Happy Thanksgiving!  My husband’s flight home from Tokyo got delayed (by more than a day), so we’re pretending that Thanksgiving is on Friday this year.  That’s life with a pilot, but the turkey and stuffing will still taste just as good cooked tomorrow.

In the mean time, I have an unexpected day off today that I get to spend with my brother who is in town visiting from NYC.  There was snow on the ground when I woke up this morning — the first of the season.  It prompted me to build a fire, and I think we’ll probably spend a good portion of the day drinking coffee or hot chocolate by the fireplace.

Though she usually fights it, I still try to get my three-year-0ld daughter to take naps in the afternoons, particularly when we have plans later in the day, so that she’ll be well rested and in good spirits for the evening activities.  She doesn’t always sleep.  We call it “quiet time,” and she is expected to lay in bed, read books, and enjoy a little peace and quiet.  Most days, I am the one who needs a short break, a little peace and quiet time.

When I was tucking her in for quiet time one afternoon, she told me, “You’re ruining my whole life!”

Granted, I was prepared to hear this phrase at some point, but I thought it would be closer to when she was fifteen rather than three.

I’m re-reading the early Sandman graphic novels by Neil Gaiman.  I find it amazing that one writer can be so talented and prolific in such a variety of genres — graphic novels, full length fantasy novels, youth fiction, and children’s books.  Neil Gaiman does it all, and he does it so well.

Last night, I took my six-year-old daughter roller skating for the first time. I hadn’t been on skates since I was in junior high, but I was happy to learn that it came right back. Though she had never been on roller skates before, the fearless daredevil in my daughter came shining through.

After one circuit around the rink to get her bearings, she was off. I encouraged her to take her time and go at her own pace, which for her is about 60 miles per hour.

My tough little girl didn’t want to hold my hand or edge along the wall. She must have fallen at least forty or fifty times. I winced every time, though she picked herself up and raced right back into the speeding fray. After some particularly nasty falls, I checked to make sure she was okay. She’d shrug me off with remarks like:

“Look how good I can get back up without holding onto anything.”

“Cool. I did the splits on roller skates!”

Within an hour, she was easily as good as any girl twice her age. I think we may have a future roller derby girl on our hands!

The Hidden is a haunting mystery novel written by award-winning writer Tobias Hill.  Seamlessly shifting back and forth between research notes on ancient Sparta and a present day archeological dig in Greece, the story’s main character, Ben Mercer, flees his failed marriage and his academic life at Oxford.  He first finds himself in Athens, taking a job at the Metamorphosis meat grill, where he hopes to lose himself amidst the hard work and anonymity at this local dive far off the beaten path.  However, tensions at the restaurant appear to possess an undercurrent of chaos that seems on the verge of erupting into potential violence.  As the name implies, Metamorphosis is merely a place of transition for Ben, before he eventually seeks out a job at an archeological dig site taking place at the location where the former Sparta once existed.

With themes reminiscent of Donna Tartt’s The Secret History, the Spartan dig and the group of archeologists are not all that they would appear on the surface.  Struggling between feeling like an outsider and wanting to belong to something greater than himself, Ben is forced to weigh his morals and his sense of self against his desire to be a part of this elite group.  As his academic notes on Spartan history begin to descend into less research and more of a labyrinth of his own self reflections, Ben learns that some secrets may be better left hidden.

Hill does a fine job of escalating the story to its inevitable sinister ending.  The characters are both representations of the old Spartan legends as well as friends and foes.  They’re fearful, alluring, unattainable, flawed, stark, and dark all at once.  Though the story itself is a bit circuitous at times, the pleasure of reading this book is in the writing style itself.  It comes as no surprise that Tobias Hill is also a poet.  His lyrical prose and observations about the most simple or the most grand of settings make the reader feel a part of the dusty behind-the-tours Greece, as if you could not only visualize it but reach out and touch it.

Olive trees silver in the last sun.  Olive trunks full of lumps and rumps, love handles, sumo thighs, double chins, breasts and warts and genitals, whittled slits, murder holes, clefts and crevices, wingbones and filigrees.  Olive groves full of secret things: car wrecks, gypsies and horses, shoulders of ruin.

Happy Friday the 13th!  I know that this is supposed to be an inauspicious day, but I’ve always enjoyed a good Friday the 13th.  First, I love the number 13.  Always have.  Second, how can anyone be fretful on a Friday?

My review pile is steadily building like a wall of little paper bricks atop my desk.  What should I review next?  Please feel free to vote.

My six-year-old daughter recently discovered my Edward Gorey collection.  She’s fascinated with the art work and morbid tales.  At story time, she’ll thumb through my books before selecting something particularly gruesome.

She’ll ask, “Mommy, does this one have a bad ending?”

“They’re all pretty grim, sweetie.”

“Good.  I want this one!”

I officially began my Christmas shopping today.  I love to shop around and find that perfect gift for each person on my list.  I’m a big fan of Amazon Wish Lists.  It helps make the gift search so much easier, and ordering online and having it shipped directly sure takes a lot of the hassle out of long distance shopping.

The jack-o-lanterns displayed above were the ones we carved this year.  My three-year-old daughter chose the mad scientist design on the left, and my six-year-old daughter chose the tarantula on the right.  My husband created the happy traditional jack-o-lantern in the center.

Halloween has always been one of my favorite holidays.  I love dressing up.  Over the years, I’ve enjoyed celebrating the festivities in a variety costumes and in a number of different cities — L.A., San Francisco, Miami, New Orleans, Boston, and Chicago, to name a few.  Halloween takes on a whole new dimension these days, now that I have two young children.

In our neighborhood, we kick off the week with a Halloween party held at the barn, which houses horse stables on the lower level and a party room on the upper level.  I was in charge of the costume contest this year, which meant that it was the first year that one of my own kids didn’t take home a ribbon.  My three-year-0ld daughter dressed as  Scooby Doo, and she talked her older sister into dressing as Daphne, the female detective from Scooby Doo.  They told everybody that my husband was Shaggy, even though he wasn’t dressed up.  They got a kick out of eating Scooby Snacks, graham crackers shaped like dog biscuits.

My youngest daughter remained in the Scooby Doo theme for her preschool party the following week and for trick-or-treating last night.  My six-year-old daughter, however, changed her costume to a mermaid for her first grade party and for trick-or-treating.  She wore an elaborate shiny turquoise costume decorated with flowers and shells, a tail on the front (which was picturesque, but made it a little difficult to run), and long cascading turquoise mesh sleeves.  We braided her long hair down her back.

Our neighborhood facilitates a hay ride to drive the young kids from house to house.  We reside about halfway along the hay ride route.  My little one happily called it quits when they got to our house.  She came inside to drink some hot chocolate, get warm, and help me hand out candy to the remaining trick-or-treaters.  My oldest stayed out on the hay ride until the end, bringing home a pumpkin filled with candy, toys, and a caramel apple by the time she was done.

My oldest won’t eat half of what she brought home.  In fact, the one candy bar she opened last night still sits on the kitchen table unfinished.  My three-year-old, on the other hand, keeps asking for another treat from her pumpkin bucket every few minutes, and she’s also talked her older sister into turning over a good portion of her loot.