Mama read the note.
It said:
     Dear Penny,
     I saw this doll when I was shopping.
     I thought you would love her.
     I hope you will.
           Hugs and kisses,
           Gram
                                                      from: Penny and Her Doll
                                      written and illustrated by Kevin Henkes
                                                       Greenwillow Books, 2012
 
       I’m pretty sure I’ve admitted to my sneaky Barbie play-dates. All my friends were allowed to have Barbie dolls, and many had clothes and other go-withs. I’d play with their Barbies at their houses and no one was the wiser.
       But my mom was not dumb. Far from it. I’m pretty sure, looking back, she was on to me. In many ways, my mom was ahead of her time. She believed in strong, independent women. Although my mom loved me the way only a mother can, I think she longed for me to become stronger and more independent than I am.
       I grew up in the 1950s and 60s. Times were simpler (and more complex) then. Mixed messages were the norm. Women in bouffant hairstyles and aprons assured me I could be anything I wanted to be.
       I was seven years old when Barbie made her debut. The years after saw Astronaut Barbie, Surgeon Barbie, TV News Reporter Barbie, Veterinarian Barbie, Army Officer Barbie, Fire Fighter Barbie, Engineer Barbie, and many more. She had all the right clothes, and accessories, all the right friends, and cool transportation. I had all of it from afar.
       Mom could not reconcile the controversy surrounding the grown-up look of a Barbie doll. For Mom, even though Barbie had all those professions and accessories, as a doll, she was particularly unsuitable for young children. I had baby-dolls. I loved them. And I’m still wrestling with my mom’s own mixed message.
      Besides the very fact of Barbie being controversial in 1959, even her birthday is controversial. A diagram dated July 24, 1959, is posted on http://barbie.mattel.com/en-us/about/our-history.html. But, most websites agree Barbie first appeared on March 9, 1959, at the opening of the American Toy Fair in New York City.  Barbie’s official birthday is March 9.
       In the whole scheme of controversies plaguing early 21st century America, Barbie and her birthday seem pretty inconsequential. But according to http://www.history.com/this-day-in-history/barbie-makes-her-debut “since 1959, more than 800 million dolls in the Barbie family have been sold around the world and Barbie is now a bona fide global icon.”
       So whileeven though the ideal is still beauty and the message is still mixed, more women are reaching their potential. We move forward slowly.
 
                                                                   --stay curious!

      “I’m the bestest spier in the whole world,” I said to my bestest friend named Grace.
      Then I took off my shoes. And I showed her my sneaky sock feet.
      “See?” I said. “See how quiet they are? You can hardly even those those guys.”
       After that, I breathed in and out for her.
       “And see? My nose doesn’t whistle, either,” I said.
       That Grace smiled. “I’m good at spying, too,” she said.
       I patted her. “Yeah, only too bad, Grace. But you can’t be as good as me.  ’Cause I said it first.”
                      from Junie B. Jones and Some Sneaky Peeky Spying
                                                               by Barbara Park
                                                  llustrated by Denise Brunkus
                                                            Random House, 1994
 
       Russia is in the news. That’s not news. The Russian government treats its people badly. That’s not news, either. Russia’s been treating its people badly for a long time. In fact, that’s the reason my grandparents moved away from there.
       My grandparents and their friends spoke English like Boris and Natasha from the Rocky and Bullwinkle show. Spies, criminals no-goodniks doing dastardly misdeads.
       Boris and Natasha always got caught.
       Like Junie B., spies are sneaky tip-toers. They lurk. They try to trick us out of our most carefully guarded secrets.  
       Unlike Junie B., real spies distract us from doing and thinking about what is really important, taking care of ourselves and each other and our planet.
       Like Boris and Natasha, spies do bad things.
       Unlike Boris and Natasha, real spies don’t always get caught.  
       The Rocky and Bullwinkle Show aired from 1959 to 1964. I was young and missed most of the satire and irony. I think I liked the show because of the accents. Something felt familiar in a kinda crazy way.
       It’s a crazy world we are sharing. The Cold War is over. Now the news is just plain chilling.
       I’d like to end on a positive note, but I’m having a hard time in my little piece of the world. A lot of my anger has turned into fear. I’ll work on rolling up my sleeves and doing something useful.
 
                                                                   --stay curious!

     After lunch, I go out to the garden. But something looks different. There are lots of holes in the dirt, and many of the lettuce plants have big bites out of their leaves. Some have been eaten all the way down to the ground, leaving only a small green nub. I feel tears come to my eyes.
                                                from The Year of the Garden
                                                               by Andrea Cheng
                                                 illustrated by Patrice Bardon
                                              Houghton Mifflin Harcourt, 2017
 
     Plop a few juicy, grape tomatoes on top of crisp Romaine and red leaf lettuce. Toss with sun-warmed cucumbers and bright yellow peppers. Dress with fresh basil and oregano in a little olive oil. Now that’s a salad. Too bad for me it’s not my salad.
       Peppers and cucumbers do not thrive in my garden. I use transplants for my lettuce box. I keep it handy, at the back door, next to the basil and oregano. My Romaine was doing really well and so were the red leaf lettuces. I went to Maryland to watch my granddaughter graduate from preschool and when I got back, oh no! The lettuces were gone! Stumps sheered down to the dirt!
       I have grown lettuces for many years. I have never seen a rabbit in my yard. I’ve had my issues with some really cute and destructive chipmunks. Squirrels are harmless visitors. I even saw a skunk once, but it hung around under the bird feeder.
       Then I saw the groundhog. I’m sure it was s/he who lopped my lettuces, nibbled my nasturtiums, pilfered my parsley, then skulked off to its new home under my kitchen window. I know, I know, two problems in one hog. But right now I’m thinking garden, or used-to-be-garden. (Getting rid of the g’hog will be a topic for another day, I’m sure.) I still have my grape tomatoes. But nothing else. Hmmm.
       The real gardener in our family was our baba, Dad’s mom. She planted her backyard garden between two-by-sixes set about a foot apart. They ran the whole length of the yard. She balanced on them to tend her plants. We balanced on them when she’d chase us, playing tag through the cabbages and peppers. Baba’s garden was a beautiful mix of vegetables, peonies, dahlias and a peach tree.
       Baba and Grampy had a gravel driveway with a grassy strip up the middle. Baba loved flowers so much that she planted the grassy strip with portulacas. Those low-growing, self-seeding beauties lit up the drive in rainbow colors when the sun came out.
       My favorite garden was the one I grew on the balcony of my sixth floor apartment. I found wooden Pepsi crates somewhere and filled them with garden soil. I don’t know how my (ex)husband carted them all up the elevator, dragged them down the hall, and hauled them outside. They were heavy. I was pregnant with our first daughter, and didn’t do any lifting. I planted at least half a dozen boxes with peppers, green and wax beans, cucumbers, lettuces and tomatoes.
       Our daughter was born at the beginning of October, after a bountiful harvest. Then we (he) dismantled and removed the dirt-filled remains of the garden. I was pretty busy with the new baby, so, that fell to him, too.
       I don’t think I ever properly said thank-you for all that work and care. If you’re reading this, Jay, thanks! Tending that garden is one of my many happy memories.
       Now I have mostly flowers, thanks to the groundhog. If it doesn’t rain today, I’ll sit out there for a while and watch them grow.
​
                                                                   --stay curious!

       It’s been a week full of grandchildren, parties, and general busy-ness. I don’t have a quote, but I’ll recommend John, Paul, George, and Ben by Lane Smith (Hyperion, 2006). It’s a humorous look at the Founding Fathers and their ideals.
  
       Our country began with a wish and a war, dominance and subjugation, passion and suppression. We can only know what the Founding Fathers (and Mothers) had in mind by looking at what they’ve left behind.
       They gave us a document that is struggling to stay alive. Through the years, educated and wise (mostly) men (mostly), interpreted our Constitution and (mostly) moved us, as a society, to a more compassionate, inclusive, and fair place in the world.
       Every year when I was young, my brother and sister and some neighbors and I climbed a ladder to the roof of our garage. We had a great view of the fireworks from there, set off at the neighborhood park and swimming pool. We’d ooh and aah at the beauty and noise.
       I still love fireworks. Now, though, the noise jerks me back to those first gunshots. The thought doesn’t take away from the beauty or the ingenious and careful pyrotechnics of the display. But it’s there. A reminder of those early days full of hope and fear, wishes and reality, dreams and facts-at-hand.
       In many ways it’s harder to be patriotic this year. Our community parade will start in less than four hours. I’ll stand with my hand over my heart each time a group marches the Stars and Stripes past me, like I’ve done every year. I’ll dream my dream of a future full of hope for my grandchildren, just as I’m sure my grandparents dreamed on their way to this land full of promise and freedom. I’ll look around at my neighbors and family and friends and marvel at how fortunate I am and how many of my grandparents’ dreams have come true for me. I hold tight to the sanity in my little piece of this great country.  
       The kids are starting to wake up, starry-eyed, depending on me to keep the dream alive. For today, I'll celebrate what we (still) have! Tomorrow I'll get back to work on preserving it.
       Happy Fourth!
                                                                                                                                                      --stay curious!