It's Halloween! It's Halloween!

Our celebration began with cupcakes. Then, at about 3:15 p.m., we decided to don our costumes.

Isn't she lovely? Her sister is, too, even if she is playing at being a zombified version of a Victorian lady.

Now this is more like it.

Hey! Can you guess what my costume is? Here's a hint: It's a character from some of the Misses' favorite childhood books.

Two trick-or-treaters rang the doorbell -- repeatedly! -- at 3:49 p.m. Miss M-mv(i) excitedly greeted them, complimented their costumes, and dropped candy into their sacks. We've been sitting in the living room, clad in costumes and an air of expectation ever since.

You see, in the seven previous Halloweens, we have had precisely one trick-or-treater. Yes, you read that correctly. It was last year. We were relaxing in the living room when we heard an insistent banging at the back door. "Who is that?" I asked loudly, querulously. And then we realized, It's Halloween! It's Halloween!

We scrambled for the cutest Halloween basket ever and arrived at the door, breathless. What must that child and his parents have thought of the three of us, crowded into the door frame, thrusting fistfuls of candy into the sack, and all but shouting, "Hello! Happy Halloween! You look great!"

____________________________________________

We -- the Misses, in particular -- have high hopes for this Halloween. One of their earliest observations about the forever home is that it's more readily accessible -- sidewalks, street lights, swell neighbors, and all. "Maybe we'll actually get some trick-or-treaters." And, oh, how excited they were earlier this month, when the October practice schedule was released and they realized that they would actually be home to dispense treats.

Wait. What was that? The doorbell!?! Happy Halloween, readers, thinkers, and autodidacts!

Reading life review: October

Books read this month: 8
Books read in 2011: 102

As I prepared this entry, I thought, But I've read so much more than this! And I have. But I have only finished those listed below. That's right: My Lobotomy (Howard Dully), World War Z (Max Brooks), Just My Type (Simon Garfield), and at least a dozen more perfectly wonderful titles perch, bookmarked and abandoned, on what can only be called a book stack of reproach. Yes, I've been serial-dating my books again -- taking a number too great to be called decent out for a burger and fries, a movie, a kiss at the door even, and then not calling.

Ah, well. There are worse things. Sign me, An unapologetically promiscuous reader. Heh, heh, heh.

■ The Sibling Effect (Jeffrey Kluger)
Non-fiction. Subtitled "What the Bonds Among Brothers and Sisters Reveal About Us," this personal-history-laden, pop-psych bestseller made quite a splash in late September and early October for its assertion that every parent has a favorite child. (Related links here, here, and here.)

■ The Magic Flute (P. Craig Russell)
Graphic retelling. The Lyric will present The Magic Flute beginning in December, so, yes, we picked this up by way of an introduction. The Misses and I agree with Publishers' Weekly:

Sure and confident, Russell's art switches from tense action sequences to slapstick without missing a beat. His sense of physical characterization is also impressive, helping readers keep track of Mozart's often confusing cast of characters. Even traditionally less-recognized aspects of comics presentation, like color and lettering, here serve the story brilliantly.

We're following this up with a related entry in 100 Great Operas And Their Stories: Act-By-Act Synopses (Henry W. Simon).

■ Johnny Tremain (Esther Forbes)
Fiction. With the Misses. We blew right over this title when they were in middle school, but when we embarked on our U.S. history course earlier this month, both of them expressed an interest in reading it, so we did. "There shall be no more tyranny. A handful of men cannot seize power over thousands." It was just the respite we needed before embarking on October's Shakespeare project.

■ Henry IV, Part I (William Shakespeare)
Classic, play. With the Misses. It was seven years ago to the month that I last spent time with Falstaff.

■ The Belles Heures of Jean, Duke of Berry Prince of France (The Metropolitan Museum of Art, 1956)
■ Très Riches Heures: Behind the Gothic Masterpiece (Lillian Schachert)
Art. A facsimile in the Adler's "Universe in Your Hands" exhibit (related entry here) led me to these titles, which discuss the beautiful "book of hours" that is widely considered the fifteenth century's most important illuminated manuscript. You can find the images and related commentary here, if interested.

■ The Walking Dead: Rise of The Governor (Robert Kirkman and Jay Bonansinga)
Fiction. Two authors on a work of fiction rarely bodes well, and this 320-page zombie-gorefest is no exception. Fans of the comic book series, the television series, or both already know Rise explains how Philip Blake became the Governor, but, the so-called "twist" is apparent early on, and really? The book adds nothing new to zombie literature, generally, or The Walking Dead, specifically. Bad fiction, like everything else, though, is certainly relative, and I can honestly say that this isn't the worst book I've read in 2011. Nope. Sarah's Key still holds that dubious honor. (Related entry here.)

■ Feynman (Jim Ottaviani)
Graphic biography. Both the private and public lives of Nobel Prize-winning physicist Richard Feynman are described in this wonderfully accessible biography, which is illustrated by Leland Myrick. You'll find an excellent review here: "The Feynman picture-book is a fine example of gekiga for Western readers." Highly recommended.

That was then...

As I mentioned, this month marks Mental multivitamin's eighth anniversary. Ayup. Eight years ago today, I wondered, "Too much TV?" and posted my first recommended daily allowance (RDA). These days, I rarely do the former. After all, I don't watch much: "The Walking Dead." "Dance Moms." "Project Runway." That's about it. While some may question the value of said programs, one can hardly wonder whether they comprise "too much TV," particularly since the programs do not air in the same season.

And the latter? Well, I don't do that enough. Collected here, my RDAs became spotty a few years ago, and I can't explain why. Let's see if November 2011 finds the practice revived, eh?

_____________________________

Yesterday I spent a few hours finding shelf space for recent acquisitions, and for the seven-hundred-forty-third time in the last decade, I made a promise designed to be broken: I will not buy another book until I have read all that I already own. Translation? I will never purchase another book. You see, I already own more books than anyone could read in three lifetimes, let alone one. So as I shifted, sorted, and dusted, I wondered, Does this mean my collection will stagnate? That I won't own any books published post-2011? Wait. Doesn't that seem ridiculous?

Well, yeah. A little.

And then there were the more practical considerations, such as the recent renewal of my Prime membership and the fact that one never truly surrenders an addiction -- she merely substitutes one for another. So, if not books, what? Shoes? Hummel figurines?

As if. As I said, a promise made to be broken.

Besides, as I later explained to Mr. M-mv, "That's the beauty of the Kindle. Think of all of the shelf space I could be saving!"

Heh, heh, heh.

Seen at the Morton Arboretum, last year

Semicolon hosts "The Saturday Review of Books." Consider participating this week.

Seen at the Morton Arboretum, this year

Benign neglect

When we first realized that it wasn't, in fact, a weed, we left the straggly collection of thorned stalks to its own devices. "Let's see what happens," we shrugged. And then the roses bloomed. And died. And bloomed and died again. Throughout the dreadful heat. In spite of the torrential rains. And then the weeks-long drought. Blooming and browning, replacement buds emerging as quickly as the papery petals of dead flowers fell to the ground. Heedless of whipping winds and the now frosty nights. Roses and more roses.

Sketch, ink, final by Miss M-mv(ii). (Click to enlarge.)

Related entries here and here.

From the archives: "This story shall the good man teach his son."

From Asimov's Guide to Shakespeare:

According to a legend which can be traced back no further than the eighth century, Crispin and Crispian were two brothers, Christian, living in Rome. They fled the persecution of Christians begun under the Roman Emperor Diocletian. They traveled to Soissons in what was then Gaul (later France), and there they remained in hiding, supporting themselves as shoemakers. In 286 they were found and beheaded, presumably on October 25, which became their day of commemoration. They were the patron saints of shoemakers and their day was particularly celebrated in France. And it was on October 25, 1415, that the Battle of Agincourt was to be fought.

From Act IV, Scene III of Shakespeare's Henry V:

King Henry:
This story shall the good man teach his son;
And Crispin Crispian shall ne'er go by,
From this day to the ending of the world,
But we in it shall be remembered,
We few, we happy few, we band of brothers.
For he to-day that sheds his blood with me
Shall be my brother; be he ne'er so vile,
This day shall gentle his condition;
And gentlemen in England now a-bed
Shall think themselves accurs'd they were not here,
And hold their manhoods cheap whiles any speaks
That fought with us upon Saint Crispin's day.

Of course, as I've written before, Act IV, Scene VII of the Branagh film wins my vote as "Most Moving."

Yes, today is "call'd the feast of Crispian," a day we've been marking for more than ten years now. Why not join us in our Saint Crispin's Day celebration? Watch. Read. Think. Discuss. Learn.

Hey, and if this will be your younger set's first brush with Harry -- or even Shakespeare -- you might appreciate the following M-mv entries:

■ "I was not angry since I came to France / Until this instant...." (11.04.2007)

■ Shakespeare. Yes, again. And again. (9.30.2006)

(Other bardolatry entries are collected here.)

"His imagination was full of all that he had read...."

Click here and/or here for more images of Don Quixote's fabulous horse,
a creation of the spectacularly talented Von Orthal Puppets.

It was hard to ignore the glowing reviews (here and here), so we succumbed. And how lucky were we? Four orchestra-center seats still available after such praise? Unheard of.

Each of us absorbed different "favorite moments." Mine included the first entrance of Rocinante, choreographer Yuri Possokhov's seamless re-insertion of Don Quixote into his own story, and the wonderful Chicago Sinfonietta, the official orchestra of the Joffrey Ballet.

Semicolon hosts "The Saturday Review of Books." Consider participating this week.

"You're a funny girl."

America's first planetarium

It hardly seems possible, but we haven't been to the Adler Planetarium since January 2009. The birthday girl expressed an interest in visiting last year, but we filled the week with other adventures (here, here, here, here, and here) and vowed to get to the Adler sooner or later. Better later than never, right? Heh, heh, heh.

We began our visit with "Deep Space Adventure," which received positive reviews over the summer (here and here). It was cool, but we tend to prefer old favorites, like making craters...

and visiting the meteorite.

We're all also fans of the Atwood Sphere (speaking of old favorites), and our guide this time spoke in the same musical cadences as the Misses' beloved piano teacher, so, yes, good times; good times.

We caught "Night Sky Live," which motivated us to make time for more star parties, and "Journey to the Stars," and then toward the end of our visit, we made our way through "Universe in Your Hands," which gives visitors a peek at what medieval scholars made of the night skies, from sundials to astrolabes to armillary spheres. Here are a few images from that gallery.

As I've mentioned, we must get up early to arrive in town at as the museums open, so our visit ended at about 3 p.m.

Apparently, the Misses still plan to contribute guest entries, though, so this may not be the last you hear about our trips to the aquarium and planetarium.

Was Einstein wrong?

Donna of Quiet Life sent me a link to "Neutrinos and relativity: Faster than the speed of light" (The Economist, October 1):

Some physicists are wondering whether their subject has just had another Michelson-Morley moment. On September 23rd researchers at CERN, Europe’s main physics laboratory, announced that subatomic particles called neutrinos had apparently sped from the lab’s headquarters near Geneva, through the Earth’s crust, to an underground detector 730km (450 miles) away around 60-billionths of a second faster than light would take to cover the same distance (see article). The difference in speed is tiny, but the implications are huge.

And since I'm here (we just got back from a terrific trip to Adler Planetarium -- more another time), here's a link to one of today's "WIRED Science" entries -- "It’s Official: To Protect Baby’s Brain, Turn Off TV," in which Brandon Keim observes:

Three studies since 1999 have tracked educational television use and language development, and they found a link between increased TV time and developmental delays. Whether that’s a cause or effect — parents who leave kids in front of televisions might simply be poor teachers — isn’t clear, nor are the long-term effects, but the [American Academy of Pediatrics] called the findings “concerning.” In the same vein, there may also be a link to attention problems.

Even when media plays in the background, it distracts babies from play, an activity that is known to have deep developmental benefits. And for parents who use media to carve out a few precious, necessary free minutes in busy schedules, Brown recommended letting kids entertain themselves.

"But if we smartened up sooner, we'd end up dumber."

From the National Geographic cover story on teenage brains (October 2011):

Culture clearly shapes adolescence. It influences its expression and possibly its length. It can magnify its manifestations. Yet culture does not create adolescence. The period's uniqueness rises from genes and developmental processes that have been selected for over thousands of generations because they play an amplified role during this key transitional period: producing a creature optimally primed to leave a safe home and move into unfamiliar territory.

The move outward from home is the most difficult thing that humans do, as well as the most critical—not just for individuals but for a species that has shown an unmatched ability to master challenging new environments. In scientific terms, teenagers can be a pain in the ass. But they are quite possibly the most fully, crucially adaptive human beings around. Without them, humanity might not have so readily spread across the globe.

From the archives: 10.16.2006

He didn't ask my permission. He simply grew up... an outcome for which I had steeled myself early: "We are letting them go from the moment they arrive in our lives," I would intone, as if I were some sage Earth Mother-type with wisdom to spare.

Yeah, right. Well, I'm no Earth Mother. And while my words may have been letting him go, my heart was having none of it.

There, in my heart, he will always be some shimmering morph of the beautiful, easy-natured baby he was and the good man he has become.

Later...
What is it about fall that makes me feel this way?

Is it something about the butter-yellow sun in the impossibly blue sky? Or the way the light slants through the windows at cool-weather angles? Or is it the smell of burning leaves? The feel of flannel sheets?

What is it about fall that makes me feel much too young to be the mother of a man? That makes me feel that it all passed too quickly? That I'd like another decade, please?

Wait. Stop. I want to get off.

Someone bring me the little boy who wore a pillowcase clipped with a clothespin and declared that he was Batman... then Superman... then a Ninja Turtle. Someone find that new reader who kept books under his pillow, that new writer who clasped his fat pencil in a starfish hand. Someone go get that boy who couldn't swim across the pool, was destined to be the world's oldest guppy.

Please. Someone.

We can't possibly have travelled this far already... can we?

The Shakespeare Project of Chicago

The Shakespeare Project of Chicago was created in 1996 to bring to life the words of William Shakespeare, present his plays to the community for free, and foster the talents of members of Actors’ Equity Association.

This month, the Project marks the beginning of its seventeenth season with The Life and Death of King Richard II. Directed by Peter Garino, the reading will feature a cast of Shakespeare Project veterans, including founding member David Skidmore in the title role.

~ Performance Dates ~

Saturday, October 22, at 10 a.m.
The Newberry Library

Saturday, October 22, at 2 p.m.
The Wilmette Public Library

Sunday, October 23 at 2 p.m.
The Highland Park Public Library

"Let's do something."

Many of the entries on our family calendar are dictated by the schedules of others -- the swim team, music teachers, the archery coach, Mr. M-mv's employer, and so on. Once those commitments are typed in, I plan adventures and field trips while attempting to preserve the white space (i.e., the down time) we require.

All of this to explain that the family calendar for October has been posted since early September. Naturally, then, our Shedd Aquarium trip was already planned. For next week. But a couple of times during the past week, the Misses mentioned wanting to do something on Friday. "Let's do something," they suggested. (Because, after all, we never do anything, right? Heh, heh, heh.) "We should go to the Shedd," they proposed. At one point, I capitulated. "Why not? Let's go." But even as I agreed, I told Aunt M-mv, We can't do this. How will I get them back for their obligations in time?

Still, by the time the three of us had curled up on the couch to watch "Project Runway" Thursday night (Go, Anya!), they had persuaded me that we most certainly could do this. Yes, we'll get up early. Yes, we're okay with that. No, we won't be too tired for time trials. Let's go!

So, in the contest between slavish devotion to the family calendar and spontaneity, the latter won.

Knowing how quickly the Shedd can become an admission nightmare, we had renewed our dormant membership several weeks ago in anticipation of our birthday week plans. To even hope to avoid those lines snaking down the steps of the aquarium, you must be a member, and you must visit on a weekday first thing in the morning or just two or three hours before the aquarium closes. Otherwise? You're doomed to wait on line, wondering if the jellyfish are really worth it.

Which they most certainly are, but you'll actually believe that if your admission experience is line- and hassle-free.

Of course, for us, arriving early means setting our alarm clocks for 4:45. That's a.m. Our older cat did us a favor most kind, though: At about 3:55 a.m. yesterday morning, he finally produced the hairball that had caused him some mild coughing on Wednesday and Thursday, so we were all already in various stages of awake by the time the clocks rang.

What a cat, eh?

Once on the road we encountered little traffic, but motion sickness? That's an altogether different tale. Let me just say that it doesn't just go away simply because you say, "I must get this done." Once a motion sickness sufferer, always a motion sickness sufferer. A small cola and a plain bagel (and putting said project back in my knapsack) settled my stomach, though, and we arrived on the museum campus just after 9.

Jellyfish. The aquatic show (with special guests -- hawks!). The Wild Reef. Seahorses. We had a wonderful time.

The Misses brought along their cameras...

... because I invited them to contribute guest entries to M-mv. They still need to cull through their images, so we'll see what they decide. Until then, two more of my images: a garden eel (perhaps the cutest attraction at the Shedd)...

and the Misses at the end of our visit.

(See the line of people waiting to enter? It went all the way down the stairs and out into the Museum Campus.)

Semicolon hosts "The Saturday Review of Books." Consider participating this week.

"Don't make me use my stuff on you, baby."

One of my son's favorite movies was Bubba Ho-Tep, a 2002 movie starring Bruce Campbell as an aging Elvis Presley. The film's central conceit is that Presley, weary of soul-sucking celebrity, swaps identities with Elvis impersonator Sebastian Haff, who dies in 1977. An explosion erases the evidence of their arrangement before Elvis can reclaim his life, however, and an unfortunate accident sends him to a nursing home, where his claims that he is the King sound like the mutterings of, well, a crazy old man.

In poignant voice-overs, Elvis describes the wasteland that is old age in our society:

Where'd my youth go? Why didn't fame hold off old age and death? Why the hell did I leave the fame in the first place and do I want it back, and could I have it back? And if I could, would it make any damned difference?

My son had pressed Shaun of the Dead on us before he began his one-man Bubba Ho-Tep publicity campaign. At the time, Mr. M-mv and I dismissed the zombie-comedy as "two hours we'll never get back," so my son's recommendation currency was a little, shall we say, weak.

I held him off for many months.

But one summer night when Mr. M-mv was away on business and the Misses were in bed, we decided to stay up late watching movies. I can't remember what I picked, but I remember... "Will you watch Bubba Ho-Tep with me? Please? I know you'll love it." I didn't think so. I didn't want to. But I said, "Sure."

With a dramatically resigned sigh.

Which he ignored.

I was reminded of this ordinary night in my son's company because Sheila, who always makes me think, has been doing so most recently with a series of insightful, beautifully wrought essays on Elvis Presley.

It's not a leap: My son's birthday is next week. Elvis. My son. Bubba Ho-Tep. And I arrive at this perfectly formed memory.

We watched the film. Actually, I watched the film, and I also watched my son. I had decided it was important to understand why this was so important to him. Why he had invited me to -- no, had all but insisted that I watch it with him.

It's actually an interesting movie. Because it never settles on precisely what it is -- drama? horror? comedy? social commentary? -- it kept me engaged. Yes, it made me think. But not so much that I didn't pay attention to my son.

It was 2007. Maybe 2008? So he was either seventeen or eighteen. A man.

And when the film ended, he was crying.

Just a bit. But I knew. And he knew I knew.

"What did you think? Wasn't that great?" he asked, full of emotion.

I didn't think it was great. But I did know that I had been given a great privilege. I had been admitted into my son's heart. I had been permitted to see what moved him -- two old men, dismissed as "worthless or sadly amusing," dying to save their friends.

"I thought it was very touching. I think I understand why you love it so much."

We were lucky, my son and I. We didn't have much awkwardness between us. Spending so much time together, everyone in our family has time to make him- or herself clear. To say what needs to be said. To leave unsaid what is already understood. To sit in companionable silence.

That night, we sat in companionable silence, and then he offered to make pretzels and cheese to snack on while we watched the movie I chose.

I don't remember what movie I picked. But I do remember how engrossed my son was in his. It meant something to him. And it meant something to him that I know it.

And I do.

Eight years. Can you believe it?

So I wanted to do something special for Mental multivitamin's eighth anniversary. A giveaway? I wondered. Nah. A contest? No. A virtual event or an author interview? Nope.

I wanted something fresh, something I hadn't done before (which isn't as simple as it sounds when you've been posting near-daily for eight years).

Think. Think. Think.

And then, there it was! As I pored over photos from the weekend's adventures, I found an image the likes of which I've never posted before. Something new! Something different!

Meet Mr. M-mv.

Heh, heh, heh.

Yeah, I'm still going to protect (some of) his privacy. But there he is: an M-mv first to celebrate the site's eighth anniversary.

As for his archery form, well, we think it's a little odd, too, but there's no arguing with his consistent results, right?

"Answers to the fundamental mysteries of human nature can only be found elsewhere...."

The November issue of The Atlantic features an interview with biologist E.O. Wilson, 82. From "E. O. Wilson’s Theory of Everything":

Conversations like these might give the impression that Wilson—one of the most driven and prolific biologists of his generation—has mellowed and is shifting now to a quieter, more retiring, if not truly retired, phase of life, settling into the easy-fitting robes of scientific eminence and mostly lending endorsements and encouragement to the good works of others. And his bug collecting could easily be misinterpreted as a mere enthusiasm, a nostalgic return to the field. But Wilson had rebuked me in our very first encounter, after he had picked up the ant for close inspection, pointedly declaring that he was interested in “more than ants,” and his travel here, like almost everything he does, is bound up with ideas and themes that he has doggedly pursued for decades. (Even in his recently published first novel, the best-selling Anthill, his 24th book, readers schooled in evolutionary science cannot miss the play of long-gestating Wilsonian theories, and linkages to his latest work.)

Indeed, while we sat in camp chairs talking about conservation and ants and countless other subjects, a dispute was raging among evolutionary biologists half a world away, one of the most hotly contested in that field in years—and Wilson was at its center. Christopher X J. Jensen, a Pratt Institute biologist who has blogged about the conflict, described it as a “scientific gang fight.” Its outcome could have big implications for how we understand ourselves and our motivations—and particularly the complex interplay of selfish and altruistic behavior in human nature.

This is hardly the first scientific controversy surrounding Wilson. An even bigger fight erupted around him in the 1970s, as he laid out his ideas on sociobiology in three landmark books, The Insect Societies, Sociobiology, and On Human Nature. At issue throughout were his claims that our genes not only are responsible for our biological form, but help shape our instincts, including our social nature and many other individual traits.

Sketch, ink, final by Miss M-mv(i). (Click to enlarge.)

Related entries here and here.

Photographs

Candids of Miss M-mv(i) and Miss M-mv(ii), respectively...

Miss M-mv(ii) at the archery range...