Top 3 Eric Carle Books for Ages 0-2+ and Why

The Very Hungry Caterpillar is by far the most popular and deservedly so.

  • Visually stunning and textually captivating
  • A magnificent finale
  • So very naturally in sync with earthly vibrations
  • And all that curiously merging  collage art…

Now, that seems  like every book of his I ever read.

Each one is a tiny, but explosive delight to the eyeballs and brain.

A visit to the library often reveals an unknown Eric Carl book, and I realize I have only just begun to unravel the beauty of his stories…P_20171212_180639.jpg

..and I have been reading since my Mama was both my eyes and ears.

I was just where my toddler was only recently-though now he is a little head and eyes and ears all his own.

What makes it so intriguing?  I wonder, as said toddler collapses in sheer joy.

Let’s take a look at his three favorite books until now for some enlightening entertainment:

1. The Very Busy Spider

“No, no, no, no sun/cat/chicken, I’m spinning my web.” Toddler says in a singsong voice as he turns the many pages of animals trying in vain to deter a dead set spider from the task at hand.

He does love saying “no”, probably as most of us  do, .but I think its more about that…

  • Utter engagement with a heady and important task

2. From Head to Toe


We read this book for the first time right when Toddler could touch his toes, wave his arms, etc. This is right after he had grasped the whole Head, Shoulder, Knees, and Toes thing.

“I can do it!”

Clearly, this book is a delight in…


3. Brown Bear Brown Bear (Co-authored with Bill Martin, Jr.)


Preschool Story time – Everyone in Everyday Ecstasy

No doubt the appeal of Oso Café (Brown Bear) is the constant page turning…

  • Element of splendid revelation

Who is looking at me? Why its a Blue Horse!!!! But of course.

Above all, children yearn like us all (deep down) to be one with the earth. I have never seen a toddler prefer a book over a pine cone, or rock, or feather.

But Carle’s books are special because they give us a…


Thank you Eric Carle and children’s authors everywhere.

For the many chances to celebrate…

  • Hard work
  • Our similarities as living beings
  • Our own gifts and those that others bring to our lives
  • Innocence and simplicity
  • Growth


  • A kaleidoscopic ensemble of earth’s greatest treasures


The bottoms of our hearts


(Video: Bill Martin, Jr)

The Official Eric Carle Web Site








Alien Corpse Found in Home Installation

It was the abused children and Anne Frank during my elementary years. High school was for racism and undergrad was for classism.

Grad school was for the impoverished.

Late twenties was for death and mother earth.

Early thirties was for animal suffering.

This a timeline of my sorrows: The source of deep sunken tears when my thoughts turn dark and lonesome. Image

I have this place where my sorrows stir. Where if I wallow too long, I get stuck in the muck.

The only way out is…


…a moment in the presence of the amazing


…laughter at the absurd


…a dream reawakened by the hope that someday…one day…

…forgiveness in the arms of the Most Patient Above.

…the tiny spark of love

anxious to ignite

a simple glance to the light

to scatter my fright.


(Post written in 2014-February)

Oh Well, It Was Swell While It Lasted

Is it me or what?  Exactly one year after this post: I engaged in my first mercy kill.

blue bellied lizardThe cat dragged him into the back yard. He stuck his claws into the lizard’s head and batted him around the patio. My warm fuzzy feelings for the cat vanished in an instant as I threw him inside and returned to the lizard.

He was upside down until I turned him over and saw that he was breathing…and bleeding. I went back inside to try and forget about him. I told myself he would live, he would go find a nice place to rest and heal.

His belly was the most beautiful blue…

An hour or so i reluctantly returned and to my dismay he hadn’t moved a centimeter and his breathing was labored. If he were human he would be engaging in what is known as the death rattle. (Oh the death rattle…why do you haunt me so?)

My sister thousands of miles away confirmed it, I had to put him out of his misery. (Despite my protests, who am I to decide? What if he is enjoying his final moments?)

But the blood was plentiful and my heart was exploding. The time had come and I went for the machete. If I could just chop his head off with a quick one-two…

But it took four. Four chops to sever the head. And believe me it wasn’t pretty. His head and body twitched violently long after the deed was done.

I yelled noooooooo and tears sprang to my eyes as I delivered each blow. When it finished I looked up to the sky and wailed. (An actress at heart truly, but one cannot help the level of dramatics we are born with.)

And so it was. So it is. So it will be.

And Then The Rain Came

This thing they call happiness, it suits me just fine…Volcano?

Lately, I find myself singing. Making up verse as I putter through the day. A song may start something like this:

(To the Tune of On Top of Old Smokey)

Oh beautiful oven mitt, all scorched and holey. 

Full of old red sauce and ravi-o-l-i.

(After lost in the trance of the task at hand, I then transition into something like the following:)

(To the tune of Everybody Dance Now)

Everybody groove now, duh, duh, duh, duh, duh, duh, duh, duh, duh, duh…C’mon let’s move, let’s da-a-ance! Move...(Immediate transition to the tune of Respect by Aretha Franklin):What you are! Baby I got it. What you need, you know I want it! All I’m asking is for a little Respect when you come home! Just a little bit…Respect. just a little bit wheeohwheeohwheeeeee…

Here I will quit boring with you the gritty details. There’s a message in this madness, allow me to dig it up…It’s here somewhere…Ah yes, here we are:wheel of fortune

Well, Dear Readers of Miss Corrigan,

A warm breeze by the name of happiness has invited himself over and seems to be making himself comfortable indeed.  How can I explain this? This, feeling of joy at the sound of the constant rain pouring into the scorched earth. At the sight of the neon green sprouts and electric orange buds sprouting from the Aloe Vera drinking the rain with all of it’s might.

It is not a smile that this joy brings, albeit its presence is prevalent to say the least,  no this joy, for lack of a better word, is something that covers one like the most wonderful blanket in the world. It is waterproof, but not rain proof, it allows one to feel the soft breeze and inhale the fresh sky filled with fresh life.

As the wheel of fortune turns, we experience life at times without the blanket. Sometimes without a roof, a bed, or our favorite toy. We experience life’s events hungry, cold, and lonely. Sometimes we lose everything.

But the wheel spins, folks. The wheel spins.

Yours truly,

Miss Corrigan

For a look at how the wheel spins, read an article written almost exactly a year earlier

Life flies

Life flies. No I mean it. It is as fleeting as a the hummingbird. Whenever there is something I am looking forward to-say a birth, it is here before I know it. When the moment comes, it is as if it has always been there.

Our backyard is brimming with life, spring is here. The apple tree is blossoming after so many days being dormant, it bloomed with a flourish, as if to say I have always been here.  If there is anything I will regret it is the moments I spent caught up in the daily bustle. I will mourn the moments that I lost because I was too busy getting ready for the next thing.

It is only natural for us to be caught up, that we must tend to our spirituality in a conscious manner. It is because we must tend to it, do we reap the special rewards from doing so. Prayer, reflection, and patience in life’s most mundane moments are where I can find the spiritual energy that is bursting everywhere on earth.  There are times when I want to say forget all this mumbo jumbo. Life is short and then we die. (A saying I found to be most prevalent in the dinosaur exhibit at the natural history museum.) However, when I quiet the mental chatter, and the beauty flows into my being, even if it is for a moment, I am capsized by the audacity of life’s offerings.

An example:

Once while I was downstairs cleaning the dishes, the light streamed into the windows just so that I lay pause to my work. I stopped and was suddenly overcome with this warm immense joy. This joy was so intense it brought me to tears and nearly to my knees. After a moment I gathered myself together, and as it happens when I feel such emotion I seek out the ones I love to tell them how much I appreciate them. But as I went searching for my husband, I found that he was directly above me. And he was praying…

Even prayer can seem mundane, and maybe even crazy. I must wrestle with this feeling of maybe not really meaning it, going through the motions so to say. But it is practice that makes anything else better, why would prayer be any different? Every so often, prayer is not mundane, it is essential and stirring.  When it is, it is as if God has always been there, and that knowledge can give a girl new life once again.