Members only

The Field Museum's 55th Annual Members' Nights program concludes tonight.

As I wrote two years ago, this behind-the-scenes event is a "Christmas-comes-but-once-a-year" affair. Members and their guests are granted access into the Field equivalent of Santa's workshops and inner sanctum when they board the creaky freight elevator to trundle past the upper level and up to the Museum's third and fourth levels.

Last night, we learned (more about) how to stuff and preserve birds and mammals, saw scavenger beetles in action, and observed drawers and drawers and drawers of specimens decades old and looking as fresh as the specimens you watched being prepared before our eyes.

We learned (more about) and actually tried our hand at scientific illustration, saw fossils and the prehistoric invertebrates that are believed to have been predators, and discussed with a fossil comparer how her degree in art led (or didn't) to her career at the Field.

We mounted plant specimens like Field scientists and (re)discovered the secrets of mushrooms.

There's more. So much more.

Consider this: More than nine-tenths of the Field Museum's holdings are housed in the restricted areas (the third and fourth levels). What we see in a typical visit to the Field is staggering. Now reflect on a collection ten times larger.

Are you a member? Get there, if you can.

(Note: A few of you with whom I correspond expressed interest in the family book club's "trilogy". "The Auschwitz Album: The Story of a Transport" was a somber but important complement to our continuing discussion.)

On the road
I'm blogging from the Presidential Suite of [insert swank downtown hotel here]. No, this is most certainly not my customary traveling style; I of the overalls and knapsack and the we-don't-need-cable-thanks 'tude tend toward clean, safe, and che-, erm, cost-efficient. This is, however, Mr. M-mv's customary traveling style, and this slice of luxury (if you define luxury in such terms as "bigger than our first apartment" or "a plasma television in every room" or "a shower stall as large as our bathroom" or "forty down pillows" or "leather and mahagony furniture" or... you get the idea) comes courtesy of the hotel equivalent of a Frequent Flyer Miles program.

"We can stay tonight, too," Mr. assured me, nonchalantly propping his feet on the coffee table (!) as he perused his newspaper. This announcement sent the Misses into waves of excited-little-girl giggles.

Which I cut short with my declaration that plasma or no, I will put my capacious bottom to bed in a familiar room under a familiar quilt beside an anticipated stack of books this evening.

Luxury is fine.

Home is best.

But thank you, Mr., for this most memorable adventure. You rock. I do wonder, though, what the clerk at this establishment's tony front desk will make of your Monty Python t-shirt. "I fart in your general direction," indeed.

Heh, heh, heh.

We are a study in contrasts and the defiance of expectations, no?

I love you. And I love this life. Thank you again.

Now.

Let's go get some overpriced bagels, shall we?

A call for submissions
The folks at Why Homeschool will host the next Carnival of Homeschooling. They seek your submissions. Consider participating in this excellent exchange of ideas and encouragement.

Added at 1:58 p.m.
I don't carry a cell phone, and before this, I had these. So bear with me if the following is the same ol', same ol' for you, 'kay? 'cause it's all shiny and new for me.

I'm blogging this from the passenger seat of Zoe the Van!

As we zip along the Northwest Tollway!

Wheeeeeee!

Mr. M-mv has the coolest toys. The latest? A cellular card for the laptop.

Holy connectedness, Batman!

Booked

From "Booked Solid" (Washington Post, March 23, 2006):

Books, it turns out, inflame a particular kind of passion. They inform, they amuse, they provoke. They keep us company and lull us to sleep. They give manifest evidence of our intellect. They show off our interests and our values. And when we've run out of places to put them, they prove extremely difficult to part with.

(Hat tip to Semicolon for the story.)

Links I've been meaning to post

"Author's invention reaches fans by remote control"

BBC Wordhunt: Your language needs you!

"Stingy Studying"

The 13th Carnival of Homeschooling

~ Hosted by Why Homeschool ~

True Tuesday

I was late to the "Get Real Monday" party, so I offer "True Tuesday," instead.

1982.

Senior year in high school.

Yes, that's a a cowl-neck in the top photo. And a man-tailored blouse in the bottom. Yes, that's Don Imus beside me in the top. (I arranged a trip for the students in Journalism I and II to interview Imus in the NYC studios. Anyone else remember "Imus in the Morning"? It was a memorable excursion, as much for the tour of the studio and the (brief) interview, as for the afternoon in the city with smart, funny friends and the quick stop at the Carvel two towns from our high school on the trip home. My powers of persuasion were legendary and unmatched. I began pitching the merits of a large vanilla cone with sprinkles fifteen minutes after I helped with the head count that ensured all of my classmates had, indeed, returned from various NYC adventures. Mrs. K- conceded that, yes, a cone sounded delicious. Heh, heh, heh.)

Yes, that's a journal in my arms in the bottom photo. Yes, I penned sometimes awesome, sometimes awkward, sometimes just. plain. awful. prose and poetry in a fabric-covered book. Yes, I was published (and paid for said publication) several times before I set foot in [insert college name here].

No, high school was not a source of dread for me, nor do my clothes make me cringe on revisiting old photos. On the contrary, given the nature of teens' interpretation of mercurial fashions, I think I did all right on a non-existent budget. Moreover, say what you will about the Dorothy Hamill-inspired wedge; it worked (well enough) for me.

The young man in the bottom photo was never my beau.

The gal beside me in the top photo was much misunderstood and often maligned. I was glad to call her friend. Her cousin was one of my two dearest and oldest friends, one who was beside me from kindergarten through freshmen year in college. (The other graduated college with me (well, the semester after me; I graduated early but participated in the traditional ceremony a few months later) and shared in my wedding day as a member of the party.)

Among other things, I was a band geek, twirler, DFW speech contest winner, literary magazine and yearbook editor, newspaper managing editor, NHS member, chorister, and thespian (a word that caused my mother mild consternation when I announced my acceptance into the Thespian Society) who never dodged gym, never sat in detention, nearly earned an F in an honors history course (long story) but eked out a C, and not only loved English and journalism but also art, marine biology, and Spanish... which I never really learned to speak, much to my continuing dismay.

All true.

Tuesday.

Too cool for words

Chris' Eastern Screech Owl Nest Box Cam'.

Writing warm-up...

...which is a euphemism for "I succumbed to the lure of a meme."

I have another one to two thousand words to write, it turns out: one to meet this goal, two to exceed that. I could walk away now having met all of the requirements, but I? I tend to deliver more than the client asked for, just what the client needs.

But I must allow that even we regularly paid (and eternally grateful for that) writers get a little weary. Dare I say, "Burned out"? So I hopped, skipped, jumped through the blogs I enjoy and saw this writing warm-up (oh, all right... meme) at Scribble.

When was the last time you...

...laughed out loud at something you read on the Internet?
Hmmm. I think the day I read this entry at Outer Life.

...said “I love you” to someone?
Four minutes before I sat down at my desk.

...sang along with a song?
Yesterday. "Folsom Prison Blues."

...paid someone a compliment?
This morning. I told Master that he was awesome, Miss M-mv(i) that her painting was the best she had ever done, and Miss M-mv(ii) that her journal entry was beautifully written.

...received a compliment?
All day yesterday.

...saw a movie that was really moving?
Saturday night. Life Is Beautiful. Again.

This is a simple story... but not an easy one to tell.

...read a poem?
This morning. "Otherwise" by Jane Kenyon. Also collected in Good Poems (selected and introduced by Garrison Keillor).

I slept in a bed
in a room with paintings
on the walls, and
planned another day
just like this day.
But one day, I know,
it will be otherwise.

...made someone laugh?
A little while ago when I did the stomping, Rumpelstiltskin-esque dance that I do when I am mildly annoyed. I was directing my choreography at the stray cat eyeballing the last of our dark-eyed junco tribe. Scat! Stomp, stomp, stomp. Scat! Oh, how the children giggled.

...learned a new skill?
Yesterday I learned how to use spray paint. Does that count?

...saw a band play live?
Springsteen in the '90s? I think. I'll check with Mr. M-mv.

...got in touch with someone you haven’t seen since high school?
My answer is the same as Scribble's: Six months ago. We're still in touch.

...danced?
See answer to "made someone laugh."

...felt the sun on your face, and noticed it?
Yesterday. So beautiful and warm.
________________________
Wish me success, clarity, and speed. It's going to be a long-ish afternoon and evening.

Spending Sunday

Solve the NYT crossword puzzle.

Spray paint the mailbox.

Rake any errant leaves remaining from the November yard clean-up.

Play old records (CDs).

Meditate.

Mend that skirt you've been meaning to mend.

Read something outside your customary "box."

Bake one of those desserts they show in the back of your favorite women's magazine.

Handwrite a letter to an old friend.

Call your sister.

Rent a movie that's "different" (e.g., The Wild Parrots of Telegraph Hill, 13 Conversations about One Thing, The Station Agent, Clockwatchers, Grizzly Man, Triplets of Belleville, etc.).

Read the sports section with an eye to deciphering why it's the first section he reads.

Visit an offbeat website or a site that will "teach you somethin'" (e.g., How Stuff Works).

Put those photographs away in their albums.

[Insert activity here] your significant other.

Dance to disco tunes.

Watch the beautiful crows work together to build their nest.

Check your sky guide and plan a mini star party.

Drag the grill out and make hot sausage.

Lean over the fence and find out what your neighbor is doing / thinking / reading / planning.

Think.

Dream.

Take a nap.

Watch "Myth Busters."

Challenge the kids to a Yahtzee! tournament.

And so on.

So many words

The goal was, perhaps, too lofty. Twelve thousand words in twelve days. Lofty but doable, I guess... if I gave up sleeping, reading, and the family-centered learning project for a week and a half. As it turns out, though, I was only willing to forfeit some sleep and a little reading. So, it looks like it will be ten thousand five hundred words in fourteen days.

And ya' know what? That's good enough for me.

Just a link today: "Teens driven to distraction" (Chicago Tribune, March 24, 2006).

"Oy!"

"Oy!" exclaims Miss M-mv(i) after I hug her good morning.

"'Oy'?"

"Yes, oy," she repeats. "This is quite troubling, oh, yes, it is."
___________________

In the sixteen-plus years I've been at this gig I've learned nothing if not that a conversation that begins with this much "local color" is going to be interesting, to say the least.

Wishing you interesting conversation, good company, and great books this Thursday.

The 12th Carnival of Homeschooling

~ Hosted by Phat Mommy ~

The early bird

"Which book should every adult read before [he or she dies]?" *

Of the the thirty, I've missed only three:

Birdsong (Sebastian Faulks)
The Master and Margarita (Mikhail Bulgakov)
The Poisonwood Bible (Barbara Kingsolver)

These choices baffle me:

The Curious Incident of the Dog in the Night-time (Mark Haddon)
The Time Traveller's Wife (Audrey Niffenegger)
The Lovely Bones (Alice Sebold)
The Prophet (Khalil Gibran)
The Alchemist (Paulo Coelho)

These omissions concern me:

Hamlet or King Lear (Shakespeare)
The Three Musketeers or The Count of Monte Cristo (Alexandre Dumas)
Main Street or Babbitt (Sinclair Lewis)
Fahrenheit 451 (Ray Bradbury)

Lists like this are an exercise in frustration. I mean, The Time Traveller's Wife? Ergh. If a title like that were in the running, how 'bout The Handmaid's Tale or Oryx and Crake (Margaret Atwood)? Um, and don't most folks get The Prophet out of their systems by, oh, twenty-three? The Alchemist was an annoying book on too many levels to list. Instead of that, how 'bout, oh, I don't know... Atonement (Ian McEwan)? The Deptford Trilogy (Robertson Davies)? And who came up with The Curious Incident of the Dog in the Night-time? Eh. I would have recommended Motherless Brooklyn (Jonathan Lethem) or And Then There Were None (Agatha Christie).

But that's just me.

_____________
* It actually read, "The Pulitzer prize-winning classic has topped a World Book Day poll conducted by the Museum, Libraries and Archives Council (MLA), in which librarians around the country were asked the question, 'Which book should every adult read before they die?'" [Emphasis added.]

ARGH!

And ARGH! again.

It all begins with me.

Most of the time when things "break bad" here (and they do; not often, but they do), it's more about me than about anyone else. When the work is taking forever to complete, when the quality is less than expected, when enthusiasm has waned, etc., I don't need to look much further than the example I've been setting. Have I been on-task? Have I been doing my job(s) with attention to detail? Have I conveyed my love of the subject and of the family-centered learning project? Or have I been dealing with our accountant in a series of longwinded telephone calls? Spending twenty extra minutes on the treadmill? Checking email or blogging? Planning activities for next week, month, or year when we haven't completed the activities for this week, month, or year? (Actually, I gave up that last bit during year one of this adventure. One of the first hard lessons I learned about home education is that my time is best spent not on elaborate lesson plans (no matter how ingenious, inventive, or inspiring to other hs-ing mothers), thumbing through catalogues, drafting curriculum wishlists, or bouncing from one resource to another but on the simple task of focusing on the moment we're in. It has saved me years of angst and wasted time, talent, and treasure, that lesson has.)

Don't misunderstand. I think that it's important that we parent-educators tend to our needs, but I also think it's critical that we do it on our own time. (For me, that's in the wee, small hours of the morn' or the late evening hours after they head to bed or, sometimes, during the day on "free" days (one benefit of year-round studies).) When I forget this self-mandate (e.g., when I take a call during lesson time or blog while the kids are laboring over math sheets), I send the following mixed message: Leading the family-centered learning project is my first and most important job -- except when I want to do something else. Make that mistake too many times, and it's really no wonder when the youngest dallies over a sheet she previously needed only thirty minutes to complete for three, four times longer than that; no wonder that they're feeling recalcitrant, unmotivated; no wonder our interactions are laced with discontent.

Lest you or someone else click away in anger, note that this is not a criticism of any sort. I don't know how you approach your work. You asked how to reach your child's heart, though; I can only tell you how I reach my own children's hearts and minds:

With as much consistency as possible, I model the behavior and standards I want the kids to maintain.

And I've been doing that since we began this adventure.

By necessity, this means I haven't adopted then abandoned multiple approaches to parenting or learning. It means that I decided on a fairly certain course early on, a course chosen to match my personality and goals well.

And I've stuck with it.

There is an unmistakable rhythm to our days, a dance of daily routines and rituals that guide this family's life, and everyone, from the generally happy-no-matter-what youngest to the uber-sensitive-artist-type middle to the man-boy oldest sways to the silent music

...because it has been playing since they they arrived.

Sure, there's spontaneity. And fun. Lots of it. Surprise. Humor. Laughter. But that's the harmony. The melody is one of clearly stated goals and plenty of examples of how to achieve them.

We parent-educators love to point out that the benefit of homeschooling is that we can tailor the curriculum and our approach to our students' needs. As I wrote in "Be a sun," I suspect there is a point at which this becomes too much of a good thing. Clearly, when an elementary school student fails to understand that his or her job is to play and learn and study and grow (and to do so without a big fuss), he or she needs less "heart talk" and more "stern talk" -- mixed with a healthy dose of the teacher modeling the same level of commitment to task.

What is "stern talk"? It might look something like this: Quite simply, education is the law here; as in, parents must provide their children with an education. If my child isn't learning (barring some sort of organic issue), we are not complying with the law. If I am doing my part (check), that leaves you, the child. You must do your part. In this house, that means that the following activities must be completed on a daily (weekly, monthly, annual) basis. Until we're in compliance, we will skip the following activities: [insert favorite programs, extracurriculars here].

I'm going to circle back to my original premise: It all begins with the parent-educator. Anger and sadness are one response to a recalcitrant student. Humor is another approach. But, in the end, unwavering purposefulness may be the best choice, and that's hard to achieve if we haven't done the hard work of laying out our own courses. As I said, this is not a criticism but an observation based on my teaching and parenting experiences: Things work best when I work best.

___________________

Added later: For more entries like this, see our "Thoughts on education and parenting."

Saint Patrick: A Visual Celebration

"The business of spirituality is finding and making connections," writes Dennis O'Neill in one of the essays that complement the 1999 book by Celtic artist Courtney Davis, Saint Patrick: A Visual Celebration. O'Neill continues, "If words like 'ecumenical,' 'inter-faith' and 'global village' have become symbols of hope for the unity of human beings and of our shifting from mutual antagonism to mutual understanding, then Patrick and the Celtic Church could serve as a channel through which Christianity and the New Age movement, the ecological movement, and even shamanism, astrology and neo-pagan earth-centered religion -- subjects presently forbidden to most Christians -- could begin to enter into a genuine healing dialogue."

The illustration in the photo above -- St. Patrick's Bell -- appears on page 55, but the quote below is from St. Patrick's Breastplate (p. 33):

Today I put on the power of Heaven,
the light of the Sun,
the radiance of the Moon,
the splendour of fire,
the fierceness of lightning,
the swiftness of wind,
the depth of sea,
the firmness of earth
and the hardness of rock.

I rather fancy the idea of Saint Patrick as "a channel through which Christianity and the New Age movement, the ecological movement, and even shamanism, astrology and neo-pagan earth-centered religion -- subjects presently forbidden to most Christians -- could begin to enter into a genuine healing dialogue."

For more about Courtney Davis, visit this website, which includes Father Dennis' forward to Visual Celebration. Dennis, who also contributed commentary to the Davis book Celtic Beasts: Animals Motifs and Zoomorphic Design in Celtic Art, published Passionate Holiness: Marginalized Christian Devotions for Distinctive Peoples a couple of years ago. Order it from Amazon or here.

"He reads much..."

Beware the Ides of March.

Would he were fatter! But I fear him not:
Yet if my name were liable to fear,
I do not know the man I should avoid
So soon as that spare Cassius. He reads much;
He is a great observer and he looks
Quite through the deeds of men: he loves no plays,
As thou dost, Antony; he hears no music;
Seldom he smiles, and smiles in such a sort
As if he mock'd himself and scorn'd his spirit
That could be moved to smile at any thing.
Such men as he be never at heart's ease
Whiles they behold a greater than themselves,
And therefore are they very dangerous.
I rather tell thee what is to be fear'd
Than what I fear; for always I am Caesar.
Come on my right hand, for this ear is deaf,
And tell me truly what thou think'st of him.

Yes, Shakespeare's Julius Caesar. The above is the first passage Master M-mv ever memorized. Yes, this play captured his imagination; this play that bores so many students and their teachers reached him with its words, words, words... and the rest is, well, history.


Well, when you put it that way...
From N.S.'s column on Monday:

From quashing stem cell research to promoting the teaching of Christian creation myth in public schools, from gagging government scientists to stifling anti-global warming efforts, the Bush administration is leading a theocratic assault on rationality that we would snicker at in another country but barely notice unfolding here.

Why I love Bryson
From A Short History of Nearly Everything:

You can get some sense of the immaterial quality of clouds by strolling through fog--which is, after all, nothing more than a cloud that lacks the will to fly.

We've been recommending Bryson in one way or another since M-mv began. If you've resisted, let me entreat you, one more time, to enter this wordsmith's world. See if your library has the unabridged audio version of Short History read by Richard Matthews. It is a most amiable companion for a long automobile excursion, to be sure.

Twelve thousand words
Polyhedra. Evolutionary genetics. Joyce Carol Oates. Insurrections.

Yes, still waylaid by writerly schizophrenia.

And loving it.

The value of meaningful work (and fair compensation for said work) cannot be overstated.

Twelve thousand words in twelve days

Deadlines to meet.
See you soon.

Russian lit

Past one o’clock. You must have gone to bed.
The Milky Way streams silver through the night.
I’m in no hurry; with lightning telegrams
I have no cause to wake or trouble you.
And, as they say, the incident is closed.
Love’s boat has smashed against the daily grind.
Now you and I are quits. Why bother then
To balance mutual sorrows, pains, and hurts.
Behold what quiet settles on the world.
Night wraps the sky in tribute from the stars.
In hours like these, one rises to address
The ages, history, and all creation.

The poem above was found among Vladimir Mayakovsky’s papers after his suicide on April 14, 1930. The middle section, with modest revisions, served as an epilogue to his suicide note. Yes, plagued by critics and disappointed in his personal relationships, the poet, who had criticized poet Serge Yesenin for committing suicide, took his own life: You and I, we are quits, and there is no point in listing mutual pains, sorrows, and hurts.

Mayakovsky was the pre-eminent poet of the Russian Revolution and its immediate aftermath, maintains Huck Gutman, Ph.D., a professor at University of Vermont. Listen to the Real Audio presentation of Gutman's one-hour lecture on the self-dramatizing and accessible poems of Mayakovsky, "one of the great 'undiscovered' poets, though he is undiscovered only by English-speaking readers." The lecture features Gutman's oral interpretation of nine poems, including "How I Became a Dog," "On Being Kind to Horses," and "It's Already Past One."
_________________________

I already mentioned that we've been reading and discussing One Day in the Life of Ivan Denisovich (Aleksandr Solzhenitsyn). Well, the serendipity that leads from one book to the next brings us to The Death of Ivan Ilyich.

And suddenly it grew clear to him that what had been oppressing him and would not leave his was all dropping away at once from two sides, from ten sides, and from all sides. He was sorry for them, he must act so as not to hurt them: release them and free himself from these sufferings. "How good and how simple!" he thought. "And the pain?" he asked himself. "What has become of it? Where are you, pain?"

_________________________

Since all of that is a little heavy, a little heady, may I just say that the Real California Cheese commercials make me ache from guffawing? (Click around until you arrive as "Happy Cow TV.")

Do you want to marry a cow?

The Complete Works Festival

Yes, this is exciting, but this?Patrick Stewart as Prospero? Ian McKellan in King Lear? Stupendous!

Paging Mr. M-mv. I've selected my anniversary gift.

W.S.*

From J.B.

Writerly schizophrenia
allows
(creates?)
synchronicity
and
serendipity,
two of the strongest
strangest
creative powers
in our
world.

__________________

If all goes well at my dental appointment, I'll attend a 12 noon mass at Our Lady of IKEA. Yes, tremble, tremble.

And if all goes well at mass, I'll stop by the book store for a Mocha Mudslide (to wash down the Swedish meatballs, of course) and this book .

Yeah, aside from the sharp instruments in my mouth part, this day looks good in preview.



* Writerly schizophrenia

Writerly schizophrenia

Let me be absolutely clear: This is neither complaint nor bid for sympathy. It's simply an observation.

Something above and beyond what one typically thinks of as "adaptability" must be employed in order to remain reasonably coherent while researching and writing about numerous unrelated topics under deadline. Yes, I think a little "writerly schizophrenia" is required to pen lucid prose on topics as diverse as, say, Sewall Wright, Richard Wright, the use of animals in police work, Claude-Michel Schonberg, and photography equipment--in the same week.

I'm just saying.

The 10th Carnival of Homeschooling

~ Hosted by PalmTree Pundit~

On the nightstand (under the pillow, in the knapsack, etc.)

From How to Read a Book (Mortimer J. Adler):

The mind can atrophy, like the muscles, if it is not used. Atrophy of the mental muscles is the penalty we pay for not taking mental exercise. And this is a terrible penalty, for there is evidence that atrophy of the mind is a mortal disease.

Ah, yes. "Mental muscles." If only my other muscles were as shapely and toned, eh? Heh, heh, heh. Oh, well. They get me places, those other muscles, even if they are a little (all right, a lot) less fit and firm. Around the lake. To the bog. Through the tamarack woods. Over the moraine. Along the beach. Even into the pool. It's all good.
___________________________

How nearly two months slipped by without an "On the nightstand" entry, I don't know, but here we go, the twenty-seventh edition of this M-mv feature.

In which the Family Book Club reads a trilogy
:: Man's Search for Meaning (Viktor E. Frankl)
A thought transfixed me: for the first time in my life I saw the truth as it is set into song by so many poets, proclaimed as the final wisdom by so many thinkers. The truth--that love is the ultimate and the highest goal to which man can aspire.

:: One Day in the Life of Ivan Denisovich (Aleksandr Solzhenitsyn)
Sometimes, though, you got thinking and your spirits soared: your sentence was running out, there wasn't much thread left on the spool! Lord! Just to think of it! Walking free, on your own two legs!

One Day is also the tenth selection in the One Book, One Chicago program. Visit the site for background material and/or discussion questions.

:: Night (Elie Wiesel)
I ran to look for my father. At the same time I was afraid of having to wish him a happy year in which I no longer believed. He was leaning against the wall, bent shoulders saggin as if under a heavy load. I went up to him, took his hand and kissed it. I felt a tear on my hand. Whose was it? Mine? His? I said nothing. Nor did he. Never before had we understood each other so clearly.

Maybe you perceive the readerly serendipity that led to this "trilogy."

In which I spend a little of our tax return
:: Without You: A Memoir of Love, Loss, and the Musical Rent (Anthony Rapp)
My greatest fear was that they might not be willing to open themselves up to the show's enormous heart, which was the source of most of its power. But I did my best to leave those anxieties at a low murmur so I could concentrate on the work.

:: Crimes against Logic (Jamie Whyte)
It can be a little tricky when you have been over the matter quite thoroughly and, in the end, everyone can see that you have no good grounds for your position--or, worse, that you cannot even make it coherent. You must either give it up or else stick to it and live with everyone knowing it to be mere prejudice.

Heh, heh, heh.

:: The Consolations of Philosophy (Alain de Botton)
Social life is beset with disparities between others' perceptions of us and our reality. We are accused of stupidity when we are being cautious. Our shyness is taken for arrogance and our desire to please for sycophancy. We struggle to clear up a misunderstanding, but our throat goes dry and the words found are not the ones meant. Bitter enemies are appointed to positions of power over us, and denounces us to others. In the hatred unfairly directed towards an innocent philosopher we recognize an echo of the hurt we ourselves encounter at the hands of those who are either unable or unwilling to do us justice.

:: A Girl Named Zippy (Haven Kimmel)
Eventually, exhausted, I'd flop down on the couch in a sprawled position that suggested maybe I'd just spend the morning watching fishing shows with my dad, who would turn almost without turning and give me the one raised eyebrow look which contained the whole of his childrearing philosophy: "I respect every way in which you are a troublemaker, now get up and do what your mother says."

In which I test-drive some books from the library
:: The Kaizen Way: One Small Step Can Change Your Life (Robert Maurer)
Focusing on small moments is both easy and hard to do. I am reminded how easy it is when I watch children play and learn. They are absolutely focused in the moment, so able to take pleasure and be absorbed in their activities and their friends.

In a nutshell, applying Kaizen strategies to personal growth involves asking small questions, thinking small thoughts, taking small actions, solving small problems, bestowing small rewards, and indentifying small moments. Yeah, I know. Nothing new here, really. The central idea is that our mind resists change, so we must "trick" it by changing in--ayup--small steps.

:: The Middle Mind: Why Americans Don't Think for Themselves (Curtis White)
Our culture provides entertainment as a compensation for and an inducement to work. It reconciles work and leisure, and reconciles production and consumption. It eliminates contradictions that would otherwise be intolerable.

M., a card-carrying member of M-mv's best and perfect audience, wrote after I mentioned I was reading Mind. "I've skimmed some of the reader reviews at Amazon and holy cow! I'm aspiring to Terry Gross' level of discourse. White discusses the relative merits of Radiohead's OK Computer and Kid A!? (Well, at least I have the former.) Sounds like a provocative, if obscure, read -- I'd like to hear what you think of it."

I replied:

Mind is absolutely over the top. Someone ordered it via M-mv. (I can see what people order, not who ordered what (in case you were concerned about privacy).) I thought, Hmmm. What's this all about? and picked it up from the library. Loved the first five pages -- references to Wallace Stevens and the quotidian and all. And then... intellectual vitriol. The reviewers weren't too far off. Either that, or I am also way beneath White's contempt.

Okay, I am way beneath White's contempt.

And apparently, I'm in damned fine company. Heh, heh, heh.

Yeah, I'm glad these were both only test-driven selections.

In which I find two gems at the library book sale
:: The Horse's Mouth (Joyce Cary)
The Professor kept coughing and making faces at me, but I wasn't afraid of embarrassing nice people. I knew they would be used to unfortunate remarks. Rich people are like royalty. Richesse oblige. And, in fact, they kept on putting me at my ease; and paying me compliments all the time.

:: Follett Spanish Dictionary
Gladys Carlson carefully penned her name on the inside cover of this 1943 edition. Master and I already have current Spanish-English dictionaries, but this one... delights us.

In which Family M-mv watches birds
:: A Guide to Field Identification: Birds of North America

:: Birds in Your Backyard (Virginia S. Eifert)

:: The Audubon Society Encyclopedia of North American Birds (John K. Terres)

:: The Birds around Us

Read. Think. Learn.

And we'll see you again soon.

Previous "On the nightstand" entries
1.14.2006
12.19.2005
11.11.2005
10.21.2005
9.26.2005
8.25.2005
8.5.2005
7.6.2005
5.28.2005
4.18.2005
3.20.2005
2.14.2005
1.14.2005
12.21.2004
11.21.2004
10.12.2004
9.13.2004
8.24.2004
7.19.2004
6.12.2004
5.19.2004
4.22.2004
3.12.2004
2.15.2004
1.26.2004
12.31.2003

Tracks in the soft, white snow

Neat.

In an article about "The 50 Book Challenge," Adrianna Puckett of the Central Rappahannock Central Library recommends Mental multivitamin to her readers, noting, "My personal favorite, this blog is insightful, inspiring, and thought-provoking - without that smug undertone of literary supremacy that tinges so many other book blogs."

Some of you may remember that Ms. Puckett has recommended us before.

Neat.

Many thanks for the kind, kind words.

For Beth

M&Ms for the "bad days," a post from another forum circa August 2003:

We get in the minivan and drive to our favorite “other place.” Whether it’s the park, the beach, the library, a museum... we just GO. Play. Talk. Discover. I ruffle their hair. We play tag. I let them get a few paces ahead so I can rediscover my children’s beauty, their mannerisms, their selves. I begin to see them through the eyes I use when I kiss them at 1 AM and stroke their sleep-softened cheeks. In short, I fall in love with them again.

Then we hop back in the minivan and bestow ourselves with speed to a grocery store. The kids pick out all of their favorite “fun foods” — frozen pizza, chips, exotic fruit, and, of course, M&Ms. When we get home, we set up an old sheet in front of the television and lay out the goodie feast.

We watch family-favorites while we munch, like Willy Wonka and the Chocolate Factory, October Sky, The Iron Giant, and Camelot. And when the final movie credits roll, the children clean up.

Then, weather permitting, we take a walk around our neighborhood. We bring a basket to collect weird stones, interesting sticks, soft feathers. We kick a can, crouch low to look at the leaves and bugs and the funny imprints the stray cat made in the cement before it dried, and peek at the neighbor’s new car. We hold hands. [...]

When we return, I suggest pulling out all of our building systems (e.g., LEGOs, Ellos, K’Nex, etc.) to create the tallest creation we can, using all of the pieces.

We laugh! Sing silly songs! Dance around to disco tunes!

After dinner and baths, we cuddle in my bed or on the couch to take turns reading aloud from James Marshall’s George and Martha stories. And, as everyone gets a little sleepy, I ask the children what they like best about our lives and our family. We talk about this crazy adventure we’re all on. When they’re finally asleep, I add their answers to my journal; that way, the next time I’m feeling out of sorts, I can peek at the journal to remind myself why I chose this path.

Then...

I eat the rest of the M&Ms

all

by

myself.

Mmmmmmm.

The recommended daily allowance

13 Conversations about One Thing

From Ebert's review:

Happiness is the subject of "13 Conversations About One Thing." For that matter, happiness is the subject of every conversation we ever have: the search for happiness, the envy of happiness, the loss of happiness, the guilt about undeserved happiness. The engine that drives the human personality is our desire to be happy instead of sad, entertained instead of bored, inspired instead of disillusioned, informed rather than ignorant. It is not an easy business.

He concludes:

The film was directed by Jill Sprecher and written with her sister, Karen. It's their second, after "Clockwatchers" (1997), the lacerating, funny story about temporary workers in an office and their strategies to prove they exist in a world that is utterly indifferent to them. After these two movies, there aren't many filmmakers whose next film I anticipate more eagerly. They're onto something. They're using films to demonstrate something to us. Movies tell narratives, and the purpose of narrative is to arrange events in an order that seems to make sense and end correctly. The Sprechers are telling us if we believe in these narratives, we're only fooling ourselves.

And yet, even so, there is a way to find happiness. That is to be curious about all of the interlocking events that add up to our lives. To notice connections. To be amused or perhaps frightened by the ways things work out. If the universe is indifferent, what a consolation that we are not.

______________________
M., an original and card-carrying member of M-mv's best and perfect audience, recommended 13 Conversations -- preferring it, I think, to Crash, which I had heartily recommended last year.

If M's intent was to gently guide me to a better film, she was right. 13 Conversations is a far more intelligent (and true) treatment of our interconnectedness than Crash is. It both resonates and mesmerizes. It is, in the end, a more memorable film, the sort that deserves awards and huge audiences. It makes you think. It makes you want to tell someone, "Watch this movie. Watch! Think! Learn!"

Like Ebert, I simply cannot wait to see what the Sprecher sisters will teach me next.

Thanks, M.

(Aside: I saw Clockwatchers the evening before and give it an enthusiastic recommendation with only one caution: It is not the movie it appears to be. It is a much sadder, lonelier, and bitingly real movie than its "gal pal" cover suggests.)

Always real

With a nod to Cheryl Lynn's "Got to Be Real."

What you find...

What you feel...

He is home.

Life is short.

Be mine.

What you know...

...to be real.

Marshall McLuhan

In a culture like ours, long accustomed to splitting and dividing all things as a means of control, it is sometimes a bit of a shock to be reminded that, in operational and practical fact, the medium is the message. This is merely to say that the personal and social consequences of any medium -- that is, of any extension of ourselves -- result from the new scale that is introduced into our affairs by each extension of ourselves, or by any new technology. [Emphasis added.]

From Understanding Media.

Chung-chung

From Robert Feder's column (February 28, 2006):

ABC Radio Networks has confirmed that Fred Thompson, the former U.S. senator and star of NBC's "Law & Order," has been hired as special program host and senior analyst, starting on Memorial Day.

As part of his new role, Thompson also been designated as vacation fill-in for Chicago-based commentator Paul Harvey, who's still going strong at age 87. A report in the New York Post identified Thompson as Harvey's heir apparent.

Upcoming: "On the nightstand (under the pillow, in the knapsack, etc.)." (Our last "Nightstand" entry.) And bumper stickers.

Galanthus

It's 38 degrees here. A little raw. A little gray.

But the galanthus have pushed through the cold, dry earth, past the old grass and the drying leaves, around the crumbly soil and organic debris.

And so begins this season of renewal.

"[T]he physicality of books"

J. thought we'd enjoy this entry about culling books.

"Beast of Burden"

See, now I think this Stones song (my second favorite, to this) is a mighty fine love song. Granted, one needs certain, um, sensibilities to appreciate its appeal, but, yes, it's a love song.

C. knows I think so and sent along this link.

Heh, heh, heh.

Ain’t I tough enough
Ain’t I rich enough, in love enough...

What was he thinking?

Aunt M-mv sent the link to this story, knowing it would make me "laugh and cringe at the same time."

The recommended daily allowance

This (or something like it) has been in heavy rotation on my play list all my life, so you can imagine just how much I enjoyed this last night. Highly recommended.

Fortunately, I keep my feathers numbered for just such an emergency.