Did you know daylight saving time ends this Sunday at 2 a.m.? More information here: "Fall back -- time change is this weekend."
Related book
Spring Forward: The Annual Madness of Daylight Saving Time (Michael Downing)
Fall behind
“She wept, throughout her life, at the world’s refusal to conform to her ideal vision of it.”
From "Mrs. Logic" (New York Magazine, October 18):
It’s easy to chuckle at Rand, smugly, from the safe distance of intervening decades or an opposed ideology, but in person—her big black eyes flashing deep into the night, fueled by nicotine, caffeine, and amphetamines—she was apparently an irresistible force, a machine of pure reason, a free-market Spock who converted doubters left, right, and center. Eyewitnesses say that she never lost an argument. One of her young students (soon to be her young lover) staggered out of his first all-night talk session referring to her, admiringly, as “Mrs. Logic.” And logic, in Rand’s hands, seemed to enjoy superpowers it didn’t possess with anyone else.
Culled from the archives:
Homeschooled students in fiction
In two (one, two) August 2008 entries, I recommended four excellent novels featuring homeschooled students. Some M-mv readers might find one or another of these titles a neat seasonal tie-in for their students, so here they are again:
■ Wendy Orr's Nim's Island
Read-aloud, five and up; read-alone, seven and up
■ Gordon Korman's Schooled
Read-aloud, eight and up; read-alone, nine and up
Related M-mv entry here.
■ Katherine Hannigan's Ida B.
Read-aloud, eight and up; read-alone, nine and up
■ Jerry Spinelli's Stargirl
Read-aloud/read-alone, twelve and up
Homeschooling expert? Nah.
I am always startled by e-mail messages from homeschooling parents seeking my counsel, advice, and, as one correspondent put it, "expertise."
Folks, I am no expert. True, I've been doing this for a while -- twelve years, three months, to be exact. And, yes, I have already graduated one student.
But, "homeschooling expert"? Nah.
Do I have a few tips? Sure. And I provide them, here and here... and there... and there. Well, okay, here's a whole passel of tips, if you really want 'em. I've even tried to provide accounts -- real-time (here and here) and stream-of-consciousness -- of our reading, thinking, learning, living days.
It's not enough, some correspondents protest. More. Tell more. What program? What schedule? How? When? Where?
________________________
Once upon a time ago, a colleague and I were working on yet another Very Important Project (Rush! Rush! Hurry! Hurry!) using a program called Ventura. Other publishing professionals may remember this package. It was a behemoth, but, oh, if you could harness even a bit of its power... the places you could go! Anyway, as always, one or another junior attorney in the firm was strutting and fretting in the hall beyond our suite. "What are you doing? When will it be done? Can't you hurry? How do you do that?"
In his carefully cultivated "affable mid-Westerner" style, my colleague replied, "You know what, man? It's like sausage. You really don't want to know how it's made. In fact, if you saw how it was made, you would never eat sausage again."
If you saw how it was made, you would never eat sausage again.
Yeah, I think that about describes how I feel when I field yet another request for a homeschooling how-to tutorial. Heh, heh, heh.
Look. I'm not willfully withholding information. I've been blunt, direct, and transparent.
We read.
We think.
We learn.
We go out into the world and work, play, and live.
What more can I say?
________________________
Perhaps I'm not prepared to provide a conventional how-to tutorial because so much of what I did and what I do is intuitive and specific to me, to my students, and to my family. Besides, describing what we do any more than I already have would be a hellava a whole lot like trying to teach that junior attorney some Ventura "basics."
If you saw how it was made, you would never eat sausage again.
________________________
Last month, I read a thought-provoking article on the subject of experts. Two passages struck me. This one:
We are advised to seek and heed to advice of a bewildering chorus of personal experts -- parenting specialists, life coaches, relationship gurus, super-nannies and sex therapists, to name a few -- who apparently possess the authority to tell us how to live our lives.And this:
While this professionalisation of everyday life has been a distinct trend from the outset of modernity, it has grown at a breathtaking pace since the 1960s, with professionals systematically expanding the range of personal issues that demand expert knowledge. Today, every aspect of life from birth through to school and career to marriage and mourning is subject professional counselling.While I do think the homeschooling endeavor could benefit from a little more -- for lack of a better word -- professionalism (i.e., the adoption of some of the traits that make us successful in our more conventional work) -- I never bought into the idea of professional motherhood that columnist Anne Quindlen once excoriated. (M-mv entry here; column here.) Critics of homeschooling often accuse us of professionalizing everyday life, though; of, in fact, professionalizing motherhood. And frankly? I understand that accusation. While it is not what prompted my decision, I certainly realize that homeschooling seems to have conferred some -- again, for lack of better word -- status on my choices. Many people maintain that stay-at-home parenting alone does not draw on the education and work experience one has acquired, but they concede that home education may. A little, anyway. (Either that, or they simply dis and dismiss homeschooling parents and their students, which is a topic quite apart from the ideas I'm exploring here, isn't it?)
I'm hoping we can, for now, sidestep the philosophical exploration the previous paragraph begs (i.e., "What do I care what other people think?"). It will add nothing to this entry. Moving on, then.
The family-centered learning project does, indeed, benefit from and draw on the knowledge gained from my studies and work. While a degree may not be necessary to be a good teacher, I cannot, will not understate the role my own education -- which includes a graduate degree and postgraduate studies -- has played in my teaching. More, I firmly believe that the quality of an education system cannot exceed the quality of its teachers and that the quality of teachers affects student performance more than anything else. Folks bristle at such assertions, but they keep writing to me: More. Tell more. Don't become angry, then, when I tell you. My education -- and, yes, my work -- shaped me, shaped the way I receive and convey information, shaped my idea of what an agile mind comprises, so when I found myself in the most important teaching gig I'll ever have, I knew I was shaping my students, shaping the way they received and conveyed information, shaping their idea of what an agile mind comprises. I did so responsibly, not with the objective of providing a good elementary, intermediate, or secondary education but with the goal of growing lifelong learners.
Simply put, then, I have ensured that my students can read widely and deeply, write clearly, and think well.
Critics have also accused homeschooling parents of selfishness and self-centeredness, saying that we do what we do to serve needs of our own, not those of our children. I am guilty of one count of this charge, and this is it: I have selfishly spent the last twelve-plus years molding the sort of readers, thinkers, writers, and students that I sought in my classrooms and workshops once upon a time ago: Inquisitive. Well read. Versed in culture, both of the capital-C and the popular variety. At once thoughtful and challenging. Clear spoken. Confident. Mature. And so on.
While I appreciate the child-like, the childish leaves me cold, so I discarded conventional ideas about grades and age-level appropriateness and what every child needs to know, ignored most of the educational and homeschooling "experts," and simply gave my students the books, conversations, challenges, opportunities, time, resources, and all required to meet my ideal as quickly and effectively as possible.
The average child is capable of so much more than is typically asked of him or her! He need not be "scary smart" to understand Shakespeare in elementary school. She need not be "gifted" to move quickly through three levels of math. In an environment in which the tools of study are readily available, in a classroom in which the students have been led to understand that this -- all of this reading, thinking, learning, discussing, studying, creating, working, and, yes, playing -- is their job, in a school in which the teacher can, in fact, teach, damn it, there will be much profitable learning.
It's just hard to describe what's happening in such a classroom because it will be unique to that environment, those students, that teacher.
Moreover, folks become intensely uncomfortable when you tell them that, yes, seventh- and eighth-graders can understand college rhetoric, psychology, history, and logic texts. Sure, eleven- and thirteen-year-olds can enroll in college courses. Of course, ten-year-olds can attend museum lecture series. Hell, yeah, a student can do work he loves and earn good grades and graduate from high school with many college credits on his transcript. Certainly, 1.5 hours of music practice daily is possible. And why wouldn't they be able to join a sports team?
They become even more uncomfortable when you assert that your students are quite normal, really. Each has strengths, weaknesses, talents, flaws. But they have been asked to do what they are capable of doing -- regardless of their age -- every. single. day. by a teacher who embraces the idea of a lifetime of excellence. No matter what else life may demand.
It's really that simple.
And, yes, that difficult.
Like working with the 1995 edition of Ventura.
Or making sausage.
________________________
Since most homeschooling parents were products of conventional schooling, many remain caught between two false ideas: (1) that simply because they homeschool, their kids are somehow better positioned for success and (2) that learning must be keyed to certain grades, levels, ages.
Elsewhere, I've already explored how far off the mark the first idea is, but the second... well, that brings us back to the tyranny of experts, I think -- back to all of the e-mail messages asking me, What program? What schedule? How? When? Where? As if I possess the authority to tell someone else what to teach her own child. As if, even if I possessed the authority, the expertise, that what I've done here is replicable, that it would work elsewhere.
But I am no expert on the subject of homeschooling, so I won't add my voice to the "bewildering chorus" telling you which grammar book, reading list, math schedule, foreign language, lab science, etc.
More, I'm not even an advocate of homeschooling. I'm not. Really.
All I can and will say is this: Make your own sausage. My recipe is a family secret. It begins with parenting them well. After that, well, you're on your own.
From the archives (6.14.2005):
The little things
They accrue like the interest on your someday-maybe savings account in the neighborhood bank. Slowly, steadily.
The little things -- the early-morning exclamations over new visitors to the feeder and the later-evening chorus of "I love you!"
They grow in your heart, swell like those funny, flat sponges you won at the Fourth of July fair once-upon-a-time ago.
Oh, the little things.
They crowd out worry and doubt. And fear. And they leave only the full feeling of loving and being loved.
The little things.
"I wear it for a memorable honour...."
As I wrote in this entry, Act 4, Scene III of Kenneth Branagh's Henry V wins my vote as "Most Moving."
Will you be joining Family M-mv on Sunday?
Will you be joining Family M-mv on Sunday?
"This story shall the good man teach his son...."
From Asimov's Guide to Shakespeare:
According to a legend which can be traced back no further than the eighth century, Crispin and Crispian were two brothers, Christian, living in Rome. They fled the persecution of Christians begun under the Roman Emperor Diocletian. They traveled to Soissons in what was then Gaul (later France), and there they remained in hiding, supporting themselves as shoemakers. In 286 they were found and beheaded, presumably on October 25, which became their day of commemoration. They were the patron saints of shoemakers and their day was particularly celebrated in France. And it was on October 25, 1415, that the Battle of Agincourt was to be fought.Yes, this coming Sunday, October 25, is "call'd the feast of Crispian." Why not plan to join Family M-mv in the celebration? (Virtually, of course!) Rent, borrow, or buy Kenneth Branagh's Henry V. Air-pop some popcorn. Watch, think, learn, discuss... enjoy.
If Sunday will be your younger set's first brush with Harry -- or even Shakespeare -- you might appreciate the following M-mv entries:
■ "I was not angry since I came to France / Until this instant...." (11.04.2007)
■ Shakespeare. Yes, again. And again. (9.30.2006)
(Other bardolatry entries are collected here.)
_________________________________
From Act IV, Scene III of Shakespeare's Henry V:
And here is a clip from the film, a harbinger of the great treat in store for you this Sunday.King Henry:
This story shall the good man teach his son;
And Crispin Crispian shall ne'er go by,
From this day to the ending of the world,
But we in it shall be remembered,
We few, we happy few, we band of brothers.
For he to-day that sheds his blood with me
Shall be my brother; be he ne'er so vile,
This day shall gentle his condition;
And gentlemen in England now a-bed
Shall think themselves accurs'd they were not here,
And hold their manhoods cheap whiles any speaks
That fought with us upon Saint Crispin's day.
"The new brevity has many virtues."
From "Three Tweets for the Web" (Wilson Quarterly, Autumn 2009):
Another way the Web has affected the human attention span is by allowing greater specialization of knowledge. It has never been easier to wrap yourself up in a long-term intellectual project without at the same time losing touch with the world around you. Some critics don’t see this possibility, charging that the Web is destroying a shared cultural experience by enabling us to follow only the specialized stories that pique our individual interests. But there are also those who argue that the Web is doing just the opposite—that we dabble in an endless variety of topics but never commit to a deeper pursuit of a specific interest. These two criticisms contradict each other. The reality is that the Internet both aids in knowledge specialization and helps specialists keep in touch with general trends.
My little researching and writing f(r)iend returns.
Also, to the gentle reader who "found" my Twitter account: As I explained in the sidebar, I don't tweet, but I wanted to claim the name.
Get your geek on!
1. To love, to enjoy, to celebrate, to have an intense passion for.
2. To express interest in.
3. To possess a large amount of knowledge in.
4. To promote.
I geek
■ books
■ backyard birding
■ bicycling
■ art (studying and creating)
■ Shakespeare
■ writing
... and so much more.
What do you geek?
Remember: Whatever you geek, the library supports it all. So geek the library, okay? Learn more at GeektheLibrary.org.
HT: So Many Books.
Project Feederwatch
Helping birds is easy.
1. Put up a feeder.
2. Count the birds that visit.
3. Send the data to scientists.
The 2009-2010 season of Project FeederWatch begins November 1, so it's not too late to register for this wonderful program.
From the Project FeederWatch website:
Project FeederWatch is a winter-long survey of birds that visit feeders at backyards, nature centers, community areas, and other locales in North America. FeederWatchers periodically count the highest numbers of each species they see at their feeders from November through early April. FeederWatch helps scientists track broadscale movements of winter bird populations and long-term trends in bird distribution and abundance.If you plan to participate, set up your feeders now and commit to keeping them filled throughout the season. Use a variety of feeders and seed to attract a greater variety of visitors. For more information, check out this site.
Project FeederWatch is operated by the Cornell Lab of Ornithology and Bird Studies Canada.
Your counts will help scientists monitor changes in feeder bird populations. New participants receive a research kit with easy to follow instructions, the FeederWacther's handbook, a bird-identification poster, a calendar, and a subscription to the newsletter of the Cornell Lab of Ornithology (U.S.) or Bird Studies Canada (Canada). For more information or to sign up in the U.S., please visit this site or call (800) 843-2473; if in Canada, please visit this site or call (888) 448-2473. A $15 fee ($35 in Canada) makes the program possible.
More on M-mv's adventures in birding here.
Intellectual polygamy
From "The Last Days of the Polymath" (Intelligent Life, Autumn 2009):
The word “polymath” teeters somewhere between Leonardo da Vinci and Stephen Fry. Embracing both one of history’s great intellects and a brainy actor, writer, director and TV personality, it is at once presumptuous and banal. Djerassi doesn’t want much to do with it. “Nowadays people that are called polymaths are dabblers—are dabblers in many different areas,” he says. “I aspire to be an intellectual polygamist. And I deliberately use that metaphor to provoke with its sexual allusion and to point out the real difference to me between polygamy and promiscuity."Do you know (of) an actual polymath? Not just a dabbler but a bona fide member of that now endangered species? If so, join the conversation at Language Log: No Respect.
From the archives:
The recommended daily allowance
One of my strongest-held beliefs is that no one should ever finish a book that [he] is not enjoying, no matter how popular or well reviewed. Believe me, nobody is going to get any points in heaven by slogging [his] way through a book [he isn't] enjoying but think[s] [he] ought to read. I live by what I call the "rule of fifty," which acknowledges that time is short, and the world of books is immense. If you're fifty years old or younger, give a book about fifty pages before you decide to commit yourself to reading it, or give up. If you're over fifty, which is when time gets even shorter, subtract your age from 100 — the result is the number of pages you should read before deciding.Nancy Pearl may be the world's most famous librarian. She received a lot of ink in this summer and early fall when her likeness was used to develop a librarian action figure. But her idea for the "If All of Seattle Read the Same Book" program, which has been adopted in cities around the world (e.g., One Book, One Chicago), is her greatest achievement.
The quoted passage appears in the introduction to Book Lust, Pearl's book recommendations "for every mood, moment, and reason." Pearl is not a particularly good writer, but she is engaging (primarily because of her profound love of books and reading), and her recommendations are generally top-drawer.
From the archives (3.20.2004)
(Behind the scenes) at the museum
A message about "Mental multivitamin" was posted in another forum. The topic may interest some of our regular readers, so portions are excerpted here (boldface).
I enjoyed reading your "On the nightstand" entry in your un-blog. I was interested in how you coordinate your museum / reading / history subjects. My questions are probably many layered and I will try to express them as clearly and orderly as possible! But any additional info that you think would be helpful (especially as you get the feel of my questions) would be greatly appreciated.
First, how do you know what is up and coming at the museums?
We're members of several museums (and one zoo!) in or near the city and receive publications (usually quarterly), email updates, and event mailings for these. Most of the museums maintain websites, too, which I consult for up-to-the-minute information. Membership in some museums has resulted in our names being sold to the membership offices of other museums (parks, arboretums, etc.), so we regularly receive mail announcing this or that new exhibit or feature at places not on our "regular circuit."
I live in the DC area and the sheer number of museums and exhibits and opportunities can be overwhelming. What do you look for when considering multiple opportunities?
Appeal. Interest. Convenience. Cost (if applicable).
Second, do you look for specific exhibits to match what your subjects are for the year? Can you get a schedule far enough in advance to plan a study around the exhibit? Do you consider your trips "extra" in that they don't have to tie into any subject but just be interesting to you and your children?
Like you, we live in a museum-rich city. It's not hard to find exhibits, programs, and classes to complement history and lit reading, to say nothing of finding exhibits, programs, and classes to complement science studies. As I mentioned above, most museums publish monthly or quarterly newsletters and/or event calendars and maintain websites, so, yes, I can plan a study unit around a special exhibit, as I did when the Einstein exhibit visited the Field.
I can also look ahead and say, "Oh! Child #1 will be studying astronomy this year. I wonder what courses the Adler is offering." Or, "Ah! Children #2 and #3 want to study praying mantises. Let's head to the Peggy Notebaert Nature Museum to see them before ordering the egg case." (An aside: I am so glad I did. The mantises were bigger than #2 and #3 realized. They opted for an ant hill instead.)
Then again, many trips are simply "extra," as you put it, as, for example, our plans to attend the Rembrandt exhibit at the Art Institute. We love the AIC, Rembrandt's work appeals to all of us, and we have identified several excellent resources to read and study before our planned visit. Voilà ! An "extra."
We live here in this city because of the number, variety, and accessibility of its cultural and educational treasures — the museums, libraries, parks, theaters, learning centers, etc. Our family makes more than a dozen or more field trips per month. Less than half of those are specifically tied to a subject "requirement" or a "master plan" — beyond, that is, the plan that says, "We live here so that we can do this. Let's!"
Also, do you do anything to "round out" your visits — drawings, papers, books read about the subject, etc.? What is helpful to do prior to a visit and what is good to do after? I would like to do something that would prepare my children for the visit and help cement the trip into the children's minds after we get home.
Oh, yes! Your instincts are spot on. By all means, read books about the subject before your visit (if applicable). Make journal entries as you wander through the museum. (Sketch pads work well for the pre-writing set. Heck, sketch pads work well for me, especially at the zoo, nature centers and museums, and Art Institute.) If appropriate (and permitted), provide the children with disposable cameras to record the trip. Have them make a collage or scrapbook of the adventure. Encourage older children to choose a particular topic in which to become expert. Ask them to present the topic either in advance of or following the museum visit. Put an older child in charge of the floor plan/map; allow him to navigate the family tour.
You get the idea: It's not you the parent ushering the children through intimidating halls of treasures. It's your family having an adventure in one of the greatest places on earth. As Coach Chaney always says, "Winning is an attitude!" Well, parenting, teaching... they are, too. Cop the right attitude, and there you go.
Lastly, thank you for the thoughts and perspectives you share on this board and on M-mv. I have been challenged in my own ideas about education — the whys and hows. Your obvious enjoyment of your children rings a familiar tune within my own heart. A tune I trust my children hear loud and clear everyday.
I'm betting they do hear it.
____________________________________
Some final thoughts on museums and children (not directed to A., who posted the museum questions):
I can't tell you how many times one or another parent has parried, "Oh, well, it's all fine for them to talk museums, but my children are younger. No way they're going to enjoy a wander through the museum," to my descriptions of one or another of our adventures. Well, our two youngest have been accompanying us on "field trips" since they were six weeks old. The getting there, the being there, and the returning home have been a part of their life rhythm for so long that it's second nature. If you want children to enjoy museums, you must take children to museums.
My best advice?
Plan short trips. Leave the stroller at home. Why? Because life in a stroller is dull. It hurts the bum, and the view from there, well, it stinks. Try it sometime. Visit a museum and squat beside the stroller. See how much you see... or don't. Instead, put infants in backpack carriers. Let walkers walk. You'll move more slowly, yes, but so what? I am always made tired by the tourists and suburbanites at the Shedd and Adler and Field and MSI, etc. who zip from one exhibit to another, urging their children to, Hurry up, let's go here, don't you want to see this? Of course, they want to see. That's why they're standing still right there. Yes, I do understand. Admission (when one doesn't have a membership) is pricey; the trip is often long; and they only have one day in which to do it all.
But better to do a few wonderful things slowly and memorably than to try and fail to do it all quickly, no? If you doubt that I mean this, let me confide that this is precisely the philosophy we maintained when we visited D.C. Our two youngest were then just three and four. We had an amazing time doing a few things well — slowly, enjoyably, in a way that makes all of us want to return. You don't get that when you zip-zap-zoom. Life is too short, folks argue. We agree. Slow down and enjoy some of it because speeding up will not allow you to see more or do more. It will only make you, well, tired.
And now we are six.
As I mentioned yesterday, Mental multivitamin is six years old this month. (Related aside: And my oldest child is twenty this month; my youngest, twelve.)
You know, I've always maintained that Mental multivitamin was established for readers, thinkers, and autodidacts. But, really? It was established for me. Born during a respite between teaching and working, it was and is an attempt to write across the "curriculum" of this reader-thinker-autodidact; to synthesize what I am learning about astronomy and history and ornithology and current events and literature and technology and art and, yes, about myself, my family, and the world.
In short, I write Mental multivitamin to learn, to know.
Like so many students before me, though, self-taught and otherwise, I have realized that learning, done well, only expands one's awareness of all he doesn't know, of all he has yet to learn. It is, then, the yen to know, and therefore to learn more, that propels me forward, like an ass lunging for that ever-beyond-reach carrot: one book to another book -- or play or painting or museum or film or concert or endeavor or whatever.
Because I am a home educator, it might be noble (or at least prudent and politic) to say that I do what I do to model for my children the sort of behavior I wish to cultivate in them. But in fact, I do what I do because I am compelled to do it. Ass is to Carrot as I am to Autodidactic Pursuits. Providing the children with an example of academic tenacity -- no matter the nature of one's gifts -- has just been a happy byproduct of my studies.
Another byproduct -- for me, for them -- has been an ever-deepening appreciation for that scholarly "trinity" at work (and at play) in the reading-thinking-learning-writing (to know) life: sychronicity, serendipity, and synthesis. Sometimes, the observation of one or the other will lead to a post; other times, posting leads to the observation. No matter. An epiphany is an epiphany. I'll take it, however it comes.
So, happy birthday, M-mv. Here's to readers, thinkers, and autodidacts; to asses and their carrots; to me.
On the nightstand
Recently completed
With the Misses
■ The Vermeer Interviews: Conversations with Seven Works of Art (Bob Raczka)
As regular M-mv readers know, the Misses and I read Chasing Vermeer for the Summer 2009 incarnation of our "Girls Rule Book Club." As always, one book led to another. (Wash. Rinse. Repeat.) For more about the synchronicity and serendipity that define the reading life, revisit this recent M-mv entry about the connections between literature, art, and, well, life: Slow down. Look. See with your mind.
■ Betsy-Tacy (Maud Hart Lovelace)
As I shared with Melissa, I actually read this sweet story to the Misses many years ago... but they did not remember Betsy! Uh-oh. But what a wonderful way to join the celebration, then: revisiting the gently told introduction to the series. Now the Misses plan to watch Betsy grow up.
■ The Wretched Stone (Chris Van Allsburg)
Mental multivitamin is six years old this month. My very first entry concerned the Great American Campfire, so it delighted me to share this book -- recommended in Rafe Esquith's Lighting Their Fires (a recent RDA) -- with the Misses.
Serendipity. Synchronicity.
And a related aside: Family M-mv met Chris Van Allsburg seven years ago. The story is recounted in this entry.
■ Much Ado about Nothing (Shakespeare)
All of the bardolatry entries are collected here.
For pleasure
■ What Now? (Ann Patchett)
M-mv chapbook entry here.
■ A Gate at the Stairs (Lorrie Moore)
Related M-mv entry here.
■ The Miles Between (Mary E. Pearson)
I picked this up on Book Moot's recommendation.
■ The Other Daughter (Lisa Gardner)
Yes, it was like reading television... and that's all right. Once in a while. Especially when one is spending as much time as I am steeping herself in the rules and regulations of swimming. (I passed the exam (first mentioned in this entry) and was made an official in August. My first meet is later this month. Wish me -- and the swimmers! -- luck.)
Non-fiction pursuits
■ Smart Moves: Why Learning Is Not All in Your Head (Carla Hannaford)
■ Bal-A-Vis-X : Rhythmic Balance/Auditory/Vision eXercises for Brain and Brain-Body Integration (Bill Hubert)
■ Brain Gym: Simple Activities for Whole Brain Learning (Paul F. Dennison)
■ Brain Gym for Business: Instant Brain Boosters for On-the-Job Success (Gail E. Dennison)
Next up?
■ The Woman in Black (Susan Hill)
I picked this up in February and have moved it up on the TBR pile, thanks to Pages Turned.
■ John Brown's Body (A.L. Barker)
Another Pages Turned suggestion.
■ Johnny Tremain (Esther Forbes)
With the Misses M-mv.
"[D]isorientation begets creative thinking."
From "How Nonsense Sharpens the Intellect" (NYT, October 5):
Brain-imaging studies of people evaluating anomalies, or working out unsettling dilemmas, show that activity in an area called the anterior cingulate cortex spikes significantly. The more activation is recorded, the greater the motivation or ability to seek and correct errors in the real world, a recent study suggests. “The idea that we may be able to increase that motivation,” said Dr. Inzlicht, a co-author, “is very much worth investigating.”
Nobody's fool
From Michael Dirda's essay "These Foolish Things":
In Shakespearean comedies (and tragedies) you’re certainly smart to play the Professional Fool or clown. When Bottom the Weaver is “translated” into an ass, the very symbol of the fool, what happens? The gorgeous Titania leads him away for some quality time in her bower. Hamlet knows that with his “antic disposition” on, he can do or say whatever he’d like. There’s no need to act the conventional young intellectual like his earnest schoolmate Horatio, who probably wears a bow tie and always makes the dean’s list at Wittenberg. As for the late Yorick, that fellow of infinite jest was obviously the only person at the gloomy court of Denmark who ever brought a spark of joy into the life of the melancholy Dane: “He hath borne me on his back a thousand times!” Even the greatest of all Shakespearean characters, Falstaff, is essentially a fool writ very, very large. Wherever Sir John goes, it’s party time, Carnival, and he is the Lord of Misrule. Certainly this jolly fat man is a lot better company than, say, the rather cold-hearted and manipulative Prospero. But even that magician finally decides to drown his book and give up his power. Being superhuman isn’t half as much fun as being human.
From the "Worth repeating" files:
When other homeschoolers "fail"
This entry was first posted on 3.29.2007. It is reposted here with minor changes.
Elsewhere, the idea of inept or failing homeschoolers was discussed at length, particularly the comparison between traditionally schooled and homeschooled students, standards for homeschoolers, and the failure of some homeschooling families to deliver a certain type of education.
My response to the many issues raised in that discussion follows.
Illinois law mentions providing an education in English comparable to that of same-aged peers in public schools. That's about it. Oh, and it lists the number of days required, too, I think.
There's a word or two, probably not terribly kind, for people like me, but I'll risk hearing the criticism again. Here goes: One of the reasons I homeschool is that I'm not terribly interested in what everyone else is doing -- how woefully underprepared Suzy Homeschool's kids are, how inarticulate Peggy Publicschool's kids are, etc.
Really. Not. Interested.
I'm concerned about the progress of three kids, for now. Hey, look at that. They all live here.
I am most decidedly not a homeschooling evangelist -- I do not think home education is the answer to all that ails our public school classrooms. Part of the reason that I won't evangelize or play the role of plump homeschooling mom-cheerleader is that I'm not on-board with the homeschool "party line" -- that is, that simply because the kids are homeschooled, they are better prepared than their traditionally schooled peers.
What. Bosh.
Why, there were (and likely, continue to be) huge gaps in the consistency, rigor, and quality of education being provided to the children of the posters on the sole homeschooling message board I once visited, let alone across the ever-expanding ranks of homeschoolers in this country. I can only speak to the studies of, oh, yeah, three students, and I can do so using both conventional standards (e.g., test scores and awards) and less conventional (e.g., reading lists, perhaps, or their conduct).
That's all I'm going to do, then -- speak to their experience, no one else's.
The fact that we homeschool is among the very last things that we share with people. As a matter of fact, if I can avoid revealing it, let alone discussing it, I will. As I've said here and elsewhere many, many times before, I'm not interested in educating the public about homeschooling, I'm bored by idle and small chatter, and I loathe the pigeonhole into which my family is filed once folks learn we homeschool. Sorry. None of the stereotypes apply here, and I'd rather not have my children labor under the smallmindedness of others, so I don't advertise how they are educated.
I let their clear speech, many conventional achievements (work, academic awards and prizes, sports-oriented successes, etc.), and their good natures speak to their intelligence and scholastic preparation. That should be more than enough.
And I just don't worry about what everyone else is doing.
Homeschooled students are already bound by the standards of state law. I do not believe homeschools should be subject to regulation beyond that which a private school would be subjected. Period. No matter how the students are prepared.
The discussion began with a number of questions, among them, How do I feel when I meet homeschoolers whose kids are obviously not on a par with public schooled students of the same age/grade? Um, the same way I feel when I meet the parents of public or private schooled or, for that matter, homeschooled students whose kids are not as articulate, interested, adjusted, etc. as my own -- "Wow. Thank goodness I don't have to spend much time with these people." What else am I supposed to think? Really? I'm not a people person even in the best of circumstances. (That appears to be a nature thing, by the way. The children are the kindest, most gracious humans I have ever met.) In the worst (e.g., in the company of parents whose children make me cringe with more than curmudgeonly bad humor), I just seek the nearest exit.
Related aside: When I started homeschooling in August 1997, one of my oft-repeated sentences was that I had no intention of sacrificing my children on the altar of public education while I labored (volunteered, fund-raised, etc.) for the neighborhood schools like a Missy Goodcitizen. Well, a dozen years later, I would add that I have no intention of sacrificing them on the altar of homeschooling stereotypes and myths, either.
You do your thing; I'll do mine. Let's see how that all works out, then, eh?
_____________________
For more of M-mv's thoughts on education and parenting, see the posts collected here.
Chapbook entry
The Impostor's Daughter (Laurie Sandell)
p. 229-230
Did I plan to live the rest of my life as a bitter, angry woman-child, perpetually seeking answers for the crimes of my childhood, or was I going to let it go?
I wanted to let it go. I needed to let it go. In that moment, that meant taking my father's response at face value.
It meant accepting him for who he was, then and now. It meant realizing it didn't matter what his motivations were, as long as I didn't allow him to continue to hurt me.
Pretending actually worked.
Chapbook entry
What Now? (Ann Patchett)
p. 22
It was for me the start of a lesson that I never stop having to learn: to pay attention to the things I'll probably never to need know, to listen carefully to the people who look as if they have nothing to teach me, to see school as something that goes on everywhere, all the time, not just in libraries but in parking lots, in airports, in trees.
p. 46
Nothing at all is very much out of fashion these days, as are stillness, silence, and studied concentration.
pp. 57-58
Even if you have it all together you can't know where you're going to end up. There are too many forces, as deep and invisible as tides, that keep us bouncing into places where we never thought we'd wind up. Sometimes the best we can hope for is to be graceful and brave in the face of all of the changes that will surely come.
p. 70
But with all the important books I'd read and all the essential things I had learned about how to write, I didn't become a writer until I worked at Friday's. More specifically, I didn't learn what I really needed to know until the police came late one afternoon and took away the guy who worked the dishwash station. It turns out I was the only waitress who was willing to wash dishes, and it was while I washed that I finally learned to stare. Oh, maybe I'd played around with staring in school. Maybe I looked out the window every now and then when I was stuck writing a paper, but I had never stared deeply.
"It is a major work by a major literary figure."
Extra socks and underwear? Check.
Power cord and Blackberry? Check.
Passport? Check.
All Mr. M-mv needed was a book -- specifically, an airport book. And, lo! A review copy of The Lost Symbol arrived one hour before the limo pulled into the driveway.
When he returned home a week later, he confided that he was only about a hundred pages in -- it had been an intense work-week -- but that the book was certainly entertaining.
Last night, we read beside each other. He is now midway through The Lost Symbol. And I? I am just beginning A Gate at the Stairs (Lorrie Moore).
This morning, I read this:
But to the nation's literary classes, the fervour surrounding Brown's The Lost Symbol was a mere blip on the cultural radar compared to the reaction to an altogether different sort of author: Lorrie Moore.Yeah. Well. That about sums it up.
Moore, a 52-year-old midwestern female academic, is frequently hailed as one of America's best modern writers, especially as a master of the short story. But the mildly reclusive writer had not written a novel for almost 15 years. Until now. The reaction to her return has been ecstatic.
"This is a really big event. It is a major work by a major literary figure," said Carolyn Kellogg, who writes for the Los Angeles Times' book blog, Jacket Copy. "For literary people it's wonderful because they were afraid Dan Brown's book had sucked a lot of the air out of the summer. But the reaction has been great."
Naper Settlement
Alternate post title: "In which I violate the photography maxim 'Get closer!'"
No, this is certainly not one of my better photos, but I so loved the cute log cabin... and the young ladies patiently standing by its entrance, of course.
After years of talking about visiting Naper Settlement, a nineteenth-century historic museum village located about thirty miles west of Chicago, we finally visited.
We had a wonderful time talking with -- and learning about -- the printer, the blacksmith, the schoolmarm, and the docent at the Martin Mitchell Mansion.The sky threatened to rain most of the morning but didn't make good on its promise until the conclusion of our tour, just as we were headed into the museum. I know -- good timing, eh?
A book for the journey: Images of America: Naperville, Illinois (Jo Fredell Higgins)
Fine Art Friday
The New Novel, 1877
Blackboard, 1877
Winslow Homer, American, 1826 - 1910
Even in his own day, Winslow Homer was celebrated as “America’s Master in Watercolor.” His technical virtuosity in this challenging medium, and his intuitive understanding of the artistic possibilities it offers, have influenced generations of artists since then. His example also encouraged the growing appreciation of watercolor as a serious independent art form beginning in his lifetime. The fresh, spontaneous, light-filled effects associated with watercolor indeed helped to shape an authentic identity for American Art.Note: To see the works featured in the Fine Art Friday entries, you must click on the links that are provided. Chosen for its authority and/or clarity, each image link represents one of the most suitable of the many images of a particular work currently available on the web. The goal is to direct M-mv readers to an image that will offer sufficient detail -- enough to convey some sense of the work's appeal. Each Fine Art Friday also includes at least one link to an article or web item about the artist.
At the window-mounted feeder
Oh, you know you want one. Or, the next time you visit the Morton Arboretum, stop by Wild Birds Unlimited. That's where Mr. M-mv got mine.
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