I need a pensieve.

Everywhere I am bombarded with the same question, “Have you finished [the last] Harry Potter yet?”

No. I haven’t. Truth is I haven’t started it yet. And I’m not in a hurry to, either.

It’s been a great 10 years with Harry. He and Robby and I have had all sorts of adventures together. Robby’s had all the books read to him on car trips or curled up on the couch together… the voices in his head are those from mine.

The first 4 books I’d read first. It gave me an advantage in working out the characters and what they should sound like. It came at a disadvantage when the mysterious Professor Lupin– written ambiguously so that you didn’t know till later that he was one of the good guys– was inadvertantly spoiled for Robby. “I knew to trust him because you read him as though you did,” he said. Oops.

Book 4 had me on the edge of my seat. An old college friend and I read it together– alloting each other a set amount of chapters each week so that we could stop and e-discuss it as we went along. It was agony to have to stop sometimes. I had to put the book in the car at night to keep from sneaking past the stopping point… but it also made it so much better to make the story last past the usual 2 days.

All of mine are the British publishing versions. It started out innocently– we happened to be in Canada for the first couple and then I wanted the size of the book and their covers to be the same so I’d wait (im)patiently for the next tome to arrive from my overseas chum Amazon.Uk. There was a method to my madness beyond an anal retentive need for the books to stand nicely against each other– in the early books there was a marked difference in language used by the original, British copies and that Scholastic chose to print for the American market. Apparently, thought Scholastic, Americans were too dense to figure out that “Mum” was a “Mom” and “Timetables” were “Schedules”… it was all rather daft.

I hate when a really good book ends. I hate that the characters– so strong on the page and so vivid in the moment– quietly fade into the back of your mind with time. It’s a loss that is inevitable but most acute.

So, on Tuesday, July 24, three days after all the midnight hooplas and enchanted evenings that lauded the arrival of Harry Potter and the Deathly Hollows my yellow, red, and blue spined copy arrived and I held it’s solid newness in my hands. And I mourned the fact that there won’t ever be another such moment. No matter what happens to Harry, Hermione, Ron, and the rest– and I’ve done my best to avoid any spoilers– they’ll be gone in a matter of pages and I’ll miss their visits.

Or I will until Jack is old enough to read it to him. I have the voices down, you know.

I’ll sleep on Monday…

What a weekend.

On Friday the boys and I (minus the four legged one) went to see niece Maddie in High School Musical On Stage. If you’ve seen the Disney TV version/phenomenon you’ll agree that it’s a delightful little musical. (If you haven’t then I urge you to rent it– I have Disney stock.) What’s really wonderful about it is that with the exception of three or four roles the entire cast are local teens. It’s nice to see a bunch of kids come together like that.

On Saturday it was back to high school again in a way. My oldest best pal Melle and I went to a 20th reunion of the years we spent at summer camp. The gang there was made up of really great people… but when we were scattered after college with jobs and marriages and the like we lost touch with each other. It’s a shame. They’re truly good people. When we’re all together the room fills with a palpable joy. Seeing them again– older and with spouses and partners in tow did me good. There are changes, certainly– life has added pounds and (mercifully) brought back our hairs from the heights of the late ’80s but the core of us is the same. We fell over each other’s sentences as we had two decades ago and had such a time reliving the old stories.

And it was good, again, to spend time with Melle. We live just a few hours apart but her world of three children, a full blown ministry, part time job, husband, and the usual daily clutter against my family, part time job, and usual clutter leaves us with few and far between chances to catch up. Still, give us 10 uninterrupted minutes and we’re able to span the gap. We relished the drive to and from the reunion and a car without children or husbands.

On Sunday we made a mad dash to get to church. We’ve gotten lax about going and we’re both bothered by that. It was a sad little Sunday– the small but active youth group was on their pilgrimage to England and I was startled at how empty the sanctuary seemed without them.

After church we hightailed it out to Friend Heather’s house where her baby earned his Eagle Scout award. Robby was really close to being an Eagle Scout– he just peetered out at the last… it’s one of his few regrets in life… so it was fun to mock him throughout the ceremony. Tommy has a nice family and his scout leaders seemed especially proud of him. And afterwards there was a huge luncheon put out by his weepy Mama.

The weekend was officially over when we got the call at 12:32 a.m. that niece Maddie– she of the stage fame– was in the ER. My heart had gone into my throat at the late night ring and then eased back into place when she sheepishly admitted she’d swallowed (accidentially) the tab from a popcan. All’s well even if we couldn’t get copies of the x-ray.

Richard Branson, Take Pity and Send me a First Class Ticket???

I feel restless today. Like I might crawl out of my own skin and ooze all over the floor. I have a little wanderlust.

I think it’s because I was watching The 6 Wives of Henry the 8th last night and it stirred up my craving for a nice walk in a cool cathedral/castle/fortress town.

Or maybe it’s the fact that I took a Two-with-a-Vengance-Year-Old (who shall not be named) to the farmer’s market and post office today where it was a mighty struggle between mother and son to maintain order. Oh! he was ornery! And stubborn! and cross!

Sigh.

Sentencings

Now that Jack is 2-and-three-quarters old he’s decided that he’d like to speak in sentences. It’s a big deal and one that amazes us every time.

The other day he wouldn’t go down for a nap. He was tired. I was tired. We both needed at least 30 winks… but Jack was chattery and bouncy. I finally got him to at least sit still– but could not convince him to stop talking long enough to rest. (Or at least let me rest…) Finally, after wheedling and cajoling and reasoning I said, “Jack! Be quiet! Just sit still!” And, mercifully, he fell asleep. When he woke, he turned to me and said, “Mommy! You were cross!”

His other phrase, lately, is, “I don’t think so”– delivered in a strange little cadence that suggests sarcasm and incredulity. Last night, coming home from a visit to our Granny, Robby asked him something– and Jack said, with the ghosted tones of some future Teenage Jack, “Uh… I don’t think so…”

At AunT’s birthday lunch at our favorite coney spot, my nieces were trying to get Jack to try their chili-cheese-fries. He shrank back in horror from the offered fry and said, “No try it! No try it! I no want try it!”

It’s also coming out in notes– suddenly all the songs we’ve been singing are coming back at us from the car seat, the crib, and during his play. This winter I played the new Sting album in the car a lot. I like the (Elizabethan) “Come Again” and it got quite a bit of air time on our errand running… Now, suddenly, out of the pecularities of Jack’s memory it’s coming back to me in his earnest, little rendition, “I kiss….. I diiiiiieeeee!” and I marvel that it’s in pitch. I marvel that it’s remembered.

I hope I remember all of this– it’s good to know his memory is kicking in, too– he can help me.

Two Bits

I cut the JackRabbit’s hair.

He has lovely hair. Or should I say had? I’m not too sure this go-round was all that successful. The last haircut turned out beautifully… this one is a bit choppy. Robby says it looks fine but I think he’s just trying to reassure me and keep me from melting down.

It IS nice to see Jacky’s eyes again. And ears. It’s just that he bears a striking resemblance to the little shivering boy hiding in the latrines in Schindler’s List.

At least he got a lollypop out of it.

This is going to come up in therapy.