Every so often, you come across something you haven't seen or thought about in ages, and a wave of nostalgia floods over you. You remember a specific moment, a place, a smell. It reminds you of something your gray matter has decided to set aside in place of other information - long division, or the original cast of
Charles in Charge for example.
Recently, three books I've re-discovered have had that effect on me. Wandering the shelves of Barnes and Noble, in the children's section, I found a few gems I had forgotten about.
Night of the Twisters by Ivy Ruckman:
Growing up in the Midwest, tornadoes are a common fear. I've seen firsthand their destruction, traversing fields of farmland in search of twisted pieces of metal that were once secured to my grandparents' farm. Yet there's something alluring about stormy weather, too, something about lightning and dark skies and listening to the radio as sirens wail their warning and rain pelts the hot asphalt.
Night was the first book I read that I immediately identified with. It didn't matter that the action took place in Nebraska. The town in the book was my hometown of Eagle Lake. The main character, roughly my age, was me. I was the hero of the story.
Bunnicula by James and Deborah Howe:
In second grade, I had a student teacher. Her name escapes me now (replaced, most likely, by the lyrics to
Ice Ice Baby). But one thing I distinctly recall was her enthusiastic reading of
Bunnicula to the class. It was one of the first times I discovered the relationship between horror and humor. And come on, a bunny that sucks carrots dry? Genius!
The Castle in the Attic by Elizabeth Winthrop:
This is the purest example of what I mentioned above. I don't remember too much about the book itself (tiny knights defending a toy castle in a young boy's attic), but it reminds me fondly of my old bed growing up. I had a raised bed, with two drawers built into the frame. One day, I discovered that by sliding out the bottom drawer, I could slither under the bed. By replacing the drawer after me, my location was hidden from everyone. There was enough space under there for me to sit and read, and a strategically placed outlet provided the perfect spot for a life-saving (or eyesight-saving) night light.
Castle was one of the many books I read in my Fortress of Solitude. And I had forgotten about it completely under I saw the cover on the book store shelf.
So that's my trip down memory lane. My posts have been sporadic (life, and impending fatherhood, are getting in the way). I'm trying mightily to post, and there are things to share. So check back!
B
Hey everyone! Man, what a crazy couple of days. It all started Sunday night, at around 12:30AM. I was laying in bed, next to my 'two days overdue' wife. I was just closing my book (The Graveyard Book by Neil Gaiman, for those who need specifics) when Jen rolled over, grimaced, and said, "Whoa. That doesn't feel right."
An hour later, the contractions were coming pretty quickly. We finally came to the conclusion that our son was not going to let us sleep that night. We rushed to the hospital (Regions in St. Paul, a straight shot down University from our house. The location came in handy for a bleary-eyed father to be had driving there at 1:30AM). 
Alex is a tiny little fella (7lbs. 11.8 oz. and 20in. long) with a shock of blonde hair and long feet. We are now officially home from the hospital, and Alex is settling in to home life. We were very fortunate through the entire pregnancy, and are extremely blessed to have family and friends who are as excited as we are about our new addition.
Quick post tonight. Tomorrow, the cool cats at Once Upon a Crime are hosting a book signing for Anthony Neil Smith's new book, Hogdoggin'. The book is a pseudo-sequel to Smith's dirty gem Yellow Medicine (which I read and loved. You can read my thoughts on the book HERE). I'm pretty damned stoked to pick this up. I'll post a run-down of the signing afterwards.
Night of the Twisters by Ivy Ruckman:
Bunnicula by James and Deborah Howe:
The Castle in the Attic by Elizabeth Winthrop: