Let  's   get      de  ns    e

Maybe I'm a butterfly dreaming I'm human. But, maybe I'm a cockroach dreaming I'm a cat, and I have a poor notion of what it is to be a cat.

How can you be two places at once . . . when you're really nowhere at all. -- Firesign

WR  I T   I NG

                    Inve n  t ed by the   S um a r  i a n s

      to  k e e p    tr a c k of   ta x e   s

Without letters there'd be no wordprocessors.

In  5 0    ye  a  rs    i t'l l    b e    ill e g a l

Ellen's Chocolate Cake -- So good you have to lean on something.

1 pkg. Chocolate Fudge Supreme Cake Mix
1 pkg. Instant Chocolate Pudding
1 c. Sour Cream
1/2 c. Oil
1/2 c. Water
4 Eggs
12 oz. Semi-sweet Chocolate Bits

A couple other chocolate recipes.

A mix of stuff.

A     s h ort     s c e   ne

A young woman waits near a small table with a beige touch-tone desk phone. She is anxious, restless, viewing alternately her hands, the window and the phone. In the foreground, her grandmother is reading and rocking slowly -- slower than anyone rocks. The room is rich in the trappings of academia. Books everywhere. An astrolabe. A french horn.

GRANDMOTHER: (looking at the young woman, then with measured but deep feeling) My little wood-sprite, you're in love!

The young woman looks away briefly then shoots an intense gaze of familial anger at her grandmother.

GRANDMOTHER: You hate me for saying that don't you. [pause] You know, you must hate me. Any child when first in love must hate the adult that first calls attention to that fact. Just as I must state what I see in you. . . . It has happened before. Many, many times before. Your crush is so obvious, so essential, you are your crush right now. This scene has been played so many times before. The adult observing, the child hating the adult for it. The intense momentary hate toward a family member. This scene with the two of us is just like so many scenes played before it, except for . . . how can I say it . . . the observation of that fact. The observation, the pulling-back, and pulling back further. That's what makes our scene unique. That's what makes . . .

YOUNG WOMAN: [interrupting] Grandma! I don't mean to be disrespectful. [she is looking at the floor, then looks up straight into Grandmother's eyes] Yet I do hope you take this in the spirit in which it is intended. . . . Grandma. . . Shut Up!

Let me know what you think.

–Paul Smedberg