It’s always been my favorite season of Dawson’s Creek. For me, that year was the show’s Golden Age.

Everything came together that year—the writing was quick, the soundtrack was awesome, the characters were at their best-looking. Not to mention the gorgeous shots of Wilmington, North Carolina (aka Capeside, Mass.). Yes, the Creek was at its finest, then.

I once read an essay by the all-around-writer-extraordinaire Anna Quidlen, in which she referred to herself as “a Paul Girl.” She was one of those early-1960’s tweens whose favorite Beatle was Paul McCartney, and the decision defined her.

The girls who first gravitated toward Avril Lavigne? In 1964, they would have been John girls. Girls who would today be considered emo went for George. The Ringo girls? Well, you can’t put a label on the Ringo girls—at least I can’t. But Paul girls? In Quindlen’s words: “Paul got the little ladies…He was for girls who were traditional, predictable, who played by the rules.”

By the time my adolescence rolled around, the Beatles were cool, but vintage. We had ways of defining ourselves, sure, but not by identifying with men now older than our parents. Enter Dawson’s Creek.

Dawson’s fans went one of two ways: pro-Dawson or pro-Pacey. There was no middle ground. You either wanted the beautiful, sharp-tongued Joey Potter to end up with soul-mate-and-best-friend-forever Dawson, or charming-and-classic-screw-up Pacey. (Please note: Nobody wanted her to end up with Tom Cruise).

I was a Dawson girl.

After all, the series was called Dawson’s Creek for a reason. Besides that, though, it was obvious that Joey and Dawson belonged together. They’d been together from the beginning, and Pacey? He just wanted her once Dawson decided he wanted her, too. Pacey was every worst trait rolled into one. He wanted what he couldn’t have. He got it and treated it like trash. His communication style was sub-par, if not downright caveman. And he messed up. Not once, but all the time.

Joey’s with Pacey in the fourth season, which may be why the Dawson girl in me loves it so much. We Dawson girls watch patiently as Joey and Pacey lie to each other, fight with each other, and generally self-destruct. We know at the end of the day Dawson will be there, window and arms wide open. So what if the chemistry between Pacey and Joey is undeniable?

I watch this generation of girls take sides, too—we have Edward girls, we have Jacob girls (though to be fair, I have never actually met a teenage Jacob girl). I myself am neither an Edward nor a Jacob girl, and maybe my lack of taking sides defines me, as well. I haven’t read Breaking Dawn, either, so I don’t know how it all ends up.

My hope is that it turns out better than it did for Dawson.

Anyway, as a huge Betsy-Tacy fan, I had to spread the word:

We will make it our aim at readergirlz to draw your attention to books that are sadly going out of print (OOP). If we all rant and copy and repost the blogs as we are able, maybe we’ll tug the ears of the publishers. When Nancy informed us that the Betsy-Tacy series was going out of print, you should have heard the divas groan! I’m sad to say, we have our first OOPS! entry.

In 1940 Maud Hart Lovelace published her first novel Betsy-Tacy of the future series. The original works were illustrated brilliantly by Lois Lenski.

At the start, we meet five-year-old Betsy and her new friend, Tacy. Set in Deep Valley, Minnesota (Mankato, Minnesota, the author’s town) in 1898, the girls’ adventures abound. From everyday life to extraordinary fantasy, the duo is inseparable. Whether going to school for the first time or riding a feather above their homes, the girls discover the world.

Rereading Betsy-Tacy, I was struck by the history contained in the thin volume. I found American cultural history our girls should be exposed to today. What’s a hitching block, or a pussy hood, and how do starched petticoats button to muslin underwaists? At the same time universal timeless themes are touched upon that our girls will still connect to personally. Shyness, siblings, imaginations, and death are a few of the concepts explored.

The entire series follows the girls as they mature. The first four titles focus on the girls from ages 5 to 10. Heaven to Betsy takes the characters to high school. Each work shows the characters age about a year until marriage in Betsy’s Wedding.

Betsy-Tacy (1940)
Betsy-Tacy and Tib (1941)
Betsy and Tacy Go Over the Big Hill (1942)
Betsy and Tacy Go Downtown (1943)
Heaven to Betsy (1945)
Betsy in Spite of Herself (1946)
Betsy Was a Junior (1947)
Betsy and Joe (1948)
Betsy and the Great World (1952)
Betsy’s Wedding (1955)

More from Lorie Ann: I was so happy to discover the Betsy-Tacy Society. Here’s an excerpt from their homepage:

The Betsy-Tacy Society was founded in 1990 by a group of 12 Mankato-area admirers of Maud Hart Lovelace’s life and writing; it now numbers more than 1500 members. The goals of the BTS are:

* To promote and maintain the availability of Mrs. Lovelace’s work;
* To advocate for the reissue of any titles not currently in print;
* To preserve existing landmarks and sites associated with the real people and places portrayed in the Betsy-Tacy books; and
* To sustain interest in the lifestyle of the period, with special emphasis on family and women’s history.

Let’s speak up to keep Maud’s dream alive. As she begins Betsy~Tacy:

There was a time when meadow, grove, and stream,
The earth, and every common sight,
To me did seem
Apparell’d in celestial light,
The glory and the freshness of a dream…
- William Wordsworth

Give a shout out to the Betsy-Tacy series through the kidlitosphere.

HarperCollins, don’t make this collection of true American girls go OOPS!

- Lorie Ann Grover, rgz diva/author

Notes from Little Willow:

I too enjoyed the Betsy-Tacy books. As a child, I checked them out from the public library. I remember learning that the author had based all of the characters on her own friends and family members and thinking, “That’s like Little House!” Now, as an adult, I continue to recommend both series to young readers.

I love it when young writers ask me, “Is it okay to write stories that are kind of like what really happened to me?” “By all means,” I reply, and we talk about books inspired by real lives.

The Betsy-Tacy books are classics. They represent and depict the society and the writing style of the times. They also value friendship and show the characters grow up. I have used this series as a kind of stepping-stone to the Anne of Green Gables series, which I adore. I also give it to All-of-a-Kind-Family fans, and vice-versa.

I hope that Betsy-Tacy comes back into print so that their stories may live on as they deserve.

So, even though I live in a nice, new, very suburban development (I should probably hate how all the houses look the same, but I can’t–I just love the neat-and-tidy feel to the neighborhood) we live down the street from a “commercial district” of sorts.  This means that I have to travel six miles to the nearest grocery store, but that the HQ for a major trucking company is just a hopskipjump away.

For as long as I’ve lived here (one year, eight months) Fox Valley Leather Co. has alternated between only two messages:  Short-cuff welding gloves 11.50 and Massive Glove Sale.

And now, one-year and eight months into my life, the building’s been torn down.

I guess not enough people needed massive gloves.

What better way to celebrate both Marquee Monday and my recent family vacation than with a nod to our 50th state?

On the Big Island of Hawaii, fields of black lava rock fringe the “highway” (often a two-lane road with max speeds of 35 mph). To shake up this sometimes barren landscape, people will write messages in the lava rock with white coral (see above). The messages are typical minor-league vandalism–names or initials, religious shout-outs (i.e, ACCEPT JESUS), roadside memorials, links to MySpace pages.

You know, the usual.

As I’ve been thinking about Father’s Day this week, I’m realizing how much I’m like that girl on My Two Dads (minus the eighties-tastic hair and boyfriend whose voice hadn’t changed). Between my father and my father-in-law I feel like I have everything “normal” and everything “abnormal” in a father-daughter relationship.

One of my dads helped tile my bathroom floor. One helps me figure out insurance statements. One of my dads wears Hawaiian shirts. One wears the old suit/tie combo. One of my dads can see—courtesy of Lasix—the other is blind in one eye. One of my dads sees a doctor, one sees a medical intuitive. Which dad is which might surprise you.

Once I said to my husband: “When you put them together, our father equal one perfect dad.” But I think I had it wrong. My dads are close enough to perfect on their own.

Happy Father’s Day Week, everybody!

I snagged this marquee picture back when I was on vacation in idyllic Claremont, CA. This was pre-immobilizing-sunburn, pre-father-in-law-health-crisis, pre–well, pre-MAY. Not to dis May. I love May. I even love this May (although I’ve spent the better portion of it in bed). It’s just that this whole month has been pretty surreal (this could be attributed to the prescription painkillers I’m still taking).

Things are happening. Big things. The advance copies of my first novel will be out any day now. The first draft of my newest book is maybe-almost completed. I, like a real writer, have my own website. Still, whenever my mind wanders I’m dwelling on the fact that I need to organize my Tupperware and I still haven’t cleaned behind the oven where I dropped an entire chocolate-chip cookie.

Clearly, I have issues.

It’s back, and it’s better than ever!

The bad news: my father-in-law, Brent (almost as awesome as my mother-in-law, Yoriko) has cancer.

The good news:he is expected to fully recover.

The other good news: while on our way to visit him in a Murray, UT hospital I spotted this primo marquee.

I hope David A. takes full advantage of the deal.

In other news, I’ve missed the last two Marquee Mondays due to two different ailments. First it was attack of the killer reaction as allergy season hit full-force. I spent Monday taking allergy pills that cost a small fortune and still didn’t work and sucking on cough drops that didn’t work, either. In fact, the cough drops so thoroughly DID NOT do their job that I had a near-spasm (okay, so it was a bona fide spasm) in the Salt Lake Public Library. Yeah, the library. You know, where you’re supposed to be quiet? Luckily, my writer buddy Sara Zarr went downstairs to the coffee shop and got me some herbal tea, which calmed the attack. What a pal, eh?

I went to California to escape the trauma (among other reasons) but sadly, trauma occurred there as well! Now, the trauma was mainly self-induced, but… I went to Huntington Beach one afternoon, and lotioned up with this uber-SPF sunscreen. I put it all over my face, my neck, arms, shoulder, part in my hair, and my feet. I put a dab of sunscreen behind each knee but otherwise skipped my legs, because I never burn on my legs. Famous last words, right?

I missed Marquee Monday entirely because I got burned so badly I spent the next eight days in bed. I got up only to go to the bathroom, which was torture. I ate pizza, ice cream, and lots of chocolate. I couldn’t get up to cook, wash clothes, climb stairs, or even sit for more than 20 minutes. I couldn’t use my laptop because it burned my lap (even on a pillow). I missed two Sundays of church because I couldn’t wear nylons, and bare legs were SO not an option (I was going to include a photo of my legs, but they’re too gross, even for the Internet).

I finally decided to go to Urgent Care yesterday, which was great besides giving me sweet, sweet pain medicine the doctor also provided ointments and antibiotics for my possibly infected burn.

Now for the irony. Most people in my life have been supportive of me and my pathetic, purple (yes, PURPLE) legged self. With the exception of my herb-tea-fetching writer chum, who has done nothing but berate me for my idiocy. Because using sunscreen is a no-brainer. So forget the sympathy vote.

Sara Zarr and her tough love. Man, it hurts as much as the burn (okay, so actually not really).

For your viewing delight, some quality signage I found while out and about. This led to pondering on how much I truly love marquees. I will continue to share quality marquee messages on Mondays. Until I run out of marquees, a day I hope shall never come.