Tag Archives: paffooney

Because Naked is Funny

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The nightmare is always about standing in front of class naked.  I had that nightmare as a kid.  I have it still as a teacher.  Why do I so fear having everyone see what I most don’t want them to see about me, and all of them really don’t want to see… especially if they have any ghost of an idea what that might actually look like in real life?  I would make an extremely poor nudist.  People would go blind.  Honestly.

And yet, I find myself writing about naked people far more often than is comfortable.  Why?  What’s the matter with me that the topic keeps coming up in my silly little fiction stories?  Why was it a part of my boyhood fixations that just won’t go away?  I am not a pornography writer, er, I mean erotic fiction writer, like some of the indie novelists I have met online.  I don’t actually even read that crap.  And yet, I seem to find the word “penis” used somewhere in every work of fiction that I have so far completed.  That doesn’t seem natural, does it?  Most of the instances in my fiction are not about adult people having sex.  They are instead about kid-people being caught au natural and deeply embarrassed.  They are about unwanted and unexpected revelations of what we most want to conceal about ourselves.  “No, Miss, I don’t have one of those.  And I never go to the bathroom, either.”

So why do I keep pulling the metaphorical privacy curtain away?  Because naked is funny.  Revealing the awkwardness and bare foolishness of our inner selves is what comedy is really all about.

Mark Twain once said, “Clothes make the man… naked people have little or no influence in society.”  This is a very wise saying that is probably entirely true, and is only mentioned here so that I can quote Mark Twain and pretend that, for a moment at least, I have grown suddenly and comically profound.  But I do think that clothes are the person we construct on the outside of ourselves to influence others and convince them of the lie that we are actually in control of anything at all in our goofy lives.  Under the clothes is more nearly the truth.  We do not choose what we look like.  Our birthday suit leaves no room to make any kind of impression other than, “what a silly-looking blob of naked pink fat that one is!”  And this is why I will at some point in a story strip my characters naked and reveal things about them that they would really rather hide.

Of course, you may have realized about the previous purple-faced paragraph that I am speaking at least partly metaphorically when I say I “strip my characters naked and reveal things about them that they would really rather hide.”   It is the person inside that you are trying to reveal, not necessarily the naked person.   It is probably inappropriate to dwell too much on nakedness when you write primarily for younger readers, even if you have pretensions of writing Mark-Twain-like literary quality kids’ lit the way I allegedly do.  Can you write a book like the Diaries of Adam and Eve in this day and age?  Probably not.  After all, it has naked people in it!

This topic comes up because of my first completed novel (not yet published) called Superchicken.  In that story, the main character, a seventh grader pictured in this week’s paffooney, is asked to be a guest on a camping trip by a pretty young girl who owes him a big favor.  But when she tells him it’s a naturist camp, he thinks that means they study nature and do back-to-nature stuff like making a fire with sticks.  Needless to say, he is surprised to learn that her very liberal parents are allowing her to invite him to a campground full of naked people.  Naked is funny.  But the book will invariably get me into trouble and called a pervert repeatedly.   But should I avoid trying to publish it because of that?  I think…  heck, I could make a lot of money with that kind of controversy.  

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Teacher! Ooh-Ooh! Teacher!

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I have the privilege of being a public school teacher.  Or maybe I should use the word “cursed”.   It is no easy thing to be a teacher in the modern world.  Regressive State governments like Texas mandate that teachers do more with less.  We have to have bigger classes.  We have to show higher gains on State tests.  We have to do more for special populations based on race, disability, language-learner status, and socio-economic status.  Of course, we give money to private schools to be “fair” to all, so a majority of the well-funded and advantaged students are removed from the public school system, even though studies show that their presence in classes benefits everyone.  When the majority of students are low-income in a single classroom, even the gifted minority perform less well.  When higher-income students are at least fifty per-cent of the class, then even the low-income and learning disabled make higher gains than the minority gifted in the first example class.  So, there’s my triple-downer bummer for this post.  You might think that I would agree with Republicans in this State that the lower classes are not worth investing in.  Nothing could be further from the truth.

The fact is, my fondest memories from thirty-one years as a public school teacher come from the downtrodden masses, the poor, the oddballs, the disadvantaged, and even the truly weird.

Okay, so here’s the funny and heart-warming part.  I have a Hispanic English Language Learner right now who looks at the beard I have grown and calls me, “my friend Jesus”.  I have to constantly remind him that, “If I were the son of God, my son, then I would be using lightning bolts for discipline a little more often.”  He grins at me and answers, “Yes, my Jesus.”  He’s a sneaky sort, more dedicated to games and messages on his i-phone than learning.  He is more into working with the girls in small groups so that he can come out appearing much smarter without putting out very much actual work.

I remember one particularly challenged boy who didn’t talk in class at all.  He could make sounds, however.  Constantly during classes with this student in them, there would be numerous “meows” and birdcalls.  Grunts and groans and whistles would fill the air.  Most of the noises came from him.  The ones that didn’t, came from those who imitated him.  It reached a point that I was having to teach a classroom full of Harpo Marxes .  When asked about it, he claimed he had a sore throat all the time and just couldn’t talk.  Many of his teachers thought he was merely sabotaging class so he wouldn’t have to do any work.  But just like when you put a harp in front of Harpo, this boy had hidden talents, and just was not being engaged on his own level.  He was really quite bright if you could learn to communicate with him in Harpo Marxian.

I had another student who read all the existing Harry Potter books forward and backwards, and inside out.  He even looked like the actor who played Harry in the movies, glasses and all.  He was treated like a radioactive being by his classmates, and although he was charming and funny and had a natural talent for manga-style drawings of people, nobody seemed to treat him like a friend. (The paffooney picture I drew for this post was inspired by him.)    He was a jovial loner.  I was able to tap into his natural abilities for the Odyssey of the Mind creativity contests we participated in during the early 2000’s.  I helped him find nerd friends who also knew all the words to the Spongebob Squarepants theme. 

I have a Chinese girl in class who shared the Spongebob boy’s fascination with manga-style art.  She’s a different bird all together.  She gets my jokes and thinks I am funny.  But she never laughs.  She never even cracks a smile.  She is so careful and complete in every assignment that it is very nearly painful to watch.  Grades are serious matters to her.  If her grade drops from 100 to 98, she wants to audit the teacher’s grade book to find out why.  She does everything in class in beautifully crafted Chinese writing, and then translates it all word-for-word into English.

I owe my teaching career to kids like these.  When I started my career in 1981 for $11,000 per year, I was employed by a school that had total disciplinary meltdown the year before.  I had to deal with hostility, impossible behavior-modification tasks, fire crackers in the classroom, student fights, bullying, and a language/cultural gap wider than the Grand Canyon.  That first year, I was planning to resign at the end of the year and try to figure out what else I could do with my life when a small Hispanic boy with a Scottish family name came up beside me on the playground one March day and said, “Mr. Beyer, I hope you know you are my favorite teacher.  You are the reason I liked school this year.”

I didn’t let him see that there were tears in my eyes.  I told him something about him being my favorite student.  And I gave up thoughts about giving up.  I lived the next thirty years of my career for him.

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Monkey Mathematics

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(colored pencil, pen, & ink – entitled “Math Monkey” – by Leah Cim Reyeb (my name backwards))

It has been said that if you have an infinite number of monkeys with an infinite number of typewriters, and unlimited time, they will reproduce all the works of William Shakespeare.  Not only that, they will produce every other work of literature in every language on Earth that has ever been written… and that ever will be written, for all time.  Not only that, but every version of Hamlet that has one misspelled word, two misspelled words, three misspelled words… and so on to infinity.

I was having an argument recently with a boy from Brazil who insisted there was no God and Creator.  He claims to be an agnostic, but argues like an atheist.  He was trying to “save” me from my erroneous belief that there is an underlying intelligence and purpose to all of creation.  His intentions were good, but he failed to convince me before sailing off back to Sao Paulo.  Alas, I am unrelentingly still convinced that I am not wrong, as he apparently believed all school teachers are by definition.  Yes, it is written that way in the teenager’s guide to life, the universe, and everything.  “Teachers are clueless and only teach you the wrong stuff” – page two hundred and three, in Chapter Twelve, Adults are Always Wrong.  And, of course, I’m blaming it on the monkeys.  It’s always those danged monkeys and their typewriters.

I tried to explain that the whole infinite-monkeys thing is based on flawed math.  After all, math was invented by enraged Greeks who danced around naked in caves worshiping circles, squares, and right triangles.  Pythagoras must’ve really hated school kids.  He gave them all this froo-frah to learn about whole numbers, integers, algebra, and geometry and stuff, and then threw in theorems and equations to give them something to mind-numbingly practice at their desks in Math classes until they were no different from infinite-monkey typists. 

If you take a pile of bricks up to the top of a mountain and then throw them off, even if you throw them an infinite number of times, how often will they actually land in the configuration of the Parthenon?  …And the Parthenon with one brick out of place, and then two bricks, and …wasn’t the gol-danged Parthenon carved out of marble, not bricks?  If you believe all of reality is based on random chance, then you obviously are figuring that out with infinite-monkey math.  I’m not saying the Theory of Evolution is wrong.  That is ordered and principled in ways that fit Occam’s Razor and is probably just as correct as the Theory of Gravity (which we don’t fully understand, either, yet we don’t go flying off into space with each rotation of the Earth).

“Wait a minute!” screams the head monkey.  “Are you saying you believe in Evolution, or in Creation?”   (I am constantly hearing nearly-infinite monkeys screaming that nowadays.)

Shoot, I think both things are true.  You can’t deny what science offers proof for, fact or theory.  Yet, God speaks to me and comforts me, even though he doesn’t actually answer prayers.  The evidence of God is in all that he created, including the process of evolution, the monkeys, the typewriters (well… man-made is made by God too if he created man with inventive capabilities, right?), and even the voices in my silly head that I interpret as God talking.  Am I guilty of Infinite-monkey math?  I try not to be.  But I also try not to argue with Brazilian teenage agnostics about the existence of God.  Oh, well… can’t win ‘em all.

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Of Rabbits and Men

I have been working on my novel The Bicycle-Wheel Genius and just now reached the part I originally planned back in 1977.  It, of course, has to deal with ten-year-old Tommy Bircher and his pet rabbit Millis.  Now, I must confess that Tommy is a real person.  He is based half on me (I was the rabbit raiser as a boy), and half on my best friend who was the Methodist Minister’s son.  The personality of the character is primarily my best friend Mark, and the inevitable parting of the two friends Tim and Tommy is based on us when his dad, the reverend, had to go to a new church in another part of Iowa.  Of course, in the book, we do to the rabbit Millis what it would’ve been impossible to do to my own alpha bunny Ember-eyes.    For those of you imagining how terrible two boys can be to a rabbit, let me give you an excerpt from the novel to explain how the boys in the story are far more terrible… but unintentionally so;

Canto Twenty-Seven – Behind the Computer Named Dewey

 

Millis was not your ordinary, run-of-the-mill dumb bunny.  He was, in fact, a highly educated rabbit.  He had eaten several of Tommy’s books.  He had chewed on the computer cords of Tommy’s video game machine and the shock it had given him had actually made him smarter.  He was more than a little conceited about how much smarter he was than other dumb bunnies. 

“You are a nicer boy than I am,” Millis heard the boy who was some sort of servant of Tommy say.  “You have a good heart and burble burble burble, blah, blah.”

The thing that had Millis’ attention was apparently a carrot.  Carrot!  Now, idiot people seemed to think that all rabbits loved carrots above all other food.  No way, monkey boy!  Nothing beats a good chunk of lettuce, a clump of yard grass, cabbage, leaves, and other green foods.  Green foods make a buck rabbit feel sexy.  But you never turned down a good carrot either. 

“Is it gonna hurt?” asked Tommy.  Tommy was a good boy.  He brought Millis green food, clover hay, salt licks, and water every day.  He almost never forgot.  And when Millis opened his cage to get out and go for an explore, Tommy gladly came to find him where ever he was when he got lost and carried him back to his house.

“It’s not going to hurt at all,” said the big owl-eyed man with the yellow fur on his head and his chin.  “Burble burble, blah, tickle.”

Millis looked at the carrot with his right eye, and then turned his head and used the left eye.  Looked the same both ways.  It had a funny leafy part that was not the right color.  And it kept going in a long vine to the back of the big red and white clink-and-bonk box.  That wasn’t quite natural.  He sniffed.  It only slightly smelled right.  Still, he was hungry, and it did seem to be a carrot, and… well, he just had to take a bite.

ZZZAKAKAKAKZZZAM! 

“Ooh, that’s hard on the teeth!” Millis said aloud.

“What?”  said Tommy.  “Did you hear that?”

“I did,” said Tommy’s servant.  “We’re not the only people here.”

“Idiot boy,” said Millis.  “You are the only people here.  I’m a rabbit.”

“Ghosts?” asked Tommy.

“I believe it is your rabbit,” said the owl-eyed man.  “He’s over behind Dewey.”

“It can’t be Millis.  Millis doesn’t talk.”

“Rabbits would never reveal how much smarter they are than people,” said Millis.

“It is Millis!” declared the servant boy as he came around the big gray clonk-and-clank box.  Actually… it was called a computer.  How did Millis know that?  He couldn’t say.  Well, actually he could say, but didn’t know and didn’t want to say.  The servant boy picked him up.  And on top of that, he didn’t really know how to hold a rabbit.

“You are hurting me, you stupid boy.”

The stupid servant boy dropped Millis as if he were on fire, his rabbity fur blazing and crackling and burning his fingers.  Wait-a-second!  He was on fire!  His skin was burning and bubbling.  “Ahh!  I’m burning!”

“Oh no, Millis.  What did you do?” cried Tommy.

“Are you brain-dead, fool?  I took a bite of the evolutionary accelerator tool created by the Xandar Empire.  It is accelerating me.”

“Gee, that’s kinda cool,” said Tommy, staring at him with wide eyes.  The owl-eyed man was staring too.  Glasses.  Those were glasses making his eyes look so big!

“Your arms and legs are growing,” said the servant boy.  “You’re getting bigger.”

“Yes,” said Millis in amazement.  “I am accelerating to become more like you.  I am still a rodent, but I’m becoming sentient and man-like!  Why would anybody be so sadistic that they would do that to a rabbit?”

“I’ll have to ask him,” said the man with glasses.  “How did you know it was from Xandar?”

“E equals MC squared.  Polytetrafluoroethylene is the proper name for Teflon.  Richard Plantagenet became Richard the Third upon the death of his brother Edward IV and the mysterious disappearance, possibly murder, of twelve-year-old Edward V, Edward IV’s son.”

“Millis, you’re a genius!” cried Tommy.

“I am suddenly very tired,” said Millis the rabbit-man.  “I must sleep now.  Good night, Tommy.  I will bring you cabbage and clover hay from now on.”

Rabbit eyes closed and the world veered away into darkness.

                                                            *****

 

 

So, there you have it.  The accelerated evolution of the rabbit-man Millis.  I will even provide a picture.  Oh, and he’s not flashing a peace sign, that’s the universal signal for “rabbit ears”.

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Inventive Travel Technology

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My writer friend, Stuart West (http://stuartrwest.blogspot.com) suggested it might be possible to travel by feeding bubble gum to goldfish.  Here is what I thought it would look like.  Don’t hold your breathe waiting to sign up for tickets, however.  Stuart didn’t think it would work so good after all.  I guess I draw scary pictures sometimes when the idea-wagon starts rolling downhill.

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Political Insanity

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I have a terrible feeling that I have become a liberal.  Born and raised in Iowa, I probably should not be such a thing, but I cannot help it.  And the most frustrating thing is, I have not changed very much at all.  In the 70’s I originally identified myself as a Republican.  My parents were Republicans, good old-fashioned Eisenhower Republicans.  Practical, pragmatic, determined that the world would continue to be a better place for the next generation than it was for the last.  Liberals were the communist-sympathizing loonies that needed to be made fun of, like George McGovern.   Liberals were other people besides the people I knew.  They lived in other towns.  Unfortunately, the world began changing.

It started when the morality of the Republican Party came into question with Watergate.  I actually defended Nixon at the start.  Nixon began as an Eisenhower Republican.  Heck, he was Ike’s Vice President!  But then it began to come out that the new Republican Party was not playing by the rules any more.  They were willing to cheat!  I was shocked.  I didn’t know at that time that politicians and idealists were antonyms of each other.  I identified the ground that I stood on as neither liberal nor conservative.  I was determined to be a moderate.  I believed the only way was the middle way.

So, I confess, I started calling myself a Democrat and I voted for Jimmy Carter in my first actual election.  He was a moderate.  Heck, Southern Democrats were almost the same thing as Republicans, weren’t they?  How else could you explain Texas?

It was then that I began to perceive that the monkeys were actually running the banana farm.  Ronald Reagan took over.  And it was my fault.  Carter lost favor with the American public when he refused to declare war on the Iranians during the hostage crisis.  I failed to note that Carter was the only president in my lifetime that was not at war with anybody.  I voted for John Anderson instead.  In my defense, although he was a Republican, he was actually a moderate Republican.  Such things still existed in the real world.  And so, the Gipper won the presidency because I wasted my vote.  Seriously, Carter lost out to Reagan and his “Voodoo Economics” because people like me didn’t vote for Carter.  The election was that close.  Reagan and Reaganomics took over.  James Watt was appointed Secretary of the Interior.  The administration wanted to change the rules so industry could cut down trees in the National Forests.  The mantra was de-regulate, de-regulate!  That means to take away the rules.  That means that criminal business behavior was rewarded with profit, rather than punished by the government watchdogs.  The Reagan administration took the watchdogs out behind the barn and euthanized them with a shotgun.

So, I had my hard-earned money in a Savings and Loan when the Savings and Loan crisis hit.  I watched Oliver North become a celebrity as the Reagan Administration got away with murder in the Iran-Contra scandal.  It was the beginning of the end for moderates.    More and more the Republicans were about giving tax breaks to rich people.  Because, of course, rich people are all naturally good and generous and the benefits will all trickle down.  But the fat cats that were supposed to throw me table scraps became far too good at pigging it all down.  Nothing fell from the table.

As a Texas school teacher, I saw educational reform start with blaming the teachers for all the problems with Texas education.  They all said, “You can’t solve education’s problems by throwing money at them.”  I really wonder how they knew that.  I don’t remember any attempts to throw money at the problems schools were facing.  They gave idiot tests to teachers to weed out the ones who were too stupid and illiterate to teach.  When the majority of us passed those tests, the Republican State of Texas decided to give students achievement tests so they could justify firing teachers when the students failed.  Well, each time we began to help students pass the tests, they made the tests harder.  In fact, they made them harder every year.  It was like we were continually measuring our growth with an expanding ruler, a ruler that got so big so fast that at times it looked like we were shrinking.  We struggled hard to catch up, and it reached a point in recent history where Republican Emperor of Texas, Rick Perry, decided he no longer needed a reason.  He cut billions from the State’s funds for education.  Many excellent and dedicated teachers lost their jobs.  Art programs, theater programs, alternative programs were all tossed out in favor of just the basics… oh, and no one was willing to cut football.  Football was safe!  When the State budget short fall was no longer a problem, Emperor Perry was given the opportunity to restore the funding he had cut.  Of course, he did not.  Billion dollar rainy day funds are much more important than education.  (He means education for poor people, by the way.  He’s a strong supporter of public funds for private schools that rich people can afford to attend.)

Being conservative increasingly means having no heart, no love for your fellow man.  Conservatives are against having a minimum wage, let alone increasing the minimum wage.  That allows corporations to keep higher profits.  It doesn’t matter that so many people now no longer have money to spend to fuel those profits.  Rather than trying to expand the economy and make prosperity available to many more people, conservatives would rather squeeze every last drop of profit out of the masses before the masses finally starve.  Instead of justice for all, conservatives are seeking justice for the privileged, and the rest of us need to learn our place.  Heartlessness, greed, arrogance… I don’t see much else in the way of qualities in the Republican Party.  Where are the Republican moderates I used to admire?  Where are the new Bob Doles of the world?  What happened to Charles Grassley of Iowa, and John McCain of Arizona?  Why did they stop being advocates of the common man?

Okay, I think it’s time I took a stand.  Einstein said that it won’t be evil people at fault when this world ends, it will be the people who stand around and watched them do it.  So what kind of stand am I going to take?  I think we all have to decide if we are going to believe in something and make whatever sacrifices are necessary to back up what we believe.

I titled this awful thing Political Insanity because politics are driving me INSANE.  People I believe in and respect tell me that George Zimmerman is innocent (even though he killed an unarmed teenager after being told by the police NOT to follow him) and if there are riots, they want the police to open fire and kill rioters.  This is coming from folks who I have always respected for their Christian beliefs.  WAITAMINNIT!  Christian beliefs!  Am I insane?  I thought Christianity was “turning the other cheek.”  I thought it was “love your neighbor”, “forgive”, and “they will know that we are Christians by our LOVE.”  I’m apparently wrong on all counts.  The Republican Party, the Christian Party, says I am.

These people are saying that abortion is wrong.  That it means killing children.  I don’t disagree with that.  But I also want our society to care about the children that already have been born.  Why are these Christians talking about cutting funds to education here in Texas where we are already near to last place in national rankings?  Why are they trying to close the clinics that also provide birth control to the poor, and pre-natal care?  Every baby has a right to life until they get born, and then they are screwed apparently.

As far as I can tell, there is no loony liberal left wing any more.  Moderates who used to be the center, are now the far left.  So, by remaining a moderate, being dedicated to the “middle way”, I have literally been forced to become a liberal.  If caring what happens to the poor, especially the working poor, and the mentally ill, and the sick who have no health insurance, and teachers like me who have to consider quitting because the atmosphere in schools is turning so toxic, political, and polarized, if all of that makes me a liberal, then okay.  I will be a liberal.  Conservatives are conservative because they want things to remain the same.  If times are good, everyone should be a conservative.  But if times are as bad as I think they are, then everyone should be a liberal, because liberals are called liberals because they are looking for wholesale change.  Like most sharks, if we liberals don’t keep swimming against the current, we are all going to suffocate and die.

Sharks, monkeys, and loons… donkeys and elephants… politics has all gone to the animals.  Either that, or I have gone politically insane.

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Valerie Clarke, Iowa Girl

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My newest novel is called Snow Babies.  It is not published yet, but I am not worried.  It is the best thing I’ve ever written, and it will endure even if no one ever lowers themselves to actually reading it.  The portrait here is the main character, Valerie Elaine Clarke, the most beautiful girl ever born in Norwall, Iowa (the fictional version of the town I grew up in, rural, farm town, population 275).  She and her mother have moved to town and left farming behind because Valerie’s father… shudder… lost the farm for unpaid FHA loans, and then killed… but you don’t want to hear about that.  She is a vibrant, sassy, and open-hearted girl living in a 1984 world of skateboards, rock and roll, and stupid people that do all kinds of stupid things.  Right before the December blizzard hits, she sees a homeless wanderer, a hobo, on Main Street.  The guy doesn’t know a bad storm is coming.  He wears a jacket made of crazy quilt material, all colorful patches and quilted stitching.  Valerie can’t let the poor man freeze to death, can she?  And her and her mother live in a modest three-bedroom home even though there are only two people living there.  She will ask her mother if they can take him in during the storm, and maybe asked if she can keep him.

Silly, right?  I’ve told people that this is a comedy novel about freezing to death, complete with clowns.  But, to be honest, it’s probably more about not freezing to death, and how a small community can come together to face a big problem, namely, a killer of a blizzard.  So, if you like comedies laced with tragedy, filled with bad snow metaphors, and stupid people doing stupid things with consequences both good and bad, then you should be looking for the novel Snow Babies… or running away screaming… I know it’s one of those.

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I included a shot of my latest paffooney held by my daughter, the Princess.  Valerie is a combination of a girl I grew up with in Iowa, a girl I once taught in a small town in Texas, and a certain young lady who gets referred to repeatedly as “the Princess”.

 

 

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