The Wild Rumpus and Other Preoccupations

The academics I know are talking about the movie made from Maurice Sendak’s book for children. I type Where the Wild Things Are into Google and quick as a wink turn up academic articles on the book. The first one I open has three authors, notes, tables, the whole scholarly apparatus. But in our household today – and in most others, I guess – it’s the movie that’s on the agenda.

  • S. The Wild Things? The book is perfection.
  • J. And the movie?
  • S. Enjoyable, lovely to look at.
  • J. Not perfection?
  • S. Perfection is an underappreciated virtue these days.

The younger generation is talking about Sudoku for two. Two persons working on one puzzle, filling in the squares, giving reasons for their decisions. I’m intrigued. Two people, two pencils. (Who gets to wield the eraser?) Two bending over one small piece of paper. In one armchair? Hmm. Sounds cozy!

The great leaf show is on. In the mornings we rush to the windows to see the new developments in the park across the road.  Today I hear that my neighbourhood association is proposing to build tennis courts in the park. (That is, they’re demanding that the city build courts.) The problem is that tennis courts require high mesh fences. The gorgeous long view through the trees from our front windows and front porch will be obscured. I don’t know what to do. Should I summon up reserves of indignation (running low as I get older) and fight it out at the upcoming meetings? Or smile through my tears and wish the health buffs well? They tell me that the pavement will be coloured a pleasant green. To blend in, you know. The mesh fence will be green.


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