Someone built a House at Pooh Corner replica in the woods. I've been walking past it every morning, watching the sun stream through the gaps in the trees and finally today I took my camera and tried to get some shots of it.
In what is most likely a coincidence, I pulled Winnie-the-Pooh off Ella's bookshelf the other night, when I was sleeping in her room because it is the only one in the house with air conditioning. It was nice to be reminded how much I love A. A. Milne and why I read and re-read his stories and poems when I was younger. So much character and sense of place and humor and compassion conveyed in such lovely sparse prose and poetry. I took the book to Michael and made him read some of it, aloud, to me. Of course, House At Pooh Corner is the better book, but we managed to enjoy ourselves none the less.
There was a story circulating this week about some research claiming that the more Harry Potter one has read, the less likely one is to like Trump. Someone should do a similar study with Pooh. Not the cheesy Disney versions, but these originals.