Well, I tried uploading a picture, but I don't think it worked. I'll post it and see.

My high school English teacher contacted a few former students to come for Career Day. She was trying to get people who did something associated with writing and English. She asked me to come. As a published author, I'm on the panel. The trouble is, as a successful advertising Creative Director, my brother is on it, too. My brother is endearing in a sheepish, "aw, shucks" kind of way. People seem to adore him, and everyone remembers him. "Oh, I know Charlie!"

This same English teacher loved his senior journal so much that she asked to keep it as an example to show future classes. Four years later, when I was a senior asked to keep a journal, guess whose journal was still being passed around as a benchmark of creativity and expressive genius? Yep. I was self-conscious every time I turned in my assignment. Mine, I felt, would always be compared against my brother's.

My brother and I both enrolled in the same Big-10 university, yet four years after he graduated, one of the English professors, Professor Edelen, remembered my brother.

"Miss Hopper...Hopper...are you any relation to Charlie Hopper?"

"Yes, he's my brother."

"Ah, I see. Delightful! I'm pleased to make your acquaintance!" From that point on, Professor Edelen continually singled me out during a Shakespeare class that I was struggling through. "Miss Hopper!" he would call out in the lecture hall of 200, "Miss Hopper, what do you think of this passage?" Expecting the same quick and thoughtful reply my brother could whip out even if he hadn't read the assignment, he would stand with his eyebrows raised, a half grin on his face. I'd take a deep breath and pause.

"Miss Hopper? Your thoughts?"

I had no thoughts. How do you tell the professor and 200 fellow students that you have no idea what the heck Shakespeare was saying, even though you'd read it several times and just didn't get it? Too bad Kenneth Branaugh hadn't yet produced his excellent movies, or even Mel Gibson's version of Hamlet would have helped. The worn cassette tapes with British actors overacting that were available at the university library didn't help me grasp it. I was hopelessly lost.

"I don't know," I'd mutter.

"You don't know? Or you didn't read it?"

Feeling defensive, I'd say more boldly, "No, I read it."

"Then surely you have some thought, any thought at all!"

But I didn't. And this continued all through the semester, with the professor continuing to single me out, class after class, and myself sinking lower and lower into my seat.

All because of my brother, my charming, quick-on-his-feet, amusing, endearing brother.

And now I've foolishly agreed to sit on a panel with my brother. I have a book about moms to show to a group of seniors in high school. Oh, that'll be impressive--not. My brother? Oh, he gets to bring along video of the clever commercial he recently taped that the students likely will see on TV soon. He'll get to talk about actors he's met and exotic places he's traveled to produce a spot, like Iceland.

Why did I agree to this? It's going to be torture. The only good thing is I won't be singled out. To the contrary, I'll probably simply fade into the background as my brother will rise as a star, the really neat panelist with the Steak and Shake ads, the Goodwill commercials, the jingles and print material to wow everyone.

I'm proud of him. It's just hard being compared with him, even though I have a completely different personality. Still, after 38 years, I'm the little sister.

"however"

My preschool son and I were having lunch. I was preparing his sandwich while he was beginning to munch on apple slices or chips.

"Mama? Would you read this book to me while we eat?"

"Sure," I responded. "I have to use the bathroom first, however."

"Eeeew!" he exclaimed. "You're just going to let it run down your leg or onto the floor or somethin'?"

It took me a moment to understand his reaction. Then I realized that it was all about comma placement and pauses. He thought, as you probably figured out, I was just going to use the bathroom "however," that is, wherever and however it happened without even worrying about making it to the toilet.

At that point, I started laughing so hard I practically did use the bathroom "however"!

Biography of famous woman

I asked my girls to pick out a biography of a famous woman, read it, and write a little report about her. To give them an idea, I said, "Maybe someone like Helen Keller?" One daughter came back with a biography of Eleanor Roosevelt. Perfect. Just the kind of woman I was thinking about. Then the other daughter arrived. She had been looking for a biography of Mia Hamm, the great American soccer player. That would have been fine, except she couldn't find a Mia Hamm book, so she came back with a different biography--of Britney Spears! I about dropped my stack of books on the floor in horror! "You said pick a book about any woman," she said, quoting me in that confident manner she uses when precision memory proves her right. "And she's a famous woman," she concluded, plopping the book on top of her stack.

"I'm not sure we can call her a woman," I muttered. Drat. My face contorted into an inexplicable form, scrunching into a kind of smirk, I suppose, as I tried to express something less than positive about her selection without insulting my daughter. I was unsure what to do. We had to leave, she had a book, she followed my vague, general rules, and evidently I haven't expressed sufficient disrespect for Spears. I don't want to read a report about her, so I guess I'll just make another trip to the library.

And next time, my assignment will be much more specific, with a list of famous women to choose from. Who would you include?

The Husky with Self-Control

Yesterday I received an update about the husky we returned to the rescue program. They wanted us to understand the reason for his actions, so that we wouldn't blame ourselves.

When we had him, we observed that he had some discomfort near his haunches, and his new owners decided that the pain was increasing so much that he would whine when he got up. They were alarmed, so they took him to the vet for X-rays.

Turns out that he has buckshot imbedded in his haunches!

I have to say that my respect for that dog is higher than ever. In spite of obvious discomfort and pain, he never once did anything to hurt any of us (as many injured animals will do). He was patient and long-suffering, if those words can be applied to a dog.

What we were seeing with our youngest is that the dog would growl a warning, a low rumble, not aggressive, just a "please stop what you're doing" kind of sound. Given the fact that my youngest may have pressed on that spot a few times when petting him, that dog had remarkable restraint. He is a great dog. I hope that they can make him comfortable or somehow remove the shot.

People can be so horrible sometimes.

The Mayor

A couple of posts ago, I mentioned my conversation with the Mayor. It was about a tree.

Next to our vetrinarian's office stands a tree. If I could ever figure out how to drop pictures into these blogs, I'd show you the picture I took of it. My daughter stood in front of it, dwarfed by the enormous trunk. The limbs undulate like that Hindu goddesses arms, beautiful and mysterious. I had thought the tree was an oak, but when I actually got out and examined it, it turned out to be a maple. So I must admit that I claimed it was an oak when it was a maple. Nevertheless, it's a tree with some drama to its form, strength to its stature, and a fair amount of endurance and determination. It is standing in a slip of land leftover after the vet's parking lot was poured on one side, and on the other is a road. It's kind of wedged into a triangle of remaining soil, yet stubbornly persists on flourishing.

The vet told me the tree was coming down.

The city, it seems, wants to improve that intersection by putting in a roundabout, or a rond point, as they call them in Belgium and France. The city seems enamored with these roundabouts and has been installing them as many places as they can justify them, and a few place where they can't. In order to plan, excavate, re-route, pour and finish this roundabout, the vet's office has to be torn down, and I was told the tree goes, too. A tree--obviously at least a hundred years old, maybe more--has to go down so that the city can put in a roundabout. I've driven that route countless times. It's at the corner where I used to work years ago. It's the corner I pass on my way to the dentist, on my way to one of the major supercenter shopping centers, it's en route to the school my kids went to two years ago. It's near the DMV, even. It's next to the church I used to attend...I know that spot. Yes, the traffic gets busy. There is a four-way stop with a flashing red light. Yes, it gets a little clogged. But is it bad enough to tear down natural history standing like a centurion guarding our past as progress crowds around it?

I hate that.

So I phoned the mayor of the city. He said that federal funds had been secured for that project, so it was out of his hands. He told me who to contact, so I wrote another email and asked about the tree. Supposedly they are checking to confirm if the tree is going. No one has gotten back to me. ]

Will the tree stay or go? Will anyone remember it, once it's gone? Will anyone respect and honor it if it stays? Will they smile as they pass it, or grieve if it's gone, as they circle around on their way to the supercenter?

"Map!"

My youngest, just-turned-4, is watching "Dora the Explorer." The show encourages the kids to interact, repeating things, shouting "Map!" to get Dora's map to fly out of her backpack. It reminds me of our visit to Disneyland in CA many years ago. My 10yo daughter must have been the same age. She stood and waved frantically, nonstop, during the entire parade with all the characters. Just yesterday she admitted she couldn't remember that trip. They outgrow that cuteness and don't even remember the outings we work so hard to make happen. My boy is shouting "Map!" thinking that he really is making a difference. There's some magic in the air, but it fades so fast.