Recently we began reading through Eleanor H. Porter’s nearly-century-old novel, “Pollyanna.” Consuming a few chapters a night, we began to crawl through the book. I had no interest in it, and looked forward to each evening’s passages the same way I look forward to mowing the lawn.

    As chapter 14 drew to a close with a mysterious bit of business involving an as-yet unrevealed past between Aunt Polly and injured Mr. Pendleton, I closed the book for the evening and asked Sam what she thought was “the deal with Aunt Polly and Mr. Pendleton”. Her reply was surprising detailed.

    ”Sam, have you been reading ahead?”
    She answered a bit sheepishly, “Yes, but you can still read it to me.”

    I was proud of her for doing such a good job reading independently, and told her so. I certainly wasn’t reading chapter books on my own when I was 7.

    She took the book with her the next morning for use in daily independent reading sessions at her grade school.

    I discovered to my surprise that I was bummed out by the fact that I now have no idea what was going to happen next to Pollyanna, Aunt Polly and Mr. Pendleton.

    While the story seemed oddly calf’s foot jelly centered, the non-calf’s foot jelly parts were entertaining and now I may never know the ending. I can only assume that the exciting conclusion involves some last-minute calf’s foot jelly distribution.

    It seemed to me that young Pollyanna spent 92.38% of her waking hours delivering calf’s foot jelly to various notables throughout her local area. The other 8% was spent dealing with the ice-bitchiness of Aunt Polly and, presumably, placing calf’s foot jelly in jars.