Pray for the Greening of Belfast

I am writing this review at 5 in the morning. I was determined to get a full night’s sleep tonight in order to see Clay Aiken on Good Morning America. But I fell asleep watching Letterman, which meant that the tendrils of the best news I have heard in I-can’t-remember-when reached me a couple hours later from a broadcast of CBS News Up to the Minute. Maybe it was announced earlier and I missed it, but I felt as though I was hearing incredibly significant news just as it was happening, and once I heard it, I was far too excited to sleep. Maybe I’m naive, and this isn’t the avalanche of blessings that it appears to be. But my name is Ireland. My ancestors are from Ireland, and I’ve felt Ireland in my soul for as long as I can remember, as deeply as any of my strongest convictions. And when I hear that the IRA is laying down its arms and vowing to pursue peaceful methods by which to make its message known... Well, that’s about as felicitous occurrence as I can imagine.

As I heard the news, one song was running through my head. A gorgeous song by one of my favorite singer-songwriters, Michael Card. I searched for an hour in search of Starkindler, an album which I thought included not only this particular ode to Ireland but a dozen or so Celtic songs, a mix of traditional tunes and those composed by Card himself. I purchased the tape after seeing him in concert during a tour of the same name in which the instrumentals included an enormous harp in prominence. Unfortunately, it has gone missing, so instead of an entire album dedicated to the land I so love, I’ll settle for the CD on which this song appeared. Upon further investigation, I realized the song was not on Starkindler after all but was only sung during that concert. So I found the appropriate album anyway. Poiḗma is a fairly unusual entry in Card’s extensive discography, as it deals largely with contemporary issues ranging from suicide to failing marriage to the aforementioned strife in Ireland. I get the sense that this is an album filled with very personal songs, whereas most of Card’s other compositions, lyrical and intuitive as they are, derive directly from the Bible. An added bonus is the paragraph or two of introduction that precedes most of the lyrics in the liner notes, providing insight into the inspiration behind these songs.

Poem of Your Life - This opener is closely akin to the title of the album, which Card explains is a Greek word meaning “God’s masterpieces.” It’s a call to action, encouraging each listener to show gratitude for the gift of life by making something worthwhile out of it. Drink in all that life has to offer with your senses alert, and use your own special talents to make a positive impact on the world. This is a pretty upbeat number with a Celtic feel to it. The fiddle and pipes enrich the instrumentation and an a capella chorus towards the end adds depth, but the most notable element is the percussion, which provides the vibrant pulse which one could easily see a troupe of Irish step-dancers illustrating.

...Pray to prolong / Your time in the ball of the dance of your days / Your canvas of colors, of moments ablaze / With all that is holy / With the joy and the strife / With the rhythm and rhyme of the poem of your life.

The Basin and the Towel - A quiet, piano-driven number extolling humility. The song begins with a recounting of Jesus’ foot-washing exercise with his apostles. I once attended a three-week Seminary Sampler in which we literally followed this Biblical example. While such a reenactment is a spiritually satisfying experience, what Card is really encouraging in this song is a daily willingness to be a servant. He preaches the message with characteristic gentleness.

The space between ourselves sometimes / Is more than the distance between the stars / By the fragile bridge of the servant’s bow / We take up the basin and the towel.

Things We Leave Behind This guitar-heavy tune leans heavily on the Gospels for examples to underscore Card’s point. While the last song urged humility, this similarly preaches poverty, or more accurately a willingness to free oneself from one’s possessions when they stand in the way of being a fully committed Christian. Card paints this sacrifice in a positive light, insisting that the liberty we gain is far better than the things we may have to give up. Incidentally, it includes one of my favorite of the many instances of alliteration in his lyrics: Matthew was mindful of taking the tax / And pressing the people to pay.

When we say no to the things of the world / We open our hearts to the love of the Lord / And it’s hard to imagine the freedom we find / From the things we leave behind.

Earthly Perfect Harmony - This poignant composition, carried along by Card’s sensitive finger-picking on the acoustic guitar and a chorus of pleasantly understated violins, is an homage to marriage that admits rocky times are sometimes inevitable. The narratorial voice here is pained and uncertain but leaves us with the sense that the love he once felt for his wife is powerful enough to persevere for, even if he can’t feel it at the moment.

If we choose / Not to lose the light / That made us shine in each other’s eyes / If we decide that life alone’s no life at all / Then we must see / That love can be / The earthly perfect harmony / The Lord composed for children of his own to sing.

Home - Seems like most musicians have one: an ode to their home, whatever that might mean. Paul Simon had Homeward Bound, the Beatles A Hard Day’s Night, John Denver Back Home Again. Card unsurprisingly puts a theological spin on his. Perhaps influenced by C. S. Lewis, who he cites in the dedication section, he views his own home in a Platonian light, as a shadow of the more perfect abode awaiting him. One of the most homey and intimate of the tracks on this album.

Being at home should remind you that still / There’s a place that’s prepared just for you / And I think my home is just Heaven’s reflection / As long as my home’s here with you.

Lowden’s Prayer - This instrumental track is the shortest except for the reprise of the opening song. Another very Celtic flavored song, it includes the fiddle, Uillean pipes, dulcimer and again that beautifully expressive percussion that so enhanced Poem of Your Life. The introductory paragraph is particularly useful here, as it explains the piece was inspired by luthier George Lowden, who he first met in Belfast. Lowden presented him with a guitar he had made himself and prayed over during each day of its creation; I assume that is the instrument on which Card provides his accompaniment here. This segues directly into the next track, which is the aforementioned reprise, which I suppose just serves as a reminder of the main thrust of the album now that we’ve reached the halfway point.

The Edge - This is a pretty dark song, though it ends on a note of hope. His introduction is especially lyrical, explaining how God “sometimes sings to us in minor keys.” There’s almost a bit of a hard rock feel to the instrumentation, though Card’s vocals themselves are fairly quiet until they reach a plaintive cry at the chorus. Those pipes again make an impressive appearance; it’s clear Card already had a fascination with Celtic styles while he was working on this album. Card does not shy away from acknowledging that many people face the temptation to give up on life, but true to the theme of the album, he encourages them to embrace it instead, struggling through the darkness with the light of God to guide them.

I promise I will always leave / The darkness for the light / I swear by all that’s holy / I will not give up the fight / I’ll drink down death like water / Before I ever come again / To that dark place / Where I might make / The choice for life to end.

Hope - An upbeat number backed by some groovy guitar and percussion set to sound like people clapping. The chorus seems like one that would be ideal for a Sunday school sing-along. It’s an appropriate song to follow The Edge, as it emphasizes the idea of hope. It also returns quite neatly to the metaphor of the title.

Though your like may seem to sound a dark and minor key / It will someday shift itself to major / And the lyric of your life will rhyme / With nothing less than joy / And you’ll find that hope is from / The One that you believe.

Bearers of the Light - The keyboards on this song give the song a deep, resonant feel at times, while the guitar accentuates Card’s gentle assurances. The tracks on this album so naturally follow one another that I don’t think it would be much of a stretch to call it a concept album. He doesn’t clearly label it as such, but Card has done an album of that sort before, and this fits that mold quite well. This song again references Biblical figures, applying them to our times.

He will walk beside us / A strong friend, Barnabas / He will be that sure shoulder to lean on / The promise we share is our burden to bear / And our light tells the darkness to be gone.

The Greening of Belfast - Yes, the track I was waiting for. From the advent of those haunting pipes, this song draws me into its magic and never lets me go. The opening line: In a green, green land riding on the sea / Live a people who speak like a song. What a perfect description of Ireland! I dream of the rolling hills that gleam emerald; my heart soars each time I hear anyone speak with an Irish accent, and I’m riveted to their speech no matter what their words. The fiddle sows a stream of sorrow throughout the song, but the harp seems to carry Card’s prayer up to Heaven, where angels do their best to protect the residents of this “heartbreaking, heartbroken town.” The members of that angelic host must be smiling today.

Pray for the greening of Belfast / That what is now barren may bloom and be fair / God love the city of Belfast / For so many children who love Him live there.

For F. F. B. This song is very unusual in that it begins and ends with a recording of a snippet of a sermon preached by Card’s grandfather. This is a loving tribute to that man, F. F. Brown, a gentle expression of gratitude from the man who has carried on in his tradition, though in a slightly different manner. This is an incredibly personal composition, and it reminds me powerfully of Leader of the Band, my favorite song by Dan Fogelberg, whose voice is remarkably similar to Michael Card’s. Both songs are achingly tender, with soft vocals, understated instrumentals focusing mainly on the composer’s own guitar playing, and a core message that the songwriter is eternally to have become “a living legacy” to men they so adored.

From you I learned the kind of faith / That looks up to the mountains / In you I saw just what I’d like to be / Oh, Grandad, I wish you could be here / To tell me what to do / ‘Cause I first saw the light of Christ in you.

Sunrise of Your Smile - Card has written so many lullabies, he needs several albums to contain all of them. This one is dedicated to his son Will, no longer a toddler at this point but still young enough to enjoy frequent moments of innocent exuberance. Just as tender as the ode to his grandfather, this one goes to the other end of the spectrum, expressing the simple joy he feels in sharing his son’s happiness. And I can’t help but get a kick out of the fact that he references Peter Pan.

I would wander weary miles / Would welcome ridicule, my child / To simply see the sunrise of your smile / To see the light behind your eyes / The happy thought that makes you fly...

Well, there you have it, and I certainly can’t complain about listening to this album instead of the intended Starkindler. It’s a most uplifting tribute to life in general, a perfect way to celebrate a move that celebrates life most thrillingly. May the greening last forever.

Quoth the Raven, "Nevermore!" Doubt Snicket's Talent, That Is

I soon will be taking a break from A Series of Unfortunate Events. Certainly this isn’t because I dislike the series, and I actually don’t mind an excuse to stretch it out longer, since I only have four books left and when they run out, that will be more depressing than the stories themselves. No, this halt in my reading stems from the fact that tomorrow – Saturday, to be exact, though midnight feels like the same day to me – heralds the arrival of a book for which I have waited for two years. A tome considerably longer than any of Lemony Snicket’s volumes, one that could last a week if I restrain myself to a few chapters a day. The book? Why, Harry Potter and the Half-Blood Prince, of course. Maddeningly, J. K. Rowling picked an inopportune weekend from my standpoint. I will be in central Pennsylvania, at the reunion and in the location about which I wrote my book The Land That Gives and Takes Away: Reflections on Little Pine Valley. There may actually be an opportunity for me to attend a Harry Potter release party, as my aunt works at a bookstore in Williamsport, but even if I go I don’t intend to crack open the first page until I arrive back home. I look forward to this trip all year, and if I start reading Harry I won’t have any time to appreciate the fact that I’m camping. I’ll be too immersed. So in anticipation of camping and Harry, I write my last Lemony Snicket review for a while. Suffice it to say, at least as of this book, he hadn’t lost his touch.

The Vile Village is the seventh installment of the lamentable saga of the Baudelaire orphans. The first four books were fairly self-contained, featuring the loyal and resourceful Violet, Klaus and Sunny, with side appearances by ineffective executor Mr. Poe and the loathsome Count Olaf in some ludicrous new disguise. With the fifth book, The Austere Academy, Snicket changed the game a bit. Now not only do the Baudelaires have to worry about themselves, they are determined to rescue their friends, the Quagmires, who have fallen into Olaf’s clutches. They have little to go on aside from the mysterious letters “V. F. D.,” the mystery of which they erroneously thought they solved in the sixth book, The Ersatz Elevator. When they encounter the initials here, they dare to hope that they’ve hit upon something more substantial this time. So it is that they find themselves under the care of a new guardian: the entire town of V. F. D., taking the axiom “It takes a village to raise a child” perhaps a little further than originally intended.

As it happens, however, the Baudelaires have only one man directly responsible for their care once they reach V. F. D., an unsightly village in the middle of a dusty expanse that seems to waver from a distance due to its immersion in crows. While the Council of Elders, a severe group whose youngest members are octogenarians, is only interested in the orphans as a means to get out of doing their own chores, Hector, the town handyman, takes the children into his home and proves their best guardian since the late, great Uncle Monty. The problem? Timidity, which seems to be a rampant shortcoming amongst Baudelaire guardians. Gullibility is another, but at least Hector never is taken in by the lies of which the Baudelaires continue to be the victims. In fact, were it not for his unshakable fear of elderly council members in crow hats, he would be most effective. As it is, his willingness to harbor a library full of illegal books and a workshop full of tools for making illegal mechanical devices helps the Baudelaires a great deal.

The suspicion that moving to V. F. D. would bring them closer to their friends seems to be confirmed when the Hector finds a couplet bearing Isadora’s handwriting and distinct literary style. The couplets continue to arrive, leaving Violet, Klaus and Sunny increasingly puzzled. More complications arise when they hear the triumphant announcement of Count Olaf’s arrest. Could it be that their insidious foe has finally been bested? Or could something far more sinister be afoot? Questions pile up in this book as the narratorial backstory becomes more enmeshed in the orphans’ travails. At one point in the story, the orphans even hear the name Snicket – and seem to recognize it. The cleverness of the author continues to impress me, though I surprised myself by figuring out the whereabouts of the Quagmire triplets about a hundred pages before the Baudelaires did. Maybe I’m catching on!

Snicket’s literary prowess hasn’t diminished, and he amusingly pokes fun at shoddy newspapers by pointing out repeated mistakes in The Daily Punctilio, the newspaper published in the Baudelaires’ hometown. It seems he has a particular grudge against this paper, as he mentions it as a key player in the demise of his relationship with the fabled Beatrice. One thing I found very amusing was his reference throughout the book to the phrase “small potatoes.” He tends to have one phrase that pops up in a similar fashion in most of his books; in The Austere Academy, for instance, it was “making a mountain out of a molehill,” and “small potatoes” is used to similar purpose, most entertainingly – and perilously – just before the book’s climax.

The Vile Village is Snicket’s most complex tome yet, with by far the most nebulous ending, and I can’t wait to see what awaits the Baudelaires next. I also can’t wait to find out more about how the narrator got swept up in this orphans’ ordeal. Actually, I can, because I must. But oh, how sweet will my return to A Series of Unfortunate Events be.

You Don't Have To Know the Meaning of the Word "Ersatz" to Enjoy Elevator

When I read the letter from Lemony Snicket to his editor at the conclusion of The Austere Academy, it occurred to me that living in a penthouse is hardly the most unfortunate event I could contemplate. To be honest, I would not particularly want to live in one myself, as I dislike the idea of living in a building with so many other people and of not having a yard. Nonetheless, given the choice between a rickety shack filled with crabs, a lumber mill and a house teetering on the edge of a cliff, I highly suspect I would take the penthouse. But Snicket has no trouble whatsoever in milking misfortune out of these seemingly cushy surroundings.

Comfortingly, the Baudelaire orphans find themselves once more in their hometown, just blocks away from their old mansion. It’s pleasant for them to be back among familiar sights, even if they’re usually viewing them from the top floor of an extremely tall building. When they arrive, the atmosphere of their new home at 667 Dark Avenue matches the name, and they are forced to walk up the staircase past an indeterminate number of floors in near blackness after the doorman explains that both light and elevators are unfashionable at the moment. They are about to learn that fashion is of great importance to one of their guardians, the shockingly petty and self-absorbed Esme Squalor. Her whole life revolves around what is “in” and “out,” and nothing gives her greater delight than to receive a tip about something being in and send her hen-pecked husband Jerome off to acquire it.

Jerome Squalor is a man of boundless good will and patience, and one wonder how such a thoroughly decent chap ever got hooked up with such a shallow fiend. Unfortunately, Jerome as lily-livered as Charles, the co-owner of the lumber mill where the orphans worked in The Miserable Mill. He would be a most suitable guardian indeed if only he weren’t so unwilling to argue. Though the Baudelaires eventually come to a parting of the ways with Jerome, as always happens in some way or another with the Baudelaire guardians, I wonder whether he might pop up again. He clearly was very closely associated with the mother of Violet, Klaus and Sunny, though most of his recollections in this book are cut short by his nagging wife. Esme, meanwhile, makes intriguing mention of Beatrice, which I’m pretty sure is the first reference thus far to the author’s lost love in the presence of the orphans, suggesting that the two storylines will become more deeply intertwined.

Staying in the Squalor penthouse is a curious experience for the children. Their rooms are quite comfortable in spite of the fact that, rather than the items Jerome planned to purchase based on the children’s interests, they are given oversized pinstripe suits, leaving Violet a tool bench with no tools, Klaus a library with nothing but books listing in items over the years, and Sunny an assortment of stuffed animals entirely too soft for her to sink her teeth into. They have a glorious view of the city, and Jerome is perfectly happy to take them on excursions to their favorite places. But Esme is dismissive of them and subjects them to unpleasant food just because it’s the in thing. Don McLean has a song in which he declares, “I hate fashion; I hate it with a passion.” I’m sure the orphans must feel the same way. Additionally, the elevator remains unfashionable, so the children are forced to make the excruciating climb up and down the stairs day after day. Most of all, however, the orphans have Count Olaf to worry about, especially when he shows up in the guise of Gunther, the auctioneer of the upcoming In Auction, which benefits Esme’s already substantial bank account. They have twice the reason to worry now because they know their friends Duncan and Isadora are in his clutches. In fact, this book presents them with several opportunities to escape their dire circumstances, but they cannot in good conscience follow through because they are the only hope for their beleaguered comrades.

Snicket is rather obsessed with imparting lessons in vocabulary, and I confess I was stymied as to the meaning of the word “ersatz.” Several chapters in, I could contain my curiosity no longer, and I investigated the word to discover its meaning. As it turns out, “ersatz” means none of the things I thought it might, but learning the definition gave me early insight into a major plot twist. Therefore, I would suggest refraining from peeking as I did. Rather, have patience and wait until Snicket reveals, in his own good time, the meaning of the word. (If you just can’t stand the suspense, check out page 129.)

As is his wont, Snicket manages to inject a most harrowing situation with healthy doses of humor. Oddly enough, probably my single favorite line in the book occurs, just as in The Wide Window, in a restaurant. “There is nothing particularly wrong with salmon, of course, but like caramel candy, strawberry yogurt, and liquid carpet cleaner, if you eat too much of it you are not going to enjoy your meal.” In addition to fashion, anxiety, and uncertainty, another recurring theme in this book is darkness, and Snicket finds all sorts of interesting ways to depict it. For instance: “It was darker than a pitch-black panther, covered in tar, eating black licorice at the very bottom of the deepest part of the black sea.” His most effective demonstration of darkness, however, is considerably less verbose.

The Ersatz Elevator is the most complex volume in the series thus far, dangling tantalizing threads of story in front of readers before yanking them away. We are left with very few answers but many more questions as we depart from yet another hyperbolic manifestation of the author’s sense of reality. (Incidentally, I would gather that Snicket hasn’t much time for fashion, as he takes care to wholly expose its ludicrous nature in this book.) There can be little doubt that the Baudelaires will encounter some of these characters again, and unquestionably they face a future rendez-vous with one of them, though he will not look or sound quite the same at that later date. Will the calamitous misfortunes of this upstanding trio ever end? As devoted readers, do we actually want them to?

Skyline Caverns a Cool Retreat from Summer Sun

For several years, my aunt Joyce has had a cozy cabin in Virginia. She doesn’t use it extremely often because she already has an extremely cozy house. But it’s a nice retreat, and we went there once before when we visited. During one of the days that we stayed there, we made the trip to Skyline Caverns in Front Royal, and the main thing I remember about that excursion is that I got fearfully carsick. I was crossing my fingers that such an unpleasantness wouldn’t occur when we made the same trip last month, this time with our exchange student Cathi in tow. Luckily, my stomach was more cooperative on this occasion, and we got to our destination with little trouble. The drive didn't seem so long as it had the first time. When we reached the caverns, it starting raining. It was a quick downpour, and we were able to wait it out in the car before going in.

There was a tour just starting, and we managed to catch that one. It was led by a guy who couldn't have been much older than my 16-year-old brother Nathan and who strongly resembled Harry Potter. I remembered some of the formations from before, but I did not recall how cheesy the verbal portion of the tour was. It was very much a canned tour, the sort of thing I used to do when I narrated the train rides for ZooBoo in Erie. I was all too familiar with the pun-peppered speech that made the audience groan. At least I didn't notice anybody telling him he ought to write new material. I got that after every single tour, as if I wrote the script! Besides, it's supposed to be goofy.

Anyway, our group seemed to be pretty good sports, but there was one point, in the part of the caves that they call the Cathedral, when we were subjected to a "light show" that amounted to a dramatic voice from above preaching Christian and environmentalist doctrine. I was just glad to see the two on the same page; I'm sick of them being considered mutually exclusive by many people. But I won't argue that it was over the top. Cathi was mildly offended that it was a part of the tour at all. "That's so mean!" she protested later, her typical phrase of disapproval. She didn't think they had any business putting something like that in a public tour that people were paying for and thought a lot of people might get offended. Of course, this was the Bible belt, and it was a nature sanctuary of sorts, so both of the announcer’s points of view made sense. But perhaps it was a bit much.

Cathi also disliked the fact that they had names for all the formations, leaving no room to our imaginations. I definitely get what she's saying; on the other hand, it would probably be a lot harder to conduct the tour if there weren't any landmarks with specific names. I especially liked the Three Wise Men and the nearby Bethlehem; the lucky rock that thousands of people had rubbed over the years, wearing it down to an incredibly smooth texture; the shallow pool that was home to trout; and the anthodites, spiky formations on the cave ceiling near the end of the tour that have been found in no other caves in the world. In spite of the corny touches, the tour was still a fun thing to do, and the caverns were nice and cool, a relief from the hot day. I bought some postcards in the gift shop, which was a basically a general store of the sort you might find in any small rural location. There’s a very similar one in Little Pine Valley, where my family goes camping every year. When we went outside I admired the miniature train that we could have bought tickets to ride in. It was mainly intended for little kids, I think, but there were some adults on board so it could have been an option. Next to the train was a large dinosaur statue, and I think there was also a small miniature golf course.

The tour itself lasted about an hour, and with $2 off coupons it cost $12 each. Dad got several nice pictures inside the caverns, and it was yet another new experience Cathi could say she had in America. If you happen to be in the area, I would recommend it as an afternoon diversion, which could be combined with a few hours at nearby Shenandoah National Park. Another nice trip of that nature is to Penn’s Cave, in which the tour is conducted on a boat. Due to adverse weather conditions, we were unable to complete the extent of the tour, so I would like to go back sometime on a sunny day. Anyway, for those interested in geology or just looking for a unique experience, Skyline Caverns is worth a look.

The "Equarium" and More in Baltimore

One of the shorter stops on my family’s recent road trip was Baltimore, Maryland, a city I’ve visited a few times. Come to think of it, none of the places we went were locations I’d never been to before. My major trip to Baltimore was about 10 years ago. When I was in middle school, my dad had to go to Baltimore for a conference. Since it occurred during the summer, since I was getting picked up from my grandparents’ in nearby York anyway, and since it just seemed like a fun family vacation, we all went with him. We were put up in a fancy hotel, and we spent considerable time wandering around the Inner Harbor. I recall the lights of the city reflecting in the night-time water; peddling around the bay with my brother Benjamin in one of the little boats reserved for that purpose; going to a crab shack located on a boat and witnessing Dad’s disdain as he tried to crack the critter open; practically being knocked over by a young woman jumping up and down and begging, with religious fervor, for money to buy milk for her infant; and spending a few hours at the Baltimore Aquarium (which young Nathan referred to as an “equarium” in a car game on the ride home).

This time our trip would only be for the day. We set off from my aunt’s house near Washington, D. C. We made good time and got to Baltimore by 11:30 or so and found a parking lot pretty quickly, right by the inner harbor. It was a short walk to the aquarium, which we had already decided we wanted to visit again. I had announced earlier that I wanted to ride the paddleboats. I think that's their proper name, but pedalboats would be more appropriate. They're what Fred Flintstone would ride in if he ever traveled across the water. Anyway, we turned a corner and there were the boats, and scattered amongst them were these glorious sea serpents, slightly akin to the swan boats seen in Lothlorien. I wanted not only to ride one but to own one. I mentioned it all day. Nobody else was interested. I didn't think they would be, especially after we noticed how polluted the water was. But it gave me a boost just to see them.

We had to wait in line to get tickets to the aquarium. While Mom did that, the rest of us sat around and looked at our surroundings. We were in the aquarium by noon. The first thing you see is a huge pool filled with sharks, manta rays and sea turtles. It's a gorgeous sight. They all look so graceful, especially the rays. We watched them swim for a while before moving on to the rest of the exhibits. I like all animals, but I don't get as excited about fish as mammals, especially when there are huge crowds around small tanks, making it very hard to see. Still, there were lots of fun fish to observe, especially the sea horses, and I began thinking that a very fun job would be traveling around the country and visiting a different zoo every day and writing a book about it. That would be groovetacular. Dad and I were a bit less energetic than the other three for some reason, but we still had a good time. I loved the rainforest that we were able to walk through. It was perhaps my favorite part. The animals were very close. A bird probably could have landed on my head. There was also an expansive shark display and finally the dolphin show, which Nathan taped. I was a little bummed we didn't get there earlier and get in the splash zone, but we still had a good view. Afterwards I went and saw them underwater. I bought postcards, but then I was mildly annoyed because they were 50 cents each, and if I'd known that I only would've gotten a couple. They were just animal pictures that said "Baltimore Aquarium" on them, with no prices in sight. I went and made a pressed penny for Mom too. They had 12 different designs; I picked the manta ray. I think they're very cool.

When we got out of the aquarium, we called my aunt Barb and her fiance Chuck, who were just a couple blocks away. We met them halfway, and I found a clownfish magnet from the aquarium sitting under a bench. Lucky me! Mom wanted to eat at the same crab shack we’d patronized before. Probably not to Dad's disappointment, the place had closed, but Chuck took us to what he said was the best seafood in Baltimore. Philip's did have very good food, as well as a band playing in the next room. It was a little more expensive and the portions a little smaller than expected, but my lobster and crab was quite tasty.

Our next stop was the Cheesecake Factory, but we decided to do some shopping in between. I picked up a bunch of postcards, including some nice Washington ones, and I also got a deck of Washington playing cards, a pen with a Lincoln bust on the top and his signature on the rest of the pen, and a Chipmunk-sized Abraham Lincoln figurine. The purchase that tickled me the most, however, was the whistle I bought at the stand where they sell tickets for the DUCK tours. It's shaped like a duck bill and it quacks! How great is that? I was good, though. I only used it a few times. Our cheesecake was delicious. I got raspberry lemon. They were very large pieces, too. It was still before 5 at this point I think, but everyone was already talking about heading back. I would have been happy to stay all evening, but we wanted to get a chance to visit with our relatives in York a bit.

We headed towards the car, but first we watched a free juggling show. This guy was pretty weird, and I wasn't all that impressed with most of his antics. He did do some interesting tricks, though, especially with swords and fire. I was sitting next to a guy who was really enjoying the show. A few cute kids volunteered themselves as assistants. It was a fun little diversion. Before we left, we had to get our picture with a crab. They have crabs all around town with different decorations, a community art project just like the fish and frogs we have in Erie. These things were cool, but they were pretty skinny and small. At least they were festive. The sun was right in our eyes as Dad took the pictures, so I think there was a whole lot of squinting going on, but a couple of them turned out really nice anyway. We also got a great shot of our group (sans Dad, the photographer) across the bay from the aquarium.

I can’t really comment too much on the city at large, since my experience is pretty much limited to the Inner Harbor. But it’s a fun place to spend the day. The aquarium cost us $18 each, a price that included the dolphin show. We spent about three hours there, which is about average; the tickets to the dolphin show are for a particular time, and they basically figure it’s about enough time for you to have gotten through the aquarium. Lunch and cheesecake were fairly expensive; I think my meal was about $20 and the cheesecake probably close to $10. Most of the shops in the malls along the harbor boasted very reasonable prices, however. I think my postcards were 6 for a dollar, and none of my other purchases broke the bank, either. I think my duck whistle only set me back three dollars. Add to that the “free” entertainment (donations are, of course, welcome) and the beautiful boats, and there are plenty of worthwhile options available. Since everything is so concentrated in one area, the Inner Harbor is ideal for a day trip. Meanwhile, if you have a few more days to spend, I’m sure there’s plenty more to love in Baltimore. Just watch out overenthusiastic beggars.

Elementary, My Dear Olaf! School, That Is...

After nearly a month of being too busy to pick up a book, I decided to resume my reading activities last week with the fifth book in the Series of Unfortunate Events. I was drawn in right away by what seemed to me a blaring tip of the hat to C.S. Lewis. Perhaps it was no such thing. But as I read the first line of The Austere Academy – “If you were going to give a gold medal to the least delightful person on Earth, you would have to give that medal to a person named Carmelita Spats, and if you didn’t give it to her, Carmelita Spats was the sort of person who would snatch it from your hands anyway" – I was forcefully reminded of another fifth book in a series. Well, I knew it as the third book, but most kids reading it now will know it as the fifth. I refer to Voyage of the Dawn Treader, one of the seven Chronicles of Narnia. That book has one of the best opening lines I have ever encountered: “There was a boy called Eustace Clarence Scrubb, and he almost deserved it.” Anyway, whether or not it was intentional, anything that reminds me of C. S. Lewis is automatically at an advantage. I can’t help but think there was some small degree of influence there, as Voyage of the Dawn Treader launches a small assault on the state of current schooling that is amplified in The Silver Chair, while The Austere Academy provides an exaggerated vision of the worst boarding school has to offer.

Of course, exaggeration is expected on any book bearing the name Lemony Snicket. His macabre tales are skewered just enough that we can heave a sigh of relief that this probably couldn’t happen in contemporary society. Of course, if contemporary society had their way, I suspect the Baudelaires would be separated and sent to three foster homes, and I can’t imagine a more unfortunate event than that. Nonetheless, the intrepid orphans’ troubles are far from over when they reach Prufrock Preparatory School, which is headed by a narcissistic Vice Principal (curiously, no mention of a Principal is made) whose passion for the violin is only matched by his lack of talent for playing it. This ponytailed, sarcastic Vice Principal is so unreasonable that he forces Violet, Klaus and Sunny to reside in the “orphans’ shack,” a dilapidated residence whose ceiling leaks fungus and whose floor is infested with crabs. What’s more, he enlists Sunny as his administrative assistant and forces her to make her own staples when his office supplies run out. Additionally, he enforces a number of ludicrous rules, the violation of which usually involves the revoking of certain lunch privileges, such as being allowed silverware. Missing one of his interminable concerts carries the especially harsh penalty of being forced to buy him a large bag of candy and watch him eat it. I couldn’t help but be reminded a bit of Chalie’s teacher in Charlie and the Chocolate Factory and a lot of Miss Trunchbull in Matilda when I observed this administrator’s antics, and the more I think of it, the more echoes of Roald Dahl I find in Snicket’s work.

As unpleasant as the orphans’ lot is at Prufrock Prep, it doesn’t get truly grim until the arrival of the new gym teacher, a turbaned fellow who insists that the Baudelaires possess unique athletic abilities and promptly enlists them in the Special Orphans Running Exercises, the acronym of which describes how they feel after they are forced to participate. It doesn’t help that there is something very familiar about this particular instructor… But there are bright spots in all this misery. Along with the children’s own interminable optimism, they soon acquire a much more solid morale booster: friends. Although their first encounter with their classmates was negative – due to the aforementioned Carmelita Spats – they soon find solace with Duncan and Isadora Quagmire, children as compatible as possible with the Baudelaires, not only in terms of temperament and interests but also because of their own incredible misfortune. Now instead of three, there are five working together to uncover the next sinister plot of the greedy and omnipresent Count Olaf.

I enjoyed this book a great deal. In fact, it may be my favorite book in the series so far. Duncan and Isadora are welcome additions whom I hopefully suspect will return at some later point. In spite of Snicket’s descriptions to the contrary, I found Mrs. Bass and Mr. Remora, Klaus and Violet’s teachers, to be quite sympathetic characters, if admittedly rather dull. Four relatively pleasant new people in one book is the highest count so far, and it probably contributed to the lighter feel of this volume, especially after the exceedingly dark Miserable Mill. Snicket slathers on the one-off oddities here, too, which is again a welcome relief. Examples: “Klaus had known for all twelve of his years that his older sister found a hand on her shoulder comforting – as long as the hand was attached to an arm, of course.” “Each morning, she would walk into Room Two carrying a bag full of ordinary objects – a frying pan, a picture frame, the skeleton of a cat…” “Assumptions are dangerous things to make, and like all dangerous things to make – bombs, for instance, or strawberry shortcake – if you make even the tiniest mistake you can find yourself in terrible trouble.”

The delectable berries may signal trouble to the deluded mind of Lemony Snicket, but I’m sure that if the Baudelaires could “remember the taste of strawberries,” they might draw some small comfort from that, and from the hope that they might one day have the privilege of enjoying the pleasures of life again. For the time being, all they have is each other, but that is just enough to keep them going as they venture uneasily towards their next inevitably unfortunate escapade.

Yorkshire's Blossoms Are Beautiful to Behold

Earlier this year, I had planned to go to England for five and a half weeks this summer. Had this panned out, I would be “leavin’ on a jet plane” tomorrow. It didn’t, so I’m not. I have mixed feelings about this. But I’m determined to get to England again, and this time to see as much of the countryside as possible. That’s what I’m really in love with. The countryside of J. R. R. Tolkien and A. A. Milne and James Herriot. And, incidentally, the countryside of the movie I’m about to review.

A couple years ago, just after it came out, a friend of mine told me that she’d seen Calendar Girls and that it was a very good movie. I didn’t doubt her word, though the whole unclothed women premise caused me to raise my eyebrows. But my list of must-see movies is interminably long, so I didn’t get around to renting it until this year. It was my mom’s suggestion, actually, but when she pointed it out the bells in my head began to go off. So we rented it, along with a couple other movies, both of which I had a stronger urge to see. In the end, though, Calendar Girls got my vote as the best of the three movies we’d rented.

The plot, which is based on a true story, centers around a group of Yorkshire women, middle aged or older, who meet regularly for a variety of respectable, if often mind-numbingly dull, activities sponsored by the Women’s Institute in Knapely. Two of the participants, Chris (Helen Mirren) and Annie (Julie Walters), are especially fond of poking fun at the uninteresting guests found by their chapter’s severe leader, Marie (Geraldine James). The film takes a dark turn early on when Annie’s husband John (John Alderton) is diagnosed with cancer. We are allowed just enough of a glimpse of this gentle man before he succumbs to the disease that we are able to understand how much he meant not only to his wife but to the whole community. His kindness and eloquence are accentuated when, shortly after his death, Chris reads the speech he had intended to present at the next WI meeting. “The flowers of Yorkshire are like the women of Yorkshire,” she reads. “Every stage of their growth has its own beauty, but the last phase is always the most glorious.” Thus the seeds of inspiration are sown.

The bulk of the film chronicles the attempts of a small faction of these women, headed by the irrepressible Chris, to fashion a calendar featuring 12 Knapely women in that last glorious phase, bare as the day they were born. This presents some logistical problems, but the main obstacle is Marie, who is loath to put a stain on her chapter’s respectability. The women are determined, however, because they want to honor John’s memory and create a project whose proceeds can purchase a comfortable sofa for family members of cancer patients. The small undertaking blossoms into something far grander than any of them could have envisioned, leading to comical complications as well as a couple dramatic confrontations.

The calendar itself is an integral part of the movie, and even a prude like me had to admit it was pulled off quite artistically. Each page features one of the women doing some sort of everyday task that might normally be undertaken by the WI. Sewing, baking, playing the piano... Each one is arranged so that the woman in question is censored by the props around her. There’s a wry comedic element to each of the photographs, and overall it’s quite an impressive presentation. Visually speaking, though, what I enjoyed most about the film was the aforementioned countryside. Yorkshire is absolutely gorgeous. I could look at it all day. In fact, Calendar Girls is almost as good an advertisement for England as Lord of the Rings is for New Zealand.

The acting is very good all around, but my favorite member of the ensemble is John Alderton, in spite of the brevity of his presence on screen. His character pervades the remainder of the film and lends heart to all the amusing antics that follow the dawning of Chris’ unusual idea. There’s a bit of profanity, and obviously some nudity, but nothing much to get offended about. In fact, this film, like the Paul Stookey song Give a D***, is a perfect demonstrator of why prudishness is not always the best state of mind to maintain. More important is reveling in the gift that is life, especially if such an action can in turn bestow that gift upon others.