The Baby-sitters Club Super Special #8: Baby-sitters at Shadow Lake
Good
God, y’all. I know it’s been a while, but a lot has been happening in my life
since I last abandoned you. I finished grad school. I attended my college
reunion. I cheered on more friends than I care to count as they took the next
steps that so far continue to elude moi:
weddings, babies, book contracts, home ownership, laser eye surgery. I knew I
had to do something, so here it is: I moved halfway across the country to take
a new job, one where I am not disrespected and mistreated on a daily basis. I
pulled a Stacey McGill (Original recipe and version 3.0)—I woke up one day and
found myself leaving behind my comfortable, New York City life—a life of brunch
and bridges and Broadway—and venturing back into Tinytown, USA, a world of SUVs
and Applebee’s and carefully cultivated elm trees. I live in the Midwest again.
Please don’t hate me.
The
Tinytown library is a lot different from the NYPL and it contains very few BSC
books. Plus, it took several months for me to work up the courage to venture
inside. The people there… talk to
you. It’s very awkward, if you believe, like me, that libraries, and indeed
most public spaces, should be spaces of silence. They’re… friendly. It’s weird. Check-out lady, I don’t know you from Adam. I
don’t need your views on the county fair. They’re… kind of slow and
inefficient. (Must be all that talking.)
So,
yeah, I’m pretty sure I’m known around here as “That bitch from New York.” But
you know what? I’m okay with that label, because I’m pretty sure a certain Ms.
Stacey McGill was also known by that moniker. Of course, lucky duck that she
was, she eventually got to return.
Okay
then! All that said, we’re diving back in with Super Special #8: Baby-sitters
at Shadow Lake. I have reread this one many times. It’s long been one of my
favorites, but until this read-through, I never took the time to pinpoint
exactly why. It’s got all sorts of great stuff: sappy Stacey/Sam (Stam?
Samcey?) moments, everyone treating Mallory like the dipshit she is, Dawn
freaking out about ghosts, and minimal Mary Freakin’ Anne. Most importantly,
everyone in this book is hysterically bitchy to each other. It’s phenomenal.
So
Watson gets a letter from his ostensibly long-lost aunt and uncle with whom he
used to spend summers at their cabin on Shadow Lake. Right off the bat I think
there’s something weird about this, because the aunt (whose letter is written
out as a prologue, and may I just say, she has lovely handwriting.) is all
“Your uncle and I hope to meet Karen, Andrew, your new wife, and her children…
We want to see what the boy we remember has become.” Well Aunt Faith, for
starters, he’s become a millionaire. But if he’s that important to you, why
haven’t you seen him since he was twelve? Were you not at either of his
weddings? You only live in Pennsylvania, and you don’t seem to be particularly
infirm, even if you are re-evaluating your will. Anyway, this is another
example of me getting hung up on the first two pages of the book when there’s
so much more goodness to come, so long story short: Aunt Faith and Uncle
Pierson want to leave Watson their summer cabin on Shadow Lake in the mountains
of western Massachusetts (there are mountains
in Massachusetts? My geography knowledge is further evidence of the decline of
America’s schools) when they die, but only if he wants it. They suggest that he
take his family on a vacation there to see if they like it.
So
Watson not only takes his family, but 10 of his children’s nearest and dearest
friends, including all six BSC-ers and 2 friends each for David Michael and The
Insufferable Karen Brewer. Luckily, this
cabin sleeps 20-some people.
