Tag Archives: Household and Family

Pruning My Library—every so often, some books have to go

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Going, going,…

I’ve been going through my overcrowded shelves of books recently and “pruning,” as my mother likes to put it. It’s difficult. At this point, I’ve gotten much better at getting rid of books I’m not really thrilled with shortly after I read them, which means most of the books I’m sorting through are 1) books I’ve had for years already and am sentimental about, 2) books I haven’t read yet, and 3) books I’ve loved, either recently or in the past.

The first category, books I’ve had for years, is composed of books that have already made it through many previous prunings,  one as recent as 2017. Clearly I have some sort of attachment to them. (See “Books, Nostalgia, and Death.”) Most of these titles will make it through this pass as well.

 Not all of them, though. For example, I’ve decided that while I enjoyed Noel Streatfield’s Gemma series, I’ve been keeping it all these years partly because I’m keeping her Ballet Shoes and A Vicarage Family, which is not a good enough reason for keeping Gemma. How much do I even remember about the series? I remember Gemma’s initial difficulties in a new school, the chair outside the headmistress’ office, something about a pink sweater, and a difficult decision between going back to acting or staying in school… but if I had to decide between rereading the Gemma books and reading a new middle-grade novel off my wish list, I would probably read the new one. That means it’s time to hand Gemma on to the library, and hopefully from there to some middle-grader who will enjoy reading about her for the first time.

The second category, unread books, probably numbers fifty titles at the moment. I bought them because they looked promising, and chances are they still do. The best way to decide is to compare each book to other shiny new options and ask myself, “Which would you rather give your time to?” Maybe I’m no longer quite as interested in art forgery as I used to be. Maybe I’ve already read enough books about dogs and their abilities. Maybe it’s time to move on. If not, at least by looking at it I’ve reminded myself that this book exists and that I want to read it someday.

Most of the third category, books I’ve loved,  gets an automatic pass. I still have enough shelf space for the books that filled my early life, even if I haven’t read them for years and possibly never will again. Will I reread the entire Dragons of Pern series? I read it many, many times as a teen and I can’t let go of it yet, even if I haven’t reread it for decades. The Deryni series? Dune? They can stay, for now.

The Little House books were a staple of my childhood and I still open them up now and again. The Far Side of Evil, the Prydain books, Heidi… those too can stay, though I’m suddenly wondering if I need to keep the copy of Heidi. Surely I can get it from a library if I really want to reread it.

No, it stays—for now.

Books I’ve read (or re-read) recently and loved are absolutely keepers. Howl’s Moving Castle isn’t going anywhere. (Haha.) Neither are The Two Princesses of Bamarre, or My Friend Flicka, or that interesting books about pigments, or that other interesting book about flavors. (I don’t just read fiction.) All my Louise Penny mysteries are staying, as well as the Rivers of London series.

In the process of pruning my library, I’ve realized there are some principles that help me make the decision to put a book—or any item—in the donation box. I discussed these before in an earlier post, “Decluttering: on the one hand and on the other”, but to remind myself, I’m going to write them down here as well.

First, space has value. While I’m not paying extra to house these books, the piles of books outside the bookcase take up work space, floor space, and mental space. Clutter is distracting. If I can reduce the volume to fit the shelves, I will breathe easier and have more space for working on craft projects and moving around.

Second, it’s easier to find the books I really want to read if those are the only books on my shelf. Why spend time on a so-so book when I have all these books I really enjoy?

Third, keeping all these books around is a waste of resources. The Gemma books have been sitting on my shelves for the past forty years, and it has probably been at least twenty or twenty-five years since I’ve re-read them. Other people could have been reading them during that time, if they had had the books. I should free them up for someone else to enjoy.

And so, onward with the book pruning. At this rate, I might get through it all by the end of the month. Oh wait, I forgot the books tucked away in the guest room…

Till next post.

Virtual Versions of Real-world Activities–tidier, simpler, safer…but no substitute

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Is there any danger that parents will let virtual versions of activities edge out the originals, perhaps in the interests of ease and tidiness? I hope not. The things kids learn from doing things in the real world cannot be replaced by virtual activities.

Let me start with some examples of virtual versions of real-world activities.
First,  consider “Cooking Mama”, a video game in which one follows procedures to “cook” various dishes. My daughter enjoyed this game when she was younger, and incidentally learned a few things about what ingredients go into what. That’s fine. But I would hate for anyone to regard this as cooking practice. Chopping pretend carrots is very different from chopping real ones. Safer, of course, but chopping real carrots gives a child practice in dealing with the physical world–in handling a knife, he judges how to position food for safe chopping, how much pressure to use, and how to keep his fingers out of the way. Similarly, while a child can’t get burned sauteeing virtual onions, neither will he learn how to judge doneness by sight and smell, nor discover that it matters how much oil is in the pan and how high the heat is.
Second,  consider computer art programs, which have gotten very good at imitating the appearance of paint, charcoal, and other media.  Digital art is a medium in its own right, with its own unique possibilities, and worth doing for itself. But it uses skills different from those required when applying actual pigment to a surface. Using a paint-tip in an art program does not require a child to judge whether there is enough—or far too much—paint on the brush. You cannot break a stick of virtual charcoal by pressing too hard. And while art programs include techniques not available with physical media such as paint, they also restrict the child in other ways.  She cannot mess around,  applying paint with toothpicks, sponges, or other objects at hand, discovering new effects in the process. Of course, she also can’t get paint all over her clothes, the table, and the bathroom sink.
My third example is pets, which is what prompted this post. When my daughter was young, Webkinz were popular, and Tamagotchi, and there seemed to be many games that let you “keep” a virtual pet. We also had real pets, and I kept noticing the differences between a virtual pet and a real one. Real pets are messy—sometimes very messy!—and the consequences of neglecting them more serious. Real pets are also much less predictable, and this is both good and bad. Good when they do clever, funny things that we never expected, like meowing when someone sneezes. Bad when they decide to go outside the litter box, or lick the frosting off the gingerbread house. Our real pets had personalities and quirks that slowly revealed themselves—one cat bold and forever searching the floor for crumbs, the other timid and prone to chewing on things, whether pencils, fingers, or plastic bags. Virtual pets are tidier, cheaper, and don’t scratch, but they aren’t nearly as interesting.
Having considered some of the ways in which virtual activities differ from their originals, why do I think it matters?
I think it matters because we all need practice in basic skills in dealing with the physical world. We never know when we will need them. As adults, we sometimes need to pour a glass of juice without spilling. We sometimes need to stick things together (tape isn’t always the answer!). Knives are useful for all sorts of things. We may need to help a friend paint a room without dripping paint off our brush.
It also matters because any simulation is a simplification of the real world, and we need to learn to deal with complexity. Even if we follow a cake recipe strictly, we need to be prepared to deal with real world factors that don’t show up in the recipe. Some ovens run hot. Different cake pans may lead to more or less browning. The baking powder might be old.
In the case of pets, there is additional difference between virtual and real. Real pet care has consequences for a creature other than oneself.  In Sherry Turkle’s book Reclaiming Conversation, she touches briefly on robot companions and pets, as well as A.I. therapists—on virtual relationships, you might say. Her concern seems mainly that conversation with computers may take the place of conversation with actual people, resulting in less practice in conversation skills (and so less conversation between people). Pets don’t talk, so conversation skills isn’t what I’m concerned about. But there is a relationship between a real pet and a person. Pets have their own needs, their own preferences, and part of taking care of them is respecting that. They are also vulnerable—we put them in situations where they cannot take care of themselves. The guinea pigs can’t get their own water and greens. The dogs can’t go hunting. Taking care of a pet is exercising responsibility and practicing some kinds of relationship skills.**
I started this by asking whether there is any danger of virtual versions of activities taking the place of their real-world originals. People are spending a lot more time with computers, but that doesn’t necessarily mean the real-world activities are being replaced. There also seems to be a trend toward making activities simpler, easier, and with less clean-up—packaging art activities with pre-cut bits and easy instructions,  offering meals that are half-way prepared to save time and effort—but even simplified, those are still real-world activities. I don’t know. I guess time will tell.
Till next post.
**I’m not suggesting every kid needs a pet, any more than every kid needs to practice painting or cooking. Besides that, the idea of giving a kid a pet to teach them responsibility leaves out the fact that parents need to step in as well, lest the pet suffer. Nor is this the reason people have pets—pets are fun! Pets are (sometimes) cuddly!

I Trust My Cat, and My Cat Trusts Me

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Sometimes when I am sitting with a cat on my lap, watching Netflix, I am amazed that this creature trusts me enough to fall asleep there. I am certainly big enough to do her harm.
The trust works both ways, of course. She may be small, but I know how sharp her claws are. But I don’t even notice when she settles down mid-movie, though she could, if she wanted, shred my face.
Why do we trust each other? We certainly don’t have any contract with each other, enforceable or otherwise. We don’t even speak the same language. What we do have is our past experience with each other, and a strong need to trust.
I mention our need to trust because past experience alone isn’t enough. Bertrand Russell, in The Problems of Philosophy, points out that the chicken gets fed every day, right up until the farmer decides on a chicken dinner. How can my cat be sure she isn’t in the same position? The fact is, she can’t. But living with continual suspicion of each other—suspicion not based on anything in particular–would be an exhausting and unhappy way to live. We need to trust each other so we can relax and enjoy each other.
In the case of my cat, she is trusting me not to harm her. She also seems confident that I will put out food every day. It’s a fairly uncomplicated relationship, given that we can’t communicate well enough to set up rules. Otherwise I’d feel betrayed, rather than annoyed, when she scratches the sofa or climbs up on the table.
People have much more complicated motives than cats, and it’s harder to know when to trust them. Our lives together are full of rules, written and unwritten. Our decisions about whom to trust are still based on our shared past experience, though we can also consider what motives they might have. We can worry about the possibility that we are chickens being fattened up. But we desperately need to trust at least some people in order to be able to live and work together.
Sitting with my cat reminds me how important trust is to our sense of security, and oddly, how basic it is. It’s about expecting not to be harmed by the other. Maybe with a little food and treats thrown in.
Till next post.