Sue, the beautiful and knowledgeable docent who led the 2 p.m. tour at the Grosse Point Lighthouse last Sunday, maintained that no one had ever asked her that before.
And for a moment, I was silent, stunned.
"No one ever asked if they could take a photo with you?" I asked, imagining the hundreds of people she must have led up those 141 stairs, pausing to explain this custom, that aspect of the structure, those bits of history that had attracted a visitor to the lighthouse to begin with. "No one?" I repeated.
"No," she replied with a light laugh, clearly pleased and surprised by my request. I moved the Misses into place, took a picture, and thanked Sue again for her time.
But I've been wondering ever since... Is what I do that unusual?
We have dozens of photos of the kids with librarians, docents, museum curators, naturalists, coaches, musicians, and all of the other wonderful teachers who have spent time with us, instructed us, made us think. In fact, a photo has often seemed like the best way to part. It has become my way of cataloguing the experience. And I guess it has become my way of saying, "You were awesome! Thank you for your time! May we have a photo to remember you and what you've taught us?"
And because that's what I was saying when I asked Sue if I could take her picture with the Misses, it saddened me to imagine that no one else had ever asked her.
Because she was. She was awesome.
Thank you, Sue. And thank you to the librarians, docents, museum curators, naturalists, coaches, musicians, and all of the other wonderful teachers who have, over the years, spent time with us, instructed us, made us think. The geography of our imagination is richer for having met you.
"May I take your picture?"
On the nightstand
Since my last entry....
Books read
■ NurtureShock: New Thinking about Children (Po Bronson and Ashley Merryman)
Brilliant. Expect more commentary in the next week or two because this book and Kirsten Olson's Wounded by School: Recapturing the Joy in Learning and Standing Up to Old School Culture deserve much more than just a nod.
■ Hell Is Other Parents (Deborah Copaken Kogan)
Witty and well written but easy on the brain.
■ Perfection: A Memoir of Betrayal and Renewal (Julie Metz)
This is the inverse of Joan Didion's The Year of Magical Thinking: Blending pain and poignancy, Metz recounts her discovery of the real nature of her marriage in the aftermath of her husband's sudden death.
■ The Body of Christopher Creed (Carol Plum-Ucci)
Intriguing.
■ What Happened to Cass McBride? (Gail Giles)
Not quite as insightful as The Body of Christopher Creed.
■ My Son Is a Marine (Jo Anne Allen)
Not really my cuppa, but it filled a need, so to speak; scratched an itch. As it turns out, I probably won't be a conventional "Marine mom." No kidding, though, huh? Heh, heh, heh.
■ Chasing Vermeer (Blue Balliet)
With the "Girls Rule Book Club."
Rereading
■ The Giver (Lois Lowry)
Also with the "Girls Rule Book Club."
Nearly done
■ If You Come Softly (Jacqueline Woodson)
Like The Body of Christopher Creed and What Happened to Cass McBride?, this was on a table of books at the bookstore that must not be named near Aunt M-mv's new home. The titles were billed as required reading in the local school district. Why did they include this? And this? And this? I wondered. I'm still not certain. They're not the best YA books I've ever read. I'm guessing that it's for the issues with which they deal -- bullying, suicide, relationships (peer and family), interracial romance, etc. -- that they've been chosen.
■ Weapons of Mass Instruction: A Schoolteacher's Journey through the Dark World of Compulsory Schooling (John Taylor Gatto)
This is, of course, precisely what you'd expect from a Gatto polemic.
Review copy received
■ The Shimmer (David Morrell)
Notable acquisitions
■ Genesis (Bernard Beckett)
I think I have Melissa Wiley to thank for this one.
■ Austerlitz (Winfried Georg Sebald)
■ The Last American Man (Elizabeth Gilbert)
This was also billed as required reading in the local school district.
Borrowed from the library
■ Charles Fort: The Man Who Invented the Supernatural (Jim Steinmeyer)
Fans of Chasing Vermeer know why.
■ Perfection: A Memoir of Betrayal and Renewal (Julie Metz)
See note under "Books read."
To the lighthouse
The short documentary docents show before leading groups of no more than twelve visitors up the 141 stairs of the Grosse Point Lighthouse makes it clear that the history of this National Historic Landmark essentially begins with a tragedy.
On the foggy morning of September 8, 1860, the overcrowded passenger steamer Lady Elgin collided with a lumber-carrying schooner on Lake Michigan, not far from the Chicago harbor. Thinking that all was well, both ships continued on their separate journeys, but the Lady Elgin soon began to break apart and sink. Horrified Evanston residents watched from the shoreline, willing but unable to help the 300 to 400 people who lost their lives. In the tragic aftermath, according to the short history featured on the lighthouse website, "The citizens of Evanston petitioned Congress for a lighthouse on Grosse Point but the Civil War and events afterward delayed the project. Then, in 1871, not long after the great Chicago Fire, Congress formally authorized construction of a lighthouse on Grosse Point."
This past Sunday, Mr. M-mv, the Misses, and I took the 2 p.m. tour of the keepers’ quarters museum and the lighthouse.
Not everyone is a lighthouse aficionado, so I won't bore you with all of the splendid details, but for the few of you who do share my interest, this morsel: According to the National Park Service (NPS) Maritime Heritage Program site, "In recognition of the importance of this lighthouse to maritime navigation, Grosse Point Lighthouse was fitted with the first second-order Fresnel lens on the Great Lakes. These devices were engineering marvels of their day and Grosse Point has the largest Fresnel lens on the Great Lakes. It is the only one of its kind operating there today (USCG Class 2)."
I like the images I captured of the lens.
By the way, Donald J. Terras, the author of the text featured at NPS site, has managed the Grosse Point Light Station since 1984. After our tour, he autographed our copy of his book, The Grosse Point Lighthouse.
Here, the Misses are pictured with the author.
And here are two images taken from the top of the lighthouse.
Finally, this is the lovely butterfly garden that surrounds one of the two other buildings on the site.
If you've never visited this Chicagoland treasure, make a note to do so before the season ends next month. (They're closed Labor Day weekend.)
Slow down. Look. See with your mind.
From "How to Read Pictures," the opening of Alice Elizabeth Chase's 1951 text Famous Paintings: An Introduction to Art for Young People:
Today we do things fast. We speed across the country in automobiles or airplanes. We flip over the pages of magazines with little more than a glance at each picture. But there are many things that still take time, like listening to music or looking at good pictures. Here in this book is a gallery of pictures to be looked at slowly. Some will appeal immediately to your eyes. If you want to see with your mind, too, look, then read, then look again. [Boldface added.] Some pictures you will like at once; their language is simple and easy to understand. Others you may begin to like until you have looked ten or twenty times; their language requires more study and thought. Some you may grow tired of. Others you may come to like more and more. Some you will feel like looking at when you are tired or discouraged, others when you are happy. But if you take the time to look and look you will find that a great work of art has many things to say to you and that you are learning to read the language of pictures.Sing it, sister!
Heh, heh, heh.
Regular M-mv readers know how much I appreciate both the synchronicity and serendipity at work in my reading, thinking, and learning life. How's this for a neat bit of that ol' S&S magic?
On the way home from one of our most recent trips to Chicago, we stopped at American Science & Surplus, where I found a deck of Art Rummy cards featuring images from the National Gallery of Art -- for a $1.
Cool, I thought, and added them to our loot (which also included two Venus fly traps, a sun print kit, and two small figures of the Terra Cotta soldiers from Qin Shi Huang Di's tomb). As we toodled along the highway, I read the essay printed in agate type on the cover card, "Going to Museums." It described the "hunt-and-find" game, in which the members of a museum-going group identify one subject and then search for it throughout the art museum. "For example, who can find the most scenes that include horses or that show children at play?"
Fans of Chasing Vermeer (Blue Balliet) know that the innovative Ms. Hussey proposes just such a "hunt and find" game to her sixth-grade class when she suggests that they look for letters at the Art Institute.
"How about paintings? All you have to do is look." Ms. Hussey said she'd noticed that art often showed what was important to people in any given time. It revealed things. Besides, she'd said with a smile, she was tired of being in school all day. It was time for a field trip.Of course, I knew about Ms. Hussey because the Misses and I had just read Chasing Vermeer for the Summer 2009 incarnation of our "Girls Rule Book Club." We had also read a very simple biography of Vermeer from the juvenile non-fiction shelves, just to get some basic facts down, and in our wanderings had stumbled on a later edition of Famous Paintings: An Introduction to Art for Young People. After only one evening with the book, all of us agreed: We need to own this.
Everyone sat up.
And now, as the excerpt with which I opened this entry suggests, we do.
I know. Cool, right?
Synchronicity. Serendipity.
A day in the life
Throughout the month of August, the folks at Life with My 3 Boybarians have been hosting a "Not Back-to-School Blog Hop." This week's focus is day-in-the-life posts. I just added my entries -- "A typical day and night here" (10.11.2005) and "A typical day and night here redux" (5.28.2008) -- to a growing list of submissions. Do you need some inspiration? Validation? Camaraderie? An insider's view? Hop on over!
(The continuing pursuit of) Fine Art (on) Friday
As I wrote last week, the Misses and I have been studying watercolor at the local college. On Wednesday, I shared my most recent painting, a work in progress inspired by a photo I had taken earlier this year.
Today, after a lengthy consultation with our professor, I mixed a little of this with some of that, added a little depth here, and (obviously!) some hair there, and -- Voilà! -- my finished piece.
As I've written before, the pursuit is the point for me.
Read. Think. Learn. Do. Pursue.
The "Fine Art Friday" archive can be found here.
From the archives: Testament
More than twenty years ago, my college mentor recommended Testament in one or another of the several classes and seminars I took with him. When I was home a couple of weekends later, my mother channel-surfed in lieu of conversation, and William Devane's face flickered across the screen. "Can we watch this for a bit?"
It wasn't a long movie, over in a quiet horror and a sob.
I remember it now as my first genuine glimpse into the lives of adults, of families. (And this is, of course, the gift of good books, films, artworks, music, etc. -- that they help us understand what is real and true in ways in which what is real and true has not yet done, perhaps cannot do.)
The film, which was brilliantly cast with gifted actors (Jane Alexander, Devane, the young Luke Haas) who actually look like a typical nuclear family in a California hamlet, opens twenty-four hours before a nuclear attack. In Thornton Wilder's Our Town, Emily cries out in Act III, "I can't. I can't go on. It goes too fast. We don't have time to look at one another. I didn't realize. So all that was going on and we never noticed." This is, of course, the essence of Testament's extended first act: that the father challenges the son to make the hill but pedals ahead, that the youngest would prefer to be a rat in the school production of The Pied Piper of Hamelin (a wish denied that serves as heartbreaking foreshadow), that the mother fails to awaken in time to exercise, that the husband and wife make love rather than continue a painful discussion, and so on. Piano practice. Breakfast. Clutter. School. Work. Answering machines. Unfinished projects. Unspoken fears. Unmet expectations. Pain and beauty, the extraordinary and the commonplace. Life. And no one really notices. The rhythms and grace notes that underscore everyday life grow too subtle, pass unmarked, end uncelebrated.
And then the world winks out, a few lights at a time. We can wish that we remember everything, and how we survived, the mother tells her son as the movie concludes.
But is being the last woman standing on the cusp of the end of the world something a girl dreams of when she grows up?
Watching Testament two decades later, sharing it with my oldest child, a perceptive and sensitive filmgoer, I was challenged -- again -- to examine the course and content of my life. If it were all over tomorrow, would today have been enough?
___________________________
I had hoped to acquire a copy of the short story on which the film is based, "The Last Testament" by Carol Amen. Today I stumbled upon this posting to a message board:
Looking to buy the April 1987 edition of Ellery Queen, Vol 89, #4, No 529; Ed. Eleanor Sullivan.Perhaps the librarians can help me.
This issue should contain the story "Last Testament" by Carol Amen starting on pg 86.
If single issues aren't available or you don't want to break up the entire year's issues, let me know, I'd be willing to buy the whole year's worth if need be. I'd really just like a readable copy of that story- it was the basis of the 1983 American Playhouse movie "Testament" about post-nuclear war affecting a single family in California. The original story apparently was published in 1980 in the St Anthony Messenger, a small Catholic monthly... but I'm unable to find a copy of that magazine. The author, Carol Amen is deceased (1987) and I've not been able to locate any assigned agents for her work.
[In July 2007, they did. See this entry for more information.]
___________________________
I couldn't sleep last night, so I brewed some more coffee and padded through the little house in the tiny woods on the prairie. I think that I began to understand why so many people choose to slip-slide through life. Literature or art or music or conversation that makes. us. think. hurts. It forces us to re-examine ourselves and our lives in ways that may... that will disappoint us. Reconciling who we are with who we thought we might be is hard work. It is easier, then, to watch "The Apprentice," post silly polls to faceless "friends" on a chat board, hide in the bathroom with the latest issue of People, live behind the unexamined rules of an organization, work without joy, sleep without really dreaming. Yes, it is easier to slip-slide on a sled of such soul-deadening (non)choices, easier to slip and slide toward nothingingness than to choose to walk to the very edge of its chasm, to feel its black fingers caress the essence of you, and then to pull away, renewed, recommitted to making today matter more than yesterday.
___________________________
Have you read Ray Bradbury's short story, "The Last Night of the World"?
"We haven't been too bad, have we?"Bradbury misstepped there, I think. I reread the story last night in the wake of Testament and decided that he misstepped. While we must be something more than not too bad, I'm not certain that being ourselves is such an unworthy goal. Being our best selves, that is, and by doing so inspiring in those we love and those we meet the desire to be, in turn, their best selves. So that even if a big part of the world is being lots of quite awful things, we are not allowing the everyday to pass unnoticed and uncelebrated.
"No, nor enormously good. I suppose that's the trouble -- we haven't been very much of anything except us, while a big part of the world was being lots of quite awful things."
Appreciating book bloggers
The second annual "Book Blogger Appreciation Week" is slated for September 14 through 18. According to the program's website:
Book Blogger Appreciation was started by Amy Riley of My Friend Amy in an effort to recognize the hard work and contribution of book bloggers to the promotion and preservation of a literate culture actively engaged in discussing books, authors, and a lifestyle of reading.As it turns out, Mental multivitamin has been nominated in two award categories: Best General Review Blog and Best Writing. Many thanks to the reader(s) who nominated M-mv.
The first Book Blogger Appreciation was observed in the fall of 2008 and occurs every September. The week spotlights and celebrates the work of active book bloggers through guest posts, awards, giveaways, and community activities. Book Bloggers are encouraged to register their participation for inclusion in a database of book bloggers.
What I've been doing
■ Watercolor painting
See this post for more about our class and for other samples of my efforts.
And, yes, rightly or wrongly, I am crazy-pleased with the above piece (click to enlarge), which was inspired by the photo in this entry. I masked out the hair, knowing it would be the most difficult aspect of the painting... and it is, so I've decided to set it aside until Friday when I can consult with our professor.
In the meantime, I've set up another board with a sketch inspired by the photo in this old post. The water will be difficult, I know, but I'd like to give it a try.
■ Movies
Mr. M-mv and I watched the French film Les Revenants (They Came Back) Monday night, and while I know many viewers had a problem with this so-called "zombie movie," we were astonished. Later I realized that it had reminded me of Waiting for Godot: While the narrative made little, if any, sense beyond having a beginning, middle, and conclusion, the alternating profundity and inanity of the dialogue was beyond thought-provoking. We are still chatting about the movie's effect on us, and if that's not a recommendation, I don't know what is.
Tonight we're planning to see Sånger från andra våningen (Songs from the Second Floor), which is said to be a sort of Swedish Being John Malkovich. We'll see.
The Misses and I saw Tuck Everlasting last week, and, well, it was rather disappointing. Let's face it: The book is a brilliant philosophical exploration of the nature of life, death, immortality, and being human, with the novel's wisdom stemming from the fact that the ruminations are filtered through a pure, child-like prism -- the ten-year-old Winnie.
The movie not only dumbs down the novel's beautifully evocative language (that Babbitt was an artist partially explains the lovely word pictures her paragraphs paint), it also ages Winnie five years and essentially reduces her choice to a plot device in a (chaste) teen-age romance.
Bleah.
If you're a fan of the book, we recommend that you skip this movie.
■ Bike riding
Wheeeeee! Last week, we rode five miles each night after Mr. M-mv returned home from work. This week, though, we have moved back to our early morning rides in anticipation of our change in schedule. (The fall semester begins next week.)
■ Reading
Recently completed:
● The Body of Christopher Creed (Carol Plum-Ucci)■ Studying
● What Happened to Cass McBride? (Gail Giles)
● My Son Is a Marine (Jo Anne Allen)
● At least two dozen magazines that had been awaiting my attention
As I mentioned in my recent "On the nightstand" entry, I have been studying to become a swimming and diving official. I finished the exam yesterday and dropped it in the mail this morning.
■ The city
We headed into Chicago (yes, again) to see "Real Pirates." No, we haven't a burning interest in pirates, but the special exhibit tickets were included with our annual membership to the Field Museum, so we figured, Why not? And you know what? It was good... much better, in fact, than the Harry Potter exhibit at the Museum of Science and Industry. (Related entry here.)
We read Real Pirates: The Untold Story of the Whydah from Slave Ship to Pirate Ship (Barry Clifford) in advance of our visit, and, as always, a simple introduction really enhanced our appreciation of the exhibit.
By the way, "Talk Like a Pirate" Day is just a month away. Our favorite phrase, so far? Belay yer squawkin’ and batten down the hatches! (Translation can be found here.)
Other highlights from our trip to the Field: "Water" and the "Plants of the World."
Read. Think. Learn. Do.
From the archives: Speaking practically
One refrain among parent-teachers is that life sometimes (for some, often) gets in the way of schooling. Without entering into the "life is the education" debate, let me just suggest -- ever so gently -- that one needs to be careful about letting life derail the home education train.
Family M-mv has been at this gig for a decade fourteen years. I have three children and a fairly demanding job as a writer and editor. And, yes, as I've noted before, life happens. We've had health scares, death (family members and friends), job changes, moves, a major automobile accident, illnesses, broken bones, budget woes, and so on.
What keeps our train on the tracks, then, is remembering that we have an obligation -- in fact, a legal responsibility -- to educate our children. While homeschooling certainly gives us some flexibility in terms of coping with life's challenges, it does not give us a "pass" on getting the job done. Teachers in traditional classrooms, for example, also experience life's upsets, great and small, but if our children were their students, we'd have every expectation that despite the other demands, those teachers would teach our children.
And so we must have the same expectation of ourselves.
Life happens, but the teaching, learning, coaching, studying, and all the rest must continue. No, I didn't have Family M-mv whip out logic texts during a wake or read Shakespeare during medical testing, but I handled all but the most pressing aspect of any crisis when the work of teaching and the work of earning my living was done -- just as I would if I were engaged in a traditional 9-to-5 job.
Sure, we take a day here and a day there. Even a week when needed. But we use a year-round schedule, so there's time enough for life and education. And, yes, sometimes life's challenges are the education. But if I found myself in a perpetual round of skipping lessons and work assignments to cope with life, I'd need to evaluate seriously my ability to continue with home education.
Some practical advice
■ Schedule routine medical and dental appointments for early in the morning or late in the afternoon. This allows you to get a full day of studies in after or before the visit.
■ The needs of one's own family must be first. We are allowed to say to others, "No. I'm sorry, but, no."
■ Illness happens, to be sure, but unless the teacher is ill, some things can go forward as planned. Reading aloud, for example, works well with young patients. Books on tape. Science videos. Unless everyone is down for the count at once, use illness to give the well students some extra attention.
■ Meetings? Again, before school hours or after. On the weekends, even. I can conduct a lot of business between 6:30 a.m. and 8 a.m., and 4 p.m. and 7:30 p.m. Many folks are keeping a sliding schedule. See if those who need to meet with you can accomodate at either end of the business day.
■ Turn off the phone. Yes, you can. Don't splutter at me about the pressing reasons you can't. Just do it. Turn it off. (For that matter, some folks may also need to shut down the computer, too.) The only time my telephone ringer is on is when the oldest (who works) is gone; he needs to be able to reach us. Otherwise, I check messages when I'm on break from our reading-thinking-learning day.
■ Put the children's education first. Force it to the front of the line on your mental to-do list. Once this becomes a habit, you will be better able to discern when it's acceptable to let life creep into the day.
Technorati tags: homeschooling, parenting
No Exit? Yes! That's it!
From "‘Hell Is Other Parents’ echoes ‘No Exit’ theme":
And I realized that anyone who defines hell as being stuck for eternity with an adulterous deserter, a lesbian sadist, and a narcissistic baby-murderer has never spent an hour at a Mommy and Me class. Or killed a Saturday afternoon in the children’s shoe store in my neighborhood, with its sign-up sheet 30 kids deep and shoe projectiles flying across the aisles. Or been forced into any seemingly innocuous but secretly agenda-laden interaction with the parent of your child’s peer.
Related entries
■ ESTRAGON: Yes, let's go. They do not move. (10.12.2006)
■ An open letter (9.01.2004)
(The pursuit of) Fine Art (on) Friday
The Misses M-mv and I are -- again -- taking an art class at the local college -- this time in watercolor. Regular readers know that the Misses are deeply absorbed by their music and art. This course, like the previous course, is providing them with the formal training that seems appropriate for this stage of their journey.
And I? I am along for the Tom Sawyerish ride.
___________________________________
Trays of watercolors seem so child-like and simple, don't they? Working in watercolor is both: child-like and simple. And then again, it's not. After all, watercolor presupposes a certain amount of spilling over edges and blurring of lines. And most people are uncomfortable with that lack of... CONTROL. Watercolor is not, then, a medium for those who believe they can absolutely determine the outcome of piece. Watercolor is not a medium for planners, for perfectionists.
But the Misses, being young and artistically-minded, are thoroughly comfortable with this -- with any -- medium. They can work with and through spilling over and blurring. It is a privilege to (attempt to) create beside them.
This week, we're graduating to "grown-up" paint. Yes, it will be palettes and tubes at our work table today. Wish this sometime-planner, occasional-perfectionist luck.
Some books for our journey
■ You Can Paint Watercolors (Alwyn Cranshaw)
■ Watercolorists at Work (Susan E. Meyer)
■ I Draw, I Paint Watercolor: The Materials, Techniques and Exercises to Teach Yourself to Paint with Watercolors (Isidro Sanchez)
■ Painting in Watercolour (Jenny Rodwell)
You'll find the "Fine Art Friday" archive here.
Link, think
From "Pride. Prejudice. Perfection" (Washington Post, July 30):
Being neither a joiner nor a cultist, I have resisted all temptations to wave the Janeite banner, preferring to enjoy her books -- like those of the many other writers whose work I treasure -- in private. This seems to me especially appropriate in her case, for despite all the chatting and blogging they inspire, they are intensely private books, which may help explain why none of the dramatic adaptations of them that I have seen has really managed to capture their essence....From "Must science declare a holy war on religion?" (Los Angeles Times, August 11):
More moderate scientists, however -- let us call them the accommodationists -- still dominate the hallowed institutions of American science. Personally, these scientists may be atheists, agnostics or believers; whatever their views on the relationship between science and religion, politically, spiritually and practically they see no need to fight over it.From "Damning Mozart With Fervid Praise" (New York Times, August 10):
Mindless, clichéd, indiscriminate cheerleading is the last thing classical music needs just now, as it finds itself increasingly challenged to prove its relevance in the multicultural, anti-elitist, pop-saturated arts climate of the 21st century.
On the nightstand
The "What's on my TBR pile right this second" edition.
■ A Guide to the Good Life: The Ancient Art of Stoic Joy (William B. Irvine)
This accessible exploration of Stoic philosophy actually complements another book on my pile.
■ The Body of Christopher Creed (Carol Plum-Ucci)
We stopped at the bookstore that must not be named on the way home from visiting Aunt M-mv on Monday, and I espied a table of books that were billed as required reading in the local school district. This was but one of several titles that intrigued me. Why did they include this? I wondered. I guess I'll soon find out.
■ The New Global Student: Skip the SAT, Save Thousands on Tuition, and Get a Truly International Education (Maya Frost)
According to the author's website, this book "will show you how to completely avoid the angst and expense of the traditional college admissions game. Discover the creative and strategic alternatives guaranteed to prime students for their most thrilling and fulfilling opportunities." We'll see.
■ Crow Planet: Essential Wisdom from the Urban Wilderness (Lyanda Lynn Haupt)
I first mentioned this review copy here, and it's not for lack of interest that I haven't read it yet, believe me. But, as regular readers know, I've had a lot on my mind lately. More, I've been cramming for an exam. Oh, didn't I tell you? I'm studying to become a licensed swimming and diving official.
■ Wounded by School: Recapturing the Joy in Learning and Standing Up to Old School Culture (Kirsten Olson)
Actually, I'm nearly done reading this excellent book, another review copy, and there's a chapbook entry in all of its thought-provoking material, so look for another post soon. Until then, check out Olson's academic paper "School Woundedness, Cultural Myths of Schooling, and The Healing Process" and the following articles:
● New Learners for the New Economy■ Guide to Joining the Military (Scott A. Ostrow)
● Their Time Is Occupied, But Not Their Brains
● Be Your Child's Chief Learning Officer!
This book provides only the most elementary of overviews, and the ASVAB and his first trip to MEPS are already behind Master M-mv, so the inclusion of this text on my TBR is a little like closing the door on the barn after the lambs have scampered out... but, like so many of you, I feel better about a "Big Subject" after perusing a book about it.
■ Stoic Warriors: The Ancient Philosophy behind the Military Mind (Nancy Sherman)
Sherman appeared on the PBC "documentary" The Marines. (I say, "Documentary," because the film actually ran like a PR puff piece for the Marines rather than a frank, objective, and/or penetrating exploration of the Corps and its mythos.) Although the video was a disappointment, I gathered that the panel of writers who were featured would actually be more reliable sources of information, so I sought out Sherman's book.
■ Best Friends Forever (Jennifer Weiner)
I actually received this review copy a little after the initial press about the new release had run, but I'm a fan, and I look forward to bringing this one poolside over the coming weekend (which is, thank goodness, blissfully unscheduled).
■ NurtureShock: New Thinking about Children (Po Bronson and Ashley Merryman)
Speaking of being a fan... regular M-mv readers will understand how delighted I was to be offered an advance reading copy of NurtureShock: New Thinking about Children, which is due out early next month.
Related entriesVisit the "On the nightstand" archive.
● "The irony of lying is that it’s both normal and abnormal behavior at the same time." (2.13.2008)
● Snooze or lose (10.10.2007)
● Praiseworthy (2.12.2007)
● Chapbook entry (2.03.2006)
● Debra Pickett interviewed Po Bronson (1.30.2006)
● Po Bronson (1.15.2006)
● On the nightstand (under the pillow, in the knapsack, etc.) (1.14.2006)
An aside: It is beyond cool that both Bronson and Haupt are mentioned in this archived entry, and here I am including both of them in the same entry again.
A bouquet of freshly sharpened pencils redux
I first wrote about my bouquet of freshly sharpened pencils four years ago.
On Monday night, Mr. M-mv took me to a teacher supply store where, as is my wont each August, I chose a number of novelty pencils with which to mark the new school year. I selected a couple with music notes and a couple that proudly proclaimed, "Readers are leaders!" And as I sharpened these and the pencils Master M-mv received from his recruiter, I remembered that...
... without the care and inspiration of a few wonderful public school teachers, I would be a small, sad human being.May we parent-teachers strive to the levels of excellence demonstrated by the best of those teachers we remember well.
New points on crayons, unblemished [note]pads, fragrant pencil blossoms -- these remind me of teachers I loved and those who loved me back.
Category I
I've been given an enthusiastic "go-head" to share the following information.
From "Population Representation in the Military: Fiscal Year 2007" (U.S. Department of Defense), then:
The Armed Services Vocational Aptitude Battery (ASVAB) consists of a series of tests used both to determine whether an individual qualifies for military service and to provide an indication of the person’s aptitude for specific job assignments. ASVAB scores on word knowledge, paragraph comprehension, arithmetic reasoning, and mathematics knowledge are used to compute the Armed Forces Qualifying Test (AFQT) score, one of the primary screens for applicant eligibility. [...] The AFQT score categories [...] correspond to the following percentile rangesSo. Category I. And, yes, he is proud of himself. And despite our many concerns and fears, we are proud of him, too.
Category I 93rd-99th percentile
Category II 65th-92nd percentile
Category IIIa 50th-64th percentile
Category IIIb 31st-49th percentile
Category IV 10th-30th percentile
Category V Below 10th percentile
Oh, and his recruiter? He is one very happy guy.
More news and information as it happens.
A personal note
Although it's been nearly three weeks since I posted it, email messages about my "Called to service" entry are still streaming in. And, yes, this middle-aged curmudgeon has been genuinely surprised by how much comfort virtual encouragement can provide.
Many, many thanks for your kind words.
Take notes this time, okay?
From my recent entry "Making time" revisited":
● In general, don't say, "Yes," to anyone. This is harsh, but grow adept at looking nearly every person (excluding your children, spouse and/or significant other, and boss (or editor or client)) who thinks you owe him or her a piece of your time in the eye and saying, "No, but best wishes with [insert time-sucking activity here]." Trust me, this isn't going to cause any death-bed regrets. "Oh, how I wish I had spent more time organizing that [insert time-sucking activity here]!" Yeah. No.Folks, there are a couple of qualifiers here: "in general" and "nearly every person." Moreover, I identify a particular sort of person: one "who thinks you owe him or her a piece of your time." And a particular sort of activity: "time-sucking."
If, from this suggestion, you have gathered that you must withdraw all of your time and talent from your community and/or (if you are so inclined) your church; if, from this suggestion, you have taken the message "Choose between service and a life of the mind!" -- then you simply haven't read what I've written. Not carefully, anyway.
Beyond my family and my boss/clients, I owe no one a piece of my time. That has not, however, prevented folks from thinking I do. How dare they? I maintain, and for some of you, this is a radical notion. But, really. Apart from your family (which deserves your time) and your boss (who pays for your time), who else on earth has a right to think that you owe him or her time? In my world? No one! This view, however, has not prevented me from participating in my community and, once upon a time ago, my church, and it need not prevent you from participating, either. This view may, however, help you rethink your involvement.
Come on. You know how it goes, don't you? With good intentions and genuine interest, you join this committee or that organization... and the organizers, identifying "fresh blood" and "new energy," determine that you'd be perfect for every fundraiser, program, and/or event for which the group needs bodies. In other words, they assume you owe them your time.
And the next thing you know, you're sending someone a message asking, "How do you make time to read?"
Um, I just. say. no. Why didn't you?
I make time for the things without which I could not live -- my family, my work, and my studies. And then I make time for the things among all the rest that will enliven my sense of self; and, of course, this has and always will include involvement with my community. But -- and this is essential -- it will be on my terms, not someone else's; as in, I will craft all of the marketing literature for this $1.9 million capital campaign, but, no, I cannot man that carnival booth [organize that fundraiser, volunteer for that activity, etc.].
Are you there now? Agree, disagree, I don't care. Just don't willfully misread me again, okay? Thanks.
From the archives
When I hear somebody sigh, "Life is hard," I am always tempted to ask, "Compared to what?"
~ Sidney Harris
________________________
Sometimes, those of us who choose to find joy or (at least refrain from dwelling on all that is somehow less than what we had hoped or dreamed) are dismissed as being less transparent or true than others.
What bosh.
How much more "real" must one be than I am in my own writing, for example? Perhaps I should provide a SS# and address, eh?
We all have our burdens, great and small, to bear. All of us. If there is no shame in baring all -- whether in posts to a forum or entries to a blog -- then, truly, there should be no shame in choosing not to. Isn't it simply a given? We each have our issues, concerns, problems, disappointments, and bad dreams.
Although I am neither a religious nor a particularly Pollyanna-ish person, it seems so simple to me: Life is often hard, but it becomes waaaay more difficult when I focus on all that can and has made it hard.
In the ten nearly fourteen years of our homeschooling adventure, for example, we have endured health scares (two of which involved our children), two moves (one of which was utterly unexpected), budget crises, a major automobile accident, the terminal illness and death of a parent, the deaths of friends, the frequent business travel of a spouse, and numerous other pains and sorrows that a marriage and a life (neither of which looks exactly as it did in my girlish dreams) can yield.
Through it all, though -- no durned question about it -- Mr. M-mv and I have provided our children with an education far superior to that which we received. The kids read more, ask more, do more, challenge more, work better, write and speak more clearly, fear less, and reach further than we ever, ever did at their ages.
That is, in the end, both our gift and our responsibility to them -- to parent them, teach them, guide them, care for them, celebrate them, protect them, let them go -- no matter what life is doing to us.
We are, after all, the grown-ups. Imperfect, periodically troubled, but adult and therefore responsible -- for ourselves, for our children, and for our choices.
And my choice when confronted with life's difficulty is to remind myself of its possibility. Writing about the books that we're reading or the music that we're playing or the birds that we're seeing, the museums we're visiting or the Shakespeare we're enjoying or the discoveries we're making -- in fact, chronicling the reading, thinking, learning, and just doing that defines this family is rather like a long-needled immunization against the soul-sucking nature of some aspects of the quotidian (e.g., the unceasing need to wash dishes, fold socks, provide meals, and even, some days, work) as well as some of the more difficult problems life can assign (e.g., automobile accidents and work deadlines and budget concerns).
Do you get it?
Navel-gazing can arouse in me a sense of dissatisfaction and unease. Braces. Body aging. Bills. Books due at the library. Beat the deadline. Broken garage door. Boy needs a ride. Bike needs repair. Blimey, does it never end? Thinking, though, the synthesis of my reading and learning -- oh, how that energizes me. So, too, does the occasional daydreaming session. Yes, in time, I will call the orthodontist, rub lotion into my wrinkles, write the checks, return the books, finish my work, arrange for the repairman's visit, drop off my son, change the tire on my daughter's bike. But first I will dwell on those things that enliven my sense of self and of life's possibilities and promises.
May you find some value in doing the same.
_________________________________________
If you enjoyed this post, you may also appreciate the entries collected here.
From the archives:
Sliding into fall
From Mary Schmich's August 1, 2008 column:
If you merely count the days from summer's official start in June until its finale in September, August 1 doesn't even mark the summer midpoint. But it does mark the high point, which means the beginning of the end.You know what I have to say, right?
The light shifts, softens. The shadows on the leaves and the living room floor make you wonder: When exactly did the wane start?
People in other places may not wonder, but Chicagoans are connoisseurs of summer light. We spot the changes as surely as a foodie detects the difference between fennel and star-anise.
The rumors of summer's death have been greatly exaggerated.
Please, no more, "Summer's practically over!" Yes, I love back-to-school supplies as much as the next autodidact, but their reduced prices at Target do not herald the end of summer, only the end of the "summer fun" aisle.
Okay?
Okay.
Let's savor August... even as we "connoisseurs of summer light" note the subtle changes.
Let's celebrate the summer.
Let's take long walks, throw rocks in the lake, drive with all of the windows down, and sing along with the car radio -- even (perhaps, especially) at stoplights.
Let's dream and read and sleep in and eat cherry or grape tomatoes. Whole. POP! SQUISH!
Let's have the kids push us on the swing.
Let's swim.
And learn something.
And talk about something (other than ourselves).
Let's dance to our own eight-tracks without eyeing the room to see what everyone else is doing.
Let's live.
Happy summer.
Tight leash
From "Kids Today on Tighter Leash, But Wild at Home" (Live Science):
"Today's parents face demands that require near-constant surveillance of their children," said the study's author, Markella Rutherford of Wellesley College in Massachusetts. "Allowing children more autonomy to express themselves and their disagreements at home may well be a response to the loss of more substantial forms of children's autonomy to move through and participate in their communities on their own."
Little house
From "Wilder Women" (New Yorker, August 10):
By the time that Laura published her first book, Rose was a frumpish, middle-aged divorcée, who was tormented by rotten teeth and suffered from bouts of suicidal depression, which she diagnosed in her journal, with more insight than many doctors of the era, as a mental illness. [...] Charles Ingalls’s granddaughter had inherited his wanderlust, and her career had given her a chance to indulge it. Much of her reporting had been filed from exotic places. She had lived among bohemians in Paris and Greenwich Village, Soviet peasants and revolutionaries, intellectuals in Weimar Berlin, survivors of the massacres in Armenia, Albanian rebels, and camel-drivers on the road to Baghdad.
