The Napkin on the Beans...A Story of My Childhood

There are 3 things you have to understand:

1.  I am not a picky eater.  I was a good child.  I ate my vegetables.  I ate my meat.  I ate my starch.  Most children at my delicate age took one look at the mass of spinach on their plate and turned up their noses, as if to say "Mother!  How darest thou place such wretched filth upon mine plate?" But not I.  True, I did not like onions, cucumbers, peppers, and a few other measly items, but for the most part I ate what was put in front of me.

2. Casey.  Casey was the delightful blonde boy next door.  Like me, he was quite grown up (nearly 4 years old) and he was handsome and charming as could be.  He and I had many adventures together that we spoke of in hushed tones: leaping off the Unopolis's porch, rolling in the dead grass in my father's trailer, and meeting Barney (yes, the purple dinosaur himself), just to name a few.  I longed for the next opportunity to frolic in the backyard with him, and whenever that next opportunity came, I seized it.

3. Rachel.  My older sister.  Rachel was already a teenager, so she was practically a million years old.  She was older, wiser, cooler, and nicer than practically anyone else in the world.  But she also had an iron fist, and could dominate us younger siblings with said fist.

Now that you understand these 3 things, I can proceed with the story.

It was a lovely summer evening...or spring...possibly autumn...it didn't really matter as long as I could romp in the yard.  Rachel had been given the arduous task of looking after me.  I used all of my 4-year old wiles to make her see me as the perfect little sister I was to ensure I could do as I wished later in the evening. Such wiles included: making adorable comments, letting her play with my luscious blond hair, smiling a lot, and eating all of my dinner.  My plan was going perfectly...until I looked out the window.

There was Casey...playing in the back yard.  He laugh, he giggled, he smiled.  He was calling me from the prison of the kitchen to the great outdoors.  I was practically done with my dinner...I only really had my lima beans left...but who has time for lima beans?

"Raaaaaaaayyyyyyyy?" I batted my blonde eyelashes.  "Can I pleeeeeeaaaaaasssssseeeee go outside and play with Casey?"

The iron fist came down. "You have to finish your lima beans first."

My soul was crushed.  FINISH MY LIMA BEANS!  I had, like, 17 whole lima beans on my plate!  Who knew if Casey would still be in the backyard 17 lima beans later?  I hung my head in shame and disappointment.  "Okay." I mumbled.

I stabbed one lima bean with my fork...a little violent, I know, but the lima bean deserved it.  My little hand guided the fork to my mouth. The bean squished between my teeth.  In a rolling motion I ground the lima bean to bits and shoved it down my throat with my tongue.

I had to take a rest.  That took forever.  16 more lima beans to go?  Casey was on the swings now.  I wanted to be on the swings.

Then, the miracle came. Rachel suddenly excused herself from the table.  As she meandered down the hallway, away from the kitchen, a little light sparked in my brain.  An idea!  A plan!  Rachel would have no idea what hit her.  Glancing from one side to the other, making sure no one was near to witness my genius, I picked up my napkin.  With the precision of a surgeon, I placed the napkin on top of the lima beans.

Perfect!  She would never know!  There was absolutely nothing suspicious about the delicately placed napkin on my plate.  Before Rachel got back I slid out of my chair, threw open the back door, and bounded down the steps.

Casey greeted me and immediately we began to play.  During the first few minutes of our revels, my stomach clenched uneasily.  Would I be found out?  Would she suspect?  Would I be called back in to finish the villainous lima beans?

I paused a moment to look in the window.  Rachel stood by my plate.  I gulped and braced myself for the iron fist.  But she didn't look up at me, she didn't even frown. Instead it looked like she was...laughing.  Laughing?  Laughing at what?  She must have been fooled, and in seeing how wonderful her little sister was for finishing her lima beans, she couldn't contain her joy!  Oh Rachel!  Your poor, weak, grown-up mind, falling prey to my ingenious 4-year-old trap.  I smiled and turned back to the swings.

My parents came home, and still no mention of the lima beans.  Success.

Casey and I played into the evening...and all was right in the neighborhood.

The Evolution of the Monster

So as many of you know, my life for the past few months has been monsters, swamps, witches, and living trees.  For some crazy reason, I decided to put on a play at West Point Jr. this year.  I put on J. Omar Hansen's "The Horrible Monster of Danky Swamp."  Omar was one of my professors at BYU-Idaho, and I actually acted in Danky Swamp during my Junior year there. Deciding to put this on was a little risky because it would be the first play West Point had put on for many years.  It was hard to go through all the set design, sound design, light design, and rehearsals by myself, but it was totally worth it because I had amazing students to work with.  I also had awesome support from my parents, Soren, faculty members, and community members.

The most challenging/fun part of the project was building the monster.  The monster in the production I was a part of was operated by one actor who was harnessed into a structure that sat on his shoulders with the monster head on top.  I wasn't sure I wanted to try to tackle that and I also wanted to incorporate more actors, so I decided to do a Chinese-dragon style monster instead.  This way, I could have 3 or 4 actors play the monster, instead of just one.  So, I gathered a dryer box (courtesy of Charlie Fuller's Appliances), a bolt of free shiny green fabric left from the previous drama teacher, chicken wire from Home Depot, extra fabric from Joann, two hula hoops, paint, and glue, and got started.  I had no idea what I was doing.

Here's the dryer box.  At this point, I had already cut out the mouth

This is his back.  The fabric is greener and shiner on the other side.

Here's the start of the chicken wireing

Chicken wiring all done.  He went for a test drive this day with the actors.

Soren came and began the paper mache process for me.  It was a big help.

This was the first primer coat.  I was amazed how far I was able to stretch the paint.

Here the paint was pretty much finished.

I finally got the back attached so the actors could use it even though I still had to finish sewing the little scraps of fabric onto him...the little scraps were to hide the actors' feet more and to give him that "swampy" feel. 

This is a picture of the finished product, courtesy of Black Hat media.  I was really pleased with how he turned out.  the cast named him "Gus." 

Here's a front view of Gus, with Lily the tree and Becca the Witch.

Me being eaten by my creation.

It was such a fun experience.  Unfortunately I had to send Gus's head to the dump when I finished, but I still have his back.

Heart Attacked

Last week, with the stress of the show and my Grandpa Kay's funeral, I was feeling pretty blue.  Just in a sort of funk...you know?  And to make it worse, on Friday I was told that our Primetime activity would be to have the students "heart attack" other teachers.  I was not excited for this for 3 reasons: 1.  I didn't think the students would be into it.  2. It's hard to control your students when you send them galavanting across the school.  3.  I had to read all the messages my students wrote in case one of them decided to be mean and write a teacher an unkind note.  Another thing I wasn't excited about was the fact that I was going to be in the Library with my class that day and I didn't want to have to conduct Primetime from the Library.  But oh well, I thought,  it'll probably brighten some teacher's day and that will make the whole thing worth it.

When I introduced the activity to my students, I told them they were going to be secret agents.  Their mission was to write a message to their favorite teacher, sneak through the school, attach the note the the teacher's door, and then sneak back to the Library, all without being seen.  Of course I wasn't being serious about the secret agent thing, but it seemed to get them in the spirit.  I proof read all of their notes and sent them off.  I only read two notes that were for me and as I sent my class into the abyss of the school, I thought to myself, "*sniff*  I hope I get a few notes on my door."  

Pretty soon my agents started returning.  A couple of them had army crawled through the halls, which I gave a thumbs up to.  A couple students came running in and said, "MRS. BARKER!  You've got to see your door!"  Apparently, my door was covered in hearts.  They told me I might have a real heart attack when I saw it.  A few students from other classes even came in and gave me their notes personally because they didn't want theirs getting lost in the shuffle.  They were so sweet.

After second period was over, I headed back to my portable for my prep period.  I really did almost have a heart attack.  Notes from students almost completely covered my door.  Some made it onto the metal of the portable and a bunch got taped to my window.

This got me out of my funk real fast.  I felt so loved and appreciated.  I really work at an amazing school and I have amazing students that I love working with.  Students kept telling me all day that I was clearly the most loved teacher in the school since I had the most hearts.  (I just kept telling them that I taught a really fun subject and that's why I was so popular...if I was a math teacher I probably wouldn't have gotten so many.  Not that math teachers aren't mind-blowingly awesome.)  

It's moments like these that make being a teacher worth every moment.  It's all about the students.

Story Time Again

Here's another story I wrote a while back.  This one was fun because the teacher put a prompt on the board, and he gave us about 10 minutes to write a story based on the prompt.  I ended up expanding and editing my story and it turned into this:

By the way, the prompt was:

The third bell rang and then…

            My muscles cramped in the tight space and I was getting light headed.  The smell of gym socks made my stomach to turn.  YUCK!  I tried to shift positions, but no matter how much I wanted to, I couldn’t move.  Luckily, a soft breeze drifted through the small slats in the metal door.  It was the only thing saving me from going nuts.

            “Dave,” came a squeaky voice, “Are you okay, man?”

            “Let me think…hmm…I’m stuck in a locker Brian.  NO I AM NOT OKAY!”  I was getting a kink in my neck and my shoes were glued to the Pepsi coated floor.

            “No worries.  I’ll get you outta there; just give me your combination.”

            I took a deep breath.  “16-11-32, and hurry up.”  I could hear him fiddling with the dial.  Time dragged on.  How long could it take to open a locker?

            “Um... I think it’s stuck.”

            Not now.  “It’s the freaking Pepsi I spilled yesterday.  You’ve just got to jiggle it a certain way.  Try again.”  People scurried past, trying to get to their classes, talking, laughing, shouting…no body seemed to notice or care that there was a freshman stuck in a locker.  But why would they care?  Things like this probably happened on a daily basis.

            “It’s no good, dude. I can’t get it to budge.”

            “Pull up slowly and then push it down hard.  It’s not that complicated” I said through clenched teeth.

            “Yeah, but I-”

            “What are you, an idiot?” I interrupted, my temperature rising, “I never thought you were too stupid to open a freaking locker! I’m going to run out of air any minute and all you can do is stand there.”

            “I’m-trying-to-help-you!”

            “And you’re doing a great job except…wait…I’m still in the locker!” I snapped.

He was silent for a moment.

“I’ve got to go to class.” He muttered bitterly.

            “What?”

            “I’ve got to go to class.” He repeated.

I was stunned. He wouldn’t really leave me here would he?  “Oh come on!  Just try the door one more time.”  He mumbled something I didn’t catch and started to leave. I panicked. “Brian.  BRIAN!  Don’t leave me.  I-I didn’t mean it!”

            “I’m gonna be late.” He said flatly.

The third bell rang and then, he left.  I could hear his footsteps moving away from the locker. No, please no!   

“Brian you weasel!” I yelled after him. The halls grew quiet. I was alone.  “Okay,” I told myself, “It’s okay.  You’ll be fine.  Someone is bound to walk by eventually, right?”  I tried to concentrate on my breathing. I’d never felt so claustrophobic. It was hard to keep myself under control.  This was torture of the worst kind.  I was reduced to a captive lump of flesh and sweaty gym socks.

How did I get myself into this situation?  I didn’t even know. I wish I could claim that some big mean bully had shoved me in here.  I wish I could claim that it had been a dare.  No such luck.  I put myself in this locker.  Not on purpose, of course.  One minute I’m trying to grab a paper from the sticky floor, the next I’m tripping into the locker as the door shuts on me. Yup, I’m that uncoordinated. 

Some would call it bad luck.  Me, I don’t believe in luck.  I do, however, believe in karma. When you do something rotten, it always comes back to bite you. Am I a bad kid?   I must’ve done something awful today, even before I insulted the one guy that could’ve saved me. Fate doesn’t just deicide to throw a guy in a locker for no reason.  I guess this means I need to change my ways.  Okay, okay, I’ll repent already. “Somebody let me outta here!”

Beauty and the Beast

Tale as old as time...song as old as rhyme...Beauty and the Beast...

is over.  

For those who may not have been aware, my new teaching job at West Point Jr. involves doing the school musical.  Lori Hayward, the choir director, chose Beauty and the Beast to be her last show, and I got to be her assistant.  Next year, she'll just be doing the music and I'll take over as director.

It's been a fun ride:  we had a fantastic cast, an amazing set, awesome costumes and props, and a great parent support group.  Lori did all of the big costumes including Belle's gold gown, Mrs. Potts, Cogsworth, and Madame (the Wardrobe).  I blocked all of the scenes involving fight choreography, the "Beauty and the Beast" dance, Gaston's song "Me," and various other scenes. I was also in charge of props and the Beast's costume. Here are some pics: 

This is one of the props I built that I'm the happiest with.  It's Maurice's invention...and it makes bubbles.  I built it out of a bunch of junk I bought at the DI for about $14...and then another $21 for the bubble machine. It worked every night.

This is our Beast.  I made the wig out of two separate 1980's rocker wigs.  I trimmed the top one and put it on top of the other and sewed them together.  I then added in pieces of other colors of hair.  I made the horns out of molding clay, wire, and paint.  They're stuck to the wig using the wire and hot glue.  The mask is made out of different pieces of a latex werewolf mask glued to a masquerade mask.  I added eyebrows and paint around the eyes.  He's also wearing a beard that I sewed some fangs to.  The hands were some monster hands that I painted and sewed fur to.  It looked pretty awesome on the stage.

This is our Belle looking at the Wardrobe.  All of the costumes Lori did were superb.
 

Now that it's all over, I have to get ready for the next one that we'll be putting on at the end of February:  Dr. Omar Hansen's The Horrible Monster of Danky Swamp. 

Story Time

At my teacher training this past week, they told me I needed to write and publish more.  This is a story I wrote a few years back and thought I would share.  No one can say I don't pay attention at my trainings. 

Muffet

            Muffet was unlike any other girl in school:  She was six feet tall and weighed 186 lbs, her ears were covered with piercings—more metal than flesh in that region. She wore thick, black eyeliner, dark red lipstick, and her wardrobe consisted of black tops, black pants, and black boots.  As she stalked down the hallways, little seventh graders would scurry out of the way, praying they wouldn’t be the next unfortunate kid to get their head stuck in a toilet.  No ninth grader in the history of Tuffet Jr. High School had ever been so merciless.  If anyone stood in her way, they found themselves injured or unconscious.  Of all the unwritten laws of the teen world, #1 on the list was: Do not ever mess with Missy Muffet. 

            On the opposite end of the jr. high spectrum, Spencer Spedenhofer or “Spider” for short, was on the student counsel, a member of the soccer team, and on the same level of attractiveness as Brad Pitt. Although he was not a homosexual, he had an impeccable sense of style: designer jeans, form fitting leather jackets, the works. He’d stride down the hallways with his head up, a smile on his face. He’d pat his friends on the back as he passed, still laughing at that last joke they’d told. He frequently stooped down to pick up a stray gum wrapper or a crumpled up math assignment and put it in the trash.  No one was beyond his notice.  Just because that shy girl in the corner had a crater face didn’t mean he couldn’t say “hi” to her. He did everything he could to make others feel worthwhile… but something was wrong with Spider.  Occasionally he’d get a far off look in his eye, as if he were somewhere else.  Spider was putting on a show.  Not a happy, Broadway musical with tap dancing and flashy costumes, but a tragedy where the stage is littered with dead bodies by the end.  Spider was in anguish, his soul torn to pieces.   Spider was in love with Missy Muffet.

            The obsession had started in the fourth grade.  It was a passion he’d dealt with in secrecy, suffering in silence.  What was it that drew him to her? Her unique walk, her distinct features, her matchless beauty?  Yes, but she also had a certain air about her that attracted him. An “I don’t care what anybody thinks about me” attitude.  He always tried to find ways to get close to her: on gym class sports teams, in the lunch line, as a math tutor, but somehow she always managed to elude him.

            It was on May 21^st that he finally broke.  No more subtleties, he told himself.  My love is nothing to be ashamed of.  He knew what he had to do.  At lunchtime, he sought her out. 

            Muffet wasn’t hard to find.  She sat alone in the corner under the “Go Titans” sign everyday.  Another kid had tried to sit there once, but he had disappeared shortly thereafter. Some said that Muffet had forced him down the garbage disposal with her left over fish sticks.  Others argued that she pummeled him so hard that his facial features shifted to the point where he looked like someone else entirely.  Spider wasn’t afraid.  He straightened his back, clenched his jaw, and started towards her.  Kids looked up from their trays as he passed, smiling at him.  Some even said “Hi, Spider!” but he didn’t respond.  He didn’t hear them. He was like a General off to fight a war, or a Knight to slay a dragon and rescue a Princess.  Of course, in his case, the dragon and the Princess were the same person.

The closer Spider got to Muffet’s table, the more anxious the lunchroom became. Spider reached his destination and brought himself to a halt. Every pair of eyes stared at him.  Blue eyes, brown eyes, hazel eyes; all on him.  Muffet looked up from her lunch and removed one of her earphones.  Spider opened his mouth to say something, but nothing came out.  It was as if he were being choked to death by a burly man with gigantic hands.  For almost an entire minute, no one spoke, no one whispered, no one even breathed.

            “What?” Muffet finally blurted.

            Spider swallowed. Muffet blinked. “How’s your lunch?” he asked.

            “Uh, fine.”   Muffet raised her eyebrows as if to say, “Why are you talking to me, punk?”

Spider looked at the lumpy, white substance. “What is it?”

            “Cottage cheese, why?”

            “Just curious, that’s all.” 

            Spider wasn’t sure where to start, he wasn’t a poet after all.  He wiped off a drop of sweat from his forehead with a shaking hand. It was hard to be confident with everyone watching him.

  Muffet finally spoke, “So are you gonna tell me why you really came over here or am I gonna have to beat it out of you?”

“Oh,” Spider started, “Well, Muffet—er—Missy…can I call you Missy? Not the point.  Uh, I’m not really sure how to put this.”  He started, “I don’t usually get nervous but...” 

“Spill it, Spedenhofer.”

Spider nodded. “The thing is, Missy, I…uh…I like you.  I like like you.”  There was a giant gasp. He had to get through this quickly.  “Anyway, I was just wondering if, maybe, you might like to go out with me some time? You know, like a date.”  Excited whispers erupted in the lunch room. Some people even laughed, each snicker hitting Spider like rounds from a sniper rifle. He broke out into a cold sweat.  Muffet looked mortified.

            She continued to sit in silence, while he continued to stand there feeling like a complete idiot.  He knew he had to do something, and quick.  Gathering up that last of his courage, he took a deep breath, and slid into the seat next to her.  Muffet jumped out of her seat as if Spider had been an infectious disease.  She looked down at him with startled eyes.  Spider’s face fell.  He stared at her.  Each breath she took was shallow and raspy.  Her eyes were wide and her mouth hung open.  The lunchroom went silent once again. Spider desperately wanted to say something, but held his tongue, waiting.  Everyone was waiting. Muffet shook her head, not quickly, but in slow motion, and after a moment or two, stalked out of the lunch room, shoving kids out of her way.

            Spider’s heart was broken.  No, more than broken, it was smashed, shattered, crushed! He had scared her away.  She was the only girl he’d ever loved and he had scared her away. The rest of the day he sulked through the halls, ignoring the mocking whispers that followed him everywhere.

It’s amazing how fast news travels in the teen world. All of Tuffet Jr. High was laughing at him.  “He asked Muffet out?” They whispered, “I can’t believe we thought he was cool.”  No one looked at him the same. No more smiles, no more greetings.  Popularity, his friend for so long, had finally deserted him.  He was now a social outcast.

            “I’m so stupid,” he told himself, “What was I thinking?  Muffet and I are obviously never meant to be together. I’ll just have to get over her, I guess.” He chuckled to himself.  “Yeah, right.”

            At last the final bell rang.  Waiting until everyone else was out of the classroom; he grabbed his bag and started down the long hallway. Garbage cluttered the floor around him, but he didn’t care, he passed right on by. He was moping on a bench in front of the school when suddenly he heard a voice behind him.  “Did you mean what you said in the lunch room, or were you on some kind of dare?” 

Startled, Spider spun around to face Muffet.  He gazed at her, mouth wide open. “Well?” she demanded.

“I meant every word.”  He finally squeaked out.  Muffet nodded her head but said nothing.  “I’ve liked you since I first saw you in the fourth grade.”  He continued, “You had your hair up in a pony tail, and you were wearing a “Transformers” t-shirt.  I remember thinking that only the coolest girl in the world could wear a shirt like that.”

Muffet sat down next to him.  “I loved that shirt.” She fidgeted for a moment and then turned to face him. “Look, this is stupid!  Why do you like me?  No one likes me! You’ll be better off if you just forget the whole thing.”

“I know, but I can’t help it!” 

Silence.

Muffet bit her lip.  “I like you too, you know.”

Spider looked into her eyes.  “You do?”

She nodded.  “You can hold my hand if you want to.”

He paused “Really?”

“Yeah.” She held out her hand as an invitation. “And I won’t run away this time.”

“I won’t run away either.” Spider whispered.

No turning back now. He held his breath and reached out to take it. After gently sliding his hand into hers, they entwined their fingers. Spider let out a sigh of relief and beamed at her.  She blushed, gave him a sheepish smile in return, and giggled. Who knew Missy Muffet could giggle?  Tuffet Jr. High faded into the distance and all went quiet.  At that moment, they were the only two people alive.

Updates

Wow...it's been a long time since I've posted.  Whoops.  I guess I got a little busy there for a while.  Well, what's happened since the last post.  Nothing much.... no.... not really.... except...

I GOT A TEACHING JOB!
SOREN BECAME A MASTER WAND MAKER!
WE MOVED INTO A NEW APARTMENT IN SOUTH SALT LAKE!
SOREN WENT RIVER RAFTING FOR THE FIRST TIME!
I FAILED EPICALLY AT WAKE BOARDING!
SOREN BECAME A MASTER WAKE BOARDER!
I MADE AN AMAZING JEWELRY TREE TO HOLD MY NECKLACES!
WE HAD A 22 HOUR HARRY POTTER MOVIE MARATHON!

So yeah...not much. :)

Pictures to follow.

My jewelry tree... I know...it's awesome

The wands made by Soren.  They are amazing.

My cake for Harry Potter's Birthday movie marathon

Also, for the first day of school today, I dressed up as Professor Trewlawney from Harry Potter.  I spoke in a dazed British accent for about the first ten minutes of each class. As students piled in, I tried to memorize faces and names through the dollar store coke bottle glasses that impeded my vision.  My first two classes of 7th graders were too terrified to even talk to one another and breathed a hugh sigh of relief when I came out of the charade and started to speak like a real person.  It was a daring shenanigan, but I suppose it worked since I heard one of my first period students remark "She's my favorite teacher" as she walked out the door.  My Drama 2 students quickly caught on to the spirit of things and many of them spoke in British accents with me.  About ten minutes after I'd stopped acting like Trewlawney, one of them asked me to please start talking in my accent again.  It was an entertaining day.

And so the school year begins!