As we approach the end of the year, we are rounding into the recital/pagent phase of our show. Today’s performance was great moments in American History as interpreted by the 5th grade. I must admit that I love school productions, at least for the first few hours and/or my kid’s piece. The assignment was to pick a significant event in American history and write a five minute piece about it. The students made the selections, wrote, directed and starred in them. They were also responsible for all costumes and props. The signing of the Declaration of Independence was a popular choice. What was particularly moving about this production was that they were heartfelt portrayals of national pride in this time of profound national shame. I don’t think that these students are unaware of current events—how could they be when it bombards us from every media—but I think that they still see us as we want to be—liberators, not oppressors; protectors, not bullies and thoughtful people who believe in fairness, as illustrated by the following

1: We should tell King George that we don’t like what he is doing.
2: That’s a good idea. Maybe if he knows how we feel, he will stop.
1: Ok. Let’s do it!

OK, so King George didn’t stop but hey, they tried. The Sprite was in her glory as a Suffragette. She and her friends did a wonderful job concluding their piece with Sojurner Truth's "Ain't I a woman?" speech. Yes, it brought tears to my eyes and hope to my heart.

There are those who apparently scoff at such things but I will admit that, yes, I have purchased bugs through the mail. When we bought our first house, almost straight out of concrete-Brooklyn, I was so excited at the prospect of a yard that I could barely contain myself. Determined to do things the right, good and organic way, I sent away for several thousand lady bugs to deal with the aphids in my garden. At least I thought there were aphids and anyway who couldn’t resist the thought of having these delightful creatures delivered to your doorstep? I anxiously anticipated their arrival as I unknowingly uprooted plants only to plant the exact same varieties in the exact same places and had visions of rainbows and faint strains of something from Windham Hill and creating a memory that my children and I would treasure always. At last the sac o’ ladybugs arrived and I thought that Neon Moon and Mona Lisa, who were both quite young, both city girls, would squeal with delight as we released the little cuties in our own little piece of Eden. Well, I had the squealing part right, anyway. The last thing I remember clearly was opening the bag and the rest is a black and red spotted blur. Rather than flying free to the all you can eat aphid smorgasboard, the ladybugs swarmed up my arm, the children screamed and, terrified, ran away while I stood in the front yard frantically waving my bug covered arms to the alternately horrified stares and barely suppressed giggles of our new neighbors. May you have better luck with your sea monkeys.