Come back next Wednesday to find out more about the Wall of Wisdom!

FARCEUR

pronounced: "far-SIR"

A person who is funny, likes to tell jokes, or writes funny stories. Sometimes called 'a class clown'.

Mr. Wilson said that Jack could be a farceur during recess, but not in the middle of math class.

A comedian needs to be a good farceur (writer of jokes).

Bryant slid open the hallway closet door and peered inside. His sister had told him to get the green bags for Mom.
"I don't see any green bags, Mom," he hollered to her in the kitchen.
"I need the shopping bags, Honey," she hollered back, "but they aren't green."
"Becka said they're green," he mumbled to himself. He found the blue canvas bags with the white rope handles. They reminded him of the sails on Grampa's boat, except the bags said GO GREEN on the side.
On the way to the grocery store Bryant felt like he was on Grampa's boat. A sudden thunderstorm made the ride rough as Mom drove around deep puddles. Trucks splashed waves onto the windows.
"Mom," Becka said, "Bryant looks a little seasick."
"You do look a little green, Honey," she said. "We'll be there soon."
At the grocery store, Bryant went straight to the restrooms and checked his face in the mirror.
"Mom, my face isn't green at all," he said when he came out of the restroom.
"I'm glad," said Mom, "but saying you looked green meant you looked sick."
He thought for a minute then asked, "Then why do the shopping bags say GO GREEN on them?"
Mom laughed and said, "That kind of green means something that is good for Earth. The bags help us make less trash."
"Oh," said Bryant. "Hey, look! I see my favorite kind of green. Pistachio ice cream!"
Mom smiled and put a carton of ice cream in the cart. "Grampa likes that kind, too, and he's coming over later."
In the checkout line, Mom said to Becka, "I forgot some greens, can you go grab some please?"
"But, Mom," said Bryant, "we got brocolli, peas, and pistachio ice cream. Isn't that enough greens?"
"Wow!" said Mom, "We are having a green day, aren't we? Greens means leafy vegetables, like lettuce."
"When Grampa comes, I'm going to tell him about the green day, and share my ice cream with him," he said.
"Good idea," said Mom as she opened her purse. "Here, you can give the cashier some greenbacks!" and handed him several twenty dollar bills.
"Gee," said Bryant, "Green sure is a busy color!"

A haiku is a 3-line poem that has 5 syllables in the first line, 7 in the next, and 5 in the last. It usually does not rhyme. Haiku traditionally tells something about nature, but modern haiku doesn’t have to.
I’ll bet you can tell what the weather has been like where I live!

Rain, rain for two weeks
come again some other day
but not tomorrow
**
Rain dripped all the day
And the day before, before
Please, we ask, no more
**
The beach is lonely
Can we go swimming in rain?
Yes, just don’t get wet
**
Rain takes many forms
Drizzle, pouring, cats-and-dogs
Sometimes just too much
**
Puddles for jumping
Wetness where we try to walk
Wet feet, not so fun
**
Clouds pour down their rain
We begin to feel like ducks
Quacking and splashing
**
I always thought it would be really convenient if it only rained at night.
My grandfather had a favorite joke that we could go swimming as long as we didn’t get wet, although he never was referring to rain!
Cats-and-dogs is an idiom that means heavy rain.

Now, it's your turn! Haiku is easy. Don't worry about being 'right', just have fun!

Paper is a hot commodity in my house. Some families complain about the phone hog, or the bathroom hog. My younger son is the paper hog. He draws on it, cuts it, glues it, or otherwise uses it all up. As a teacher and writer, I like paper too. After all, books are made of paper.
Of course, my younger son and I aren’t the only paper users in the house. My older son needs paper for homework and other urgent reasons, such as writing down game codes and friends’ phone numbers. My husband is the list-maker. You name it, he has made a list for it. My husband, actually, is the paper hoarder. He buys packages of notepads and hides them. I kid you not.
Everyone in the family knows where to find the good paper. It’s in the computer printer. The older son, however, is happy with the backs of old mail taken from the recycling box. He would probably even use old paper for his homework if he had a choice on that. My husband, like I said, has his own paper. That leaves me and the paper hog.
His need for paper must be genetic. I clearly remember my grandmother telling me, yet again, I could only have one piece of paper per visit. She worked for a paper mill and had whole reams of 12-by-18 white glossy paper in the bottom of the china cabinet in the dining room. She was a generous woman, and had plenty of paper. The one page limit was set because I was, you guessed it, a paper hog.
How could I deny my son the joy and endless possibilities of a new piece of paper? I can’t. I am proud that he is inspired by a blank page, and as a parent I must encourage him. Hiding a paper stash, as my husband does, doesn’t work. I’m ready to give in before he even asks. I can only blame myself when I go on a frantic search for paper at 11 pm the night before a due date.
Maybe in some families the members bargain over the remote control or last can of soda. Between my younger son and I, it’s the last piece of paper in the printer tray. So, to editors at the book publishers I would say this: handle with care. That paper my story is printed on may hold more value than you think. Sure, writers pour their heart and soul into their work and the end result comes at the price of sweat and tears, but have you haggled with a preschooler lately?
Not that it has ever happened, but if I am extra tired, or distracted, the next story I send to a publisher might have a bonus story on the back. My favorite? A house drawn with crayon and “MOMDADSAMNATE” written in the sky by a four-year old writer-in-training. Now, that’s a great story.
Did I mention he likes envelopes, too?

Have you ever heard of a hound dog? A hound is a dog that is good at sniffing for things. A rock hound is a person who hunts for rocks, but they don't sniff to find them! Have you ever found a rock that you decided was interesting? If you have, then you might be a rock hound too.
Anyone can be a rock hound. All you need to do is like rocks, and like looking for rocks. A rock hound needs a place to explore. You can look in your own backyard or neighborhood. Most of the time it is okay to collect rocks at a beach or park. Just remember to ask first, especially before looking on someone else’s property.
If you belong to a whole family of rock hounds, you could go to more places to look for rocks together. There are even places to go rock hunting where you can find unusual gems and minerals. Search the internet for rock hunting places in your state. You could also buy rocks at rock and minerals shows. Buying rocks skips the hunting part, though, which some rock hounds would say leaves out the most fun.
You don’t need any fancy gear to be a rock hound, but if you are going to dig you might want some useful things. A shovel, work gloves, and a bucket for you rocks would come in handy. If you want to break apart rocks with a rock hammer, then you will need safety glasses. A book about rocks and minerals will be helpful if you want to know what you’ve found. Remember to dress for the weather and use sun block.
Rock hounds are proud of their collections. You could put your rocks in a shoebox, on a shelf, or in clear plastic containers. Many rock hounds like to label their rocks by what kind they are, the date they were found, and where they were found. You will probably have a favorite kind of rock and could group certain kinds of rocks together. How you want to show off your collection is up to you.
If you want to tell people you are a rock hound, be ready to explain that you like looking for rocks. Be sure to tell them you can’t sniff for rocks like a hound dog though!

Mommy cooks dinner,
Meg sets the table…
and Maddie, too.


Mommy washes the dishes,
Meg dries them…
and Maddie, too.



Mommy paints up high,
Meg paints down low…
and Maddie, too.



Mommy plants flowers,
Meg pulls weeds…
and Maddie, too.



Mommy knits,
Meg learns…
and Maddie, too.



Mommy reads,
Meg writes…
and Maddie, too.



Mommy kisses,
Meg hugs…
and Maddie, too.

Making a wish on a birthday candle is a fun tradition. There are lots of other wishing tricks. Have you ever made a wish on a star, or when blowing dandelion seeds fluff? Other wishing traditions use things that you hold, such as a penny or a wishbone, to make the wish on.
There are many traditional good luck symbols as well. Some examples of good luck symbols are horseshoes, ladybugs, four-leaf clovers, pigs, goldfish, elephants, and acorns. The penny and star are used for both wishing and for good luck.

Here is a simple and fun project to celebrate wishing and good luck:
* Use a box of any kind. The size and type of box don’t matter. You could write on the box and decorate it if you want.
*Research wishing and good luck for more ideas of things to collect. Ask friends and family members about their favorite wishing and good luck traditions. There are even websites to search.
*Find items to represent as many wishing and good luck ideas as you’d like. You could find things such as little toy plastic pigs, ladybug necklaces, and four-leaf clover pins just about anywhere, but a good place to look is at discount stores and yard sales. The items do not need to be the real thing, either. For example, scrapbooking and craft stores have huge selections of stickers that might have the symbols you’d like to collect. You could simply print pictures from a website, or just draw them yourself.
*Put all your good luck and wishing symbols in your box.
*Since it is a collection (like rocks or shells), you could write the history and/ or directions for each symbol to put with the items.
*when you feel like you need a little extra luck, or need to make a wish, get out your collection! You could write your wish on a slip of paper and put it in the box to soak up all the good luck!

Of course, whether or not you believe your kit will really work is up to you. Either way, it is an easy, fun, and interesting collection to work on.
Good luck and best wishes!

“This apple is red. And juicy and sweet,” my friend Sara said.
“My banana is yellow, and mushy, and peels,” I answered.
“Keep going,” said my mom.
We were in the back seat of the car riding back from the beach.
Mom gave us the snacks because we were tired of the long drive.
“Keep going where?” I asked.
“Sara said three things about her apple, and she started with a color, then you did the same thing. Keep going! See how many things and colors you can say”
I looked out the window.
“The grass is green. And it’s growing and tickly,” I said. “Your turn, Sara!”
“The sky is blue and high, and empty,” she said.
Then I did brown for the telephone poles and she did yellow for the sun.
I did black for the road and she did white for a house.
Pretty soon we had named every color we could find except purple. It was my turn.
Sara asked my mom, “Are we almost home yet?”
I kept looking for purple.
Sara asked my mom if we there yet again.
Mom said, “Let’s all look for purple together. Are any of the beach toys purple?”
“No,” I said.
“How about the towels?”
“No,” Sara and I both said together, “Jinx!” we laughed.
We looked at signs, other cars and trucks, and even gardens. No purple.
We were so busy looking for purple that we didn’t even notice we were on my street.
When we pulled into the driveway, my mom said, “After you help unpack the car you can go look for purple in the house.” Sara and I groaned.
We all climbed out of the car and Mom started laughing.
“What’s funny?” I asked.
“Look,” she said, pointing to her purple flip-flops. “Purple helped us get home!”
“What do you mean?” Sara asked.
“Well,” explained Mom, “I told you to keep going. Your color game helped us handle the long drive, and my purple flip flops were on the gas pedal.”
She went into the house, laughing at her own joke.
“I don’t get it,” said Sara.
“It is funny that we looked so long for purple and it was right there the whole time,” I said, “But not ‘ha-ha’ funny.”
“Yeah, grown-ups,” Sara said rolling her eyes.
We brought the stuff in the house and Sara asked my mom, “Is it dinner yet?”

Barney was a skinny, tiny kitten. He was a soft tan color with lighter tan stripes. He was also a wild, naughty thing. Even as a teeny six-week-old kitten, people would take one look at his eyes and say, “Oh, he’s going to be trouble!”
And trouble he was. We only had Barney for one year, and in that one year he managed to destroy the wallpaper, shred seven or eight stuffed animals, leave tears down the window screens, and break all the Christmas ornaments. I didn’t want to let him be an outside cat; we lived too close to the road. But Barney had more energy than our little apartment could hold. So we let him outside where he could run and climb and be his wild self.
For all the trouble he was, he made up for it in love. He was a friendly, sociable cat, with people and other cats as well. Our landlords owned a house up front, by the road. Behind their house was a small yard with lots of huge old pine trees. Then our apartment was at the back end of the yard. Another family lived in an apartment in back of us. Everyone knew Barney, even the other cats.
The people laughed at Barney’s wild antics, but the cats did not find him amusing. The people living behind us had three cats that avoided Barney’s ploys for attention. Our landlords had two cats, Puddles and Duffy. Puddles would have nothing to do with Barney. Duffy was a big, old, cranky orange tom-cat. He was eighteen years old, preferred to be left alone, and was set in his ways. Duffy was the boss, and the other cats knew it.
Of all the cats to accept Barney, it was Duffy.
It was something to watch those two together. Old man Duffy would rest in the pine needles in the sunshine, with skinny, little crazy Barney pouncing on his tail. Not once did Duffy swat at Barney. In fact, the more Barney pounced on his tail, the more Duffy seemed to swing his tail around. Our landlords chuckled. “Barney follows Duffy everywhere!” they’d say. Barney was like the over-active young child, and Duffy was the tolerant, patient grampa.
One weekend in the summer that Barney turned one, my husband and I went camping. Our landlords took care of Barney while we were away. I enjoyed the trip, but was looking forward to seeing my Barney. On the way home I had an uneasy feeling.
When we pulled into the driveway our landlords were waiting in the driveway. I knew something was wrong. I started to go up our stairs to go into the apartment and turned around to look at my husband. The landlords were speaking to him. He walked toward me and I knew. Barney had been killed in the road.
I cried and cried. Everyone was kind, but I wanted to be alone. I went behind the back apartment where there was a picnic table and sat on the top and buried my head in my crossed arms on my knees. Suddenly I felt something soft rub up against me. It was Duffy. “Oh, Duffy,” I said, “You lost a friend, too.” He sat with me for only a minute, then walked away.
My landlords later told me an interesting thing about Duffy. They said he was afraid of the apartment buildings. They said there was a certain point in the yard between their house and our building that he would not cross. They said Duffy must have loved Barney, because in eighteen years they had only seen Duffy go anywhere near the apartments once. And that one time was the day he helped me say goodbye to Barney.
-------
We moved soon after, but not too far away. Every time I drove by, I would look for Duffy, sitting on his porch, all alone. I would whisper as I passed, “Thank you Duffy.”
Duffy has long since passed away, at the old cat-age of twenty two. I can’t think of Barney, or look at a picture of him, without also thinking of his friend. Some animals leave a special mark on your heart, no matter how short of a time you knew them. Goodbye doesn’t mean forgotten.

Do you have a younger brother or sister? Sometimes it can be hard to share your parents' attention with a younger sibling. This story is about a boy who wishes he didn't have a little sister. Have you ever made a wish like that? Otto finds out what might happen if that wish came true. Even though it sounds like serious stuff, this is a very funny book! I hope that you agree with what Otto decides in the end. You will have to read it to find out!
To find out more about this story and its author go to
www.ottogrowsdown.com

Where is Thumbkin? Where is Thumbkin?
In my pie! In my pie!
I was good for Christmas,
I got lots of presents.
Who am I? Who am I?

Can you guess the Mother Goose character who is singing this riddle?

One, Two,
ah.. ah.. AH.. AH.. CHOOO!

Three, four,
Why is my nose so sore?

Five, six,
Then suddenly, it clicks.

Seven, eight,
It's pollen; that's just great!

Nine, ten,
My allergies, again!

It was Saturday. Not just any Saturday. It was the first Saturday that it hadn't rained in a month. And it was spring. Time for baseball!
“Can I go over Ryan’s house today?” I asked my mom.
She said, “No, Ben.” I had to help with spring cleaning.
“How about if I pitch a clean sweep at Ryan’s house?”
She just scowled. She has no sense of humor.
We started with the yard, since it was so sunny out. Mom trimmed branches and I piled them up by the street curb. Dad raked and my little brother Jack picked up the little rocks off the yard that the snow plow pushed there.
After a couple hours of that, we worked on the garage. While Mom and dad moved stuff out of the way, Jack and I swept the greasy, grimy floor.
When it was almost lunchtime, Mom said that Jack could be done, since he was only eight. I wanted to be done, too. Ryan wanted to practice pitching.
“Mom," I asked, "Can I go to Ryan’s after lunch?”
She looked at me, and my clothes, and sighed. I just knew she was going to give me one more chore.
“Yes, Ben” she said, “But I have one more spring cleaning job for you.”
I knew she was going to say that.
“Please take an April shower!”
Okay, I guess she has a little sense of humor!

Sometimes life is full of coincidences. Two things will happen together by accident, but it feels like the two things were supposed to happen together.
This morning I wrote a post here about names. This afternoon my family and I went to visit my sister and her husband. We talked about names all afternoon! We did not talk about this blog at all, though.
Can you guess why we talked about names? My sister is having a baby! I was so excited to find out! When people find out about a new baby on the way, one question they ask the parents-to-be is what names they are thinking of.
My sister wants to name the baby Annie if it is a girl. Annie was my grandmother's name. There is a good chance the baby might have curly red hair. If she has curly red hair, her name will not be Annie. Search 'Annie the Musical' online and you will see why not.
I am happy for my sister and her husband, and look forward to meeting our new family member. I'm sure the baby will have a name that is choosen carefully, and that is perfectly right for him or her.
Today was a good day for thinking about names.

If you read the post titled What's in a name? (at the top in green)then you know my name means 'beginning of a good life'. Here is another interesting thing about my name. It rhymes! My middle name is Marie. Dawn Marie Bonnevie is like a tiny poem. Dawn rhymes with the 'Bon' and Marie rhymes with the 'vie'. It might not sound like a rhyme where you live, though. That is because people in different places pronounce (say) words differently. For example, many people in New York do not think 'dog' and 'frog' rhyme.
Do you have a name that rhymes? What does your name mean? Ask you parents how they choose your name. It is fun to look in baby books to see what names mean. You could start a name collection. Look in phone books, on signs, and online for interesting names and write them in a notebook.
Some names just sound funny. Some names repeat, like William Williams, or Peter Peters. Some names are real people who have the same name as a character. There is a dentist named Charlie Brown that lives near me. Characters in books often have funny names because the author could make up whatever name they wanted! You can make up names, too!