[MUSIC]
Chapter one, Beezus and her little sister.
Beatrice Quimby's biggest problem
was her little sister Ramona.
Beatrice, or Beezus as everyone
called her because that was what
Ramona had called her when
she first learned to talk,
knew other nine year old girls who had
little sisters who went to nursery school.
But she did not know anyone with
a little sister like Ramona.
Beezus felt that the biggest trouble
with four year old Ramona was
that she was just playing exasperating.
If Ramona drank lemonade through a straw,
she blew into the straw as hard as
she could to see what would happen.
If she played with her finger
paints in the front yard,
she wiped her hands on the neighbor's cat.
That was the exasperating
sort of thing Ramona did.
And then there was the way she
behaved about her favorite book.
It all began one afternoon after
school when Beezus was sitting in
her father's big chair, embroidering
a laughing teakettle on a potholder for
one of her aunt's for Christmas.
She was trying to embroider this one
neatly because she planned to give it to
Aunt Beatrice, who was Mother’s younger
sister and Beezus's most special aunt.
With gray thread Beezus carefully
outlined the steam coming
from the tea kettle’s spout.
And thought about her pretty young
aunt who was always so gay and so
understanding.
No wonder she was
Mother’s favorite sister.
Beezus hoped to be exactly like
Aunt Beatrice when she grew up.
She wanted to be a fourth grade teacher
and drive a yellow convertible.
And live in an apartment
house with an elevator and
a buzzer that opened the front door.
Because she was named after Aunt Beatrice,
Beezus felt she might be
like her in other ways too.
While Beezus was sewing, Ramona,
holding a mouth organ in her teeth,
was riding around the living
room on her tricycle.
Since she needed both hands to steer
the tricycle she could blow in and
out on only one note.
This made the harmonica sound
as if it were groaning dear,
dear over and over again.
Beezus tried to pay no attention, she tied
a small knot in the end of a piece of
red thread to embroider the tea
kettle’s laughing mouth.
Conceal a knot as you would a secret,
grandmother always said.
Inhaling and exhaling into her mouth
organ, Ramona closed her eyes, and
tried to pedal around the coffee
table without looking.
Ramona, cried Beezus,
watch where you're going.
When Ramona crashed into the coffee
table she opened her eyes again.
Dear, dear, moaned the harmonica.
Around and around pedaled Ramona,
inhaling and exhaling.
Beezus looked up from her potholder,
Ramona,
why don't you play with Bendix for awhile?
Bendix was Ramona's favorite doll,
Ramona thought Bendix was the most
beautiful name in the world.
Ramona took the harmonica
out of her mouth.
No, she said, read my Scoopy book to me.
Ramona, not Scoopy, protested Beezus,
we’ve read Scoopy so many times.
Instead of answering Ramona put her
harmonica between her teeth again,
and peddled around the room,
inhaling and exhaling.
Beezus had to lift up her feet
every time Ramona rode by.
The knot in Beezus’s thread pulled
through the material of her potholder and
she gave up trying to conceal it as she
would a secret and tied a bigger knot.
Finally, tired of trying to keep her feet
out of Ramona’s way she put down her
embroidery.
All right, Ramona, she said, if I read
about Scoopy will you stop riding your
bicycle around the living room and
making so much noise?
Yes, said Ramona and
climbed off her tricycle.
She ran into the bedroom she shared with
Beezus and returned with a battered,
dogeared, sticky book,
which she handed to Beezus.
Then she climbed into the big chair
beside Beezus and waited expectantly.
Reflecting that Ramona always
managed to get her own way,
Beezus gingerly took the book and looked
at it with a feeling of great dislike.
It was called The Littlest Steam Shovel,
on the cover was
a picture of a steam shovel with
big tears coming out of its eyes.
How could a steam shovel have eyes,
Beezus thought.
And scarcely looking at the words began,
for what seemed like the hundredth or
maybe the thousandth time, once there
was a little steam shovel named Scoopy.
One day Scoopy said, I do not want to be
a steam shovel, I want to be a bulldozer.
You skipped, interrupted Ramona.
No, I didn't, said Beezus.
Yes, you did, insisted Ramona.
You're supposed to say,
I want to be a big bulldozer.
All right, said Beezus crossly.
I want to be a big bulldozer.
Ramona smiled contentedly and
Beezus continued reading.
Grr, said Scoopy,
doing his best to sound like a bulldozer.
Beezus read on through Scoopy's
failure to be a bulldozer,
she read about Scoopy's
wanting to be a trolley bus.
Beep beep, honked Ramona.
A locomotive.
Ahoy, ahoy, wailed Ramona.
And a pile driver.
Glug, glug, shouted Ramona.
Beezus was glad when she finally
reached the end of the story and
Scoopy learned it was best for
little steam shovels to be steam shovels.
There, she said with relief and
close the book,
she always felt foolish trying
to make noises like machinery.
Clunk, clunk, yelled Ramona,
jumping down from the chair.
She pulled her harmonica out of
the pocket of her overalls and
climbed on her tricycle.
Dear, dear, she inhaled and exhaled.
Ramona, cried Beezus, you promised
you’d stop if I read Scoopy to you.
I did stop, said Ramona when she had
taken the harmonica out of her mouth.
Now, read it again.
Ramona Geraldine Quimby,
Beezus began and stopped.
It was useless to argue with Ramona,
she wouldn't pay any attention.
Why do you like that story anyway,
Beezus asked,
steam shovels can't talk and I feel
silly trying to make all those noises.
I don't, said Ramona and wailed,
[SOUND] with great feeling before she
put her harmonica back in her mouth.
Beezus watched her little sister pedal
furiously around the living room,
inhaling and exhaling.
Why did you have to like a book
about a steam shovel anyway?
Girls weren't supposed to like machinery,
why couldn't she likes something quiet,
like Peter Rabbit?
Mother, who had bought The Littlest
Steam Shovel at the supermarket to
keep Ramona quiet while she
shopped one afternoon, was so
tired of Scoopy that she always managed
to be too busy to read to Ramona.
Father came right out and said he was
fed up with frustrated steam shovels and
he would not read that book to Ramona.
And, furthermore, no one else was to read
it to her while he was in the house.
And that was that.
So only Beezus was left
to read Scoopy to Ramona.
Plainly, something had to be done and
it was up to Beezus to do it, but what?
Arguing with Ramona was a waste of time so
was appealing to her better nature.
The best thing to do with Ramona,
Beezus had learned
was to think up something to take the
place of whatever her mind was fixed upon.
And what could take the place
of the littlest steam shovel?
Another book, of course,
a better book, and
the place to find it was
certainly the library.
Ramona, how would you like me to take you
to the library to find a different book?
Beezus asked.
She really enjoyed taking Ramona places.
Which of course, was quite different
from wanting to go someplace herself and
having Ramona insist on tagging along.
For a moment, Ramona was undecided.
Plainly she was torn between wanting the
littlest steam shovel read aloud again,
and the pleasure of going out with Beezus.
Okay, she agreed at last.
Get your sweater while I tell mother,
said Beezus.
Gluck, gluck, shouted Ramona happily.
When Ramona appeared with her sweater,
Beezus stared at her in dismay.
No, she thought,
she can't wear those to the library.
On her head,
Ramona wore a circle of cardboard
with two long paper ears attached.
The insides of the ears were
colored with pink crayon,
Ramona's work at nursery school.
I'm the Easter Bunny, announced Ramona.
Mother, well Beezus, you aren't gonna let
her wear those awful ears to the library?
Why, I don't see why not?
Mother sounded surprised that Beezus
should object to Ramon's ears.
They look so silly, whoever heard
of an Easter Bunny in September?
Beezus complained as Ramona hopped up and
down to make her ears flop.
I just hope we don't meet anybody we know,
Beezus thought as they
started out the front door.
But the girls had no sooner left
the house when they saw Mrs.
Wisser, a lady who lived in the next
block coming toward them with a friend.
It was too late to turn back.
Mrs. Wisser had seen them and was waving.
Well, hello there Beatrice, Mrs.
Wisser said when they met.
I see you have a dear little
bunny with you today.
Yes, beezus didn't know what else to say.
Ramona obligingly hopped up and
down to make her ears flop.
Mrs. Wisser said to her friend,
as if Jesus and
Ramona couldn't hear, isn't she adorable?
Both children knew whom Mrs.
Wisser was talking about.
If she had been talking about Beezus, she
would have said something quite different.
Such a nice girl, probably,
a sweet child, perhaps, adorable, never.
Just look at those eyes, said Mrs. Wisser.
Ramona beamed, she knew whose eyes they
were talking about, Beezus knew too,
but she didn't care.
Mother said blue eyes were
just as pretty as brown.
Mrs. Wisser leaned over to Ramona,
what color are your eyes sweetheart?
She asked.
Brown and white, said Ramona promptly.
Brown and white eyes, exclaimed
the friend, it isn't that cunning.
Beezus had thought it was
cunning the first time she heard
Ramona say it about a year ago.
Since then she had given up
trying to explain to Ramona
that she wasn't supposed to say
she had brown and white eyes,
because Ramona always answered,
my eyes are brown and white.
And Beezus had to admit that,
in a way, they were.
And what is the little bunny's name?
Asked Mrs. Wisser's friend.
My name is Ramona Geraldine Quimby,
answered Ramona, and
added generously,
my sister's name is Beezus.
Beezus, explained the lady,
what an odd name, is it French?
No, said Beezus, wishing as she so
often did that she had a more common
nickname like Betty or Patsy.
She explained as quickly as she could
how she happened to be called Beezus.
Ramona did not like to lose
the attention of her audience.
She hitched up the leg of her overalls and
raised her knee, see my scab,
she said proudly.
I fell down and hurt my knee and
it bled and bled.
Ramona, Beezus was horrified.
You aren't supposed to show
people your scabs, why?
Asked Ramona, that was one of the most
exacerbating things about Ramona.
She never seemed to understand
what she was not suppose to do.
It is a very nice scab, said Mrs.
Wisser's friend, but she did not look
as if she really thought it was nice.
Well, we must be going, said Mrs.Wisser.
Goodbye, Mrs. Wisser said Beezus politely,
and hopes that if they met
anyone else they knew she could somehow
managed to hide Ramona behind a bush.
Bye, bye Ramona, said Mrs. Wisser.
Goodbye, said Ramona.
And Beezus knew that she felt that
a girl who was four years old,
was too grown up to say bye bye.
Except for
holding Ramona's hand crossing streets,
Beezus lingered behind her the rest
of the way to the library.
She hoped that all
the people who stopped and
smiled at Ramona would not
think they were together.
When they reached the Glenwood
Branch Library, she said, Ramona,
wouldn't you like me to
carry your ears for you now?
No, said Ramona flatly, inside the library
Beezus hurried Ramona into the boys and
girls section and seated her on a little
chair in front of the picture books.
See Ramona she whispered, here is a book
about a duck wouldn't you like that?
No, said Ramona in a loud voice.
Beezus' face turned red with embarrassment
when everyone in the library looked at
Ramona's ears and smiled.
Shh, she whispered as Mrs.Greever,
the grown-ups librarian
frowned in their direction.
You're supposed to speak
quietly in the library.
Beezus selected another book.
Look Ramona, here's a funny story about a
kitten that falls into the goldfish bowl,
wouldn't you like that?
No, said Ramona in a loud whisper,
I want to find my own book.
If only Ms. Evans,
the children's librarian were there,
the would know how to select a book for
Ramona.
Beezus noticed Ms. Greever glance
disapprovingly in their direction,
while the other grown ups
watched Ramona and smiled.
All right, you can look,
Beezus agreed to keep Ramona quiet.
I'll go find a book for myself.
When Beezus has selected her book, she
returned to the picture book section where
she found Ramona sitting on the bench with
both arms clasped around a big flat book.
I found my book, she said and
held it up for Beezus to see.
On the cover was a picture of a steam
shovel with it's jaws full of rocks.
The title was Big Steve the Steam Shovel.
Ramona, whispered Beezus in dismay.
You don't want that book.
I don't know,
insisted Ramona forgetting to whisper.
You tell me I could pick out my own book,
under the disapproving stare of Ms.
Greever, Beezus gave up.
Ramona was right, Beezus look with
distaste of the big orange colored
book and it's stout library binding.
At least it will be due in two weeks.
But Beezus did not feel very happy
at the thought of two more weeks of
steam shovels, and it just went to show
how Ramona always got her own way.
Beezus took her book and
Ramona's to Ms. Greever's desk.
Is this where you pay for the books?
Asked Ramona.
We don't have to pay for
the books, said Beezus.
Are you gonna charge them?
Ramona asked.
Beezus pulled her library card
out of her sweater pocket.
I show this card to the lady and
she lets us keep the books for two weeks.
A library isn't like a store
where you buy things.
>> Ramona looked as if
she did not understand.
>> I want a card, she said.
>> You have to be able to write your own
name before you can have a library card,
Beezus explained.
>> I can write my name, said Ramona.
>> Ramona, said Beezus, you can't either.
>> Perhaps she really does know
how to write her name, said Ms.
Griever as she took
a card out of her desk.
>> Beezus watched doubtfully while Ms.
Griever asked Ramona her name and age.
Then the librarian asked Ramona
what her father's occupation was.
When Ramona didn't understand, she asked,
>> What kind of work does your father do?
>> He mows the lawn, said Ramona promptly.
>> The librarian laughed.
>> I mean how does he earn his living?
>> Somehow Beezus did not like to have Ms.
Griever laugh at her little sister.
After all, how could Ramona be
expected to know what Father did?
>> He works for the Pacific Gas and
Electric Company,
Beezus told the librarian.
>> Ms. Griever wrote this down on the card
and shoved it across the desk to Ramona.
>> Write your name on this line,
she directed.
>> Nothing daunted, Ramona grasped
the pencil in her fist and began to write.
She bore down so hard that the tip
snapped off the lead, but she wrote on.
When she laid down the pencil
Beezus picked up the card
to see what she had written.
The line on the card was filled
with what looked like a row of
very pointy mountains.
Some mountains were
crossed like the letter T,
some were dotted like the letter I.
>> That's my name, said Ramona proudly.
>> That's just scribbling,
Beezus told her.
>> It is too my name,
insisted Ramona while Ms.
Griever quietly dropped
the card into the waste basket.
I watch you write and I know how.
>> Here, Ramona, you can hold my card,
Beezus tried to be comforting.
You can pretend it's yours.
>> Ramona brightened at this and Ms.
Griever checked out
the books on Beezus's card.
As soon as they got home, Ramona demanded,
>> Read my new book to me.
>> And so Beezus began.
>> Big Steve was a steam shovel.
He was the biggest steam
shovel in the whole city.
>> When she finished
the book she had to admit,
she liked Big Steve better than Scooby.
His only sound effects were tooting and
growling.
He tooted and
growled in big letters on every page.
Big Steve did not shed tears or
want to be a pile driver.
He worked hard at being a steam shovel.
And by the end of the book, Beezus had
learned a lot about steam shovels.
Unfortunately, she did not want
to learn about steam shovels.
Well, she guessed she could
stand two weeks of Big Steve.
>> Read it again,
said Ramona enthusiastically.
I like big Steve!
He's better than Scooby.
>> How would you like me to show you how
to really write your name?, Beezus asked,
hoping to divert Ramona
from steam shovels.
>> Okay, agreed, Ramona.
>> Beezus found pencil and
paper and wrote Ramona in large,
careful letters across
the top of the paper.
Ramona studied it critically.
>> I don't like it, she said at last.
>> But that's the way your name
is spelled, Beezus explained.
>> You didn't make dots and
lines, said Ramona.
>> Seizing the pencil, she wrote another
jagged line of dotted i's and crossed T's.
>> But Ramona, you don't understand,
Beezus took the pencil and
wrote her own name on the paper.
You've seen me right Beatrice, which
has an I and a T in it, see, like that.
You don't have an I or a T in your name
because it isn't spelled that way.
>> Ramona looked skeptical.
She grabbed the pencil again and
wrote more I's and T's with a flourish.
>> That's my name because I like it,
she announced.
I like to make dots and lines.
>> Lying flat on her stomach on the floor,
she proceeded to fill
the paper with I's and T's.
>> But Ramona, nobody's name is
spelled with just, Beezus stopped.
>> What was the use?
Trying to explain spelling and
writing to Ramona was too complicated.
Everything became difficult
when Ramona was around,
even an easy thing like taking
a book out of a library.
Well, if Ramona was happy thinking her
name was spelled with I's and T's,
she could go ahead and think it.
