Every Little Thing is Gonna Be All Right

5 baby birds were born in the little nest on my porch. They are growing by leaps and bounds and are now crowding the nest. Soon they will take their first flight. Who will be first? The next generation of songbirds is about to take wing.

Here is a new blog post by author Maureen Wartski called "Wings" -- in celebration of the season: http://maureenwartski.wordpress.com/2012/04/26/wings/.

Ms. Wartski's middle grade novel Yuri's Brush with Magic (ages 9-12) is available from The Regulator Bookstore and on Amazon.com.

The Palace Within

I was driving to pick up dog food at Costco, when I starting thinking about this blog post. My thoughts drifted to the parquet floors of Peterhoff, the summer home of the tsars.

I had been on a study abroad program to Leningrad. We had visited the Bolshoi Ballet; the Hermitage; the place where Pushkin had studied. We had inspected Mon Plaisir, where royals would lunch while enjoying spectacular views of the Gulf of Finland. (Good for the digestion.) After each course, the royal table would disappear into floor below, where servants would remove dishes and plate the next course. Then, whoosh, the table would rise again to waiting guests with forks poised.

It was all lovely. Really. Palaces, gardens, fountains, grand halls, amber brooches, malachite urns. Yes, there were diamond-encrusted clocks, delicate jeweled birds in golden cages, flattering oils, voluptuous silks, overstuffed beds. And there was I, traipsing through the Summer Palace in clumsy, felt strap-on sandals, when a funny thought entered my head. "Where is MY palace?"

Just days before, we students had visited the Leningrad Blockade Museum. Affixed to a piece of board was the recipe and proportions the bakers of Leningrad had used to make bread while the Germans were busy blockading their city for nearly 3 years. The wartime bread was made, in large part, of sawdust, shoe leather, and other detritus that could be consumed. Until that day, I did not know you could eat shoe leather.

And just miles away -- *snap* -- we found ourselves in this palatial estate, Peterhof -- (it is magnificent, you should really go there: http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Peterhof_Palace) -- where we had to remove our shoes (but thankfully, not eat them), so that we wouldn't scuff the parquet floors.

The timing of this served to tick me off. Why does one girl get to be a princess and one a pauper? Why does one get to walk in slippers in royal gardens and one is born into circumstances where life is spent barefoot -- not in Eden, but in poverty.

I wondered why, why, why. "And where is MY palace?" I asked the museum gods, wagging my finger at the fat little cherubs on the frescoed ceilings.

Granted, I have lived a life of luxury relative to the world's population. I have always had enough to eat. I was educated. I own a home and drive a car. I can afford pets.

But WHY don't I have a palace? I wondered, as I channeled my inner Eloise, the storybook heroine of the Plaza Hotel. I wondered this as I slid the length of the parquet ballroom floor in my government-issued slippers, turning the royal hall of masterpieces into an existential slip and slide. The museum guard chided me in Russian for my lack of decorum.

But before I heard his words, I heard my own. And the voice said: "Build your palace within."

Hmmm. I thought, "Build your palace within. What the heck does that mean?" I was still a teenager who liked pretty things.

As I was walking into Costco today, I passed the pyramid of Whey Protein Powder Shakes, the Jack LaLane Juicers (only $89 dollars!) and past cases with diamond bracelets and Lladro figurines. It was starting to feel just a little too much like a museum... and a slip-and-slide.

The photograph above was taken on the night of Dec. 4, 2010. (The launch of Sleepy Hollow Books and the debut of Maureen Wartski's novel, Yuri's Brush with Magic.) Here is my winter palace: the Regulator Bookstore in Durham, North Carolina. Although it may not be stately or ornate -- you might even call it modest -- it holds a jewel greater than the Tiffany Yellow Diamond. This simple building holds a heart and soul, the vortex of community, within its walls. It is run by a fellow named Tom Campbell and another gentleman named John Valentine; they feed the soul and warm the heart.

Happy Valentine's Day to one and all. May your palace within glow brightly this year.
xoxo Amy

(Photo credit: Caperton Morton Andersson)

Holding Up the Sky

We know Aesop’s fabled tortoise won the race, but what if hare and turtle were to take to the sea? The sea turtle would be my odds-on favorite. Sea turtles can cross oceans and swim in bursts of up to 30 mph when evading predators. Sea turtles are one of the few species so ancient that they watched the dinosaurs evolve and become extinct.

Sea turtles have survived for 150 million years. Now we are stewards of the Earth. Sea turtles have become endangered due to climate change, poaching, development, and pollution. If they go extinct, who will hold up the Sky?

My wish is that parents, librarians, and teachers use the novel Yuri’s Brush with Magic by Maureen Wartski in book clubs and middle-school classrooms to open discussion about these ancient sea creatures and how kids can help protect our environment.

Would you like to...

"Adopt" a sea turtle and track its progress on the computer? Click here: http://www.seaturtle.org/adopt/

Visit a sea turtle in person? Start here:
North Carolina Aquariums http://www.ncaquariums.com/
Karen Beasley Sea Turtle Rehab. Center http://www.seaturtlehospital.org/

Spend summer at a Sea Turtle Camp?
Check this out: http://www.seaturtlecamp.com/

Find a great holiday gift for your tween? Order a copy of Yuri’s Brush with Magic here: http://www.amazon.com/Yuris-Brush-Magic-Maureen-Wartski/dp/0982454252. For bulk orders, please contact amy@sleepyhollowbooks.com; (919) 724-0250

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“Anytime you see a turtle up on top of a fence post, you know he had some help.” -- Alex Haley

(Photo credit: Joe Tansey)

Another reason why I love North Carolina...

(Photo credit: Amy C. Spaulding)

Love the ones you're with

Yesterday was Respect for the Aged Day in Japan. People bring meals to the elderly; everyone has the day off, presumably to celebrate and help the elder citizens of their communities.

It got me thinking about my grandparents. I never knew my maternal grandfather, Al Smith. He died shortly after my parents were married. But his memory loomed large and he was a good friend and advocate for my mother. My paternal grandfather was a big personality – fun, smart, playful and loving. I would give anything to spend one more day on his front porch looking out at the mountains with his arm around me. There are some things that are indelible to the memory – like the feel of shirt fabric on a young arm or the gnarled thumbnail of a man who retired but never quit working.

My message to kids – to ANYONE who has a grandparent on this Earth: Be kind to them. Listen to them. Sit close to them. Rub their feet (if they like that). Give them as many hugs as you can. Tell them that you love them. Write them letters. (Especially thank you notes.) Believe me, you will miss them when they are gone.