up about half-past nine, and later a boatload
of camping men came down. But this was mere margin. Things became cheerful
about ten o'clock.<br />
It began with something white fluttering in the remote distance where the
three poplars marked the river bend. "Pocket-handkerchief," said Bailey, when
he saw it "No, too big! Flag perhaps."<br />
<br />
However, it was not a flag, for it jumped about. "Man in whites running
fast, and this way," said Bailey.<br />
<br />
"That's luck! But his whites are precious
loose!"<br />
<br />
Then a singular thing happened. There was a minute pink gleam among the dark
trees in the distance, and a little puff of pale grey that began to drift and
vanish eastward. The man in white jumped and continued running. Presently the
report of the shot arrived.<br />
<br />
"What the devil!" said Bailey. "Looks as if someone was shooting at
him."<br />
<br />
He sat up stiffly and stared hard. The white figure was coming along the
pathway through the corn. "It's one of those n--- from the Fitzgibbon's,"
said Bailey; "or may I be hanged! I wonder why he keeps sawing with his
arm."<br />
<br />
Then three other figures became indistinctly visible against the dark
background of the trees.<br />
<br />
Abruptly on the opposite bank a man walked into the picture. He was
black-bearded, dressed in flannels, had a red belt, and a vast, grey felt hat.
He walked, leaning very much forward and with his hands swinging before him.
Behind him one could see the grass swept by the towing-rope of the boat he was
dragging. He was steadfastly regarding the white figure that was hurrying
through the corn. Suddenly he stopped. Then, with a peculiar gesture, Bailey
could see that he began pulling in the tow-rope hand over hand. Over the water
could be heard the voices of the people in the still invisible boat.<br />
<br />
"What are you after, Hagshot?" said someone.<br />
<br />
The individual with the red belt shouted something that was inaudible, and
went on lugging in the rope, looking over his shoulder at the advancing white
figure as he did so. He came down the bank, and the rope bent a lane among the
reeds and lashed the water between his pulls.<br />
<br />
Then just the bows of the boat came into view, with the towing-mast and a
tall, fair-haired man standing up and trying to see over the bank. The boat
bumped unexpectedly among the reeds, and the tall, fair-haired man disappeared
suddenly, having apparently fallen back into the invisible part of the boat.
There was a curse and some indistinct laughter. Hagshot did not laugh, but
hastily clambered into the boat and pushed off. Abruptly the boat passed out of
Bailey's sight.<br />
<br />
But it was still audible. The melody of voices suggested that its occupants
were busy telling each other what to do.<br />
<br />
The running figure was drawing near the bank. Bailey could now see clearly
that it was one of Fitzgibbon's Orientals, and began to realise what the
sinuous thing the man carried in his hand might be. Three other men followed
one another through the corn, and the foremost carried what was probably the
gun. They were perhaps two hundred yards or more behind the Malay.<br />
<br />
"It's a man hunt, by all that's holy!" said Bailey.<br />
<br />
The Malay stopped for a moment and surveyed the bank to the right. Then he
left the path, and breaking through the corn, vanished in that direction. The
three pursuers followed suit, and their heads and gesticulating arms above the
corn, after a brief interval, also went out of Bailey's field of vision.<br />
<br />
Bailey so far forgot himself as to swear. "Just as things were getting
lively!" he said. Something like a woman's shriek came through the air. Then
shouts, a howl, a dull whack upon the balcony outside that made Bailey jump,
and then the report of a gun.<br />
<br />
"This is precious hard on an invalid," said Bailey.<br />
<br />
But more was to happen yet in his picture. In fact, a great deal more. The
Malay appeared again, running now along the bank up stream. His stride had more
swing and less pace in it than before. He was threatening someone ahead with
the ugly krees he carried. The blade, Bailey noticed, was dull--it did not
shine as steel should.<br />
<br />
Then came the tall, fair man, brandishing a boat-hook, and after him three
other men in boating costume, running clumsily with oars. The man with the grey
hat and red belt was not with them. After an interval the three men with the
gun reappeared, still in the corn, but now near the river bank. They emerged
upon the towing-path, and hurried after the others. The opposite bank was left
blank and desolate again.<br />
<br />
The sick-room was disgraced by more profanity. "I would give my life to see
the end of this," said Bailey. There were indistinct shouts up stream. Once
they seemed to be coming nearer, but they disappointed him.<br />
Bailey sat and grumbled. He was still grumbling when his eye caught
something black and round among the waves. "Hullo!" he said. He looked narrowly
and saw two triangular black bodies frothing every now and then about a yard in
front of this.<br />
<br />
He was still doubtful when the little band of pursuers came into sight
again, and began to point to this floating object. They were talking eagerly.
Then the man with the gun took aim.<br />
<br />
"He's swimming the river, by George!" said Bailey.<br />
<br />
The Malay looked round, saw the gun, and went under. He came up so close to
Bailey's bank of the river that one of the bars of the balcony hid him for a
moment. As he emerged the man with the gun fired. The Malay kept steadily
onward--Bailey could see the wet hair on his forehead now and the krees between
his teeth--and was presently hidden by the balcony.<br />
<br />
This seemed to Bailey an unendurable wrong. The man was lost to him for ever
now, so he thought. Why couldn't the brute have got himself decently caught on
the opposite bank, or shot in the water?<br />
<br />
"It's worse than Edwin Drood," said Bailey.<br />
<br />
Over the river, too, things had become an absolute blank. All seven men had
gone down stream again, probably to get the boat and follow across. Bailey
listened and waited. There was silence. "Surely it's not over like this," said
Bailey.<br />
<br />
Five minutes passed--ten minutes. Then a tug with two barges went up stream.
The attitudes of the men upon these were the attitudes of those who see nothing
remarkable in earth, water, or sky. Clearly the whole affair had passed out of
sight of the river. Probably the hunt had gone into the beech woods behind the
house.<br />
<br />
"Confound it!" said Bailey. "To be continued again, and no chance this time
of the sequel. But this is hard on a sick man."<br />
<br />
He heard a step on the staircase behind him and looking round saw the door
open. Mrs. Green came in and sat down, panting. She still had her bonnet on,
her purse in her hand, and her little brown basket upon her arm. "Oh, there!"
she said, and left Bailey to imagine the rest.<br />
<br />
"Have a little whisky and water, Mrs. Green, and tell me about it," said
Bailey.<br />
<br />
Sipping a little, the lady began to recover her powers of explanation.<br />
<br />
One of those black creatures at the Fitzgibbon's had gone mad, and was
running about with a big knife, stabbing people. He had killed a groom, and
stabbed the under-butler, and almost cut the arm off a boating gentleman.<br />
<br />
"Running amuck with a krees," said Bailey. "I thought that was it."<br />
<br />
And he was hiding in the wood when she came through it from the town.<br />
<br />
"What! Did he run after you?" asked Bailey, with a certain touch of glee in
his voice.<br />
<br />
"No, that was the horrible part of it." Mrs. Green explained. She had been
right through the woods and had never known he was there. It was only when she
met young Mr. Fitzgibbon carrying his gun in the shrubbery that she heard
anything about it. Apparently, what upset Mrs. Green was the lost opportunity
for emotion. She was determined, however, to make the most of what was left
her.<br />
<br />
"To think he was there all the time!" she said, over and over again.<br />
<br />
Bailey endured this patiently enough for perhaps ten minutes. At last he
thought it advisable to assert himself. "It's twenty past one, Mrs. Green," he
said. "Don't you think it time you got me something to eat?"<br />
<br />
This brought Mrs. Green suddenly to her knees.<br />
<br />
"Oh Lord, sir!" she said. "Oh! Don't go making me go out of this room sir,
till I know he's caught. He might have got into the house, sir. He might be
creeping, creeping, with that knife of his, along the passage this very--"<br />
<br />
She broke off suddenly and glared over him at the window. Her lower jaw
dropped. Bailey turned his head sharply.<br />
<br />
For the space of half a second things seemed just as they were. There was
the tree, the balcony, the shining river, the distant church tower. Then he
noticed that the acacia was displaced about a foot to the right, and that it
was quivering, and the leaves were rustling. The tree was shaken violently, and
a heavy panting was audible.<br />
<br />
In another moment a hairy brown hand had appeared and clutched the balcony
railings, and in another the face of the Malay was peering through these at the
man on the couch. His expression was an unpleasant grin, by reason of the krees
he held between his teeth, and he was bleeding from an ugly wound in his cheek.
His hair wet to drying stuck out like horns from his head. His body was bare
save for the wet trousers that clung to him. Bailey's first impulse was to
spring from the couch, but his legs reminded him that this was impossible.<br />
<br />
By means of the balcony and tree, the man slowly raised himself until he was
visible to Mrs. Green. With a choking cry she made for the door and fumbled
with the handle.<br />
<br />
Bailey thought swiftly and clutched a medicine bottle in either hand. One he
flung, and it smashed against the acacia. Silently and deliberately, and
keeping his bright eyes fixed on Bailey, the Malay clambered into the balcony.
Bailey, still clutching his second bottle, but with a sickening, sinking
feeling about his heart, watched first one leg come over the railing and then
the other.<br />
<br />
It was Bailey's impression that the Malay took about an hour to get his
second leg over the rail. The period that elapsed before the sitting position
was changed to a standing one seemed enormous--days, weeks, possibly a year or
so. Yet Bailey had no clear impression of anything going on in his mind during
that vast period, except a vague wonder at his inability to throw the second
medicine bottle. Suddenly the Malay glanced over his shoulder. There was the
crack of a rifle. He flung up his arms and came down upon the couch. Mrs. Green
began a dismal shriek that seemed likely to last until Doomsday. Bailey stared
at the brown body with its shoulder blade driven in, that writhed painfully
across his legs and rapidly staining and soaking the spotless bandages. Then he
looked at the long krees, with the reddish streaks upon its blade, that lay an
inch beyond the trembling brown fingers upon the floor. Then at Mrs. Green, who
had backed hard against the door and was staring at the body and shrieking in
gusty outbursts as if she would wake the dead. And then the body was shaken by
one last convulsive effort.<br />
<br />
The Malay gripped the krees, tried to raise himself with his left hand, and
collapsed. Then he raised his head, stared for a moment at Mrs. Green, and
twisting his face round looked at Bailey. With a gasping groan the dying man
succeeded in clutching the bed clothes with his disabled hand, and by a violent
effort, which hurt Bailey's legs exceedingly, writhed sideways towards what
must be his last victim. Then something seemed released in Bailey's mind and he
brought down the second bottle with all his strength on to the Malay's face.
The krees fell heavily upon the floor.<br />
<br />
"Easy with those legs," said Bailey, as young Fitzgibbon and one of the
boating party lifted the body off him.<br />
<br />
Young Fitzgibbon was very white in the face. "I didn't mean to kill him," he
said.<br />
<br />
"It's just as well," said Bailey.<br />
<br />
END Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3302538795816197122.post-18997526388366658632017-04-20T20:13:00.002-06:002017-04-20T20:16:08.064-06:00Mighty Moby—This August!<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi26liGWNkONBZbAK6lG45Tg2gInQwf9ZU3Jsj78Ylw6376lGVy_hMEoR4PES5DX70kZUJ5VD9VjLQ3Y7mwom-DeCj1QroAAVFKUpNudaSmfiXpe1AIgGV9qTW76rjhTMM9H0HYhDz2UWqU/s1600/MIGHTY+MOBY+CVR.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi26liGWNkONBZbAK6lG45Tg2gInQwf9ZU3Jsj78Ylw6376lGVy_hMEoR4PES5DX70kZUJ5VD9VjLQ3Y7mwom-DeCj1QroAAVFKUpNudaSmfiXpe1AIgGV9qTW76rjhTMM9H0HYhDz2UWqU/s320/MIGHTY+MOBY+CVR.jpg" width="252" /></a></div>
<i><b>Mighty Moby</b></i><br />
<br />
<b>Take the sea voyage of your life</b> in <b>Ed Young</b> and <b>Barbara DaCosta’s</b> latest collaboration, <b><i>Mighty Moby</i>! </b>The creative team behind bestselling award-winner <b><a href="http://www.nighttimeninja.blogspot.com/"><i>Nighttime Ninja</i></a> </b>have crafted another thrilling adventure, this time based on Herman Melville’s great novel <i>Moby Dick. </i>This
classic American tale is retold in collages of pictures, prose, and
song, along with a humorous twist. Available from Little, Brown August
1, 2017 at stores near you and online!<br />
<b>Available now for preorder!</b><br />
<br />
On <i>Mighty Moby's</i> <a href="http://www.mightymoby.wordpress.com/"><b>website</b></a>, you'll find information about whales, whaling, Melville, and more.<br />
<br />
“….Young and DaCosta have assembled a vivid and thoughtful introduction to Melville’s celebrated American epic.” —<i>Horn Book</i> Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3302538795816197122.post-82083730271111285562016-01-08T10:43:00.000-06:002016-01-08T10:43:12.702-06:00Shadow Puppet Theater in a Box!<img alt="" src="http://www.carlemuseum.org/sites/default/files/lead-no-text.jpg" /><br />
Here's a great way to create a shadow puppet theater using a large cardboard box, courtesy of the <a href="http://www.carlemuseum.org/blogs/making-art/copy-paper-box-shadow-puppet-theater" target="_blank">Eric Carle Museum. </a><br />
Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3302538795816197122.post-51024091668152965642015-08-30T14:29:00.001-06:002015-08-30T14:29:36.830-06:00A Profound Lesson on Learning<iframe width="320" height="266" class="YOUTUBE-iframe-video" data-thumbnail-src="https://i.ytimg.com/vi/voa0F2C_hjY/0.jpg" src="https://www.youtube.com/embed/voa0F2C_hjY?feature=player_embedded" frameborder="0" allowfullscreen></iframe>How to encourage students to love the <i>process</i> of learning! Awesome work by students and teacher Maricela Montoy-Wilson alike! Here's an <a href="http://ww2.kqed.org/mindshift/2015/08/24/growth-mindset-how-to-normalize-mistake-making-and-struggle-in-class/?utm_source=facebook.com&utm_medium=social&utm_campaign=npr&utm_term=nprnews&utm_content=20150830" target="_blank">article</a> to go with the video.<br />
<br />Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3302538795816197122.post-36622014700791498292015-07-14T18:40:00.000-06:002015-07-15T08:35:30.487-06:00Pluto, a Blue Moon, and Go Set a Watchman<div style="text-align: left;">
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<b>Three rare events come together, improbably in one month!</b></div>
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<b>A good time to reflect on the wonders of the Universe.</b></div>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><img border="0" height="173" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjAR8C2O512WLshbUk5_YVEUjqHe3Cq8HEDjKmZHfpfXsesc3usVT3varzbWBXUGa-_xUx1Md5x3Tf0tv-iYKGC8nJbmOn7JN5WspfS_vCzUdZUo3ArSMhSZjPMBq9ITOC4p1ZH84nmcIN2/s320/pluto.png" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;" width="320" /></td></tr>
<tr align="center"><td class="tr-caption">Pluto, viewed by New Horizon spacecraft (<i>NASA</i>)</td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><img alt="Image result for next "blue moon" meaning" border="0" class="rg_i" data-sz="f" name="TsUxn-TbMn6o_M:" 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style="cursor: move; height: 172px; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; margin-top: 0px; width: 258px;" /></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Earth's moon, full, called a "blue moon"<br />
when a full moon appears twice in one month.</td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><img alt="Go Set a Watchman" border="0" class="img" src="http://media.npr.org/assets/bakertaylor/covers/g/go-set-a-watchman/9780062409850_custom-306afa6eef1f1e91902f23ec462ef3a3d9a23313-s300-c85.jpg" height="200" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;" title="Go Set a Watchman" width="132" /></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">The unexpected pleasure of a new novel, <i> </i><br />
<i>Go Set a Watchman</i>, by Harper Lee,<br />
author of <i>To Kill a Mockingbird.</i></td></tr>
</tbody></table>
Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3302538795816197122.post-85691799183666203992013-05-15T21:24:00.002-06:002013-05-15T21:24:54.088-06:00Nighttime Ninja Wins Award!<h1>
<span style="font-size: small;">Thank you, everyone! What an honor!</span></h1>
<h1>
<span style="font-weight: normal;"><span style="font-size: small;">From <a href="http://www.publishersweekly.com/pw/by-topic/childrens/childrens-industry-news/article/57243-children-s-choice-awards-announced.html">Publishers Weekly</a><span style="font-size: small;">:</span></span></span></h1>
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The winners of the sixth annual Children’s Choice Book Awards were
announced May 13 at a ceremony in New York City hosted by the
Children’s Book Council. Book of the Year awards went to: <a href="http://www.publishersweekly.com/978-0-316-20384-5" target="_blank"><em>Nighttime Ninja</em></a> by Barbara DaCosta, illus. by Ed Young (kindergarten to second grade); <em>Bad Kitty for President</em> by Nick Bruel (third to fourth grade); <em>Dork Diaries 4: Tales from a Not-So-Graceful Ice Princess</em> by Rachel Renée Russell (fifth to sixth grade); and <a href="http://www.publishersweekly.com/978-0-525-47881-2" target="_blank"><em>The Fault in Our Stars</em></a> by John Green (teen). Jeff Kinney was named author of the year for <a href="http://www.publishersweekly.com/978-1-4197-0584-7" target="_blank"><em>Diary of a Wimpy Kid 7: The Third Wheel</em></a>, and Robin Preiss Glasser was named illustrator of the year for <em>Fancy Nancy and the Mermaid Ballet</em>, written by Jane O’Connor.Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3302538795816197122.post-24787538291558337882013-03-03T17:55:00.002-06:002013-03-22T19:32:07.693-06:00Nighttime Ninja Finalist for Awards: Vote Now!<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgnRS4FKgOvkNkVYvMrCl_A1w32c5_cgEgvP5obSZZzXWSByVXMGfoXe_n0fS79Hm_DXWuGu7RyfsSCLtIKBGzNX03mx1i0t2zfeu0sRYOMqbgxKFOOuJFKpNqN_j_j079M9ghPYLBo9e8h/s1600/read+kiddos+ninja.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="213" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgnRS4FKgOvkNkVYvMrCl_A1w32c5_cgEgvP5obSZZzXWSByVXMGfoXe_n0fS79Hm_DXWuGu7RyfsSCLtIKBGzNX03mx1i0t2zfeu0sRYOMqbgxKFOOuJFKpNqN_j_j079M9ghPYLBo9e8h/s320/read+kiddos+ninja.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>
<b>The prolific author James Patterson</b> started a children's literacy project called <b>Read Kiddo Read</b>, and Nighttime Ninja is a picture book finalist among this year's books! You can vote here.<a href="http://www.readkiddoread.com/" target="_blank">http://www.readkiddoread.com/</a><br />
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<span class="userContent"><span class="text_exposed_show"><br /> </span></span><br />
<span class="userContent"><span class="text_exposed_show"><b>Nighttime Ninja is also a finalist for the
Children’s and Teen Choice Book Awards</b> </span></span><span class="userContent"><span class="text_exposed_show"><span class="userContent"><span class="text_exposed_show"> the only national book awards program where the
winning titles are selected by young readers of all ages, at <a href="http://www.facebook.com/l.php?u=http%3A%2F%2Fwww.bookweekonline.com&h=7AQHT2xGZ&s=1" rel="nofollow nofollow" target="_blank">www.bookweekonline.com</a>.
30 finalists have been announced in six categories, representing kids’
and teens’ favorite books, authors, and illustrators of the year. Last
year, almost 1,000,000 votes were cast, more than doubling votes from
the previous year. Young readers can vote at <a href="http://www.facebook.com/l.php?u=http%3A%2F%2Fwww.bookweekonline.com&h=2AQFMs4Iy&s=1" rel="nofollow nofollow" target="_blank">www.bookweekonline.com</a> or their votes may be tallied and entered by booksellers, librarians, and teachers into the group ballot at <a href="http://www.bookweekonline.com/" rel="nofollow nofollow" target="_blank">www.bookweekonline.com</a> until May 9, 2013.</span></span> </span></span>Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3302538795816197122.post-23772654264117598672012-12-16T09:44:00.003-06:002012-12-17T21:28:59.026-06:00When Lilacs Last in thd Dooryard Bloom'd<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjiAGnwMeM0bbX6C9kK74Ak-_6l8Sqz7RoCKUYwQwCFKkH-g2DjkgdtvUOMij2srXrbt6mzfkGa2Ekgq1t33xix6LFRCV6IvMX4OuKqRAR6Mky0nXG0EWDrviFJzOiKBeU_LzJ64Xw81pht/s1600/IMG_2355.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="150" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjiAGnwMeM0bbX6C9kK74Ak-_6l8Sqz7RoCKUYwQwCFKkH-g2DjkgdtvUOMij2srXrbt6mzfkGa2Ekgq1t33xix6LFRCV6IvMX4OuKqRAR6Mky0nXG0EWDrviFJzOiKBeU_LzJ64Xw81pht/s200/IMG_2355.JPG" width="200" /></a></div>
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<b>At times of overwhelming universal sadness, as we mourn the loss of so many lives in Sandy Hook, poetry sometimes captures things best:</b></div>
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<blockquote class="tr_bq">
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When lilacs last in the dooryard bloom’d, </div>
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And the great star early droop’d in the western sky in the night, </div>
<div style="padding-left: 1em; text-indent: -1em;">
I mourn’d, and yet shall mourn with ever-returning spring. </div>
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Ever-returning spring, trinity sure to me you bring, </div>
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Lilac blooming perennial and drooping star in the west, </div>
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And thought of him I love....</div>
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<b>Walt Whitman's poem, </b>an elegy to President Lincoln, can be found in its entirety in many anthologies, and online at the <a href="http://www.poetryfoundation.org/poem/174748" target="_blank">Poetry Foundation.</a> </div>
Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3302538795816197122.post-6271891439413850892012-12-10T00:05:00.000-06:002015-09-11T19:45:40.115-06:00When Azaleas Last in the Front Yard Bud: An Ode to Global Warming<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiFyY8LCEMSB0Snn5mluzS1e658PxMGgB22x5bgZsJ4kqplcDbqpi1kIbqME7OV_9GhpdmGmdzdJKTikmMUVyXUCBjwYmysu3CywwkX2EEmGPlm3to9pOwQYaRR77kurrq7U8sRlL5htLH5/s1600/azalea.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="238" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiFyY8LCEMSB0Snn5mluzS1e658PxMGgB22x5bgZsJ4kqplcDbqpi1kIbqME7OV_9GhpdmGmdzdJKTikmMUVyXUCBjwYmysu3CywwkX2EEmGPlm3to9pOwQYaRR77kurrq7U8sRlL5htLH5/s320/azalea.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>
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When azaleas last in the front yard bud,<br />
Last week in an odd early winter heat,<br />
Before the temperature did downward thud,<br />
And snow crunched beneath my feet.<br />
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©Barbara DaCosta<br />
December 9, 2012 Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3302538795816197122.post-3662052781026403462012-12-08T11:49:00.000-06:002012-12-08T11:53:04.049-06:00Landfillharmonic--Making Music Out of Trash<iframe src="http://player.vimeo.com/video/52129103?badge=0" width="500" height="281" frameborder="0" webkitAllowFullScreen mozallowfullscreen allowFullScreen></iframe> <p><a href="http://vimeo.com/52129103">Landfill Harmonic movie teaser</a> from <a href="http://vimeo.com/user7746747">Landfill Harmonic</a> on <a href="http://vimeo.com">Vimeo</a>.</p>
More inspiration for recycling:
"Cateura, Paraguay is a town essentially built on top of a landfill. Garbage collectors browse the trash for sellable goods, and children are often at risk of getting involved with drugs and gangs. When orchestra director Szaran and music teacher Favio set up a music program for the kids of Cateura, they soon have more students than they have instruments.
That changed when Szaran and Favio were brought something they had never seen before: a violin made out of garbage. Today, there’s an entire orchestra of assembled instruments, now called The Recycled Orchestra.
Our film shows how trash and recycled materials can be transformed into beautiful sounding musical instruments, but more importantly, it brings witness to the transformation of precious human beings."
See <a href="http://www.landfillharmonicmovie.com/">Landfillharmonic</a> for more information and innovation!Unknownnoreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3302538795816197122.post-15673995627277650492012-11-20T23:16:00.000-06:002012-11-20T23:28:31.777-06:00Cardboard Mania 3: The Proof is in the Box!<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhy-fU0ok7XLSctCUMJ8QKGjXibty1IIjOrP3SfrtNzlOJGjgZgHV6DJdntBpza5NzvvbCeJA9x_xMYkroWF3ONnSzC0aVIkuD0QU0akn9FcS02AGyGAOxDox7BKQNZALEB0i9NK9Ol-BP3/s1600/Picture+2.png" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="187" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhy-fU0ok7XLSctCUMJ8QKGjXibty1IIjOrP3SfrtNzlOJGjgZgHV6DJdntBpza5NzvvbCeJA9x_xMYkroWF3ONnSzC0aVIkuD0QU0akn9FcS02AGyGAOxDox7BKQNZALEB0i9NK9Ol-BP3/s320/Picture+2.png" width="320" /></a>More proof that cardboard boxes are a more evolved species of toy and lead to more brain power:<br />
A <a href="http://www2.nbc4i.com/news/2012/nov/16/kids-learn-cardboard-classroom-ar-1243572/" target="_blank">Wellington, Ohio schoolteacher</a> opted for cardboard boxes instead of toys, and the kids didn't bat an eye...but instead, actually concentrated more.
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"Kids who had trouble separating from their parents in the morning or
just were quieter in the classroom, we have actually seen them become
leaders and we have seen them grow,” Kaser said. It's not all about racing marbles and role playing; the teachers say
that the kids are learning more than just playing with boxes.<br />
"There are negotiations when one person says it's a hotel and someone
else says it's a rocket ship, being able to solve those problems and
also be flexible,” said Jill Webb, Head of Lower School at Wellington. <i>NBC4</i>Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3302538795816197122.post-84934934850626209972012-10-15T16:39:00.001-06:002012-10-15T16:39:58.508-06:00Cardboard Mania, Part 2: Cardboard Bicycle!As if Caine's Arcade wasn't enough, a man named Izhar Gafni has created a cardboard bicycle! Here's a video interview: <br />
<iframe allowfullscreen="allowfullscreen" frameborder="0" height="300" mozallowfullscreen="mozallowfullscreen" src="http://player.vimeo.com/video/37584656" webkitallowfullscreen="webkitallowfullscreen" width="400"></iframe><br />Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3302538795816197122.post-54205565377354917582012-09-24T15:04:00.000-06:002012-09-24T15:13:03.601-06:00Nighttime Ninja Meets Cardboard Mania<iframe allowfullscreen="" frameborder="0" height="270" src="http://www.youtube.com/embed/Ul9c-4dX4Hk?fs=1" width="480"></iframe>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg8TUhy_JauzY5AqVKrXfdpc5C8ULS4ydFen_adO_cBag33ZfIxPPw0T_KTfhfAbrcciZ5ooDNI7ieB5po8m3b54z_U6VvZwiPFxUrI1P6SPGfyfGqU-yeIgv7pmE5XHQ_cfct7XSkfqyik/s1600/Picture+2.png" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="200" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg8TUhy_JauzY5AqVKrXfdpc5C8ULS4ydFen_adO_cBag33ZfIxPPw0T_KTfhfAbrcciZ5ooDNI7ieB5po8m3b54z_U6VvZwiPFxUrI1P6SPGfyfGqU-yeIgv7pmE5XHQ_cfct7XSkfqyik/s200/Picture+2.png" width="133" /></a></div>
<b>Maybe you've heard of <a href="http://cainesarcade.com/" target="_blank">Caine's Arcade</a>....</b>An enterprising young man with time on his hands and a lot of cardboard created a fun arcade that has spawned a whole empire, including the Imagination Foundation, which is sponsoring a "<a href="http://www.imagination.is/" target="_blank">Cardboard Challenge</a>" this October 6th. The goal is to stimulate imagination and creativity.<br />
<b>Without realizing it, I'd begun my own </b>Cardboard Challenge this fall. It came about as a confluence of two events: the excitement of the release of my children's picture book <i><a href="http://www.nighttimeninja.net/" target="_blank">Nighttime Ninja</a>,</i> and the mundane activity of cleaning house. When I began cleaning, I was a bit depressed to find large stashes of cardboard: boxes, sheets, tubes, you name it, some of it dating back more than thirty years! Why was I saving this? I wondered. What good is it? Why save it any longer? (To be fair, we didn't have recycling thirty years ago.)<br />
Suddenly, it dawned on me.<br />
<b>NINJA!</b><br />
I stayed up until the wee hours for several nights, getting crafty, creating Nighttime Ninja puppets and more! All it took was a bit of paint, and imagination.<br />
<b>Who knows what will come in handy? </b>That's what I keep telling myself, at least....maybe I'll build a cardboard castle, or a cardboard car, or a cardboard arcade....<br />
Meanwhile, try out the Cardboard Challenge yourself! Unknownnoreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3302538795816197122.post-60851237262309057762012-07-23T17:55:00.000-06:002012-08-10T20:49:09.171-06:00Nighttime Ninja Available Soon!<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgNyExvigP1Deyn2JhpZ69klQ7hM6mghW0o4bOPGWsM3P6ClbcHwnSNRu88E3x1DvUwwGXl6r8KT46JApPkUj3uqYTEh8UzlqeRqQa8VfX4wCVbAZ76RdxCAn48pft9_B7HtXNTWJ1oG9Pn/s1600/Nighttime+Ninja+Arrives.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="308" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgNyExvigP1Deyn2JhpZ69klQ7hM6mghW0o4bOPGWsM3P6ClbcHwnSNRu88E3x1DvUwwGXl6r8KT46JApPkUj3uqYTEh8UzlqeRqQa8VfX4wCVbAZ76RdxCAn48pft9_B7HtXNTWJ1oG9Pn/s320/Nighttime+Ninja+Arrives.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>
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<b><i>Nighttime Ninja </i>is beginning to make its presence known! </b>And what a more splendid welcome than a starred review in <a href="http://www.publishersweekly.com/978-0-316-20384-5">Publishers Weekly</a>:<br />
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"[Barbara] DaCosta builds her debut on the scaffolding of the suspenseful adventure that turns out to be make-believe....The depth of feeling DaCosta and [Ed] Young give to the boy’s fantasy makes this a standout."<br />
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Ed Young and I enjoyed making this book. I hope that boys and girls everywhere (and ninja-like adults) will enjoy our "children's picture book thriller!" Look for it in stores <b>September 18.</b><br />
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---Barbara DaCostaUnknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3302538795816197122.post-46247792159717529522012-06-08T21:02:00.000-06:002012-06-08T21:10:29.922-06:00Ray Bradbury, Master Storyteller<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiqaxpWzzF6p2CSHlY3j5naZNw0RILB6m96BP-uZtuZ5hHjxUkGna7lHvML2X7WD4uJM8hmtRkbTGXsJ1528ScVX2AlYAADSpqhCYUbllMiE4GRqcNiGR2S0sd_63ySZ8FK-WHYS4STM6fB/s1600/last-sci-fi-ray-bradbury.png" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="200" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiqaxpWzzF6p2CSHlY3j5naZNw0RILB6m96BP-uZtuZ5hHjxUkGna7lHvML2X7WD4uJM8hmtRkbTGXsJ1528ScVX2AlYAADSpqhCYUbllMiE4GRqcNiGR2S0sd_63ySZ8FK-WHYS4STM6fB/s200/last-sci-fi-ray-bradbury.png" width="153" /></a></div>
<b>I was around twelve years old </b>when I first read a story by <a href="http://www.raybradbury.com/">Ray Bradbury</a>. His work captured
the mysteries of both the familiar and the world beyond. The wind blowing through small midwestern
towns, the longing whistle of the train in the middle of the night, the oddities of the circus world, the trips to other planets, all rendered in thoughtful
prose that did not call attention to itself. Instead, Bradbury used
words to paint a picture, snatch an observation, catch an emotion. <br />
Bradbury
would have undoubtedly woven a terrific story out of the dusty copies
of his works that I rescued from my parents' basement, books that were
among the first that I purchased myself--for a quarter each--at a used
bookstore later obliterated by urban renewal.<br />
Were his stories
fantasy or science fiction? To me, they were reality always taken a step
further, asking questions that should be asked, giving answers that
provoked even more mystery. <br />
Ray Bradbury's many works--<i>Dandelion
Wine, October Country, Something Wicked This Way Come, Fahrenheit 451,
The Illustrated Man</i>--stand as testament to a life of words well
done.Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3302538795816197122.post-45312518129316477832012-05-08T11:21:00.003-06:002012-06-08T21:04:06.964-06:00Maurice Sendak, Children's Book Genius<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhlDr4QPuwbwz8lfovG7C8D3ImE2qJSSkr-n2hCCSSJyJsV8c14TnXzu-HZKJLLMng3QCctTzJdHSl65sGCTfnS5oM8cGoTkJnEDPMCOIeyo8Jb6KubaNurRtQPGZASuX2QsIo9jzwHSjg4/s1600/sendak+wild+things.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhlDr4QPuwbwz8lfovG7C8D3ImE2qJSSkr-n2hCCSSJyJsV8c14TnXzu-HZKJLLMng3QCctTzJdHSl65sGCTfnS5oM8cGoTkJnEDPMCOIeyo8Jb6KubaNurRtQPGZASuX2QsIo9jzwHSjg4/s1600/sendak+wild+things.jpg" /></a></div>
<b>The word "genius" should not be bandied about</b> too freely, but it certainly can be used to describe the immense contributions of <a href="http://www.nytimes.com/2012/05/09/books/maurice-sendak-childrens-author-dies-at-83.html">Maurice Sendak</a> to the world of children's literature. Sendak passed away May 8, 2012.<br />
Born in 1928 to Polish Jewish immigrants, Sendak's childhood was shaped by the external forces of the Depression, World War II and the loss of much family in the Holocaust, and his own struggles with illness. <br />
Sendak captured in his art and writing the knife's edge---the fears and delights that terrify and tantalize. His works are archived at the <a href="http://www.rosenbach.org/learn/exhibitions/pen-publisher">Rosenbach Museum</a> in Philadelphia. Sendak can be heard interviewed by Terri Gross on NPR's <a href="http://www.npr.org/2012/05/08/152248901/fresh-air-remembers-author-maurice-sendak">Fresh Air. </a><br />
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<br />Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3302538795816197122.post-33177163596517678442012-04-09T17:43:00.001-06:002012-04-09T22:03:18.861-06:00Rube Goldberg Machine a Winner<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"></div><iframe allowfullscreen='allowfullscreen' webkitallowfullscreen='webkitallowfullscreen' mozallowfullscreen='mozallowfullscreen' width='320' height='266' src='https://www.youtube.com/embed/u7GzApUGJ3o?feature=player_embedded' frameborder='0'></iframe><b> </b><br />
<b>The great Rube Goldberg's </b>fantastical inventions were once a regular cartoon feature in the newspaper. Goldberg (1883-1970) had such wild inventiveness that it has lived on among engineering students everywhere, inspiring such creations as for this year's competition: a machine that was required to pop a balloon at the end, and in the process would have made "a piece of toast, juiced oranges, assembled a hamburger, inserted a CD into a CD player, shut off an alarm clock, put a stamp on an envelope, sharpened a pencil, watered a plant and more. And it incorporated multiple energy transfers, including mechanical, thermal and electrical."<br />
You can watch the process here, and read the full report at <a href="http://www.wired.com/gadgetlab/2012/04/record-breaking-rube-goldberg-machine-pops-balloon-in-300-steps/">Wired.</a> Also, you can visit the official site for<a href="http://www.rubegoldberg.com/"> Rube Goldberg.</a>Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3302538795816197122.post-76357129375482462272012-01-23T08:30:00.002-06:002012-02-01T10:54:26.587-06:00Joy of Books---Hooray!<a href="http://typebooks.ca/" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="141" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjE1oePbPB45TdO8m_2jh4Mm_lOGz_gV5q8k-ujYpKFjVe1iVHnKNioW8WMlO3Q1q-p9hJByrfSYqEcxDoqt2OW7tUcQrqMnskR3n5UHvyPUggjD0oDOXDkya34q0L8JkQiD17EhmF7GrxI/s200/Picture+1.png" width="190" /></a><b> </b><br />
<b>It only took 60 hours</b> for this wonderful video <a href="http://typebooks.ca/">Joy of Books</a> to be filmed. <a href="http://www.ohkamp.com/">Sean Ohlenkemp, </a>a Canadian ad-man, along with wife, friends, and helpers, created this fantasy of "what happens at night when the bookstore is closed." Moving thousands of books, the team mixed and matched themes, jacket colors, sizes, shelving, doo-dads, and toys in pursuit of the message: There's nothing like a real book.<br />
This video also became a case study in online viral phenomena, going to over 1.5 million views in less than a week as it was passed around between book lovers. I don't know if I skewed the statistics, though, as I've watched it at least a dozen times.Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3302538795816197122.post-40655049113758054972012-01-22T09:37:00.004-06:002012-01-30T15:50:11.962-06:00Charles Dickens and My Great Expectations<b>It will soon be the 200th birthday of <a href="http://www.dickensfellowship.org/">Charles Dickens</a>, </b>one of the greatest English writers to live.<br />
It will soon be about 200 months since I began to read Dickens' famous novel, <i>Great Expectations, </i>at the suggestion of a young friend who is now no longer quite so young.<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgT9aI0r61YjUwCu69IGKZmbVXHTwgnugKvfWm1P7CbKIT-gF3vBFafYr15B1waatSkP-6rvtDWBRG6y6q2YCD88PaMW8Su5l-AiqdAdnTVfIt_B5bmOsSk7xXs9UjamRwzajSJUmljkcQZ/s1600/charles+dickens.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="180" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgT9aI0r61YjUwCu69IGKZmbVXHTwgnugKvfWm1P7CbKIT-gF3vBFafYr15B1waatSkP-6rvtDWBRG6y6q2YCD88PaMW8Su5l-AiqdAdnTVfIt_B5bmOsSk7xXs9UjamRwzajSJUmljkcQZ/s200/charles+dickens.jpg" width="170" /></a></div>Why, you might ask, has it taken me so long to read the book? There are all sorts of excuses: work, life, restarting it several times in order to refresh my memory, switching from my hectic daily life to the leisurely pace of nineteenth-century literature...but the best reason I can think of for my slowness can be found on page two of the book.<br />
<blockquote class="tr_bq">"Hold your noise!" cried a terrible voice, as a man started up from among the graves at the side of the church porch. "Keep still, you little devil, or I'll cut your throat!" <br />
A fearful man, all in coarse gray, with a great iron on his leg. A man with no hat, and with broken shoes, and with an old rag tied round his head. A man who had been soaked in water, and smothered in mud, and lamed by stones, and cut by flints, and stung by nettles, and torn by briars; who limped, and shivered, and glared, and growled; and whose teeth chattered in his head as he seized me by the chin. </blockquote>When I first came to this passage, I stopped. I read it again. I'd never read prose like this, that was so utterly poetic, so filled with rhythm, and which created so evocative a scene. I read it aloud. I copied it down and posted it above my desk. Later, I memorized it. This one snippet from a scene had grabbed me and so thoroughly mesmerized me that I've been reading that same passage over and over for the last 200 months.<br />
That's my excuse for not finishing <i>Great Expectations</i>. <br />
What is <i>your</i> favorite Dickens' work? Why?Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3302538795816197122.post-75084590802622911142011-12-19T14:29:00.001-06:002011-12-19T14:30:35.722-06:00More Writing Myths for Busting<b>"How many of us have been held back by myths?</b> ....I’d like to add my own favorite writing myths to be busted. (Whether these are myths or delusions, I’ll leave to you to decide.) <b>1. You have to be neurotic to be a good writer/poet/artist/actor.</b><br />
Reality: Health and happiness are ever-so-much-more-pleasant states of being.<br />
You<i> don’t</i> need to be miserable to be a successful creative artist! If, however, you like creating suffering characters, what you<i> do</i> need is empathy. That, plus observational skills. Of course, you’ll still tap into your own experiences to some extent as you write, but you don’t need to go to extremes in your own behavior. All you need is to amplify a quality to make it stand out in a character. In other words, the personality quirk that allows someone to justify stealing a car is not that different from the person who steals a paperclip."<br />
<b>Read the rest of my article at <a href="http://www.cncbooks.com/blog/2011/12/09/more-writing-myths-for-busting/">Buried Under Books</a>, then, add some of your own myths that deserve busting!</b>Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0