It is the year 2022, and I aspire to be Jane Jetson 40 years in advance. I say 40 years in advance because The Jetsons portrayed society in the year 2062. My aspirations to be Jane Jetson most likely stem from laziness or exhaustion (not sure which), but I can tell you that my robot vacuum lacks the personality of Rosie Jetson and my wardrobe has far fewer digital options than Jane’s.
I can only imagine what it would be like to press a button and a fully fresh face and hair style would materialize. Forget the frustration of not having anything to wear, I could just step into my holographic closet apparatus and create my perfect look by swiping through the digital designs. My dishes would wash themselves, food prepare itself, and the laundry would wash, dry, and fold all on its own. It would be magical.
Maybe it’s her cool triangle-shaped collar, or her ability to juggle all the galactic challenges of being a woman of the future, but I know that I would love to put myself in her spacetastic shoes. Clearly, Jane is a woman who knows how to handle her bumbling husband, reign in her teenage daughter, keep her brilliant son from getting too big for his britches, and maintain a social life and philanthropic endeavors through her work with the Skypad Apartments’ recycling company and Galaxy Women Historical Society. Who wouldn’t want to be like Jane Jetson?
I enjoyed reading my choices and the posts of others readers as they shared their summer read picks. It made a season of quarantine feel like it a had some sense of community.
For Summer 2021, I am eager to dive into my summer reads, but I’m going to challenge myself to 21 reads before September 1st! #20booksofsummer2021 +1.
As the volunteer librarian at my children’s school, I host a reading club each year, and I always try to include the books in contention for the Mark Twain Award. There at 12 books nominated each year, and I have yet to be disappointed whenever I read those nominated. Students love them and often make informal waiting lists on my library desk for the Mark Twain Award titles. These 12 titles will definitely make up part of my 21 reads this summer, so I thought I would kick the list off with the nominees.
#8 The Good Byline by Jill Orr(First of four very witty and well-written mysteries about Riley Ellison. All four could fit the bill for funniest reads with the online dating/lifestyle guru asides between chapters.)
#9 How Not to Be Old (Even If You Are) by Jill Orr(A non-fiction work of hilarity from the author of The Good Byline. This is now one of my favorite birthday gifts for friends as they meet milestone birthdays.)
#10 The Wonky Donkeyby Craig Smith(It is IMPOSSIBLE to read this book without laughing. IMPOSSIBLE.)
I realize my list includes books from diverse genres, but I think that’s what makes books so great. They do not have to fall into one category or another to entertain. I encourage you to pick up a funny book and add some joy to your day. I didn’t realize how tough it would be to make a list of Top Ten Funny Reads. I now have a goal to find new titles to read that will make me laugh.
Be sure to comment with your favorite funny reads or tag this post when you share your own Top Ten list.
By: Melanie A. Peters
P.S. At least three of the books on this list were “borrowed” from my sister Olivia’s book shelf. She may or may not get them back.
Some call it character. Others call it poor construction. I call it inevitable. After lifting up the weight of the world since my construction, things are going to start sagging. Edges will soften. Layers will lower.
Have you ever considered what it’s like to be a stepping stone in someone else’s journey every single day?
Have you ever thought about the demoralizing existence that comes from inviting others to walk all over you?
Have you given thought to the loads these stones have allowed to ascend and descend in efforts to keep life moving?
How do you think it feels to bow beneath feet as moss and weeds make their homes in my fractures and blemishes?
The farm has taught me many lessons. One lesson that will forever stick with me is the idea that a bucket can’t carry itself.
Why, you might ask, would a bucket’s inability to carry itself be a lesson of any value to anyone?
Well, it all started in a calf barn.
When I was 4 years old, the farmer my father worked for gave me a feed scoop. It was orange, plastic, and had a Purina logo embossed in the handle. The purpose of the scoop was to fill the stainless steel bowls that were mounted on the front of each calf’s stall. My purpose for having that scoop was so I could be the filler of those bowls.
I was elated. Those calves were the best part of the farm in my 4-year-old mind. I loved how they smelled like sour milk and straw. I giggled non-stop at the way they sucked on my fingers. I cried when they were sick or when it was time to move them out to pasture with the larger calves. I was proud to be their caregiver.
There was just one problem.
The bucket my father filled with feed weighted more than I did. The task of feeding those sweet, spotted calves was a tough one because I often spilled feed going from bucket to stall and back again. Spilled feed is almost worse than spilled milk, but I wasn’t supposed to cry about either.
I soon became discouraged when my father would lose patience over my slow progress and pick up that burdensome bucket to deftly pour just the right amount of feed into the remaining bowls without so much as spilling one kernel of corn.
Why couldn’t I carry that bucket that way?
Nothing frustrated me more than not being big enough to do a job. My father knew this.
One day I noticed the bucket wasn’t quite full. After a scoop or two, I tested my luck. With some effort I was able to pull it closer to my sweet calves and didn’t have to truck those precious scoops of feed quite so far. I was doing it! I was carrying the bucket!Continue reading “That Bucket’s Not Going to Carry Itself”→
Yes, it was only by one point, but we had beaten them.
With the first whistle blown and the tip off tapped in our direction, the game felt like nothing but ours to win.
As the first few shots bounced out and dully rolled off the side of the rim, we struggled to ride the wave of adrenaline. If we just kept shooting, passing, rebounding, we were certain to make a basket sooner or later.
It was a peculiar evening. Rarely did she find herself outdoors after dusk, but there she was standing alone. Alone, but for the moon and the sounds that night brings.
The glow of the Moon seemed to be magnetic and the stillness that it attracted surrounded her. Enveloped in its beams, her tired mind seemed content to just soak in its milky gleam. There was something comforting about the slowness of its ascent and the darkness that accompanied.
Without realizing it, she found herself treading across the cool blades of grass. There was an intense need to follow the pale path as it radiated across the smooth, damp blades. Not sure where she was headed, the trail of light shined with reassurance that this was where she needed to go.
The only sounds that could be heard were those of her soft steps on the foliage and an occasional breeze. None of these sounds could disturb the tranquility within her.
Once deep in the woods the terrain grew steeper and at the highest point a clearing was revealed. Here the moon shone so brightly she felt that it was within her reach to touch the brilliant orb.
After a few moments of unhampered silence, a voice came to her.
“You have asked for peace, quiet, and freedom. I have come to give you these.”
With a slight shake of her head, she replied, “Who are you? Where are you?”
The voice spoke with a slow, confident drawl. “Is it not easy to see? Am I not shining right before you? Late each night as your little one fails to sleep or worry races through your mind I hear you ask for stillness, freedom, simplicity.”