An Ode to Frances

 



Those of you who know me well know how much I love to read, and especially how much I love (and believe in!) reading out loud.  I love reading to my third graders and some of my happiest mom moments are spent cuddled under a blanket, two little boys in my lap, in our "big blue chair" with a stack of books. 

Lately we've had an unfortunate line up of (child chosen) bedtime stories: there have been several Star Wars books, an easy reader based on the Lego movie, and several non fiction books featuring things like ninjas and dingoes.  Don't get me wrong I am a huge proponent of kids choosing reading material...but...I had read about Emmett of Bricksburg and ninjitsu one too many nights in a row.

I was craving a real bedtime story.  Enter Frances.

Do you know Frances?  If you don't you should.  The Frances books were originally published in the 1960's, written by Russell Hoban and illustrated by his wife, Lillian Hoban.  I remember my own mom reading them to me.  At some point I was lucky enough to acquire some of the1960s copies with their green and orange hued illustrations at a used book sale.  They are still available and have been republished, but alas, the illustrations have also been retinted.
 

 

 

 My older son and I have been reading these books together for years (he used to think that Frances was actually "Princess") but my two year old has just lately achieved enough sit time in his little buns to read them with us.  In my opinion, the Frances books have all of the ingredients to make a perfect bedtime story.

 

In no particular order:

 

1.  A relatable main character:  Well yes, Frances is a badger.  But she is a badger who is terribly jealous of her little sister's birthday party.  So jealous that she accidentally eats all four of the gumballs she buys as a birthday gift on the way home from the store.

 

 

 

She has strong opinions to which every child can relate, as illustrated in A Baby Sister for Frances:

 

"Well," said Frances, "things are not very good around here anymore.  No clothes to wear.  no raisins for the oatmeal.  I think I might run away...What time will dinner be tonight?" 

"Half past six," said Mother. 

"Then I will have plenty of time to run away after dinner," said Frances, and she kissed her mother good-bye and went to school.

 

2.  Detail in story and illustration:  Whether it is Albert in Best Friends for Frances talking about doing a little "frog work" or the beautiful illustration of Frances unpacking her lunch from Bread and Jam for Frances both the words and illustrations are finely tuned and charming. 

 

Can you see Frances's lunch?  This is one of the illustrations I remember most clearly from my childhood, from Bread and Jam for Frances



3. (perhaps the most important in my book) There is a level of the story that can truly be enjoyed by adults:  In the Frances books there is a level of "parent humor," for example:

 

"May I have a penny along with my nickel now that I am a big sister?" said Frances.

"Yes," said Father.  "Now your allowance will be six cents a week because you are a big sister."

"Thank you," said Frances.  "I know a girl who gets seventeen cents a week.  She gets a nickel and two pennies."

"Well," said Father "it's time for bed now."

 

4.  Cozy endings:  Much like Max arriving home from the land of the Wild Things to find his dinner (still hot) the Frances books end with Frances and her family being safe and secure. Even when Frances runs away from home (to under the dining room table)she knows right where the people who love her are and that they will love her regardless.

 

 

 

  

Don't get me wrong, I enjoyed the Lego movie, and am as big a fan of ninjas as the next girl (?).  But I also know that these cozy moments with my two littles are fleeting and every once in awhile, mom gets to choose the bedtime story.

 

 

In Loving Memory

 

In Loving Memory of my dear Grandpa, Neal Berghoef

April 20 1922- January 21 2014

 

(The eulogy I wrote and shared at my grandpa's funeral on Saturday, January 25, 2014)

 

One of the things I will miss the most about my Grandpa is his voice.  Not the voice of the past few years, the voice of Parkinson’s and age, but the voice of my childhood.  It was a strong, robust voice, with his characteristic Dutch brogue.  I heard it throughout my childhood: on the phone, in prayers which often seemed far too long, in mayoral speeches, and in what our family lovingly called “campaigning” long after his mayoral years—working the church narthex or the dining area at Russ’s, before eventually returning to our table.  The voice that asked me well into my 20s if I was still growing (and I had to bite my tongue from replying “No Grandpa, you’re shrinking.”)  That is the voice I will remember. 

 

But what spoke louder than that dear voice were my Grandpa’s actions.  His actions were loud, louder than that voice (which is saying something , because he could be pretty loud). His actions were so loud, they had a voice of their own.  They said (in no particular order):

 

●     Love and respect each other.

●     Honor God in whatever you do.

●     Nothing beats a good cup of coffee, and when good coffee isn’t available, just find coffee.

●     Fight for the underdog.

●     Live simply.

●     Educate yourself (and that doesn’t just mean school).

●     When you speak, speak with conviction.

●     Spend time in nature.

●     Seek out ways to serve.

●     Make beautiful things.

●     Take risks.

●     Embrace change.

●     Enjoy your food.

●     Roll up your sleeves and work hard.

●     Travel.

●     Take care of your community.

●     Help those who are less fortunate.

 

And in the past days, I’ve been thinking about my family- what you all--my parents, my aunts and uncles, my brother and sister in law, my cousins—on what I see all of you doing.  As you all interact with your spouses, as you go to graduate school, as you find jobs, as you raise your children, as you travel through your lives.  And I hear Grandpa’s voice and see his loud actions in what all of you are doing.  And it’s not because that’s what he told you to do, it’s because in your hearts it’s what you want to do.  And that is our Grandpa’s true legacy.

 

Grandpa, we love you.  You set the bar incredibly high for us and we are so grateful.  We cannot wait until we see you again.  Well done, good and faithful servant.

 

My grandpa Neal and my son Neal, October 11, 2008.