When I was eleven or twelve we drove through Sequoia National Park. There was a tree that the road used to go through and apparently very big other trees. But I don't quite remember much other than the extreme irritation I felt when I was forced to look up from my book, or even worse, leave the car.
It was this awesome book about a boy who had a real jerk of a father who, in preparation to sending him to boarding school, sent him to a military wilderness boot camp in the summer to toughen him up. The boy learned a bunch of survival skills and then took off into the wilderness on his own. I loved it. I still remember him calling his dad at one point and telling him he'd come home on
certain conditions - otherwise he'd just stay out in the woods. What a great book that was!So yesterday when we looked at a bunch of modern art that's on temporary installation in Central - a couple of Botero's, Modigliani, Indiana, and a some others, could I really complain about my boy reading the third Dune book all day?
Here's the other one sketching a Dali that's in the lobby of the Mandarin.
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