WHEN you go to the Dallas Theater Center's production of "Hank Williams: Lost Highway"--and you WILL go because the CollageMama told you to whether you like country music or not--be sure to look at the art in the Kalita Humphreys' lobby. The display of works from Ellen Frances Tuchman's Matchbook series are tiny, yet appropriate complements for the play. The pieces are vintage matchbook covers centered over beaded and painted grid surfaces of vellum. Matchbooks from the road certainly fit a play about Hank's band on tour in the early Fifties. The beaded surfaces hint of the rhinestone cowboy costumes of the Grand Ole Opry.
Hank Williams, Sr., is in the Rock and Roll Hall of Fame, so don't you be whining about country music. His songs are roots of rock music, and they are so admirably performed in the DTC show it's easy to forget you aren't really hearing Hank himself.
4/15/06
Religion on the field and in the school
My students were discussing religion during art class, which isn't surprising on Maundy Thursday and Passover. It was the turns the discussion took that were surprising. Two girls were chatting:
1st girl "What school do you go to?"
2nd girl "________ Episcopal School."
1st girl "________, a basketball school?," with a mixture of surprise and envy.
(If you are having trouble understanding the conversation, start over and read it aloud.)
2nd girl "Yes, ________ Episcopal."
1st girl "What letter does it start with?," as she begins drawing her version of a school crest for the 2nd girl.
(Things go straight to "Who's on first?" from there.)
1st girl writes "___ A B S" for the school letters on the crest.
2nd girl "It's ___ E S."
I add to the confusion by spelling E-P-I-S-C-O-P-A-L aloud.
Frustrated, but ready to draw the mascot for "_____, A Basketball School" on the crest, first girl asks "What animal does your school team worship? Because my team worships horses."
2nd girl "My team worships panthers."
3rd child "My soccer team worships sharks, except we are forsworn against false idols."
I add "I think it is time to clean up now!"
1st girl "What school do you go to?"
2nd girl "________ Episcopal School."
1st girl "________, a basketball school?," with a mixture of surprise and envy.
(If you are having trouble understanding the conversation, start over and read it aloud.)
2nd girl "Yes, ________ Episcopal."
1st girl "What letter does it start with?," as she begins drawing her version of a school crest for the 2nd girl.
(Things go straight to "Who's on first?" from there.)
1st girl writes "___ A B S" for the school letters on the crest.
2nd girl "It's ___ E S."
I add to the confusion by spelling E-P-I-S-C-O-P-A-L aloud.
Frustrated, but ready to draw the mascot for "_____, A Basketball School" on the crest, first girl asks "What animal does your school team worship? Because my team worships horses."
2nd girl "My team worships panthers."
3rd child "My soccer team worships sharks, except we are forsworn against false idols."
I add "I think it is time to clean up now!"
No use crying ...
...because I'm over it now. Thursday afternoon's word, I'm sorry to report, was sour milk. After hearing it used a couple hundred times in the space of an hour, everyone but the user was mightily sick of sour milk. We were all beginning to make faces that must have resembled the one the student's mother made when she found sour milk in her refrigerator.
In the second hour of class we had a new diversion. Mr. Sour Milk announced he had learned a "new not good word" at school, and he would be happy to whisper it to the other art students. The others were indeed interested, but I did not allow this transfer of strategic information. He wanted to give hints to the other kids, so he told them the not good word was an "onomatopoeia"! I have to love the dichotomy of the first grader who gets all excited about a new potty word, but who can use "onomatopoeia" in an off-hand and correct manner.
In the second hour of class we had a new diversion. Mr. Sour Milk announced he had learned a "new not good word" at school, and he would be happy to whisper it to the other art students. The others were indeed interested, but I did not allow this transfer of strategic information. He wanted to give hints to the other kids, so he told them the not good word was an "onomatopoeia"! I have to love the dichotomy of the first grader who gets all excited about a new potty word, but who can use "onomatopoeia" in an off-hand and correct manner.
4/14/06
The Green Bathrobe
There was a brief and shining moment when I felt like a princess. It was the minute when I unwrapped a gift and found a light green bathrobe of a soft, quilted fabric. I remember few details of the moment, but the color is imprinted in my consciousness as the transcending healing hue, more spring than mint.
Was I eight, nine, or maybe ten? Who gave me the gift? I don't know. What triggered my extremely positive reaction to the green bathrobe? Not a clue. Why, forty-plus years later do I send "good vibes" to a friend undergoing chemotherapy in exactly this shade of mental green?
Still choosing princess green clothes. It is a good color to waltz about in the spring. Princess Lettuce. Princess Asparagus. Princess Fern. Princess Pistachio Ice Cream. Young pouty lizard princes in silver-green ceremonial armor. Glass slippers, lime Jello, and grasshoppers.
Was I eight, nine, or maybe ten? Who gave me the gift? I don't know. What triggered my extremely positive reaction to the green bathrobe? Not a clue. Why, forty-plus years later do I send "good vibes" to a friend undergoing chemotherapy in exactly this shade of mental green?
Still choosing princess green clothes. It is a good color to waltz about in the spring. Princess Lettuce. Princess Asparagus. Princess Fern. Princess Pistachio Ice Cream. Young pouty lizard princes in silver-green ceremonial armor. Glass slippers, lime Jello, and grasshoppers.
Why did the turkey cross the road?
The image flashed through my mind again. A wild turkey racing across highway 169 just north of the huge Amazon.com distribution center near Coffeyville, Kansas in mid-March. What was it thinking? Was something chasing it? Black/green feathers shining under a bright blue sky. Yellow forsythia in bloom near the farmhouse. Flagman waving just one direction of traffic through at a time. My mind an old school film projector that clicks as the reels turn. Turkey running fence flashing sun black green blue yellow construction orange slow moving traffic fast moving turkey.
This is a poor reproduction of an old friend from the Sheldon Gallery's permanent collection. I was lucky to find Theordore Wendel's 1886 oil, "Girl with Turkeys, Giverny" on display last month. The Sheldon had a delightful grouping in the Rohman Family Galleries, including one room full of Robert Henri's portraits.
For fifteen years the Sheldon sculpture garden has been the site for "Jazz In June", a free series of concerts on Tuesday evening. It's been many years since I was in Lincoln in the month of June, but an old "Jazz In June" t-shirt is a star in my art classroom. It features a picture of a mosquito playing a trumpet. Ever since I put "the mosquito shirt" in the smock box a few years back, it's been easier to get kids to put on smocks. It's now a game to see who ends up with "the mosquito shirt," and other shirts have also acquired titles and status.
This is a poor reproduction of an old friend from the Sheldon Gallery's permanent collection. I was lucky to find Theordore Wendel's 1886 oil, "Girl with Turkeys, Giverny" on display last month. The Sheldon had a delightful grouping in the Rohman Family Galleries, including one room full of Robert Henri's portraits.
For fifteen years the Sheldon sculpture garden has been the site for "Jazz In June", a free series of concerts on Tuesday evening. It's been many years since I was in Lincoln in the month of June, but an old "Jazz In June" t-shirt is a star in my art classroom. It features a picture of a mosquito playing a trumpet. Ever since I put "the mosquito shirt" in the smock box a few years back, it's been easier to get kids to put on smocks. It's now a game to see who ends up with "the mosquito shirt," and other shirts have also acquired titles and status.
Real authors wear boots
I may never be a real author, and I'm sure I'll never play one on tv. Still, I'm interested in the lives and secrets of success for writers. Naturally I was thrilled to hear in the news recently about the DaVinci Code author's website. What advice would Dan Brown have for this blogger?
Give us three "Good to Know" facts about you. Be creative. Tell us about your first job, the inspiration for your writing, any fun details that would enliven your page. If I'm not at my desk by 4:00 A.M., I feel like I'm missing my most productive hours. In addition to starting early, I keep an antique hour glass on my desk and every hour break briefly to do pushups, sit-ups, and some quick stretches. I find this helps keep the blood (and ideas) flowing. I'm also a big fan of gravity boots. Hanging upside down seems to help me solve plot challenges by shifting my entire perspective.
From Dan Brown's official website.
Okay, Dan, let me rephrase the question. Give us three "Good to Know" facts about you that won't make us gag. Gravity boots are just so, so, so 1980's, Dan! I expect to see dark wood paneling, red shag carpet, and avocado green crockpots full of melted Velveeta, RoTel tomatoes, and Old El Paso refried beans in those photos of basement rec rooms with a gravity boot inversion table. I checked the claims about Spyder Gravity Boots:
Spyder Gravity Boots Used by professional athletes, personal sport trainers, medical doctors, physical therapists, chiropractors, massage therapists.
As yet it doesn't mention Dan Brown, although one might think the inversion fitness folks would want to jump on the DaVinci Code bandwagon with everyone else. I don't think Dan's advice will be much help to me. I can't afford an inversion table, but I did pick up an inversion poodle for $1.99 at World Market today. I'm going to set my chicken kitchen timer for one hour, then do some (3) push-ups and some (7) sit-ups. I'll hang up my inversion poodle to get the ideas flowing. I might have to make some of that last millennium bean dip, though.
Give us three "Good to Know" facts about you. Be creative. Tell us about your first job, the inspiration for your writing, any fun details that would enliven your page. If I'm not at my desk by 4:00 A.M., I feel like I'm missing my most productive hours. In addition to starting early, I keep an antique hour glass on my desk and every hour break briefly to do pushups, sit-ups, and some quick stretches. I find this helps keep the blood (and ideas) flowing. I'm also a big fan of gravity boots. Hanging upside down seems to help me solve plot challenges by shifting my entire perspective.
From Dan Brown's official website.
Okay, Dan, let me rephrase the question. Give us three "Good to Know" facts about you that won't make us gag. Gravity boots are just so, so, so 1980's, Dan! I expect to see dark wood paneling, red shag carpet, and avocado green crockpots full of melted Velveeta, RoTel tomatoes, and Old El Paso refried beans in those photos of basement rec rooms with a gravity boot inversion table. I checked the claims about Spyder Gravity Boots:
Spyder Gravity Boots Used by professional athletes, personal sport trainers, medical doctors, physical therapists, chiropractors, massage therapists.
As yet it doesn't mention Dan Brown, although one might think the inversion fitness folks would want to jump on the DaVinci Code bandwagon with everyone else. I don't think Dan's advice will be much help to me. I can't afford an inversion table, but I did pick up an inversion poodle for $1.99 at World Market today. I'm going to set my chicken kitchen timer for one hour, then do some (3) push-ups and some (7) sit-ups. I'll hang up my inversion poodle to get the ideas flowing. I might have to make some of that last millennium bean dip, though.
4/12/06
Hansel and Griddish
I've been brainstorming and writing lesson plans related to the theme of maps, so it was funny that I got lost Sunday afternoon. I was driving to the Dallas Arboretum, a place I've been several times over the fifteen years I've lived in Plano. This time, though, I was taking a different route from a different starting point. I was following posted directional signs instead of trusting my gut directional guidance instincts (the low tech GDGI system in my Buick). A sign to turn right from N. Buckner Blvd. onto Garland Rd. was missing, so I went on straight ahead into the unknown territory of East Dallas.
Hoping to get back to where I should have turned, I hung a Ralph on Ferguson Road, the first street name I recognized. Then I hung another Ralph onto East R. L. Thornton Expressway. I've listened to traffic update folks in helicopters for fifteen years without ever linking a place to the highway names.
My goal was to hang another Ralph from R. L. Thornton onto the N. Central Expressway a.k.a. "75" so that I could hang yet another Ralph onto Mockingbird Lane to eventually find the Arboretum on Garland Road. I wasn't thinking at that point about the one hundred thousand plus people headed to the immigration reform rally in downtown Dallas via R. L. Thornton or 75. Big oops!
It was impressive to look down from the elevated interchange and see all the cars and all the gathering marchers dressed in white shirts. Immigration policy is extremely complicated, so I worry that it is being tackled by the current Congress and administration. No amount of grids, maps, and bread crumbs can magically solve this human and economic problem. Maybe I should loan out my Buick's GDGI system.
Dallas freeways frequently have two names, and some have more. It makes those radio morning commute reports slightly poetic and quite distracting. It's a rare traffic update when I can stay focused long enough to hear the conditions on the southbound North Central. When I hear "C. F. Hawn," I think Goldie Hawn on Laugh-In. "Julius Schepps Freeway" always registers as Julia Child's Freeway. "Westbound LBJ" provokes If congested I will not move. If irritated I will not merge. Loop 12's multiple monikers (Northwest Highway, Buckner, Walton Walker Blvd., Ledbetter) are like mental Yahtzee dice spilling out in different combinations, made worse when mixed with Woodall Rodgers , R. L. Thornton, Stemmons, Marvin D. Love, George Bush, Tom Landry, The Tollway, and The Canyon.
You think the High Five is a complicated interchange? Try untangling Marvin Gaye**, Roy Rodgers, Will Rogers, Keebler elves, billy goats, Bear Bryant*, GHWB ralphing on the Japanese prime minister, Thornton Wilder's "Our Town", Hitchcock's "North By Northwest", stamens and pistols, and the untethered punchline to a long forgotten joke, "Would I? Would I?" Julia Childs would add a little more wine to the sauce at this point.
If the radio helicopter lady tells me that traffic is moving slowly through The Canyon, I'll drift into Joni Mitchell memories about big yellow taxis and "Ladies of the Canyon." Thank heaven for the Arboretum in this paved paradise!
Remember, four Ralphs do make one right.
*I get Bear and Tom Landry mixed up. Didn't one of them wear a hat?
**Okay, I get Barry White, Marvin Gaye, Isaac Hayes, and Al Green mixed up when the helicopter lady reports on traffic on 121 in Grapevine.
4/11/06
Tulips optional
The Dallas Arboretum's tulips lost their heads too early for the annual Dallas Blooms event, but Dallas went right on blooming. Sunday was that one day of absolutely perfect spring weather that Dallas is allotted annually, and a glimpse of the azaleas at the Masters in Augusta on the tube prodded me out to see the real thing..
The arboretum crowd strolled and strollered about speaking a musical array of languages, and wearing costumes as lovely as the garden beds. A person couldn't walk too fast lest they accidentally step into someone's photo shot. It seemed like everyone was taking a picture of someone or some flower. Rather than being an annoyance, everyone seemed to appreciate the opportunity to slow down, be courteous, and spend a moment being more observant.
I didn't see any dogs taking pictures, but people were taking pictures of their dogs by the snapdragons. Brides, their supportive entourages holding veils and dry-cleaner bags back behind the hedge, were being professionally photographed and causing major botanical detours. A cheerleader was posing all perky+plus by the cascading water curtain, while her photo shoot was interrupted by soggy kids playing tag through the fountains. Seersucker sunsuited babies were plunked down in every patch of color anchored by soggy Huggies while grandmothers performed ancient photo-enhancing say-cheese-&-watch-the-birdie dances.
An entire drill team was posing on the sloping lawn of the DeGolyer House next to that huge old live oak tree. I watched for awhile, but they didn't do any Kilgore Rangerette routines. Elderly brown women with dried apple faces and serene expressions flowed by in fabulous floral saris . Children in embroidered and sequined traditional ethnic costumes tried hard to be photogenic hoping to be rewarded with a refreshing run through the frog fountain.
I didn't see many young ladies posing for quinceanas portraits, but I saw girls in every possible pastel Easter dress sitting in the poppy bed waiting while their little brother wiped his nose on the sleeve of his sailor suit.
Best of all were the young people posing for engagement photos. Slender young girls posed in mid-kiss under wisteria-laden garden arches while pudgy young men wondered how in the hey-ho they got into this situation that required delicate fish kisses in front of hundreds of people. When they proposed marriage they probably weren't thinking of spending Sunday afternoons wearing a lemon sherbet yellow golf shirt in the very public gardens, right?
The arboretum crowd strolled and strollered about speaking a musical array of languages, and wearing costumes as lovely as the garden beds. A person couldn't walk too fast lest they accidentally step into someone's photo shot. It seemed like everyone was taking a picture of someone or some flower. Rather than being an annoyance, everyone seemed to appreciate the opportunity to slow down, be courteous, and spend a moment being more observant.
I didn't see any dogs taking pictures, but people were taking pictures of their dogs by the snapdragons. Brides, their supportive entourages holding veils and dry-cleaner bags back behind the hedge, were being professionally photographed and causing major botanical detours. A cheerleader was posing all perky+plus by the cascading water curtain, while her photo shoot was interrupted by soggy kids playing tag through the fountains. Seersucker sunsuited babies were plunked down in every patch of color anchored by soggy Huggies while grandmothers performed ancient photo-enhancing say-cheese-&-watch-the-birdie dances.
An entire drill team was posing on the sloping lawn of the DeGolyer House next to that huge old live oak tree. I watched for awhile, but they didn't do any Kilgore Rangerette routines. Elderly brown women with dried apple faces and serene expressions flowed by in fabulous floral saris . Children in embroidered and sequined traditional ethnic costumes tried hard to be photogenic hoping to be rewarded with a refreshing run through the frog fountain.
I didn't see many young ladies posing for quinceanas portraits, but I saw girls in every possible pastel Easter dress sitting in the poppy bed waiting while their little brother wiped his nose on the sleeve of his sailor suit.
Best of all were the young people posing for engagement photos. Slender young girls posed in mid-kiss under wisteria-laden garden arches while pudgy young men wondered how in the hey-ho they got into this situation that required delicate fish kisses in front of hundreds of people. When they proposed marriage they probably weren't thinking of spending Sunday afternoons wearing a lemon sherbet yellow golf shirt in the very public gardens, right?
4/10/06
Skylark on the silver screen
I've lost my bet. Buick Skylarks have been in movies according to the Internet Movie Car Database. A '64 Skylark appeared in My Cousin Vinny in 1992. A Skylark of unknown vintage appeared in Nine To Five in 1980, which fits as the Skylark is the sort of car for getting a single mom to her job. Both of these Skylarks were older than my 1996, which isn't a bad car, but lacks star quality and a Pepsodent smile.
Dionne Warwick, Burt Bacharach, Hal David, and I have to leave now. We are buckling our seatbelts, and warming up our vocal chords. Join us! There's room for one more in the backseat:
Do you know the way to San Jose?
I’ve been away so long.
I may go wrong and lose my way.
Do you know the way to San Jose?
I’m going back to find
some peace of mind in San Jose.
L.A. is a great big freeway.
Put a hundred down and buy a car.
In a week, maybe two, they’ll make you a star
Weeks turn into years.
How quick they pass.
And all the stars that never were
Are parking cars and pumping gas
Do you know the way to San Jose?
They’ve got a lot of space.
there’ll be a place where I can stay
I was born and raised in San Jose
I’m going back to find
some peace of mind in San Jose.
Fame and fortune is a magnet.
It can pull you far away from home
With a dream in your heart you’re never alone.
Dreams turn into dust and blow away
And there you are without a friend
You pack your car and ride away
I’ve got lots of friends in San Jose
Do you know the way to San Jose?
Can’t wait to get back to San Jose.
Dionne Warwick, Burt Bacharach, Hal David, and I have to leave now. We are buckling our seatbelts, and warming up our vocal chords. Join us! There's room for one more in the backseat:
Do you know the way to San Jose?
I’ve been away so long.
I may go wrong and lose my way.
Do you know the way to San Jose?
I’m going back to find
some peace of mind in San Jose.
L.A. is a great big freeway.
Put a hundred down and buy a car.
In a week, maybe two, they’ll make you a star
Weeks turn into years.
How quick they pass.
And all the stars that never were
Are parking cars and pumping gas
Do you know the way to San Jose?
They’ve got a lot of space.
there’ll be a place where I can stay
I was born and raised in San Jose
I’m going back to find
some peace of mind in San Jose.
Fame and fortune is a magnet.
It can pull you far away from home
With a dream in your heart you’re never alone.
Dreams turn into dust and blow away
And there you are without a friend
You pack your car and ride away
I’ve got lots of friends in San Jose
Do you know the way to San Jose?
Can’t wait to get back to San Jose.
4/9/06
Elevator to the Gallows
When I drive the Buick up the North Central Expressway, after an evening at the Dallas Angelika Film Center, the Cosmic Cinematographer is not inspired. I imagine the Cosmic Cinematographer tinkering with the scene, the lighting, the atmospheric conditions, but still being dissatisfied. The technicolor film is tossed out in favor of black and white, and a light rain shower with some lightning is ordered . The dramatic High Five interchange loops and arcs overhead, but the '96 Skylark just won't work in this motion picture, no matter if I put improvised Miles or Coltrane in the cd player.
I bet no Buick Skylark has ever had a role in a feature motion picture. Not sure how to research this notion, and wonder if anyone know a good source for identifying the automobiles in movies.
Went to see "Elevator To the Gallows" at the Angelika this weekend with guy friends. Over coffee afterward we discussed the vehicles as much as the story and the 1957 film's powerful visual effects. I thought it would be easy to drive home in the Buick, do a bit of Googling, and find out about the cars in Louis Malle's first feature film. Alas, http://www.imbd.com/ doesn't list the cars with the stars. Shouldn't the credits read
Directed by Louis Malle; written by Noel Calef; starring Jeanne Moreau, a 1950 Chevrolet DeLuxe Styleline Convertible AND a 1956 silver Mercedes 300SL Gullwing?
I bet no Buick Skylark has ever had a role in a feature motion picture. Not sure how to research this notion, and wonder if anyone know a good source for identifying the automobiles in movies.
Went to see "Elevator To the Gallows" at the Angelika this weekend with guy friends. Over coffee afterward we discussed the vehicles as much as the story and the 1957 film's powerful visual effects. I thought it would be easy to drive home in the Buick, do a bit of Googling, and find out about the cars in Louis Malle's first feature film. Alas, http://www.imbd.com/ doesn't list the cars with the stars. Shouldn't the credits read
Directed by Louis Malle; written by Noel Calef; starring Jeanne Moreau, a 1950 Chevrolet DeLuxe Styleline Convertible AND a 1956 silver Mercedes 300SL Gullwing?
4/6/06
What happened to last Thursday's word?
Every Thursday I learn a new word from my student, and I try to post that word out there on the Itty Bitty cyber frontier ASAP so that we can all become more erudite (not to be confused with crudites*). No need for me to hog all the erudition for myself! You know how it goes straight to my thighs anyway... sorta like a chocolate cake donut with white frosting and sprinkles. More about that donut later.
Now, I appreciate your mounting sentiment that it is cruel to leave you hanging on this barbed hook, justa wigglin' and waitin' for the Thursday word, with baited breath, even! Last Thursday's word was approcreate.
Since I subscribe to the highest standards of bloggership, I must hold each Thursday's word of insight up to the bifocal lens of Visine scholarly research. Which means, basically, I Google to see if the word might have been previously discovered, check the Online Etymology Dictionary, and page through my favorite old American Heritage Dictionary. I don't look it up in my Funk and Wagnalls**, since I don't have one. Alas, this time the Thursday word had several Google hits. What if "approcreate" is some sort of asexual function of Martian sea slugs? Scouring the Web for illumination I find that "approcreate" is an adjective used primarily by homophobic teens, Audi owners, physics nerds with Tesla tuners, and secretaries of student government organizations.
"Is that approcreate behavior?" The kids are singing the Queen song that goes, "We will, we will, rock you!" They are replacing "rock" with every rhyming word and variation that exists, and you know what I mean. Sensing a small dose of radiated teacherly disapproval they mimic a teacherly tone to ask each other if their behavior is approcreate.
Reminds me of an apocryphal family story about a spelling bee in a one-room country school. "Spell fish," the teacher says. "Fish, B O X," replies the spelling student.
Besides all this vocabulary instruction, I have a helpful hint for you free of charge. If you ever have to calm a preschooler who has been injured, I suggest you calmly introduce the subject of donuts. Preschoolers have very firm opinions about donuts, and they are always glad to tell you those opinions even while they are having a scary major nosebleed. As they express their opinions, their mental image of The Perfect Donut overcomes their fear. Of course just discussing donuts for the time required to stop a nosebleed may make a grownup gain five pounds.
*crudites (kroo-dit-ta) pl.n. Cut raw vegetables, such as carrot sticks and pepper strips, served often with a dip as an appetizer. [French, pl. of crudite, rawness, from Old French crudite, from Latin cru-di-tas, indigestion, undigested food, from crud-us, raw; see crude.] The American Heritage® Dictionary of the English Language, Fourth Edition copyright ©2000 by Houghton Mifflin Company. Updated in 2003. Published by Houghton Mifflin Company. All rights reserved. See also Rabbit food
**One of the catch phrases on the late '60s American television show Rowan & Martin's Laugh-In was: "Look that up in your Funk and Wagnalls". My Thursday students would fit right in with Goldie Hawn, Arte Johnson, Ruth Buzzi, JoAnne Worley, Judy Carne, Lily Tomlin, Henry Gibson, Flip Wilson, and Gary Owens.
Now, I appreciate your mounting sentiment that it is cruel to leave you hanging on this barbed hook, justa wigglin' and waitin' for the Thursday word, with baited breath, even! Last Thursday's word was approcreate.
Since I subscribe to the highest standards of bloggership, I must hold each Thursday's word of insight up to the bifocal lens of Visine scholarly research. Which means, basically, I Google to see if the word might have been previously discovered, check the Online Etymology Dictionary, and page through my favorite old American Heritage Dictionary. I don't look it up in my Funk and Wagnalls**, since I don't have one. Alas, this time the Thursday word had several Google hits. What if "approcreate" is some sort of asexual function of Martian sea slugs? Scouring the Web for illumination I find that "approcreate" is an adjective used primarily by homophobic teens, Audi owners, physics nerds with Tesla tuners, and secretaries of student government organizations.
"Is that approcreate behavior?" The kids are singing the Queen song that goes, "We will, we will, rock you!" They are replacing "rock" with every rhyming word and variation that exists, and you know what I mean. Sensing a small dose of radiated teacherly disapproval they mimic a teacherly tone to ask each other if their behavior is approcreate.
Reminds me of an apocryphal family story about a spelling bee in a one-room country school. "Spell fish," the teacher says. "Fish, B O X," replies the spelling student.
Besides all this vocabulary instruction, I have a helpful hint for you free of charge. If you ever have to calm a preschooler who has been injured, I suggest you calmly introduce the subject of donuts. Preschoolers have very firm opinions about donuts, and they are always glad to tell you those opinions even while they are having a scary major nosebleed. As they express their opinions, their mental image of The Perfect Donut overcomes their fear. Of course just discussing donuts for the time required to stop a nosebleed may make a grownup gain five pounds.
*crudites (kroo-dit-ta) pl.n. Cut raw vegetables, such as carrot sticks and pepper strips, served often with a dip as an appetizer. [French, pl. of crudite, rawness, from Old French crudite, from Latin cru-di-tas, indigestion, undigested food, from crud-us, raw; see crude.] The American Heritage® Dictionary of the English Language, Fourth Edition copyright ©2000 by Houghton Mifflin Company. Updated in 2003. Published by Houghton Mifflin Company. All rights reserved. See also Rabbit food
**One of the catch phrases on the late '60s American television show Rowan & Martin's Laugh-In was: "Look that up in your Funk and Wagnalls". My Thursday students would fit right in with Goldie Hawn, Arte Johnson, Ruth Buzzi, JoAnne Worley, Judy Carne, Lily Tomlin, Henry Gibson, Flip Wilson, and Gary Owens.
4/4/06
Why Can't You Behave?
My Mental Barbie started singing Cole Porter's song from the musical, "Kiss Me Kate" during the morning class. Of course, Mental Barbie (MB) was wearing that long black sequined dress! MB always wears the most fabulous outfits, often with above-the-elbow gloves, even while teaching preschool art. MB's voice was that of Lisa Kirk from the original Broadway "Kiss Me Kate" cast at Shubert Theatre in 1951. True, I wasn't born then, but neither was MB. This information is from the portal for all things Porter, The Cole Porter Reference Guide:
Why can't you behave?
Oh, why can't you behave?
After all the things you told me,
And the promises that you gave,
Oh, why can't you behave?
Classroom management is always a challenge, so it is comforting to have a Mental Barbie with that vintage wire stand to hold me up in times of trouble. As if I didn't feel old enough already, Paul McCartney is on the cover of AARP Magazine! Will you still need me? Will you still feed me? 64?????
When I find myself in times of trouble
Mental Barbie comes to me
Speaking words of wisdom, let it be.
And in my hour of darkness
She is standing right in front of me
Speaking words of wisdom, let it be.
Let it be, let it be.
Why can't you behave?
Oh, why can't you behave?
After all the things you told me,
And the promises that you gave,
Oh, why can't you behave?
Classroom management is always a challenge, so it is comforting to have a Mental Barbie with that vintage wire stand to hold me up in times of trouble. As if I didn't feel old enough already, Paul McCartney is on the cover of AARP Magazine! Will you still need me? Will you still feed me? 64?????
When I find myself in times of trouble
Mental Barbie comes to me
Speaking words of wisdom, let it be.
And in my hour of darkness
She is standing right in front of me
Speaking words of wisdom, let it be.
Let it be, let it be.
4/3/06
Imagine you are a playwright
It is easier for me to imagine being a crocodile or a green anole lizard for a day than to imagine being a playwright for even an hour. After I blogged the possibility about Dad's breakfast dreams yesterday, a friend introduced me to a stranger as, "This is Nancy. She's a playwright." What a daunting concept. What a joke. Ah, but what a dare.
My students have been making lizard art after listening to Joanne Ryder's fine book, Lizard In the Sunabout becoming an anole for a day. Since I moved with my sons into these condos nine years ago I've been a dedicated watcher of the anoles who also call the condominium complex home. The anoles have presented me with a this Power Point program to change my life at absolutely no charge:
Watching the lizards is a slow-down meditation for me, a time to connect with nature and spirit. Planning breakfast is my dad's daily devotion, although it is unlikely he would put it in those religious terms. Dreaming of planning breakfast is the night version of "praying incessantly" in J. D. Salinger's Franny and Zooey:
- Planning breakfast is embracing life as it is, not life as you expected.
- Planning breakfast is gratitude for Mother Earth's bounty and variety.
- Planning breakfast is starting each day with a disciplined, well-armed force aligned against the marauding guerillas of loneliness and grief.
- Planning breakfast is acknowledging the dominion of Father Time by synchronizing humble efforts to ready sausage, eggs, and toast so as to savor their perfection together.
- Planning breakfast is respecting the life's work of my mother to coordinate, nurture, nourish, and ease all our lives with great skill, responsibility, love, and patience every morning.
- Planning breakfast is honoring the generations before us by savoring the smells and flavors of remembered percolated coffee and dishwashing detergent in olden sunlit kitchens, the tastes of foods from across oceans, and the ancestral pang of doing without in depressions, droughts, journeys, and wars.
- Planning breakfast cherishes the rituals that made our family life a tapestry of coffee cakes, waffles, Betty Comden and Adoph Green songs, pop-overs, and Cheerios with the milk poured just right.
- Planning breakfast accepts the presence of chaos and confusion in life and pledges eternal vigilence against their powers
- Planning breakfast is an act of gratitude recognizing the circle of supportive friends who send love and courage in jars of jams and preserves
- Planning breakfast ensures a supportive and vigilant guardian with the bald eagle wings of an old plaid bathrobe is watching the neighborhood children board their school bus and parents drive off down the icy street to work.
I have no idea how to write these ideas into a play. I do have new ideas of how to pray incessantly while enjoying some Little Smokies.
4/1/06
HESP!
"So, I was doing the crossword puzzle under the dryer, and I had put in a wrong word on across. "
"Why on earth were you doing the puzzle under the dryer?," my walking buddy asked.
"Because it gets really boring otherwise, just watching 'Oprah' backwards in the mirror. Plus I can't hear or understand the women speaking Persian," I logically replied.
"Oh! That dryer. I thought you meant the clothes dryer!" My buddy gets it now.
"So, like I said, I had put in a wrong across, so the down was blank, blank, S, P, for Beatles movie. That just shorted my brain out. All I could think of was 'Hard Day's Night'."
_ _ S P!
"Help!," she says. "It's 'HELP!'"
"I know. Once I decided I would ask you for help, it came back to me." Thank heaven that's solved.
"But you know what else? Watching "Oprah' in the mirror made me forget her boyfriend's name, not that I even care about Oprah, but it's always in the grocery checkout," I continued.
"Steadman."
"Thanks."
Hesp, I need somebody,
Hesp, not just anybody,
Hesp, you know I need someone, hesp.
When I was younger, so much younger than today,
I never needed anybody's hesp in any way.
But now these days are gone, I'm not so self assured,
Now I find I've changed my mind and opened up the door to unload the dryer, and wouldn't you know, I forgot to put in the Bounce...
Paring knife
The older and wider I become, the more I think about narrowing. How do we pare our lives down to what make it sustainable, meaningful, and enjoyable? When I was young, skinny, and feeling invulnerable, my goal was to become more open, to widen my world, to accept all random stimuli, and so I accumulated images, articles, memories, colored papers by the boxfuls.
My octegenerian father dreams of planning and preparing his next breakfast. My twenty-something sons aspire to experience the wide world through study exchanges, study abroad, internships, and (hopefully) challenging jobs. They don't tell me their nighttime dreams, and that is probably a good thing. I dream of packing--packing for trips, packing for moves, packing without any assistance against impossible deadlines--too much stuff. I wake up exhausted after working all night to sort and pack everything in my dream house into boxes to load into a lifesize Fisher Price Schoolbus. I stuff the stuff of a real life alongside sequined dresses for unattended proms, place-settings for unserved dinner parties, and files of maintenance records for cars I never owned.
A collage is not art unless considered choices have been made by the artist. We can take in so much stimuli, and stuff it into our memories, our file cabinets, our garages, and our computers. Meaning and art do not come from amassing, but from chosing and narrowing the material.
Last evening I attended a preview for a play written by an actor whose performances I've admired. The subject is obviously precious to the writer, who wants to share his enthusiasm for the life and music of Jimmie Rodgers with an audience. Unfortunately, the result is not drama. The show is educational, in the same way a filmstrip was educational in 1960's junior high social studies classrooms. It had the excitement level of an overwarm classroom with the venetian blinds closed after a cafeteria lunch of fish sticks and canned peas.
As a third or fourth grader my son read a biography of Marco Polo. He was so excited about Marco Polo he convinced a drama teacher to have his class make up a play about the man. The class play may have interested a few kids and parents in Marco Polo's travels across the known world, but it suffered from too much material and too wide a scope.
Jimmie Rodgers and Marco Polo could both be the subject of an interesting hour on PBS or the History Channel. For live drama, both need to find the single relationship and dialogue, the tension of a single conflict, that exposes the core meaning. I found myself wondering most about the relationship between RCA Victor and early recording artists like Jimmie Rodgers (but not like Marco Polo).
I'm not critiquing or preaching this to anyone but myself. What needs to be pared away to find a meaning for this blog with its all-over-the-map subjects? What needs to be narrowed and harvested from the masses of material I've accumulated in my life and my file cabinets? Maybe then I would have the focus to write a play about my dad's relationship with his next breakfast.
My octegenerian father dreams of planning and preparing his next breakfast. My twenty-something sons aspire to experience the wide world through study exchanges, study abroad, internships, and (hopefully) challenging jobs. They don't tell me their nighttime dreams, and that is probably a good thing. I dream of packing--packing for trips, packing for moves, packing without any assistance against impossible deadlines--too much stuff. I wake up exhausted after working all night to sort and pack everything in my dream house into boxes to load into a lifesize Fisher Price Schoolbus. I stuff the stuff of a real life alongside sequined dresses for unattended proms, place-settings for unserved dinner parties, and files of maintenance records for cars I never owned.
A collage is not art unless considered choices have been made by the artist. We can take in so much stimuli, and stuff it into our memories, our file cabinets, our garages, and our computers. Meaning and art do not come from amassing, but from chosing and narrowing the material.
Last evening I attended a preview for a play written by an actor whose performances I've admired. The subject is obviously precious to the writer, who wants to share his enthusiasm for the life and music of Jimmie Rodgers with an audience. Unfortunately, the result is not drama. The show is educational, in the same way a filmstrip was educational in 1960's junior high social studies classrooms. It had the excitement level of an overwarm classroom with the venetian blinds closed after a cafeteria lunch of fish sticks and canned peas.
As a third or fourth grader my son read a biography of Marco Polo. He was so excited about Marco Polo he convinced a drama teacher to have his class make up a play about the man. The class play may have interested a few kids and parents in Marco Polo's travels across the known world, but it suffered from too much material and too wide a scope.
Jimmie Rodgers and Marco Polo could both be the subject of an interesting hour on PBS or the History Channel. For live drama, both need to find the single relationship and dialogue, the tension of a single conflict, that exposes the core meaning. I found myself wondering most about the relationship between RCA Victor and early recording artists like Jimmie Rodgers (but not like Marco Polo).
I'm not critiquing or preaching this to anyone but myself. What needs to be pared away to find a meaning for this blog with its all-over-the-map subjects? What needs to be narrowed and harvested from the masses of material I've accumulated in my life and my file cabinets? Maybe then I would have the focus to write a play about my dad's relationship with his next breakfast.
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