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The Provo Orem Word

POW

February 2012 Issue No. 23

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Stephen Tuttles The New Father with art by Brian Kershisnik published by Bjorn Press and The Provo Orem Word. (To see the text visit our April issue. The art is as pictured here.) The broadside is available for local pick-up. Shipping is $3 to the 48 mainland states. (Shipping elsewhere can be calculated upon request.) Payment by cash or PayPal only. Questions? E-mail Rebecca Packard at ads@provooremword.org.

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22

The Provo Orem Word


February 2012 Heart 4 Letter from the Editor 8 Contributors 10 Calendar

Natalie Johansen 22 Heartbrain Chadd VanZanten 36 Mr. Cool Ranch


P O EM S FICTION

E S S AY

43

Lance Larsen 34 First Trimester 43 Warming the Bed 53 Translation


Book Review Rebecca Packard 40 John DAgatas Lifespan of a Fact Film Eric Samuelsen 44 Oscar Predictions 48 Girl with the Dragon Tattoo

C R I T I C S CO R N ER

36

Theater Eric Samuelsen 54 Hale Center Theaters The 39 Steps


For Teens By Teens Dylan Larsen 58 Boomaclonka

F O R FA M I LI E S

Family Home Art Project Emily Packard 62 Children and Dance

Cover Art: Terriers in Love by Nicole Ray

Out on the Town Rebecca Packard 66 BYUs Family Music Series

February 2012, Issue No. 23

Letter from the Editor

ear Readers,

Welcome to our anniversary issue! As we look back at the last two years, were grateful for all of the artists, businesses, and organizations that have supported our events and this publication. And of course, were grateful for you, our readers. In the last two years, weve had about 10,000 unique viewers from more than 70 countries and all 50 states. Were happy weve reached so many, and were glad that many of our readers return, contributing to a growing subscriber base.
Were dedicating a page (9) to our partners and sponsors, new and old. If you want to support us, keep reading. Financial contributions are always welcome (and rewarded with a beautiful broadside\see page 2). But if you want to support us in other ways, just enjoy our publication and

The Provo Orem Word

events, and consider becoming one of our subscribers; its free and easy with the link on our home page. For this issue, we have literature that celebrates the heart both literally and figuratively. In our critics section, Eric Samuelsen makes Oscar predictions and reviews a show at Hale Center Theater; theres also a review of a book in defense of creative license in creative nonfiction. In our family section, we have new ideas for dancing at home and enjoying music out on the town. Thanks for reading!

Rebecca Packard Director/Editor The Provo Orem Word


www.provooremword.org

February 2012, Issue No. 23

S TA F F

Rebecca Packard [Publisher/Editor] has written about 400 articles in the past six years as critic and reporter, freelancer and staff. Her music criticism for The Tri-City Herald won her a fellowship to the NEA Arts Journalism Institute for Classical Music and Opera at Columbia University in 2005. The next year, she became a staff reporter for Times/Review Newspapers in New York. As such, she enjoyed getting to know her community through writing about many topics, including all the arts. She has an MFA in Creative Writing and Literature from Antioch University Los Angeles.
She originally moved to Provo in 1993 to go to Brigham Young University. She liked it so much she married a native and joined a family that has been part of this community for more than 30 years. The growing local arts scene is a large part of what brought her back to this area in 2009.

Rebecca Packard

Nicole Ray [Graphic Designer/Cover] is an illustrator and designer living in Ann Arbor, Michigan. She received a Bachelor of Fine Arts Degree in illustration from the School of Visual Arts in New York. Nicole and her mister recently moved to a log cabin on a lake and are busy cultivating a growing network of critter friends. Jay Packard [Web Developer] has been developing software and web applications for 10 years at Pacific Northwest National Lab in Washington State, Brookhaven National Lab in New York, and currently at One on One Marketing in American Fork, Utah. He is a film and religious composer hobbyist. [Photos] just completed his sophomore year at Walden School of Liberal Arts, where his primary focuses have been on photojournalism and Arabic Studies. He has enjoyed traveling internationally, to places such as Guatemala and India, to work on his photography. Despite the fact that he may get underpaid, he plans to pursue a future as a photojournalist.

Nicole Ray

Jay Packard

Nate LeBaron

Alisia Packard [Photographer] studied art and philosophy at BYU before becoming a freelance photographershooting for various non-profit organizations, advertising agencies, and magazines. She has worked for Martha Stewart Magazine, Oprah magazine, Utah Valley Tourism Campaign, Deseret Book, and various acting schools. She recently opened her own photography studio, Leaf Shutter Studios in American Fork.

Nate Lebaron

Alisia Packard

The Provo Orem Word

The Provo Orem Word


F E B R U A RY 2012 ISSUE NO. 23

Editor In Chief
Rebecca Packard Nicole Ray

Graphic Designer Web Developer


Jay Packard
The Provo Orem Word is a nonprofit arts organization that sponsors readings, visual arts shows, occasional print publications, and this website, an online venue for artists, particularly artists in the Provo-Orem area of Utah. The main content of the website is updated monthly. Community reviews are updated throughout the month on our Facebook page. All material in The Provo Orem Word site is copyrighted. The copyrights belong to the works creators unless otherwise indicated. Those interested in using POW materials in any way other than fair use can contact the Publisher, Rebecca Packard at editor@provooremword.org. Submissions can be sent to submissions@ provooremword.org. Authors should indicate whether they are affiliated with the ProvoOrem area when they submit. They should also indicate if the material has been published elsewhere. Not being affiliated with the area will not hurt an authors chances of being published; it simply helps us keep a sense of proportion. Editors of The Provo Orem Word site reserve the right to edit or remove content from the community reviews page.

February 2012, Issue No. 23

Natalie Johansen

Dylan Larsen

Lance Larsen

Emily Packard

Eric Samuelsen

Chadd VanZanten

CO N T R I B U TO R S
(essay) is a student in BYUs Creative Writing MFA program. She is emphasizing in creative nonfiction, specifically the personal essay, and is interested in travel and food writing. She has an essay forthcoming in BYUs Inscape. Natalie is from Southern Utah (Ivins, to be specific) and always misses the warm weather.

Natalie Johansen

Early Childhood and Elementary Education. Emily lives in Provo with her husband, daughter, and a son whos still cooking. She hopes that her love of dance will be passed down to her children who spent nine months dancing with her before they were even born. She currently teaches at Steps Dance & Performing Arts in Spanish Fork, Utah.

Dylan Larsen (poem) a Springville high school


student, is currently completing a study abroad program in Madrid, Spain. His artistic pursuits include poetry, drawing, song writing and playing upright bass. He plays bass for his high school orchestra, as well as for the renowned Utah County jazz combo, Blue Sky Jazz. You can see him perform at Magelby's in Springville most Saturday nights.

Eric Samuelsen (Film/Theater Reviews) is a


playwright, translator, scholar, critic and teacher. He earned a Ph.D. From Indianan University in 1991 and has been on the faculty in the BYU Theatre and Media Arts Department sine 1992. he has written 28 plays , which have been professionally produced in New York, Indiana, Utah and California. He has also translated three Isben plays for productions in Utah and California. He has been president of the Association of Mormon Letters, and he is three time winner of their annual playwriting award. He is married with four children and two cats. The only thing Chadd VanZanten (fiction) loves more than writing is fishing, and the only thing he loves more than fishing is living in Cache Valley with his wife and family. A long time ago he studied journalism and political science at Utah State University; he now works for an environmental consulting firm. Hi short fiction has appeared in New Graffiti and here in The Provo Orem Word, and he frequently reads at Helicon West. Chadd often wishes he had more time for things such as comic books and Scrabble.

Lance Larsen (poems) is the author of three poetry collections: "Backyard Alchemy" (2009), "In All Their Animal Brilliance" (2005), and "Erasable Walls" (1998). His work has appeared in New York Review of Books, Paris Review, Poetry Daily, TLE, Slate, best American Poetry 2009, and elsewhere. He has received a Pushcart prize and a fellowship from the National Endowment for the Arts. A professor at BYU, he has directed a study abroad in London. Emily Packard (Family Home Art Project) is a
classically trained ballerina who shifted her focus to ballroom in high school. She then attended Utah Valley University on a full-ride scholarship in ballroom, where she completed a BS degree in

The Provo Orem Word

A special thank you to our


PA RT N E R S A N D S P O N S O R S

Helicon West

February 2012, Issue No. 23

February 2012
W E D N E S D A Y ,
VISUAL ART

F E B

Danielle Udalls Siena BYUs Harold B Lee Library auditorium Fleeting Impressions: Prints by James McNeill Whistler (1834-1903) MOA Hidden Voices: Women in Printmaking Woodbury Art Museum Permanent Collection on display Woodbury Art Museum Rachel Thomander HBLL Ricardo Montaivan: A Classic Rebirth Covey Center The Weir Family, 1820-1920: Expanding the Traditions of American Art MOA Wide Open Spaces: Capturing the Grandeur of the American Southwest continues MOA
FA M I LY

The Merchant of Venice continues Margetts Theatre at BYU First Lap- and Storytimes of the month OPL First Preschool Times of the month Provo City Library First Toddler Times of the month PCL
POP MUSIC

First Open Mic night of the night Muse Music Cafe Y Mountain Showcase: Bands/Performers TBA Velour
T H E AT E R

The 39 Steps continues Hale Center Theater Orem New Voices Play Reading Series OPL The Secret Garden continues Noorda Theatre, UVU
ART MUSIC

Winter Choirfest de Jong Concert Hall, BYU Grand Pianos Live Madsen Recital Hall, BYU Piano Recital Ragan Theatre, UVU Literature

10

The Provo Orem Word

The Life and Legacy of The King James Bible continues HBLL First Wacky Wednesday Storytime of the month Barnes and Noble

T H U R S D A Y ,
FA M I LY

F E B

First Library Kids Jr. of the month PCL First Library Kids Sr. of the month PCL
POP MUSIC

Pablo Blaqk/ Isaac Russell/ TBA Muse Music


ART MUSIC

Orpheus Winds Madsen

F R I D A Y ,
DANCE

F E B

First night of Academy of Ballet: Pointe Counterpointe Covey Center of the Arts

Danielle Deulen reading at HBLL; Steven L. Peck at HBLL;Beauty and Belief at BYU's MOA

February 2012, Issue No. 23

11

VISUAL ARTS

Do Dragons Dream of Electric Sheep? Work by Carolyn Nicita and Tim Little Covey Center of the Arts First Friday Downtown Provo Gallery Stroll
FA M I LY

First night of The Peking Acrobats de Jong First Book Babies of the month PCL First Cuentos/Spanish Story time of the month UVYou Days: AVC Department UVU
FILM

Cave of Forgotten Dreams Annie Hall Orem Public Library


T H E AT E R

Blind Date opens Covey Center


POP MUSIC

Lake Island, Ben Best, The North Valley, Ruby Star Muse Music 3rd Annual A Night of Broadway opens SCERA
L I T E R AT U R E

Steven L. Peck reading HBLL


OTHER

Free Improv Comedy Show! Ragan Theater, UVU


OTHER SIDE OF THE HILL

"Rings of the Tree" opens Off Broadway Theater

S A T U R D A Y ,
DANCE

F E B

First Date Night Dance of the month Covey Center


POP MUSIC

Winterfest begins BYU Apt Do Yourself In cd release (hip-hop) w/ Chance Lewis, Dusk One, TBA Muse Music

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The Provo Orem Word

The Peking Acrobats at the de Jong; Living Legends at the de Jong; Ballet in Concert at BYU's Pardoe Theatre

City Weekly Music Awards! The Moth & The Flame, Folkadots Velour Center for Story Benefit Concert with Michael McLean OPL
ART MUSIC

Ashley Fillmore cello student recital Madsen


L I T E R AT U R E

First Super Saturday Storytime of the month B&N

M O N D A Y ,
FA M I LY

F E B

First Early Literacy PCL First Make and Take Craft of the month First evening Cuentos/Spanish Story time of the month PCL First (evening) Story Time of the month PCL Brian Ellingford Magic Show OPL
FILM

A Man For All Seasons OPL

February 2012, Issue No. 23

13

T U E S D A Y ,
FA M I LY

F E B

Van Gogh to Play Dough: Art for Toddlers MOA


FILM

Amongst White Clouds, The Mission, and The Untold Story of Emmett Louis Till open BYUs International Cinema Cinema Classics Series SCERA
POP MUSIC

First Open-Mic Acoustic Night Velour


ART MUSIC

UVU Wind Symphony Covey Center

W E D N E S D A Y ,
ART MUSIC

F E B

Trumpet Chamber Night BYUs University Parkway Center

T H U R S D A Y ,
DANCE

F E B

Ballet in Concert opens BYUs Pardoe Theatre


T H E AT E R

First day of Timpanogos Storytelling Festival Midwinter Event OPL


POP MUSIC

Songwriters Showcase starts Muse Music The Oak Ridge Boys Covey Center (Rock) UVC, Humble Everest, Slow Motion Characters Velour
G R E AT E R U TA H VA L L E Y

"Rings of the Tree" opens Grove Theater

F R I D A Y ,
DANCE

F E B

1 0

First night of Living Legends de Jong


FILM

Princess O'Rourke Library Auditorium


14 The Provo Orem Word

POP MUSIC

Invitational Songwriter Showcase Madsen Valentines Show Velour Dean Duncan Presents: Great Films that Didnt Win OPL
ART MUSIC

Chamber Music Covey Center


L I T E R AT U R E

Danielle Deulen reading HBLL

S A T U R D A Y ,
DANCE

F E B

1 1

UVU Winter DanceSport Festival Grande Ballroom, UVU


FA M I LY

2nd Saturday MOA February Puppet Show - Amazing Animal Adventures SCERA

T H E AT E R

Dinner and Drama: Twitterpated with the Thrillionaires Covey Center


POP MUSIC

Valentines Masquerade! Bands TBA Velour

M O N D A Y ,
FILM

F E B

1 3

Dean Duncan Presents: Great Films that Didnt Win OPL

T U E S D A Y ,
FILM

F E B

1 4

My Dear Enemy, Samson and Delilah, and BerlinEcke Shonhauser open IC


POP MUSIC

Don Juan, Eidola, Foxy Horehound Muse Music


ART MUSIC

New York Piano Trio

February 2012, Issue No. 23

15

Ricardo Montaivan, Blind Date and the Oak Ridge Boys at the Covey Center

W E D N E S D A Y ,
POP MUSIC

F E B

1 5

(Acoustic) Glass Canvas, Tiffany Sollis Velour


ART MUSIC

Wind Symphony de Jong

T H U R S D A Y ,
POP MUSIC

F E B

1 6

Loom/ Gaza/ Bone Dance(ID)/ TBA Muse Music (Portland Indie-Rock) Hosannas w/ Searching For Celia, Boots to the Moon Velour

F R I D A Y ,
DANCE

F E B

1 7

Childrens DanceWorks Concert BYUs RB Dance Studio


FILM

Life in a Day HBLL Dean Duncan Presents: Great Films that Didnt Win OPL
ART MUSIC

Utah Lyric Opera: La traviata Covey Center


POP MUSIC

Music Dance Theatre Showcase Pardoe Winters Run Muse Music


ART MUSIC

BYU Singers: A Tapestry of American Song de Jong

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The Provo Orem Word

L I T E R AT U R E

Theodore & Annie Deppe reading HBLL

S A T U R D A Y ,
FA M I LY

F E B

1 8

Fairy Tale Tea Tickets go on Sale PCL


POP MUSIC

Mad Max and the Wild Ones, John-Ross Boyce and His Troubles, The Travelling Salesme Muse Music Dallyn Vail Bayles In Concert SCERA
ART MUSIC

BYU Philharmonic de Jong Guest Artist John Milbauer, piano Madsen


L I T E R AT U R E

Shannon Hale reading B&N

M O N D A Y ,
FA M I LY

F E B

2 0

Tremendously Tall Tales SCERA


FILM

Rebecca OPL
ART MUSIC

Jazz Covey Center

February 2012, Issue No. 23

17

T U E S D A Y ,
FILM

F E B

2 1

Lillusionniste, Moscow Does Not Believe in Tears, and Hvnen [In a Better World] open IC

W E D N E S D A Y ,
ART MUSIC

F E B

2 2

Opera Scenes open Madsen Symphony Orchestra de Jong

T H U R S D A Y ,
DANCE

F E B

2 3

Cougarettes open Covey Center


ART MUSIC

Student Solo Concert with UVU Symphony Orchestra Ragan Theatre, UVU
POP MUSIC

(Touring Indie/Noise/Folk) Emperor X w/ Don Juan Velour

F R I D A Y ,
VISUAL ART

F E B

2 4

Beauty and Belief opens BYUs MOA


DANCE

First night of BYUs Faculty Choreography Showcase RB Dance Studio Theatre


FILM

It Happened One Night OPL


POP MUSIC

Les Femmes De Velour 2 (Night #1) Velour


ART MUSIC

Symphonic Band de Jong


OTHER

Improv at the Covey: The Thrillionaires Covey Center

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The Provo Orem Word

Xanadu at the Hale; Third Annual A Night of Broadway at SCERA; Dallyn Vail Bayles in Concert at SCERA

S A T U R D A Y ,
POP MUSIC

F E B

2 5

Les Femmes De Velour 2 (Night #2) Velour


L I T E R AT U R E

Darrell Spencer reading HBLL


OTHER

An Evening of Stars Benefit Arts Gala SCERA

M O N D A Y ,
VISUAL ARTS

F E B

2 7

Orem Arts Council Presents: Arts for the Ages: Celebrating Young Artists OPL
FILM

Miss Representation Movie Screening Velour Wings OPL


T H E AT E R

First Acting Workshop with Jason Alexander UVU


ART MUSIC

Wasatch Chorale sings Mozart's Requiem Covey Center

February 2012, Issue No. 23

19

T U E S D A Y ,
FILM

F E B

2 8

Ansiktet [The Magician], Zanan-e bedun-e mardan [Women Without Men], and Ladri di biciclette [Bicycle Thieves] open IC
T H E AT E R

L.A. Theatre Works: The Rivalry de Jong UVUSA Hosts An Evening with Jason Alexander UVU
ART MUSIC

Guest artist Norman Krieger, piano Madsen


L I T E R AT U R E

Mother Daughter Book Club PCL

W E D N E S D A Y ,
T H E AT E R

F E B

2 9

Little Eyolf Margetts


ART MUSIC

Utah Valley Symphony opens Covey Center


POP MUSIC

Jazz Ensemble and Jazz Voices de Jong Monthly Acoustic Showcase: (Performers TBA) Velour

*
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This calendar is not all-inclusive. If you have an event you would like to see on our calendar, email the information to calendar@provooremword.org by the 15th of the month prior to the event.

The Provo Orem Word

lunch tuesday-friday 11:30am-2:30pm dinner tuesday-saturday 5:30pm-10:00pm 102 north university ave provo 801-373-8000 communalrestaurant.com communalrestaurant.blogspot.com Reservations n o w b e i n g t a k e n .

LUNCH MON-FRI 11:30AM-2:30PM

DINNER M O N -T H U 5 P M - 1 0 P M F R I - S AT 5 P M - 1 1 P M 3 2 0 S S TAT E S T R E E T # 1 8 5 O R E M 801-623-6712 pizzeria712.com pizzeria712.blogspot.com R E S E R VA T I O N S N O W B E I N G T A K E N .

February 2012, Issue No. 23

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Heartbrain
AN ESSAY
by Natalie Johansen

he heart is old news. Its been around since God breathed life into man and has pumped us through the centuries, measuring our existence from the beginning of life with its first fluttering, and the end with its last plodding. Its beats orchestrate the flow of blood throughout the body. It pulses, and the network of arteries and veins responds to its metronomic call. It keeps us alive in a very real way, and to reconcile ourselves with its consistency we have turned it into metaphors and idioms. We have bleeding hearts, golden hearts, hard hearts, hearts of stone, changes of heart; we take heart, lose heart, win hearts, break hearts. We wear them on our sleeves, absence makes them grow fonder; were young at heart and sick at heart, we have heart-to-hearts from the bottom of our hearts with all our hearts.
The Provo Orem Word

Editors Note: Though we

asked for a list of sources as part of due diligence, we had neither the time nor inclination to fact check this essay. We arent publishing it for the quality of research but rather the quality of thought and imagination.

22

February 2012, Issue No. 23

23

No emblem is so common as the heart,that little three-cornered exponent of all our hopes and fears, the bestuck and bleeding heart; it is twisted and tortured into more allegories and affectations than an opera hat. (Charles Lamb) I tended to agree with Lambhe even explores the possibility of a lover declaring: Madam, my liver and fortune are entirely at your disposal. Why not? The liver could serve the same purpose. The heart is a tired metaphor, I always believed. But then I found out something about the heart that made it seem new: It thinks. I mean really thinks. dont even know how we arrived at the subject. I was sitting in my chiropractors office, listening to him tell of the new scientific research about the human heart; hes the kind of doctor who actually reads medical journalsalmost obsessively. Scientists, he read, are finding that theres more to the human heart than we think; many scientists, in fact, are calling it the heart-brain. He said that actual memory is stored in the heart, and that recipients of heart transplants often inherit ghost memories from the donors heart. I walked out of the chiropractors office well adjusted but very puzzled. The organ that I formerly thought of as a brainless beating mass of muscle was now a thinking organ. I guess I was used
24 The Provo Orem Word

to thinking that the heart is the metaphorical seat of emotional memory, but it was intriguing to think of my heart as a correspondent of my brainlike old friends, writing letters back and forth over the years, keeping in contact but never meeting. Our conversation had produced a skeleton of ideas, but left me with more questions than answers. I was intrigued; I had to know more.

e said that actual memory is stored in the heart


Scientists call the hearts independent nervous system the brain in the heart, or they just simply refer to the heart as the heart-brain. Or, as I think it should be, the heartbrain (Im generally a fan of smashing words together in this fashion; it looks more artistic and less contrived).

My researchincluding everything from websites to biology texts to New Age booksshowed me the enormous pool of thought concerning the heart, and I attempted to successfully navigate through the vast bramble of knowledge. The heartbrain is a multi-tasker; bioscience has found that while the brain contains billions of cellular connectionsmore than there are stars in our galaxyit doesnt come close to the hearts energy levels. Neurotransmitters, the chemicals located in the brain that relay information from nerve cell to nerve cell, have also been found in the heart, which suggests that the heart also uses these messenger chemicals to communicate with the brain as well as other parts of the body. A random Kabbalah website reported on the theory of cardioenergetics, which posits that the heart, not the brain, is the location of our basic thoughts, emotions, and dreams; the heartbrain, as the supposed seat of our core individuality, is said to communicate with the rest of the body through electromagnetic interactions, known as life energy, or L energy. Scientists meet this idea of L energy with skepticism, and rightly so, seeing that even those who posit its existence admit that the concept of the hearts energy has largely eluded scientific research and continues to be nigh impossible to prove. However, a thirty-year program at Princeton University, the Princeton Engineering Anomalies Research (PEAR), subtitled

he existence of this subtle energy, the one that many scientists are reluctant to admit, may just be the key to the heartbrains communication with the rest of the body.
the Scientific Study of ConsciousnessRelated Physical Phenomena, researched and proved the existence of non-physical communication in the body, a subtle energy that PEAR staff members also called L energy. This subtle communication that they call non-physical just means that there is some sort of communication happening in our body that cannot be detected by monitoring our physical anatomy, like neurotransmitters. So what does this all have to do with the heartbrain? The existence of this subtle energy, the one that many scientists are reluctant to admit, may just be the key to the heartbrains communication with the rest of the body. This communication may not yet be fully explainable by science. Religion answers that our bodies also house our spirits, but the connection between our physical bodies and spiritual beings is hazy. Where does the body end and spirit begin? Are they distinguishable only in death, when the spirit removes itself from the
February 2012, Issue No. 23 25

body? Perhaps the heart is the conduit between the spirit and the body; the communication of energetic impulses originating from the heart could be our spirit, unified with the body through the medium of a beating heart. admit; I can see where scientists skepticism comes from: one of the books I picked up in my research process was Dr. Paul Pearsalls The Hearts Code: Tapping the Wisdom and Power of Our Heart Energy, published in 1998. The cover features a womans silhouette with a glowing heart inside, and a beam of vibrating energy starting from the heart and shooting upwards, art that screams New Ageism, which is something that draws raised eyebrows from most people; however, I discovered a surprising amount of research behind the New Ageism cover; the last forty or so pages of the book include notes from each chapter and a huge bibliography citing a plethora of medical journals and other studies. Dr. Pearsall is a psychoneuroimmunologist (try to say that five times fast), which means he belongs to the branch of medical science that studies the connections between psychological processes and the nervous and immune systems of the human body. The back of his book sums up his discoveries and explorations about the heart: You know that your heart loves and feels, but did you know that the heart also thinks,
26 The Provo Orem Word

remembers, communicates with other hearts, helps regulate immunity, and contains stored information that continually pulses through your body?...The heart is more than just a pump; it conducts the cellular symphony that is the very essence of our being. Despite Dr. Pearsalls long bibliography, I am still skeptical about his claims, and was disappointed that I couldnt find harder scientific evidence. Then I realized I was mis-sing something important; Im not trying to prove this to myself or to you, the reader, or to anyone else by citing an important and decisive studysomething to chase all doubt from our mindsthat proves the heart is as important as Dr. Pearsall or anyone else is proposing. To essay is to attempt, to put ideas to the test, not to prove or convince. Despite my misgivings about sources and possibilities, I cant deny that the idea of a heartbrain fascinates me, that I can hardly stop thinking about it, that I want to believe it is actually true. So for the purpose of this essay, Im going to try on this crazy idea: the heartbrain is the center of our beings, the great communicator and holder of everything that makes us individuals. Why should we be skeptical to believe that the heart plays a greater role in our bodys functioning than we thought? The ancient Egyptians believed the heart, not the brain, to be the seat of the bodys knowledge and

wisdom, the catalyst of humankind. In fact, during the mummification process, the heart was one of the only organs left intact in the body. On the other hand, the Egyptians believed the brain was inferiorin fact, I read on touregpyt. net that they believed its sole purpose was to pass mucus to the nose; thus, during mummification it was removed

hy should we be skeptical to believe that the heart plays a greater role in our body's functioning than we thought?
and discarded like moldy bread. They believed that the heart was necessary for entrance into the Underworld: the heart was weighed against the feather of Maat, which was a symbol of balance, truth, and harmony, and ultimately it determined whether or not a person was admitted into the Underworld. Maybe the Egyptians were onto something; maybe our culture, which places the brain as the bodys dictator, is mistaken. We really are funny creatures, humans. We trust that the scientific information we have is the last word, that our scientific research has shown us everything that there is to know about one subject or another. Take quarks, for example.

Until around the 1960s, the atom was what we thought to be the smallest element of matter; for hundreds of years before that, no one bothered to look any closer. I guess it might be a sweeping generalization to say that no one looked any closer, but it wasnt until the last fifty years that science even took it seriously. The heartbrain could be the same phenomenonmaybe scientists are on the verge of revealing important evidence that will convince us, beyond reasonable doubt that our hearts function much like the Egyptians thought they did. Aristotle, similarly, believed that the heart was the most important organ of the bodythe epicenter of our systems. And we, perhaps because of our scientific discoveries about the importance of the brain, have reduced the heart to a mere pulsing muscle. The Egyptians and Aristotle might have been onto something, but how can we tell if we refuse to consider the possibilities?

heories about the heartbrain are usually tied to the theory of cellular memory, which postulates that cells in the human body contain informatory clues about our personalities, preferences, and memories; this information can be stored in organs, like the heart for example. Our cells are full of energyenergy that keeps us going, and energy that also stores information about our individual coding. Energy cardiology posits that the heart
February 2012, Issue No. 23 27

is the center of cellular energy in the human body, suggesting that our hearts contain the most knowledge about our individual makeup, including memory and personality. The Hearts Code cites the story of an 8-year-old girl who received a heart transplant from a 10-year-old girl, a murder victim who had been stabbed in the lungs. Shortly after the transplant, the recipient started having reccurring nightmares about a

ow that you've had this miracle, what do you want more than anything else? to which she replied Im dying for a beer right now.
man coming out of the shadows with a knife. These vivid dreams increased in intensity until the girls mother took her to a psychiatrist, then to the police. The little girl was able to relay the time of day the murder happened, the place, the weapon, and more importantly, the murderereven the clothes he was wearing. The police, aided by the girls testimony, arrested the man who later confessed to the crime. In the 1970s, Carol Sylvia received a heart and lung transplant from an 18-year-old man. Right after the surgery, a reporter asked Now that youve

had this miracle, what do you want more than anything else? to which she replied Im dying for a beer right now. She was shocked by both the flippancy of her answer and the sudden intense craving for beer. After the transplant, she craved foods like Kentucky Fried Chicken and Snickers bars (things she hadnt liked before the surgery) and felt various changes in her personality; her teenage daughter even remarked that she started walking like a man. One night she had a dream about a man named Tim L: someone shed never met, but who she felt was a good friend, a forever friend. She woke up feeling that Tim L. was her donor, and that she held within her parts of his soul and characteristics. After the dream, she called a transplant coordinator who refused to give her the information about her donor because of a strict confidentiality policy. Still determined, however, she researched until she found an obituary for an 18-year-old man, Timothy Lamirande, who was killed in a motorcycle accident the same week as her transplant. Eventually she was able to confirm the identity of her donor through the transplant coordinator, and later contact his family. They confirmed many things about Tims personality that made sense considering the changes she felt after the surgery. KFC, chocolate, and yes, even beerthey all came from him, the strings attached to his heartbrain.

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dont know much about my own heart. Ive never seen it, only felt its rhythm in times when I place my hand over my heart to sing the Star Spangled Banner or say the Pledge of Allegiance. I assume it works perfectly because Ive never felt a single twinge of protest. I guess Id never thought much about it, never gave it much reflection before discovering all the possibilities of what it does. But now I think about my heart all the timenot only its reliability, but what kinds of things could be stored inside of it. More specifically, now I ask myself all the time if I died tomorrow, or in a week or a year, and my heart was donated, what would its recipient inherit from me? Lets say a woman about my age, 25, received my heart. She could receive

any number of unexplained quirks, like a fondness of bright color and pattern, or the need to make homemade wheat bread and eat a piece right out of the oven. Would she feel the irrepressible urge to fill her shelves with books? She might crave green smoothies and afternoon naps, as well as feel the urge to sing tunes from Joseph and the Amazing Technicolor Dreamcoat or Seven Brides for Seven Brothers. She may suddenly find comfort in cuddling a soft cat or discover an itching to write, write, write. Would she be able to finish writing something I never had the chance to? I like to think that she would desire to know God. Maybe I could change her life for the better, maybe my heart could help her to live, not just by beating unceasingly, but by thinking. My thinking
February 2012, Issue No. 23 29

heartbrain would tell her how to smile in spite of the world, how to be happy. Happiness hasnt always been easy for me. Granted, I dont know that its really easy for anyoneno one is exempt from occasional cloud cover. I know what its like to wake up in the morning and lie in bed, wondering if there was any reason to get out of bed, if anyone would even miss me if I stayed in bed all day, shutting myself off from everyone and wondering why they didnt care enough to come find me. In college, I usually got out of bed, because of class; despite my dulled motivation I still cared about getting good grades. There were days I would sit in class, half listening to the lecture, half navigating the smoky regions of my brain in search of any spark of liveliness, of any muchness, like the drousy Dormouse in Alices Adventures Underground who asks You know you say that things are much of a muchness did you ever see a drawing of a muchness? No, I would reply, I didnt see much of muchness. I would think of the absence of muchness in my mind, and the class would continue their discussion on rhetoric or morals or social determinism. I often felt muted, much like a violin mute, which is a little device fitted to the strings to reduce the volume and depth of sound. Emotional muteness is a common feeling tied to depression. Samuel Taylor Coleridge, who suffered from severe depression, wrote:
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I see the old Moon in her lap, foretelling

The coming-on of rain and squally blast.

And oh! that even now the gust were swelling,

And the slant night-shower driving loud and fast!

Those sounds which oft have raised me, whilst they awed, And sent my soul abroad, Might now perhaps their wonted impulse give,

Might startle this dull pain, and make it move and live!

A grief without a pang, void, dark, and drear, A stifled, drowsy, unimpassioned grief, In word, or sigh, or tear Which finds no natural outlet, no relief, He wrote of dull pain, void, grief without a pangwithout a source, most of the time. Coleridge translated his depression into poetry that transcended time and landed in a Norton Anthology, where I read it and understood it, and felt I understood him. I knew how it was to feel an absence of emotion, feeling lidded, trapped in a bottle. I, like Coleridge, wanting something to startle this dull pain, and make it move and live! One day, I was jarred by the statement you have more control over your brain than you think. I was listening to a lecture by Dr. Robert Gibson, a local naturopathic

physician, and my brain woke up hearing your brain will think what you tell it to and replace negative thoughts with positive ones. It all made sense; negative thinking is like a rut in our thought process. Every negative thought and emotion drives the wheelbarrow deeper and deeper into a

Perhaps the struggle of depression has left a scar as detrimental as the victory over depression would be beneficial. I might also pass on a tendency to second-guess myself, to assume that what I have to offer is insufficient compared to anothers talents. This tendency, I

ne day I was jarred by the statement you have more control over your brain than you think.
know, was part of what stopped me from pursuing musical interests further. My ten-or-so years of violin lessons might have led up to something more grandiose than a church performance a couple times a year if I hadnt doubted myself and told myself that I was inferior to others. Maybe I would pass on impatience, quick temper, or morning grouchiness; its even possible that the recipient would inherit a hatred of team sports, or the sudden urge to watch a marathon of Americas Next Top Model. The possibilities are endless.

rut, becoming the default. My goal was simple: change my default, replace my negative thought pattern with something positiveanything positive, really. Happy memories, photographs, songs, quotes, positive affirmations, they all became my default; the ability to remember and replicate happiness became my mission, a mission that wasnt easy to accomplish; after all, its difficult to create a new rut in your thought patterning. However, I knew I was on the path to success when my family told me Id gotten my laugh back, the laugh that once made friends say well never lose you in a crowd. It felt good to laugh again, uninhibited, without mutes or lids. The process of overcoming depression could have been recorded in my heart as much as it was in my brain; maybe my heart would contain the coding necessary to help another overcome the same ordeal. Realistically speaking, I cant assume that my hypothetical cardio recipient will only benefit from my heartbrain.

aving a heart transplant is having a change of heart in a very literal way. The heart is removed gingerly from the newly deceased with a few snips, disconnecting the aorta and arteries and leaving a cavity in the chest of the dead, a cavity that represents the vacancy of life. The thought of that cavity unsettles me, and I instinctively put my hand to my heart and try not to imagine
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the hollow feeling of finding nothing there. The heart is then transferred into the body of the person who has waited for this heart, waited for the death of another person to facilitate the necessary sacrifice. The heart that ceased to beat in one persons body beats again in its new home as the surgeon meticulously connects the heart to the recipients major blood vessels. It is more than the transfer of a heart, it is the transfer of life; one snuffed-out candle allows another to continue burning, until that person too runs out of life. Every creature on earth has approximately two billion heartbeats to spend in a lifetime. You can spend them slowly, like a tortoise, and live to be two hundred years old, or you can spend them fast, like a hummingbird, and live to be two years old. (Brian Doyle) Or your life could be cut short by a speeding car, or a brain tumor, or bullet, and your hearts engine could continue giving life to another person. What if the recipient of a heart transplant also suffers an untimely death, a death that allows the heart to be passed on? Would the heart be passed on a third time? The thought of a person receiving a heart with the memory and coding of two different people is overwhelmingone heart,
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outliving all its homes, being passed from place to place like an army brat. ast night I sat around the coffee table in my apartment with roommates and friends, playing scrabble and drinking mat. Mat is an herbal drink, wildly popular in several countries of South America. Three of us had served as Mormon missionaries in South America; my roommate Beth and I went to Uruguay, another friend to Chile. Mat is prepared by steeping dried leaves of yerba mate in hot water, and drinking it through a bombilla (metal straw). When I opened the package earlier that evening, I inhaled Uruguay; the smell of the yerba, like dried grass, transported me back to the small country full of humidity, gauchos, and small communities of close friends drinking mate and sitting in the shade to escape the heat of el sol. I saw faces, heard voices, and remembered friendsmemories flashed like photographs in my mind. The first time Maria Gladis went to a Mormon church, she stayed up half the night before unpicking a pair of pants so she could make a skirt. We had told her it was all right to go in pants, that wed help her get a skirt later, but she said she didnt feel right going to church in pants. She was baptized a few weeks later, and shortly after her, her 24-yearold daughter, Valeria, was baptized as

well. On my 24th birthday, they insisted I spend the evening in their house; as soon as my missionary companion, April, and I had finished our appointments for the night, we headed over to their small white home. Maria had made a cake that afternoon; Valeria, forgetting that her mother told her she was making a cake, bought a cake on the way home from work, so that night we sat in their rickety chairs and ate two cakes, both vanilla with dulce de leche. The one from the store was dusted with chocolate shavings that fell to the tablecloth, bright red with green leaves and blue dots. In the photograph Im looking at, Valeria and I are looking at the camera smiling, my face sunburned almost as red as the shirt Im wearing, while Maria is looking over at us, grinning. A short while later, Maria and Valeria, along with Valerias four-year-old daughter Lucia, were kicked out of their small white house months before their rental contract was supposed to end, because the owners suddenly decided they wanted to live there again. Miraculously, Maria and Valeria quickly found a home to rent; we moved them out of the white home in the pouring rain. We dashed back and forth from the house to the neighbors truck with boxes and furniture, our clothes drenched, shoes soggy, singing hymns and laughing. The next week, when we stopped by we would read scriptures in candlelight, because they had to find someone to rewire the

house so they could have electricity. From the time they first opened the door to let us into their home to the time they were baptized, they changed; their hearts were changed. They chose to have faith in God, and allowed that faith to transform their lives. They were happyhappy enough to laugh while moving from the home they were kicked out of, in the pouring rain.

hey chose to have faith in God, and allowed that faith to transform their lives.

When I left Uruguay, they cried. I didnt; it was surreal to me, it hadnt quite sunk in that I was really leaving, that I didnt know when I would see them or any of my other Uruguayan friends again. I didnt cry until after I got home. About a year later, Maria Gladis died of cancer; her heart stopped beating, the heart that had changed when she found faith. hat could our heartbrains say about us? I dont know if science will ever be able to tell us exactly what our heartbrains contain, what they reveal about us. Maybe my heartbrain beats with memories of people, places, emotionsthings I adore, things I miss, things that are written not with ink, but with the Spirit of the living God; not in tables of stone, but in fleshy tables of the heart.

February 2012, Issue No. 23

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Firs t Tri mes ter


Legion are the ways the hungry use a room at night to plot the world, re-learn geography. When you stood, your linea negra equaled longitude, meaning the room bent east and west. When you lay down, celestial latitude. Meaning darkness, meaning where is the north star and will you forgive my left hand trying to convert skin and moonlight into worship? Lance Larsen

Previously published in Backyard Alchemy. Reprinted with with permission of the author and University of Tampa Press.

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February 2012, Issue No. 23

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Mr. Cool Ranch


by Chadd Vanzanten

wish Whitney wouldnt wear such skimpy outfits, but whenever I tell her to put on something decent, she just pops her gum and says, Mother, puh-leeze.

Girls never know how much stress they cause. Its worst when theres men around. They cant stop looking at her, so tall and blonde. It doesnt help that she shows lots of cleavage these days. I did the same thing when I was her age. Sure, I think its sick when an older guy ogles a high school girl, but theres no way you can stop it.

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Like the other day when me and Whitney were in the produce section at Walmart. I was picking out some grapefruits and here came this guy with a cowboy hat and sunglasses. He had a jumbo bag of Doritos in one hand and six-pack of Miller High Life in the other. I thought, Now heres a good-looking stranger. He was tall, kinda lean. I pictured us sitting on the tailgate of a truck somewhere, splitting that six of High Life. Itd been a long time since I split anything with a guy like him. I heard his bottles clinking and his boots on the tile and I imagined us sipping the beer and feeding each other Doritos. They were even Cool Ranch, the same kind I like. But then I looked at Whitney. She was leaning way over the shopping cart with her little tube top on, and I just knew the tall guy was getting a total eyeful. I almost said something. This guy was my age, but I didnt want to make a whole big scene. Whitney gets so upset when I make a scene. So, I grabbed the grapefruits, the guy walked on past, and me and Whitney went the other direction. I thought that was that, but as soon as we stopped, I heard his clinking bottles behind us. Hed done a u-turn and followed us straight to the bakery where the cupcakes were. This time Whitney was facing away, so he couldnt see down her top, but she was

still bending over the cart. Shes got these little cutoffs and that seventeenyear-old butt that defies gravity. Whatever it was I needed in the bakery, I didnt get it. I jumped in between Whitney and the dude, trying to act natural but block his view while we went over to dairy. I was hoping hed
photo by Nate LeBaron

get the message, but I saw him again, checking out the milk jugs. Whitney was oblivious to the whole thing, popping her gum and twirling her hair. I gave the guy the dirtiest look I knew how, but he just grinned. Thenget thishe tipped his hat. I just about flipped. I thought, What kind of a sicko are you? Whitney said, Can you puh-leeze not get that no-name yogurt this time? It tastes gross. I said, Whit, were going. I tossed the yogurt in the cart, grabbed her arm, and took off for the front.
February 2012, Issue No. 23 37

She said, Mother, what is with you? We couldnt shake him. Reminded me of one of those movies where the killer just keeps getting up; they think hes dead but then hes behind them again. Sure enough, there he was, at the next register over. Still had a big per-

e couldn't shake W him. Reminded me of one of those movies where the killer just keeps getting up

verted grin, still had his chips and beer. What could I do? Lookins not against the law. He set his things down at the cash register, looking over at us the whole time. The cashier asked him, Did you find everything you were looking for? He said, Yes maam, I believe I did all right. All respectful, all polite. The kid at my register said, Is that gonna be all for you today? I was just about in tears. I said, No wonder everybody hates shopping herethe people you let wander around in this place. He had no idea what I was talking about. Whitney, on the other hand, was ready to die from embarrassment. I can
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always tell when Whitneys about to die from embarrassment because its the only time she chews her gum with her mouth shut. I stormed out, pushing the cart so fast the wheels started shaking. I almost tipped it right over. Then I realized Id walked out without my sweet potatoes. Its a thirty-five minute drive into town, but I wasnt about to go back in for them. We got to the truck, and I threw the groceries inside. I turned around to put the cart away, and there he was. He was holding my sweet potatoes in his arm like they were a baby. I finally snapped. I barked at Whitney to get in and start the truck. I grabbed my purse and stuck my hand in it. My pepper spray was in there and I held onto it, inside the purse, with my thumb on the button. Then I walked right up to him. He was taller than I thought. Real tan. I said, Hold it right there, Mr. Cool Ranch. He chuckled and said, Howdy. You know you forgot these back there. I know I did. I dont care about that. You think I didnt see you, you pervert? Following my daughter? Peeking down her top? Looking at her? He pulled his sunglasses down and looked at me. He had blue eyes. He looked over at the truck. Whitney hadnt got in like I told her to. She stood there watching us. The guy smiled and waved at her. She waved back.

He sorta snorted and shook his head. Then he said, I guess you dont give yourself much credit, do ya? I said, Whats that supposed to mean? He leaned forward with a kind of disappointed look. Lady, he said, It wasnt her I was lookin at. I took my thumb off the button. He handed me the sweet potatoes. I told him, Thanks. Sorry. When you have a daughter, its real stressful. He took off the sunglasses and stuck them in his shirt pocket. He looked at Whitney again and nodded. I got a couple like her myself. One a little older, one a little younger. For a few seconds we stared at each other right in the eye. Itd be easy to say it was chemistry, like wed made a connection, but I think I know what

it really was. He was thinking of how things couldve been with us, in a perfect world. Then he was thinking of the way things probably wouldve been, in the real world. I was thinking the same thing, so maybe it was chemistry, maybe that counts, but I never did see him again. He said, Well, take care. Of your girl and your sweet potatoes. As he turned to go, I said, Wait. Wait, start over. I stuck out my hand and said, My names Rayanne. Most people call me Rudy. Thats Whitney. She never does anything I tell her to. He had a real good, easy smile. He took my hand. Strong, hard, but he knew how to shake hands with a lady. He said, Well, Im pleased to meet you, Rudy. Some folks call me Mr. Cool Ranch. But you can call me Pete.
February 2012, Issue No. 23 39

BOOK REVIEW

The Lifespan of a Fact


By Rebecca Packard

John DAgatas

f you don't know who John D'Agata is, don't feel bad. You're not alone. Though D'Agata has something of a cult following among essayists and their readers, he's never been especially revelatory. How can you write creative nonfictionwhich often takes the form of personal essay or memoirand not reveal much about yourself ? By being innovative and classical all at the same time. D'Agata's essays and edited anthologies, remind readers that essay has attempt or try as its etymological origin. Sometimes this experimentation manifests itself in formal innovation, sometimes in exploring ideas without conventional concern for authority and accuracy, sometimes both. D'Agata is ever mindful of what essay meansand prefers the term to nonfiction. And his grounding in the Classics tends to trump contemporary trends for creatively written essays to be about the author. I can't help but think of Horace who said omne tulit punctum qui miscuit utile dulci, He gets everybodys vote who mixes the useful with the sweet. The essays are always about something outside the personal.

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DAgatas latest book, The Lifespan of a Fact, is, like his other work, formally innovative and challenging authority with a wink at antiquity. The books nine chapters are made of email correspondence between DAgata and a fact checker preparing an essay that later became a large part of his book, About A Mountain. Sections of the essay appear in the middle of the page, and the correspondence about it act as a sort of frame. The essay is about Levi Presley, a Las Vegas teen who committed suicide, and how his experience was, to some extent, indicative of a greater sad reality behind all the flash and glam of his environs. The correspondence is about how accurate DAgatas truthtelling is, and what sort of obligation an essayist

has to accuracy when it is at odds with his obligation to art. The book (and I say book, because its physicality is as important as its text) lends itself to a number of scholarly critiques: the essay/center of discussion quickly loses the readers focus as the marginal correspondence becomes the center of attention, lending itself to deconstruction; the important issues of truth versus accuracy in creative nonfiction and the contract between writer and reader could be other subjects of a discourse; exploring the history of the epistolary novel could add insight to DAgatas text as a nonfiction version of the genre about what would seem the most boring of subjectsa condensed seven-year correspondence between an author and a fact checker. But this is not a book that asks to be read academically (despite the fact that it can be.) Its got juice. Jim Fingal, the fact checker brings up the accuracy readers expect when they read nonfiction, referencing the James Frey incident, when viewers/ readers demanded Oprah Windfrey publicly chastise Frey for his embellishments. DAgata says hes:
not the readers boyfriend or daddy or therapist or priest or yoga instructor, nor anyone from whom they should be seeking a trustworthy relationship. Just because there are some parts of our culture in which we need to demand honesty and expect reliable
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intentions doesnt mean that its appropriate for us to expect that from every experience we have in the world.

And for DAgata fans, the reading is even juicier. Because the correspondence is all in the authors natural voice in correspondence, we get a sense of his personality that we dont get in any of his other works. These emails are not love lettersin fact, in some ways, they

Jim, you feel misled by my essay. I accept that.You feel its inappropriate for me to have done this. While I feel that its a necessary part of my job to do this; that what Im doing by taking these liberties is in fact making a better work of artand thus a better and truer experience for the readerthan I could have if Id stuck to the facts. So fine. We disagree. Im OK with that. But Im also not sure where else to go.

hese emails are not love lettersin fact, in some ways, they are the exact oppositebut they offer the sense of mystery and satisfaction that comes with reading a message that wasnt originally meant for you.
Were all the references to feelings and I statements a joke about how personal and heated they got about their fact checking correspondence, or was it DAgatas sincere attempt at reconciliation? Finegals notes about factual discrepancies seem more sympathetic to DAgatas approach afterward. DAgatas voice disappears entirely for the few remaining pages. DAgatas essay text even disappears before Finegals notes about it. The nitpicking response to the essays description of a child jumping off a building triggers an impulse to just close the book, or at least skip to the endthey dont really let this ramble be the final voice, do they? They do. And youll be glad they did.

are the exact oppositebut they offer the sense of mystery and satisfaction that comes with reading a message that wasnt originally meant for you. (And I suppose that satisfaction is one most readers crave, whether or not theyve heard of DAgata before.) Toward the end of the book, the space dedicated to DAgatas essay gets smaller and smaller as Fingal and DAgata write to each other at length, with heat, about what a writers obligations are to art and audience. DAgatas concluding email about itbefore they get back to essay facts in disputefeels like the end of a lovers spat, where the two people regret theres hurt but know the differences are irreconcilable:
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Warming the Bed


Arctic Delight, we called that lofty, drafty blue cloud of a bedroom. And took turns warming it one poem per night, Rumi, always Rumi. Candle shadows licking the walls, we read with pet names and piano fingers, praying Persian heat would thaw that lozenge of our marriage bed. Mediterranean wine in new vessels, etc. And if verse failed us, we used a blow dryer. Lance Larsen
Previously published in Backyard Alchemy. Reprinted with with permission of the author and University of Tampa Press.
photo by Stefan Glase

THE OSCARS
2012 PREVIEW
by Eric Samuelsen

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photo by Michael Selivanov / Shutterstock.com

ts been sort of an odd year for movies. Last year, in my Oscar preview, I mentioned ten films which I thought might be nominated for Best Picture: I went nine for ten. I wont do nearly that well this year. There arent any clear-cut Oscar favorites this time around, and all the films getting Oscar buzz have flaws that might prevent them from consideration. The Help is a case in point. Beautifully filmed and acted, with an astounding performance from Viola Davis, ably supported by Emma Stone and Bryce Dallas Howard and Jessica Chastain, its also been criticized for telling a civil rights story from the perspective of white people. (The film is narrated by a black character, but the storys author and the filmmakers are white.) This particular failing is one Hollywood has been committing for years, ever since To Kill a Mockingbird, but its certainly a valid criticism, especially since we have yet to see major Hollywood films about, for example, the Freedom Riders, or Rosa Parks, or Birmingham, or even a biopic of Martin Luther King (proposed films by Paul Greengrass and Steven Spielberg that have yet to be made).

Thats not to say it was a bad year for films; just a strange one. It was a year for off-beat projects in which the divide between overtly commercial projects and personal-statement idiosyncratic films seems greater than ever. What we didnt see was a film like Inception, a deeply personal statement from a leading auteur, which also managed to be a summer blockbuster. (The Adventures of Tintin was meant to be this years Inception, but its motion-capture animation, similar to that used in The Polar Express, is just a little too creepy. This summers signature film, I think, was Cowboys and Aliens, which I thought was a hoot, but which isnt going to be winning any Oscars.

also have a personal rooting interest this year. Terrence Malicks The Tree of Life was not just one of my favorite recent films, its one of the finest films I have ever seen, a film of rare and transcendent beauty and power. Its also one of the strangest films ever made, almost plot-less, with very little dialogue, a story about a young family living in Texas ca. 1960, but also about the evolution of life on this planet, about grace and nature and prayer and pre-existence and the afterlife. I have friends who love it inordinately. (I reviewed it elsewhere; heres the link: http://blog.mormonletters.org/?p=3526) I have other friends who thought it was the dullest film to which theyve ever been subjected, who still make fun of me for recommending it to them. Brad Pitt is well-respected in Hollywood, and he not only starred in The Tree of Life, he co-produced it. He did the same for another project he believed in, Moneyball, which could also be considered an Oscar contender. My wifes reaction

"Tree of Life." Photos courtesy of Fox Searchlight Pictures.

February 2012, Issue No. 23

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"The Descendents." Photo courtesy of Fox Searchlight Pictures.

"Hugo." Photo courtesy of Paramount Pictures.

to both films was: for which film does he win Best Actor? In fact, he probably wont win. With two great performances to choose between, Oscar voters could well split his votes, leaving an Oscar for George Clooney or Leonardo DiCaprio. But Pitt was certainly brilliant in both his films released this year. lint Eastwoods J. Edgar is one of several Hollywood biopics which might merit Oscar consideration. Biopics do well during Oscar season, and Leonardo DiCaprio gave another tremendous performance as J. Edgar Hoover. Both praise and criticism of the film follow the same lines: those who liked it say it offered a nuanced portrait of a man often regarded as a monster, while those who disliked it say it took a monster and made it seem like he was not so bad after all. I found it rather ponderous, but who knows how many more films Clint has in him. Hes won two Oscarsmaybe hell nab a third. Far more charming, in the biopic
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category, was My Week with Marilyn,with the astonishing Michelle Williams channeling Marilyn Monroe. Kenneth Branagh is irresistible as Sir Laurence Olivier, and although its a slight piece, its beautifully acted. Meryl Streep was typically brilliant in The Iron Lady, invoking Maggie Thatcher with her usual meticulousness and brio. Shes a lock for an Oscar nomination who knows how the film will fare. One dark horse candidate Ive heard mentioned is David Finchers The Girl with the Dragon Tattoo (reviewed elsewhere in this issue). But most Oscar previews Ive seen suggest the winner is likely to come from one of these four films: Hugo, Martin Scorseses magical evocation of Paris and an orphan living in a train station, winding the clocks, who meets one of the great pioneers of filmmaking, Georges Melies. Its a lovely film, beautiful to watch, if perhaps a trifle slow-paced. War Horse: Steven Spielbergs WWI

"The Iron Lady." Photo by Alex Bailey/Courtesy of Pathe Productions Ltd.

"The Adventures of Tin Tin." Photo courtesy of Paramount Pictures.

epic, about a horrific war, a courageous horse, and the farm family who love it. The Descendants: George Clooney stars in a film about a Hawaiian land baron trying to re-connect with his family after a tragic accident claims his wife. Clooneys great in it; I didnt find the story all that compelling. The Artist: Michel Hazanaviciuss black-and-white, silent film about, well, the same basic plot as Singin in the Rain; the coming of sound and its impact on silent filmmaking. Its a wonderful film, but again, quirky, personal, and idiosyncratic. Its fans say its the most intriguing, innovative film of the year: I respond that The Tree of Life is. f course, the Oscars dont matter. Of course, its preposterous to suggest that film A is better than film B, or that this performance by an acclaimed actor is in some way superior to a different performance by another actor in a very different sort of role. But its fun to recognize excellence. And while this is a

strange year for movies, it wasnt by any means a bad one. At any rate, it gives us a rationale for which films well use to fill up our Netflix queues. So Ill be rooting for The Tree of Life, while recognizing it faces some very tough competition, from a number of wonderful films.

February 2012, Issue No. 23

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FILM REVIEW

David Finchers

THE GIRL WITH THE


By Eric Samuelsen

DRAGON TATTOO

Photos courtesy of MGM Studios/Sony Pictures

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he Girl With the Dragon Tattoo has to be one of the most anticipated films of the year. The director: David Fincher, fresh from The Social Network. The source material: Stieg Larssons international best-seller. Starring Daniel ( James Bond) Craig. And the trailers for it were remarkable, giving us our first look at Rooney Maras extraordinary performance as Lisbeth Salander, the tattooed girl from the title. The film lives up to the hype, but its not the film the trailers lead us to expect. We come to the film expecting a murder mystery. We get a darn good one. But then Fincher turns it around, unearthing a deeply moving and powerfully tragic love story that I think was buried rather deeply in the source material.
I have seen the three Swedish films based on Larssons Salander trilogy, after having read the books. I think its fair to call Stieg Larsson a Swedish John Grisham. Hes a writer with a finely tuned social conscience, and he knows how to weave a terrific, exciting yarn, without actually writing all that well. (I read much of his first novel in Swedish, and can attest that the woodenness of his prose cant be blamed on his translator, Reg Keeland). But what he did accomplish was a single brilliant character, a central character so electric and moving and compelling we cant wait to find out what
February 2012, Issue No. 23 49

happens next. Though, in fact, the books have two central characters. The first of these is Mikael Blomkvist (Craig), a journalist and publisher. Blomkvist is meant to epitomize the best qualities of the modern Western European homo civitatis: urbane, sophisticated, tolerant, considerate. He runs a magazine called Millennium, and has enjoyed a long affair with his married co-editor, Erika Berger (Robin Wright), while remaining friends with

from the island fortress where the entire Vanger family lives, which suggests to Vanger that a family member was likely responsible. So Blomkvist goes to work, staying in a cabin on the island, which he shares with a stray cat. Thats half the story. The other half introduces Lisbeth Salander (Mara). A feral child, a goth hacker, violent, damaged, bi-sexual, brilliant, orphaned young and living in the margins of Swedish society, the girl with the

ne of the things Fincher has always been able to do is tell a complicated story simply, clearly and well, without extraneous detail, but also without sacrificing character or atmosphere.
dragon tattoo, with other tattoos as well, plus multiple piercings. She works for a private investigator, and tells her state-appointed guardian Bjurman (Yorick van Wageningen) that her job is menial, emptying wastebaskets and fetching coffee. In fact, shes a prodigy, the firms star investigator, respected and protected by her bosses. Bjurman, it turns out, is a rapist, and assaults Lisbeth (in the films ugliest scene). Her revenge is personal and ferocious. A half-hour into the film, Blomkvist and Lisbeth have not met, their stories running parallel. That changes when Blomkvist needs an assistant, and hires her. From that point on, we follow the

her husband, who knows about it, and doesnt seem to mind. As the film begins, Millennium is in trouble. A scorching investigative article on an industrialist named Wennerstrm turns out to have been badly sourced, and Wennerstrm has won a libel judgment that has wiped Blomkvist out financially. Suddenly vulnerable, Blomkvist accepts an offer by Henrik Vanger (Christopher Plummer), an elderly and dying billionaire, to investigate the forty year old disappearance of his great-niece, Harriet. Vanger thinks she was murdered, and has received taunting gifts annually on her birthday from, he thinks, her killer. She disappeared
50 The Provo Orem Word

two of them working together. They discover that theyre solving not one crime, but a series of murders stretching back to the 1940s, the work of a previously unsuspected serial killer. And yet, the killer they seek must still be active hes out there somewhere, firing shots at Blomkvist, and murdering his cat. One of the things Fincher has always been able to do is tell a complicated story simply, clearly and well, without extraneous detail, but also without sacrificing character or atmosphere. He does it here too. The various Vanger suspects are clearly delineated and specific, and the mystery is solved satisfyingly, concluding with a terrific chase scene. But thats not the end of the film. n Niels Arden Oplevs 2009 Swedish film based on this material, the focus is on the murder mystery, on the identity of the killer. When thats solved, the film essentially ends. And Noomi Rapace was splendid as a kind of avenging angel Lisbeth. And Ive read critics who say Finchers film is a half-hour too long. My son, in Minnesota, saw it before I

did, and said it followed the book more closely than the Swedish film did, but Im not sure thats a good thing. I disagree. I think Fincher found something in the novel that moved him, and that he put at the center of his film, and I think it wasnt a murder. The key is Maras performance. She captures Lisbeths intelligence, she captures her toughness and capacity for violent revenge. But she captures something else, something richer, the pain and rejection and vulnerability that Lisbeth has kept buried deeply inside. Lisbeth falls in love with Blomkvist. And what Fincher gets, and Craig captures, is that Blomkvist cant return it, that his urbanity and civilized tolerance hide an essential emotional shallowness. When Lisbeth first climbs into bed with Blomkvist, he demurs. This isnt a good idea, he says. And it isnt. Shes twenty years his junior, a co-worker, and by all appearances, a very troubled young woman. But when Blomkvist does make love with her, his reasoning seems to be were both adults, and to turn her down would be inconsiderate. Its the response
February 2012, Issue No. 23 51

of a civilized sophisticate. But it means more to Lisbeth. At one point in the film, Lisbeth looks over at Blomkvist and says I like working with you. Blomkvist gives her an encouraging smile and says I like working with you too. But thats the first moment in the film in which Lisbeth has ever said anything like that to anyone. Its the closest thing to a declaration of love she will ever be capable of. And Blomkvist misses it. And so, once the mystery is solved, and the bad guy disposed of, we see Lisbeth go after, and take down Wennerstrm. She hacks into his computer, and she gives Blomkvist what she finds. While shes at it, she rips Wennerstrm off, to the tune of hundreds of millions of dollars. But Fincher (and Mara) make it clear that shes not interested in the money per se, but intends it as an offering to Blomkvist, a further declaration of love. In Larssons book, the focus was on Millennium, on the magazines recovery. Larsson was a leftist journalistI dont think its a stretch to see Millennium as his fantasy gig, and
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Blomkvist as his avatar. But Finchers much more interested in the human story, in the rich and fascinating female character Larsson created. And he saw something else in Blomkvist, a character without the insight and depth to see Lisbeth as a potential soulmate. And so Blomkvist goes back to Erika Berger, to that passion-less commitment-less mnage a trois. And breaks Lisbeths Salanders fiercely loyal heart. Rooney Mara is a revelation in the film, creating a characterization thats far more than a funky hairstyle and multiple piercings, burrowing deeply into a damaged soul, and showing us her humanity. But Daniel Craig is equally remarkable, showing us a man who uses his consideration and charisma and charm to hide an essential emotional shallowness. David Fincher, tasked with directing a murder mystery, gives us a cracker-jack who-dun-it. But under that, he found something else, something deeply human and tragic. Its a very cool film. Its also a powerfully moving one.

Transla ti on
Despite the sweet plainness with which Jacqui sings a kiss is just a kiss, it isnt. A kiss goes in search of what a mouth needs and translates sadness from one tongue to another. Like the poems my sons class hated till a classmate, whose shaved head rhymed with a backwards John Deere cap, renamed the Nobel laureate who wrote them. Not Czeslaw Milosz, the boy said, Coleslaw Meatloaf. This mnemonic trick enough to get twenty-three mouths hungrily around a Polish great grandfather of a poet. All morning what they thought would taste flat filled the classroom like deli takeout from an immigrant caf. All morning they found angels and angst, lost rivers and Flemish still lifes worth a second helping. Jacqui kisses me when Im lost or distracted, when even my shadow is off duty. I kiss back till her mouth changes into song or forgiveness. Or some throaty darkness I never thought to taste. Poems revise us the way kisses make us repent of who we thought we were. Translate me again. I have years and seconds. Lance Larsen
Previously published in In All TheirAnimal Brilliance. Reprinted with with permission of the author and University of Tampa Press.

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The 39 Steps
at Hale Center Theater, Orem
By Eric Samuelsen

he Hale Center Theater in Orem has figured something out. Theyve learned that the secret to success is to find, nurture, and hire terrific directors. As we left the theater after The 39 Steps, my wife asked me How long has it been since weve seen a show here that wasnt great? It had been awhile. The 39 Steps, currently playing, keeps the streak alive.
Inventively and energetically directed by Chris Clark, its a breathtaking night of pure hilarity. The 39 Steps? But, isnt that an old Hitchcock film? Indeed it is, the acclaimed 1935 spy thriller starring Robert Donat and Madeleine Carroll. In 2005, however, British comedian Patrick Barlow adapted it for the stage, in a farcical version using just four actors. The story: Richard Hannay (Blake Barlow), a Canadian visiting London, finds himself embroiled in a spy conspiracy, accused of murder, and chased about the English and Scottish countryside. He gets entangled with a variety of female love interests, who are variously murdered, handcuffed to him, or in love with him: all of whom are played, at the Hale, by the splendid Kelly Hennessey. Hannay is also chased by a variety of detectives and policeman, and aided by a variety of innkeepers and country folk, all played with gusto by Carter Thompson and Jake Suazo. Sound effects throughout were provided by an on-stage Foley artist (Alex King), who gets as many of them wrong as he gets right, to comic effect.

Kelly Hennessey and Blake Barlow

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Photo by Pete Widtfeldt

THEATER REVIEW

February 2012, Issue No. 23

55

A lot of the fun of the piece, in fact, comes from two seemingly contradictory approachesthe performers are simultaneously quite brilliant, and hopelessly inept. Let me hasten to add that the ineptitude is both intentional and brilliantly rendered; theres never the tiniest sense that Clark or his actors have lost control of the material. Hannays phone rings, and continues

smoothly transition over and over again between a policeman, a train porter, a newsboy and fellow train passengers, with each character suggested by a quick change of hats and vocally, with shifts in accent. Again, the comedy comes from Clarks inventive use of theatrical space and a few simple props, but its so splendidly choreographed, we are as amazed as we are amused.

gain, the comedy comes from Clarks inventive use of theatrical space and a few simple props, but its so splendidly choreographed, we are as amazed as we are amused.
ringing after hes answered itBarlows exasperated glare at the sound guy is perfectly rendered and timed. A car is needed, and someone has forgotten to bring on the four chairs that will comprise it; so Hennessey vamps, ad libs conversation with an audience member, and of course, shes great at it. In one scene, Thompson, playing the bad guys scary wife, takes Hannay on a tour of her castle. This is accomplished with a single door on rollers, which is moved into position repeatedly, suggesting the various doors and hallways she is leading Hannay through. Each door re-positioning was meticulously done, and the laughs built and built. In one scene, on a train, Suazo and Thompson Each of the actors also gets a death scene. Hennessey, playing, in her first characterization, a German spy moll, is stabbed in the back, and pirouettes comically around the space, falling face forward across Hannays lap, before spasmodically indulging in a variety of death throes. It was one of the funniest moments in the play, and led to equally dramatic death scenes involving other characters played by Suazo and Thompson. Barlow gets to die too, right before the interval, but he dies more quietly, perhaps letting us know that his character, who is after all, the hero of the piece, is actually fine. Most of the plays comic highlights, in fact, come from the actors physicality, from

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an unexpected Charleston danced by Thomson and Suazo, or a scene where Hennessey, handcuffed to Barlow, squirms her way through the rungs of a ladder. Thompson gets my favorite speech in the play, snarling in his best Scottish brogue a lengthy and hilariously savage grace over a meal. I cant say enough about all five actors, who manage to shine individually through this most ensemble of comedies. This is a piece where the journey is more important than the destination. As in the film, Hannay is eventually vindicated, and the evil spies (the 39 Steps of the title) are caught by appropriate

authorities. In this production, the plots rarely the point, and by the end, were past caring about it. We just want more hi-jinks, and were amply rewarded. Whats miraculous about the whole production is how compactly it fits into the tiny Hale Center Orem space. A Hale Center style has begun to emerge: fast-paced, meticulously staged, and imaginatively conceived. They have succeeded in exploring just how much can be done with very little, with rolling props of extraordinary inventiveness creating the atmosphere and location of an astonishing variety of locations and places. The result is consistently brilliant theatre.

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For I will consider my robot Boomaclonka


For I will consider my robot Boomaclonka. For his name is too long, so he goes by Clonkie. For he has two auxiliary ports, one for video and one jammed with bread crumbs. For when guests visit, he plays dead and acts like a refrigerator. For he special orders square jackets from Macys. For whenever I play jazz on his system he hisses and changes it back to techno. For he scans paintings and people with his thirty-three webcams, looking for hidden messages. For his I.Q. is 312. For he never takes baths, only showers of WD-40. For he reads comic books and saves them on his hard drive. For farmers see him munching on corn in their fields. For he never steps on ants, he electrocutes them. For many years he has had a crush on the dishwasher next door. For he spins doughnuts in the driveway on his set of chrome wheels. For the Philharmonic Orchestra has him play the high notes the violins cant reach. For he has sensors in his armpits that make him ticklish. For he has nightmares of remote-control cars chasing him through town, buzzing for eternity. For he has found the end of pi. For when he gets tired of sidewalks he turns on his purple rocket engines and blasts away. For he is friendly.
Dylan Larsen

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Editors Note: This poem is a response to Christopher Smarts For Now I will consider my cat Jeffry . . .

February 2012, Issue No. 23

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This coupon is valid on 3/24/12, 11 a.m.-2p.m. September 2011, Issue No. 19 3

Children
and
I

Dance
By Emily Packard

love watching my 18-month old daughter bop her head and bounce to the beat of any song she hears. Part of me is hoping that all her bopping will tire her out and shell take a real long afternoon nap, but the teacher part of me (Ive taught preschool, elementary school, dance classes, and Im a mom) knows that dance offers children of all ages more than just exhaustion. But lets not overlook that benefit too quickly.
I love me an exhausted kid. Not an overly-tired kid theyre just grumpy but an exhausted kid. One who cant help complying to your request because fighting them exerts too much energy. One who falls asleep the instant his head hits the pillow because hes just plain out pooped. But exhausted kids are hard to find these days. Too many other exciting things TV, video games, book series, Doritos keeping them from doing those activities that will truly tire them out. Namely exercise. But I can relate. When Im faced with the decision of Doritos or exercise, Doritos always win. Because Doritos sound delicious and exercise sounds disgusting. Except when my sis62 The Provo Orem Word

photos by Alisia Packard

ter suggests an impromptu dance party right after Christmas dinner. That sounds like fun. We didnt realize we were exercising, with the beat bouncing and the base bumping, until about 15 minutes later when we all started getting queasy because wed just eaten our weight in ham and cheesy potatoes. Dance is the hidden form of exercise. Kids love to move, and they need exercise, but they dont always love being coached, or losing, or being criticized as so often happens in several other forms of exercise. Dance allows children to strengthen their muscles, to get their hearts pumping, to move and work their bodies without the intimidation or fear of being the loser.There is no right or wrong way to dance. Dance is exercise, but it is enjoyable, entertaining, achievable exer-

cise. And dont forget exhausting. Dance is also a multi-tasker. When I taught elementary school it was always a challenge figuring out how to teach everything I needed to in the time alloted me. I face some of the same challenges as a mother. How am I supposed to clean my house, prepare a well-balanced meal, make sure my daughter gets her physical and mental stimulation all within the time Im given?The answer: dance. And while dance wont really help with the dinner prep, it is an excellent way of teaching and reinforcing concepts to children. For example, one aspect of social development in toddlers and preschool-aged children is to understand and recognize other peoples emotions. This can be kind of tricky for little ones because people, esFebruary 2012, Issue No. 23 63

pecially adults, have become so good at hiding their emotions. But body language is more difficult to disguise, so instead of just showing flash cards portraying a certain emotion and asking the children to identify it, I asked them to dance it after giving them several prompts.What would a persons shoulders look like if they were sad? How would an angry person hold their arms?At what speed would an excited person move?Would

a shy person bounce, sway, run, creep? Besides introducing new vocabulary, my students were better able to recognize emotions, even tricky ones like frustrated, because they experienced them in a fun way that engaged their entire bodies. Another reason I love dance for children is because it can be done at anytime, anyplace with little or no preparation. Below are some dance activities to enjoy with your little ones.

Silly Dance Contest

This activity is pretty self-explanatory. The silliest dancers always the best! Take turns making up silly dance moves and having your partner copy them.

alisia@alisiapackard.com 801.836.5276 alisiapackard.com

alisia@alisiapackard.com 801.836.5276 alisiapackard.com

Dance-along Books Dance Parade Dance Story

Go to the library and pick up books like Frank Was a Monster Who Wanted to Dance, by Keith Graves, The Way I Feel, by Janan Cain, Dinosaurumpus, by Tony Mitton, or My Mama Had a Dancing Heart, by Libba Moore Gray. Bring them home and have your child dance along while you read them out loud. Lead your child through the rooms of your house by going over, under, around, and through the furniture. Only one rule: NO WALKING! Try skipping, sliding, marching, twirling or any other creative way to get from room to room. Okay, two rules: turn the music up loud!

Instead of picking up Little Red Riding Hood to read for the 90th time, dance it. How would Little Red move and change as she made her way from her house, through the scary woods, into Grandmas safe cottage, and into the hands of the wolf? Encourage your child to show you with dance?

Imitation Dance

Whether its emotions or zoo animals, family members or sea creatures, choose a topic and start imitating. Use every body part from your head (and face) to your toes to portray your subject.

Hopefully these ideas will help you lead your child down the happy path that is exhaustion. In fact, Im going to go start a dance parade right now...as soon as I put away the Doritos.
February 2012, Issue No. 23 65

Help! Help! The Globolinks! and Amahl and the Night Visitors

Brigham Young Universitys Family Music Series

I
66

by Rebecca Packard

f you've ever thought parenthood meant missing a well-trained voice sing opera, drums played with more skill than the irregular beat of a toddler's palm, the well-tuned harmony of a university choir, or the sound of a orchestra that doesn't screech, think again. You can still catch the last two performances in Brigham Young University's Family Music Series, where you can hear highly trained musicians without having to find a sitter. Parents can appreciate a break from The Wiggles and kids can hear live art music from the young age of two.

The Provo Orem Word

Brigham Young University's Family Music series


There are a number of other advantages to the series: children learn its fun to hear classical music, gain the same familiarity with opera tales as bedtime stories, and learn theater ettiquette with an understanding audience. But the main inspiration for the series came from last year's family production of Mozart's The Magic Flute being a wild success, according to Lawrence Vincent, head of BYU's opera division. The idea for that production came from Vincent's experience as an opera singer in Vienna; every year, Vienna State Opera would The Magic Flute for children as part of an opera ball. This year started with operaabridged versions of Gian Carlo Menotti's Help! Help! The Globolinks! and Amahl and the Night Visitors. In November, there was a percussion event where kids got hands on experience with instruments, and this month, there's Orchestra Spins a Tale. The season finale will be a Vocal Point performance in March. The series was organized by Don Peterson, a member of BYU's performance faculty, and Susan Kenney and Rob Dunn from the university music ORCHESTRA SPINS A TALE Saturday, February 18, 11 a.m. VOCAL POINT Saturday, March 24, 11 a.m. Tickets $6 Adults $4 Kids ages two and up For tickets, call the BYU ticket office at (801) 422-4322.

education department. The committee accepted faculty volunteers to organize events they thought would engage children and represent their instruments well. It's a collaborative effort, said Kenney. We're not telling them what they can and cannot do. She said she looks over the programs they've prepared, but the idea was to work with faculty who wanted to participate and take initiative. This way, we know we're starting with hearts are in the right place, said Kenney. The program is, as Kenney admitted, a work in progress, but based on my experience attending what I could so far with my kids, I'm looking forward to the events ahead.

BYU Philharmonic

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