I watched the Twilight movie out of curiosity. At first I thought it was boring, and then I realized it was hilarious. I was laughing my head off throughout the entire thing. After all, it is little more than an adaptation of a sexless romance novel, and romance novels are funny. I still plan to read the books because I like to keep up on literary trends–I can only hope they make me laugh the way the movie did. For example:

* Her name is Bella Swan. HA HA HA HA really??? That’s really the character’s name? Beautiful swan????

* The part where he starts to make out with her and then he throws himself across the room and yells “NO!”

* The way the camera pans away every time they kiss and dramatic music swells.

* His skin sparkles in the sunlight like diamonds. Faaaab-u-lous!

* Even though this girl has the personality of a rock and is really not as pretty as her name would suggest, every boy in this town asks her out.

* The vampire plays sexy piano music while she looks on in amazement.

* Brooding looks. Seriously, they should design a drinking game around the brooding looks in this movie.

* “Cool. Let’s go fly in some trees.”

Last month, we transplanted the nectarine tree that had grown up behind the garage. It was a lot of work and we had to cut the roots down to get it to fit in the hole. I wasn’t sure it was going to live, but now it is busting out in pink flowers, like so:

It keeps reminding my of that part in The Secret Garden when Mary discovers that all the plants in the garden are still alive. This part, to be exact:

“There’s lots o’ dead wood as ought to be cut out,” he said. “An’ there’s a lot o’ old wood, but it made some new last year. This here’s a new bit,” and he touched a shoot which looked brownish green instead of hard, dry gray. Mary touched it herself in an eager, reverent way.

“That one?” she said. “Is that one quite alive quite?”

Dickon curved his wide smiling mouth.

“It’s as wick as you or me,” he said; and Mary remembered that Martha had told her that “wick” meant “alive” or “lively.”

“I’m glad it’s wick!” she cried out in her whisper. “I want them all to be wick. Let us go round the garden and count how many wick ones there are.”

She quite panted with eagerness, and Dickon was as eager as she was. They went from tree to tree and from bush to bush.
Dickon carried his knife in his hand and showed her things which she thought wonderful.

“They’ve run wild,” he said, “but th’ strongest ones has fair thrived on it. The delicatest ones has died out, but th’ others has growed an’ growed, an’ spread an’ spread, till they’s a wonder. See here!” and he pulled down a thick gray, dry-looking branch. “A body might think this was dead wood, but I don’t believe it is–down to th’ root. I’ll cut it low down an’ see.”

He knelt and with his knife cut the lifeless-looking branch through, not far above the earth.

“There!” he said exultantly. “I told thee so. There’s green in that wood yet. Look at it.”