Public Education: Pay Now or Pay Later

Whitney, the blogger who runs the Dare to Dream site, mentioned that she thought I had a talent for op-ed writing while she was working with me on my piece for her site. I think this was a very nice way of pointing out how opinionated I am.

Our local district, because of budget cuts and despite a tax increase passed last spring, is cutting EIGHT days from our school calendar next year in order to balance the budget. Essentially, the union is agreeing to take a pay cut so that they don't get laid off. I had a nicely worded, shortish, letter to the editor going in my head this morning concerning this topic. When I looked up the submission guidelines for letters to the editor, I noted that our paper takes guest viewpoint submissions as well. These are published a few times each week right on the opinion page next to all kinds of interesting (and sometimes infuriating) folks. So I sent it off tonight. I think my version with 100 extra words was better, but I had to be brutal to get it under the guidelines. Then I had to write one of those horrid little two sentence biographies. (Science Teacher Mommy talks big about her educational ideals, but she let her kids play Wii MarioKart for an hour tonight so that she could finish her op ed piece.)

I have no idea if it will get published or not, but if I copy it here and hit that lovely orange button just below, then I get to publish anyway. So you get to say that you read it here first:

Even in prosperous times, legislators make hard decisions about which programs to fund. As a former teacher turned stay-at-home mom, I cannot help but react with dismay regarding the local districts’ terrible choices between cutting teachers, services, or days from the calendar. Though the shrinking schedule has grabbed front page attention, the reality is that the schools are cutting in other places too.

Two years ago, my son’s school was able to add a fourth, half day teacher to his large first grade class. The low teacher-student ratio this created was instrumental in his learning to read. Now, as he enters the third grade his class is essentially the same size, but they are discussing whether or not there will be funding to add a third half day teacher. This doubling in the number of students per room will affect the quality of education my local elementary school offers, even with its outstanding staff of committed teachers.

It is likely that you would hear a similar scenario if you spoke to any local teacher or parent of school-aged children. Monday’s paper reported disappointed parents considering leaving the system all together; a second story told about school libraries operating without librarians. How can we get to the point where a library is seen as a non-essential luxury at a school?

Society can either pay at the front end or at the back. Cutting budgets for education today means increasing funding for prisons and social programs down the road. Complaints are frequently heard about the terrible deficit facing our country and its detrimental affect on the next generation. However, rushing to balance budgets at the expense of an effective education will have a more lasting impact on our children than any projected deficit.

Front-end expenses include laws that give new parents ample paid time to stay home. Funding should be increased for early childhood programs—such as HeadStart—targeting our most vulnerable, at-risk population. If teacher salaries must be sacrificed, at least their class sizes should be small enough for them to make a difference. State legislatures should pass mandates for smaller classrooms in early grades, and then give the districts proper funding so that larger classes are not merely shifted into the secondary grades. New teachers need adequate training and mentoring.

Such expenses are investments in the future. But when we don’t invest, we must pay for back end solutions that are not solutions at all, but patches attempting to disguise a society coming apart at the seams. Prisons. Teen pregnancy. Drug use. Welfare system abuse. Homelessness. When people are not effectively educated and nurtured from their earliest years, there is little chance of them contributing to society.

It is clear which kind of spending creates an America where citizens are able to strive for “life, liberty and the pursuit of happiness.” Yet the axe has already fallen. Despite having one of the shorter school years in the country, Oregon classrooms will shed more days. In our area, these eight lost instruction days represent roughly a 5% decrease in classroom time. My kindergartner will attend more than a semester less school than the class of 2010.

Though an “insider” to the system, I am not unaware of the problems in public education. I acknowledge that throwing more money at the problems is not an answer. American education can benefit from an influx of teachers trained in other professions, the fresh ideas of businessmen, and innovative re-structuring of school curriculum and scheduling. However, it is deeply unfair that at a time when politicians clamor for “accountability in education,” they are cutting funding for the very things proven to increase test scores—smaller teacher to student ratios, well-trained teachers, and, yes, more calendar days.

When the economy is weak, everyone must cut corners. The message from Salem is that our public schools will not be exempt from tightening their belts. Though we have little choice but to accept this temporary non-solution to the budget crisis, let us not be complacent. Volunteer to listen to kids read at your local school this fall. Join the PTA. Help a teacher with classroom supplies. Write to our local representatives to tell them what we think of their priorities. Vote in the next election cycle for people who pledge to put Oregon schools on top.

Democracy can only exist in an educated populace. As budget cuts create schools where our most talented educators are little more than managers and babysitters, we form a culture that is only a generation from collapsing into chaos. It is ultimately cheaper and easier to invest in the front end, than to play clean up on the back end. We have an obligation to create a generation of individuals ready to solve the worlds’ problems, not compound them.

Now I REALLY Care What You Think

What a lovely, meaningful set of comments that came up from that last post. I still feel like I have a lot to chew on there. Mostly I feel extremely grateful to know such wonderful women.

And now on to shallower matters.

Five years ago I got my last super short hair cut. I mean SUPER short. Because of my new baby, I'd even let my stylist cut off my characteristic Meg Ryan-flip from the back. When she sheared me, she also tweaked my dirty-blonde hair to strawberry. It was very cute, but as it began growing out I decided it was time for a change. We were going through some major transitions just then--a big move, I was starting a new job, a husband back in college and, as mentioned, a new baby. The drier climate change from Texas to Utah made me think it was time to stop cutting my hair every time I remotely resembled Mos Eisley Luke:

"But Uncle Owen, I was supposed to go into Tashy Station to pick up some power converters!"

And so it began. My hair is now longer than it has been for many years. Perhaps high school? But I'm just tired of the hassle. When I was working full time it wasn't too bad--I woke up earlier than everyone anyway, I needed to look professional, and Utah's dry climate meant that I only needed to spend serious time to straighten it once each week.

Fast forward to 2010 and one of the wettest Mays on record in our fair city. I feel like it has been raining and/or humid for six months. I've been fighting my locks all that time. I get about one really good day in five or six. I kept saying I would wait until after summer before making the decision--thinking that when our rainy season stopped it would be better. However, the heat causes me to just want to have my Hermione-like mop in braids or up every day, which seriously compounds the straightening problem.

Oh, and trust me: NOT straightening is not an option. Remember? Her-mi-o-ne.

Two words: CREAM RINSE

So here is where I am deeply interested about your opinion. I've found a bunch of haircuts, and I have a call in to the stylist I would trust with . . . . well . . . . my LIFE . . . . and it is time. Oh, and thanks to inspiration from JennyMac, I've got enough for Locks For Love, or at least the Pantene counterpart that only wants eight inches instead of ten. It probably depends on the haircut I choose. Or you choose. After all, some of you have to look at me as often as I look at myself.

#1: Maybe I just like that she is Asian. She has such lovely eyes. Maybe I would look a little more Asian with this hair cut? Actually, this is pretty similar to what I have but several inches shorter.


#2: This was Meg Ryan's transition-do between I'm-adorable-in-You've-Got-Mail, and now-I-just-look-like-a-lioness-with-weird-lips. I put both of these here, because I do pretty well with the center part thing and I could potentially get away with curls OR straight. I already know my hair texture must be similar to hers because I really did wear my hair a lot like hers through the late 90's.




#3: I'm not sure if I'm anorexic enough to pull off the next one:



#4: I think I like this one for her Pat Benatar style make up.


#5: The problem with this haircut is that to best pull it off, I would apparently have to show off half my chest. I'm not sure I could get comfortable with that. Maybe it is her glasses I like?



#6 I used to watch this chick on Days of Our Lives in College. I think the only thing that is aging is her lips. They are expanding as surely as the universe is. Still, I love these sloppy, choppy layers. Very summer. This is the very shortest I'd be willing to go.



#7: I might be too smart to pull this one off.




#8: I always liked this Jennifer Anniston circa Friends hair-do, but it seems like a lot of work: round brushing, velcro rollers, straightening, products, etc. etc.



#9 Again, pretty similar to what I have now, and her color is a lot closer to mine, so it is good to see what t might look like without going platinum. I wouldn't be able to pull off quite this much length for several months, but the layers would be good for how much hair I've got to take off.



#10 Dark roots aside, I think this haircut is just adorable. I love the long, choppy bobbed layers, and her bangs are just so cute. Hm . . . . .


#11 This one I really love too, though I think she must have pretty thin hair? I also don't know how she gets the bangs to look so piece-y. Lots of gunk? I really like the length of the fringe, too. Super cute.


#12 Similar to the previous two, only with the sex kitten face. What is up with that? And are white tank tops EVER anything less than slutty if you are say, over eight years old?



List your favorites. I will take a running poll, and take your favorites under advisement. Look for the report back here in a few weeks. And to give incentive for your opinions, I will run a contest until haircut time for anyone who expresses an opinion--even if all you leave is a single number. Maybe a gift certificate for Biolage liters or something . . . .

I Don't Care What You Think. Except When I Do.

My dearest friend in high school had a disarming way of saying exactly what was on her mind. She didn't care a whit for what other people thought about her utter lack of subtlety. Those who loved her understood how she was and overlooked any perceived offense, those who didn't know or love her didn't merit any notice on her radar.

How I envied her.

For a while I even fancied that I was the same. Saying precisely what was on my mind was my modus operandi for ages 17 through um . . . about the time I became a missionary. It was odd really because Aussies are known for shooting straight from the hip--their brutal honesty was shocking beyond belief sometimes. (Ohmygosh! Did you notice that huge zit on your nose???!!?? Um, yeah, thanks, I did strangely enough.) I think my care about how other perceived me stemmed a lot from the fact that I was no longer just speaking for myself. I wore a black name tag that professed to the world that I represented a lot of interests: my surname made me a part of a family, the name of the Church made me an official spokesperson, but perhaps most importantly were the words JESUS CHRIST in all caps letters, overshadowing everything else on the tag. People might form opinions about Him based on their interaction with me.

And yet, Christ himself wasn't afraid of offending when real bluntness called for it.

My post-mission days never saw me completely revert to the person I was before (thank goodness for that), but I sometimes still wonder who the "real" me is--the person who blurted out whatever was on her mind, too often mistaking bitter sarcasm for wit? Or the person I was on my mission who would smile sweetly through all kinds of shocking revelations people found themselves to willing to give?

As seems to be the case with nearly everything in my life, the truth is probably some where in the middle. I know this will sound odd to some of you, as my writings here don't often shirk from controversy. (I am probably the same in person, too.) However, when the argument strays into the personal or the tone takes that perceptible drop in civility, I find my heart beating faster and my hands clammy. A slightly nauseous feeling sits in my stomach and I'm suddenly consumed with guilt for having hurt someone's feelings. Even potentially. In "real" life, I tend to keep my opinions a little closer to the chest, not wanting to wreck the potential for friendships because I was too blunt or too outspoken too soon.

Recently I read a blog, following a link from a trusted page to an interesting name, and found myself confronted with some pretty in-your-face political ideology, much of it at odds with my own thoughts. It was clear that many of the person's comment-ers and followers were like- minded, and though I might have said a good many things (my brain was so full of things to say that I could hardly form a coherent sentence), I refrained. I knew it would be useless, first of all. I also knew that what might make me feel better for a moment would probably not in the long run. I also knew I wouldn't be able to keep myself from checking back on the blog no doubt to find myself vilified and grilled. And for what?

My peace of mind would be, at least momentarily, deeply shaken. In addition, I would have stirred somebody else up to even greater anger than they already carried.

At the same time, just as with my friend from high school, I held a sort of grudging admiration for the writer of the blog. She clearly didn't give a damn who disagreed with her or if the whole world knew it.

Though the blog was anonymous. Interesting. So maybe she does care.

And, as it turns out, so do I. I care if people like me. I am concerned when I offend somebody, particularly a family member. If I am sarcastic in blog of Facebook comment, I obsess a bit about whether or not the person picked up on my tone. I care about whether or not somebody's perception of me affects their perception of the LDS Church, or Christians or my family or my husband or my children.

No doubt most of you have read that allegorical book "You Are Special" about the sweet little puppet who is made fun of by the others of his kind--their labels and criticisms sticking to him like glue. That is, these things stick to him until he meets his loving Maker in whose opinion he learns better to trust. I love that story. I love the idea that God's opinion should matter more to us than others' opinions.

But I'm just not there yet.

Please, chime in, do you care what others think of you? And I mean, PLEASE chime in: my whole point is that I do care what you think. Or don't chime in. Your silence will teach me to look to other sources for validation.

Guest Post

Today I blogged at Segullah about motherhood. Enjoy!

If you are visiting from Segullah, welcome. If you are interested in reading a bit more here, this is a link to some of my better blog-essays over the last few years. If you are interested in reading some of my fiction, you can check out this link.

It's Not Easy Being Green, Though It Might Not Be Too Bad

The best subject that I ever taught was part of my first job: Advanced Placement Environmental Science, lovingly called APES by the many outstanding students I met in that assignment. As much as I loved it, I wasn't really very good at it. I was only a few years older than the students themselves, my own background in the subject wasn't that vast, and my classroom skills at that point were pretty weak. (In fact, my adjustment to that first teaching job might make an interesting post. Like the day I found the ten-inch rusted scissors in the front desk looking as dangerous as two daggers held together. The students told me the previous teacher used to threaten them with the scissors. Nobody was sure if he was joking. Then he had a nervous breakdown. But I digress.)

APES is such a fun subject because it requires teachers and students to pull from their entire knowledge base. A working knowledge of all the major sciences--ecology, biology, chemistry and physics--is essential. In addition, a student must be able to take their science knowledge and view it through a lens of both political and social systems in order to see how knowledge applies to actual reality. An empathy for, and willingness to understand, different cultures is helpful. To all this, mathematical models of varying complexity are a large part of the subject, as well as an ability to interpret and understand statistical renderings of data.

One of the chapters in our book was one the three R's. (No, not THOSE three R's, which aren't really R's anyway.) Reducing. Reusing. Recycling. Until I studied environmental science with my students in some detail I had not understood that these R's are not created equal. Instead, the order in which the are presented represents a hierarchy of desirability.


Recycling gets a lot of publicity. Perhaps because the effects of an entire community adopting a broad recycling program are easily and quickly measured. My large recycling bin is picked up every other week and I can clearly see all of the trash that has dodged the landfill to be turned into new, useful consumables. Recycling is a pro-active process that makes me feel good. From a cost-benefit analysis, the recycling of most products represents a large savings in both the short and the long-term. (Glass is a rather glaring exception--it is NOT always cheaper to recycle glass than to create new.) However, when you look at energy inputs and outputs in a system, recycling is only one step away from manufacturing new products from scratch. A rather large step, and an important one, but still not optimal.

Better than recycling is reusing items. A couple of years ago, quite by accident, I found myself looking around the local Goodwill. I found a large variety of nice items, in a clean and bright store, and the prices just couldn't be beat! Though I don't shop there often for my kids--the non-baby clothes are often too worn, and there is no shortage of hand-me-downs here at home--I have been able to satisfy (and justify!) my craving for "new" things to wear on a regular basis, and I get the satisfaction of finding some really awesome deals. My thrift shopping has also encouraged me to contribute at the other end. Our house is pretty small, and so I aggressively clean out closets, bookshelves, kitchen cupboards, etc., taking bags of various sizes for donation monthly. Besides being "green," my purchases provide jobs for adults with mental disabilities and if I designate my donations as being for the local women's shelter, then the group is given in-store credit in the equivalent amount of my donation so that battered women can purchase needed items for themselves and their children. Shopping thrift is obviously not the only way to reuse items, but it is one way.

Of course, the best of these R's, and perhaps the hardest is to "reduce." I'm not even sure that for Americans reducing is a matter of "doing without," but perhaps a re-defining of what our needs are. I'm not talking about legislation here, or curtailing our freedoms (though if America continues on its reckless spending habits, and its subsequent depletion of natural resources, this is exactly what will happen), I'm talking about being honest with ourselves about whether or not we carry attitudes of entitlement that have nothing to do with government assistance. The American lifestyle both sucks global resources while simultaneously, perversely providing jobs all over the world to satisfy our lust for cheap goods.

The further irony is that if Americans become more conservative, careful and cautious in their spending habits, our economy slows. Yet, the question must certainly be asked if the levels of economic growth achieved in the late nineties were ever sustainable. The answer, of course, is no. American economic history over the last century has been dominated by boom and bust cycles--some more dramatic than others. But cautious principles of personal spending, and an adjustment in expectations about what we "deserve" out of life would create an economy of sustainable long-term growth, even if that growth was relatively slow.

The stores are filled lately with kitschy "green" products. Everyone makes their own $1 grocery store bags now (mostly made so cheaply that they can only be called "reusable" for a handful of trips to the store), but the clothing is probably my favorite. Tee-shirts that say things like, "Love Your Mother" or "I (Heart) Boys Who Recycle." The irony is that these tee shirts are manufactured in plants that are thousands of miles away (even China is sub-contracting labor to North Korea) by workers in appalling conditions so that Old Navy or Wal-Mart of whomever can market them for $5 apiece at earth day time. They sell thousands of unneeded products, making money from volume instead of huge mark-ups, exacerbating environmental and social problems so that people can wear items saying how much they hate environmental and social problems.

Before I'm too hard on the big box type stores, however. It is also important to point out that corporations, like Wal-Mart are leading their own "green" revolution, because they have found the great cost savings that comes from conserving. Turning on half as many lights, and converting those lights to more efficient types, saves a single store tens of thousands annually. This translates to tens of millions company-wide. If there is to be any true revolution in America, companies will have to be on board. Companies will not get on board without such commitment making the bottom-line more attractive.

But I'm not pointing my finger at you or anybody else. I think today I am pointing it at me. This fantastic opinion piece by columnist Thomas Friedman appeared in our local paper today. He argues for finding somebody new to blame for the BP Oil spill: The (Wo)Man in the Mirror. If BP cut corners it is because each of us, on some level, wants to constantly find cheaper ways to maintain, or expand, our truly luxuriant lifestyle. Is "luxuriant" going to far? I don't think so--by any comparison to the rest of the world, and especially to history, our lives are filled with leisure and ease. I too often complain about my tiny house, forgetting that my house is still larger than the average house size in 1950, when people had much larger families.

In the last year or two, we have made a couple of adjustments (besides my Goodwill shopping) to the way we do things that haven't been too hard, and have helped us be a little more green and have a little more green. A couple of years ago, Plantboy bought a rather large composting bin, but as he put it in a rather unobtrusive place in our yard, I was okay with it. We keep a small can in the house that I fill with scraps, usually while I make dinner, and we take it out nightly. We layer these green scraps with a brown layer (usually leaves) every so often and each spring he opens the bottom and like MAGIC!* beautiful mounds of rich, dark, nutrient-rich earth come spilling out. Saturday night we enjoyed our first meal filled with garden goodies--baby tri-colored carrots, buttery Yukon Golds, and tender beets. While I know that plenty of people like beet greens, we are not those people, and the 40 days of rain we've had these past weeks made them rather unpalatable-looking. Anyway, I chopped up the stems and greens anyway, marveling at that large pile of organic matter for adding to the compost. Today's unwanted beet greens might be next year's green beans.



What an amazing thing.

Gardening, composting, sewing and reaping, working and observing together as a family has been a huge blessing to us. When I asked Plantboy what he wanted for Father's Day he said, "Is it weird to say that I want a 25 pound bag of organic fertilizer?" Maybe. But no weirder than wanting a $300 stick for hitting a little white ball. And much more useful.

The second change we made was this summer. When we first moved to our city, it was the first time we'd owned a home in a couple of years and we didn't have a lawn mower. A friend from Church loaned us a fixer-upper. Thanks to Plantboy's mad mechanic skills, he has managed to keep this thing running through three summers. This spring however, he confronted the reality: to keep it going now would require some pretty major fixes, starting with new spark plugs and working from there.

Or, he wheedled, we could get one of these instead:

He had mentioned the manual lawn mower before, but I was never sure that he was entirely serious. Still, the $100 price tag was very attractive and I agreed, if somewhat reluctantly.

I love this "machine." The Wall Street Journal earlier this week ran a lengthy article on the new trend in souped up lawn mowers with iPod ports, alternative fuel versions and cushy seats. These models run anywhere from $3,000-$10,000. (You'd have to use a lot of bio-fuel to justify that sucker.)

But if you have a smallish plot of turf (we have systematically been pulling out grass ever since we moved in), this might just be an answer. Saturday I mowed the entire lawn (Plantboy edged) in about 30 minutes. The manual mower seems to work best if you push it fast, so I actually got my heart rate up while mowing. I finished without a pulled rotator cuff from the pull-start, nor the smell of gasoline in my clothes and hair. It is so quiet that listening to my iPod would have been entirely possible. The way it cuts the grass doesn't damage the blades as much, so my shoes and feet weren't grass stained when I finished. The best news is that Jedi Knight and Padawan can push the thing if they work together. Like a team of baby oxen.

Now if we could just stop using disposable diapers . . . .




* Okay, not magic, it is a very natural process of biological decay. But just because a thing can be explained doesn't mean it isn't remarkable.

Summer Wishes

I am looking forward to a lot of things this summer. School doesn't even let out until next week, but we are already facing a calendar (almost) full of wonderful plans. The days in between will have plenty of time for relaxing, running through sprinklers, play groups, reading, gardening, writing and just generally soaking up the sun.

If the sun ever comes out, that is. We've had just a few sunny days in the last six weeks. The weatherman, however, has forecasted the next week and a half to be full of blue skies and NO RAIN. Oh, I hope so.

Next week will bring a day at the coast and a special out-to-dinner to celebrate the end of school. We have playdates, a birthday party and a couple of barbecues to round out June.

The first two weeks of July will mean a trip to Utah and a much-anticipated family reunion, with Plantboy's entire family in attendance. (Every two years his parents and eight siblings have reunion, though it has been a long time since everyone has been able to gather.) After the reunion, Plantboy has to come back home, but I will stay on longer with the kids. We "plan" to swim, visit old friends, have a barbecue, take a ride in Grandpa's boat and whatever else comes up. The thing to which I'm most looking forward is an invite to Desmama's book group, wherein I hope to meet a couple of bloggy buddies for "real." I cannot imagine any group of women I'd prefer to discuss Jane Eyre with. The Bronte girls excepted, of course. (Oh, yes, you want to stop and check out that link.)

When we get back from Utah, Jedi Knight has a week of Cub Scout Camp. The shuttling and volunteering might be a bit of a pain for mom, but he is so excited that his enthusiasm has actually rubbed off on me a bit. We love Cub Scouts around here. No doubt there will Pinewood Derby pictures posted here next.

In August we have a couple of weeks of swimming lessons. The pool has an open time for young families (only their small pools are open) that overlaps our swimming time, so we will probably be down there for a good chunk of every day. Late August should lead us back to the coast, at least once, and on a camping trip or two.

Somewhere along the way I hope to get another manuscript "finished." At least finished to the point where I am ready for a couple of friends to view it. I hope to spend the fall doing heavy re-writing on as many as three manuscripts with the goal to submit all three before the end of the year.

What are you looking forward to? Let's anticipate together and then share memories come September.

Eleven Years Today

I was gone for a few days. My computer guy* charged me to repair our machine, but then also recommended that we replace the hard drive. I think his official term was "fried." I'm back, but for how long is up to the virus, I suppose.

Anyway, today is our eleventh anniversary. Last year we went on a big trip in the spring and then just celebrated the burrito anniversary at Chipotle. This year will be more low-key overall, but a little nicer on the actual day. We are trying a new restaurant out tonight and Plantboy bought me a very cool hat. If I actually like the way it looks when it makes it to my head then I'll post pictures.

I don't have time to post much today, but I would like to share an anecdote that should illustrate just how wonderful this man is that I married, and how much he loves me.

Early this year I made plans to travel to Utah on my own at the end of April to see my mom and sister and attend Women's Conference. As my few days "off" approached, I could hardly contain my excitement and put all my plans carefully in place. My flight went out on a Wednesday afternoon.

Tuesday night, Plantboy came home from basketball practice with a really bad sprain. I've never seen him in so much pain. I felt bad for him, but I must admit that I was mostly extremely upset about the prospect of canceling my own plans.

Don't worry, the rest of the story will drive home just what selfish beast I am.

Asking me only to run to a medical supply place to rent some crutches and buy an ankle brace, he went to work Wednesday, hopped up on ibuprofen, and kissed me goodbye, reassuring me that he would be fine. I organized the rest of my day the best I could, making sure the cupboard and fridge were well-stocked so that Plantboy wouldn't have to do anything for 3 1/2 days but sit on the couch with plenty of ice. I lectured the kids every three minutes on the importance of being really nice to their dad.

While I was gone, the reports about the kids were mostly positive, except for the five year-old who also spent a day on the couch throwing up. I enjoyed my trip immensely, knowing in the back of my head that I owed my sweet husband immensely.

I came home to a clean house, a nice supper and a FRESHLY PAINTED BEDROOM. That's right, Plantboy painted my bedroom--a project I had the supplies for but had been putting off for ages. Flabbergasted? Not to be believed.

When I asked him why he was so nice to me, he said, "Don't you know? Because you said yes." "Yes?" I replied. "Yeah," he smiled, "Eleven years ago."

And he says he's the lucky one.




* He isn't exactly MY computer guy. I just like to make it sound like I "have people."

Rejected Eclipse Screenplay

This was harder to do than my New Moon screenplay, which came together in a single afternoon. I am not sure why I had more writer's block with this one. Eclipse has a lot more action in it, and in many ways is a better story, and a better book. Maybe it is harder to make fun of? Maybe I'm so sick of the Twilight "saga" that I might start carrying a black marker to give pictures of Robert Pattison Dali-style mustaches.

Seriously, Patticakes?

Yet, though I generally preferred it to the second book, watching Bella, a deeply flawed (or maybe just 17 year-old?) heroine mercilessly play with the emotions of her two true loves is a bit unsettling. Okay, more than a bit. There is one point where she refers to herself as the most selfish person alive or some other hyperbolic drama . . . but she has a point.

Anyway, there were aspects to this book on re-reading it that I really enjoyed. I liked the legend that Meyer built up around her wolf-warriors. I like indigenous creation myths, and this one was very original and well-crafted. The myth, and the fireside telling of it, firmly puts her unique story in the fantasy camp. (Team Jacob!) I greatly dislike her discussion of genetics and chromosomes in the 4th book. It is just so unnecessary, not to mention terrible science. To enjoy the books the reader has already suspended all sense of reality: there is no point in trying to pretend she is writing science fiction.

Anyway, here is my rejected screenplay for Eclipse. It probably will best hit its mark if you either love or hate these books, but is likely to be meaningless if you haven't read them. Laugh if you can. Forward it if you want.

Eclipse Screenplay

Scene 1: (Bella’s Kitchen)

Bella: (talking out loud as she writes on a sheet of paper) Dear Jacob, Do you still like me? Check the box. Yes. No. Maybe. Love, Bells.

Charlie: (entering) Is there some dinner ready?

Bella: On the stove.

Charlie: (looking, musing to himself) Does it seem like we eat a lot of spaghetti?

Bella: Could you take this to Jacob’s dad?

Charlie: Why don’t you just call him?

Bella: He won’t answer the phone.

Charlie: E-mail?

Bella: He isn’t on-line.

Charlie: Text?

Bella: He doesn’t have a phone.

Charlie: What is it, 1998?

Bella: Just take it, please, Dad.

Charlie: Maybe you should just leave it alone. (Doorbell sounds)

Bella: (over-eager) There’s Edward!

Charlie: (scowling) All right, I’ll take the stupid note. (Bella squeals and runs in the other room. Charlie yells after her.) Don’t forget, you’re grounded! Freaky boyfriend out by ten!

Scene 2: (Bella’s Bedroom)

Edward: You know, it can hardly be called grounding if I sneak back in here after ten every night.

Bella: (giggles) I’m 18. I can do what I want.

Edward: Not exactly.

Bella: What do you mean?

Edward: You cannot see Jacob Black.

Bella: But he’s my friend—he is the one that put me back together when, you know, you weren’t here. Remember when I was the only girl in the world who'd ever had my heart broken?

Edward: Young werewolves are too dangerous.

Bella: Good grief, one girl gets a little bit mauled by her boyfriend and you are so ready to judge. It is Jacob. I’m totally safe.

Edward: No you aren’t.

Bella: Yes I am.

Edward: I say no.

Bella: I say yes.

Edward. Uh, no.

Bella: Oh, Edward! I hate arguing with you.

Edward: Then just do what I say.

Bella: Why?

Edward: Because we are in love. And that means you will do whatever I say.

Bella: (sighs, giving up) Whatever you say, Gorgeous. You clearly know what is best for me. Just don't leave me again.

Scene 3: (In front of school)

Edward: Yuck. What is he doing here? (Looking across parking lot)

Bella: (Squeals and runs) Jacob!!

Jacob: (On motorcycle, grinning) Hey Bells.

Bella: You got my note?

Jacob: Sure did. (Edward approaches, Jacob’s tone becomes really seductive) And my answer is yes.

Edward: (snarls) Back off, dog.

Jacob: Bella is safer with a dog than a monster.

Edward: Hey, I’ll have you know I haven’t had another human to eat in decades.

Bella: Uh, this fight over me is really adorable, but here comes the principal and he doesn’t look too happy.

Principal: Mr. Cullen, is everything all right here? Your grades, money and whiteness tell me that this other young man clearly is at fault here.

Edward: No problem. Jacob was just leaving. He wanted to talk to Bella, but she doesn’t want to talk to him.

Jacob: (Hurt) Is this true?

Bella: No. (glaring at Edward) But I have to do what Edward says, because that is the hallmark of a healthy relationship.

Jacob: Fine. I’m going, I just wanted to warn you Bella.

Bella: Warn me?

Edward: Jacob, don’t.

Jacob: (Ignoring Edward, though a crowd is gathering) She’s back. And she’s coming for you. Tell the Cullens to stay off our side of the line; she’s ours. (Revs motorcycle and drives away)

Principal: Mr. Cullen, if you and your “brothers” are contemplating some kind of rumble with this tribe of miscreants, I have to tell you that I need to let Police Chief Swan know about it.

Bella: (Laughs) Are you kidding? Charlie would love it.

Edward: Just come to class Bella.

Bella: Whatever you say, My Love.

Mike Newton: My money’s on the big Indian.

Scene 4: (In class)

Bella: (Under her breath to Edward—they are supposed to be listening to a lecture) Did you know about Victoria coming back?

Edward: Yeah. For some reason she decided not to bother you at all for the six months that there were no vampires in Forks. Her return coincided almost exactly with ours. And we’d have had her too, if it hadn’t been for those meddling kids. I mean dogs. Yuck. I can still smell him.

Bella: (Sniffs her own armpit) Maybe I just need new deodorant.

Edward: Have you seen the way he looks at you? And his thoughts!

Bella: Thoughts?

Edward: He isn’t really interested in your friendship. You are NOT going to see him.

Bella: (whiney) Am too!

Edward: I tell you; there is nothing more dangerous than a young werewolf.

Bella: Nothing?

Edward: Okay. Young vampires. And really old vampires. And red-headed vampires. Motorcyles. Glass seems rather problematic for you. Oh, and Jasper of course.

Bella: Anything else?

Edward: Nuclear holocaust. But that’s beside the point.

Bella: Please, Edward. I really need your permission to make even simple decisions.

Edward: (Dejected) Fine.

Bella: (loudly) Yipee!

Teacher: (sharply) Miss Swan? Why have you written the word “smoldering” all over the margins of your paper?

Scene 5: (At the Reservation, looking out over the ocean)

Bella: He really is a nice guy, you know, down to the core.

Jacob: Except for the part where he eats people, right?

Bella: He doesn’t eat people. Not anymore. And he is really, really good looking.

Jacob: I'm good looking.

Bella: But he's rich.

Jacob: So good looks and money.

Bella: (standing up and stamping) How dare you suggest that I am shallow? I’m like, you know, so mature and stuff.

Jacob: I’m just saying that when people fall in love with each other, they should stick within their own species.

Bella: Newsflash Jacob! (Shouting louder) YOU ARE A WEREWOLF. NOT HUMAN, WERE. WOLF.

Jacob: Only part of the time. It’s not the same at all.

Bella: (Big Sigh)

Jacob: (After a pause) Did I tell you about the imprinting?

Bella: Imprinting?

Jacob: Well, there is a long and boring story about how the wolves came to be, but the most interesting part is that when one of us sees the woman we are meant to mate with . . .

Bella: Mate with?

Jacob: (Ignoring her horrified look) You know like soul mate.

Bella: I’m not sure that’s exactly what you are talking about.

Jacob: Sure I am. It is like you see each other and BOOM the whole world is focused on that one person and nobody else matters any more.

Bella: Like love at first sight?

Jacob: A bit more absolute.

Bella: Oh no! Holy crap! You haven’t imprinted on ME have you? Because I’m pretty sure I’ve imprinted on Edward! That can't be right.

Jacob: (flatly) No, Bella.

Bella: (rambling) That’s a relief, because sometimes it is almost like you are in love with me, which is really hard to believe because I never even had a date in Arizona and here the boys just can't seem to stay away from me. Humans, half breeds, blood-suckers. I'm just so popular.

Jacob: I AM in love with you.

Bella: You mean like a friend, right?

Jacob: No, not really.

Bella: Sure you do. (Nervous) I’m just a stand-in until your soul mate arrives.

Jacob: (Yelling) I don’t care about what I’m forced to do. I choose to love you. And you love me too, don’t kid yourself. The blood-sucker doesn’t know what’s best for you! I do! (Suddenly kisses Bella.)

Bella: Don’t. Stop.

Jacob: Which is it?

Bella: (slugs Jacob)

Jacob: (laughing) I knew you liked it.

Bella: Oh! You’re the worst! I’m going now. (Stalks off beach and climbs into truck. Jacob is still laughing.)

Scene 5 (In Bella’s kitchen; Charlie and Edward are eyeing each others suspiciously over coffee; Charlie turns away and reads the paper.)

Charlie: So what are you two kids up to this weekend?

Bella: Not much

Charlie: You can’t go near Seattle.

Bella: Why does everyone tell me what to do! (Jumps up and leaves room.)

Charlie: What was that all about?

Edward: (shrugs) PMS. What’s this about Seattle?

Charlie: Mass murderer. A bunch of creepy, unexplainable deaths.

Edward: Any leads?

Charlie: No. (Laughs out loud) Listen to this (reading from paper) “Eyewitness claims to have seen one of the victims bitten on the neck before being carted off down a dark alley.” Can you believe that? Now this creep has given rise to some idiot vampire myth. People are so gullible.

Edward: You have no idea.

Charlie: Still, better to stay away . . . . Bella seems to attract negative attention of this sort too often.

Edward: You have no idea.

Scene 6 (In Bella’s bedroom; same day as above. Bella is still sulking.)

Edward: Bella, you didn’t want to go to Seattle, did you?

Bella: No; I just don’t like being told what to do.

Edward. Ah. Well, quit your crying, it turns out there actually is a plot to this story after all.

Bella: What’s that?

Edward: Pack of vampires loose in Seattle. Wait, does it smell in here?

Bella: Smell?

Edward: Not like you, My Flower, more like another vampire. Not me. A stranger.

Bella: What?

Edward: Oh, no! The vampires in Seattle are clearly after you.

Bella: Oh—so it IS all about me?

Edward: And me, of course.

Bella: Right. What about Jacob?

Edward: Honey, there is just no room in this story for Jake. Oh—except you do need to tell him that a whole coven of bloodthirsty young vampires is coming to Forks and we might need their help.

Bella: WHAT????

Scene 7 (In the large clearing where the baseball game took place in Twilight. Several of the pack are there, though not in werewolf form. Edward is speaking to them.)

Edward: Now, the vampires are coming. Victoria has created an entire army of them to get Bella, of course. It is equally obvious that we should all put our lives on the line for her. The plan is pretty simple. We will rub her scent all over everything to lure the vampires into the clearing. Then we kill them. Questions?

Generic Native American Boy #1: What’s your name again?

Edward: Edward. Any others?

Generic Native American Boy #2: When do we eat? I’m starving.

Generic Native American Boy #3: Yeah, we were told there was going to be pizza.

Edward: I meant questions about the plan.

Jacob: Where will Bella be?

Edward: In a tent with me.

Jacob: What the . . .

Edward: But I need one of the pack nearby so that I can read all your thoughts.

Jacob: What the . . . .

Edward: Anything else? (Confused looks) Good. Now, we don’t know when they are coming or how many there will be. Alice’s gift is very conveniently out of order again (glaring at Alice).

Alice: Werewolf problem! Not my fault.

Edward: Anyway, just keep hanging around here until something happens. (Boy #3 raises his hand again.) And yes, Fluffy, Esme’s Hummer is filled with pizza. (Werewolves all metamorphosize and converge on Esme’s car.)

Bella: (Voice low) You didn’t tell me about the whole tent thing. Does this mean we’re gonna do it?

Edward: Do what?

Bella: Please tell me you aren’t that dense.

Edward: Uh . . .

Jacob: What you two talkin’ about huh?

Bella: Nothing.

Edward (at the same time) I have no idea.

Jacob: Well, just in case you had any funny ideas Cullen, it is me that is going to be standing guard at the tent.

Edward: Oh, that's just great.

Alice: By the way, Bella bring an extra sleeping bag. It is going to snow tonight.

Edward: Let me get this straight—your telling the future power has been reduced to weather forecasts?

Alice: Pretty much.

Scene 8 (Small tent with a couple of flashlights lit inside. Bella sits in one corner holding her legs and shaking. Edward sits opposite with a worried expression.)

Bella: It is just so c. . . co. . . .cold.

Edward: We could cuddle?

Bella: You are the c . . . c . . . co. . . .coldest. . . . thing in the p . . . p. . . place.

Edward: Sorry.

Bella: Unless . . .

Edward: Unless?

Bella: I mean first aid for hypothermia says that we should . . .

Edward: Sorry Bella. We aren’t doing that either.

Bella: Oh c’mon! Every guy has had the hypothermia fantasy at one time or another. You really can’t be telling me no.

Edward: I really am. Unless you marry me.

Bella: Groan.

Edward: Sorry, babe. That’s the deal.

Jacob: (Unzipping tent and letting a blast of cold air and snow in.) Is Bella warm enough?

Bella: As a matter of fact, no.

Jacob: I can help (seductive).

Edward: He is definitely having the hypothermia fantasy.

Jacob: (Shrugs) Whatever works.

Bella: Just get in here. (She snuggles up next to him.) Oh, yeah, that is more like it. Edward, you are really smoldering now. (Jacob crawls in the sleeping bag next to her.)

Edward: This is a means to an end, Jacob Black. If you lay a hand on her without her permission I will rip your throat out.

Bella: So much drama Edward. Just let me sleep.

Scene 9 (Morning outside the tent. Jacob and Bella are talking.)

Jacob: I’m glad Edward had to run and talk to the others. I need to ask you something.

Bella: Okay.

Jacob: Last night was incredible. Wonderful. Amazing.

Bella: I get the point.

Jacob: You can’t tell me you didn’t feel anything, Bells.

Bella: Uh . . . . I think you need to start shaving?

Jacob: (Rubs his face) Maybe so. But that isn’t what I meant.

Bella: What did you mean? Like attraction? (Nods.) Jacob! How could I be attracted to you? You are my best friend and you are super funny. I mean, you are muscled and bronze instead of being skinny and pale. (She looks a him closer and speaks slower.) You are warm instead of cold. . . . O. M. G. Jacob! You are smoking hot! (Kisses him hard.)

Jacob: You can’t tell me you didn’t feel anything, Bells.

Bella: You DO need to start shaving.

Edward: Bella? (Coming out of the clearing, having just seen the two of them kissing.)

Bella: Edward. I WILL marry you!

Jacob: NOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! (Runs off into the woods.)

Edward: Then what was the kissing all about?

Bella: (shrugs) Just messin’ with him.

Edward: So, we’re engaged huh?

Bella: Don’t say it so loud.

Edward: And we’ve got this tent to ourselves the rest of the day. . .

Bella: What about the big vampire fight?

Edward: We aren’t really involved. (Starts kissing her)

Bella: What about the wait until you are married thing?

Edward: I’m less committed than I was last night (More kissing.)

Bella: Now I want to wait. (Pulls back)

Edward: What?

Bella: (Smiles sweetly) Now I’m messing with you.

Edward: (sniffing) Vampires.

Bella: What?

Edward: Victoria. The young ones were a distraction. She knew that I’d never leave you unprotected.

(Victoria arrives. There is a big vampire fight. Edward wins. Duh.)

Scene 10 (In Bella’s truck. Edward and Bella are speeding along at a rocking 45 miles per hour. Bella is clearly panicked.)

Bella: So tell me again what happened?

Edward: Well, we thought it was all over, but one of them snuck up out of no where and Jacob had to be a hero . . . .

Bella: Oooo! He’s hurt?

Edward: Yes, But he’s healing quickly. It’s a werewolf thing. Carlisle got to him and stopped the blood flow. The real problem was that his bones healed too fast and Carlisle had to re-break them all to make them set correctly.

Bella: Yuck.

Edward: He’s a tough kid.

Bella: Yep. I’ll invite him to the wedding. Then we’ll see how tough he is.

Edward: Speaking of the wedding. . . .

Bella: Yes?

Edward: Alice wants to make it a huge fancy deal.

Bella: (groan) You know I hate people making a fuss over me. (sigh) Oh, well. I guess I’ll just have to be the center of the universe again.

Edward: You’re the center of my universe, baby.

Bella: Oh, Edward! (Start kissing while he drives.) I'm gonna be a vampire! I'm gonna be a vampire!

Cookie Dough Truffles. Really.

I made these for book group last night.

I used Paula Deen's recipe. (This it the woman who once made a hamburger topped with a butter-fried egg and used two Krispy Kreme donuts in place of a bun, so you know these goodies ain't got a Weight Watchers label attached.) I added 1/2 cup more flour than the recipe called for because it seemed too runny. Then I chilled the dough before using a 1 inch ice cream scoop to form them into balls. Before dipping them, I put them on a cookie sheet in the freezer for an hour.

My other modification was that instead of using her chocolate bark candy coating, I used ganache made by heating a cup of whipping cream until it is steaming and then adding a whole bag of semi-sweet chocolate chips. (Milk chips won't work.) You then wisk and wisk the mixture until it is smooth and dark. When it cools slightly (so your balls don't turn to mush . . . . uh, did that come out right?), use your mad chopstick skills to dip the cookie dough filling into the ganache.

Leftover ganache can be used on strawberries, cupcakes, pumpkin bread, ice cream, walnuts, your spouse's lips . . . or just whatever.

When you go to your book group with a plate of these goodies, it won't even matter if the book was any good or if you have a single intelligent thing to say.

What Were YOU Doing Three Years Ago Today?

You probably can't remember, huh?

I do.

Happy 3rd birthday, Scamp.

Spill, Baby, Spill

What has been spoiled through man's fault
can be made good again through his work

- I Ching




I sincerely hope so.