I pull back the covering of a very large swimming pool. Leaves are floating on the surface, though no trees are around. In the distance, I hear airplanes. There are two planes and because I am not there to watch them land, my “boss” yells at me, “I told you that when I land, you are to be there waiting!” He says this over an intercom system so his words are loud, though he is a tiny speck in the distance. He is standing on a metal structure. He is angry.
***
I’m inside preparing and serving frothy cappuccino. The froth is overflowing the silver cylinder and I'm scooping it with a soup ladle. People are enjoying their coffee. I think of monks, cappuccino, and ivory soap. It's the "air." I hear the sirens and I know that the planes are coming in to land again. I panic because I know that I am supposed to be there. I am going to be in so much trouble. I am too far away. I won’t get there in time. So much fear.
I miss my boss’s plane, but a second plane lands and crashes. For some reason it is my fault. I’m in a lot of trouble so I go to investigate the damage. On my way, I walk through wreckage. I come up to an empty helmet ... it's all my fault ... and then a body – whole – unscathed. His eyes are closed. I walk around him, he is wearing light jeans and a light gray shirt. ...his eyes open. It’s ____ who is referred to as "the husband" later in the dream.
I’m *severely* punished for this.
***
We are at my D-mom’s house in San Antonio. (My favorite place to be as a child.) I am showing a group of people her house. “This is where I used to hide and pretend that Darth Vader was looking for me. And this is where I always dream that there are stairs and as you can see, it’s just a wall.”
I hear the planes outside. This causes panic, but for a different reason. We are at war and when people are found, they are killed, so I tell everyone in the house to hide in the attic. I take a gallon of water with me because I don’t know how long we will be hiding.
***
We are at a little college, small like a community college, but bustling with student activity: people playing football and studying in groups along and around the outside of the building.
We are inside of the building. Hubby and I are going up the stairs and hubby grabs me by my shoulders and turns me around, “It’s the husband.” He won’t let me see him. He's protecting me from him and we are leaving quickly.
***
I go into a room and “the husband” is there. He is tied to a chair and someone (like a mob boss) is going to kill him. “You realize that he gave a woman $100.00 for her night gown?” The mob-boss throws a white gown at me. I have compassion on “the husband” and I’m told to leave or they will kill me too.
The next room contains all of my school books. I have to leave them behind. I had doodled much in one of the notebooks and it is open. I had written the letters “ABE” in cursive down one side of the page. I'm looking at the letters, wondering what "abe" means. For some reason this doodling is incriminating, but I don’t have time to close the book or take my stuff with me.
Sunday, January 23, 2011
Saturday, January 22, 2011
Dream (spinning room, orange and white)
Yesterday, I decided to take a little nap.
I was dreaming that I was standing in the middle of a circular room. Instead of windows, the perimeter of the room contained door after door. The room and the doors were spinning around me. I could look into each door for only a split second. Each door led to a room filled with information that I felt I needed to know more about. I couldn’t get to the rooms. Not only were people (unintentionally) blocking the entrances, but I couldn’t see around the people and the room was spinning too fast around me. One of the doors contained people and information made up of orange and white. I was frustrated, but the people were happy and weren’t aware that they were blocking my view. Crazy dream - spinning.
I don’t know what happened first, me waking up or the buzz of the dryer startling me. My dream seemed to last about a minute. Could all that information, the people and the unreachable mysteries in the rooms behind them spinning around me, have just been one packet of data sent in a split-second as the dyer buzzer startled me to consciousness?
Fact: We dream even during non R.E.M. sleep.
I was dreaming that I was standing in the middle of a circular room. Instead of windows, the perimeter of the room contained door after door. The room and the doors were spinning around me. I could look into each door for only a split second. Each door led to a room filled with information that I felt I needed to know more about. I couldn’t get to the rooms. Not only were people (unintentionally) blocking the entrances, but I couldn’t see around the people and the room was spinning too fast around me. One of the doors contained people and information made up of orange and white. I was frustrated, but the people were happy and weren’t aware that they were blocking my view. Crazy dream - spinning.
I don’t know what happened first, me waking up or the buzz of the dryer startling me. My dream seemed to last about a minute. Could all that information, the people and the unreachable mysteries in the rooms behind them spinning around me, have just been one packet of data sent in a split-second as the dyer buzzer startled me to consciousness?
Fact: We dream even during non R.E.M. sleep.
Wednesday, January 19, 2011
Lilith-tov (silliness)
I’m sitting in a huge bus with other girls my age. We are headed to a youth camp and I am very excited. I feel more like I am seated on a sofa and less like I am riding on a bus. I’m worried because I’m not wearing a seat belt. We are facing each other and not the front of the bus which allows for conversation. Everyone is talking but I am very quiet because I imagine myself as a projectile and worry about which girl I would fly into if the bus were to wreck.
The bus slows down and stops in front of a beach-themed restaurant. I look down at my bare feet. I’m sure that I can’t go in if I’m not wearing shoes. Just then I realize that I didn’t even pack for camp!
As I’m getting off the bus I confess my shoe-less state. A lady tells me, “That’s alright, we sell shoes here.” This is perfect because I love to shop! Inside, I find a section of the restaurant dedicated to boutique-cute clothing and footwear.
I expect to quickly purchase a pair of cheap flip-flops, since the restaurant has a beach theme, but the shoes look more like fancy boots. They are made of soft leather and they are decorated with real fur and jewels. The prices start at $80.00. If I spend $80.00 on shoes, I will have no money left for the rest of the trip.
I must have “shopped” too long because we are back on the bus and I don't remember eating. The girl seated across from me has straight black hair. She tells me, "Lie-lah had slanted eyes.” I realize that she is talking about Gutav Klimt’s painting, “The Tree of Life,” which I had looked at with much curiosity a few weeks before. How did she know? The girl has “slanted” eyes and looks just like “the other woman” in the painting. I realize that she isn’t just a stranger, or even a kid on the way to camp, but she is the daughter of the woman who wrote “Why Chinese Mothers are Superior.” I had just read her reply, "Why I love my strict Chinese mom" the night before. The girl across from me is a combination of the Tiger-daughter and the lady in Klimt's painting. The contradiction reminds me that I am dreaming.
Awareness of the dream always wakes me up or puts me in a state of sleep paralysis.
Dreams are fun to decode. Last night, before I went to bed, I completed a second lesson of Hebrew. I remember thinking after the first lesson that the Hebrew word for night, lialah, reminded me of the name, Lilith, as mentioned in the Talmud. “Lilith,” and all that the name implies, was how I remembered the Hebrew word for “night.” Maybe my trick backfired because last night I told hubby, “Lilith-tov,” instead of "Lialah-tov."
Weeks ago I had wondered if Klimt’s painting was of Adam, Eve, and Lilith. I wondered that, but couldn’t find anything to confirm or dispel it. I wonder if unsatiated curiosities manifest in dreams because they have not been filed or solved. Are mysteries the stuff of dreams?
Dreams fascinate me.
The bus slows down and stops in front of a beach-themed restaurant. I look down at my bare feet. I’m sure that I can’t go in if I’m not wearing shoes. Just then I realize that I didn’t even pack for camp!
As I’m getting off the bus I confess my shoe-less state. A lady tells me, “That’s alright, we sell shoes here.” This is perfect because I love to shop! Inside, I find a section of the restaurant dedicated to boutique-cute clothing and footwear.
I expect to quickly purchase a pair of cheap flip-flops, since the restaurant has a beach theme, but the shoes look more like fancy boots. They are made of soft leather and they are decorated with real fur and jewels. The prices start at $80.00. If I spend $80.00 on shoes, I will have no money left for the rest of the trip.
I must have “shopped” too long because we are back on the bus and I don't remember eating. The girl seated across from me has straight black hair. She tells me, "Lie-lah had slanted eyes.” I realize that she is talking about Gutav Klimt’s painting, “The Tree of Life,” which I had looked at with much curiosity a few weeks before. How did she know? The girl has “slanted” eyes and looks just like “the other woman” in the painting. I realize that she isn’t just a stranger, or even a kid on the way to camp, but she is the daughter of the woman who wrote “Why Chinese Mothers are Superior.” I had just read her reply, "Why I love my strict Chinese mom" the night before. The girl across from me is a combination of the Tiger-daughter and the lady in Klimt's painting. The contradiction reminds me that I am dreaming.
Awareness of the dream always wakes me up or puts me in a state of sleep paralysis.
Dreams are fun to decode. Last night, before I went to bed, I completed a second lesson of Hebrew. I remember thinking after the first lesson that the Hebrew word for night, lialah, reminded me of the name, Lilith, as mentioned in the Talmud. “Lilith,” and all that the name implies, was how I remembered the Hebrew word for “night.” Maybe my trick backfired because last night I told hubby, “Lilith-tov,” instead of "Lialah-tov."
Weeks ago I had wondered if Klimt’s painting was of Adam, Eve, and Lilith. I wondered that, but couldn’t find anything to confirm or dispel it. I wonder if unsatiated curiosities manifest in dreams because they have not been filed or solved. Are mysteries the stuff of dreams?
Dreams fascinate me.
Monday, January 17, 2011
French, Dreams, and Learning
I am having a difficult time learning French. It's not finding a sticky place in my brain.
Yesterday, I forced myself to listen to a French talk-radio station (France Info 105.5 FM) that I found on the internet. French conversations served as background noise as I went about my day. I cooked to French, cleaned dishes to French, read some of “The Four Agreements” while trying to tune out French, and I commented on this site while listening to French. (My laptop is in my kitchen.)
Something interesting happened last night as I was falling asleep in the dark and quiet of my bedroom. As I was slipping into an unconscious state, I heard someone speaking in French. I didn't know what the words meant, but I knew that my brain was dealing with the new sounds and patterns that I had heard throughout the day. I hate it when awareness of dreaming wakes me up.
I had many dreams last night. In one of my dreams I was watching a huge pyramid-like structure in the process of being constructed. It was like an inverted Sierpenski gasket and as the little parts of the whole were being hoisted up and snapped into place, I was aware that each piece represented or contained some random bit of information that I had encountered throughout the day, including the Sierpenski triangle itself. I was an observer of the building process and I was being shown each piece and what it represented before it became a part of the whole. My reaction in the dream to each was, “Yes! I remember seeing that!” Of course, sitting here, I can’t remember the details of each piece that I was so aware of during the dream. It doesn't translate.
Research Links Sleep, Dreams, and Learning.
Dreaming is when new information finds a permanent home in the brain. Awareness of this influenced my dreams along with the new patterns, new shapes, and strange new sounds...
Here is another French radio station: RFI Monde 89.0 FM Paris
The image of the triangle was taken from The University of British Columbia's Math Department's web page.
Yesterday, I forced myself to listen to a French talk-radio station (France Info 105.5 FM) that I found on the internet. French conversations served as background noise as I went about my day. I cooked to French, cleaned dishes to French, read some of “The Four Agreements” while trying to tune out French, and I commented on this site while listening to French. (My laptop is in my kitchen.)
Something interesting happened last night as I was falling asleep in the dark and quiet of my bedroom. As I was slipping into an unconscious state, I heard someone speaking in French. I didn't know what the words meant, but I knew that my brain was dealing with the new sounds and patterns that I had heard throughout the day. I hate it when awareness of dreaming wakes me up.
I had many dreams last night. In one of my dreams I was watching a huge pyramid-like structure in the process of being constructed. It was like an inverted Sierpenski gasket and as the little parts of the whole were being hoisted up and snapped into place, I was aware that each piece represented or contained some random bit of information that I had encountered throughout the day, including the Sierpenski triangle itself. I was an observer of the building process and I was being shown each piece and what it represented before it became a part of the whole. My reaction in the dream to each was, “Yes! I remember seeing that!” Of course, sitting here, I can’t remember the details of each piece that I was so aware of during the dream. It doesn't translate.
Research Links Sleep, Dreams, and Learning.
Dreaming is when new information finds a permanent home in the brain. Awareness of this influenced my dreams along with the new patterns, new shapes, and strange new sounds...
Here is another French radio station: RFI Monde 89.0 FM Paris
The image of the triangle was taken from The University of British Columbia's Math Department's web page.
Friday, December 31, 2010
Buckle up! The train of thought can't stay on track.
One evening I was bored so I began to follow tweeted links and ended up at an interesting article, “Slow Down,” over at The Beautiful Brain. It was a little write-up about how our perception of time can be distorted when we watch a slow-motion scene in a movie. It included a video montage which only took a few seconds to watch.
One of the links on the side of the webpage caught my eye, as it looked more interesting, “The Neuroscience of Avatar.” Gustav Klimt's "The Tree of Life" decorated the article.
I began to wonder about Gustav Klimt. If this was a painting of THE biblical Tree of Life, then who were the people in front of the tree? A couple seemed to be locked in embrace as another woman watched jealously from the other side of the canvas. From deep in the prison of my memory escaped the name, “Lilith.” I was off to search for more information about Lilith and Adam, and Adam and Eve. I had no idea that Lucifer himself might be a vertex in a love triangle.
On my way to the first couple, the other first couple, I found a web page warning of racism in the Talmud and then another site that explained the purpose of the Talmud. Midrash. Why don’t we have that? It would answer at least one of the questions posed by Legion over at the Victoria Advocate Online. Of course, answering that question would give us many more.
Back to triangles and The Tree of Life. If that was Lilith, she was clothed mostly in triangles while Adam and Eve were robed in geometrical shapes, mostly circles. The ground contained circular shapes; the branches of the tree coiled around and around... Lilith was not from the earth like the tree and Adam and Eve.
Speaking of circles and embrace, Henri Matisse was born on this date.
Anyway, back to that night: That night I had a dream about a painting similar to Grant Wood’s American Gothic.
In my dream, the woman was made of water. Two men, not just the one with the pitchfork, were standing beside her with a look of malcontent. A love triangle? It was inspired by the occupants of the painting, The Tree of Life. I am not grasping the point of the dream.
The song from the video montage was beautiful. If you didn't watch the video montage earlier in this post, please listen to the song: Sigur Ros "Staralfur."
Another song that was in my head around this time was "Lunatic Fringe." Red Rider - Lunatic Fringe According to Wikipedia, "The song was inspired by a book about humanitarian Raoul Wallenberg and is about the rise of anti-Semitism in the 1970s." I figured it reminded me of the religious and political debates over at The VicAd - and myself as I feel I'm sort of on the fringe, at least when it comes to education.
And here is another song written by Tom Cochrane, the man who wrote "Lunatic Fringe," Life Is A Highway - Rascal Flatts Official Music Video
Be safe out there and Happy New Year!
One of the links on the side of the webpage caught my eye, as it looked more interesting, “The Neuroscience of Avatar.” Gustav Klimt's "The Tree of Life" decorated the article.
I began to wonder about Gustav Klimt. If this was a painting of THE biblical Tree of Life, then who were the people in front of the tree? A couple seemed to be locked in embrace as another woman watched jealously from the other side of the canvas. From deep in the prison of my memory escaped the name, “Lilith.” I was off to search for more information about Lilith and Adam, and Adam and Eve. I had no idea that Lucifer himself might be a vertex in a love triangle.
On my way to the first couple, the other first couple, I found a web page warning of racism in the Talmud and then another site that explained the purpose of the Talmud. Midrash. Why don’t we have that? It would answer at least one of the questions posed by Legion over at the Victoria Advocate Online. Of course, answering that question would give us many more.
Back to triangles and The Tree of Life. If that was Lilith, she was clothed mostly in triangles while Adam and Eve were robed in geometrical shapes, mostly circles. The ground contained circular shapes; the branches of the tree coiled around and around... Lilith was not from the earth like the tree and Adam and Eve.
Speaking of circles and embrace, Henri Matisse was born on this date.
Anyway, back to that night: That night I had a dream about a painting similar to Grant Wood’s American Gothic.
In my dream, the woman was made of water. Two men, not just the one with the pitchfork, were standing beside her with a look of malcontent. A love triangle? It was inspired by the occupants of the painting, The Tree of Life. I am not grasping the point of the dream.
The song from the video montage was beautiful. If you didn't watch the video montage earlier in this post, please listen to the song: Sigur Ros "Staralfur."
Another song that was in my head around this time was "Lunatic Fringe." Red Rider - Lunatic Fringe According to Wikipedia, "The song was inspired by a book about humanitarian Raoul Wallenberg and is about the rise of anti-Semitism in the 1970s." I figured it reminded me of the religious and political debates over at The VicAd - and myself as I feel I'm sort of on the fringe, at least when it comes to education.
And here is another song written by Tom Cochrane, the man who wrote "Lunatic Fringe," Life Is A Highway - Rascal Flatts Official Music Video
Be safe out there and Happy New Year!
Sylvester the Cat
Our family cat, Sylvester, enjoys Yoga throughout the day. His favorite position is a very sloppy interpretation of the shavasana also known as the corpse pose. He can maintain this zen like solitude for hours. So deep are his thoughts that he sometimes slips into an unconscious state. I can only imagine the thoughts that are scurrying through his mind.Cats sometimes remind me of Greek philosophers in the same way that dogs do not. It baffles me that Sylvester hasn't figured out that humans can't see in the dark and that I don't have X-ray vision. I've tripped over him several times while carrying overflowing laundry baskets.
I have a theory that cats are masochists. I came to this conclusion after Sylvester, who is always dressed in a tuxedo, gave up Yoga to court me. For two days he followed me around, forced his head under my hand so that he could simulate being pet, and purr-meowed every time our eyes met. Coincidentally (I think not) his food bowl had been empty. This can only mean that “cat people” are unwitting sadists. I’m forgetful so cats naturally love me.
When Sylvester isn’t engaged in Yoga, meditation, or sunbathing in the shade, he enjoys chasing string and playing soccer with marbles or lone tinker toys. He really enjoyed the time the kids tied a long piece of yarn to one of the blades of the ceiling fan. That kept him dizzy, I mean busy, for awhile. Yes, additional proof that cat people are sadists.
Sunday, November 07, 2010
Coffee Infused Memories
My love affair with coffee began when I was a little girl. My best friend and grandmother started out her day with one cup of coffee. I loved the flavor of coffee because she always had coffee flavored ice-cream and coffee flavored candy in her home.
“D-mom’s” home on Sylvan Oaks (?) in San Antonio was the one place I longed to be. Not because of the coffee, of course, but because I knew that my grandmother loved me and that she loved me unconditionally. When I stayed the night at her house, I woke up each morning to the warm fragrance of fresh coffee. I would follow the scent down the long hallway towards the kitchen where I was greeted with an enthusiastic, “There she is!”
With memories and associations like that, you better believe that I wake up excited and ready for my coffee each morning.
My oldest son enjoyed staying the night with my "D-mom" just as much as I did when I was a child. When we were little (we were not little at the same time you understand) we both had to be pulled away from our D-mom's house kicking and screaming. He called her "D-mom" too. There are probably twenty people in Victoria, Texas, who referred to her as "D-mom."
I could call her on the phone and chat with her like we were high school girlfriends. I could share my opinions and she wouldn’t hesitate to tell me that I was wrong. (She didn't agree with my decision to homeschool my children.) That unconditional love coupled with honest and gentle chastisement helped keep me balanced.
We shared a cup of coffee once or twice a week until she passed away a few years ago. I think of her every morning and throughout the day.
I didn’t mean to type all of that. I was writing about some of the changes in our home since my husband and my oldest son returned from Europe. It had to do with how my husband has started to drink tea instead of coffee. The mention of coffee stranded me on Memory Lane.
She would be ok with my husband's mutinous preference for tea. I know this because she would have been thrilled that they were able to go to Europe. She would be proud that my son is saving up his money so that he can go back.
She always told us that we were "baked in the squat."
I'll post the post-Europe post later...
“D-mom’s” home on Sylvan Oaks (?) in San Antonio was the one place I longed to be. Not because of the coffee, of course, but because I knew that my grandmother loved me and that she loved me unconditionally. When I stayed the night at her house, I woke up each morning to the warm fragrance of fresh coffee. I would follow the scent down the long hallway towards the kitchen where I was greeted with an enthusiastic, “There she is!”
With memories and associations like that, you better believe that I wake up excited and ready for my coffee each morning.
My oldest son enjoyed staying the night with my "D-mom" just as much as I did when I was a child. When we were little (we were not little at the same time you understand) we both had to be pulled away from our D-mom's house kicking and screaming. He called her "D-mom" too. There are probably twenty people in Victoria, Texas, who referred to her as "D-mom."
I could call her on the phone and chat with her like we were high school girlfriends. I could share my opinions and she wouldn’t hesitate to tell me that I was wrong. (She didn't agree with my decision to homeschool my children.) That unconditional love coupled with honest and gentle chastisement helped keep me balanced.
We shared a cup of coffee once or twice a week until she passed away a few years ago. I think of her every morning and throughout the day.
I didn’t mean to type all of that. I was writing about some of the changes in our home since my husband and my oldest son returned from Europe. It had to do with how my husband has started to drink tea instead of coffee. The mention of coffee stranded me on Memory Lane.
She would be ok with my husband's mutinous preference for tea. I know this because she would have been thrilled that they were able to go to Europe. She would be proud that my son is saving up his money so that he can go back.
She always told us that we were "baked in the squat."
I'll post the post-Europe post later...
Monday, October 18, 2010
Karaoke with Jewel (link)
The other day my daughter asked me a question. “MOM YOU KNOW THE SINGER JEWEL?” (I typed it in the exact same style as I heard it.)
My children ask lots of questions and this was one of the most random.
She repeated, “YOU KNOW THE SINGER JEWEL?” She was obviously setting up context.
Her question made me think of the Singer Mansion and a big diamond like The Heart of the Ocean diamond from the movie, Titanic.
Then, I remembered April, a friend who rode and showed Arabian horses with me and how she and her family had moved away from Port Lavaca to Arizona. They had visited the Singer Mansion. She had written me about it. We were pen pals for awhile. I recalled a picture she had sent me of her with her big teased blond hair sitting together in the back of a limo. They were on their way to a Motley Crue concert. I was so jealous. She was younger than me and I wasn’t allowed to go to concerts. She also had bigger hair. Why is it that everyone who moves away always seems to have a better life? Bigger hair. Where is the Singer mansion? The Singer jewel?
So, I responded to my daughter’s question with, “The Singer jewel? Is the Singer mansion in Arizona? I bet it’s a really big diamond!”
My daughter gave me a confused look and my husband said something like, “Unbelievable,” as he began to walk away. My daughter remembered that she was talking to her mother so she hummed a tune from a song made famous by the singer, Jewel, and then it all made sense to me.
“Oh! the singer, Jewel. Yes, what about her?”
Sometimes I like to blame a head injury for my "ding dong" mom moments, but then I remember that even BEFORE the car wreck people had always apologized to me after telling blonde jokes in my presence. I wasn't blonde.
Anyway, all that so she could tell me about this:
Undercover Karaoke with Jewel
(I didn't tell her that I had seen it before.)
Where is the Singer mansion? Maybe it was the Hoover mansion? The Hoover Dam?
My children ask lots of questions and this was one of the most random.
She repeated, “YOU KNOW THE SINGER JEWEL?” She was obviously setting up context.
Her question made me think of the Singer Mansion and a big diamond like The Heart of the Ocean diamond from the movie, Titanic.
Then, I remembered April, a friend who rode and showed Arabian horses with me and how she and her family had moved away from Port Lavaca to Arizona. They had visited the Singer Mansion. She had written me about it. We were pen pals for awhile. I recalled a picture she had sent me of her with her big teased blond hair sitting together in the back of a limo. They were on their way to a Motley Crue concert. I was so jealous. She was younger than me and I wasn’t allowed to go to concerts. She also had bigger hair. Why is it that everyone who moves away always seems to have a better life? Bigger hair. Where is the Singer mansion? The Singer jewel?
So, I responded to my daughter’s question with, “The Singer jewel? Is the Singer mansion in Arizona? I bet it’s a really big diamond!”
My daughter gave me a confused look and my husband said something like, “Unbelievable,” as he began to walk away. My daughter remembered that she was talking to her mother so she hummed a tune from a song made famous by the singer, Jewel, and then it all made sense to me.
“Oh! the singer, Jewel. Yes, what about her?”
Sometimes I like to blame a head injury for my "ding dong" mom moments, but then I remember that even BEFORE the car wreck people had always apologized to me after telling blonde jokes in my presence. I wasn't blonde.
Anyway, all that so she could tell me about this:
Undercover Karaoke with Jewel
(I didn't tell her that I had seen it before.)
Where is the Singer mansion? Maybe it was the Hoover mansion? The Hoover Dam?
Friday, September 03, 2010
Confessions of a Former Hooker
“Open confession is good for the soul,” or maybe “There are things to confess that enrich the world, and things that need not be said.”
Confession is good for the soul but I wonder how much information is too much information when it comes to confessions on our local logosphere. Scottish proverb or Joni Mitchell?
I figure we all have a past, some shadier than others.
My shady past began during my childhood. Times were tough when I was growing up. Once or twice a year we were faced with the daunting challenge of getting a hundred bales of hay from the flatbed trailer into the second story loft of the barn. This required everyone to take on a specialized task. My job was usually that of the “hooker.”
As “hooker” I stood in the opening of the barn loft with my hook in hand ready to pierce the bale of hay as it was hoisted up and swung in my direction. It was the “swingers” job to cause the bale to swing towards and away from the opening of the loft. I had to learn to use that momentum to strategically guide the bale into the loft. If I didn’t accomplish my goal as the bale was swinging towards me I had to quickly let go of the hook or else I would leave the loft still attached to the bale. Once the bale was hooked and pulled into the loft the person behind me neatly stacked the bales – I was probably “stacker” too.
I didn’t weigh much more than a bale of hay so I am not sure how I defied the laws of physics to avoid falling to my death. Looking back I wonder if my parents had it out for me.
The greatest reward, besides completing the task, was finally getting to play with the rope and two-story-high pulley. You can imagine the rappelling that took place.
At the time, I hated growing up in the country: it’s where I developed my skill of artfully avoiding manual labor. Looking back, I realize that the chores I hated the most while growing up now provide me with my fondest and my most rewarding memories.
It hurts to confess that to my mom.
My sister recently confessed to me that while in the Navy she was a “stripper” aka deck hand, so I’m not the only one in my family with a shady past!
Maybe Peter De Vries, “Confession is good for the soul only in the sense that a tweed coat is good for dandruff—it is palliative rather than a remedy.” Also, the “stoned by popcorn” quote is fun.
Originally posted August 31, 2010 Here.
Confession is good for the soul but I wonder how much information is too much information when it comes to confessions on our local logosphere. Scottish proverb or Joni Mitchell?
I figure we all have a past, some shadier than others.
My shady past began during my childhood. Times were tough when I was growing up. Once or twice a year we were faced with the daunting challenge of getting a hundred bales of hay from the flatbed trailer into the second story loft of the barn. This required everyone to take on a specialized task. My job was usually that of the “hooker.”
As “hooker” I stood in the opening of the barn loft with my hook in hand ready to pierce the bale of hay as it was hoisted up and swung in my direction. It was the “swingers” job to cause the bale to swing towards and away from the opening of the loft. I had to learn to use that momentum to strategically guide the bale into the loft. If I didn’t accomplish my goal as the bale was swinging towards me I had to quickly let go of the hook or else I would leave the loft still attached to the bale. Once the bale was hooked and pulled into the loft the person behind me neatly stacked the bales – I was probably “stacker” too.
I didn’t weigh much more than a bale of hay so I am not sure how I defied the laws of physics to avoid falling to my death. Looking back I wonder if my parents had it out for me.
The greatest reward, besides completing the task, was finally getting to play with the rope and two-story-high pulley. You can imagine the rappelling that took place.
At the time, I hated growing up in the country: it’s where I developed my skill of artfully avoiding manual labor. Looking back, I realize that the chores I hated the most while growing up now provide me with my fondest and my most rewarding memories.
It hurts to confess that to my mom.
My sister recently confessed to me that while in the Navy she was a “stripper” aka deck hand, so I’m not the only one in my family with a shady past!
Maybe Peter De Vries, “Confession is good for the soul only in the sense that a tweed coat is good for dandruff—it is palliative rather than a remedy.” Also, the “stoned by popcorn” quote is fun.
Originally posted August 31, 2010 Here.
Sunday, August 22, 2010
Chasing Zen
I miss running. I compare running to psychotherapy. I remember thinking during one of my sessions that if it weren’t for my evening treatments I would be clinically insane. I love that alternate state that is reached after ignoring all cries of “are we there yet?” from the body. Only after the messages from the physical are hushed can communing with the subconscious begin. Is that “Zen” or “Nirvana?” Fasting only faster?
Well, one leg injury and six years of snowballing emotions and shallow introspections later, I think I’m insane.
But, there is some good news for us all. Last night hubby and I hit the trail. I thought we were there for a romantic stroll when he asked, “Think you are ready to run?” I felt like a parakeet who had been given permission to leave the cage. I’m very competitive so if hubby is jogging I have to jog faster. I won’t stop until hubby stops. Eventually, I was covered in sweat, doubting the effectiveness of P90X -- this only after a few steps. How is it that I can get through an hour of Plyometrics but only jog for a few minutes before I am physically spent?
After my injury I did walk in the evenings, but the rewards weren't the same. Walking takes you out of yourself only as far as nature. Don’t get me wrong, I love to hear the cicadas and watch the setting sun, like Midas, touch and turn the landscape into gold, and smell what people are cooking for supper… A few of you were BBQing last night and one was playing Tejano music. I'm Czech so Tejano feels like home.
I want an escape that’s deeper; one that transcends time. Will I ever reach that sacred place again?
This morning when I woke up I could walk without pain. So, if I can have patience, there’s hope. My lack of patience is what caused my injury in the first place.
I look forward to being able to bring my everyday problems, stresses, and wounds to that invisible spacetime in the universe to be assured of how insignificant they really are.
I miss running.
I'm chasing running.
Monday, August 02, 2010
Love at First Sight
I want to talk with you about love at first sight. I’m not talking about romantic love. I’m talking about a type of love that results from when your soul recognizes itself in another. A love that won’t die even though you know you will never see him again. The vision unreachable; a soul-mate found and lost in one day. Your gut wrenches and the artist is born to safely channel the feelings.
I’ve experienced this type of love once in my life. The first time I saw him he was standing in the sun. His temper matched his fiery red hair. He was intelligent, melodramatic, and tricky --and I was in love. I understood him. I related.
His trainer said that he was one of the meanest horses she had dealt with. My mom told me that he was too young and too green for me. Green? He was a chestnut! I remember staring at him as he stood in the round pen resting from giving someone hell.
We drove home from Seguin to Port Lavaca without Ibn. But I was melodramatic and stubborn too. I cried for Ibn. I drew pictures of Ibn. I wrote stories about Ibn.
Our discussion of love at first sight ends right where our discussion of fate begins. Do you believe in fate?
Fast-forward a year or so to my eleventh birthday. No one showed up to my birthday party. The lady who taught me horseback riding lessons pulled up to our house hauling a horse trailer. Guess who was inside? Fate.
My mom had learned that someone in Port Lavaca had bought Ibn and that they were ready to get rid of him. He was living up to his name.
(I explained the meaning of his full name in my previous post.)
I don’t remember IBN as mean. I remember him as my best friend. I could relate to horses better than I could relate to people. People wounded and horses healed.
He was playful. Before he would let me catch him and halter him he would run about fifty tight circles around me as fast as he could with his head in the air, his nostrils flared, and his tail over his back. He may have been three-quarters Arabian but he acted like he was 150% Arab.
I told you that he was Rebecca-trained. He responded to my voice commands as quickly as to my physical cues. I could jump on him and tell him to “canter” and he would go from a stand-still to a lope in one movement. He wouldn’t do that for anyone else. I also trained him to bow and to rear on command. He was a fast learner and an even better teacher.
We were soul mates.
Saturday, July 31, 2010
Missing Horses
I loved horses as a little girl. I was collecting model horses and constructing stalls and fences out of pieces of wood when other little girls were playing with Barbie. Ok, I was playing with Barbie too, only I was trying to help her ride my Breyer horses. Her legs wouldn’t bend the right way and she always sat a horse cockeyed. Barbie made Breyer's Clydesdale look like Breyer's Shetland pony. Barbie was far from perfect.
I fell in love with The Black in the Sears catalog and named him, Cass Ole, before I was sure he was my Christmas present. Even my favorite celebrities were horses.
I had a Shetland pony named Charlie Boy and eventually I graduated to a three-quarters Arabian named, IBN. “Ibn” means “son of” in Arabic and his full name was Ibn Sharamoot. (Don’t look that up unless you want to get schooled in Arabic profanity.)
Ibn was "Rebecca-trained" and extremely versatile. He could run barrels and poles, and go from Western Pleasure to Hunter Hack. We won high-points at horse shows. He didn’t wait for my cues in pleasure classes; when the announcer said, “Ladies and Gentlemen, would you please trot your horses,” Ibn would assume the gait. Like I said, he was Rebecca-trained --and I was a mouthy little girl. I was also a one horse girl.
During my teen years the horse bug had morphed into a pesky fly as our love wasn’t strong enough to withstand my hatred of back-breaking labor in triple digit heat. Plus, it was more fun to chase boys than it was to chase horses. (I couldn't outrun horses but I was faster than all the boys.)
My knight in shining armor would not be a cowboy. I wanted to get away from horses.
I have been horse free for almost nineteen years. But, for the past two days I’ve had to “cowgirl up” and live the life I thought my husband had rescued me from: back-breaking labor in triple digit heat.
Ibn is still around. He is 34 years old. That’s pretty old for a horse.
Today I looked into one of his big brown eyes and saw the familiar shades and patterns engraved in his iris. His iris always reminded me of rough craggy rocks sketched around his cavernous rectangular pupil. In his eye is a miniature scenic shot of the Grand Canyon. I remember thinking he had the Grand Canyon in his eye. Not literally, of course, that would be impossible.
Regaining that twenty-year-old observation made the fact that I was covered in sweat and mud worth it. It also made me miss horses.
NOT THE WORK.
(I can't sleep again. I am so wired and I don't know why.)
Originally posted July 31, 2010 here: http://www.victoriaadvocate.com/weblogs/learning-in-freedom/2010/jul/31/missing-horses/
Sunday, May 30, 2010
Do you believe in ghosts?
I was shocked when I looked at the clock and realized it was 2:00am. I couldn't sleep. The steady noise produced by the box fan seemed to solidify the air -suffocating me. Every few seconds the chain from the ceiling fan struck the metal casing that shields the bulb, acting as a cymbal in the symphony of my insomnia. I wasn't tired.
Usually, when I can't fall asleep I tell myself (imagine) a story just to cast a shadow over the thoughts that keep me wired. I always fall asleep before a plot unfolds. Sometimes I read a book and sometimes I watch television, but hubby was asleep and I was scared to move.
I feel like my mind has stagnated and it's because I have not allowed thoughts to flow, naturally. I fill up my waking hours with purposeful thoughts or some type of digital entertainment, even when I'm doing "work," which should free my mind to wander. As I fall asleep at night I try to corral the stream of thoughts that run through my mind. A wandering mind during consciousness is like entering dream-state during sleep - both are important to our mental health. I haven't allowed my mind to be free.
I wondered if controlling the thoughts of children five days a week was healthy for intellectual growth. I wondered if it was healthy for me, so I tried to think of nothing - just to see what would surface.
I pushed my thoughts out of my mind and sometimes caught myself slipping into sleep. This awareness quickly woke me up and I was back to the humming of my room.
Box fan and ceiling fan - there was a rhythm. I could stack it like blocks in my mind.
Maybe someone was mowing their yard? I was standing in the tall grass back at my childhood home admiring the gray water. I looked to my left and I noticed that a stranger was using a push mower to mow our fourteen acres along the bay. My "mee-mee" always mowed the grass on her riding lawnmower. I felt sorry for the stranger but there was a nice breeze.
Someone whispered in my ear that my childhood home was now for sale and I wanted to buy it. In real life the two-story country home on the water I grew up in would never be affordable - even if I had a job. I knew hubby would never move back to Port Lavaca, even if to live out in the country and on the water.
I turned to go up the hill towards the house but I was standing in a grass-less unfamiliar pasture looking back at an unfamiliar one-story small white house. I had never seen it before, but it felt like home.
Little Tykes toys littered the yard. I imagined myself reading a book on a blanket under the sun. I wanted to have a family from Canada come and stay for a few days. I thought about how I would approach the subject with my husband. "They are free-range hippies."
When I woke up I was sad. There is a part of me that I can never have. I miss the house I grew up in. I feel like a part of me is still there. I feel sorry for whoever lives in that house now. I haunt that house in my dreams.
I am the ghost.
*****
This song reminded me of this dream:
Usually, when I can't fall asleep I tell myself (imagine) a story just to cast a shadow over the thoughts that keep me wired. I always fall asleep before a plot unfolds. Sometimes I read a book and sometimes I watch television, but hubby was asleep and I was scared to move.
I feel like my mind has stagnated and it's because I have not allowed thoughts to flow, naturally. I fill up my waking hours with purposeful thoughts or some type of digital entertainment, even when I'm doing "work," which should free my mind to wander. As I fall asleep at night I try to corral the stream of thoughts that run through my mind. A wandering mind during consciousness is like entering dream-state during sleep - both are important to our mental health. I haven't allowed my mind to be free.
I wondered if controlling the thoughts of children five days a week was healthy for intellectual growth. I wondered if it was healthy for me, so I tried to think of nothing - just to see what would surface.
I pushed my thoughts out of my mind and sometimes caught myself slipping into sleep. This awareness quickly woke me up and I was back to the humming of my room.
Box fan and ceiling fan - there was a rhythm. I could stack it like blocks in my mind.
Maybe someone was mowing their yard? I was standing in the tall grass back at my childhood home admiring the gray water. I looked to my left and I noticed that a stranger was using a push mower to mow our fourteen acres along the bay. My "mee-mee" always mowed the grass on her riding lawnmower. I felt sorry for the stranger but there was a nice breeze.
Someone whispered in my ear that my childhood home was now for sale and I wanted to buy it. In real life the two-story country home on the water I grew up in would never be affordable - even if I had a job. I knew hubby would never move back to Port Lavaca, even if to live out in the country and on the water.
I turned to go up the hill towards the house but I was standing in a grass-less unfamiliar pasture looking back at an unfamiliar one-story small white house. I had never seen it before, but it felt like home.
Little Tykes toys littered the yard. I imagined myself reading a book on a blanket under the sun. I wanted to have a family from Canada come and stay for a few days. I thought about how I would approach the subject with my husband. "They are free-range hippies."
When I woke up I was sad. There is a part of me that I can never have. I miss the house I grew up in. I feel like a part of me is still there. I feel sorry for whoever lives in that house now. I haunt that house in my dreams.
I am the ghost.
*****
This song reminded me of this dream:
Wednesday, May 19, 2010
Saturday, April 17, 2010
Astra Taylor on the Unschooled Life
John Holt used the word "unschool" to describe those families who opted out of institutionalized learning. As the community grew and as the movement became mainstream it morphed into something that looked less like "unschooling" and more like "school at home." By the time I began to teach my own, "unschooling" was a sub-group of the homeschooling community. Over the years I have developed some negative associations with the word "unschool" and have always tried to distance myself from the word but it, in it's most original meaning, probably describes my philosophy of education. As Astra explains her mother's schooling she touches on the history of educational alternatives and talks about radical pedagogy. She asks what happened over the last forty years to stop the conversation. She shares how unschooling shaped her as an artist. This is my favorite topic!
She mentions A.S. Neill's Summerhill School, and at some point, when I feel like it, I am going to try to look up and share links to the books Astra mentions as well as any of the sites...
She mentions A.S. Neill's Summerhill School, and at some point, when I feel like it, I am going to try to look up and share links to the books Astra mentions as well as any of the sites...
Tuesday, December 08, 2009
Diamonds for a Girl's Best Friend (recycled from the VA site)
When my daughter was about four years old I told her that we needed to clean the house because her best friend was coming over. “We need to make the house really pretty for Alexa.”
Alexa’s mom and I had been friends since we were pregnant with our girls. Alexa had been my daughter’s friend since birth.
My friend was a self-professed obsessive compulsive clean freak and I’m not lying. Example: One time we went to visit Alexa and her mother at their house. I had to “powder my nose.” The bathroom was fresh and clean decorated with butterflies in shades of purple and green. I washed my hands and dried them on a new purple towel with beautiful butterflies embroidered along the edges. I can’t remember why, but a few minutes later I walked back in to the bathroom and noticed that the towel was now a mossy green! I was puzzled. She admitted that she had replaced the hand towel because it had been used! ONCE!
You understand how absorbed I was in straightening up my house knowing that my clean-freak friend was coming by to pay me a visit. My daughter, however, was no where to be seen and she was not being much of a help. Four year olds are capable of cleaning up their own toys.
She had disappeared into her room for quite awhile. When she came back into the living room her hands were full of little pieces of paper; these shapes that she had cut out of construction paper. She began to place these pieces of paper around the house.
“What are you doing?” I asked her.
“I’m making the house pretty for Alexa!”
“What are those?”
“They are diamonds.” She said, proudly.
The little pieces of paper were diamond shape. She had been in her room drawing diamonds on construction paper with a silver crayon and then cutting them out with scissors. To my daughter, making the house pretty meant placing diamonds all over the floor and furniture.
I don’t think Alexa’s mom would have been impressed, but I was. My daughter had created diamonds for her best friend. I was running around trying to impress my friend in another way.
I need to stop and see the diamonds!
Alexa’s mom and I had been friends since we were pregnant with our girls. Alexa had been my daughter’s friend since birth.
My friend was a self-professed obsessive compulsive clean freak and I’m not lying. Example: One time we went to visit Alexa and her mother at their house. I had to “powder my nose.” The bathroom was fresh and clean decorated with butterflies in shades of purple and green. I washed my hands and dried them on a new purple towel with beautiful butterflies embroidered along the edges. I can’t remember why, but a few minutes later I walked back in to the bathroom and noticed that the towel was now a mossy green! I was puzzled. She admitted that she had replaced the hand towel because it had been used! ONCE!
You understand how absorbed I was in straightening up my house knowing that my clean-freak friend was coming by to pay me a visit. My daughter, however, was no where to be seen and she was not being much of a help. Four year olds are capable of cleaning up their own toys.
She had disappeared into her room for quite awhile. When she came back into the living room her hands were full of little pieces of paper; these shapes that she had cut out of construction paper. She began to place these pieces of paper around the house.
“What are you doing?” I asked her.
“I’m making the house pretty for Alexa!”
“What are those?”
“They are diamonds.” She said, proudly.
The little pieces of paper were diamond shape. She had been in her room drawing diamonds on construction paper with a silver crayon and then cutting them out with scissors. To my daughter, making the house pretty meant placing diamonds all over the floor and furniture.
I don’t think Alexa’s mom would have been impressed, but I was. My daughter had created diamonds for her best friend. I was running around trying to impress my friend in another way.
I need to stop and see the diamonds!
Friday, October 02, 2009
Alternative Methods and Homeschooling
While we are here discussing the pros and cons of homeschooling there is an ongoing and revolutionary discussion taking place within a section of the homeschooling population. It involves how children learn and what methods are effective in transmitting knowledge.
Many parents who opted out of institutionalized learning decided to not utilize any of the methods used in public schools. Instead of setting up a mini classroom in the home some families took to worldschooling, unschooling, natural, autonomous, child-directed, interest driven, unstructured, informal, life learning... They decided to live a more natural non-traditional approach and to create an educationally rich environment instead of a school in the home.
A few of the heroes in the alternative homeschooling community started out as TEACHERS who tried to change the public schools. They found that the schools would not change.
Bureaucrats speak of raising standards and punishing teachers because even after increasing the amount of water poured onto the saturated sponge the sponge refuses to absorb. I doubt lengthening the school day will change the storage capacity of the human brain, Mr. President.
Instead of constantly trying to fill and measure the child some homeschooling families are changing the way they interact with children - questioning roles - teacher-mom, facilitator-of-learning, fellow learner, to mom. Some are even allowing children to be in charge of their own learning.
Anyway, I just had to share a tiny glimpse into a small part of the discussion among some homeschoolers. I love the discussion of alternative methods because it speaks to that optimistic "future teacher" who never became employed and disillusioned.
This video was circulating in the international alternative home education scene. It might strike some as radical but after living and learning with my own for 17 years it's "well that's just common sense!" It's from Education Otherwise:
Just a glimpse into what is going on out there in the alternative world of education. I know it's not a thorough account but at least I was able to get some rants squeezed in. That's always free therapy for me. =D
Many parents who opted out of institutionalized learning decided to not utilize any of the methods used in public schools. Instead of setting up a mini classroom in the home some families took to worldschooling, unschooling, natural, autonomous, child-directed, interest driven, unstructured, informal, life learning... They decided to live a more natural non-traditional approach and to create an educationally rich environment instead of a school in the home.
A few of the heroes in the alternative homeschooling community started out as TEACHERS who tried to change the public schools. They found that the schools would not change.
Bureaucrats speak of raising standards and punishing teachers because even after increasing the amount of water poured onto the saturated sponge the sponge refuses to absorb. I doubt lengthening the school day will change the storage capacity of the human brain, Mr. President.
Instead of constantly trying to fill and measure the child some homeschooling families are changing the way they interact with children - questioning roles - teacher-mom, facilitator-of-learning, fellow learner, to mom. Some are even allowing children to be in charge of their own learning.
Anyway, I just had to share a tiny glimpse into a small part of the discussion among some homeschoolers. I love the discussion of alternative methods because it speaks to that optimistic "future teacher" who never became employed and disillusioned.
This video was circulating in the international alternative home education scene. It might strike some as radical but after living and learning with my own for 17 years it's "well that's just common sense!" It's from Education Otherwise:
Just a glimpse into what is going on out there in the alternative world of education. I know it's not a thorough account but at least I was able to get some rants squeezed in. That's always free therapy for me. =D
Tuesday, September 22, 2009
World History vs Acorn 101
I have confessed to you that we are very relaxed in my home. Some people might even say that we are lazy. Well, my daughter must have agreed with "some people" because the other day she told me that she wanted to do real school with real text books and real tests. I told her that if that's what she wanted to do then we needed to do that.
Where else can a student become so academically bored that they become motivated to create their own schedule; their own course of study? I think it's important for a child to come to the conclusion that their education is their responsibility and it's important for that child to become self motivated and an autonomous learner...
Side note: Apparently, in the homeschool or unschool community, it is common for many students to take control and direct their learning at about the age of 11-13. This is the age when my first born also sat me down and told me how he wanted his school to look. Actually, he wanted it to look just like Crain Middle School, so I enrolled him. =D
My daughter and I sat down and talked about what subjects she wanted to learn. She said she wanted to learn the same subjects she would have to learn if she attended a public school: reading, writing, math, history, and science. When she decided on which subjects she wanted to include in her course of study we looked through our collection of various learning materials and programs so that she could choose the ones which would suit her. I have some courses on DVD, some courses and texts on computer, and even a few text books in MP3 format. Pick your poison!
After we decided on materials or approaches to each subject she created a weekly schedule. It reminded me of a college schedule and it was built around her already existing extra curricular activities. You know, "Thursdays are tennis and volleyball practice so I only want to read and write in my journal that day." She only wanted to do World History twice a week and Physical Science once a week.
Well today's schedule called for reading, writing, and World History. But, we weren't alone. Last night after her out-of-town volleyball game two of her teammates spent the night. I had told their mom that they could join us for school in the morning. We could all learn some world history together! I imagined each girl with iPod Touch in hand researching various historical figures, civilizations, regions... a little cooperative learning group in my living room. We had three times the research power in my house today!
However, we woke up to the most beautiful weather and that pushed school to the back burner. I feel bad that I didn't force World History but there was so much going on in our backyard! First off, it was cool and windy, eventually a cat caught a hummingbird and ate it in front of us, and the neighbor's tree was filling up the backyard with acorns.
I gave the children a bucket and begged them to collect them so we had a bucket full of acorns.
We were all lounging around on patio furniture or porch swings with our ipods when I asked the girls if they knew whether or not acorns were edible. I tweeted the question and then googled it. You know how you lose track of time when playing on the internet? By the time I found my answer the girls were inside.
The girls had done their own research and were in the process of tasting fried acorn that they had already boiled, peeled, and fried!
Well, I had read that acorns contain tannins which can be toxic so I had the girls bring me leaves from the oaks around the house. We used "Trees of Victoria" to identify the specific oaks so that I could get more information on the acorns we had just tasted. They tasted like nutty squash... and were not bitter at all.
Did you know that acorns were a staple to some native Americans? They would place the acorns in a basket in a river to cleanse them of the toxins. How did they know to do this without google? They were truly educated!
It just blows me away how every time we set out to learn about one thing we jump track and end up learning about something else. When we do that we are doing the opposite of school. We are learning from what life throws at us, in this case, acorns.
The beauty of learning in freedom - not having any time restrictions on when we "school" - is that it's not too late to watch our history DVD and maybe read some of "Pride and Prejudice" before bed. I'm pretty sure my daughter's schedule will be honored by midnight. ;)
Never mind, I know it will, because three girls just walked in and said, "Let's do school!"
Guess we are doing night school.
Saturday, September 12, 2009
Dragons and Rockets and Pi, Oh My!
I attended a Homeschool 101 meeting for new homeschoolers and I was blown away by some of the observations and examples of "interest driven learning" and "child directed" learning and how allowing a child to follow his passions and interests unfolds as the child matures and grows. As the child gets older he may go from asking hundreds of questions about a wide range of subjects to honing in and becoming an expert in one.
The typical scope and sequence designed for the classroom can work against that natural learning and curiosity for the child learning in freedom - the home. It seems mind boggling that strictly adhering to a program designed to teach children "everything they need to know when they need to know it" could actually slow some children down. A few of us have observed this.
I heard a few examples but I have an example of how my children's curiosities take us away from our school books or my lesson plans:
The other day I decided to read "Sir Cumference and the Dragon of Pi" to my children for math. Looking through the book I realized that there were a few words I needed to familiarize myself with: circle, radius, diameter, and circumference...
I wrote these words on one of our dry erase boards and let the children witness as I review-taught. That's mom purposefully thinking out loud as she familiarizes herself with something she should know by now. Believe it or not my children have learned much from my bad memory.
For radius I told the children to think of sun rays. I drew a sun and several "rays" which "emanated from one point." I drew these rays about the same length which eventually suggested the shape of a bigger circle. (This was to set up my explanation of circumference.) As I drew these many "rays" I said, "rays" and "radius" out loud.
But a funny thing happened on the way to the book: Just mentioning the word "sun" set my seven year old off into a question tangent. He wanted to know "how come our sun is a small star but it's so bright?"
I explained that our sun is very close to us compared to the other stars and that is why it appears bigger and brighter... I didn't finish my explanation because that triggered another question, "How far away is the sun from earth?"
My hubby and I couldn't remember so I said, "I don't know the exact distance but if you headed towards the sun in a rocket it might take several months to get there." I added, "If you headed for the nearest galaxy at light speed you wouldn't get there in your life time..." Which brought up more questions... "How fast is light speed?" which triggered more questions...and more...
We ended up in a family discussion of what all it would take to get a human to the nearest galaxy - alive.
It is common for one topic to trigger curiosity about other topics. This is part of the reason many homeschoolers see adhering to a typical scope and sequence as limiting their child's learning.
Even my own plans to read a book and to talk to my children about "radius" had us orbiting subjects like "the solar system" and "light speed."
I think these questions that take us away from the lesson plan can be more important than the lesson. When a child asks questions it shows that child is thinking. Thinking should be the goal of learning and not just finishing a workbook. The questions can then be the curriculum.
Trying to review these words so that I could read a book I planned to read sparked so many questions that we almost didn't make it to the book. It got to the point where I told the kids, "Go get your notebooks because I want to read this story to you TODAY but keep asking questions and I'll write them down..."
The story is about a little boy who has to solve a riddle to save his father's life. The riddle is the definition of Pi and the little boy has to find that number. You get to be there for his "ah hah" moment and you are there as he tests his theory on an onion, a pie, a wagon wheel...
After we read the book we did our own hands-on discovery of Pi. We collected several round objects from the kitchen and cut strips of paper the exact length of the diameters. Then we could see how for each object (circle) three of the diameter sized strips fit around the circumferences "with some left over."
Days later we are still using the questions and looking up and talking about exact distance from the earth to sun, astronomical units, and today (now a few days ago) I said something crazy like, "I guess the closest we can get to time travel is looking up at the stars at night." Which was a remnant of our discussion of "light years" and galaxies being so far away it would take several generations to get there...
So we have already "put down the school books" to go off down a "bunny path" as one veteran mom put it...
This is an example of what I mean when I talk about focusing on the learning and avoiding the schooly things. I will abandon our "school" for "learning." The questions are the superior curriculum and I will "let the questions be the curriculum."
The typical scope and sequence designed for the classroom can work against that natural learning and curiosity for the child learning in freedom - the home. It seems mind boggling that strictly adhering to a program designed to teach children "everything they need to know when they need to know it" could actually slow some children down. A few of us have observed this.
I heard a few examples but I have an example of how my children's curiosities take us away from our school books or my lesson plans:
The other day I decided to read "Sir Cumference and the Dragon of Pi" to my children for math. Looking through the book I realized that there were a few words I needed to familiarize myself with: circle, radius, diameter, and circumference...
I wrote these words on one of our dry erase boards and let the children witness as I review-taught. That's mom purposefully thinking out loud as she familiarizes herself with something she should know by now. Believe it or not my children have learned much from my bad memory.
For radius I told the children to think of sun rays. I drew a sun and several "rays" which "emanated from one point." I drew these rays about the same length which eventually suggested the shape of a bigger circle. (This was to set up my explanation of circumference.) As I drew these many "rays" I said, "rays" and "radius" out loud.
But a funny thing happened on the way to the book: Just mentioning the word "sun" set my seven year old off into a question tangent. He wanted to know "how come our sun is a small star but it's so bright?"
I explained that our sun is very close to us compared to the other stars and that is why it appears bigger and brighter... I didn't finish my explanation because that triggered another question, "How far away is the sun from earth?"
My hubby and I couldn't remember so I said, "I don't know the exact distance but if you headed towards the sun in a rocket it might take several months to get there." I added, "If you headed for the nearest galaxy at light speed you wouldn't get there in your life time..." Which brought up more questions... "How fast is light speed?" which triggered more questions...and more...
We ended up in a family discussion of what all it would take to get a human to the nearest galaxy - alive.
It is common for one topic to trigger curiosity about other topics. This is part of the reason many homeschoolers see adhering to a typical scope and sequence as limiting their child's learning.
Even my own plans to read a book and to talk to my children about "radius" had us orbiting subjects like "the solar system" and "light speed."
I think these questions that take us away from the lesson plan can be more important than the lesson. When a child asks questions it shows that child is thinking. Thinking should be the goal of learning and not just finishing a workbook. The questions can then be the curriculum.
Trying to review these words so that I could read a book I planned to read sparked so many questions that we almost didn't make it to the book. It got to the point where I told the kids, "Go get your notebooks because I want to read this story to you TODAY but keep asking questions and I'll write them down..."
The story is about a little boy who has to solve a riddle to save his father's life. The riddle is the definition of Pi and the little boy has to find that number. You get to be there for his "ah hah" moment and you are there as he tests his theory on an onion, a pie, a wagon wheel...
After we read the book we did our own hands-on discovery of Pi. We collected several round objects from the kitchen and cut strips of paper the exact length of the diameters. Then we could see how for each object (circle) three of the diameter sized strips fit around the circumferences "with some left over."
Days later we are still using the questions and looking up and talking about exact distance from the earth to sun, astronomical units, and today (now a few days ago) I said something crazy like, "I guess the closest we can get to time travel is looking up at the stars at night." Which was a remnant of our discussion of "light years" and galaxies being so far away it would take several generations to get there...
So we have already "put down the school books" to go off down a "bunny path" as one veteran mom put it...
This is an example of what I mean when I talk about focusing on the learning and avoiding the schooly things. I will abandon our "school" for "learning." The questions are the superior curriculum and I will "let the questions be the curriculum."
Rebecca ツ
Tuesday, July 21, 2009
This is your brain on tired.
I was thinking about dreams earlier. Not my hopes and aspirations but the little stories that play out in my head when I'm asleep. I close my eyes every night to end my predictable mundane day and enter an exotic world where the laws of man, God, and even physics don’t apply.
If I’m lucky I sleep. I have nights of insomnia which might explain my fascination with dreams. Dreaming is proof of sleep, right?
Sometimes I keep a notebook and pen by my bed so that I can write down my dreams as soon as I wake up. Consciousness pushes many dreams out of my memory. Maybe dreams weren't meant to be remembered.
I read somewhere* that during R.E.M. newly acquired information is filed and stored in the memory. I guess new facts and data whirl around like bits of confetti until we sleep and dream. That’s when the bits get defragmented and sorted allowing for more efficient retrieval. McMemory.
So while our brains are busy filing and doing very important serious work that’s for our own good we repay that feat by reducing it all to a nonsensical story.
It’s kinda funny how even when we are asleep we get bored. The tedious task of storing and filing data causes our unconscious minds to wander. To zone out. Dream.
*Every time I hear myself say "I read somewhere" what follows reminds me of Tim-the-tool-man-Taylor as he tried to relate Wilson's fence side chats...
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