In a swingin’ Texas spoof of the old movie theme, two talented youngsters, Tex Mex Rex and Sugar Lee Snughead, leave the ranch behind to take on the trials of the big city:
“I’ve tuned my guitar. I know I’ll be a big star,” Tex tells his parents.
“Here I come, Broadway! Farewell, El Paso!” the sweet-singin’ Sugar tells her momma.
But the big city has its trials for the the Texas twosome. Alone, they struggle to survive in the Big Apple.
Tex begged all the networks to give him a spot.
But a gig washin’ dishes was all that he got.
She sang and danced and flashed her big smile.
But Sugar’s big part in a show was the aisle.
After sloggin’ through weeks of washin’ dishes and usherin’ patrons to their seats at the local movie house, Tex and Sugar are ready to pack up their guitar picks and head back to Texas–until one night after work they both do a bit of solo singin’:
The warm summer breeze blew their songs throughout the sky.
Such sweet soulful longing caused neighbors to cry.
The tunes were forlorn and feelin’s so true
That rats and roaches and pigeons cried, too.
“Dear Dogies!” purred Sugar. “I hear my soul mate.”
“Hot Froggies!” yowled Tex, ” This has to be fate.”
The Texas tunesmiths finally meet and form a twosome, and it’s a duet made in heaven. Tex and Sugar together take the town by storm, and it’s no time before they make the marquees on old Broadway:
The music was magic for Sugar and Tex.
It’s hard to figure out what happened next….
Each cat searched for stardom and found a best friend.
They’re still making music and will to… THE END!
Carefully crafted illustrations with many Texas-style motifs add plenty of visual emphasis to Barbara Johansen Newman’s Tex & Sugar: A Big City Kitty Ditty that will have the listeners singin’ “Deep in the Heart of Texas.”
It comes from Ellen at Clayworks Studio. It’s basically making two pinch pots and blending them together. My kids grade 3-5 loved making these and the success rate was very high!
1. Give each student a piece of clay about the size of a small apple. Instruct them to remove a small piece for the stem and set aside. The rest of the clay is to be split into 2 sections.
2. After warming and softening the clay with their hands, each of the 2 sections needs to be turned into a ball and then into a smooth pinch pot. The goal is to have 2 bowls that roughly match each other in size.
3. Discuss how any time clay pieces are to be blended together, they need to be scored (scratched) and “puttied” together with slip (clay mud). Roughen up the edges of each bowl with a fork, wet with slip, and gently push the two bowls together. Use clay tool to blend together and hide seam.
4. A small stem is to be formed from the last piece of clay. It also gets scored and slipped on what is determined to be the top of the ball. Encourage extra blending on stem base as they are prone to fall off otherwise.
5. The students then hold the pumpkin in their hands and use a round tube, such as a jumbo-size pencil to push in ridges. If they rock the pencil from the stem to the bottom, rotate, and press again, they will form what look like the ridges of the pumpkin. Names may then be scored onto the bottom.
6. The next day, I had students draw lightly on the clay what they wanted their faces to look like. I kept it simple with only allowing circles, triangles or squares (no teeth!). It takes a sharp knife to cut out the faces, so I did it for them with an xacto knife.
7. When the clay is no longer cool to the touch, do a bisque firing with all the pumpkins. Have the students paint the pumpkins with glaze, and fire again.
You could make this a lesson about anatomy and what the different kinds of bones in your body look like – or you could just make some creepy looking name signs for Halloween!
1. I drew examples of some typical bones on the board. They generally look like sticks, but have large bumps on the end. I gave students long pieces of paper and had them write their name lightly in pencil, using just stick letters.
2. The students can then turn those letters into little sections of bone as they see fit. Curved letters can be made from several short straight ones, or something that looks like a rib bone, which has just a rounded point on one side.
3. Trace all the pencil lines in marker and add shading by using cross-hatching to one side.
Newton Starker knew he would most likely die from a lightning strike.
It would all happen in the blink of an eye. Zap!
One fried fourteen-year-old Newton, the last male heir of the Starker line.
In a parallel universe to that of Harry Potter and Hogwarts, Newton Starker knows that he, too, is stalked by a miscreant and malevolent force, a sudden bolt of lightning, perhaps from the blue of an innocent spring sky, the same force that has killed his mother. Without the physical mark on his forehead, Newton nevertheless wears the psychological scar of his family’s fatal curse.
Unwilling to remain secluded for life in the concrete geodesic dome his father had built in a vain attempt to safeguard his mother, Newton throws all his energies into learning the art of self-preservation at an eccentric boarding school, the Jerry Potts Academy of Higher Learning and Survival, a quirky twist on the boarding school where students wear kilts and are advised to keep their Scots dagger, the sgian dobh, sharp at all times. Potts Academy, dedicated to the skills of survivalism in the wild or in the economic jungle of modern life, seems Newton’s only hope of finding salvation from his fate, through the “fierce intelligence” which the school inculcates in its students.
Because his family’s deadly history is well-known, Newton has had few friends: most kids have been well advised to keep their distance outdoors to avoid becoming collateral damage in the course of the execution of Starker curse. At Potts, though, Newton is quickly befriended by Jacob Clarke, part Scots, part black, part Mi’kmaq Indian, a prolific writer who is apparently unperturbed by proximity to a human lightning rod.
Like Harry Potter, however, Newton quickly acquires an enemy, a rival in the person of Violet Quon for the top marks which will put him into the Hall of Heroes. Violet is not above a bit of academic sabotage, and Newton is certain that she is the person responsible for his kilt dropping in the midst of his impassioned recitation of Bobbie Burns’ “Red, Red Rose.” Newton, a devotee of culinary art, manages to outscore Violet in their first kitchen combat–the “Mystery Meat” survival cook off, which he wins with his own recipe utilizing roadkilled ground squirrel in a French truffle-spiced quiche.
Acquiring the truffles for the dish brings Newton his second friend. Because of his fractured French, the shipment of truffles comes with a truffle-seeking piglet, Josephine, who seems to have powers far beyond the usual porker.
But Newton still needs expert advice in his search for survival, and for this he goes to the nearby nursing home where his 102-year-old great-grandmother, the only Starker known to have survived to old age, resides. Newton approaches the sour old woman gingerly, hoping to learn her secret, but what he hears seems impossible to carry out:
“I want to know how you’ve lived so long,” said Newton.
“Spite, Great-grandson. Lovely, gorgeous, unyielding spite. I hate everyone–everyone I have ever met….”
“You hate everyone?”
“Even you…. I’ll even outlive you, Newton.” She pointed a crooked finger at him. “Would you like to bet on it?”
“No. Not at all.”
Newton feels he must try his great-grandmother’s solitary way to survival, but in the freshman class’ first Outdoor Expedition, 48 hours of survival in the wilds, Newton discovers that he just doesn’t have it in him to leave Violet hurt and alone in the woods, even to score marks on his way to the Hall of Heroes. And then, in probably the only unselfish act of her long self-preserving existence, Great-Grandmother Enid takes a bolt that is obviously intended for Newton, and his coming-of-age comes in a literal burst of light.
Arthur Slade’s Jolted: Newton Starker’s Rules for Survivalis funny and poignant, a different sort of rite of passage story in an offbeat setting which somehow feels just right for Newton Starker. This story will resonate with early teen readers, kids who sometimes feel that adolescence itself carries its own kind of curse.
MY LOCKER IS OBSCENE (to the tune of “My Country ‘Tis of Thee”)
My locker is obscene.
Worst place you’ve ever seen.
It’s such a mess.
Place where old math tests lie,
Old lunch, old apple pie.
The janitor will surely die
When I leave in June!
Bruce Lasky, the famous school tunester, has a collection which is just right for letting off steam during elementary nature camps or field trips. Even the teachers will be laughing on the inside at these clever lyrics set to melodies everyone knows.
THE BATTLE HYMN OF THE REPULSIVE (to the tune of “The Battle Hymn of the Republic”)
Mine eyes have seen the kitchen, which is why I bring my lunch.
We have smelled the things they’re cooking and they’re toxic, we’ve a hunch.
And the salads are so soggy that you’ll never hear a crunch.
I bring my lunch to school.
Of course, there are due consequences for some behavior, as one would-be meatball three-point shooter soon learns:
I’VE BEEN SITTIN’ IN DETENTION (to the tune of “I’ve Been Working on the Railroad”)
I’ve been sitting in detention,
Since the end of school.
I’ve been sitting in detention
Just because I broke a rule.
Throwing meatballs in the lunchroom
Wasn’t wise, I fear.
I was aiming for the trash can,
Not my teacher’s rear.
Lasky and his collaborating artist, Stephen Carpenter, hit just the right touch of self-spoofery for the middle grade school kid in their I’ve Been Burping in the Classroom, sure to bring forth giggles and a “Can we sing it now?” from the kids who hear these hilariously silly songs. For other books in this same genre, take a look at Alan Katz’ Take Me Out of the Bathtub and Other Silly Dilly Songs and its several sequels, and Kelly Dipucchio’s silly and spooky songbook, just right for Halloween parties, Campfire Songs For Monsters (Sipping Spiders Through A Straw).
My sister has reminded me on many occasions that I’m missing the prime window of opportunity to get my middle child started on violin using the Suzuki method. I’ve reminded her that I shouldn’t need to do that, seeing as how his aunt can teach him and his sibs all they need to know. 
I took piano lessons when I was younger, maybe from the ages of 8-12? I gave it up for basketball practices, though I was also in the band by then. I hadn’t touched the piano in years, and have recently started playing around with it a bit. That got my sister and I talking about having taken lessons when we were younger, and wishing we had stuck with it longer. She was about 4 when we started lessons.
My oldest is now 6 and I’m wondering if it’s time to get her started on piano or something. I know it depends on the child as to whether or not they’re ready, but I’m just looking for your thoughts and opinions out there. Do your kids play any instruments? What age did they start?
So, he’s 4 years old now and learning to stretch his vocabulary along with his personality!
Every day he learns to say a new bad word! It seems to coincide with his fearless attitude towards all things his mother asks him to do. Is this normal? Gnashing of teeth and ready to fight at the drop of a hat!
Where did the sweet, innocent go? The one who wanted to crawl into Grandma’s lap and fall asleep while being rocked? The “I love yous” have turned into “don’t look at me!” The little dreamer has become everyone’s nightmare!
Little boys are rather foreign to me and his older brother was much more empathetic and sensitive to those around him and their feelings. This one is living in the center of his own universe and could care less about anything unless it’s interrupting his pleasures!
Is it just a phase? Or has my mother cursed me twice!? She always told me I would have a child just like myself, and I did, but I didn’t expect to be blessed with a second one! Thanks, Mom!
August 4th, 2009 in
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Abby’s mother vanished from her life when she was 5, and she was reunited with her later in life. This is such a poignant letter that I felt the need to share and hope that many of the children left behind when a mother goes missing, would someday have a letter like this to hold on to.
Abigail Lurae is a published author who has a lot to say and writes from the heart. Her path in life has been a challenging one, but one filled with many valuable lessons along the way. Her inspirational writings are formed from what she personally has learned. Welcome to her world and taking a walk along side of her.
It took me many years to find my biological family because I didn’t get to grow up with them from the age of five years and on up. However, since finding them, I’m getting to know and understand more about myself and where I came from.
Awhile back, I had posted this love letter in a writing group I belong to, but I posted it as the beginning of a new story. In all actuality, it is a letter I received from my own birth-mother. Her love for me shines through what she penned and I am honored to be her daughter…
Love Letter from Mother
My Dearest Daughter,
It seems as if you are the only one of my seven children who wants to really know her mother and who can forgive her imperfections. The others have this idealism of what a mother should be, and you have the knowledge of just how human beings are. Did God bless me with an angel without me realizing this way back when? Perhaps so, because you were such a good baby and rarely cried. You were my sunshine on my cloudiest of cloudy days and a wonderful little playmate in your toddler years.
I’m so sorry for the way things turned out and us not being able to grow up together. You see, I was very young when you were born, only a child myself. I didn’t know what it was like to be a, “mother,” in the true terminology of the word- the title bestowed upon a woman once she has given birth, or in my case, a girl who had made a horrible mistake.
Now, I’m not saying you were a mistake- not at all! The mistake I made was to marry your father to try and gain a better life. What a joke that was! Let me explain, however, I don’t think you require an explanation but, I do want to let you know where you come from.
My mother was a wild thing and yes, I suppose I inherited that trait from her. She could never keep a man for very long and always caused us to get kicked out of every house we tried to live in. Do you know she was married a total of ten times before she finally passed away? I’ve done good to not go beyond four.
Anyhow, when we didn’t have a roof over our heads, she discovered that boxcars were a glorious temporary means of housing and travel too! I got to see many cities that way. You may wonder about schooling? Well, my mother brought along a few books and taught me how to read and write, plus taught me math through the money she made along the way. I have my opinions on how she made her money but I will spare you my speculations as they aren’t very nice.
By the time I turned fifteen, I decided I didn’t want to travel anymore with mother and got into an awful fight with her. She hauled off and hit me so hard upside my head, knocking me backwards that I fell out of the opened boxcar door. The train was moving slowly but fast enough to where I received a bad case of, “road-rash,” as they call it now-a-days. Mother wouldn’t allow me to wear jeans or trousers as I had to wear dresses and look like a, “young lady.” Boy! What a sight for a young lady’s appearance too. My dress was torn in places and filthy dirty from rolling on the ground. I had blood and dirt mingled all over my face and the rest of my body. I was a sight to see…
But, there I am, finally standing up after this nasty fall, watching the train gather speed and my mother was standing in the doorway of her home on wheels, leaning out, waving good-bye to me with the smirkiest of smirky grins on her face. I think I could hear her call back, “get a life,” before the train finally disappeared on the horizon.
I didn’t know what to do- my mother abandoned me and I felt so lost and all alone. My head felt like stars were swimming around in it and I couldn‘t see clearly… I don’t know where the strength came from within me but, the next thing I remember after this happening is I’m walking along this old country road.
Your father was driving his old beat up pickup truck and spotted me. He was so kind and took me into town to one of his lady friend’s house. She helped me get all cleaned up and gave me some new clothes to wear. What fancy clothes too! I didn’t know it at the time, but she was a madam of an escort service. Anyway, after my wounds had healed, she began to insist that I pay her back for all of her generous kindness and hospitality, and wanted me to become one of, “her girls.”
I was so shocked after she explained what, “her girls,” did! I didn’t want to do what she wanted me to do so I left with the clothes on my back, then headed for the train station. If I had to live in a boxcar, that was better than living in her house and doing unspeakable things.
It so happened, your father was in town that day and saw me walking. He had taken some bales of cotton to the cotton mill and you had to go past there to get to the train yard. He yelled at me when he recognized me and motioned for me to go over and talk to him. I was crying…
I guess, he took pity on me and had me hang with him all day. By evening, he had gotten me a motel room and paid for a month’s stay. He also gave me some grocery money and took me to the store to get some food. After he left, I was in heaven! I had my own place, my own roof over my head and I felt so independently joyous.
The next morning, he showed up in his old truck and helped me get a job being a server at the local café. Every day, he’d come in and have breakfast and flirt like there was no tomorrow. After my sixteenth birthday, he asked me to marry him and I did…
We lived together in the motel for a couple of months and were fairly happy until the day his father had been struck ill. We had to move into his family’s home so he could be there to help out. Now, mind you, I had never been to his family’s home but I agreed to this change and went there with him.
What a nightmare! Their house was nothing but a shanty with big wide opened gaps between the planks of wood that were the outside frame of the place and it was located right smack dab in the middle of a cotton field! There was no screen or glass on the windows and when it rained, it poured in, not only through them, but the walls as well.
In the winter-time, his mother would take newspaper and fill the gaps in with it and put cardboard in the windows. And at night, even sleeping with five quilts on us, it never kept us warm enough. By spring time, I had my fill of being there and told your dad I would leave him if we didn’t move out! By this time, I was two months pregnant with you.
His mother was also getting down right nasty with me and I couldn’t stand to look at her anymore. She wanted me to get out in the fields with the guys and hitch up the horses to plow the ground for new cotton seeds to be planted, while her daughters sat on their fat keesters all day doing nothing! She knew I was with child and she even went as far as to say, you would either be born a strong baby or you would be weak and die in my womb. Your dad overheard her say this and I was so happy to hear him say, “let’s get out of here.”
We got us an upstairs apartment and not long after that, your father got a job at the local distillery company. It wasn’t long until he started drinking with his friends and come home in a foul mood.
The day before you were born, he knocked me down the flight of stairs that led up to our place. He said it was an accident- I think not, but that is my opinion. Anyway, a few days after you were born, I received word through the newspaper of my mother pulling an armed robbery at a restaurant in Chicago. The police chased her clear into Ohio before she was finally arrested and from what I could find out, she was sentenced to five years in the state prison.
When your father found out that she was my mother, all kinds of trouble started in between us. I left him- he followed, we made up and I became pregnant with your brother. This happened time and time again and by the time you were almost six years old, I was saddled with five other mouths to feed.
You were taken from me at this time and I never got to see you while you were growing up. Of course, when the threat of the other children being taken away from me arose, I ran for dear life with them. But, my eldest daughter, my sunshine, my little helper was no where to be found. You were such a great help to me when you were little- do you know that?
If anyone had a right to judge me, it would be you but you don’t? Why? Why do you not hate me like your siblings do?
I know you spent a great deal of time in trying to find your family- this is something I had prayed for over all of those years. Somewhere along the line, I grew up and am now, who I am.
Thank you my angel for being who you are. You have turned out well and I am so very happy that you want to know this heart that has bled, that has cried and that had been broken when you were taken from me.
I love you dearly.
Love,
Mother
There are some really cool new paper-like products out these days. I found YUPO at DickBlick.com, which looks like vellum but feels like plastic. It’s great to paint on or trace with markers.
1. Give the students a letter-size paper to make a practice drawing on. They should start by drawing large stick letters for their name, and then trace around those lines to make block letters. The inside stick letters may then be erased. Show the students how to draw one continuous line around the block letters, following the shapes somewhat as they go. “Bubbles” are drawn around the outside, some large and some small, and some may overlap each other. Lastly, the students are to draw swirls and curves inside each “bubble”.
2. Once the pencil drawing is complete, the students place a matching size piece of Yupo on top and trace all the lines with a black Sharpie. Once traced, the shapes may be colored in with lots of other Sharpie markers.