Katy Huth Jones's Blog, page 27

Benefits of Homeschooling--for the Parents

Back in the early days of homeschooling, critics claimed that children could not be adequately educated or “socialized” by their parents.  As that pioneering group of children has matured to adulthood and some are homeschooling the next generation, every “concern” has been abundantly proven bogus.  Not only are homeschoolers adequately educated, they are able to achieve far more than the average public school student because of the many benefits of receiving an education at home. Jones family 1995For Christian homeschooling parents, too, the potential benefits are enormous, both for this life and in preparation for the life to come.  When families don’t have to expend energy battling the humanistic propaganda and moral decay found in government schools, they can delight in strengthening their God-given roles within the family so parents and children can allgrow spiritually.  Homeschooling is so much more than mere schooling of the children; it is the ultimate family project!  There’s something about homeschooling together that acts as a totally honest mirror (as in James 1:23-25) for parents to accurately see their spiritual deficits.  There’s no hiding them; they must be dealt with!  But the close ties between parents and children make the family a safe haven in the storms of life where God’s plan for parents to bring up their children in His nurture and admonition can be the focus.  Thus anchored in their knowledge of God’s Word, parents are strengthened in their faith, better able to meet the trials of life when they come and better able to help their children grow in faith, too. Field trip with other familiesWeekly kickball for all agesAs an added bonus, parents have the wonderful opportunity to learn along with their children, covering subjects they never learned in school or have forgotten.  This is especially true as the children reach high school age.  Most teens are able to work independently by this time, but many subjects lend themselves to a joint participation between parents and children and/or other families:  foreign languages, civics, science, history, music, art, and drama.  This can be as involved as going through the entire course together (learning Spanish or German as a family, for example) or working in local politics during an election year, dissecting specimens for biology or doing chemistry experiments, visiting a Renaissance festival or a Civil War re-enactment, having family singings or learning musical instruments, taking art instruction or painting a mural on a bedroom wall, acting in a community theater summer production as a family or just doing a dramatic reading of a play at home, or joining Toastmasters to improve everyone’s public speaking skills.  Opportunities abound! The Kerrville Knights--excitement for all the families!One reason homeschooling can be superior to the government schools is that our goal can be teaching our children how to learn, whereas the public schools have to focus on imparting a checklist of information to be parroted back on standardized tests.  (That’s how they receive their ratings and their funding, at least here in Texas.)  As children of God we should all be lifelong learners of His Word.  This process, as well as a desire to learn, can best be taught at home as we show our children how to search out information for themselves.  Instead of cramming their heads full of facts in order to make "good grades" on tests, we give our children the tools to become lifelong learners.  In the process we parents help ourselves become better students. Shakespeare classParents can reap many blessings as a result of homeschooling:  a growing faith, stronger family ties, an opportunity to learn along with our children, and a chance to show our children how to be lifelong learners.  So the next time you explain the benefits of homeschooling to a skeptic or prospective parent, don’t forget to mention the benefits for the parents! Our homeschool band 1997

Three devastating words = unexpected blessings

Nine years ago today a doctor said those three words that everyone dreads, "You have cancer."

He was surprised by how calmly I accepted the diagnosis. But honestly I had suspected it for several months, even though four other doctors incorrectly diagnosed my symptoms as an infection or allergies. The pronouncement that I had fast-growing lymphoma and had to be treated right away was not as shocking as how completely my life changed overnight.

I was used to juggling several jobs/projects at one time. I guess it gave me some kind of weird "high" to be overly busy. I was definitely a control freak, burning my candle at both ends, and that came to a screeching halt. Now my focus was CT scans, PET scans, heart scans, blood tests, IVs, dealing with the effects of nuclear bomb strength chemo, and surprisingly, trying to comfort all the distraught people around me. I had thought others would comfort me, but I quickly learned that unless one has gone through this particular trial, most people don't know what to say to a cancer patient and so say nothing, and in many cases, avoid them, as if they're already dead.

At first it really hurt, but I realized I had done the same thing on occasion, and I'd always considered myself to be especially sensitive and empathetic. I learned so much about what to say and what NOT to say to someone going through the long dark scary tunnel of cancer treatment.

The very best thing that happened in the way of comfort was the cards I received from all over the country, some from people I'd never met. When the first ones came, I taped them to the back of the front door, like I've always done with Christmas cards, so I could look at them and "feel the love." When that door filled up, I taped cards to my office door. When THAT door filled up, I taped them to my bedroom door. I felt lifted up on wings of prayer, and it was so helpful, especially on those days when I wasn't sure if I'd survive the effects of chemo, let alone cancer.

Another unexpected blessing didn't feel like a blessing at first. I was so sad that life was going on without me, and it seemed that no one missed me at all. I had come to see myself as an indispensable, irreplaceable part of several organizations, and the shock that they could function without me was humbling, to say the least. But no one is indispensable. We may be missed, but life goes on. We're but a speck in the universe; there's no place for inflated egos. On our brief sojourn here, we should focus on others and what we can do for them, not try to "make a name" for ourselves or step on others while we claw our way to the top of the heap.

Which leads me to the greatest blessing of this cancer journey. B.C., before cancer, I only thought I had faith in God. But it took a humbling, completely helpless experience to bring this control freak to the realization that there are some things she cannot "handle" at all. I remember crying out to Him the first time the "chemo wave" hit me, that I could not endure this, and please have mercy on me. (Thankfully this doesn't happen to everyone, but since I've always been very sensitive to meds and once had a 12 hour LSD-type hallucination from 1/2 a baby aspirin, it's no surprise the strong poisons needed to kill my lymphoma turned me inside-out and burned me up. It was a horror I wouldn't wish on anyone.)
At the cancer center--my chemo chair
For the first time I understood what Paul's words in 2 Corinthians 12 meant when he was given "a thorn in the flesh": "Three times I pleaded with the Lord about this, that it should leave me. But He said to me, 'My grace is sufficient for you, for My power is made perfect in weakness.' Therefore I will boast all the more gladly of my weakness, so that the power of Christ may rest upon me." All my life I had *prided* myself on my own strength of character and determination (i.e. German hard-headedness) but I learned humility and true faith by being brought to my knees in despair and weakness. When I feel that pride creeping back in, all I have to do is remember that day when I was burning up from the poison and could only cling, weeping, to God's hand through the fire. He was my only comfort, and He was all sufficient.

For nine years I have thanked God for bringing me through that private hell. Even though I feel "survivor's guilt" when someone I know has lost their cancer battle, I try not to take even one minute of life for granted now. There must be a reason God spared me, and I don't want to waste a moment of this precious time He's given me.

Fun Friday: The Taming of the Shrew, Gangster Version

This is another rewritten scene I wrote for my Shakespeare class, which they of course wanted to act out. For who, quoth she, can resist a good gangster tale?

The Taming of the Godfather's Grumpy Girl(You'd be grumpy, too, if your father was a gangster!)
Act 5, Scene 2 (Inside Godfather Baptista's mansion.  Lucentio and Bianca's wedding feast.  They are seated with Don Baptista, Don Vincentio, Don Petruchio, Don Hortensio, Don Gremio, Katherine, and Widow Corleone.  Bodyguards Tranio, Biondello, and Grumio are hovering nearby.)
LUCENTIO:  (Lifting a glass in a toast.)  To my beautiful wife, Bianca, my new father Don Baptista, my old father Don Vincentio, my former rivals, and all youse guys, may all our hits be clean and our money laundering profitable!
PETRUCHIO:  (Grumbling)  Yadda, yadda, yadda.  Where's the action?
BAPTISTA:  What are you complaining about, son Petruchio?
PETRUCHIO:  (Nervously)  Nothing, Don Baptista, I assure you.
HORTENSIO:  For both our sakes, I hope that's true.
PETRUCHIO:  What's the matter?  Are you scared of your widow?
WIDOW:  I'm a Corleone.  I fear nothing.
PETRUCHIO:  Yes, yes, but you misunderstand me.  I mean Hortensio is afraid of you.
WIDOW:  "He who is dizzy thinks the world is spinning."
PETRUCHIO:  (Laughing) A dizzying answer!
KATHERINE:  (To Widow)  What do you mean by that remark?
WIDOW:  You know exactly what I mean.  Your husband, married to a shrew, thinks all husbands suffer in the same way.
KATHERINE:  That's a very mean meaning.
WIDOW:  (Acting snooty) That's right.  I mean you.
KATHERINE:  Compared to you, I'm a bimbo.
PETRUCHIO:  Get her, Kate!
HORTENSIO:  Get her, Widow!
PETRUCHIO:  I'll bet one thousand my Kate gives your Widow a fat lip!
HORTENSIO:  I'll accept your wager!
BAPTISTA:  (Leaning toward Gremio) What do you think of these quick-witted men, Don Gremio?
GREMIO:  Quick-witted and hot-tempered and ready to bet or fight at all times.
BIANCA:  Of course they're ready to fight.  They're both married to hot-tempered women, after all.
VINCENTIO:  So what about you?  Now that you're a wife, will you become a fighter, too?
BIANCA:  Not me.  I keep my claws sheathed and let my words do my fighting.
PETRUCHIO:  Oh, ho!  Since you've brought up this subject, let's continue with some fighting words.
BIANCA:  You don't tell me what to do, Don Petruchio.  Come on, ladies, let's get outta here.  (Bianca, Katherine, and Widow exit.)
PETRUCHIO:  Well, Tranio, are you sorry now that you didn't win that prize?  (Lifts his glass again)  Here's a toast to all who bet on Bianca and lost!
TRANIO:  Don Petruchio, I was never in the running.  I was running the scam for my boss, Lucentio.  But what about you?  Do you have any regrets now that you've married the shrew?
BAPTISTA:  Yes, Don Petruchio.  I know my own daughter.  I can only think that you got a bum deal.
PETRUCHIO:  I can see why you would think that, Don Baptista, but I can prove you all wrong.  Let each of us send for his wife.  The one whose wife comes quickest when he sends for her wins the bet that we'll agree on.
HORTENSIO:  I'm in.  How much is the bet?
LUCENTIO:  I'll bet two thousand.
PETRUCHIO:  Two thousand?  I'd bet that much on a racehorse or a blackjack game.  I would bet twenty times that much on my wife.
LUCENTIO:  A hundred then.
HORTENSIO:  One hundred thousand?  All right.
PETRUCHIO:  It's a bet.  You all are witnesses.
HORTENSIO:  Who goes first?
LUCENTIO:  (Standing)  I will.  Go, Biondello, and ask Bianca to come to me.
BIONDELLO:  Yes, sir.  (exits)
BAPTISTA:  Son, I'll split the bet with you that Bianca comes.
LUCENTIO:  (Confidently)  Thank you, sir, but I don't need to do that.  I'll cover the bet myself.  (enter Biondello)  Well, where's Bianca?
BIONDELLO:  Sir, she says that she's busy and can't come.
PETRUCHIO:  She's busy and she can't come!  Is that an answer?
GREMIO:  At least it's a polite answer.  That's more than you'll get from your wife, Don Petruchio.
PETRUCHIO:  Don't be so sure about that.
HORTENSIO:  Biondello, go and request that my wife come to me right away.  (Biondello exits)
PETRUCHIO:  Oh, ho!  Request?  Then she must come.
HORTENSIO:  I'm afraid, Don Petruchio, that whatever you do, yours won't come to any request.(Biondello enters)  Now, where's my wife?
BIONDELLO:  She says you've got to be kidding.  She won't come and says you must go to her.
PETRUCHIO:   (Laughing)  It gets worse and worse!  She will not come!  Come here, Grumio.
GRUMIO:  Yes, sir?
PETRUCHIO:  Go to Katherine and say I command her to come to me.  (Grumio exits)
HORTENSIO:  I know what she's going to say.
PETRUCHIO:  What?
HORTENSIO:  She will not come.  And we'll be able to hear her answer from here.
PETRUCHIO:  (Shrugs)  If she doesn't, that's my bad luck.
(Enter Katherine)
BAPTISTA:  I can't believe my eyes!
KATHERINE:  (Kindly)  What do you want?  Why did you send for me?
PETRUCHIO:  Where are your sister and Hortensio's wife?
KATHERINE:  They're in the study, gossiping.
PETRUCHIO:  Bring them here.  If they refuse to come with you, chase them to their husbands here with a whip.  (Exit Katherine)
LUCENTIO:  I can't believe my eyes or my ears.
HORTENSIO:  Me, neither.
PETRUCHIO:  Believe it, and weep!
BAPTISTA:  Well, Don Petruchio, you have won the wager.  I'll add to their losses another twenty thousand, for you have tamed my daughter when I thought she could not be tamed.

A Musical Gift

I had heard about Joshua Bell, of course.  He was supposed to be the greatest living violinist.  So when offered a free ticket to hear him live in a recital in San Antonio's Majestic Theatre, I jumped at the chance.

I arrived with my three friends, all string players, at the beautiful downtown theatre.  Just entering that building is a marvelous experience.  The massive wood stairs, the intricately carved wooden decorations in the walls and ceilings, and the multicolored backlit stage transports the audience to another world.  We found our seats—almost at the very top.  The stage was far, far below us.  I figured I wouldn't be able to see a thing, but hopefully the acoustics were good enough to hear something. San Antonio's fabulous Majestic TheatreAfter a lengthy introduction, violinist Joshua Bell and his pianist stepped onto the stage and bowed.  Mr. Bell looked very small—short and slight with light brown hair, dressed in a long black shirt and baggy black pants.  He was dressed for comfort, not for show.

And then he began to play.  From the very first note, I forgot everything else.  It didn't matter that I sat in the "nosebleed" section, that he was so far away.  Joshua Bell's music pulled me down on that stage with him and I forgot everything else.  It wasn't the fact that he had the most pure and beautiful sound, as if the instrument were truly his voice.  It wasn't that his technique was perfectly executed as he made 32nd and 64th notes sound effortless and also as he played a fugue—three different parts simultaneously—a feat impossible for many pianists to accomplish.

It was the fact that this man became the music; he merely used the violin as his instrument to express it.  I'd always told my students to "play from the heart," but Mr. Bell did far more than that--he gave himself, body, soul, and spirit to that performance.   
In between numbers he would talk about the music, how he came to own his 200 year old Stradivarius, and share tidbits about himself so the audience could know him as a mortal human being, but while playing he transcended the physical world.  There was more than joy in music at work here; it was enharmonic rhapsody, as if he were flying on the notes of each song and pulling us along on the tail of a kite.

By the end of the recital, Mr. Bell was dripping wet.  He looked exhausted.  But even from my far-away seat I could see his grin and the way his face lit up, still reflecting that ecstasy of musical flight.  He had given this audience a gift, not just of glorious music, but of himself.  We were privileged to now carry a piece of Joshua Bell with us for the rest of our lives.

Finally, after thirty years, I realized why I'd had to change my college major from music performance to music education:  I wasn't able to pour myself into each performance like Joshua Bell did.  I practiced my fingers off.  I lived in the practice rooms at the music building.  I thought I loved playing the music, but I focused on the notes, on the technique, on making it "perfect" instead of letting go and letting the music perfect me.  Only then can music pour from the instrument of a human heart and become a shared experience with human listeners.  Truly a gift.

The Faith of a Child

David age 4 with his foster sister
We’d always dreamed of having a large family.  But our only son, David, was already six years old.  We’d spent a heartbreaking two years as foster parents, hoping in vain to adopt.  But we had to give it up.  We couldn’t put David through the agony of becoming attached to another child and then having to say goodbye.  It was difficult enough for us.  How much more so for him?   
“When will I get a baby brother?” David asked.
“I'm sorry, but it looks like you won’t be getting one,” I said.
David was insistent.  “I want a brother.  I'm going to pray for one.”
Every night David prayed for a brother.  Though I worried about how disappointed he would be when his prayer wasn’t answered, I didn’t have the heart to stop him.  Instead of praying along with David, I’d given up on fertility options.  I was reading books with advice on “Raising Your Only Child.”
Six months passed.  David wasn’t discouraged.  He kept praying.  “I know God will give me a brother,” he would say.  How could I tell him otherwise?
We took a trip to Los Angeles for David’s seventh birthday, hoping to distract him.  He chose Universal Studios over Disneyland.  He also wanted to see the Queen Mary.  While touring the enormous ship, I became short of breath and had to stop and rest every few minutes.
“I don’t know what’s wrong with me,” I said to my husband.  “Maybe it’s the smog.”  I couldn’t think of any other reason to be short of breath.
By the time we drove back to Texas almost two weeks later, I realized I had missed a period.  Could it be?  I’d given up any expectations of having another baby.  I was afraid to hope.  I certainly didn’t mention my suspicions to David.
I waited until the second missed cycle before I bought a pregnancy test.  To my utter shock it was positive!  My husband picked me up, swung me around.  David danced for joy.
“When?” he asked.  “When do I get my brother?”
“Well, honey, it won’t be right away.”  I figured in my head.  “The baby will be born in about seven months.”
“That’s okay.  I’ll be ready for him by then.”
“But David,” I said, “what if the baby is a girl?”
He shook his head.  “It won’t be.  I prayed for a brother.”
Oh, brother, I thought.  “But what if it is a girl?”
“Then we’ll send her back.  I asked for a brother.”
David “practiced” for his baby brother.  He rescued a baby doll from the bottom of his toy box, cleaned it up, and carried it everywhere.  He made a car seat out of a cardboard box and strapped that doll into it whenever we went out.  He wanted to check out every book at the library that had to do with fetal development and baby care.  I edited a few of the pictures, but tried to answer all his questions as completely as possible.
“This is how big my brother is now,” he would say, pointing at a diagram of a second trimester fetus.  He would check the length against a ruler.   
After the baby’s heartbeat became audible, the obstetrician invited David in to listen.
“Wow.”  David’s whisper was reverent.  “That’s my brother’s heart.”  He grinned.  “It sounds sort of like a washing machine.”  He listened to his own heartbeat with the stethoscope. 
“Do you have any questions, young man?” asked the doctor.
“Yeah.  How did that baby get in there anyhow?”
I swallowed and looked at the doctor.  After reading all those library books David had never once asked that question.
My OB smiled and said, “Well, David, your mother and your father love each other very much so God put the baby in there.”
“Oh,” David said, nodding.
He started talking to my belly after that.  “Hello, Robert.  This is your brother, David, speaking.”  He wanted to sing to him, read stories to him. 
The doctor ordered an ultrasound.  Just as happened when I was pregnant with David, this baby was growing so big that the doctor wanted to make sure there was just one.  During the ultrasound, the baby wouldn’t get in the right position to determine its sex. 
“It’s okay,” David said while watching the videotape of the ultrasound.  “I know it’s a boy.”
As the delivery date grew nearer the doctor said, “Well, based on the heartbeat, my guess would be a girl.”
No, I wanted to say.  You don’t understand!  David wants a brother.
Just as David had been, this baby was breech.  Because they were both so large and I was too small, I had another C-section.  David donned a hospital gown and waited just outside the delivery room with a family friend.
“One good thing about a breech baby,” said the doctor, “is that you can tell the sex right away.”  He paused.  “It’s a boy!” 
While the doctor sewed me together, my husband helped clean up the baby.  The nurse stepped outside with him to show David his new brother, Robert.
“I knew he would be a boy,” he told the nurse.  “I asked God for a brother.”
At the time the hospital didn’t allow siblings to visit in the room, but our doctor found a way to “bend” the rules, and David was allowed to come with his dad.  He sat for long stretches in the rocking chair, holding and rocking his sleepy brother, asking a million questions.
“Does he know me?”  “When will he wake up?”  “Will he like me?”  “When will he smile?”  “When will he eat real food?”  “When will he crawl?”
It didn’t bother David that it would be awhile before Robert was big enough to play with him.  After all, he’d waited a long time, knowinghis prayer would be answered; he didn’t mind waiting a bit longer. 

Fun Friday: The Case of the Missing Werecat

This is the last of my "plays" written for students in my writing classes. This was the smallest class I taught but an interesting collection of favorite fictional characters. I can tell by reading through these plays that they were written when the Pirates of the Caribbean was so popular, since Captain Jack Sparrow appears in most of them!



The Case of the Missing WerecatCast of Characters
Sarah-Jane Cooper (Three Cousins Detective Club)Napoleon DynamiteJohn Lawless (The Happiest Millionaire)Captain Jack Sparrow (Pirates of the Caribbean)Puddleglum (Chronicles of Narnia)Solembum (Eragon)

Scene 1   A street in town.  Enter SARAH-JANE  and NAPOLEON.
SARAH-JANE:  I really, really need your help, Napoleon.  My cousins, Timothy and Titus, are out of town this weekend, so the T.C.D.C. needs you.
NAPOLEON:  What’s a “teesy-deesy”?  Is that like a Ninja weapon or something?
SARAH-JANE:  No, no.  It stands for Three Cousins Detective Club.  We solve mysteries.
NAPOLEON:  But I don’t have any good skills.
SARAH-JANE:  What do you mean?
NAPOLEON:  You know, like numchuck skills, bow hunting skills, computer hacking skills.
SARAH-JANE:  Oh, don’t worry, we’re just trying to find someone.  Or something.
NAPOLEON:  Who?  Or what?
SARAH-JANE:  A werecat.
NAPOLEON:  Is that anything like a liger?
SARAH-JANE:  What’s a liger?
NAPOLEON:  It’s pretty much my favorite animal.  It’s like a lion and a tiger mixed.  It’s bred for its skills in magic.
SARAH-JANE:  I think a werecat is much more dangerous.
NAPOLEON:  More dangerous than a liger?
SARAH-JANE:  Oh, yes.  Plus they are rare and hard to find.
NAPOLEON:  Then how are we going to find it?
SARAH-JANE:  Him.  His name is Solembum.
NAPOLEON:  That’s a dumb name.
SARAH-JANE:  (Shrugs) Well, it’s the one he’s got.  Are you with me, or not?
NAPOLEON:  (Sighs)  I’m with you.
SARAH-JANE:  Good!  ‘Cause we need to get our other helpers.  (Enter JOHN)  Here’s one now.
JOHN:  (Cheerfully)  Top o’ the morning to you!
SARAH-JANE:  Hello.  Aren’t you John Lawless?
JOHN:  ‘Tis little ol’ me, as you can see.
SARAH-JANE:  I’m Sarah-Jane Cooper, and this Napoleon Dynamite.
JOHN:  Quite an explosive name, that is.
SARAH-JANE:  We need your help to solve a mystery.
JOHN:  I love a good mystery!
NAPOLEON:  We’re looking for a werecat.  It’s like a liger but more dangerous.
JOHN:  Well, now, that answers a whole slew of questions, don’t it?
SARAH-JANE:  Will you help us, or not?
JOHN:  (Shrugs)  An Irishman nevers backs down from a challenge.  Besides, it’s me day off.
SARAH-JANE:  Oh, good!  Come on, we need to find one more person.
(Enter Puddleglum, looking glum)
JOHN:  Good morning to you, sir.
PUDDLEGLUM:  Looks like rain before lunch if it doesn’t snow or hail first.
JOHN:  Well, sir, why so dull on such a bright morning?
PUDDLEGLUM:  The other Marsh-wiggles keep saying I’m too flighty.  They say I need to learn that there’s more to life than fricasseed frogs and eel pies.  How is that possible?
NAPOLEON:  I’m hungry, too.  You ever eat any tots?
PUDDLEGLUM:  Tots?  Do you bake them in a pie?
NAPOLEON:  No.  I just eat mine with ketchup.  By the way, I like your sweet hat.  I’m Napoleon.
PUDDLEGLUM:  Puddleglum’s my name.  But it doesn’t matter if you forget it.  I can always tell you again.
JOHN:  May I see your hand, sir?  (PUDDLEGLUM holds up his hand)  Why, you have webbing like a frog.  Is something wrong?
PUDDLEGLUM:  (Looking annoyed)  Nothing wrong with me.  Nothing frog with me.  I’m a respectabiggle.
SARAH-JANE:  Well, I like you even if you seem to be a wet blanket.  Will you help us find a werecat?
PUDDLEGLUM:    Got to start by finding it, have we?  Not allowed to start by looking for it, I suppose?
SARAH-JANE:  Oh, we’ll have to look for it first.  And I know just the man who can help us.  Will you come?
PUDDLEGLUM:  Might as well go as not.  Might catch some victuals while we’re at it, as long as we don’t faint with hunger first.
SARAH-JANE:  Great!  We’ll make a great team.  Let’s go!  (Enter SPARROW)  Jack Sparrow!  Just the man I wanted to find.
SPARROW:  Captain, love.  Captain Jack Sparrow.
NAPOLEON:  I thought we were looking for a werecat.
SARAH-JANE:  We are.  But we need Captain Sparrow and his boat.
SPARROW:  Ship, love.  The Black Pearl is a ship.
SARAH-JANE:  Aren’t you going to Tortuga today?
SPARROW:  Who wants to know?
SARAH-JANE:  I’m Sarah-Jane Cooper.  These are my friends, and we’re looking for the werecat Solembum.
SPARROW:  Solembum, eh?  What’s in it for me?
SARAH-JANE:  I have four dollars.
NAPOLEON:  I could get you some tots.
PUDDLEGLUM:  If I could catch some eels, I’d bake you a pie, but they take a mortal long time to cook.
SPARROW:  You call that treasure?
JOHN:  Not all treasure is silver and gold, mate.  You look like a man who appreciates a good drink.
SPARROW:  Rum?
JOHN:  Better than rum.
SPARROW:  Can you sail under the command of a pirate?
ALL:  Yes.
SPARROW:  Do you have the courage and fortitude to follow orders and stay true in the face of danger and almost certain death?
ALL:  Yes.
SPARROW:  Good.  I can always use extra hands.  Let’s be on our way.
(Exit)

Scene 2   Deck of the Black Pearl.  Enter SARAH-JANE, NAPOLEON, JOHN, and PUDDLEGLUM.
SARAH-JANE:  We need to review what we know about werecats.
NAPOLEON:  I only know about ligers.
JOHN:  I’ve heard o’ werewolves.  Are they anything like that?
PUDDLEGLUM:  Well, you can review what you know about werecats if you want, but I’m afraid very little has ever been known about them.
SARAH-JANE:  Can’t they change their shape?
NAPOLEON:  You mean, like a shape-shifter?  Sweet!
JOHN:  Since a werewolf changes from a man to a wolf, I assume a werecat changes from a man to a cat.
PUDDLEGLUM:  That’s fairly obvious, though not as obvious as one might think.
SARAH-JANE:  I’ve been told that when Solembum changes from being a cat, he’s a boy with slanted eyes and shaggy black hair, and he weaves a sprig of holly into his hair.
JOHN:  Like that young fellow there?  (Points to SOLEMBUM who is walking past.)
SARAH-JANE:  (Gasps)  Excuse me, we’d like to talk to you.  (SOLEMBUM keeps walking.)
JOHN:  Hello there, young man with the holly black hair.  (SOLEMBUM turns around.)
SOLEMBUM:  Are you talking to me?
NAPOLEON:  Do you see anyone else with holly in their hair?
PUDDLEGLUM:  Perhaps you could tell us your name, unless you don’t care to tell us.
SOLEMBUM:  I go by many names. 
JOHN:  Just your proper name, if you please.
SOLEMBUM:  If you are looking for my proper one, you will have to look elsewhere.  However, you may call me Solembum.
NAPOLEON:  Yessssssss.
SARAH-JANE:  I knew it!  We’ve been looking for you!
SOLEMBUM:  There was no need.
SARAH-JANE:  But are you all right?  Angela has been worried about you.
SOLEMBUM:  I have been visiting my sister.  I am now returning to Alagaesia.
PUDDLEGLUM:  I hope that’s not too close to Narnia.
NAPOLEON:  What kind of skills do you have?
SOLEMBUM:  I catch rats.  (He changes into a cat.)  Purrfectly.  (He walks away.)
NAPOLEON:  Sweet!
(Enter SPARROW)
SPARROW:  Lawless!
JOHN:  Yes, sir.  You yelled, sir?
SPARROW:  Why is the rum gone?
JOHN:  Do ye not remember I had something better than rum?
SPARROW:  But why is the rum gone?
JOHN:  Here, try me Irish coffee.
SARAH-JANE:  May I have some, please?
JOHN:  Sorry, me girl, it’ll be a mocha latte for you.
NAPOLEON:  Irish coffee sounds retarded.  I’d rather have a coke.
PUDDLEGLUM:  I suppose you wouldn’t happen to have any eels just lying about.
SARAH-JANE:  Captain Sparrow, we have found our missing werecat with your crew.
JOHN:  Have you noticed a decrease in your rat population aboard ship?
SPARROW:  Well, I hadn’t really noticed, but that is a good thing.  Fewer rats, fewer holes in my ship.
JOHN:  For Sarah-Jane to find the missing werecat and the Black Pearl become rat-free both in the same person, that’s fortuosity!
NAPOLEON:  Then all our wildest dreams have come true.
SPARROW:  I love a happy ending!  Drinks all around!
JOHN:  No shilly-shallyin’, no dilly-dallyin’, let’s ‘ave a drink on it now!
SARAH-JANE:  Drink up, me ‘earties, yo ho!
PUDDLEGLUM:  And really bad eggs.
THE END 

Worst Christmas gift. Ever.

When I was eight years old I lived in Arlington, Virginia very close to my maternal grandparents, so they saw firsthand my great interest in science. My entire third grade year I alternated between wanting to be an archeologist and an astronaut, and being good grandparents, they wanted to encourage those interests. I still have the microscope my Grandpa gave me that year for Christmas.

But I'll never forget the great horror I felt when I opened my gift from Gammies (as I called my sweet, very-much-a-grand-lady grandmother). It was a replica SHRUNKEN HEAD, complete with stitches holding the lips together! I already had problems with bad dreams after a strange reaction to aspirin which gave me a 12 hour LSD-type nightmare. Now I had a waking one as my younger sister (four years old and absolutely fearless) had no problems PICKING UP that horrible head and chasing me around the house with it, she laughing and me screaming.

Of course my grandmother was horrified I was so freaked out. I can still hear her telling my mother, "I'm so sorry; I thought she would like it." I can't even imagine where she found such a thing. Maybe the Smithsonian gift shop?

So, my fellow grandparents, please be careful what you give your grandchildren for Christmas. It may have a lifelong effect upon their tender little hearts.

What was YOUR worst nightmare, er, I mean worst Christmas gift?

Fun Friday: The Twelve Days of Christmas--by the numbers

I've always liked this song, but in the last few years I've wondered if the "true love" wasn't sending subtle messages by his choice of gifts.
After all, his lady received not one but a total of twelve partridges in pear trees (1 x 12 days = 12).  Did he think she needed to plant a pear orchard?  Did he hope she'd invite him over for roast partridge or scrambled partridge eggs?
Those two cooing turtle doves became twenty-two (2 x 11 days = 22).  Either he's sending another culinary message or he really doesn't understand what a MESS all these birds will make.  He should have given her a subscription to the New York Times so she'd have plenty of cage liners.
Three French hens(3 x 10 days = 30).  Why French hens?  Leghorns and Rhode Island Reds are proven egg-layers, if that was his intention.  These 30 messy, less-productive hens will merely add to the cacophony of noise, loose feathers, and droppings, driving our poor heroine to tears.
Four calling birds(4 x 9 days = 36).  What is a "calling" bird?  From what I've been able to discover, the word was originally "colly" or "collie" which means black, so probably blackbirds.  Hmm, maybe this "true love" is the same guy who tried to bake "four and twenty blackbirds" in a pie for the king, but his oven wasn't hot enough and the birds began to sing.  I can't imagine blackbirds could sing very well.
Five gold rings(5 x 8 days = 40).  At first glance you might think the true love has finally redeemed himself.  After all, the poor lady can keep one and sell the other 39 to pay for the birds' upkeep.  But why did he give her 40 rings?  Maybe he's a burglar and robbed a jewelry store.  If he was wealthy enough to purchase 40 gold rings (a small 14K one might be found for $200, so that's $8,000 at least) he certainly could have given her something more practical than flocks and flocks of messy birds.
Six geese-a-laying(6 x 7 days = 42).  So they're proven egg-layers, but what does the lady need with 42 of them when she already has way too many partridges, doves, hens, and blackbirds?  Unless the true love has given her the goose that lays golden eggs, her goose will be cooked trying to feed all these big honking birds and then clean up after them (which is the real meaning of "loose as a goose").
Seven swans-a-swimming (7 x 6 days = 42).  So an equal number of two equally large bird species.  I sure hope the poor lady has a large lake on her property.  Just imagine the noise, and the mess, and the feed bill.  Is the true love trying to drive her insane???
Eight maids-a-milking (8 x 5 days = 40).  Here's the rub:  our heroine must already have milk cows, or she wouldn't need milkmaids.  But even if she has a very large herd, there won't be enough work for 40 milkmaids, so they'll start a union and fight over who gets first milking rights and the poor cows will explode or dry up waiting for disputes to be settled.  This true love has poor business skills.
Nine ladies dancing (9 x 4 days = 36).  This sounds much nicer, doesn't it?  Live entertainment, maybe performances of The Nutcracker and Swan Lake?  Have you ever coordinated a group of 3 or 4 performers, much less 36 of them?  That's a huge job in terms of choreography, costumes, music, etc.  Plus even dancers like to eat now and then.  Start scrambling those eggs!
Ten lords a-leaping (10 x 3 days = 30).  What kinds of lords?  The British Parliament's House of Lords currently has 763 members, but how many of them can leap?  WHY are they leaping?  Can you picture thirty Lords of Parliament playing leapfrog, or far worse, leaping about in ballet tights?  Maybe they want to join the dancing ladies, but I'm sure they also like to eat.  More eggs, please!
Eleven pipers piping (11 x 2 days = 22).  I play piccolo.  Even though it's a small instrument, it must be played carefully because its high notes can pierce through the entire orchestra.  Twenty-two playing at one time is just . . .ridiculous.  And what if the true love means bagpipes?  Twenty-two bagpipes???  Well, I guess they'd drown out the birds.
Twelve drummers drumming (12 x 1 day = 12).  A good drumline is fun to watch and listen to, as long as they're OUTSIDE. 
Hmm, maybe if lover boy is just clueless and not secretly trying to drive the lady insane with the birds and the labor disputes and the noise, he's a Scot, and he's just encouraging her to support his pipe and drum corps.  That could also explain the dancing ladies and leaping lords—they're Scottish dancers who canna keep their feet still when they hear the merry sounds of pipe and drum. 
Air do slàinte! ("To your very good health!") And Merry Christmas!

Santa Clauses (or the truth about Christmas)

I wrote this poem several years ago because I started thinking about how many different Santas children might see--at the mall, in a parade, on a street corner ringing a bell, in a store, etc. Would that be confusing to an observant child?  So here's my explanation.  This poem was published in a literary magazine that has since gone belly up, but hopefully not because of my poetry....

Santa Clauses (or the truth about Christmas)by Katy Huth Jones


Ho, ho, ho!Three Santas in a row.Which one is the real one?Does anybody know?
Hee, hee, hee! The elves look just like me,Except that they have pointy earsAnd like to work for free.
Ha, ha, ha!I know what else I saw.The reindeer came and took three sleighsAlong with a rickshaw.
Hi, hi, hi!See how fast they fly!The world’s so big, there’s too much stuffFor just one Santa guy.
Hoo, hoo, hoo!Now I know it’s trueThat Santa uses doublesTo deliver gifts to you!

Fun Friday: Cast Offs

Here's yet another "play" I wrote for writing students after asking each one to tell me who was their favorite fictional character (book or movie).  These are crazy fun to write but even more fun to watch the students as they "voice" their favorite character who is in a completely weird setting.



Cast Offs
Characters
Forrest GumpPippin TookProfessor Julius KelpMurtaghSusan PevenseyEdmund PevenseyUncle Max DetweilerJack Dawson
Scene:  Beach on a deserted island.  FORREST GUMP is sitting on a stump holding a volleyball.
GUMP:  It’s such a nice day, Wilson.  Something is bound to happen.  Like Mama always said, “Life is like a box of chocolates.  You never know what you’re gonna get.”
(Enter UNCLE MAX, stumbling a little)
MAX:  (Rubbing his eyes)  How?  Where?
GUMP:  My name’s Forrest.  Forrest Gump.  What’s yours?
MAX:  Uh, Max.  You may call me Uncle Max.  I think.  Where am I and how did I get here?
GUMP:  Well, I don’t know myself, so we might as well get comfortable and sit a spell.
MAX:  (Sitting)  How long have you been here?
GUMP:  I don’t rightly know.  If Wilson could talk, he could probably tell you.
MAX:  Who’s Wilson?
GUMP:  (Holds up ball)  This here’s Wilson.  Says his name right here. (points to ball)
MAX:  (Nods with a worried smile)  If you say so, Forrest.  What is there to eat around here?
GUMP:  (Shrugs)  The ocean’s full of fish.  And shrimp.  Wish I could catch me a shrimp.
(Enter SUSAN and EDMUND, looking disoriented)
EDMUND:  This isn’t Narnia.
SUSAN:  That’s a brilliant deduction.
GUMP:  You’re not from around here, are you?
SUSAN:  No, sir.  But exactly where is “here”?
GUMP:  I don’t know.  But my name’s Forrest.  Forrest Gump.  And this here’s Uncle Max.
MAX:  Max Dettweiler.  Pleased to make your acquaintance.
SUSAN:  Susan Pevensey, and this is my brother, Ed.
EDMUND:  (Glaring at Susan)  Edmund, if you don’t mind.
MAX:  You don’t by chance have any more siblings?  And sing together?
SUSAN:  We have another brother, Peter, and a sister, Lucy.  They were right behind us in the wardrobe.  I can’t understand where they could have gone.
EDMUND:  But we don’t sing.  Not very well, at least.
MAX:  Are you still in school?
EDMUND:  Only when we’re in England.  I’m King Edmund the Just when we’re in Narnia.
MAX:  I beg your pardon?
SUSAN:  And I’m Queen Susan the Gentle.  But only in Narnia.
(Enter PROFESSOR JULIUS KELP and PIPPIN TOOK, looking like they always do:  clueless)
KELP:  Excuse me but I found this little fellow here and need to get him back to his parents.
PIPPIN:  I’m not a child!  I’m a Hobbit.
EDMUND:  (Aside to Susan)  Look at his feet!  They’re huge and they’re hairy.
SUSAN:  It’s not polite to talk about others like that, Ed.
GUMP:  Hi.  My name’s Forrest.  Forrest Gump.  Who are you?
KELP:  I’m Julius Kelp.  Professor Julius Kelp.  Actually, I don’t know who this little fellow is, he hasn’t said much.
PIPPIN:  I’m Pippin.  I need to get back to the Shire.  It’s past time for elevenses.
GUMP:  What’s elevenses?
PIPPIN:  I’d just had first and second breakfast and hadn’t got my elevenses yet.
GUMP:  First AND second breakfast?
PIPPIN:  That’s not all.  After elevenses is luncheon, afternoon tea, dinner, and supper.
MAX:  You eat that often every day?
PIPPIN:  Well, of course.  Don’t you?
MAX:  Certainly not.  I’d not be able to fasten my clothes if I ate that much.
GUMP:  Where do you put all that food?  You’re such a little fellow.
PIPPIN:  (Folds arms and frowns)  If you’re going to keep insulting me, the least you can do is find me some pipeweed.
GUMP:  There’s some seaweed over there.
MAX:  I’d like to see him put that in his pipe and smoke it.
KELP:  Well actually you’d have to cure the seaweed and process it before it would work well in a pipe and even then it would smell pretty fishy I think.  I know a little about kelp, after all.
(Enter JACK DAWSON and MURTAGH, looking wary)
JACK:  Wow!  How did I get here?
MURTAGH:  Where is here?
GUMP:  Hi.  My name’s Forrest.  Forrest Gump.
JACK:  Jack Dawson.  I was treading water near the sinking Titanic and so frozen I couldn’t feel a thing.  (Looking around)  Now this is paradise!
MURTAGH:  I would call it something other than paradise.  Especially since I know none of you and have no idea where I am.
KELP:  Well, actually, I think I may have figured that one out.  Judging by the latitude and the direction of the equatorial breezes and the alignment of the solar plexus I think this is, ah, the Kapingamarangi Atoll.
MAX:  Where on Earth is that?
KELP:  About 600 miles northeast of New Guinea.  As, uh, the seagull flies.
PIPPIN:  How far is that from the Shire?
EDMUND:  Are we anywhere close to Narnia?
KELP:  Is that in the Pacific Ocean?  Because, actually, that’s where we are.
MURTAGH:  Has anyone explored this island to see if there is a way off?
GUMP:  I ran all around it.  It’s just a little bitty island, but it has a pretty beach.
JACK:  It has a greatbeach.
MURTAGH:  If only Thorn were here, we could all fly away.
SUSAN:  Who is Thorn?
MURTAGH:  My dragon.
EDMUND:  You have a real dragon?
MURTAGH:  Yes.  I am a dragonrider.
EDMUND:  Capital!  Does it fly?  Does it breathe fire?  What does it eat?
SUSAN:  Not now, Ed.
EDMUND:  Yes, Mum! (Sticks out his tongue at Susan)
PIPPIN:  I don’t really care what the dragon eats, as long as it isn’t Hobbits.  What I’d like to know is what are WE going to eat?
JACK:  We can make a net and catch some fish.
GUMP:  We might even catch some shrimp.
MAX:  Wouldn’t it be more profitable if we worked together to get off this island?
MURTAGH:  My thought exactly.  I have important business elsewhere.
PIPPIN:  I say we eat first so we’ll have the strength to rescue ourselves.
JACK:  Why do you want to leave?  It’s nice and warm here.
GUMP:  My Mama always said you've got to put the past behind you before you can move on.
MAX:  (To Murtagh)  So, what do you have in mind to effect our escape?
MURTAGH:  I’m going to look around and see if there’s any wood to make a raft.
GUMP:  There’s 33 live palm trees and 52 dead ones.
MURTAGH:  You counted them?
GUMP:  No, Wilson did.
(Max and Murtagh look at one another and shrug)
KELP:  I have been examining these palm fronds and, actually, they appear to be sturdy enough to make a net.  Does anyone have a sharpened metal implement?
EDMUND:  A what?
JACK:  He means a knife.  I have one in my pocket.  (Hands it to Kelp)
KELP:  (Sawing with the knife)  It appears that this, ah, plant fiber is, ah, really sturdy.  (Drops knife)  Ouch!
SUSAN:  What happened?
KELP:  The knife slipped.
SUSAN:  Are you hurt?
KELP:  Well, if a man with an ulcer and a splinter in his finger and a nail in his foot was then struck by lightning, if you could say that man was hurt then yes you could say I'm hurt.
EDMUND:  Huh?
SUSAN:  If only Lucy were here, she could use her cordial and heal your finger.
GUMP:  When I cut my finger I just wrap it up ‘til it stops bleeding.
KELP:  Thank you very much, young man.  But fortunately there is something here even better for cuts.
EDMUND:  What?
KELP:  Salt water.
SUSAN:  Look, Professor.  There’s something moving on the sand.
GUMP:  There are lots of those mud bugs.
JACK:  Those aren’t bugs, they’re crabs.
PIPPIN:  Are they good to eat?
JACK:  The best.
EDMUND:  I’ll get one.
SUSAN:  No, Ed.  It could be dangerous.
MURTAGH:  Do not take chances.
KELP:  Well, don’t just do something.  Sit there.
GUMP:  Here, use a rock.  (Hands one to Edmund)
EDMUND:  Thanks.  (Hits the “crab”)  I got it!  (Picks it up)  Ewww.
SUSAN:  That does not look edible.
MAX:  It’s so, so, pink.
JACK:  We have no way to cook it.
PIPPIN:  I don’t think even a starving Hobbit could that eat that.
KELP:  Well, actually, if we could focus the tropical sun’s rays in such a way as to create enough heat, we could, uh, cook this crab in its own shell.
PIPPIN:  You mean, build an oven with rocks or something?
GUMP:  Sometimes there’s just not enough rocks.  This is one of those times.
SUSAN:  (Shading her eyes)  I’ve been watching that bird for the last few minutes, and it looks like it’s heading this way.
EDMUND:  (Looking up)  It’s enormous.  What kind is it, Professor?
KELP:  (Squinting)  Well, ah, in this part of the Pacific you can actually find very large albatrosses.
JACK:  That’s no bird.
KELP:  Well, actually, an albatross IS a bird.
MAX:  Is it a plane?  Not a German one, I hope.
MURTAGH:  No, it’s Thorn, my dragon.
PIPPIN:  Your dragon’s not hungry, is it?
MURTAGH:  No.  Thorn must have followed me.  We can all get off this island now.
JACK:  But I don’t want to go back to sure death.  I’ll take my chances here.
SUSAN:  All alone?
GUMP:  He won’t be alone.  Wilson will stay with him, won’t you, Wilson?
SUSAN:  Well, Ed, as Aslan says, “Once a king or queen of Narnia…”
EDMUND:  “Always a king or queen of Narnia.”
KELP:  That definitely sounds better than “king or queen of the Kapingamarangi Atoll.”
JACK:  You’re right.  I’ll just be king of the world!
PIPPIN:  Great!  Where are we going?
ALL:  Home!
THE END