Category Archives: Random Toy Box

Posts on the general topic of family.

Books: so much more appealing when they have covers

Occasionally I take a post off from Daddy Blogging in order to talk about blogging or writing in general. This usually happens when another blogger tags me for some type of event that’s going around the blogging community. Then, I put the kids to bed and talk about my blogging process or the writing life.

This is like that, but different. I’m taking off the Daddy Blogger hat, but not at the behest of other bloggers. I’m doing it on my own, in order to make some exciting announcements.

The thing about me and announcements is I’m not very good at them. They make me nervous. People will know my plans, so now I have to follow through on them. I’d rather finish my projects and then say, “See? That’s what I did.” But that doesn’t build any hype, and hype is part of marketing, and marketing is what you’re supposed to do at times like this. So I’m told by successful writers.

And I want to be successful.

So, announcements.

We have cover art!

Last time I took off the Daddy Blogger hat, I mentioned that I’m working on publishing a new book. It seems like I’ve been working on publishing this book forever. One of the delays was finding the right artist to do the cover. I finally found her. Her name is Jessica O’Brien. She did this awesome artwork.

 

ice4

 

I just have to get the final proofing done and we’ll finally have a book. Cross your fingers.

And when will this final proofing be done? Ha! You actually expect a man with my dread of announcements to give a date? Don’t worry; I’ll make an announcement.

I’m working on a new blog.

As part of this book rollout, I’ve replaced my author website with a new WordPress blog. My static website was a completely amateurish endeavor, built by me, a completely amateurish web designer. In moving to WordPress I hope to do more with less (time and money). That savings should allow me to maintain two blogs at once. We’ll see about that, won’t we?

At the other blog, I will be writing about writing. If that’s the sort of thing that excites you, you probably have issues, so you should go here www.scottnagele.com and click “follow” right away.

This blog will remain.

I’m proud of this blog. It’s not the most widely read blog, but I think it has its entertaining moments. (Click the Index of Posts tab at the top to see everywhere it’s been.) But when you are trying to publish a book, write another one, transition a website, work a full-time job, and raise three boys, time can get tight. (Note to the homeowners association: this has nothing to do with why my lawn is eight inches high; it rains every time I try to mow, so tell it to the weatherman.)

I cut down to posting once per week here over the summer. Maybe once my obsession with this new book eases, I’ll be able to post more. I hope so, because Daddy Blogging is the most fun writing I do.

P.S. My apologies to those who read the title and thought this would be a fun post about toddlers tearing the covers off books.

Which way to the woods?

I was playing with the boys in the living room one afternoon. The TV was tuned to one of the cartoon channels they require, even when they are paying no attention to it. A Thursday afternoon in August is a pretty good time for a sports fan to watch cartoons, so I put up no argument.

I wasn’t paying attention to the TV either, until a particular commercial caught my eye. It was a Public Service Announcement extolling the virtues of exploring the forest. At least I assumed it was a PSA, unless there are for-profit forests springing up around the country, which there probably are. I’m inclined to conclude it was a PSA, as the forest visuals looked pretty generic, there being no water slides or Disney logos carved into trees.

I like the forest as much as the next guy, so I was all on board with the sentiment. I was just about to think to myself: “What a pleasant tribute to America’s forests” when I heard the final line of the ad. The voice-over advised me to go to a particular website to find a forest near me.

"Some day there will be some kind of talking box that would tell me what this thing is. I'll just poke at it while I'm waiting for technology to answer all my questions." (Image: Russell Lee/US Farm Security Administration)

“One day there will be some kind of talking box that will tell me what this thing is. I’d better poke at it while I’m waiting for technology to answer all my questions.” (Image: Russell Lee/US Farm Security Administration)

My jaw dropped. Really? I need to go online to find the woods? Is this what America has come to?

Okay, it is true that I practically grew up in the woods, so all I had to do was go out the front door to find acres of trees. But honestly, people in other walks of life are having a hard time finding the woods without the aid of computers? The very idea makes me sad.

My son is five years old. When he walks out the door of his house, he sees other houses all around. Yet, I am confident he can take me to the woods in any direction I choose. Yes, he might need the aid of a car to get there, but he doesn’t need the Internet. He is the Internet of finding the woods, because he’s a child.

If you’re having trouble finding a forest near you, you don’t need a computer; you need a kid. Kids have a strange and magnificent instinct for recognizing trees. If you are unsure what that clump of three-story-tall plants is, just ask a kid. They’ll help you figure it out.

camping online

A forest. I found it on the Internet. And I didn’t even have to put shoes on. That’s what I love about the Great Outdoors.

Or you could Google it. That’s probably more convenient, as it eliminates all that burdensome white noise of wonderment.

I don’t wish to leave the impression that children are good for only this one thing. They are not one-truffle pigs. In many respects, they are just as useful as computers. In case your search engine is giving you mixed results, here is a short list of things kids can help you locate.

  • Dirt
  • Mud puddles
  • Dog poop
  • Diamonds that are probably quartz but just might be shattered glass
  • Bugs (dead or alive)
  • The meaning of life

But there’s probably a web site to help you find each of these things, too. So, either way . . .

Yes, I was raised in a barn. Thank you for asking.

I learned lots of lessons in the barn. You remember things you learn in a barn. Sometimes I wish my boys could live on a farm so they could learn stuff in the barn, because those lessons would stick with them. But that would make me a farmer, and I’ve grown far too soft for that life.

A few subjects I studied in the barn:

Math

When I was four, I got promoted from my entry level position of cow caller. As cow caller, I sat on a rock and called the cows down from the pasture at milking time. It was a cushy job, and proportionally unnecessary: the cows generally came down on their own.

 

Is it milking time yet?

“Did somebody call us? We’re just waiting to get in and get milked if you need us.”

My new, important job was tail holder. The tail holder holds cows’ tails while an older sibling attaches the milking machine to the appropriate utter appendages, because getting swatting in the face by a cow’s tail can be painful and disgusting.

Holding a cow’s tail can have its own ick factor. I would try to ignore the particularly filthy tails, or I would hold a single strand of tail hair between my thumb and forefinger, effectively holding nothing.

When my sister slid between two cows to perform her utter manipulations, I often pretended that the cow behind her was no threat. She tended to disagree, as this was the tail perfectly positioned to wrap itself around her face.

This inspired her to give my first mathematics lecture: “Where there are two cows, there are two tails.” At first, she gave the lesson verbally. Eventually, it came with a dose of punishment the likes of which only a tail-smacked teenaged girl can dish out.

I learned.

The joy of milking

Mr. Cool is holding his own tail – easy to do if there’s no cow behind you and you’re just playing around under there. 

Animal Psychology

The cows aren’t trying to kill you, little boy. No matter how many times they kick you in the head, which they do often when you’re four feet tall, they aren’t determined to see you dead.

Cows kick you because you annoy them. Stop annoying them and they will stop kicking you. They would much rather be chewing on something they spit out yesterday than troubling themselves to fling a hind hoof in your direction.

You people are always plucking at their lady berries. Maybe their lady berries don’t feel like it right now. Also, they don’t always want somebody hindering the free movement of their tails, and sometimes they aren’t comfortable with you standing behind them at all.

They almost never chase you down to kick you in the head. If a cow really wanted you dead, she’d crush you with her head.

Caveat: Bulls do want you dead. They hate children most of all, and they will kill you any chance they get.

Bull

“I’m not really comfortable around children.”

Physics

A 50-pound  boy is never really in charge of an 80-pound calf.

Calves are so cute and cuddly – unless you are the 1st grader whose job it is to water a vicious pack of them.

Calves gain weight quickly. When they still look cute and cuddly they outweigh the skinny kid watering them. Calves are fiends for water, if the water is meant for the next calf. Three of them at once can fit their crazed heads into a standard steel pail, so long as all the water has been splashed out on the skinny kid. None of them can get their heads out.

If a calf wants his head in there, all that can stop him is the three calf heads already stuck in the pail. The skinny kid they just push out of the way, until they get tall enough to kick him in the head.

Attack the water boy

“Look! There’s a kid with a water bucket. Let’s get him!”

My kids won’t have the benefit of these lessons. I guess they’ll just have to study harder than I did in school.

 

–Images by Arthur Rothstein, Russell Lee, and John Vachon for the US Farm Security Administration.

At home with Don Quixote

About six months ago, I undertook a foolish endeavor. I began reading Don Quixote. I don’t say this was foolish because I believe Don Quixote is an unworthy piece of literature. It was foolish because no person with multiple, young children has any business opening up any book of 900+ pages with the expectation of getting to the end while still remembering the beginning.

Nonetheless, for a few months, I made good progress for a man in my condition. That is to say, I was able to read about 10 pages most nights, in the interval between the children going to bed and falling asleep myself. On nights when I enjoyed particular vim and vigor, I might put up to 12 pages behind me.

Quixote

He rides his lonely road, searching for someone who’ll read him, or at least someone willing to pay full price.

I kept up this breakneck pace until New Baby was born. At that point, I was nearly 600 pages in.

Don Quixote (the first 600 pages of it anyway) is the story of man so swept up in reading romance novels about knights-errant that he slips into the delusion of himself being one of those ancient heroes. He sets off in search of adventures and causes mischief wherever he wanders, believing he is capable of mammoth feats and that it is his duty to display his prowess to the world. Whenever reality seeps in to disrupt the narrative he has devised within his head, he explains away the discrepancy with the excuse that evil wizards have enchanted him and used their spells to belittle his grandiose visions into ordinary, everyday things.

New Baby is two months old now, and I am on page 614.

Oh, but I used to read! I used to be the Lancelot of reading, tearing through books and piling up their used bodies in book cases to the ceiling. I took on classics, even the torturous ones, with no fear, occasionally triumphing by finding one that turned out to be a classic. I was a warrior of words.

old days

A monument to those ancient days of spare time and disposable income.

You can watch TV while constantly changing the position of a crying baby in search of that one special pose that will settle him down. You can even play Farmville while rotating him. But it gets hard to read while juggling the kid from arm to arm. I’m catching up on all the TV programs I missed during my reading years. Thank goodness for reruns.

Meanwhile, Don Quixote stares down at me from the shelf. Once in a while, I notice this and I stare back at him. Every time, he looks more familiar, this man who deludes himself into thinking he can accomplish goals that are far beyond him. This man in the mirror.

My excuse is that I am enchanted. But my wizards are not evil. They are playful little goblins who vex my grand plans with a steady stream of wonderful, precious, ordinary, everyday things.

highway

Two modern-day enchanters out for a drive.