Can You Read as Well as a Fifth-grader? – WSJ.com

Can You Read as Well
As a Fifth-Grader?
Check the Formula
March 14, 2008; Page B1

If you’ve checked the grammar of a Microsoft Word document, you may have encountered a baffling number. The readability formula purports to represent the text’s appropriate grade level. But it has its roots in research from 60 years ago.

Before computers, reading researchers attempted to quantify the ease of a work of writing using short excerpts and simple formulas. Despite computing advances, Word still follows the same model: It multiplies 0.39 by the average number of words per sentence, adds that to 11.8 times the average number of syllables per word, and subtracts 15.59 from the total. The result is the supposed minimum grade level of readers who can handle the text in question.

Similar formulas are used by textbook publishers and in dozens of states’ guidelines for insurance policies.
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Is it possible to quantify the readability of a given text? Do you ever use these formulas? Share your thoughts in the blog comments.

From the beginning, these formulas were known to be problematic. A 1935 paper laid out more than 200 variables that affect readability. Most formulas incorporate just two, and not because they are the most important but because they are the easiest to measure. Then they’re mashed together, with weights set according to how the formulas work on standard texts.

“Everyone is waiting for this magic bullet that’s very easy,” says Karen Schriver, who runs an Oakmont, Pa., communication-design research company. But her experience with clients who have overly relied on these formulas have suggested that “maybe it’s just a stupid idea.”

Noting that the same passage’s score can differ by three grade levels or more, depending on the formula, readability consultant Mark Hochhauser says, “One of the things the field really needs is an updated formula.”

Even neurolinguist G. Harry McLaughlin says of his own, widely used SMOG Readability Formula, “The theoretical basis is c—.”

The formulas treat writing as a mere collection of words and spaces. Word meaning and sentence structure don’t figure. George Weir, a philosopher and computer scientist at the University of Strathclyde in Glasgow, says Word’s readability test thinks grade-schoolers could handle the nonsense passage, “Acuity of eagles whistle truck kidney. Head for the treacle sump catch and but. What figgle faddle scratch dog and whistle?” Similarly, “Had lamb little a Mary” and “Mary had a little lamb” score identically.

I asked Micro Power & Light Co., which sells readability-testing software, to evaluate a memorable 2004 Wall Street Journal front-page article. Four different formulas found it to be comprehensible to 10th-graders, thanks in part to its short sentences. The reason for the frequent periods: The article was about a new book written without verbs, and the article mimicked its subject, making for intentionally tough reading.

Word length is an imperfect measure. “Important” and “elephant” are long words that are easy for most readers, Dr. Schriver notes. Conversely, frustrated crossword solvers encounter plenty of uncommon three-letter words, such as adz, auk and lea. She adds that no formulas account for document layout — even short sentences with lean words are challenging when printed in an eight-point type.

The formulas have their defenders. Readability consultant William DuBay calls them “good enough,” and adds, “They’ve been extremely beneficial for millions of readers.” Among other uses, they were implemented to simplify newspaper writing a half-century ago, he says.

Some researchers are trying to make the formulas better, using new databases and computing power. Prof. Weir aims to create a formula that incorporates the frequency of words and word combinations in typical English writing, meaning “the” and “adz” finally can be distinguished.

Several more-advanced readability formulas already have been developed. None are as convenient, or as criticized, as the Flesch-Kincaid formula Microsoft uses. Developed by readability researcher Rudolf Flesch in 1948, it was modified by psychologist J. Peter Kincaid in a study for the U.S. Navy in 1975, using reference passages. “Do not swing, twirl, or play with the nightstick” is part of a passage deemed appropriate for seventh-graders. Instructions that included, “All the jet streams of the Northern Hemisphere have their southern analogues” required a college degree.

The formula was tweaked once more by Microsoft when the company incorporated it into Word in 1993. Grade-level scores were capped at 12. Reed Shaffner, Microsoft’s product manager for Word, told me that the formula was changed in 2003, at least for Windows users. Those users can see results up to grade level 14, while Mac users won’t get results above level 12.

Why cap the results at all? “It’s a user-experience thing,” Mr. Shaffner says. Essentially, Microsoft is concerned about the readability of readability-formula results.

Prof. Kincaid, who today is the head of a modeling and simulation program at the University of Central Florida, tried unsuccessfully to get the formula corrected years before it finally was. Nevertheless, when he wants to use his own formula, he lets Word do the calculation.

That’s rare. “I write long sentences and no computer is going to tell me how to write,” Prof. Kincaid says. “I’m going to write the way I want to write.”
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Raising Grace: Feature Article

Raising Grace

 

Childhood Universals. What are they? Learning to read, write, walk and talk. Temper tantrums, feeding one’s self, and potty training. Growing up, bad hairstyles, new friends, first crushes, first day of school.

Children and adults alike can identify with these childhood and growing up universals. Grace Hansen understands and relates to these things well.

Grace, 11 years old, is the youngest of four girls: Leah, Erica, Abigail and then Grace. Leah is engaged and in university, Erica just graduated high school and Abigail is in grade 11. Grace is in grade 6 at a local elementary school in her hometown of Langley. She lives with her parents, Glenn and Ann Hansen in a cozy, yellow-walled town house in Murrayville. It would seem as the youngest daughter, Grace has an extra soft spot in her dad’s heart.

Meet Glenn Hansen, father of four girls, husband to Ann and the Director of Collegia Programs at Trinity Western University. Glenn reclines in his chair, his feet on the desk, and puts is hands behind his head and relaxes in his office. There is a large picture of his family eating when the girls were young on the bulletin board above the 5 x 7 of Grace’s most recent school photo. He laughs and smiles lovingly he delves into the memories he has from raising his youngest daughter Grace.

There are mornings where Grace “wakes up and doesn’t want to go to school, but she needs boundaries like every other kid.” Glenn explains, “I just tell her that she can come home after school, have a bowl of cereal and watch TV and she’ll agree to go to school. ‘School today, dad!’” she’ll say. “Grey’s Anatomy is her favourite show, she wants to marry George,” Glenn laughs.

It seems odd that Grace doesn’t always want to go to school. According to Glenn, “Grace is one of the most well known and popular kids at the school. We drop her off at school, she puts her backpack on and she runs to meet her friends.” Despite her popularity, Glenn is hesitant for what Grace’s scholastic future holds. “Her peer group at her current school is very laid back and accepting. The children don’t say ‘She’s weird. She’s different.’”

Grace is just like any other pre-teen, but she’s also one of 40, 634 people in Canada who has Down’s Syndrome (DS). DS is a condition where extra genetic material in the DNA causes delays in the way the child develops and often leads to a certain degree of mental retardation, ranging from mild to medium. In the United States, DS affects 1 in every 800 babies born.

While the DS comes with many challenges, Glenn acknowledges the role of Grace’s pediatrician in their outlook on her condition. Glenn explains that, “the pediatrician set us on a very positive course for becoming parents of a Down’s Syndrome child. His speech, his normalizing was huge. The pediatrician said, ‘She will reach milestones like every other child, albeit delayed. She will have temper tantrums, just like other children. Now, she will have medical issues, but we’ll deal with those as they come along.’ Little did Ann and I know, however, that leukemia and heart problems were all apart of Down’s Syndrome, in some cases. But every child wants to be loved and hugged, warm and safe, Grace is no different.”

Grace progressed through those childhood universals and reached milestones. Glenn recalls that, “it was a huge milestone when she lifted her head. Down’s babies have very low muscle tone. So when she lifted her head, we were like ‘Oh look! She’s lifting her head! Look! Look!’ Everything thing that she did that was ‘normal’ was, I think, celebrated more.”

When asked what childhood fears Grace has, Glenn says, “She has normal fears

but, I wonder if she has as many of them. She’s never manifested a fear of the dark, she’s perfectly happy to have the door closed and lights out when she sleeps.” Glenn laughs and blames himself for instilling in her a fear of bees, flies and mosquitoes. “She just freaks when a bug, like anything, even a fly comes near her. I used to do the same thing with bees. I wonder if I just would have swatted a bee away if Grace would be as scared.” Grace’s fear of bugs is rather large, Glenn recalls, “There was one day actually that Ann and I just heard her screaming. I ran to her to see what was wrong. One of the kids had a plastic spider but Grace thought it was real. She was just terrified so I picked it up and plucked all of its legs off to show her that it was fake. I just held her as she cried and said, ‘No Grace! It’s not real! It’s okay.’”

For Glenn, God has spoken to him through Grace in many ways. He explains that, “That’s when it hit me. I just felt as if He was saying, ‘Glenn, how much time do you spend in fear and anxiety? I can show up and rip the legs off the rubber spiders in your life anytime. Just trust in me.” Glenn and Ann have continued to trust in God as they raise their family. Through the death of several family members, including their son, Ann’s battle with breast cancer, Grace’s leukemia and continuing medical conditions, the Hansen’s faith has been strong in Him.

Grace’s ongoing medical condition is fluid in her ears, which is also not uncommon for DS children. Communication is extremely important for Grace and the Hansen family. As in many relationships, when communication breaks down, there can be serious issues. “Frustration gets the best of her,” Glenn says, “She doesn’t hear well some of the time, and if she gets sick with a head cold, it’s worse. She can’t speak very well sometimes. When you can’t hear well, and you can’t hear well, communication is a challenge. It’s frustrating for everyone.” Some days the Hansens get a note in Grace’s journal that will say, “Grace got frustrated and slapped a kid today.” Glenn laughs as he humorously quips, “If you couldn’t communicate with people getting in your face, wouldn’t you slap them?!”

Regardless, Grace is still a well-liked person at school and in her community. Glenn attributes this to her social sensitivity. “We had a friend over who had just washed her hands in the kitchen sink and needed a place to dry her hands,” Glenn smiles and chuckles, “Grace went down the hallway to the linen cupboard and got a towel for her. No one else in the room noticed it, but Grace did.” Glenn also feels that Grace demonstrates more aptitude and responsibility than his other daughters. “Grace will make herself ham and eggs with toast for breakfast and wash the pan. Most normal sixteen year old ‘normal’ kids don’t or can’t do that,” Glenn laughs, “my heart just swells, I’m so proud of her.”

“Grace wants to be just like her big sisters,” Glenn says. And what little sister doesn’t emulate her big sister? “She’s all girl! So that means, a fashion sense, personality in her dress, expression in body language. It’s all the same,” Glenn remarks, “But she also has this beautiful ‘not-so-much self-consciousness.’ That’s the terrible thing about us, we get all of these self-esteem, self-doubt, self-conscious issues… we get all of these attachments and life can really screw us up. Grace doesn’t have that.”

For Glenn, comparing Grace to his ‘normal’ children is like comparing “chalk and cheese’ and while the Hansen family sees the differences in Grace, they don’t see the difference as inequalities.

Regardless of their love, Glenn still wonders about the future. “I don’t know if when she’s 13 or 14 if it will be different. I don’t know if I’ll be crying because of the hurt she feels from the rejection because she’s different,” Glenn remarks, “I have to qualify that as a parent. I think most people can relate to befriending the different kid, the one with the bucked-teeth or big ears might not be okay with the ‘in’ crowd. It’s sickening. It’s evil.”

“I don’t know what the future holds, but we’ll get there a day at a time.”

Word Count: 1, 378

 

 

 

 

The Truffle Reshuffle – By Erin Mussolum

At first glace they resemble things that look like they should be inside of a cat litter box. Their smell on the other hand awakens the “nasty” in female pigs and yet they sell for thousands of dollars a pound. While they may just be the ugliest food we consume, the beauty of the truffle is in the eye of the beholder, on the palate of the consumer and in the prosperous wallet of the supplier.

Up there with caviar and foie gras, the truffle has long been classified as the fungal choice of the lifestyles of the rich and famous. But lately it’s been seeing resurgence with hipsters and foodies alike and in the most unlikely of places – comfort food.

Take for instance the “Shorty Poutine” at Vancouver’s Mainstreet hang – Crave. At just nine bucks the appie consists of truffle parmesan fries topped with a tasty portion of shortrib jus. An extremely popular plate on the always busy eatery’s menu, this traditional Quebec dish is so rich and intense in its truffle flavor that you couldn’t handle it if it were bottomless…in fact that could be borderline insulting. Less in more in this case as poutine connoisseurs have met their match.

The same could be said for Executive Chef Rafael Gonzalez holding court at the Yew at Four Seasons Hotel in Vancouver. His menu also spotlights some “renewed classics.” Like the girl next door but with a wicked dark side, the Black Truffle Macaroni and Cheese is anything but predictable. Classic al dente penne is coated in a rich un-frilly farmhouse chedder sauce and infused with the earth’s best kept secret, the black truffle. It sure ain’t what your mom used to make. This unassuming plate stops foodies in their tracks.

One cannot talk comfort food in Vancouver without mentioning Feenie and his famous weenie. Not only does Rob dish out the gourmet dog, but he also serves up the paramount of all comfort foods, the Shepherds Pie. Ringing in at 17 bucks this culinary merge of duck confit, mushroom duxelles, corn and red wine is also adorned with – you guess it – truffle scented mashed potatoes.

The union of the truffle with comfort food is like the marriage of Celin Dion and Rene – somehow it oddly works. But what’s more strange is how these little diamonds of the dirt make it onto our poutine plates and palates of today. Found near the roots of trees such as oak, elm and hazelnuts, these ugly lumpy mushrooms can only be located by the extraordinary nostrils of the truffle hog – a highly skilled pig. Truffles give off a smell, similar to the pheromone in boar saliva which turns these “Petunia’s” into frantic females often resulting in the truffle’s fatal attraction. In recent years suppliers have been training “truffle” dogs to locate the fungi as the hogs often gobble up the precious delicacies as soon as they get within a nose of them…making extraction a bit challenging and stressful considering a pound of truffles can go for as much $7000.00 US at auction.

Amateur and professional chefs alike can purchase truffles at high scale grocery stores like Vancouver’s Urban Fare, but they’ll need to call ahead as the boutique doesn’t always carry the dingy pungent fungi. Latin for lumps these “tubers,” are literally flown in from France and Italy and can range in price from $20.00 all the way to $70.00 depending on the size and the time of year they were harvested. Because of the difficulty pigs have in digging through frozen soil, the price in the winter is much higher and the availability is much scarcer.

What keeps them pure and their commodity up is the environment where these delicacies grow. It simply can’t be duplicated commercially. But a small organization in British Columbia comprising of producers, mycologists and professional agrologists is hoping to change all that. Called the Truffle Association of BC or TABC for short, the group is dedicated to the commercial truffle industry in the western province, and is conducting research into the viability and sustainability of the Perigord variety of the black truffle. Farmwest.com sites the goals of TABC stating, “It is hoped that in time this project will lead to the development of a new, sustainable agri-business opportunity in the province, with resultant economic development and job creation benefits.”

Fast forward 20 years in British Columbia and truffles could be as readily available and in copious supply as salt and pepper is today. A sprinkle here, a sprinkle there and why not over the shoulder for good luck …hey it’s only truffles!

 

The Puck Drops Here

 

In the back yard of Lonnie Cameron’s Langley home, two hockey nets stand against the fence—a nod to the family’s sport of choice.

“Like most kids, I had dreams of making it to the NHL,” says Cameron, a 44-year-old husband to Nancy and father of Brayden, seven, and Logan, five. “I played junior hockey in the prairies until I was 20, then coached for a while. But what I really was enjoyed officiating.”

After a stint at the Western Hockey League School of Officiating, Cameron landed a position in the WHL in 1987, and spent nine years plying his trade while eyeing a jump to the big leagues. His focus and hard work paid off; he got the call in 1996. “The NHL offered me a contract,” he says. “I accepted, and twelve years later, I’m still skating games—coming up on 750 of them.”

Sitting at the kitchen table, Cameron points to the color-coded calendar on the refrigerator door. “See the lime green? Those are away days.” Bright green highlighter marks most days; the yellow and pink denote his sons’ hockey games and practices. “Nothing happens without consulting that calendar first,” he laughs.

With his regular schedule based on 75 games plus six exhibition games, add in the coveted playoffs and it could total 100 or more games a year. “It’s a lot,” he admits. “Obviously all 100 games aren’t in Vancouver; I’m lucky to get half a dozen of those. I average about 125 nights a year on the road.”

At home Cameron’s wife, Nancy, holds it all together. “She’s awesome,” he says. “When I’m away, she’s judge, jury and executioner.” So, how does she manage?  

“You just do,” says Nancy, a part-time elementary school teacher. “We’ve had lots of support from family; my mom is nearby, and Lonnie’s parents would drop everything to come help out.”

But there are a few perks, too. “We earn a lot of Airmiles and Marriott points,” says Cameron. In January, Nancy and the boys joined him in Los Angeles during the All-Star break, where they took in a couple of NHL games and a visit to Disneyland before flying home together.

When he’s in town during the season, they make sure to enjoy special outings—like restaurant visits—even if things don’t go quite according to plan. “The other night, we went to Red Robin,” says Nancy. “Hockey was on three different TVs—and all three of them were watching. I thought, ‘Well, isn’t this a nice family meal?’ ” She shrugs and smiles. “They definitely have that bond.”

She looks over at Brayden, who lies on an area rug that looks like a giant game board, playing a hockey video game.

“Nancy is a hockey widow,” Cameron jokes. “With both boys playing, weekends are heavy-duty; sometimes the van is going in two different directions at the same time.”

Still, Nancy seems to take it all in stride.  “I love that Brayden and Logan play,” she says. “It’s a team sport—they learn to cooperate and work together.” She heads down to the playroom to check on Logan, who has a friend over, while Brayden, who is finished his video game, climbs onto his dad’s lap.

“Bray’s lucky,” Cameron says. “He gets to catch a couple of games every now and then, gets to know some of the guys.” So, who is Brayden’s favourite player?

“The Sedin twins,” he answers. And when asked what he thinks of Cameron’s job—and calls—he can’t resist getting in a little dig. “Sometimes he’s blind.”

“Hey, this is on the record you know,” Cameron laughs. “You should tell the truth.”

The two share a chuckle as Cameron continues. “I miss so much. Tomorrow both boys have ice time, and Brayden has a game I won’t see because I’m traveling.”

The family manages to stay connected, though. “Those phone bills get pretty big during the season,” Cameron says.

And both boys are sure to get in on the conversations, too. “The other day,” Nancy says, “I heard Logan ask, ‘Hey, Dad, are you in Washington? Can you say hi to Ovechkin for my friend, Nicky?’ ”

The pace is a little different in the off-season.

“In the summertime,” Cameron says, “people wonder if I work because I’m out there playing street hockey with the kids every day. But I also put in most of my training during that time. I get my ounce of sweat done for the day so I can barbeque and wave to the neighbours,” he laughs.

Come the first week of September, he hits the road again. “It’s is a huge transition,” says Nancy, “because he’s been home all summer, day and night, and then he’s gone for up to 10 days.”

Tomorrow, Cameron leaves to work Phoenix; two days later, he’s in Nashville—then Atlanta, Miami and Carolina.  

His typical workday includes a flight to one of the 30 cities that comprise the NHL; Cameron and the others on the four-man crew of officials might all arrive from different places. “After a light work-out,” he says, “we meet for lunch, talk about the previous night’s game and the teams that are playing that night. There may be a history of bad blood, so we’ve got to be on our toes.”

And is there anything else that helps them prepare for the game? “The big thing is an afternoon nap,” Cameron says. “Sometimes we work three games in three nights in three different cities, so it wears on us pretty hard. After the game, we grab a beer and some chicken wings and turn in. Then we head to the next city and do it all over again.”

Despite a rigorous schedule, his love for the game keeps him lacing up those skates.

“Sometimes it’s 21 hours of waiting,” says Cameron. “But the best part of the day is the three hours I’m out there on the ice.”

 

just pressing words..

finally figured out this word pressing thing so i’m going to see where this post ends up…

 

Todd’s feature draft

Headline: Day care lessons

Subhead: An elder’s thoughts for the younger generation

 

Knock knock. The homeowner answers the door, talking on the phone and sorting papers. She runs a day-care business in a converted car garage. As she continues talking, her mother, Marie Gaukel, sits with the children in the day care. Observing the two toddlers, I join her.

Marie, 67, wears a dark blue sweater and grey pants. She’s knitting a pair of blue mittens. She watches as the toddlers play with the toys. Charlie, a boy with curly blond hair, looks at us with his eyes wide open, while Meenu, an East Indian girl, gives Marie a hug.

“Open your arms for her,” she says to me, but Meenu simply looks at me. “Well not like that,” laughs Marie, implying that my arms are opened too wide. “You’re not an elephant.”

I narrow the gap, but Meenu remains hesitant. Charlie, however, embraces me

“Can you imagine that Charlie gave Todd a hug?” Marie asks her daughter. Apparently, Charlie doesn’t offer hugs too freely. Meenu then follows suit.

Scenes like today are typical in the day care. Marie occasionally spends time at her daughter’s home and helps with the children, leaving her contemplating these toddlers’ futures. She reminisces her own childhood.

“I used to love roller skating,” she says of her hobbies as a child. “I tried ice skating, but I nearly killed myself so I gave that up,” she laughs.

“Those days we didn’t really have hobbies like you guys do now,” Marie says, commenting on her experience as the older of two daughters raised by a single mom. “I would come home from school and look after my little sister. That’s where my spare time went.”

When she wasn’t in school or taking care of her sister, she was working. Marie’s mother was a registered nurse and matron at several major hospitals. She eventually trained Marie to be a nurse’s aid. Marie’s work was in the geriatrics department of the hospital.

“I did this for quite a few years, even after I was married and had kids,” she says.

These medical experiences exposed Marie to life’s brevity. At one of the hospitals, there was a program that took alcoholics and drug users off the street and brought them in to get immediate treatment to clean up their lives which hung on a string.

“That was an eye-opener,” she says.

She then tells me how she earned a degree in Business Administration having only completed up to grade 10 in high school. “I tell you, I cried from some of the tests, but I [still] passed with 97%,” she says. “I really enjoyed it.”

Marie was married at 18 and gave birth to the first of four children by 19. She tells me that this could almost be considered routine, which kept her from pursuing other things in life.

In some ways, her upbringing was a burden. “I sort of resented it,” she says. “I was a teenager then; I didn’t go to the parties. When I had a date, my mother, oh my goodness, it was a war of the worlds,” she says, noting that much responsibility was placed on her as the eldest daughter. “[This] helped a little bit with [raising] my kids, but each person is an individual with whole new experiences.”

Such experiences played out in different areas of family life. On certain occasions, she and her husband took the children on trips in a motor home. One particular long weekend, the vehicle experienced trouble. Her husband pulled off to the side of the road and tried to fix it and injured his shoulder in the process.

They drove him back to a hospital to see a doctor. He needed a shot, and the needle was dirty. Back then, used syringes were boiled in sterilizing fluid and reused. On this long weekend, however, the sterilization process appeared to have been neglected.

“I guess they didn’t do it that Friday,” Marie wonders.

11 days later, her husband died from lead poisoning, leaving Marie a widow at 36-years-old with four children.

“It was quite an experience,” she says. It happened so fast that no one could have anticipated it. “Our whole lives were turned upside down.”

The death happened just days before her oldest son’s graduation from high school. He was a competitive runner who set various records in his school, many that are still standing. He continued running, but spent the majority of his time crying in the boys’ washroom.

“It was a major adjustment [to the family],” she says, “but we survived all that.”

Nearly 30 years later, Marie still considers these chapters as significant to who she is today. “I haven’t lived a very exciting life, [but] I’ve learned a lot,” she says. “Experience is your best teacher.”

We watch as the toddlers continue playing with the day care’s toys. Meenu sits and spins on a small merry-go-round. Charlie stands behind a little red chair, gazing at us with his open mouth resting on the top of the chair.

“It’s nice to see they [both] have a mom and a dad,” Marie says of the kids. “Both of them, their parents really care [about them]. You don’t really see much of that nowadays. You have all these strangers living in the house, and no one relates to anybody.”

“They love you freely, unconditional; they don’t judge you. That’s why I like the little ones.”

Yet Marie holds some apprehension for Charlie and Meenu’s futures. She’s not necessarily worried about the children themselves, but the world they’ll be facing.

“Life today is so different from when I was young,” she says. “I wouldn’t want to be raising children now.” She comments on the instabilities of society that don’t care if a child is raised in a stable household. “Even if you have a good home with them and they’re learning and everything else, once they get into the outside world, it’s hard to hang on to them,” she says.

“What we had to worry about, when I was young, was getting pregnant or getting drunk. Nowadays, that’s the norm.”

Her concerns go beyond these. She says that she’s been watching programs about global warming.

“It’s scary, it’s really scary,” she says, commenting on people’s environmental choices and the effects of luxurious living. “You go down my street and there are about ten cars in each driveway; nobody’s going to give that up.”

In light of these worries, I ask her what advice she would offer them based on her own experiences in life.

“I would tell them to be true to themselves,” she replies. “You’ve got to have lots of confidence in yourself, you really do,” noting that people are held responsible for the choices they make.

“You have to believe in yourself. And believe in your own judgment, in your own gut feeling. That’s the one that’s true to you,” she says.

“Whenever I’d listen to anyone else, it was…[sighs]”

Marie then looks back at me. “I really envy you guys, you know that? Because you have so many opportunities. When I was [your age], your big thing in life was to get out of high school and to get married,” she says. “It’s not a wonderful thing to look forward to.”

“Oh, it’s just such a big world out there, and there are so many things you can do,” she says.

“I wish I was young again.”

Family members sometimes joke that she should act her age. “My grandkids tell me, ‘Oh Grandma, you’re too old for that.’ But I still get my two cents in,” she says. “I’m not dead you know [laughs]. My mind’s good, I don’t miss much.”

We get to talking about the elections in the United States. She stays current with the latest results and scandals, as well as endorsements of Barack Obama, her candidate of choice.

“Have you heard of Wyclef Jean?” she asks. She tells me about the recording artist and his contribution to the campaign trail.

Marie reiterates her desire to be young again.

“But I just wish so much to have what you have right now. Oh, I’d do so many things.”

Yet she doesn’t regret the life she’s lived.

“I’ve learned a lot; I’ve had a lot; I’ve lost a lot,” she says. “And now, I’m just even.”

 

Revised Schedule for Feature Articles

Whether you’re writing an article intended for the Langley Advance News, or for our class project, the deadlines have shifted. Here’s a revised schedule:

Feb 6 Roxanne Hooper will visit class. Be prepared with article ideas and lists of questions you intend to ask your subject.

Feb 27 No class – reading break

March 5 In-class critique of finished articles. After you complete changes, the pieces will be emailed to Roxanne (for the Advance) and/or to me, for the project.

March 12 In-class, Roxanne will coach each writer, one-on-one, with suggestions for story package. I will do the same with those who are submitting only to the class project.

March 26 Final draft due, copied to me and Roxanne.

Other deadlines will be inserted into this schedule as the project continues.

Roxanne’s email address: rhooper@langleyadvance.com

 

Meet your editor

Here’s the round-robin schedule for editing our pieces after the break:

Wendy Erin

Erin Wendy

Ashley Vanessa

Lauren -Alex

Chelsea – Jon

Joshua – Amy

Jon Ashley

Alex Joshua

Alison – Diana

Todd – Lauren

Vanessa – Lisa

Diana – Jenna

Amy – Todd

Lisa – Chelsea

Jenna – Alison

For next class, I need:

• your draft posted on the blog and emailed to me by 1:00 p.m.
• two hard copies of your piece in class.

We will attempt to read everyone’s draft in class and critique briefly. Then, editors will work on their assigned pieces, either on hard copy or using “Track Changes” in Microsoft Word and return edits to both author and me NO LATER THAN the following class. The earlier the pieces can be finalized and forwarded to Roxanne, the better.

Have a great vacation — and I’ll see you all in class in March.

 

the (almost) finished product

Headline: Maternity Matters

Deckhead: A day with Margaret Dumbrell is about more than playing with babies

WC: 1092

PQ: “I want the mother to be a good mom; a happy mom.”-Margaret Dumbrell

“You worry, are you doing a good enough job? Are you meeting people’s needs? Sometimes, there’s only so much you can do” –Margaret Dumbrell

 

It’s a rainy Friday in Langley. Indoors, safely out of the familiar drizzle, mothers push their strollers into the large room. A cacophony of “E-I-E-I-O!” echoes in the warehouse acoustics of Douglas Recreation Centre.

Passers-by by would see only a long table in the middle of an empty room and a few energetic kids. Margaret Dumbrell, a part-time outreach counsellor, sees another successful Friday Lunch Club at Best Babies of the Langleys.

“I just love ‘my moms,’” says Margaret.

Best Babies has operated under Aldergrove Neighbourhood Services for 12 years now, providing health-related care for at-risk mothers in the Township.

“They’re not all ‘high-risk,’” clarifies Margaret. Some suffer from addiction or abuse, but the program also serves area newcomers, immigrants, and women with financial risk or illness.

 “We want them to be a good mother, and good parents.”

Margaret’s day begins like any other, paperwork and phone calls in the Best Babies office, hidden in a run-down building behind the one-way section of Fraser Highway. Instead of family pictures, the walls of the small office are decorated with health posters, pictures of newborns, and a breast-feeding calendar open to November.

Margaret spends little time in this office. Her real work takes place out in the community, in the homes of women who have sought out Best Babies. The first stop of her morning is a 9:30 appointment with a participant, Jill.

In a typical Langley suburb, Jill’s northwest-style home has colourful walls decorated with a large wedding photo and Canucks paraphernalia. The coffee table is covered with baby magazines and parenting books, including 45,000 Baby Names – not that Jill and her husband need it. They have already decided on Cassie, after hockey player Cassie Campbell.

Jill’s pregnancy, now over eight months along, is not her first. Her son, Marcus, died at the age of three months, after doctors ignored Jill’s maternal instincts that something was wrong with her infant son. His pictures decorate the house.

Though Jill appears irrepressibly happy, her previous traumatic experience, in addition to being new to the area, puts her at risk for post-partum depression, a common postnatal occurrence. Margaret discusses the risk factors with her on the comfy leather sofa, like she’s chatting with a long-time friend, not a client. Her tone is instructional, genuinely concerned and encouraging.

Understandably anxious about her pregnancy, “As soon as I hear that baby cry, I’ll be fine,” Jill says.

“You will be, you will be,” assures Margaret.

 After leaving Jill with a ten dollar food voucher, a check on her prenatal vitamins (both provided to Best Babies participants), and the promise of another visit before the baby’s born – if Cassie waits that long – it’s back to the office to prepare for Lunch Club.

One of the main services offered by Best Babies, Friday Lunch Club hosts moms of kids aged six months to two years. Tuesday’s and Thursday’s clubs are for prenatal mothers and those with children under six months. Many of these women are also receiving home visits.

Today the table is laid out with grapes, salad, bread, and fried rice casserole stocked with veggies. The spread ends with a surprising dessert: free condoms. “We always have those,” explains Barbara Price, Best Babies’ coordinator.

The ladies chat with Margaret and Barbara, enjoying the company they lack during long days at home with only kids. The opportunity for “adult conversation” seems to be the universal draw for postnatal lunch club.

Both Margaret and Barbara play with the babies, a definite perk, assures Margaret. However, this is not the main point of the program. “It’s the moms,” says Margaret. “I work with the moms. I want the mother to be a good mom; a happy mom.”

Later, Margaret explains to a newcomer how Best Babies works as she fills out an information card: “We keep track of every woman,” she says, “so that we can get more funding.”  

Best Babies is funded by Health Services Canada, Barbara explains, which funds all national Best Babies programs that have sprouted up since the original one opened in Montreal, in the 1940s. When Barbara helped initiate the Langley branch 12 years ago, they were funded for 73 participants. Since then, there has been no increase in funding, though last year they served over 300 women. Donations, she says, are invaluable.

 

After Lunch Club, Margaret prepares for a home visit with Kathleen, 17, who lives in a verdant Langley neighbourhood with her boyfriend’s parents. 

She will be a mother in less than two weeks.

Young mothers are common participants in the program, often referred from local high schools. Kathleen heard about the program from her boyfriend’s mom, and has many questions for Margaret. They chat about diet, breastfeeding and labour, as Kathleen hugs her extended stomach.

Margaret soothes her: “You’re going to be okay,” she says. “You can do it.”

 After a quick coffee break, it’s back to the office around 3:30 p.m. Margaret calls women she hasn’t been able to visit. One struggles with severe post-partum depression. Because of her condition, Margaret opted to give the participant her personal cell-phone number.

Not every participant at Best Babies is as well-adjusted as many of the moms at lunch club. Some participate in unhealthy lifestyles: drinking, smoking or doing drugs while pregnant. Margaret tells of homeless women wanting assistance, and another case where a mom had three children, all sent to foster care because of her addiction.

“[These cases] are not often,” she says, “but you remember them.”

“You worry, are you doing a good enough job? Are you meeting people’s needs? Sometimes, there’s only so much you can do,” she says.

But hard times are tempered with the rewards of the job–which includes more than just playing with babies. She tells stories of women who take the program, then disappear, only to call again years later, saying “Thank you, I’ve got a good life now.”

The best part of her work, Margaret says, is “watching the mom grow into a woman, into a mother; watching her develop and become more confident in herself.”

Pictures of former participants—healthy moms, babies, and a few dads thrown in as well —fill a cork-board collage in the Best Babies waiting room, proof of the program’s success.

After a long day of work, it is time for Margaret to go home to her own family, which also includes a baby–her new grandson. “I love my home, I love my family,” she says. “They’re what keeps me grounded. At the end of the day, it’s a good feeling.”

  

 

only child memoir draft–Ashley Chapman

HL: Island in the stream
SH: life as an only. Pull Quote: “the steady stream of friends dried up around preteen-dom. I was left with no standard of normal.”
Word count: 630

“Happy half-birthday to you, happy half-birthday to you…”
“Happy Aaaa-shley day to Aaaa-shley, happy Ashley day to you!”

Do not confuse the preceding as one special day. The first occurs on October 30, a joyous celebration marked with a be-candled cupcake. The second song marks Kids’ Day—an equal opportunity holiday for children who feel slighted as Mothers’ and Fathers’ Day pass by, all official-like on the calendar.

It may be one of those self-evident principles of the universe: I am an only child. There was a time when I would fight to the death anyone who questioned the supremacy of my life as an only. Now, however, I realize the irony of these convictions: I wouldn’t actually fight a soul. Growing up without siblings, I don’t know how.
 

My childhood wasn’t starved though, I had playmates. I know because I remember the stress of hiding my favourite toys before the neighbourhood kids would come, pushing or tossing dolls and stuffies beyond the average 4-year-old’s line of sight. Surprisingly, my friends stayed consistent through my early years. I had the best aspects of sisterhood, yet ample time with my parents for one on one help learning to read and write words like wallpaper. I also have an impeccably documented childhood. It’s like a “Chapman Child: The one and only” reality show, a song and dance spectacular starring Ashley and her neighbourhood pals.

Unfortunately, the steady stream of friends dried up around preteen-dom. I was left with no standard of normal. At age ten, I had a mullet. I also had one of those hair-wrap things, for a very, very long time. By 13 I’d learned how to boil an egg, and the lifestyle was beginning to show its cracks.

I was fragile to a fault. As far as I can tell, my parents were normal in their encouragement and praise. They were proud of their buck-toothed daughter, however unlikely. They never told me I smelled or that I was the palest person alive south of Tuktyuktuk. They never told me I was adopted or stupid. In fact, the first time I used the word “stupid” my mouth was washed with bar soap.

And that’s another thing: there is no one around to behave worse—to up the ante on what it really means to misbehave. I’ve dreamt of having a brother just the slightest bit worse than me, in almost every way. If only I could show them they’ve had it easy all along… (it’s either the narcissist or l’enfant unique in me talking now.)

And yet it wasn’t easy. As an only-child teenager, what I lacked in allies against my parents, I made up for with strategy. I had grown up my whole life speaking with adults exponentially more than children, and I excelled in negotiation. I could get what I wanted without door slamming or persuasion-by-volume.

So as an over-sensitive, mind-controlling teenager, I truly started to relish the undivided parental attention. They’d comfort me after school as I cried over the slightest slighting, and they would fully invest their joy into my slightest victories. When I was told I looked like the nerdy, uni-browed frizz ball from the “Princess Diaries” I could barely function. Kind words and a restaurant meal later, I understood what my parents knew all along: I was clearly just a dead ringer for the movie’s gorgeous actress, Anne Hathaway.

They could see it all along though. Somehow they saw past my anti-sharing tendencies and my late discovery of middle school social norms, and they resisted the urge to steer me in the right direction through the addition of siblings. I guess it wouldn’t have helped though; nothing about a new baby intrinsically conveys that two months is too long to leave in a hair wrap.