Spanking

Today while I was driving around, I listened to a radio preacher extoll the virtues of spanking. He said that children understand how much it grieves a parent to spank them and also that the very act of spanking causes a child's guilt to be literally and figuratively flushed from his system. The child feels refreshed and renewed after a spanking. And, of course, after spanking comes the hugging part! Which only strengthens the bond between a parent and child.

Okay. I'm not here to talk about parenting/disciplining styles, because I really am a) not an authority and b) I remain open to the idea that there's more than one way to do things. I also believe there's a lot to be said for the personalities involved, as well as the context. So see? This isn't an anti-spanking screed. Not at all!

I'm just trying to remember how I felt as a kid when I got spanked--which wasn't often, because my parents didn't hold with it much. In fact, I probably got smacked more by teachers than I did by my parents. I do remember, however, very specifically how it made me feel. It didn't humble me. It didn't make me see the error of my ways. It didn't make me love the spanker. Or Jesus.

It just made me feel this incredible seething, roiling resentment, and it also made me vow to keep doing the thing I did that got me into trouble in the first place.

So much for that preacher man's sermon.

Barefoot in the Snow

One day during Show and Tell in the second grade, my classmate Dorothy Olsen raised her hand and said she went barefoot in the snow over the weekend. Her silent twin brother, John (who was the tallest second-grader in America) nodded. It was true. They asked their mom if they could play in the snow without their shoes on, and their mom said they could. So they did.

I marveled. Were these not the coolest kids EVER? The idea of running barefoot though the snow just seemed so magical. Like flying. Is Peter Pan in the house?

Anyway. I've never forgotten that Show and Tell moment. And yesterday when I had to nip quick outside to get something but felt too lazy to put on shoes, I decided, after all these years, to run barefoot in the snow myself. Which I did. Just like Dorothy and Tall John all those years ago. And here's what I discovered.

You get cold if you don't have your shoes on.

You're welcome.

Food, Glorious Food!

So today's columnis all about favorite foods and where to find them. I'd like to write a follow-up column with reader recommendations about my list or their own. I'd LOVE it if you'd help a girl out.

Have a good weekend, y'all. Since now I am apparently from the South.

The language of flowers

Ken just e-mailed to ask if I wanted him to order some daffodil bouquets from the American Cancer Society, and I said yes! Of course! Because daffodils are one of my favorite flowers. I love that they're one of the first things to bloom. I love that they bloom in time for my late March birthday. I love that they were one of the few things the deer in Tuxedo Park didn't eat. I love that they're often fragrant. I love that they (at least the King Alfred variety) are so unapologetically, screamingly, in-your-facedly yellow.

And suddenly I'm spending this winter's afternoon thinking about flowers. Here's my list of faves. What does your list look like?

1. Peonies--my hands down favorite. In my next life I want to be a peony farmer, although I will only cultivate those with a heady scent.

2. Roses--my front yard is filled with Fragrant Cloud, which is a coral rose, touched by a sheen of blue.

3. Pansies--I have nothing but respect for this tough cheerful little customer. The orange shades smell best, but a yard full of sky blue pansies is heartbreakingly beautiful.

4. Iris--you see I have a fondness for the traditional, late-spring bloomers. When the air is warm, I want to lie down on the grass, close my eyes, and inhale clouds of iris.

5. Oriental poppies--Becky once said they were the dopiest plants on earth with their big hairy foilage and floppy stems. But who can resist the brilliant papery blooms? They only bloom for about a week. But I think they're worth waiting for.

And, of course, daffodils--soon appearing in a garden close to you!

Juliet, Naked

Yeah. Now that I have the word "naked" in the title, I'll probably get hits from pornographers from Latvia. So if that's the case, Welcome Pornographers from Latvia! I'm already enjoying your disappointment!

Anyway, those of you who love the British author Nick Hornby as much as I do will recognize this as the title of his latest novel, which I am just now reading. Finally. And while I'd heard kind of mixed things about it, I'm really enjoying it--possibly because I'm middle-aged and this book is about middle-aged regrets. The thing that makes it so interesting is that Hornby is just so witty and smart and ultimately very kind-hearted about human foibles. He's a man who writes women well, too, and his kids kind of break your heart (think ABOUT A BOY).

It feels good to read something I'm enjoying so much. After getting stalled last month on THE HUNCHBACK OF NOTRE DAME, I feel liberated.

Wherein I am intimidated by an elderly woman in a motorized scooter

So yesterday I stopped briefly at Smith's Marketplace to buy some cheese for toasted cheese sandwiches.

But before I continue with my cheese story, I do want to ask a question: when did Valentine's Day become the new Christmas? Everywhere I looked, people were buying bouquets of flowers and little boxes of jewelry and gift cards and suddenly I began to wonder if those conversation hearts I'd bought at the Dollar Store and sent to my kids were enough.

Sorry, Kids! Your mother is a lame-o!

Anyway. As I say, I wanted to buy cheese. Sliced cheese because (yawn) I'm lazy. And also I like it extra sharp. So there I was, fingering a nice package of Tillamook that met all my personal cheese requirements, when suddenly this older woman (with no teeth) kind of assaulted me with her scooter and asked to see my cheese. So I showed her, whereupon she made me reach for another, much larger package of MILD cheese and read OUT LOUD how much that weighed and how much it cost just like my scary third grade teacher, Mrs. Rigby (who clearly was a nun in a former life because she always smacked my knuckles with a ruler) used to make us read story problems. ANYWAY. When I finished reading the relevant cheese data to her, she looked at me and asked with the superiority of someone who's way better at math than you are, "Now which one do YOU think is a better deal?"

Well, it was the cheese I didn't want. Obv. But I bought it anyway, because I don't want the scooter lady's spirit to haunt me in the years ahead.

A question about YA novles

But first, this. I heard from some of you yesterday after my cryptic post. Thank you so much for your kindness. Normally I try not to post when I'm feeling in extremis--except, of course, when I'm pissy, because pissiness ALWAYS=awesome posts--but wow. I just kind of bottomed out over a few issues this weekend.

Feeling much better today, much more hopeful. So please don't worry.

And now onto my question. I am working on a YA set during the 70's. But a friend of mine this weekend, whose opinion I really trust, wonders if YA readers will actually be drawn to that. She wonders if the story should somehow be made contemporary.

I'd appreciate your feedback. Thanks. And also than you again.