i stumbled on this the other day and i can think of no good reason for sticking it here except that i read it when i was a child, that i read very few picture books as a child which gives it a particular resonance, because it's still rather wonderful and therefore seemed to demand some small celebration. you're supposed to say that this kind of thing brings back all kinds of memories. but this doesn't bring back any memories at all. it just resurfaces, still shining, still gloriously itself.
and now, of course, i'm able to google racey helps.