Celebrating Picture Books

Did you know that November is National Picture Book Month? I treasure my personal collection of picture books, many of which I reviewed for School Library Journal.

At the beginning of this month, I blogged about picture books (the ideal fusion of words and images) on my school library blog site. Here is an excerpt:

Listening to a bedtime story and examining colorful illustrations in a picture book is often a child’s first step into the world of literature.  Growing up with a personal library of kid’s books is essential for four reasons: picture books introduce children to the magical joy of reading, they stimulate a child’s imagination and provide emotional touchstones.  And finally picture books showcase an endless gallery of amazing artwork.  Read more . . .

Today, at the end of November, I have created a tribute to the best kind of picture book, the alphabet book. Take a look!

Never forget that words and pictures go together like peanut butter and chocolate . . . Happy reading!

Back Bay Bliss

Living in Boston is a blessing.  A small, walkable city, Boston is brimming with history, art, fabulous restaurants and unique neighborhoods.  For several years, I lived in the Back Bay on Marlborough Street.  The Public Gardens, Newbury Street and the Commonwealth mall, where I snapped this winter cityscape were all steps away from my apartment.  My character, Darcy Seton, also lived in the Back Bay in my novel, Forget-me-not.

Commonwealth Avenue, Boston, MA (photo by Linda LeVasseur Walkins)

“Slow down, guys,” Darcy said, as the determined Scottie and Cavalier King Charles Spaniel raced down the icy pavement, tugging on their leashes.

She began to skid on a patch of black ice, but mercifully, the dogs stopped to sniff around a tree trunk and Darcy regained her balance.  She drew in a steadying breath and slowly shook her head as she gazed around at the wintry cityscape.  An unexpected spring storm had coated Boston in a blanket of white.

Darcy took her cell phone from her pocket to check the time.  Ian would be back from the university soon.  She wondered how his day had gone.  His book on the Scottish clans was due out in a few weeks.  Today he was supposed to have lunch with his agent.

The dogs, Smiley and Thistle had ventured off the walkway to romp in the powdery snow, chasing each other and barking gleefully.  Darcy opened her camera app and snapped a photo.  Both dogs smiled up at her, tails wagging.

“Okay, doggies.  Let’s go.  Time to head home.” Darcy tightened her grip on the two leashes and set off toward Marlborough Street.

They turned the corner at the intersection of Commonwealth and Massachusetts Avenue.  Up ahead, Darcy spotted a familiar figure clad in a thick sheepskin jacket and boots from L.L. Bean.

“Ian!” she called and he turned around.  He stopped in front of the Marlboro Market to wait for them.

When she reached his side, Ian kissed Darcy’s cheek and then bent down to pat Thistle and Smiley in turn.  “This is an unexpected treat,” he said.  “I thought you would be holed up in the living room correcting exams.”  Darcy taught Music Theory at a nearby private school.

She shook her head and linked arms with him as he took Smiley’s leash from her. “Because of the snow day yesterday, I decided to push the test to the end of the week.”

Ian grinned.  “Lucky kids.”

“Believe me they were not disappointed,” Darcy said, as they strolled down their block.  Climbing the stairs of their brownstone, she fished in her pocket for her keys.  Once inside, she followed the dogs up the stairs to their second floor apartment, as Ian checked the mail.

In the spacious living room, Darcy shed her coat and boots.  She unlatched the leashes from Smiley and Thistle and the dogs ran to their water bowl in the kitchen.

“What shall we do tonight, Darce?” Ian asked.  He unwound a tartan wool scarf from around his neck and shrugged off his jacket.  “I was thinking we could grab a cab down to the Lenox and have a drink in the piano bar.  We could indulge in some Prosecco and listen to the music.”

“On a school night?” Darcy asked, as she wondered if it was too cold to wear her new paisley print skirt from J. Jill.

“Sure.” Ian pulled her to him and began to waltz across the parquet floor.  “We have something to celebrate.”

“Oh yeah?” Darcy laughed. “What’s that?”

“Well, exactly one year and eight months ago, we met in that tearoom in Edinburgh.”

“We’re celebrating a one year and eight month anniversary?”  She leaned her head against his shoulder as her mind filled with memories of her summer in Scotland.

“Yes, that and also . . .” Ian spun her around so she landed softly on the sage colored couch.  He grabbed his briefcase from the coffee table and pulled something from its depths. “Mark gave me a finished copy of my book at lunch today.”

“Oh Ian, hooray!”  Darcy clapped her hands and smiled at him in delight. “Congratulations.”

He sat beside her and handed her the book.  “The launch party is set for two weeks from today.”  His voice grew husky with emotion.  “I can’t believe it’s really happening.”

Darcy smoothed her hand over the shiny, smooth cover and carefully opened the book.  Ian had inscribed the title page for her.  His loving words warmed her heart.

“I couldn’t have done it without you,” he said, at the same time that Darcy exclaimed, “I’m so proud of you.”

They leaned together, sharing a gentle kiss, as Smiley and Thistle trotted into the room and hopped up onto the couch.

Darcy shifted over to make room for the dogs.  She stretched her arm across the back of the couch and linked hands with Ian.  “We have so much to celebrate.”

 

”

 

 

 

 

Cruising Along the Seine

For several years, I have been researching my family history.  My father is of French-Canadian descent.  Our family tree extends all the way back to sixteenth century France.  My tenth great-grandmother was born in Paris some time in the mid-1500s.  Because of my French heritage, it is always a treat to travel there.  I took these photos of the Seine in 2008 and included the setting in one of my Martini Family Chronicles.

After a quick lunch of crêpes bought from a sidewalk stand, we stood in line waiting to board the tourist boat on the Seine.  All around us, guys and girls held hands or had their arms wrapped around each other. One couple leaned against a lamp post totally making out.  I felt like we were about to climb aboard the Love Boat. Where were Julie McCoy and Captain Stubing?

I met Maude’s eyes, wondering if she felt like a third wheel.  She shrugged and then pushed up her sleeve to consult her watch.  “Hey, guys. You know what?

I looked at her expectantly.  “What?

“I want to do some shopping before dinner.  My sister gave me some money for perfume and I wanted to find a scarf.

“We can go to Les Halles after this, can’t we?”

​“I don’t want to drag you guys around while I do my errands.”​

“We don’t mind, do we Sebastian?”  I pulled at his sleeve and he glanced up from the map in our guide book.

“If Maude wants to go shopping, she should go,” he said.  “We can meet up again later.”

The line moved forward, but Maude stepped to the side, saying, “Fab!     I’ll meet you both back at the hotel and we can have dinner. Around eight?

“Are you sure?” I asked, poking Sebastian in the ribs, hoping he would convince her to stay.

He just said, “You know our Maude.  Once she makes a decision, there’s no moving her.  She’s like a rock.”

“It’s settled then.”  Maude gave a cheery wave and took off.

Watching her disappear into the crowd, I said, “Do you think Maude minds being on her own?”

“To be honest, I think she planned to leave us some time to ourselves.”

“Really?”

“Certainly, and I’m rather grateful.” He kissed me lightly on the lips and then grinned.  “Alone at last!”

All the while, we had been inching up to the head of the line and now boarded the bâteaux-mouche.  We found seats on the starboard side.  Across the aisle, two French girls whispered and pointed at Sebastian, throwing openly admiring glances at him.  

I shifted closer to my boyfriend, so my thigh pressed against his. I swallowed as a wave of insecurity engulfed me.  Sebastian was cute and so charming. He would probably have girls throwing themselves at him the moment I stepped onto the plane for California.

As if sensing my mood, Sebastian draped his arm across my shoulders.  “Look, there’s Notre Dame” He pointed to the Ile de la Cité as the boat glided past the looming cathedral.  The gargoyles peered down at us from above.

The whispering girls turned away and I tried to relax.  A soft breeze ruffled my hair and cooled my cheeks as the boat glided smoothly downriver.  On the shore, a man in a beret played “La Vie en Rose” on his accordion. Here we were caught in a perfectly romantic Parisian moment.  I shouldn’t ruin it by worrying.

​Sebastian softly sang along to the accordion, exaggerating his French accent.  I had to laugh. He was crazy. I beamed at him and snuggled closer. Judging from the gleam in his eyes and his infatuated grin, he was crazy about me too.

So Many Books

In May 2014, my friend, Avery, and I took a Literary Road Trip across Massachusetts.  We visited the homes of Edith Wharton, Louisa May Alcott, Emily Dickinson and Nathaniel Hawthorne.  My favorite literary home was The Mount in Lenox, where Edith Wharton lived for ten years.  Author of the well-received The Decoration of Houses (1897), she designed and decorated the house herself.  Set in the Berkshires, the estate’s grounds and gardens are just as lovely as the elegant home.  I took many photos during our pleasant afternoon, including these pictures of Edith’s library and garden. 

Clarissa stands in front of her floor to ceiling bookshelves.  Behind her, a cheerful fire crackles in the grate.  A persistent rain taps at the windows, but the softly lit room is warm and cozy.

Drawing her cardigan sweater more closely around her narrow shoulders, she lets her gaze sweep across her library.  Catching a glimpse of her weary countenance reflected in the glass doors that open out onto her veranda, she sighs and combs her elegantly manicured fingers through her disheveled silver bob. After three weeks traveling around New England to promote her newest cookbook, she is back home at last.

As the library door swings open with a gentle squeak, Clarissa turns to smile at her secretary, who sets a tea tray on a low table in front of the fire.  The tantalizing scent of cinnamon drifts across the room.

“Hello, Lydia. Something smells delicious,” Clarissa says.

“Cook tried out your new recipe for cinnamon buns.” Lydia takes a seat by the fire and smooths her wool skirt over her knees.

“Cinnamon buns remind me of Christmas morning,” Clarissa remarks.

Lydia laughs, pouring two cups of tea. “The tour went well?”

“Yes, yes. The audience in Brattleboro was particularly enthusiastic.”  Clarissa joins the younger woman and accepts a cup of tea once she is settled in her favorite William Morris wingback chair. “Everyone seems to be a baker there.”

As she sips her tea and chats with Lydia, Clarissa gazes around the snug room once again. Content to be back among her books, she looks forward to spending the rainy afternoon with a good novel.

Words and Photos: The Bake Shop

When I finished my master’s degree in Library Science, I took myself on a congratulatory trip to Quebec City, where I spent a long weekend exploring the historic walled city and snapping photos.  While wandering down a cobbled street, this wooden rabbit caught my eye and inspired a romantic and winsome photo essay.

Photo by L.A. LeVasseur, 1998

At exactly 5:00, the bells in the church tower rang and the young man rounded the corner onto the Rue Saint-Paul.  He had left his office earlier than usual despite his secretary’s questions about that evening’s conference call.  Above him on the cliff overlooking the Saint Lawrence River, the roof of the Chateau Frontenac shone in the late afternoon sun.  Momentarily distracted by the iconic view of the famous hotel, he halted, but then set out again, quickening his pace.  He had to reach the bake shop before she closed for the day.

Moments later, he reached his destination and stood beneath  her open window.  Dainty lace curtains fluttered in the summer breeze.  He stooped, hands on his knees, trying to compose himself as he breathed in the warm scent of cinnamon.  The wooden rabbit she kept on the sill stood guard over a wicker basket that was probably filled with hot, fresh doughnuts or perhaps chocolate cookies.  He took off his aviator sunglasses and smiled at the toy sentry, which seemed to beckon him inside.

As he straightened and adjusted his suit coat and tie, she appeared in the mauve-framed window.  Her honey-colored curls were pulled back from her freckled face and her nose was smudged with flour.  She wore a cheerful yellow apron over a sleeveless floral dress.  Her arms were tanned and toned.  Reaching for the basket, she glanced down into the street and her bright blue eyes met his.

Mesmerized, she gazed into his hopeful grey eyes and slowly smiled.  There he was again!  Carefully, she stepped back and closed the window, still watching him.  She placed the basket on one of the round, cafe tables scattered across the hardwood floor and turned to the door.  Today, he would finally step inside and into her life.

I am a deltiologist. Are you?

One of my favorite postcards. I found these cute pups in a postcard rack on the Royal Mile in Edinburgh.

Today, I learned a new word—deltiology—the collection of postcards. I love postcards.  Whenever I travel, I write stacks of them to family and friends and also buy some to add to  my own collection.  At home, I always look forward to the pleasant surprise of finding postcards in my mailbox, carefully saving each and every one.  Additionally, I collect virtual postcards on my Pinterest page.  I suppose I can call myself a deltiologist.

Sending and collecting postcards first became popular around the turn of the twentieth century. During the golden age of postcards (1907-1915), millions of picture postcards traveled through the mail, especially at holiday time.  Some of the most collectible vintage postcards were produced and printed by a British company, Raphael Tuck & Sons.  A native of Prussia, Mr. Tuck was an art-lover who opened a graphic art printing business with his wife in London.  They sold postcards, Christmas cards, prints and lithographs, eventually being awarded a Royal Warrant of Appointment from Queen Victoria and expanding their business worldwide with offices in Paris and New York. (TuckDB)  Today, historic Tuck postcards even comprise a portion of the photograph collection of England’s National Portrait Gallery (my favorite museum in London).

Photo Source: TuckDB.

Although Raphael Tuck died in 1900 before the dawning of the golden age of postcards, his sons faithfully carried on his legacy.  Deltiologists worldwide still recognize and revere the name Raphael Tuck.  In his honor, I will extend my Happy Thanksgiving wishes to one and all with this charming Tuck holiday postcard.

Happy Thanksgiving!  Best wishes for a day filled with warmth, happiness and satisfaction!

Words and Photos: The Tearoom

On my first visit to St. Andrews in Scotland, my friend, Susan, and I stumbled upon a charming tearoom located on the edge of the sea.  The name of the establishment made me laugh: Crumbs Pavilion Tearoom.  When I returned home, I wrote this photo essay sparked by the photo I took that afternoon in St. Andrews.

Photo by L. LeVasseur, 1995

As soon as she spies the tearoom from the crest of the hill, Sage can’t help smiling.  The compact building sits squarely on the edge of the cliff above the calm, clear ocean.  The summer sun shines down from the azure sky bathing its coral-colored walls in curtains of golden light.  The murmur of voices and the clatter of china and silverware blend with the steady hum of the surf on the beach below.

For her, Crumbs Pavilion Tearoom is a favorite old haunt from her childhood.  She and her pen pal, Linda, who lived on the Isle of Skye, met face-to-face for the very first time at the tearoom.  Shy with each other after their initial greeting, the girls exchanged curious glances as they stood silently at the counter waiting to order Wall’s ice cream bars. Sage asked for a Magnum White and Linda chose almond.  Finally, as they sat side by side on the sea wall, swinging their legs and biting into the thick chocolate that coated the rich vanilla ice cream, they began to talk.  For years, Sage continued to meet Linda at Crumbs each summer.  As they moved from college to first careers and then to marriage, they somehow had let the tradition go.  Until now.  

Linda waits for her at the doorway of the tearoom.  She holds the hand of a young girl, who has straw-colored braids and sports a pair of glamorous white sunglasses.  Catching her breath, Sage feels like she has stepped back in time.  The child is the spitting image of Linda at the same age.  Swept away on a wave of fond memories, Sage laughs like a carefree girl and runs down the hill.

Words and Photos

After school in my library, I host a creative writing club.  At our meetings, I often use photos or illustrations as the weekly writing prompt.  I love words and photographs and I think they go together like peanut butter and chocolate or like fireflies and summer evenings.  For years, I have traveled with my camera in my hand, capturing memories and moments as I roamed the streets of Edinburgh, traipsed across the sands of Miami Beach or floated down a river in Costa Rica.  I have collected all of these pictures in albums and used some of them as inspiration for a selection of photo essays.

On a trip to Scotland, I visited the Victorian seaport of Oban.  From there, I ferried over to the Isle of Mull to tour Duart Castle.  One of the pictures I took on that bright and beautiful day inspired this photo essay:

The Garden Steps

Gardens at Duart Castle, 1995. Photo by L. A. LeVasseur

“Oh, wow,” she sighs, her voice echoing against the stone archway as she descends the stairs into the garden.

Pausing on the last step, she lifts her face to the summer sky and breathes in the romantic scent of the roses, which have wandered rampantly up and over the garden walls.  The lawn opens out before her like a velvety green carpet.  Stepping out from the shadow of the imposing castle edifice behind her, she can’t contain her smile as she takes in the vibrant flower beds that border the lawn and the dancing cupid balanced atop an ornamental stone fountain in the middle of the lawn.  The distant tolling of church bells blends harmoniously with the soothing splash of the fountain.

She lifts her camera and takes a careful snapshot.  Then, standing perfectly still, she holds her breath and imagines other voices that have echoed up and down the garden steps.  The authoritative tones of the laird of Clan Maclean.  The respectful replies of the head gardener.  The shouts and laughter of generations of children.  The whispered vows of secret lovers.  And finally, the awed exclamations of tourists like herself.

 

 

Beloved Pets in Literature

Handsome Cosmo (photo by L. Walkins, 2010)

Every morning, our two cats and our dog, greet the new day with enthusiasm.  Cosmo, Emily and Princess (our shih tzu, also known as Fluffy Head) bring us much joy.  They are important members of our family.

Beloved pets can be just as important in literature.  In Forget-Me-Not, my character, Darcy Seton, shares her home with a personable Cavalier King Charles spaniel.  i enjoyed writing the scenes of Darcy spending time with her happy little pup.  I also like to read about dogs and cats.  Animal stories have an endearing charm.  In my reading over the years, I have encountered many memorable and appealing literary pets . . .

The Hundred and One Dalmatians by Dodie Smith: This charming novel is one of my favorite children’s books. It became a literary classic long before Walt Disney transformed it into a popular animated feature. The dalmatians, Pongo and Missus, who set out into the English countryside to rescue their kidnapped puppies, are courageous and resourceful.  I love the scenes on Primrose Hill when they join the twilight barking to gather news about their missing children.

Murder Past Due by Miranda James: Charlie Harris, a college librarian and his Maine Coon cat become involved in a murder mystery when a famous writer who has returned to his hometown, is found dead in his hotel room.  As Charlie gathers clues, Diesel, the cat, impresses everyone in town with his immense size, his larger-than-life personality and his devotion to Charlie.

Flowers in the Rain & Other Stories by Rosamunde Pilcher: I often wish I could live in a  Rosamunde Pilcher story. Her sensible characters, friendly villages and Scottish landscapes make me smile. Her stories and novels, often set in the country also feature many animals, including a faithful sheep dog named Loden in her story, “The Doll’s House.”  Loden provides comfort to his distraught young master, William, who has been frustrated in his attempt to build a doll’s house for his little sister.  Pilcher, in her customary insightful manner, perfectly portrays the relationship between a boy and his dog.

Paw Prints in the Moonlight by Denis O’Connor: The author,  a British university professor, ventures out into a snowy Northumberland evening to rescue a homeless, new-born kitten.  He tenderly nurses the cat and it grows up to become his beloved companion.  This heartfelt story about how a unique feline changed one man’s life is captivating and inspiring.

Princess says, “Peek-a-boo!” (photo by L. Walkins, 2012)

The Dog Who Came in from the Cold by Alexander McCall Smith: Part of the Corduroy Mansions series, this witty and entertaining novel takes place in London and features a cast of quirky and amusing characters, including a small dog named Freddie de la Hay.  Pimlico resident, William French’s dog, is unexpectedly recruited by the MI6,  The intrepid terrier turned informant helps the authorities to break up a Russian spy ring.  In his  usual engaging style, McCall Smith includes many humorous insights into the perils and pleasures of city life, and the chapters told in the dog’s point-of-view are particularly amusing.

Harry Potter and the Prisoner of Azkaban by J.K. Rowling: The students at Hogwart’s School of Witchcraft and Wizardry are allowed to bring a magical pet with them to school.  Harry’s owl, Hedwig, is perhaps the most well-known, but my favorite Gryffindor pet is Hermione’s cranky cat, Crookshanks.  Although the ginger long,-haired feline appears in volumes three through seven of the series, he plays the most pivotal role in Prisoner of Azkaban, helping Hermione, Harry and Ron to solve a mystery surrounding the death of Harry’s parents.

The Art of Racing in the Rain by Garth Stein: Denny Swift, an ambitious race car driver, faces a personal crisis just as his career is about to take off.  The author writes convincingly in the point-of-view of  Denny’s faithful dog, Enzo.  While waiting to be taken to the vet for a final visit, the much-loved pet tells his master’s story and reflects back on their  life together. Enzo, who is convinced he will come back as a person in his next life. is a compassionate and insightful narrator.

Lovely Emily (photo by L. Walkins, 2013)

Like these literary cats and dogs, my pets, have their own unique personalities and they keep us laughing.  Perhaps, I will write about them in my next story or novel!