(photo by Peter Rosbjerg)
If you are seeking creative ideas, go out walking. Angels whisper to a man when he goes for a walk.
~Raymond Inmon
On an otherwise unremarkable day, in a small town library in northeastern Nebraska, three sketchily drawn teenagers standing out against a stark white background caught my eye and were soon to capture my heart. That was nearly three decades ago, in 1982. I was thirteen years old and had just discovered Daniel Pinkwater’s latest novel, The Snarkout Boys and the Avocado of Death, standing erect just above eye level on the shelf showcasing new arrivals. I will never know which librarian chose to place that particular book face-out on that particular shelf on that particular day, but he/she will forever be counted among my heroes.
It was roughly thirteen years ago that I picked up my paperback copy of the same book to read aloud to my six year old daughter. Pinkwater’s absurd wordplay coupled with a storyline about teenagers sneaking out at night to go to the movies and track down nefarious ne’er-do-wells contained the perfect balance of adventure and silliness to make a young child look forward to before-bed story time.
Recently my now nearly nineteen year old daughter requested that I read the story to her once more, a request seconded by her mother who missed out on the ending of the story all those years ago and is quick to remind me of that fact if ever The Snarkout Boys and the Avocado of Death works its way into conversation. And so, in stolen moments between work, schoolwork, and bedtime, we have been revisiting Walter Galt, Winston Bongo, Bentley Saunders Harrison Matthews (aka, Rat) and the rest of the menagerie of Baconburg. We are a third of the way through the book and are enjoying it as if it were our first time.
