In a previous post, I told you all about the elementary school talent show that I was spared from this year.  I promised to get back to you about the girls' talents. 

Annika, having never shown any inkling that the field of magic tricks existed, found a couple tricks described in a book and decided long in advance of the show that she wanted demonstrate a talent for magic.  The first trick involved pulling off her thumb.  She had her hand under a dishtowel with a mini sweet pepper propped up to look like a large thumb.  She had an assistant pull off the towel--with the pepper--and voila!  There was Ahnie's hand with her thumb tucked into her fist. 

The second trick was kind of clever, but I don't have the energy to describe it right now.  Honestly, I caught on to the secret briefly a couple of times, but the idea keeps eluding me.  But the fact that the demonstration required a cup with a piece of sponge at the bottom is burned into my brain, because I kept finding cup and sponge laying around the house. 

So with my in-laws in the audience of the show (and not me!) Ahnie got up on stage with an assistant chosen from among her friends and did her two tricks.  There was a little drama surrounding her choice of assistant, because a day or so before her original pick--let's call her M--was to assist her, M disavowed their friendship. 

Danielle decided to read a story she had written, or more accurately, one that she had dictated to me.  Story-spinning was well in line with Danielle's fields of knowledge and interest (unlike--say--magic tricks).  Danielle tells stories every day, while jumping on the trampoline.  Danielle jumps about two hours a day.  That's a lot of stories, or one really long story. 

I'll post the story she dictated to me in a minute, but first I'll tell you about a sweet moment during the talent show.  While Danielle was reading the story to what was I'm sure a captivated audience, she glanced up and made eye contact with a teacher.  This teacher had taught her third grade last year and had been so kind and calm and supportive.  Danielle can be a jittery student sometimes.  This year, in fourth grade, Danielle spent a good portion the school year missing her.  So when Danielle made eye contact, this teacher stuck both her thumbs up and moved them back and forth for emphasis. 

Danielle's been talking a lot lately about this mature and I think overburdened preteen named May, who has younger siblings and a green thumb.  Where are her parents, I wonder.  Anyway, here is Danielle's story, exactly as she told it to me. 

Jim, Jake, and Autumn and the Heat

Chapter One

The heat had been terrible for the last few weeks.  May could not get the cold water to run.  Foods were always hot, even fresh from the garden.  And the bottom of the pool was about room temperature. 

One steamy evening, May was lying under the cherry tree when something happened.  A black dot flew from the upstairs window and fell right into the onion bed.  May barely had any energy, it was so hot, but she got up and looked at the thing.  It was a note tied to game dice.  “It is 100 degrees out.” 

May didn’t want to think about the temperature, but her mind was distracted from the note in a few seconds, because another thing appeared in the upstairs window.  It happened to be—an extension cord.  A few seconds later, May’s little sister, Autumn, came out the window clinging to the extension cord.  “No!” shouted May, but before she could think about anything, suddenly wind blew the extension cord back and forth, back and forth beside the house.  Autumn was even in greater danger, but still before she could even think what to do, her brother appeared in a superhero outfit and pulled Autumn up into the house again.  May’s other brother, Jake, helped Joe pull Autumn up.  

May thought, “Why do those three have so much energy all the time?”  May sighed as the extension cord appeared above her garden the second time.  But this time, it was not holding a person, but an action figure or two and a Barbie doll.  The cord landed right in the carrots.  May jumped up and ran and grabbed the extension cord and threw it into the upstairs window before a squishy stuffed green monster with bendable arms had a chance to slide down using his bendable arms.

“Peace at last,” thought May.  All week, she had been doing this. 

Chapter Two

That night, May had trouble sleeping, for a few reasons.  A, you cannot keep fans going at night—it wastes the electricity; B, the closest May had to hot weather pajamas was a skirt that came down a few inches from her knees and a shirt that the sleeves went down to her elbows.  She heard snoring and sleep-talking from other parts of the house.  When May finally fell asleep, all she dreamed of was the sun. 

May did not want to dream about the sun; unfortunately, it was the only thing that made the weather for the last six days.  There had been no breezes except the ones that helped her siblings play superhero, like what happened that evening.  And it still didn’t help at midnight when Joe, the youngest of her two brothers, walked in asking for a drink because he knew he shouldn’t be in his parents’ room doing that.  And sometimes, other siblings came in to get a drink, too.  What annoyed May is that he was carrying action figures. 

For the last week or so, May had been putting up with action figures.  That last Thursday, superheroes had floated down into her blueberries to rescue Autumn’s favorite Barbie, who had fallen out the window by mistake.   The action figures were taped to tissue parachutes. 

Chapter Three

May didn’t know what time it was when woken up by thunder.  She didn’t expect thunder, but still, she put up with it, thinking that it was just the heat.  Well, twenty minutes later, May figured out she was wrong.  Why else would there be thunder if it wasn’t a rainstorm?  Especially since she heard the “plink, plink, plink” of the leak in the aluminum can.  She hadn’t heard that sound for about a month.  Then May saw three shapes running around her garden.  No one except her family knew how to get past the burglar alarm.  She sighed.  It had to be Jim, Jake, and Autumn. 

Here's a bit of math for you, from a non-mathematics person: I'll bet that the level of anticipation the kids have for the annual talent show at my girls' elementary school is inversely proportional to the level of dread the teachers feel about having to sit through it. 

I endured it a couple of years ago, just to hear Danielle get up and read a story.  Part of what made the afternoon wretched was that it featured eight grades of talent, starting from the youngest and moving on up.  As there were plenty from each grade that felt they had skills worthy of display, it was a long afternoon.  By the time Danielle's turn came, the kids were restlessly talking amongst themselves.  A murmur of disbelief rippled through the crowd at the announcement that Danielle was going to read a book.

The other impediment to enjoyment was the definition of "talent."  Yes, I sound harsh and elitist--it's an elementary school, not Julliard--but these are raw truths served up to explain why I will attend this event again only if I am paid handsomely to do so. 

Out of the whole thing, there were maybe two or three acts that were remotely captivating.  There was an excellent gymnastics routine, some competent tap dancing, and a cute trio of singers.  Meanwhile, we were treated to some bad, timid tap-dancing, a twice or thrice-repeated "trick" involving audience volunteers and containing bizarre and off-putting violent imagery,  and singing.

I've heard people say that children have a lot of wisdom, and we should listen to them.  I usually sneer at this sentiment, but I had to admit that Danielle offered up an astute and instructive observation before this year's talent show when she said, "Singing really isn't a talent anymore, because so many people do it."  Would that two-dozen parents or so would impart this gem to their children during show season! 

Country songs were a popular choice the year I sat through--actually, one country song in particular.  Sitting there in my metal chair looking around, I saw that right-hand section of the audience was teachers, sitting upright with an expression of polite alertness.  I wondered how they stood it, and thought about how their hearts would get heavy around this time of year, and their minds distracted from their tasks so that mid-grading, mid-bulletin board decorating, they would drop their red pens or alphabet templates and fix their gazes off into the distance, with their minds far away. 

I thought about how, if I had to sit over in that right-hand section, and the opening chords of "Jesus Take the Wheel" struck up once again, I would be darting glances toward the exit, desperately trying to come up with some pretext for getting out of there--urgent grading, angry parent, or science fair project erupting in flames, I wouldn't care.

This year, both of the girls joyfully "tried out" (I've figured out that this is mostly a filtering system to make sure the school doesn't get sued) and made it.  I will try to get back to you soon about their talents, but before I go I will tell you that I was spared having to go.  Their grandparents were here, and I couldn't have held them back from attending (on two different afternoons!) even if I had wanted to.  After the second day, they took the girls out for a celebratory malt.  As for what they were celebrating, you decide.

By this time of year, it feels as if the snow has been around for a thousand years, so most people around here are itching for spring.  Probably even the dogs and cats are ready.  It really seemed to be around the corner this weekend, with the sun out and the ice melting on the road.  Danielle, Annika, and I took our first walk in months.  I only slid once.  Anyhow, the fourth graders had to write a paragraph on spring this weekend, and here's Danielle's, errors intact:

"Spring in Montana"

When I think of spring

I think of lots of things.

I think of muddy streams of water.

I think of the first daysys. 

I think of the occasonal snowdrift.

I think of cooler days, warmer

days and rainy days.  I

think of two-mile walks. I

think of muddy paths.  I

think of moments after rain

with muddy Dirt, puddles

and dripping trees I think

Of the occasonal freeze.

I think of lots of things

when I think of spring