Children's books illustrated

The day after Valentine’s Day

/ J. F. Riordan / 45 Comments

We woke to three inches of new snow, coating the branches in the magical way that reawakens childhood. There’s a fire in the fireplace, and a big snoring Eli on the couch. It feels very cozy and pleasant, and much more like February in Wisconsin.

I think the pandemic created a sense of the loss of time passing, and maybe that’s why I began assembling little Valentine gifts every year for my friends. They are never anything important, just a little token whose preparations feel festive. This year I read somewhere about a grandfather who always gave the writer candy tied up in a handkerchief, and the story was accompanied by an embroidered Valentine handkerchief that could be purchased for a ridiculous price. I wasn’t going to pay $40 for a handkerchief, but it gave me the idea.

So I began a hunt for vintage embroidered handkerchiefs. Soon they started arriving in little envelopes from all over the country, some with handwritten thanks. I paused over the note from one woman who wrote that she had been collecting handkerchiefs all her life, but now, as she was older, she wanted them to go to people who would enjoy them, rather than leaving them to her children who would just toss them out.

They were all white, with pink or red decorations. Some of the embroidery was by hand, and some was not, some were trimmed with lace. The combination of the different designs made a cheering jumble. They were all beautifully ironed, and some still had their original labels. I bought red and pink foil-wrapped chocolate hearts; foil-wrapped chocolate lips in pink, purple, and gold; a big spool of red satin ribbon; little white boxes; and heart stickers.

I suppose it’s all a little silly, but in the end, we are all children at heart. And who doesn’t miss the fun of valentines and a snack of Hawaiian Punch and cookies?

Incidentally, the grownup version of Hawaiian Punch is Ina Garten’s Cosmopolitan. Mix 2 cups vodka; 1 cup triple sec or Cointreau; 1 cup cranberry juice; 1/2 cup of fresh lime juice. Chill. Serve on the rocks in frozen glasses. No need to wait for next year’s Valentine’s Day. But be warned: too many Cosmopolitans can lead to the writing of terrible poetry.

Would “dangling with a chain saw” make a good book title?

/ J. F. Riordan / 30 Comments

Our property is almost entirely wooded, and the trees have a way of creating their own little ecosystem. It can be warm and sunny elsewhere, but when you turn in our driveway the shade envelopes you, dropping the temperature, delaying the melting of ice and snow, and, in the summer, providing sanctuary to far too many flying insects.

The shade in our house is so ubiquitous that I have chosen the color schemes to maintain a warm coziness, lest the leaves turn everything inside green in summer. In winter, the bright sunlight is a welcome change.

Maintaining this property is a bit like managing a park, and sometimes it means making some hard decisions. This week we are having to take down a healthy sugar maple—which truly pains me—but it was leaning perilously over the house, and after our recent heavy snow and ice, it became clear that it was us or the tree.

Enter Johanna. She runs a small tree care company, and recently won a state championship for her climbing and cutting skills. She is not someone we call for the minor things, but I trust her implicitly with the big stuff. Her calm cheerfulness is warm and reassuring, even as she is dangling from a rope and holding a chain saw.

She has colleagues who manage the ropes, feed the chipper, and help to make sure she is safe, but she does the climbing. Her team will be here for at least three days, felling the tree, cleaning up the storm damage, and cabling another big sugar maple to ensure its stability.

Whenever she is here I am distracted by a compulsion to watch her work. It isn’t something you see every day, and, frankly, her courage dazzles me. So, today may not be a very productive day, but it will certainly be an entertaining one.

Paying attention

/ J. F. Riordan / 25 Comments

What would a year of your life be worth? Is there any amount of money you would accept to shorten your time on earth? What if the money offered would give you everything you dream of having? What if it would save the life of a child? When the payment came due, and your time was up, what would you pay to have it back?

This is a version of the Faustian bargain, although Faust wanted youth and love, not money, and the price he paid was eternal damnation. Most jobs are not the Inferno (although I bet we all have stories). But it is, in concentrated form, a question we all grapple with in one way or another when we work. It is the question I asked every single morning when I stood at my picture window, dressed for the office or the classroom, and looked out at the sun rising through the trees. My office was on the bluffs above Lake Michigan, and sometimes, before I pulled into the parking lot, I would stop to watch the sun and the mists rising over the water, hear the gulls crying, and feel what I now realize was a form of grief. But then I got out of the car and went into the building and went to work. And that was not a bad thing.

Most of us have to work for a living. If we are lucky we find work that is meaningful, that makes the world better in some way. But for most of us, even the best job takes time away from things we care about.

I have been very lucky these past few years, because now my work is my writing, and I can do it in my own house with my husband nearby and my dogs on my feet. I choose what and when to write, and sometimes I play hooky. But that’s because I have the freedom to make choices about my priorities.

It is a luxury I appreciate every single day. I do not look back on my years at a job as wasted. I do sometimes look back with regret, but I also know that each step I took was a step toward who I am. Besides, anyone with no regrets hasn’t been trying hard enough.

The theologian Frederick Buechner wrote something I try to think of every day:

One life on this earth is all we get, whether it is enough or not enough. And the obvious conclusion would seem to be that, at the very least, we are fools if we do not live it as fully, and bravely, and beautifully as we can.

No one has a perfect life. No one has a life without grief or loss. But I think happiness is about gathering in the small beauties all around us Right. Now. 

Today will not come again.

PETE!!! The book is finally here.

/ J. F. Riordan / 26 Comments

A little girl wants a beautiful show dog, but she gets funny little rescue dog, Pete, instead. He’s not beautiful; he’s trouble looking for a place to happen. Based on the story of a real dog, this charmingly illustrated and delightful tale about an unwanted dog ends with love and an unlikely hero, while teaching children not to judge by appearances. Perfect for ages 0-7. Fun for parents.

Now available, a special, limited edition hardcover version of MY DOG PETE, autographed by the author.

Price is $22.00 each, plus shipping.

We have only a small number of these available, and perhaps only for a limited time. You can buy a paperback or ebook version on Amazon for a lower price

To order, go to:

https://mydogpte.shop

Say it with me: PETE!!!