I Wish You More

　　I wish you more tippy-toes than deep.



　　I wish you more can than knot.



　　I wish you more snowflakes than tougue.



　　I wish you more umbrella than rain.



I Wish You More
Amy Krouse Rosenthal & Tom Lichtenheld
ISBN 978-1-4521-2699-9

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The North Star

　　Although he was following the well-worn path, he had a growing feeling that he was lost.



　　The crickets fell silent as the bird asked, "But where do you want to be going?"

　　"I'm not sure," said the boy as he looked around at the dark, tangled swamp, "but I do know that this is where I want to be. I guess I am lost."



The North Star
Peter H. Reynolds
ISBN 978-0-7636-3677-7

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Sky Color

　　In the morning. Marisol stood waiting for the bus in the rain.

　　The sky was not blue.

　　She smiled.

Sky Color
Peter H. Reynolds
ISBN 978-0-7636-2345-6

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Whaley Whale

　　Where is Whaley Whale?

Whaley Whale
Chris Raschka
ISBN 978-1-4197-1058-2

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There’s No One Making Sure Everyone Gets A Fair Share

　　Weezie sits expectantly, hungrily, in front of Trent and I forget again if dogs do or don’t eat pizza.

　　“I don’t know what I’ll do when it’s Weezie’s time,” Trent says. I know he says this because he’s experiencing some of my pain, coupling it with imagined future pain of his own, trying to understand. Plus the not knowing what to say that all of us experience in the face of grief. And I appreciate it, I do. But it’s not Weezie’s time. She is here. Unscathed. Alive. He also has Matt. What do I have?

　　The distribution of loss is inequitable. And I don’t want him not to have Weezie. And I don’t want him not to have Matt. I love my friend, and I want him to have every happiness. So I say this as a realization only. Not as a desire to redistribute loss or to make it more equitable. The distribution of loss is inequitable. That’s just the way it is. That’s just the way the world works. There’s no one handing it out. There’s no one making sure everyone gets a fair share.

　　So many adventures we had. And I loved every one.

　　Had.

　　Past tense.

　　Did Lily know this as her eyes grew heavy? That the adventures were over? Or did she feel the heaviness of sleep as the onset of a satisfying rest, one that would allow her to be fresh for new adventures ahead? Was it exciting or terrifying? Or did she see nothing at all?

Lily and the Octopus, P277
Steven Rowley
ISBN 978-1-5011-2622-2

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I Stopped Really Living

　　At the end of the first episode, when quarterback Jason Street goes down, Coach Taylor gives the first of his trademark speeches. Something about life being so very fragile. Something about us all being vulnerable. Something about how, at some point in our lives, we will fall. “We will all fall.”

　　I’ve never played football or any kind of team sport. I’ve never sat through a coach’s halftime pep talk. I’ve never been in the room with someone rallying the troops to turn the tide of the fight. But hearing Coach Taylor speak, I prop myself up on my elbows. I am forty-two. This is the halftime of my life, and my team is losing. I’ve never been more in need of this speech.

　　He continues about how what we have can be taken from us. Even what we have that is special. And when it is taken, we will be tested.

　　I’m captivated by this speech, and even though I’ve heard it before, even though I own it on Blu-ray, I’m also hearing it for the very first time. It is in this pain that we are tested. Since I am in this pain, the pain of having what is special taken from me, I look inside myself and I don’t like what I see: a man who is broken and alone. I think of all the time Lily and I spent together, just the two of us — the talks about boys, the Monopoly, the movies, the pizza nights — and I wonder how much of it was real. Dogs don’t eat pizza; dogs don’t play Monopoly. I know this on some level, but everything feels so true. How much of it was an elaborate construct to mask my own loneliness? How much of it was built to convince myself the attempts I made at real life — therapy, dating — were not just that: attempts?

　　Somewhere, sometime, I stopped really living. I stopped really trying. And I don’t understand why. I had done all the right things. I had Lily. I had Jeffrey. I had a family.

　　And then I didn’t.

　　I don’t understand how my life got so empty, or why the octopus came, or why everyone eventually goes away.

Lily and the Octopus, P274-275
Steven Rowley
ISBN 978-1-5011-2622-2

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What if this is the Day?

　　Jenny and I once talked about how we manage to live despite the knowledge that we are all going to die. What's the point of it all? Why bother getting up in the morning when faced with such futility? Or is it the promise of death that inspires life? That we must grab what we can while there is still time. Is it the not knowing if today is the day that keeps us going?

　　But what if this is the day? What if the hour is here?

　　How do you stand?

　　How do you breathe?

　　How do you go on?

Lily and the Octopus, P255-256
Steven Rowley
ISBN 978-1-5011-2622-2

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As Part-Exchange for Ginger Ale

　　... ...

　　The fish then sold you to a whale (as part-exchange for ginger ale).

　　The whale took off for the Northern Pole with you atop his great blowhole, and when he finally got you there, he plopped you with a polar bear ...

　　... who kept you as a midnight snack for eating in his winter snack.

　　... ...

Sometimes It's Stork, P
by L.J.R. Kelly, illustrated by the Brothers Hilts
ISBN 978-0-399-25682-0

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Some Things are Unforgivable

　　Some things are unforgivable. My problem is the opposite of mankind's: not having gone into battle often enough, not having waged enough war. I've always shied from confrontation, more often than not backing down from a fight. Quarreling has always felt silly, bordering on the ridiculous. War, after all, was something that happened to faraway people in faraway places. Not something that is sparked by an eight-armed invasion of your own front lines.

Lily and the Octopus, P223
Steven Rowley
ISBN 978-1-5011-2622-2

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My Husband's Death Song

　　The brothers, amazed at how easily they had killed the giant bear, hurried up to their sister. "Don't cry now! We have saved you!"

　　But she didn't stop weeping. The brothers were bewildered until their sister's children emerged from the cave. They realized then just how closely she had been living with the bears. "Time to come home," they said gently.

　　"Only if you join me in singing my husband's death song," she replied.

　　When the song was done, they helped their sister down the mountain. Falling flakes melted and mixed with the tears on her cheeks. Her children followed far behind.

The Woman Who Married A Bear
retold by Elizabeth James, illustrated by Atanas
ISBN 978-1-894965-49-1

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