Spring-like and feverish

The following oldies-but-goodies address the meteorological-spring fever your students (or you!) may be suffering:

■ Burnout, or A balm for this spring of discontent

■ Culled from the archives: Advice for parent-teachers

■ It all begins with me.

And I'll just repost the last bit of advice (Take it. Leave it.) here:

1. While your family's days should most decidedly not be about scoring in the Xth percentile on state-required exams, winning a regional [insert kiddie contest here] prize, or earning a House & Garden medal for cleanest kitchen counters, it's important to remember that growing children with good hearts and active minds tends to be more easily accomplished when

(a) their environment has some rhythms and rituals and routines (rising and resting at regular intervals; anticipating repetitive activities (like feeding the fish, reading from the book of 365 stories for 365 days, making the bed, and taking turns with the pet chores)); and

(b) their leader (teacher) models the attributes he or she wants to see in her students.

Which is another way of saying, find a daily dance, a workable rhythm to set the day's tempo. Something catchy but neither too fast nor too slow.

2. Focus on the moment you're in. Not on the best handwriting book, most compelling history text, or most brilliant math program. Not on message boards or blogging buddies. (In fact, if you can, try an experiment: Limit yourself to no more than, say, one virtual visit daily.) Not on all the stuff you could be doing. No. On the moment you're in. On what you should be doing. Teaching. Learning. Coaching. Leading. Modeling. So, for example: Your children's minds are wandering? They've got holes-in-the-brain, you say? Where is your mind? Are you focused on them? Yeah, I didn't think so. Now that you are, discover why aren't they focused. Physical needs met? Something big coming up? Time for a walk?

You get the idea.

3. Nine hundred ninety-nine times out of one thousand, a bad day, a spring-feverish morning, a calamitous pre-Christmas afternoon begins with you. That's not an accusation. It's an attitude. If you know it all begins with you, you know you have the power to, if not control the situation, then certainly control your response to it (which is control of the most excellent kind).

3. Don't neglect yourself.
Eat right.
Exercise.
Take vitamins.
Sleep well and for as long as your body needs.
Develop some rituals and routines that enable you to present a fresh face and a clean smile to your children and your students each morning.
Read. Think. Learn.
Take some time for yourself when and where you can get it.
Celebrate your achievements in meaningful ways.
Reflect.
Maintain real relationships. Cut back on the virtual.
Visit a museum.
Roll down a grassy hill. Can you still do a cartwheel?
Leave notes in your partner's jacket pocket.
Revisit a favorite hobby or book or movie from your youth.
Dance.

Remember: Before you are a partner, a parent, a teacher, an [insert occupation here], you are simply you. Ensure that you like who you are.

And take care of yourself.

For other posts of this nature, visit the Parenting and Teaching tabs. Note that the "Speaking practically" post (which begins, "One refrain among parent-teachers is that life sometimes (for some, often) gets in the way of schooling") may prove particularly helpful.

Remember: Tuesday is Soylent Green Day.

Funny, they don't act like prospective STEM majors.

In fact, the Misses act an awful like prospective music majors.

They both continue to study piano with the remarkable Mrs. R., each taking a weekly lesson of one hour and then sitting in on the other's lesson. They practice at least 90 minutes daily -- significantly more when preparing for a competition. (The next one is late spring.)

Miss M-mv(i) set aside guitar (an instrument she took up at the enthusiastic urging of her sister and father) and began studying the violin, her original first-choice instrument. Regular readers may remember that it did not go so well for her twelve years ago. Heh, heh, heh. Well, she's having a much better time of it this go-round, taking a weekly 30-minute private lesson and practicing an average of 30 minutes daily with an eye to increasing to an hour as her skills grow.

Miss M-mv(ii), whose original first-choice instrument was guitar, will continue with the same instructor. For the last seven months, she, Miss M-mv(i), and Mr. M-mv actually formed a small class, which met weekly for an hour. Now Miss M-mv(ii) takes a weekly 30-minute private lesson and practices 30 to 45 minutes daily.

She also began voice lessons late last month, a weekly 30-minute private lesson. It's too early to know what practice will involve since, so far, she has only been asked to translate the first foreign language piece she will be working on, practice the breathing and vocal exercises she was taught, and look over "Moon River," "Beauty and the Beast," and "Over the Rainbow." Early indications, though, are that she is thoroughly enjoying herself.

But, nope. They're not planning to major in music.

Miss M-mv(ii) has often talked about studying math or science, and over the last year or so, she has taken to declaring that she will major in physics. Although she is technically (i.e., per the cut-off date) an eighth-grader, she has been keeping pace with her sister in all subjects this year and is confident about beginning the dual enrollment program in Spring 2013, which puts the responsibility for teaching the requisite higher maths and laboratory science on better prepared shoulders than mine.

And over the last year, Miss M-mv(i) expressed her plan to major in art, perhaps with an emphasis on scientific illustration. (She also has an abiding interest in raptor rehabilitation.) This affected her decision to begin the dual enrollment program, which she decided to put off until the end of her junior year, Spring 2013. Then she went behind the scenes at the Shedd Aquarium, and her focus shifted to animal behavior and training.

One could argue that her chances of earning a living as an animal trainer (or an artist or a musician, for that matter) are painfully slim. She is ardent, though, and her interests are, after all, loosely linked, given that she has regularly expressed an interest in and facility with scientific illustration (to say nothing of ornithology and raptor rehabilitation). Still, majoring in biology? That is not exactly where her study interests and habits have been leading. So, as a sophomore who has been following a college preparatory track with a fine and/or performing arts emphasis, she knows she now has more work ahead of her: While her math and science skills are adequate and appropriate for a good art, music, or liberal arts student, they are not adequate for one who is aiming for a comfortable desk in a science hall.

(Perhaps, by the way, you have now guessed why they are back in the saddle: Miss M-mv(i), who has only cared for two cats (and several ill-fated fish, three of whom were named Hamlet), feels that demonstrated competence riding and caring for horses will qualify her for a position at a therapeutic riding facility, which will give her much needed (somewhat) related experience. Hence, the return to weekly riding lessons after a four-year hiatus (during which I would reflect on moments like this and think, "Thank goodness we don't do that anymore!") And Miss M-mv(ii)? She, too, hopes to volunteer at the therapeutic riding facility, but I think it's fair to say that she's mostly along for the ride.)

Winter swim season ended this weekend, so this longer slate of activities and the greater demands of their studies (to say nothing of their music practices) are reasonable and will remain so even through the summer swim season, what, with its brevity (eight weeks) and early morning practices. But I wonder about fitting it all in come next October, when winter swim season begins again. And Miss M-mv(i) has already accepted a lifeguarding gig for next academic year. And, and....

Focus on the moment you're in, my better self intones.

All right, but.... No buts. Focus.

And that is what I have been doing, where I have been when several days go by with nary a post: focusing on two prospective STEM majors who act an awful lot like future music (or art) majors.

Leap day

I took this photo earlier in the month, intending to cobble together an "On the nightstand" entry, but one thing and then another has demanded my attention. You know how it goes. And for the record? I think I prefer the reading life review format I used throughout 2011 for sharing the books I've completed, so I've reverted to that.

Other notes:
❧ I've deleted M-mv's FB page; the Twitter account is simply inactive.

❧ I am completely caught up on email. Thank you for your patience.

❧ And here are the two lone new(ish) articles in my library of links:

The New York Times: The Upside of Dyslexia

Whatever special abilities dyslexia may bestow, difficulty with reading still imposes a handicap. Glib talk about appreciating dyslexia as a “gift” is unhelpful at best and patronizing at worst. But identifying the distinctive aptitudes of those with dyslexia will permit us to understand this condition more completely, and perhaps orient their education in a direction that not only remediates weaknesses, but builds on strengths.

The New York Review of Books: Schools We Can Envy by Diane Ravitch

To be sure, Finland is an unusual nation. Its schools are carefully designed to address the academic, social, emotional, and physical needs of children, beginning at an early age. Free preschool programs are not compulsory, but they enroll 98 percent of children. Compulsory education begins at the age of seven. Finnish educators take care not to hold students back or label them as “failing,” since such actions would cause student failure, lessen student motivation, and increase social inequality. After nine years of comprehensive schooling, during which there is no tracking by ability, Finnish students choose whether to enroll in an academic or a vocational high school. About 42 percent choose the latter. The graduation rate is 93 percent, compared to about 80 percent in the US.

Reading life review: January and February

Books read in January and February: 23
Books read in 2012: 23

■ Defending Jacob (William Landay)
Fiction. Several bits of awkward writing (e.g., "I put away my book, McCullough's biography of Truman, atop a slippery pile of slick magazines on my own night table, and turned off the light.") and the narrator's stubborn (often to the brink of stupid) refusal to see, really see, his son periodically yanked me right out of this otherwise good-enough hybrid (family drama / courtroom thriller).

■ Sweet Tooth Vol. 1: Out of the Woods (Jeff Lemire)
■ Sweet Tooth Vol. 2: In Captivity (Jeff Lemire)
■ Sweet Tooth Vol. 3: Animal Armies (Jeff Lemire)
■ Sweet Tooth Vol. 4: Endangered Species (Jeff Lemire)
Graphic fiction. I saw this recommendation and couldn't agree with her more. Since Volume 5, which will collect Issues 26 through 32, is not due to be published until October, I checked with my local comic shop for Issues 26 through 30 and will now haunt them for each issue as it is published -- much as I do with The Walking Dead.

■ The Art of Hearing Heartbeats (Jan-Philipp Sendker)
Fiction. The narrative style reminded me of Life of Pi, although the writer asserts he was not at all influenced by Yann Martel. It was an old-fashioned fairytale of a novel... and I thoroughly enjoyed it.

■ Thirteen Reasons Why (Jay Asher)
YA fiction. I saw the conclusion coming but still thought it a competent enough effort. I had been sick with a head cold while reading it, though. Heh, heh, heh.

■ Our Town (Thornton Wilder)
Play. As with The Crucible (see this "On the nightstand" entry), I read this play in high school and college, then revisited it eight years ago, when my son was fourteen, the age my youngest is now. Over the past week, I returned to it yet again, this time in the company of the Misses. Related entry: "It takes life to love Life."

■ Stop Acting Rich... And Start Living Like a Real Millionaire (Thomas J. Stanley)
Non-fiction. Read this one on the Kindle and the iPad, whichever was within reach. Although it rehashes much of the data and ideas presented in The Millionaire Next Door, this volume offers excellent "sound bytes" parents can share with their children.

You can act rich or actually become rich. Few of us will ever be able to do both, and we certainly won't get rich by acting the part before we have the financial resources with which to pay for la dolce vita.

We live in a time when it has never been easier to act rich than to actually become rich, even with the devastation of the financial crisis. At the end of the day, not only are we bad actors because it is simply impossible for us to keep up with the glittering rich (if we buy one expensive, prestige car, they buy 20), but we are terribly misguided and ill informed about how millionaires really spend and what they actually buy.

We learn how to manage money (or not) in our families of origin. Let's arm our young people with alternatives to "Buy! Buy! Buy!"

■ The Crucible (Arthur Miller)
Play. Like so many of you, I first encountered this classic of American theater in high school. I then revisited it eight years ago, when my son was the same age as Miss M-mv(ii).

And now the Misses and I have read it.

We began with the 1996 film, for which Miller himself adapted his play, earning him the only Oscar nod of his career. Roger Ebert has little good to say about this adaptation, but I respectfully disagreed with him when I first saw it in 2004, and I continued to disagree with him as I watched last week. It is, quite simply, a powerful work well acted.

In the days that followed, we read and discussed the play itself, and I was reminded afresh what a privilege it is to lead this reading, thinking, learning life beside such thoughtful, articulate, and sensitive students.

A line for my chapbook: "I never said my wife were a witch, Mr. Hale; I only said she were reading books!"

■ The Project (Brian Falkner)
YA fiction. Another solid effort from New Zealand author Brian Falkner (related entry here), this novel was inspired by his three-month residency at the University of Iowa's International Writing Program. He arrived in the region shortly after the flood of 2008, an event that informs The Project.

■ Wool (Hugh Howey)
■ Wool 2 (Hugh Howey)
■ Wool 3 (Hugh Howey)
■ Wool 4 (Hugh Howey)
■ Wool 5 (Hugh Howey)
Fiction. Aunt M-mv casually asked if I had read Wool, and two clicks, a few reviews, and the phrase "post-apocalyptic fiction" later, I had it loaded into my Kindle cloud. A compelling story, capable character development, and competent enough prose led me to the subsequent books in the series. Wool deserves a much wider audience. Amazon Prime folk, you can read these books free on your Kindles. Non-Prime? We're talking ninety-nine cents for each of the first four volumes (on the Kindle); $2.99 for the final installment.

■ Feed (M.T. Anderson)
Fiction. Seven years ago, Mr. M-mv and I read this with our son. At the time I wrote:

Another book that has, for better or worse, (re)shaped the geography of our imaginations this week is M.T. Anderson's Feed. The book has been pitched to "young adults." [...] Hence, a number of children will read it. The clever among them, then, missing the [point], will dismiss it as "shallow" or "dumb." The rest simply won't get it. Frankly, many teens won't get it. Far more worrisome? Most adults may miss the point. Or will get it, and, in their great discomfort, reject it. We're not pretending this is great literature. But, "Oh? Wow! Thing!"

Well, in addition to Coriolanus (related entry here), the family book club decided to read Feed this month. Does it hold up on re-reading? Both Mr. M-mv and I agree that it does. He revisited the book via an excellent audiobook edition, read by David Aaron Baker ("Terrific!"), and I split my return nearly equally over the paperback I first read and a Kindle edition. Our recent book club discussion included such issues as the novel's prescience, its spot on riff on the vapidity of "teenspeak," the fact that Violet is (of course!) homeschooled, and the observation that Titus is not an entirely an unsympathetic character, nor is Violet an entirely sympathetic character.

Some passages for the chapbook:

p. 4

The thing I hate about space is that you can feel how old and empty it is. I don't know if the others felt like I felt, about space? But I think they did, because they all got louder. They all pointed more, and squeezed close to Link's window.

You need the noise of your friends in space.

p. 31

I wanted to buy some things but I didn't know what they were. After we walked around for a while, everything seemed kind of sad and boring so we couldn't tell anymore what we wanted.

p. 47

People were really excited when they first came out with feeds. It was all da, da, da, this big educational thing, da da da, your child will have the advantage, encyclopedias at their fingertips, closer than their fingertips, etc. That's one of the greatest things about the feed -- that you can be supersmart without ever working. Everyone is supersmart now. You can look things up automatic, like science and history, like if you want to know which battles of the Civil War George Washington fought in and shit.

p. 135

The place was a mess. Everything had words on it. There were papers with words on them, and books, and even posters on the wall had words. Her father seemed like a crank.

By the way, can I give a little "Squee!" about the synchronicity / serendipity / synthesis at work here? Re-reading Feed while still engaged with Nicholas Carr's The Shallows was, in a hyphenated word, mind-blowing.

■ Like Shaking Hands with God: A Conversation about Writing (Kurt Vonnegut and Lee Stringer)
Non-fiction. From Daniel Simon's foreword to this slim but wonderful volume:

There is a sentence in a Jewish prayer: A person's thoughts are his or her own, but their expression belongs to God. You feel it in the writings -- and the talk -- of both these men. As one who believes in the redemptive power of literature, I think Kurt and Lee both write to catch His eye. Neither one of them is taking any chances.

That I love Vonnegut, most of you already know; this transcript of his October 1, 1998 conversation with Lee Stringer only increased my affection. And I added Stringer's Grand Central Winter to my Kindle after closing the book.

■ Adventure Unleashed (______ __. _________)
Fiction. My daughter's self-published novel, the first in a fantasy trilogy.

■ Coriolanus (William Shakespeare)
Play, classic. The family book club decided to tackle this one, and, honestly? It's so compelling that I don't know how we missed before. So, thank you, Ralph Fiennes. Thank you very much. Chapbook entry here.

■ The Autobiography of an Execution (David R. Dow)
Non-fiction. One word: Un-put-down-able. All right. That's not really a word, but it ably describes how I felt about Houston lawyer David R. Dow's memoir / meditation on the death penalty. The casually familiar narrative style might seem at odds with the subject matter, but it coaxes readers through otherwise difficult material. You'll find a NYT review here.

■ Artist's Journal Workshop (Cathy Johnson)
Art. Subtitled "Creating Your Life in Words in Pictures," this beautifully illustrated introduction to art journaling includes examples in a a range of media from the notebooks of twenty-seven artists. Johnson's text is both practical (Collage over an entire offending page, if you must) and encouraging (Celebrating the everyday is one of the loveliest uses of an artist's journal).

■ The English Teacher (Lily King)
Fiction. Apparently, this novel was chosen by both Publisher's Weekly and the Chicago Tribune as one of the best novels of 2005. I missed it then and cannot begin to remember how it ended up on my TBR stack, but I will tell you that I appreciated King's skill from the opening line: That she had not killed him in her sleep was still the great relief of every morning. She narrates a compelling character study in the taut, measured tones of psychological thriller -- and delivers.

Back in the saddle again

"Of all things living, a man's the worst!"

This month, the The Shakespeare Project of Chicago presents The Taming of the Shrew, a Shakespearean battle of the sexes that has spawned many derivative versions, including Kiss Me Kate and Ten Things I Hate About You. Featuring a veteran cast of Project regulars, the play is directed by former artistic director Jeff Christian.

~ Performance Dates ~

Saturday, February 25, at 10 a.m.
The Newberry Library

Saturday, February 25, at 2 p.m.
The Wilmette Public Library

Sunday, February 26, at 2 p.m.
The Highland Park Public Library

The Shakespeare Project of Chicago was created in 1996 to bring to life the words of William Shakespeare, present his plays to the community for free, and foster the talents of members of Actors’ Equity Association.

"[C]onsummate skill and self-effacing dedication to music"

We knew, of course, that Norwegian pianist Leif Ove Andsnes made quite an impression on the Misses last year, but we really had no idea how great an impression until they asked to see him again this year.

What a terrific performance!

Note: The title of the post is taken from the New York Times review of Andsnes' February 15 performance at Carnegie Hall, where he played the same program to which we were treated today: "Excitement in the Air, Without a Button Undone." You can hear the Carnegie Hall performance here.

Some enchanted evening

In 2008, the Lincoln Center Theater revival of South Pacific won seven Tony Awards. It played to sold-out houses for more than two years and was broadcast live on PBS on August 18, 2010.

We caught this evening's performance of the touring production based on that award-winner (playing at Chicago's Cadillac Palace Theatre through February 26).

Good stuff, folks.

Related link: a WGN clip of the cast.

"Be mine."

"Be mine."

He said.

He said, "Thanks for being my Valentine, yet again."

He said, with you, I never feel old or get tired.

He said, with you, I don't get discouraged or disappointed.

He said, I love you.

And I said, "I love you."

And I know.

And I know.

And you're welcome.

I said.

"I am. I already was. I always will be."

Where have we been?

Morton Arboretum
A week ago yesterday, we headed to the Morton Arboretum. We walked and talked and later enjoyed a lovely lunch and a bookstore-browse.

Volo Bog
A week ago tomorrow, we headed to Volo Bog for a three-mile walk that became rather hike-ish. The trail was boot-suckingly muddy and tricky to navigate, but what a good time we had. When conditions are that uncertain, though, I spend a lot of time looking down, picking my way along the trail... which is how I found the nest pictured below.

Chicago Shakespeare Theater
Thursday night, we saw A Midsummer Night's Dream, directed by Gary Griffith. Fantastic stuff! Timothy Edward Kane and Tracy Michelle Arnold (Theseus/Oberon and Hippolyta/Titania) are, quite simply, perfect. Laura Huizenga, too, is memorable: She offers a clearly spoken Helena that inspires sympathy, not derision. And Elizabeth Laredo's Puck suggests whimsy, yes, but also all of sharp corners and edges that make Robin Goodfellow "that shrewd and knavish sprite." But what will likely be most oft-mentioned when the papers begin reviewing this wonderful production is the enchanting band of players headed by Tim Kazurinsky's Peter Quince and Ron Orbach's Nick Bottom.

On the nightstand

■ Our Town (Thornton Wilder)
Play. As with The Crucible (see last week's "On the nightstand"), I read this play in high school and college, then revisited it eight years ago, when my son was fourteen, the age my youngest is now. Over the past week, I returned to it yet again, this time in the company of the Misses. Related entry: "It takes life to love Life."

■ A Mass for the Dead (William Gibson)
Fiction. I pulled this down from the shelves after reading Girl Detective's challenge. She asks for a favorite book but then writes, "Gun to the head, about to depart for a desert island. What book (not the Bible or collected works of Shakespeare, but one work) do you pick?" Well, under those circumstances, I'd pick a book I'd always meant to read but had never gotten around to -- not a favorite (especially since I wouldn't be allowed to grab my Pelican Shakespeare).

■ The Shallows: What the Internet Is Doing to Our Brains (Nicholas Carr)
Non-fiction. Nearly done.

■ Quiet: The Power of Introverts in a World That Can't Stop Talking (Susan Cain)
Non-fiction. Nearly done. Related entry here.

■ Kill Shakespeare, Volume 1 (Conor McCreery)
■ Kill Shakespeare, Volume 2 (Conor McCreery)
Graphic fiction. Speaking of Girl Detective, I had thought that she was the one who prompted me to pick up Volume 1 last February, but I can't find a link on her site, and Yahoo! is proving most uncooperative this morning, so I can't search my mail archive. Well, Kill Shakespeare has made its way back onto the TBR pile, courtesy of Magnificent Octopus and, more recently, So Many Books.

Not pictured:
■ Wool 5 (Hugh Howey)
Fiction. A satisfying conclusion to an compelling cycle. Wool deserves a much wider audience. Amazon Prime folk, you can read these books free on your Kindles. Non-Prime? We're talking ninety-nine cents for each of the first four volumes (on the Kindle); $2.99 for the final installment.

■ Stop Acting Rich... And Start Living Like a Real Millionaire (Thomas J. Stanley)
Non-fiction. Read this one on the Kindle and the iPad, whichever was within reach. Although it rehashes much of the data and ideas presented in The Millionaire Next Door, this volume offers excellent "sound bytes" parents can share with their children.

You can act rich or actually become rich. Few of us will ever be able to do both, and we certainly won't get rich by acting the part before we have the financial resources with which to pay for la dolce vita.

We live in a time when it has never been easier to act rich than to actually become rich, even with the devastation of the financial crisis. At the end of the day, not only are we bad actors because it is simply impossible for us to keep up with the glittering rich (if we buy one expensive, prestige car, they buy 20), but we are terribly misguided and ill informed about how millionaires really spend and what they actually buy.

We learn how to manage money (or not) in our families of origin. Let's arm our young people with alternatives to "Buy! Buy! Buy!"

Fine Art Friday Saturday and more

Detail from Saint George Killing the Dragon, 1434-35 (Bernat Martorell; Spanish, c. 1400–1452)

We were able to spend a couple of hours in the Art Institute this past Sunday, before seeing Joshua Bell play "like a god." Our adventure began with "Contemporary Drawings from the Irving Stenn Jr. Collection," and I will leave it at ... [insert head scratch].

Our meander through European painting and sculpture proved more fruitful for this family of readers, thinkers, and autodidacts. While it was wonderful to revisit one of my favorite paintings in all the world (above), it was Penitent Saint Peter, 1628/32 (Jusepe de Ribera; Spanish, 1588–1652) that defined the visit for me. (Much as The Captive Slave arrested my attention some years ago.) Something about the light and the expression.... and the image's sense of timelessness.

It was only the reminder that we could be late for the concert if I lingered any longer that moved me away the painting.

Link/Think
I added only one article to my Diigo library this week and promptly posted it... elsewhere. It has since been much linked and discussed, but in case you missed it:

Newsweek: "Why Urban, Educated Parents Are Turning to DIY Education"

Many of these parents feel that city schools—or any schools—don’t provide the kind of education they want for their kids. Just as much, though, their choice to homeschool is a more extreme example of a larger modern parenting ethos: that children are individuals, each deserving a uniquely curated upbringing. That peer influence can be noxious. (Bullying is no longer seen as a harmless rite of passage.) That DIY—be it gardening, knitting, or raising chickens—is something educated urbanites should embrace. That we might create a sense of security in our kids by practicing “attachment parenting,” an increasingly popular approach that involves round-the-clock physical contact with children and immediate responses to all their cues.

Yet another home education stereotype from which I will flee.

Saturday Review of Books
Semicolon hosts "The Saturday Review of Books." Consider participating this week.

"Well, it's Groundhog Day. Again."

Phil: What would you do if you were stuck in one place and every day was exactly the same, and nothing that you did mattered?
Ralph: That about sums it up for me.


Phil: Do you know what today is?
Rita: No, what?
Phil: Today is tomorrow. It happened.


Phil: I was in the Virgin Islands once. I met a girl. We ate lobster and drank pina coladas. At sunset we made love like sea otters. That was a pretty good day. Why couldn't I get that day over and over and over?

Worth repeating: Knicker knots

The following was first posted on 9.22.2011.

Several years back, it caused many a twisted panty and no small amount of teeth-gnashing and hand-wringing when I posted the February 29, 2008 Wall Street Journal article, "What Makes Finnish Kids So Smart?" to a homeschooling message board. The article simply asserts that "well-trained teachers and responsible children" are the key to that country's educational success.

There had been a similarly angst-y flurry a few months earlier, when I posted The Economist's "How to be top," which asserts, "The quality of teachers affects student performance more than anything else."

Begin with hiring the best. There is no question that, as one South Korean official put it, “the quality of an education system cannot exceed the quality of its teachers.” Studies in Tennessee and Dallas have shown that, if you take pupils of average ability and give them to teachers deemed in the top fifth of the profession, they end up in the top 10% of student performers; if you give them to teachers from the bottom fifth, they end up at the bottom. [Emphasis added.]

Why the knicker knots? you wonder. Because I posited that the same could be said about homeschooling -- that is, for the most part, the endeavor will only be as successful as the parent-teacher.

I was reminded of these two articles (and the irritation my insistence on drawing analogous conclusions about home educators inspired) yesterday, while reading a lengthy discussion about homeschooling and using resources and teachers in co-ops and other settings.

Allow me a related aside, okay?

The priest who led the Pre-Cana group meeting my husband and I attended nearly twenty-six years ago, asked the participants to divide themselves roughly in half. A dozen couples scooched to one side of the room while the rest of us remain seated. "Yeah," he said. "That's about right. That's about how many of you will be divorced in ten or so years."

I am sure each of us smugly believed that we would not fail in our marriage. And now, all these years later, I am just as sure that many did.

Those, quite simply, are the odds.

The reactions to the original post in the above-referenced message board discussion reminded me of the reactions to the priest's pronouncement -- right down to similar points about how discouraging it was, on the cusp of marriage, to be discussing divorce. "Shouldn't you be encouraging us? Why are we talking about failure now, before we even say, 'I do'?"

Um, if not now, then when? After you've failed?

No. At the beginning of the journey is the best possible time to learn that there may be rewards, but there may also be failure. How can you reap the former and avoid (or, at the very least, recover from) the latter? Let's talk about that sooner rather than later, eh?
________________________________

For about fifteen years, I've maintained that I am the opposite of a homeschooling evangelist. In short, I don't think everyone can do this. I don't think everyone should. And I most certainly have met people -- in person and online -- that I fervently wish weren't attempting this since they, their children, and the stereotypes they perpetuate are the reason my family rarely announces that we homeschool.

That's not a popular position, of course, because it's not all daffodils and sunshine and "You can do this!" It's not particularly encouraging or affirming. But sometimes, the kindest thing is the truth, and the truth is not everyone who decides to attempt this thing will be good or even adequate. You see, it simply is not enough to love your children. It's not enough to design a school room, wallpaper your homes in books, buy memberships to museums, and collect curricula. Nope. You must also teach, and to teach well, you must be capable, smart, engaged, and certain.

The wonderful Marva Collins Collins wrote plainly but enthusiastically about the call to teach well:

Many of us can be excellent for a day, but we find a lifetime of excellence to be just a bit difficult. Good teachers leave their egos and problems at the door each morning. They become so immersed in the children they teach that they forget time, problems, who they are, or what they can't do. They believe that they exist for their students. They hear with their hearts, they see with their souls, and they teach with their conscience.

Parker J. Palmer also defined the essence of teaching well:

Good teachers possess a capacity for connectedness. They are able to weave a complex web of connections among themselves, their subjects, and their students so that students can learn to weave a world for themselves. The methods used by these weavers vary widely: Socratic dialogues, laboratory experiments, collaborative problem solving, creative chaos. The connections made by good teachers are not in their methods but in their hearts -- meaning heart in its ancient sense, as the place where intellect and emotion and spirit and will converge in the human self.

Let's face it: Palmer is describing a level of expertise here, isn't he? You can't, after all, "weave a complex web of connections" if you don't possess information and experience -- expertise.

This is, of course, why teaching the upper grades is difficult -- which is why we must introduce our students to other teachers, other learning settings. Many may be able to teach with excellence and heart in the elementary grades, but only some can do so in the secondary school grades, and then, only in some subjects. At that point, it becomes critical to identify resources -- virtual schools, co-ops, dual enrollment programs, community mentors, or, if nothing else is available, the local high school -- for the subjects in which we are unable to weave a complex web of connections. Oh, and by the way? This is a good thing socially, too, since some (not all, but some) homeschoolers and their parent-educators seem to have a tough time adapting to conventional classroom habits and expectations.

So, how are you doing?

Just as the students of the good and wonderful teachers we remember from our own school years did not all enroll in a "big name" college (or in college, at all), did not become prodigious accumulators of wealth or heroes on the battlefield or whatever, our own students may not, either. So if success in this endeavor will not be measured by where / if they attended college or what profession they enter, by what will it be measured?

I thoroughly believe that if you are doing this thing well -- with excellence and heart -- you already know the answer to that question.

Good luck, folks.

On the nightstand

■ The Crucible (Arthur Miller)
Play. Like so many of you, I first encountered this classic of American theater in high school. I then revisited it eight years ago, when my son was the same age as Miss M-mv(ii).

And now the Misses and I have read it.

We began with the 1996 film, for which Miller himself adapted his play, earning him the only Oscar nod of his career. Roger Ebert has little good to say about this adaptation, but I respectfully disagreed with him when I first saw it in 2004, and I continued to disagree with him as I watched last week. It is, quite simply, a powerful work well acted.

In the days that followed, we read and discussed the play itself, and I was reminded afresh what a privilege it is to lead this reading, thinking, learning life beside such thoughtful, articulate, and sensitive students.

A line for my chapbook: "I never said my wife were a witch, Mr. Hale; I only said she were reading books!"

■ Babel No More: The Search for the World's Most Extraordinary Language Learners (Michael Erard)
Non-fiction. Just delivered today, this title first came to my attention via The Economist (December 31, 2011): "The gift of tongues." You'll find related articles here and here.

■ Quiet: The Power of Introverts in a World That Can't Stop Talking (Susan Cain)
Non-fiction. Related entry here. A third of the way in, and I must say, I'm rather fascinated. More to follow.

■ Drawn In (Julia Rothman)
Non-fiction. Subtitled "A Peek into the Inspiring Sketchbooks of 44 Fine Artists, Illustrators, Graphic Designers, and Cartoonists," this selection complements Artist's Journal Workshop (Cathy Johnson) from earlier this month.

"He is the one who is real. They are the ghosts."

Do you remember Gene Weingarten's Pulitzer Prize-winning article "Pearls before Breakfast" (Washington Post, April 8, 2007)? The much linked, much reported, much discussed think-piece recounted a bold experiment conducted five years ago this month: During a morning rush hour at L'Enfant Plaza, "the nucleus of federal Washington," a violinist

positioned himself against a wall beside a trash basket. By most measures, he was nondescript: a youngish white man in jeans, a long-sleeved T-shirt and a Washington Nationals baseball cap. From a small case, he removed a violin. Placing the open case at his feet, he shrewdly threw in a few dollars and pocket change as seed money, swiveled it to face pedestrian traffic, and began to play.

What do you think happened? Weingarten asks.

Well, what if the violinist were, say, Joshua Bell?

Joshua Bell "plays like a god," maintained composer John Corigliano in 1999 when he accepted Academy Award for the score of The Red Violin. The soundtrack for the film features Bell's exquisite artistry, and the violinist even body-doubled for Jason Flemyng (as Frederick Pope) in the third of The Red Violin's five stories.

Weingarten writes:

No one knew it, but the fiddler standing against a bare wall outside the Metro in an indoor arcade at the top of the escalators was one of the finest classical musicians in the world, playing some of the most elegant music ever written on one of the most valuable violins ever made. His performance was arranged by The Washington Post as an experiment in context, perception and priorities -- as well as an unblinking assessment of public taste: In a banal setting at an inconvenient time, would beauty transcend?

The musician did not play popular tunes whose familiarity alone might have drawn interest. That was not the test. These were masterpieces that have endured for centuries on their brilliance alone, soaring music befitting the grandeur of cathedrals and concert halls.

The acoustics proved surprisingly kind. Though the arcade is of utilitarian design, a buffer between the Metro escalator and the outdoors, it somehow caught the sound and bounced it back round and resonant. The violin is an instrument that is said to be much like the human voice, and in this musician's masterly hands, it sobbed and laughed and sang -- ecstatic, sorrowful, importuning, adoring, flirtatious, castigating, playful, romancing, merry, triumphal, sumptuous.

So, what do you think happened?

If you don't already know how this story ends, if you missed the coverage when it first appeared, read it now.

_________________________

We believe beauty would transcend. We (would like to) believe we would have seen and heard. At the very least, we (would like to) believe that we would have heeded the kids' insistence that we stop. ("But the behavior of one demographic remained absolutely consistent. Every single time a child walked past, he or she tried to stop and watch.")

But we weren't tested in that way this afternoon. No, our art had a frame, as Weingarten might put it.

We just saw Bell play "like a god" at the Chicago Symphony Center.

Local reviews are not available yet, of course, but he played the same program in Washington earlier this month. You'll find a review here.

A clip from Bach and Friends: Joshua Bell plays and describes "Chaconne" from Johann Sebastian Bach's Partita No. 2 in D Minor.

Curated content

Humanities Magazine: Unhappy Camper

If you want your child to be a writer, go bankrupt.

The evidence confirms it. Failing that, at least suffer a severe financial reversal, obliging your son or daughter to endure the social opprobrium of changed schools and dropped friendships. Let him know the shame of fallen status, that he might grow ever more attuned to the minutest of slights, real or imagined. Careful scrutiny of his fellows will likely become a habit, a good sense of humor his first line of defense. Imagination will be his refuge. If you want your child to be a writer, do all this, and you may yet join an impecunious fraternity of writers’ parents that includes John Shakespeare, John Joyce, John Clemens, John Dickens, John Ernst Steinbeck, and Kurt Vonnegut, Sr.

Chicago Tribune: Pajama ban: Are pajamas a public menace?

The latest trend should be a relief to anyone averse to immodesty. This is not racy lingerie but baggy, even frumpy, clothing that typically furnishes coverage a Victorian could love. Fathers of teenage daughters, it's safe to say, would prefer that their little angels venture forth in shapeless flannel pajamas than micro-minis and flimsy tank tops.

Wired: Physicists Discover Quantum Speed Limit

In non-relativistic systems, where particle speeds are much less than the speed of light, interactions still occur very quickly, and they often involve lots of particles. As a result, measuring the speed of interactions within materials has been difficult. The theoretical speed limit is set by the Lieb-Robinson bound, which describes how a change in one part of a system propagates through the rest of the material. In this new study, the Lieb-Robinson bound was quantified experimentally for the first time, using a real quantum gas.

The Wilson Quarterly: In the Footsteps of Giants

Well, I was a freelancer—a polite term for unemployed—at the time, so I extorted a tiny advance and went off to collect everything I could find out about Solzhenitsyn’s life. Looking back, it’s curious that I had the biographical itch from the beginning, because I could have written about many things, I suppose, and it didn’t necessarily need to be a biography, but that was the way I thought about it. However, Solzhenitsyn was so successful at covering his tracks that I couldn’t find out nearly enough to satisfy me, and I simply gave up.

The Atlantic: The Great Unbundling of the University

The big question for universities going forward is this: Can control of credentialing last for long without control of knowledge? If a great many people learn from Sebastian Thrun and Udacity how to create a search engine, and if some of those are very good search engines, might not the most successful students simply point to their work as a sufficient indicator of their coding chops? Who needs a credential when they can use a simple URL to show potential employers not just what they're capable of but what they have already achieved?

Capital New York: Why Hollywood makes Creepy Kid movies

It's not hard to understand why the theme is so attractive, even though it's also so repulsive. Children are supposed to be innocent. Adults deserve what they get, if they are bad, but children should always be exempt. Our entire moral understanding depends on everybody agreeing upon this. Audiences project onto children their own feelings of protectiveness, and depicting a child in distress is one of the most effective ways of engaging an audience in any story.

How to Survive in the Age of Amazon

Because in order to survive, bookstores must stop trying to compete with Amazon.

I should pause here to clarify that when I use the word “bookstore,” I mean “independent bookstore.” Considering that barely any bookstore chains are left standing, this should be fairly apparent—but just in case any of you might think I’m talking about the few remaining Barnes & Noble or Borders megastores that still rise like brick-and-mortar colossi over the exurbs, I’m not.

Wired: Watch a Baby Condor Hatch and Grow on Live Webcam

California condors are very nurturing parents. They’re also very egalitarian: Both parents take care of their young. Sisquoc and Shatash will discipline, groom and play with their baby. They’ll give it feathers to play with and rub their baby’s soft pink face with their own.

The Atlantic: The Autumn of Joan Didion

Didion’s genius is that she understands what it is to be a girl on the cusp of womanhood, in that fragile, fleeting, emotional time that she explored in a way no one else ever has. Didion is, depending on the reader’s point of view, either an extraordinarily introspective or an extraordinarily narcissistic writer. As such, she is very much like her readers themselves. “I’ve been reading you since I was an adolescent,” a distinctly non-adolescent female voice said on a call-in show a decade ago, and Didion nodded, comprehending. All of us who love her the most have, in ways literal and otherwise, been reading her since adolescence.

The American Conservative: Revenge of the Nerd

Ray Bradbury loves human beings, and his hatred of the digital devices that divide us from us stems from their dehumanizing influence. Sure, they make us more passive and corrode our mental circuits. But of greatest importance, technology, amidst a million obvious benefits, has the overlooked drawback of making human life less human. Basement Internet porn addictions preventing relationships, video games supplanting sports as an afterschool activity, vicarious social life through reality television, and hundreds of Facebook friends without a single true friend are all manifestations of the way technology helps man dodge his fellow man.

You'll find the library of my links here.

Reading right now

Quiet: The Power of Introverts in a World That Can't Stop Talking (Susan Cain)

Two related items of interest:

■ "The Power of Introverts: A Manifesto for Quiet Brilliance" (Scientific American, January 24)

■ "Time for introverts to get some appreciation" (USA Today, January 23)

"The cake is a lie."

Last year, Miss M-mv(ii) baked Miss M-mv(i) the most wonderful cake for her birthday. When she offered to do so again, I fervently hoped the birthday girl would ask for the same (an Andes Mints cake; recipe here).

But she did not.

As early as September, she was talking about a Portal cake. Fortunately, Miss M-mv(ii) was easily persuaded to bake the Andes Mints cake for the holidays.

One word: Yum.

Well, a Portal cake is also quite nice. Devil's food cake. Chocolate icing. Whipped cream. A handful of M&Ms.

The first Portal cake met an unfortunate end, however.

It was all my fault.

Trip. Splat.

These are easygoing, good-natured people we've raised, though. "No problem," they said. "Let's make another one."

So we did.

Everything you need to know about them

Semicolon hosts "The Saturday Review of Books." Consider participating this week.

The Feast: an intimate Tempest

From the playgoer's guide:

With his axe as a magic staff and his sketches in a magic book, our Prospero has carved a whole world of his own out of wood. He longs to hear the story of his life the way it SHOULD have been, and it unfolds out of this wooden world over which he has complete control. He is not quite alone. He needs his actors to perform the story. Ariel and Caliban, now bound to his command, are his performers and puppeteers.

But no matter how frightening the tempest, how beautiful the wedding, and how violent his revenge on his enemies...it somehow does not satisfy. He begins again, and again, in hopes that once the story is PERFECT, he will have peace.

Staged upstairs at the Chicago Shakespeare Theater, this production features three actors and, yes, puppets. But before you do what I nearly did (i.e., "Bosh! Puppets? Really?"), let me assure you that this retelling is textually true and emotionally intense. We were intrigued, absorbed, and moved. You'll find more information about this unique production here and an article here.

(And can I tell you? Every time the Misses and I espy Barbara Gaines -- twice this visit -- we gasp, as if we had caught a glimpse of a rock star or Hollywood A-lister.)

The Shakespeare Project of Chicago

The Shakespeare Project of Chicago was created in 1996 to bring to life the words of William Shakespeare, present his plays to the community for free, and foster the talents of members of Actors’ Equity Association.

This month, the Project presents The Duchess of Malfi, a dark, Jacobean tragedy in which Love and Goodness do a slow dance with Evil and Corruption, set to the music of Revenge. Rich in poetry and dramatic imagery, John Webster’s masterpiece weaves a tapestry of conflict between appearance and reality. Featuring the Shakespeare Project’s dramaturge Michelle Shupe in the title role, the reading will be directed by founding member Stephen Spencer.

~ Performance Dates ~

Saturday, January 21, at 10 a.m.
The Newberry Library

Saturday, January 21, at 2 p.m.
The Wilmette Public Library

Sunday, January 22 at 2 p.m.
The Highland Park Public Library

On the nightstand

■ The Social Animal (David Brooks)
Non-fiction. My reading goal in 2012 is a simple one: Read more non-fiction. The only problem with this goal is that I read non-fiction at a considerably slower pace than I read (consume, wolf down) fiction. Still, I've added this title to the pile. Related TED Talk here; review here.

■ The Shallows: What the Internet Is Doing to Our Brains (Nicholas Carr)
Non-fiction. Ayup. Still working on this one. To repeat, Carr created a stir three and half years ago with the publication of the essay "Is Google Making Us Stupid?" (The Atlantic, July/August 2008; related M-mv entry here). Two links: NPR's "All Things Considered" on "'The Shallows': This Is Your Brain Online" and Carr's blog, Rough Type.

■ The Project (Brian Falkner)
YA fiction. Another solid effort from New Zealand author Brian Falkner (related entry here), this novel was inspired by his three-month residency at the University of Iowa's International Writing Program. He arrived in the region shortly after the flood of 2008, an event that informs The Project.

■ Wool (Hugh Howey)
■ Wool 2 (Hugh Howey)
Fiction. Yes, that's the iPad on the stack. I toted it this week's swim meet and enjoyed the first two slim novels (novellas?) of a reported five-book series. Aunt M-mv casually asked if I had read Wool, and two clicks, a few reviews, and the phrase "post-apocalyptic fiction" later, I had it loaded into my Kindle cloud. A compelling story, capable character development, and competent enough prose led me to Wool 2. I will treat myself to 3 and 4 later today or tomorrow, when I finish grading papers and making some progress toward my non-fiction goals.

Not pictured:
■ The Lost Art of Reading: Why Reading Matters in a Distracted Time (David L. Ulin)
Non-fiction. Still reading on the Kindle. See Ulin's essay of the same title (Los Angeles Times, August 9, 2009).

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Whales, presidential campaigns, and Die Zauberflöte

In the first hour of yesterday's program, John Williams interviewed Jorge Newbery and Steve Peterson, the faces of American Homeowner Preservation (AHP), an "Investment Fund [that] Helps Foreclosed Homeowners Hang On." Essentially, AHP buys distressed loans from lenders and then works toward "consensual solutions" with the residents. As Deal Estate reports, the "Chicago-based investment fund wants to prevent foreclosures from going vacant in the first place. It wants to acquire those properties and then rent them back to the foreclosed former homeowners at a deep discount."

We heard the program as we made our way into Chicago to see "Whales: Giants of the Deep" at the Field Museum and, later in the evening, The Magic Flute at the Lyric Opera. When explaining why the lenders weren't more readily embracing this approach to the mortgage crisis, one of the guests described the firm's work as a market proposal for a social problem.

Perhaps you can understand why "A Market Proposal for Saving Whales" at Wired Science attracted my attention this morning. The phrase, market proposal, coupled with the subject of the exhibit, whales... As regular readers know, I just love that sort of synchronicity, serendipity, and synthesis.

Seeing the exhibit was actually Miss M-mv(i)'s idea. Her sixteenth birthday is approaching, and we asked what she'd like to do to celebrate. One of the activities on her list was "Whales: Giants of the Deep," but it closes Monday. No problem, I asserted. We'll leave early and see it before The Magic Flute.

What a terrific exhibit! Let me begin by admitting, yet again, that the more I learn, the more I realize how little I know. For example, I did not realize until yesterday that dolphins and whales belong to the same order, Cetaceans. (The Misses did, and I am greatly encouraged by this. Insert wry grin.) And I understood little about their evolution. (Related article here.) Because of the beautiful film Whale Rider, though, I am familiar with some of the Maori mythology involving whales, and over the years, I have learned a bit about the whaling industry, but "Whales: Giants of the Deep" gives all of this information -- science, mythology, business, ecology -- a cohesive narrative that is both intriguing and worthwhile. Good stuff.

After a quiet meander through some old favorites -- "What Is an Animal?" "Animal Biology," and "Mammals of Africa" -- we decided to head to dinner and the opera. Although we had heard on the news that the President was in town for several fundraising events, I'm not sure being prevented from leaving the museum campus when the helicopters arrived at Soldier Field necessarily qualifies as synchronicity, serendipity, or synthesis. It certainly qualified, however, as a somewhat stressful experience. After all, it's intimidating enough to be stopped by a police officer. The addition of what appeared to be Secret Service types really makes one's pulse quicken, I'll tell you. Afterward, police sedans, emergency vehicles, and official cars streamed past us to "the re-election headquarters his campaign opened in May, [where the President delivered] a rally-the-troops message to staff and volunteers who fill one full floor of the Prudential Building."

Unsure how the rolling street closures would affect our path through the city, we headed directly to the Lyric. After a quick bite, we attended the pre-opera lecture given by David Buch, visiting professor at The University of Chicago. Buch likened Mozart's last opera to a Shakespearean play -- that is, an entertainment designed to have the widest possible appeal to the widest possible audience.

And it does. And maybe that was my problem. The music is exquisitely beautiful, and the ol' synchronicity / serendipity / synthesis at work last night was that Nicole Cabell, who mesmerized us last year as Micaëla in Carmen, returned to sing Pamina with graceful skill. Stéphane Degout as Papageno and Günther Groissböck as Sarastro also delivered memorable moments. In fact, Mr. M-mv particularly likes the aria "O Isis und Osiris" and thought Groissböck did a more than serviceable job.

But some of the things that delighted the audience in this fairy-tale opera -- the (badly) dancing animals, for instance, the children clad in Chicago team jerseys, and Papageno's English outburst -- struck me as more "Opera for Dummies" than opera that appeals to the masses (because I really don't think those two phrases were meant to be synonymous). Apparently, John von Rhein shares my view, although writing in Tuesday's Chicago Tribune, he also notes:

Monday's audience seemed to find the gobs of shtick and childlike whimsy in Matthew Lata's restaging of August Everding's well-worn 1986 production to their liking, so perhaps we critical churls who complain about over-familiarity should keep our carping to ourselves.

Well, color me unabashedly churlish, then (even though, with but three operas in my knapsack, I can hardly be called over-familiar), because I left feeling distinctly dissatisfied last night. Unfairly, perhaps, part of my dissatisfaction may have nothing to do with the kitschy staging. You see, while I utterly and completely embrace the idea of appealing to groundlings, and I realize that everyone is an opera virgin once, I just don't think it's uncharitable to ask that said groundlings and virgins behave better than they did last night.

Some carping, then, that I simply can't keep to myself:

❧ Don't share a snack that requires repeated extractions from a loudly crinkling plastic bag.
❧ Don't place your coat or bag in any seat but your own.
❧ Don't laugh too loudly.
❧ Don't talk during the performance. Not even to tell others not to talk.
❧ Don't disregard the request to silence your phone and electronic devices.
❧ Don't evacuate your nasal passages during an aria. In fact, avoid evacuating your nasal passages during the performance. Period.
❧ Don't race for the exit before the program has concluded.

I realize that this is "white whine" of the absolute worst sort -- as in, Oh, Muffy. You would not believe how badly the groundlings and virgins behaved at the opera last night. How loudly they laughed. And their nose-blowing. [*shudder*] Who lets these people in? Shall you call Tony [Anthony Freud, General Director of the Lyric Opera of Chicago], or shall I?

Still, the seeming, shall we say, lack of breeding was pretty feckin' annoying.

I'll conclude on a lighter note, one that wraps up this adventure in a note of synchronicity, serendipity, and synthesis, all right? So. What links a scientific research station in Antarctica with a unique opera performance in Germany's capital?

The answer, unlikely as it seems, is underwater sounds. Since 2005, a remote acoustic observatory has been recording the sounds of the deep sea using underwater microphones placed below the ice shelf. These otherworldly sounds provided the inspiration for an opera that premiered on Sunday night in Berlin.

As you might imagine, this was no ordinary opera. Staged in the breathtaking Neukölln baths, the AquAria_PALAOA took place almost entirely underwater. Fully clothed performers entered the pool up to their necks so that their voices could be heard above the surface as well as below it, whence two underwater microphones broadcast the submarine sounds. Around the water's edge, musicians accompanied the singers. As the drama intensified more of the performers and even some instruments entered the water, creating ethereal and extraordinary sounds, which were interspersed with recordings of whale and seal songs from the Antarctic depths.