Run, Jester run!

Economics as I Find It

2008-10-27T23:25:00.002-04:00

My father is an economist. And strangely, I seem to be becoming an economist, too.

http://www.econlib.org/library/Columns/y2006/Robertsincentives.html

This one is making the rounds on email. Think she's angry?

2008-01-23T18:39:00.000-05:00

The bitter homeschooler's wish list

1. Please stop asking us if it's legal. If it is — and it is — it's
insulting to imply that we're criminals. And if we were criminals,
would we admit it?

2. Learn what the words "socialize" and "socialization" mean, and use
the one you really mean instead of mixing them up the way you do now.
Socializing means hanging out with other people for fun. Socialization
means having acquired the skills necessary to do so successfully and
pleasantly. If you're talking to me and my kids, that means that we do
in fact go outside now and then to visit the other human beings on the
planet, and you can safely assume that we've got a decent grasp of
both concepts.

3. Quit interrupting my kid at her dance lesson, scout meeting, choir
practice, baseball game, art class, field trip, park day, music class,
4H club, or soccer lesson to ask her if as a homeschooler she ever
gets to socialize.

4. Don't assume tha t every homeschooler you meet is homeschooling for
the same reasons and in the same way as that one homeschooler you know.

5. If that homeschooler you know is actually someone you saw on TV,
either on the news or on a "reality" show, the above goes double.

6. Please stop telling us horror stories about the homeschoolers you
know, know of, or think you might know who ruined their lives by
homeschooling. You're probably the same little bluebird of happiness
whose hobby is running up to pregnant women and inducing premature
labor by telling them every ghastly birth story you've ever heard. We
all hate you, so please go away.

7. We don't look horrified and start quizzing your kids when we hear
they're in public school. Please stop drilling our children like
potential oil fields to see if we're doing what you consider an
adequate job of homeschooling.

8. Stop assuming all homeschoolers are religious.

9. Stop assuming that if we're religious, we must be homeschooling for
religious reasons.

10. We didn't go through all the reading, learning, thinking, weighing
of options, experimenting, and worrying that goes into homeschooling
just to annoy you. Really. This was a deeply personal decision,
tailored to the specifics of our family. Stop taking the bare fact of
our being homeschoolers as either an affront or a judgment about your
own educational decisions.

11. Please stop questioning my competency and demanding to see my
credentials. I didn't have to complete a course in catering to
successfully cook dinner for my family; I don't need a degree in
teaching to educate my children. If spending at least twelve years in
the kind of chew-it-up-and-spit-it-out educational facility we call
public school left me with so little information in my memory banks
that I can't teach the basics of an elementary education to my nearest
and dearest, maybe there's a reas on I'm so reluctant to send my child
to school.

12. If my kid's only six and you ask me with a straight face how I can
possibly teach him what he'd learn in school, please understand that
you're calling me an idiot. Don't act shocked if I decide to respond
in kind.

13. Stop assuming that because the word "home" is right there in
"homeschool," we never leave the house. We're the ones who go to the
amusement parks, museums, and zoos in the middle of the week and in
the off-season and laugh at you because you have to go on weekends and
holidays when it's crowded and icky.

14. Stop assuming that because the word "school" is right there in
homeschool, we must sit around at a desk for six or eight hours every
day, just like your kid does. Even if we're into the "school" side of
education — and many of us prefer a more organic approach — we can
burn through a lot of material a lot more efficiently, because we
don't have to gear o ur lessons to the lowest common denominator.

15. Stop asking, "But what about the Prom?" Even if the idea that my
kid might not be able to indulge in a night of over-hyped, over-priced
revelry was enough to break my heart, plenty of kids who do go to
school don't get to go to the Prom. For all you know, I'm one of them.
I might still be bitter about it. So go be shallow somewhere else.

16. Don't ask my kid if she wouldn't rather go to school unless you
don't mind if I ask your kid if he wouldn't rather stay home and get
some sleep now and then.

17. Stop saying, "Oh, I could never homeschool!" Even if you think
it's some kind of compliment, it sounds more like you're horrified.
One of these days, I won't bother disagreeing with you any more.

18. If you can remember anything from chemistry or calculus class,
you're allowed to ask how we'll teach these subjects to our kids. If
you can't, thank you for the reassurance that we co uldn't possibly do
a worse job than your teachers did, and might even do a better one.

19. Stop asking about how hard it must be to be my child's teacher as
well as her parent. I don't see much difference between bossing my kid
around academically and bossing him around the way I do about
everything else.

20. Stop saying that my kid is shy, outgoing, aggressive, anxious,
quiet, boisterous, argumentative, pouty, fidgety, chatty, whiny, or
loud because he's homeschooled. It's not fair that all the kids who go
to school can be as annoying as they want to without being branded as
representative of anything but childhood.

21. Quit assuming that my kid must be some kind of prodigy because
she's homeschooled.

22. Quit assuming that I must be some kind of prodigy because I
homeschool my kids.

23. Quit assuming that I must be some kind of saint because I
homeschool my kids.

24. Stop talking about all the great childh ood memories my kids won't
get because they don't go to school, unless you want me to start
asking about all the not-so-great childhood memories you have because
you went to school.

25. Here's a thought: If you can't say something nice about
homeschooling, shut up!

This list, by the way, was the brain child of Deborah Markus who is publishing a homeschool magazine. More voices, more better. And you gotta love the name: "Secular Homeschooling Magazine" My Christian friends are going to get their panties in a twist. Well. No. My friends won't. But someone out there will.

Here's the listmaker. Go see what she's saying.

Freezer burn

2008-01-15T21:09:00.000-05:00

Sue tells me that January is the month that kills people. It's the cold. The damned cold. It gets into my feet and into my chest and into my tongue and I can't warm up. There are two months left of it and then it will be okay again. The sun will come back and warm the earth and the air and maybe me but until then it's no use. I'm frozen. Can't move. Can't work up any heat about anything. It's well past time to for Polyanna. Now it's all about survival. Every man for himself. My edges are all frozen. Sharp as knives.

Where You Be At?

2007-12-30T22:16:00.000-05:00

Dear Friends,
Greetings from the Viking Encampment. Ben is 25 feet up a tree wearing a helmet, jack boots, and a climbing harness which means he’s going to make a fast descent on the zipline—don’t fret; we only hurt ourselves doing ordinary things. He’ll be at it as long as Dad holds out so it’s a good time to write this letter. I’d let Ben do it but he says ‘I dow waaanooo’ and ‘Noooooooo!” a lot and calls everyone “Baby.” He finds that these things—coming out of the mouth of a giant two-year-old--makes people laugh, so now he’s a regular contrarian. He’s strong and fierce too. When he gets older no one with any sense is ever going to mess with him. When Mom was expecting Ben she figured he’d be early so she prayed he’d be really big and strong. No comment.

So yes, the Viking Training Camp now has a zip line. We can only go on it when Dad’s around so it’s perfectly safe. Really. And we added a new Viking pastime to our list: spear chucking. Also perfectly safe. Our friends (the Davises and the Henns) have older boys that assist us with these things. We take an old box—or a new box or a bale of hay, whatever we can ransack—and some handles from brooms and mops and we hurl the handles—which are about four feet long—into the side of the thing. I wish we could sharpen them but Mom, of course, has put rules all over this activity severely limiting our fun. Anyway, Ben likes to yell so there’s a lot of arms-in-the-air roaring, and “yeah, Baby!” when he drives one home. Ben is two.

Mom’s friends have informed her that we need toys for imaginative play. Mom objected (‘no, no. we have imaginative toys!) and proudly showed them an abacus with brightly colored beads explaining that these were in the toy section and must surely count as an imaginative play toy this did nothing to remove their doubts. A few weeks later Mom had gone Christmas shopping for a little cousin and bought her pink wings and a wand. Well one of Mom’s friends saw the wings and she looked alarmed. She said, “Ana. If the boys want wings, we should maybe get them some blue wings so they can be dragonflies or something.” Mom was laughing so hard she couldn’t speak. Anyway, now we have cowboy duds, Viking armor and fur, and I think weaponry is next. We have cap guns and all, but I’m thinking swords, longbows, tomahawks, and rifles. This could keep us from impaling a pretend spear into the side of the neighbor’s car. Well, Ben could still do it. I won’t speak for Ben.

This year the Big Bad Birthday Bonfire was even better—even though the Snapes didn’t make it (Boooo!). We were considering not having a bonfire at all since there’s a drought. But it rained for a few days before the party so we were able to have the whole enchilada. My friends are getting older and now they come with bugles, drums, cowbells, war bonnets, and real bows and arrows. This is excellent. We were going to have a pony ride but we would have terrified the ponies and had a stampede. Dad gave us hayrides behind one of the Jeeps and we made a lot of noise. In fact, this was the first year that we disturbed our neighborhood plus another entire neighborhood with our whooping and hollering. We are well on our way to having the police break it up.

The Viking fleet grew by a Jeep this year. You remember the Jeep with the great stereo system? Gone. In its place we bought a pristine ’79 Jeep Wagoneer. A Woody. It’s Mom’s car and we love it. Her name is Beauty. Then Dad got hold of a third Jeep—Old Blue. It’s a ’79 Cherokee Chief and it’s in great condition too. Except it doesn’t run. But then neither does the Heap. We’re not too particular about our automobiles actually being mobile. So Old Blue’s body is going to go on the Heap’s frame and the Heap will be sold for parts--the Jeep with the rattle-can paint job will be no more. We’ll have a moment of silence right before Mom breaks out the noise makers. Dad points out that nothing is on blocks. Yet.

Of course we’re homeschooling and not getting socialized because mom keeps us locked up all day conjugating Latin verbs and doing quadratic equations, but we don’t care. It’s fun. I’m learning Viking Math. These are some equations I’ve learned this year.
Dad + Mountain Bike + empty child carrier + double jump = hospital + CAT scan + destroyed bike shoes. Ben + mound of dirt + Oak + shovel = blue stitches + Ben’s forehead. Ice-maker line + moving fridge to clean = home demolition + 6 month rebuild project. Norm + new hardwood floors = ‘distressed look’ floors. Ben + 18 foot ladder = small boy up high + Mom moving fast. Norm + open back door = Oak + neighborhood children + dog biscuits and leashes + running through the neighborhood yelling. Okeefenokee swamp + Oak = 90 mph ride to Valdosta doc-in-a-box + X-rays + REALLY upset Mom + black cast. Mom + Dad + Survivorman video + bowdrill = fire. Mom + boys + dog + hike + family of bears = new big heavy hiking sticks. Ben + bedside table = stitches + upset babysitter. Thank goodness for sutures. This has been Dad’s year to learn about the hospital. He’s the only one who can hold Ben down. Did I tell you he’s big?

Although it sounds like a full year at the Viking Encampment, there were a lot of projects that never got past the planning stage: rigging a suspension bridge across the street so we could visit the neighbors without having to cross the Autobahn; constructing a beehive shaped rammed-earth oven to make pizza on Friday nights; turning the back yard into a certified organic micro-farm complete with greenhouse; synchronizing the Christmas lights to the Trans-Siberian Orchestra; and setting up a water balloon catapult for the speeding cars on our street. You can see which plans were Dad’s and which were Mom’s. There is hope for next year already. Dad read a book about thru-hiking the AT and asked Mom three questions: Did you know that a family thru hiked the AT with their eight-year-old? How long before Ben can hike fifteen miles in a day? How many books do you think we’d have to sell to make $250,000? Mom seemed to be giving these questions serious consideration.

Outside we’re all lit up like a gingerbread house. Inside it smells like evergreen, ginger cookies, a hickory fire, and yeast bread and Norm. We stay in our pajamas until way after breakfast and sometimes we just make forts and paper airplanes and read all day. You should come by for Russian Tea or hot chocolate. Christmastide is twelve days long and there’s popcorn to be popped, cookies to be eaten, and there’s always more wood for the fire. You could help with a fort.

Hurtling into the New Year with a merry roar!

Love,

Oak

Found Things

2007-11-08T22:26:00.001-05:00

“God is not a belief to which you give your assent. God becomes a reality whom you know intimately, meet everyday, one whose strength becomes your strength, whose love, your love. Live this life of the presence of God long enough and when someone asks you, “Do you believe there is a God?” you may find yourself answering, “No, I do not believe there is a God. I know there is a God.”
~Ernest Boyer, Jr.

So. When was the last time you gave a lessson?

2007-11-01T13:04:00.000-04:00

I'm not doing homeschool any more. I'm being the maid. I go around after my boys picking up pistachio shells, legos, and socks. I strip freshly peed-in beds and do fifteen to twenty loads of laundry a week. I gather dirty clothes and I put away clothes and I stain treat clothes and I hang clothes up and I go through clothes to make sure that they still fit and are the right season and aren't too worn or stained or ripped up. I clean Georgia clay off of shoes and shine shoes and find shoes and spray Lysol in shoes and inspect shoes for fit and wear and gum. I break up whining fights between a seven year old and a two year old over treasures like a paper airplane or a three day old helium balloon or who's going to pour the Gatorade. I remind children not to scratch at their butts when they haven't wiped properly because those fingers are going to end up in their mouths but they don't listen. I fight squirming children for a handhold on those same fingers so I can trim dirty fingernails and inspect hangnails for signs of infection that might need treatment. I pick up the things that are dropped mindlessly after a child is done playing with it because my life is most usefully spent in the role of slave. I make peanut butter and jelly sandwiches that are promptly pulled apart and licked and scraped clean of jelly. I clean jelly off of hardwood floors. I wipe up piles of ants that gather on the jelly spots that I missed. I wipe up walls that are streaked with jelly fingerprints. I make beds. I tote children to this place and that. I grocery shop for healthful meals that I painstakingly prepare for the good pleasure of hearing, "I don't like that. I don't eat soup. I don't eat fish. I don't like salad. Can I have some candy?" I pick up packs of screws and hammers and caulk that are strewn about the house during the latest do-it-yourself marathon.

If I were to wake up at 5 am to take care of the house and the laundry and the grocery shopping and everything else I would be able to homeschool and make meals and stick to a schedule and be flat on my back in bed by 9 pm too exhausted to even read. I could do that. There wouldn't be anything of me left. But I could do that.

Happy 7th Birthday Oak!

2007-10-26T10:44:00.000-04:00

He's been really good at being six. I hope seven is equally happy.

Lunch is served

2007-10-21T12:45:00.000-04:00

Home-made pizza with field lettuce salad. Mineral water with lemon. Dessert may be a bowl of dried plums and salted almonds. It will be in front of the fire because fire makes it better.

Sunday Contentment

2007-10-21T10:26:00.000-04:00

Oak has a sore throat so we bagged church. We stayed in bed all snuggled up together--usunn's and the big boy--and then snuggled more in the boys' room. Entirely satisfactory. Then we bundled up in clothes straight out of the dryer and got into the Jeep--which doesn't have heat just yet--with our blankets and trundled off to Cracker Barrel where they had a fire and pancakes and biscuits and sausage and bacon and coffee and blueberry syrup. This was a great full-tummy joy. Now we're home looking at a fire in the living room. Oak has a comforter and there's a happy crackling noise. Mmmmmm. Think I'll make pizza dough so we can sit by the fire and have pizza for lunch. Maybe a nap.

Thai Chicken and Rice

2007-10-20T18:26:00.000-04:00

This is what we're having for dinner tonight. I made it up because it's what we have.

1 small red onion cut into thin semi-circular slices, separated out
1 small red pepper sliced medium-thin
1 T + peanut oil (or canola + sesame)
2T chopped ginger
2T chopped garlic

1T + peanut oil (yes, more)
1 pound chicken breast chopped into good-size hunks, lightly salted and peppered

1 can lite coconut milk
1 t + red Thai curry paste
1 can of that teeny tiny miniature corn, drained

salt, to taste

Basil leaves sliced skinny skinny
Cilantro leaves chopped until you can't tell what they are

Do this:

Saute the peppers and onions in the oil until they begin to wilt but they're still toothsome. Add the garlic and ginger and saute it all until it just begins to smell really good but the garlic is nowhere near browning. No browning the garlic. Remove this all from the pan and put it in what will be the serving bowl to repose or wait or whatever.

Put the additional oil to the pan and then chuck in the chicken breast chunks and let them get a good brown on them. People who know better than I call this a fond or something. I don't know. The pan should be big enough not to sweat the chicken and the oil should be hot enough to caramelize the outside of the meat but not so hot that it cooks the meat before it makes the crust. Don't move it around. Once the meat has that nice brown edginess to it, turn down the heat. Mix the coconut milk and the curry paste until it's well distributed--it will go the rest of the way in the pan. Put in the onion/pepper mixture and the corn and let it cook off some of the liquid that has escaped--about a minute. Put in the coconut milk and get it going to a simmer. Don't boil it or I'll have to tell the cooking police and they'll come for you. In a pinch half and half works equally well but you're going to have to punch it up with peanut butter and a sprinkling of chopped peanuts or something. Taste it and see if it needs more salt. I wouldn't add black pepper. If you want mo kick, add more red curry paste.

Serve this all over hot basmati rice with a basil and cilantro garnish.

It's pretty good. It could probably benefit from those lime leaves or a squirt of lime sometime. It missed my sour taste buds and they aren't happy about it. But I had a beer.

The Camel's Hump by Rudyard Kipling

2007-10-20T10:31:00.001-04:00

THE Camel's hump is an ugly lump
Which well you may see at the Zoo;
But uglier yet is the hump we get
From having too little to do.

Kiddies and grown-ups too-oo-oo,
If we haven't enough to do-oo-oo,
We get the hump--
Cameelious hump--
The hump that is black and blue!

We climb out of bed with a frouzly head
And a snarly-yarly voice.
We shiver and scowl and we grunt and we growl
At our bath and our boots and our toys;

And there ought to be a corner for me
(And I know there is one for you)
When we get the hump--
Cameelious hump--
The hump that is black and blue!

The cure for this ill is not to sit still,
Or frowst with a book by the fire;
But to take a large hoe and a shovel also,
And dig till you gently perspire;

And then you will find that the sun and the wind,
And the Djinn of the Garden too,
Have lifted the hump--
The horrible hump--
The hump that is black and blue!

I get it as well as you-oo-oo--
If I haven't enough to do-oo-oo--
We all get hump--
Cameelious hump--
Kiddies and grown-ups too!

Don't go saying I didn't warn you

2007-10-19T23:39:00.000-04:00

If you hit the link and you're eating or drinking you're going to snort and laugh and spew and screw up your computer. It won't be because of me. You've been warned.

You Saving Money??

2007-10-18T17:16:00.000-04:00

We're tightwads wherever we can be. We spend money on stuff, but only when we think it's really worth it. Going to the swamp, worth it. Buying garbage bags when the grocery store sends you home with plastic bags, not worth it. Savings don't happen $200 at a time. They happen $5 at a time, over time. And most people who save a lot of money are in the habit of doing it. They have a certain frugal mindset that spenders disdain. This first set of money-saving suggestions are the sit-ups of the money saving world. It will get you used to thinking of places to save money. And just like any other diet, it won't be pretty at first. Still, the results are good! So here are my money-saving suggestions to date. There will be more. I know, I know, you have the vapors.

1. Use a small trash can for your kitchen and line it with the bags that you get for your groceries. Smaller bags mean more exercise from the frequent trips to the garbage can outside, less garbage bag smell in the kitchen, and a wee little savings in the budget.

2. Wash out those zip lock bags, dry them out, and use them again. This is kind of the acid test for the miserly. If you're already doing this, you'll probably have some things to add to this list that I haven't even thought of.

3. Make your own bread, cookies, muffins, crackers, tortillas, naan bread, pita, pancakes, waffles etc. Pretty much anything that you purchase that's made with flour you can make yourself easily and for pennies on the dollar. Plus, when you make it, you know exactly what's gone in it. No mystery ingredients in your staff of life. You can even make your own dog bones. Bake once a week. Freeze what you aren't going to eat within two days. Don't let anyone at the hot baked goods. They'll eat twice as much as they regularly would--unhealthy. Bonus: the house will smell like fresh bread or cookies or brownies or muffins all day long. Save money on those house smeller-upper candles, to boot.

4. Institute a family pizza night. It's a cheap meal. Once a week put three cloves of garlic into a hot pan with some olive oil, whirl a 28-ounce can of grocery-store-brand tomatoes in the food processor (mini chopper works great if you drain the tomatoes first), dump the tomatoes in with the garlic and let a lot of the juice cook out. Slather two-three tablespoons of that on a large tortilla, top with cheese, veggies, and a little pepperoni and cook in a 450 degree oven for ten minutes each. Sprinkle with herbs, slice, eat. This makes about 6 individual pizzas. They're low carb, too. Bonus.

5. Mind your leftovers. Do you have stuff sitting in your fridge gathering mold? Either buy less at the grocery store or put the left overs directly into the fridge and pick a date on your calendar when you're going to eat them. This was a huge problem for us. I finally realized that my family of four only goes through a teeny tiny can of baked beans, a teeny tiny can of corn, and a small bag of chips each when we have burgers or dogs. I was buying the larger ones because I felt bad that we were eating unhealthy burgers or dogs and I wanted lots of veggies on the table to counteract the guilt. We weren't eating them all. Now I get the little ones, we eat them all, and if we're still hungry we eat apples and grapes to fill up.

6. Switch from cold cereal from a box to oatmeal and/or home made granola. Again, easy to make, you know what's in it, and cheap cheap cheap. It also tastes better and you can make it to suit yourself.

Okay. That's it for now. I'm off to buy some curtains that are half off at Bed Bath and Beyond. I think I have a coupon here somewhere.

How to make a woman murderously angry, part one in a series

2007-10-17T14:03:00.000-04:00

Lay down light tile and grout in the second dirtiest room in the house--the kitchen.
Leave it there unsealed for at least three weeks. Make sure it gets good and stained. So it's ugly. Because it's important when you're trying to make a woman this angry that you take away any chance of things being as nice as they COULD be and making them look like crap. Because, hey, you aren't in the house all day long so you don't have to look at it. And even if you did, you don't see filth anyway so it's all good.

Score!

I pinched it from a lovely place

2007-10-16T22:25:00.000-04:00

Escondido Tutorial Service

And I'm not entirely sure that they'd like to be linked to by the likes of me. Nevertheless, had I been there as a child, I'd surely be much better equipped for most everything.

I stole this from I don't know whom. More info forthcoming. Meanwhile. Read.

2007-10-16T22:15:00.000-04:00

The Lost Tools of Learning

Dorothy Sayers

That I, whose experience of teaching is extremely limited, should presume to discuss education is a matter, surely, that calls for no apology. It is a kind of behavior to which the present climate of opinion is wholly favorable. Bishops air their opinions about economics; biologists, about metaphysics; inorganic chemists, about theology; the most irrelevant people are appointed to highly technical ministries; and plain, blunt men write to the papers to say that Epstein and Picasso do not know how to draw. Up to a certain point, and provided the the criticisms are made with a reasonable modesty, these activities are commendable. Too much specialization is not a good thing. There is also one excellent reason why the veriest amateur may feel entitled to have an opinion about education. For if we are not all professional teachers, we have all, at some time or another, been taught. Even if we learnt nothing--perhaps in particular if we learnt nothing--our contribution to the discussion may have a potential value.

However, it is in the highest degree improbable that the reforms I propose will ever be carried into effect. Neither the parents, nor the training colleges, nor the examination boards, nor the boards of governors, nor the ministries of education, would countenance them for a moment. For they amount to this: that if we are to produce a society of educated people, fitted to preserve their intellectual freedom amid the complex pressures of our modern society, we must turn back the wheel of progress some four or five hundred years, to the point at which education began to lose sight of its true object, towards the end of the Middle Ages.

Before you dismiss me with the appropriate phrase--reactionary, romantic, mediaevalist, laudator temporis acti (praiser of times past), or whatever tag comes first to hand--I will ask you to consider one or two miscellaneous questions that hang about at the back, perhaps, of all our minds, and occasionally pop out to worry us.

When we think about the remarkably early age at which the young men went up to university in, let us say, Tudor times, and thereafter were held fit to assume responsibility for the conduct of their own affairs, are we altogether comfortable about that artificial prolongation of intellectual childhood and adolescence into the years of physical maturity which is so marked in our own day? To postpone the acceptance of responsibility to a late date brings with it a number of psychological complications which, while they may interest the psychiatrist, are scarcely beneficial either to the individual or to society. The stock argument in favor of postponing the school-leaving age and prolonging the period of education generally is there there is now so much more to learn than there was in the Middle Ages. This is partly true, but not wholly. The modern boy and girl are certainly taught more subjects--but does that always mean that they actually know more?

Has it ever struck you as odd, or unfortunate, that today, when the proportion of literacy throughout Western Europe is higher than it has ever been, people should have become susceptible to the influence of advertisement and mass propaganda to an extent hitherto unheard of and unimagined? Do you put this down to the mere mechanical fact that the press and the radio and so on have made propaganda much easier to distribute over a wide area? Or do you sometimes have an uneasy suspicion that the product of modern educational methods is less good than he or she might be at disentangling fact from opinion and the proven from the plausible?

Have you ever, in listening to a debate among adult and presumably responsible people, been fretted by the extraordinary inability of the average debater to speak to the question, or to meet and refute the arguments of speakers on the other side? Or have you ever pondered upon the extremely high incidence of irrelevant matter which crops up at committee meetings, and upon the very great rarity of persons capable of acting as chairmen of committees? And when you think of this, and think that most of our public affairs are settled by debates and committees, have you ever felt a certain sinking of the heart?

Have you ever followed a discussion in the newspapers or elsewhere and noticed how frequently writers fail to define the terms they use? Or how often, if one man does define his terms, another will assume in his reply that he was using the terms in precisely the opposite sense to that in which he has already defined them? Have you ever been faintly troubled by the amount of slipshod syntax going about? And, if so, are you troubled because it is inelegant or because it may lead to dangerous misunderstanding?

Do you ever find that young people, when they have left school, not only forget most of what they have learnt (that is only to be expected), but forget also, or betray that they have never really known, how to tackle a new subject for themselves? Are you often bothered by coming across grown-up men and women who seem unable to distinguish between a book that is sound, scholarly, and properly documented, and one that is, to any trained eye, very conspicuously none of these things? Or who cannot handle a library catalogue? Or who, when faced with a book of reference, betray a curious inability to extract from it the passages relevant to the particular question which interests them?

Do you often come across people for whom, all their lives, a "subject" remains a "subject," divided by watertight bulkheads from all other "subjects," so that they experience very great difficulty in making an immediate mental connection between let us say, algebra and detective fiction, sewage disposal and the price of salmon--or, more generally, between such spheres of knowledge as philosophy and economics, or chemistry and art?

Are you occasionally perturbed by the things written by adult men and women for adult men and women to read? We find a well-known biologist writing in a weekly paper to the effect that: "It is an argument against the existence of a Creator" (I think he put it more strongly; but since I have, most unfortunately, mislaid the reference, I will put his claim at its lowest)--"an argument against the existence of a Creator that the same kind of variations which are produced by natural selection can be produced at will by stock breeders." One might feel tempted to say that it is rather an argument for the existence of a Creator. Actually, of course, it is neither; all it proves is that the same material causes (recombination of the chromosomes, by crossbreeding, and so forth) are sufficient to account for all observed variations--just as the various combinations of the same dozen tones are materially sufficient to account for Beethoven's Moonlight Sonata and the noise the cat makes by walking on the keys. But the cat's performance neither proves nor disproves the existence of Beethoven; and all that is proved by the biologist's argument is that he was unable to distinguish between a material and a final cause.

Here is a sentence from no less academic a source than a front- page article in the Times Literary Supplement: "The Frenchman, Alfred Epinas, pointed out that certain species (e.g., ants and wasps) can only face the horrors of life and death in association." I do not know what the Frenchman actually did say; what the Englishman says he said is patently meaningless. We cannot know whether life holds any horror for the ant, nor in what sense the isolated wasp which you kill upon the window-pane can be said to "face" or not to "face" the horrors of death. The subject of the article is mass behavior in man; and the human motives have been unobtrusively transferred from the main proposition to the supporting instance. Thus the argument, in effect, assumes what it set out to prove--a fact which would become immediately apparent if it were presented in a formal syllogism. This is only a small and haphazard example of a vice which pervades whole books--particularly books written by men of science on metaphysical subjects.

Another quotation from the same issue of the TLS comes in fittingly here to wind up this random collection of disquieting thoughts--this time from a review of Sir Richard Livingstone's "Some Tasks for Education": "More than once the reader is reminded of the value of an intensive study of at least one subject, so as to learn Tthe meaning of knowledge' and what precision and persistence is needed to attain it. Yet there is elsewhere full recognition of the distressing fact that a man may be master in one field and show no better judgement than his neighbor anywhere else; he remembers what he has learnt, but forgets altogether how he learned it."

I would draw your attention particularly to that last sentence, which offers an explanation of what the writer rightly calls the "distressing fact" that the intellectual skills bestowed upon us by our education are not readily transferable to subjects other than those in which we acquired them: "he remembers what he has learnt, but forgets altogether how he learned it."

Is not the great defect of our education today--a defect traceable through all the disquieting symptoms of trouble that I have mentioned--that although we often succeed in teaching our pupils "subjects," we fail lamentably on the whole in teaching them how to think: they learn everything, except the art of learning. It is as though we had taught a child, mechanically and by rule of thumb, to play "The Harmonious Blacksmith" upon the piano, but had never taught him the scale or how to read music; so that, having memorized "The Harmonious Blacksmith," he still had not the faintest notion how to proceed from that to tackle "The Last Rose of Summer." Why do I say, "as though"? In certain of the arts and crafts, we sometimes do precisely this--requiring a child to "express himself" in paint before we teach him how to handle the colors and the brush. There is a school of thought which believes this to be the right way to set about the job. But observe: it is not the way in which a trained craftsman will go about to teach himself a new medium. He, having learned by experience the best way to economize labor and take the thing by the right end, will start off by doodling about on an odd piece of material, in order to "give himself the feel of the tool."

Let us now look at the mediaeval scheme of education--the syllabus of the Schools. It does not matter, for the moment, whether it was devised for small children or for older students, or how long people were supposed to take over it. What matters is the light it throws upon what the men of the Middle Ages supposed to be the object and the right order of the educative process.

The syllabus was divided into two parts: the Trivium and Quadrivium. The second part--the Quadrivium--consisted of "subjects," and need not for the moment concern us. The interesting thing for us is the composition of the Trivium, which preceded the Quadrivium and was the preliminary discipline for it. It consisted of three parts: Grammar, Dialectic, and Rhetoric, in that order.

Now the first thing we notice is that two at any rate of these "subjects" are not what we should call "subjects" at all: they are only methods of dealing with subjects. Grammar, indeed, is a "subject" in the sense that it does mean definitely learning a language--at that period it meant learning Latin. But language itself is simply the medium in which thought is expressed. The whole of the Trivium was, in fact, intended to teach the pupil the proper use of the tools of learning, before he began to apply them to "subjects" at all. First, he learned a language; not just how to order a meal in a foreign language, but the structure of a language, and hence of language itself--what it was, how it was put together, and how it worked. Secondly, he learned how to use language; how to define his terms and make accurate statements; how to construct an argument and how to detect fallacies in argument. Dialectic, that is to say, embraced Logic and Disputation. Thirdly, he learned to express himself in language-- how to say what he had to say elegantly and persuasively.

At the end of his course, he was required to compose a thesis upon some theme set by his masters or chosen by himself, and afterwards to defend his thesis against the criticism of the faculty. By this time, he would have learned--or woe betide him-- not merely to write an essay on paper, but to speak audibly and intelligibly from a platform, and to use his wits quickly when heckled. There would also be questions, cogent and shrewd, from those who had already run the gauntlet of debate.

It is, of course, quite true that bits and pieces of the mediaeval tradition still linger, or have been revived, in the ordinary school syllabus of today. Some knowledge of grammar is still required when learning a foreign language--perhaps I should say, "is again required," for during my own lifetime, we passed through a phase when the teaching of declensions and conjugations was considered rather reprehensible, and it was considered better to pick these things up as we went along. School debating societies flourish; essays are written; the necessity for "self- expression" is stressed, and perhaps even over-stressed. But these activities are cultivated more or less in detachment, as belonging to the special subjects in which they are pigeon-holed rather than as forming one coherent scheme of mental training to which all "subjects"stand in a subordinate relation. "Grammar" belongs especially to the "subject" of foreign languages, and essay-writing to the "subject" called "English"; while Dialectic has become almost entirely divorced from the rest of the curriculum, and is frequently practiced unsystematically and out of school hours as a separate exercise, only very loosely related to the main business of learning. Taken by and large, the great difference of emphasis between the two conceptions holds good: modern education concentrates on "teaching subjects," leaving the method of thinking, arguing, and expressing one's conclusions to be picked up by the scholar as he goes along' mediaeval education concentrated on first forging and learning to handle the tools of learning, using whatever subject came handy as a piece of material on which to doodle until the use of the tool became second nature.

"Subjects" of some kind there must be, of course. One cannot learn the theory of grammar without learning an actual language, or learn to argue and orate without speaking about something in particular. The debating subjects of the Middle Ages were drawn largely from theology, or from the ethics and history of antiquity. Often, indeed, they became stereotyped, especially towards the end of the period, and the far-fetched and wire-drawn absurdities of Scholastic argument fretted Milton and provide food for merriment even to this day. Whether they were in themselves any more hackneyed and trivial then the usual subjects set nowadays for "essay writing" I should not like to say: we may ourselves grow a little weary of "A Day in My Holidays" and all the rest of it. But most of the merriment is misplaced, because the aim and object of the debating thesis has by now been lost sight of.

A glib speaker in the Brains Trust once entertained his audience (and reduced the late Charles Williams to helpless rageb by asserting that in the Middle Ages it was a matter of faith to know how many archangels could dance on the point of a needle. I need not say, I hope, that it never was a "matter of faith"; it was simply a debating exercise, whose set subject was the nature of angelic substance: were angels material, and if so, did they occupy space? The answer usually adjudged correct is, I believe, that angels are pure intelligences; not material, but limited, so that they may have location in space but not extension. An analogy might be drawn from human thought, which is similarly non-material and similarly limited. Thus, if your thought is concentrated upon one thing--say, the point of a needle--it is located there in the sense that it is not elsewhere; but although it is "there," it occupies no space there, and there is nothing to prevent an infinite number of different people's thoughts being concentrated upon the same needle-point at the same time. The proper subject of the argument is thus seen to be the distinction between location and extension in space; the matter on which the argument is exercised happens to be the nature of angels (although, as we have seen, it might equally well have been something else; the practical lesson to be drawn from the argument is not to use words like "there" in a loose and unscientific way, without specifying whether you mean "located there" or "occupying space there."

Scorn in plenty has been poured out upon the mediaeval passion for hair-splitting; but when we look at the shameless abuse made, in print and on the platform, of controversial expressions with shifting and ambiguous connotations, we may feel it in our hearts to wish that every reader and hearer had been so defensively armored by his education as to be able to cry: "Distinguo."

For we let our young men and women go out unarmed, in a day when armor was never so necessary. By teaching them all to read, we have left them at the mercy of the printed word. By the invention of the film and the radio, we have made certain that no aversion to reading shall secure them from the incessant battery of words, words, words. They do not know what the words mean; they do not know how to ward them off or blunt their edge or fling them back; they are a prey to words in their emotions instead of being the masters of them in their intellects. We who were scandalized in 1940 when men were sent to fight armored tanks with rifles, are not scandalized when young men and women are sent into the world to fight massed propaganda with a smattering of "subjects"; and when whole classes and whole nations become hypnotized by the arts of the spell binder, we have the impudence to be astonished. We dole out lip-service to the importance of education--lip- service and, just occasionally, a little grant of money; we postpone the school-leaving age, and plan to build bigger and better schools; the teachers slave conscientiously in and out of school hours; and yet, as I believe, all this devoted effort is largely frustrated, because we have lost the tools of learning, and in their absence can only make a botched and piecemeal job of it.

What, then, are we to do? We cannot go back to the Middle Ages. That is a cry to which we have become accustomed. We cannot go back--or can we? Distinguo. I should like every term in that proposition defined. Does "go back" mean a retrogression in time, or the revision of an error? The first is clearly impossible per se; the second is a thing which wise men do every day. "Cannot"-- does this mean that our behavior is determined irreversibly, or merely that such an action would be very difficult in view of the opposition it would provoke? Obviously the twentieth century is not and cannot be the fourteenth; but if "the Middle Ages" is, in this context, simply a picturesque phrase denoting a particular educational theory, there seems to be no a priori reason why we should not "go back" to it--with modifications--as we have already "gone back" with modifications, to, let us say, the idea of playing Shakespeare's plays as he wrote them, and not in the "modernized" versions of Cibber and Garrick, which once seemed to be the latest thing in theatrical progress.

Let us amuse ourselves by imagining that such progressive retrogression is possible. Let us make a clean sweep of all educational authorities, and furnish ourselves with a nice little school of boys and girls whom we may experimentally equip for the intellectual conflict along lines chosen by ourselves. We will endow them with exceptionally docile parents; we will staff our school with teachers who are themselves perfectly familiar with the aims and methods of the Trivium; we will have our building and staff large enough to allow our classes to be small enough for adequate handling; and we will postulate a Board of Examiners willing and qualified to test the products we turn out. Thus prepared, we will attempt to sketch out a syllabus--a modern Trivium "with modifications" and we will see where we get to.

But first: what age shall the children be? Well, if one is to educate them on novel lines, it will be better that they should have nothing to unlearn; besides, one cannot begin a good thing too early, and the Trivium is by its nature not learning, but a preparation for learning. We will, therefore, "catch 'em young," requiring of our pupils only that they shall be able to read, write, and cipher.

My views about child psychology are, I admit, neither orthodox nor enlightened. Looking back upon myself (since I am the child I know best and the only child I can pretend to know from inside) I recognize three states of development. These, in a rough-and- ready fashion, I will call the Poll-Parrot, the Pert, and the Poetic--the latter coinciding, approximately, with the onset of puberty. The Poll-Parrot stage is the one in which learning by heart is easy and, on the whole, pleasurable; whereas reasoning is difficult and, on the whole, little relished. At this age, one readily memorizes the shapes and appearances of things; one likes to recite the number-plates of cars; one rejoices in the chanting of rhymes and the rumble and thunder of unintelligible polysyllables; one enjoys the mere accumulation of things. The Pert age, which follows upon this (and, naturally, overlaps it to some extent), is characterized by contradicting, answering back, liking to "catch people out" (especially one's elders); and by the propounding of conundrums. Its nuisance-value is extremely high. It usually sets in about the Fourth Form. The Poetic age is popularly known as the "difficult" age. It is self-centered; it yearns to express itself; it rather specializes in being misunderstood; it is restless and tries to achieve independence; and, with good luck and good guidance, it should show the beginnings of creativeness; a reaching out towards a synthesis of what it already knows, and a deliberate eagerness to know and do some one thing in preference to all others. Now it seems to me that the layout of the Trivium adapts itself with a singular appropriateness to these three ages: Grammar to the Poll-Parrot, Dialectic to the Pert, and Rhetoric to the Poetic age.

Let us begin, then, with Grammar. This, in practice, means the grammar of some language in particular; and it must be an inflected language. The grammatical structure of an uninflected language is far too analytical to be tackled by any one without previous practice in Dialectic. Moreover, the inflected languages interpret the uninflected, whereas the uninflected are of little use in interpreting the inflected. I will say at once, quite firmly, that the best grounding for education is the Latin grammar. I say this, not because Latin is traditional and mediaeval, but simply because even a rudimentary knowledge of Latin cuts down the labor and pains of learning almost any other subject by at least fifty percent. It is the key to the vocabulary and structure of all the Teutonic languages, as well as to the technical vocabulary of all the sciences and to the literature of the entire Mediterranean civilization, together with all its historical documents.

Those whose pedantic preference for a living language persuades them to deprive their pupils of all these advantages might substitute Russian, whose grammar is still more primitive. Russian is, of course, helpful with the other Slav dialects. There is something also to be said for Classical Greek. But my own choice is Latin. Having thus pleased the Classicists among you, I will proceed to horrify them by adding that I do not think it either wise or necessary to cramp the ordinary pupil upon the Procrustean bed of the Augustan Age, with its highly elaborate and artificial verse forms and oratory. Post-classical and mediaeval Latin, which was a living language right down to the end of the Renaissance, is easier and in some ways livelier; a study of it helps to dispel the widespread notion that learning and literature came to a full stop when Christ was born and only woke up again at the Dissolution of the Monasteries.

Latin should be begun as early as possible--at a time when inflected speech seems no more astonishing than any other phenomenon in an astonishing world; and when the chanting of "Amo, amas, amat" is as ritually agreeable to the feelings as the chanting of "eeny, meeny, miney, moe."

During this age we must, of course, exercise the mind on other things besides Latin grammar. Observation and memory are the faculties most lively at this period; and if we are to learn a contemporary foreign language we should begin now, before the facial and mental muscles become rebellious to strange intonations. Spoken French or German can be practiced alongside the grammatical discipline of the Latin.

In English, meanwhile, verse and prose can be learned by heart, and the pupil's memory should be stored with stories of every kind--classical myth, European legend, and so forth. I do not think that the classical stories and masterpieces of ancient literature should be made the vile bodies on which to practice the techniques of Grammar--that was a fault of mediaeval education which we need not perpetuate. The stories can be enjoyed and remembered in English, and related to their origin at a subsequent stage. Recitation aloud should be practiced, individually or in chorus; for we must not forget that we are laying the groundwork for Disputation and Rhetoric.

The grammar of History should consist, I think, of dates, events, anecdotes, and personalities. A set of dates to which one can peg all later historical knowledge is of enormous help later on in establishing the perspective of history. It does not greatly matter which dates: those of the Kings of England will do very nicely, provided that they are accompanied by pictures of costumes, architecture, and other everyday things, so that the mere mention of a date calls up a very strong visual presentment of the whole period.

Geography will similarly be presented in its factual aspect, with maps, natural features, and visual presentment of customs, costumes, flora, fauna, and so on; and I believe myself that the discredited and old-fashioned memorizing of a few capitol cities, rivers, mountain ranges, etc., does no harm. Stamp collecting may be encouraged.

Science, in the Poll-Parrot period, arranges itself naturally and easily around collections--the identifying and naming of specimens and, in general, the kind of thing that used to be called "natural philosophy." To know the name and properties of things is, at this age, a satisfaction in itself; to recognize a devil's coach-horse at sight, and assure one's foolish elders, that, in spite of its appearance, it does not sting; to be able to pick out Cassiopeia and the Pleiades, and perhaps even to know who Cassiopeia and the Pleiades were; to be aware that a whale is not a fish, and a bat not a bird--all these things give a pleasant sensation of superiority; while to know a ring snake from an adder or a poisonous from an edible toadstool is a kind of knowledge that also has practical value.

The grammar of Mathematics begins, of course, with the multiplication table, which, if not learnt now, will never be learnt with pleasure; and with the recognition of geometrical shapes and the grouping of numbers. These exercises lead naturally to the doing of simple sums in arithmetic. More complicated mathematical processes may, and perhaps should, be postponed, for the reasons which will presently appear.

So far (except, of course, for the Latin), our curriculum contains nothing that departs very far from common practice. The difference will be felt rather in the attitude of the teachers, who must look upon all these activities less as "subjects" in themselves than as a gathering-together of material for use in the next part of the Trivium. What that material is, is only of secondary importance; but it is as well that anything and everything which can be usefully committed to memory should be memorized at this period, whether it is immediately intelligible or not. The modern tendency is to try and force rational explanations on a child's mind at too early an age. Intelligent questions, spontaneously asked, should, of course, receive an immediate and rational answer; but it is a great mistake to suppose that a child cannot readily enjoy and remember things that are beyond his power to analyze--particularly if those things have a strong imaginative appeal (as, for example, "Kubla Kahn"), an attractive jingle (like some of the memory-rhymes for Latin genders), or an abundance of rich, resounding polysyllables (like the Quicunque vult).

This reminds me of the grammar of Theology. I shall add it to the curriculum, because theology is the mistress-science without which the whole educational structure will necessarily lack its final synthesis. Those who disagree about this will remain content to leave their pupil's education still full of loose ends. This will matter rather less than it might, since by the time that the tools of learning have been forged the student will be able to tackle theology for himself, and will probably insist upon doing so and making sense of it. Still, it is as well to have this matter also handy and ready for the reason to work upon. At the grammatical age, therefore, we should become acquainted with the story of God and Man in outline--i.e., the Old and New Testaments presented as parts of a single narrative of Creation, Rebellion, and Redemption--and also with the Creed, the Lord's Prayer, and the Ten Commandments. At this early stage, it does not matter nearly so much that these things should be fully understood as that they should be known and remembered.

It is difficult to say at what age, precisely, we should pass from the first to the second part of the Trivium. Generally speaking, the answer is: so soon as the pupil shows himself disposed to pertness and interminable argument. For as, in the first part, the master faculties are Observation and Memory, so, in the second, the master faculty is the Discursive Reason. In the first, the exercise to which the rest of the material was, as it were, keyed, was the Latin grammar; in the second, the key- exercise will be Formal Logic. It is here that our curriculum shows its first sharp divergence from modern standards. The disrepute into which Formal Logic has fallen is entirely unjustified; and its neglect is the root cause of nearly all those disquieting symptoms which we have noted in the modern intellectual constitution. Logic has been discredited, partly because we have come to suppose that we are conditioned almost entirely by the intuitive and the unconscious. There is no time to argue whether this is true; I will simply observe that to neglect the proper training of the reason is the best possible way to make it true. Another cause for the disfavor into which Logic has fallen is the belief that it is entirely based upon universal assumptions that are either unprovable or tautological. This is not true. Not all universal propositions are of this kind. But even if they were, it would make no difference, since every syllogism whose major premise is in the form "All A is B" can be recast in hypothetical form. Logic is the art of arguing correctly: "If A, then B." The method is not invalidated by the hypothetical nature of A. Indeed, the practical utility of Formal Logic today lies not so much in the establishment of positive conclusions as in the prompt detection and exposure of invalid inference.

Let us now quickly review our material and see how it is to be related to Dialectic. On the Language side, we shall now have our vocabulary and morphology at our fingertips; henceforward we can concentrate on syntax and analysis (i.e., the logical construction of speech) and the history of language (i.e., how we came to arrange our speech as we do in order to convey our thoughts).

Our Reading will proceed from narrative and lyric to essays, argument and criticism, and the pupil will learn to try his own hand at writing this kind of thing. Many lessons--on whatever subject--will take the form of debates; and the place of individual or choral recitation will be taken by dramatic performances, with special attention to plays in which an argument is stated in dramatic form.

Mathematics--algebra, geometry, and the more advanced kinds of arithmetic--will now enter into the syllabus and take its place as what it really is: not a separate "subject" but a sub- department of Logic. It is neither more nor less than the rule of the syllogism in its particular application to number and measurement, and should be taught as such, instead of being, for some, a dark mystery, and, for others, a special revelation, neither illuminating nor illuminated by any other part of knowledge.

History, aided by a simple system of ethics derived from the grammar of theology, will provide much suitable material for discussion: Was the behavior of this statesman justified? What was the effect of such an enactment? What are the arguments for and against this or that form of government? We shall thus get an introduction to constitutional history--a subject meaningless to the young child, but of absorbing interest to those who are prepared to argue and debate. Theology itself will furnish material for argument about conduct and morals; and should have its scope extended by a simplified course of dogmatic theology (i.e., the rational structure of Christian thought), clarifying the relations between the dogma and the ethics, and lending itself to that application of ethical principles in particular instances which is properly called casuistry. Geography and the Sciences will likewise provide material for Dialectic.

But above all, we must not neglect the material which is so abundant in the pupils' own daily life.

There is a delightful passage in Leslie Paul's "The Living Hedge" which tells how a number of small boys enjoyed themselves for days arguing about an extraordinary shower of rain which had fallen in their town--a shower so localized that it left one half of the main street wet and the other dry. Could one, they argued, properly say that it had rained that day on or over the town or only in the town? How many drops of water were required to constitute rain? And so on. Argument about this led on to a host of similar problems about rest and motion, sleep and waking, est and non est, and the infinitesimal division of time. The whole passage is an admirable example of the spontaneous development of the ratiocinative faculty and the natural and proper thirst of the awakening reason for the definition of terms and exactness of statement. All events are food for such an appetite.

An umpire's decision; the degree to which one may transgress the spirit of a regulation without being trapped by the letter: on such questions as these, children are born casuists, and their natural propensity only needs to be developed and trained--and especially, brought into an intelligible relationship with the events in the grown-up world. The newspapers are full of good material for such exercises: legal decisions, on the one hand, in cases where the cause at issue is not too abstruse; on the other, fallacious reasoning and muddleheaded arguments, with which the correspondence columns of certain papers one could name are abundantly stocked.

Wherever the matter for Dialectic is found, it is, of course, highly important that attention should be focused upon the beauty and economy of a fine demonstration or a well-turned argument, lest veneration should wholly die. Criticism must not be merely destructive; though at the same time both teacher and pupils must be ready to detect fallacy, slipshod reasoning, ambiguity, irrelevance, and redundancy, and to pounce upon them like rats. This is the moment when precis-writing may be usefully undertaken; together with such exercises as the writing of an essay, and the reduction of it, when written, by 25 or 50 percent.

It will, doubtless, be objected that to encourage young persons at the Pert age to browbeat, correct, and argue with their elders will render them perfectly intolerable. My answer is that children of that age are intolerable anyhow; and that their natural argumentativeness may just as well be canalized to good purpose as allowed to run away into the sands. It may, indeed, be rather less obtrusive at home if it is disciplined in school; and anyhow, elders who have abandoned the wholesome principle that children should be seen and not heard have no one to blame but themselves.

Once again, the contents of the syllabus at this stage may be anything you like. The "subjects" supply material; but they are all to be regarded as mere grist for the mental mill to work upon. The pupils should be encouraged to go and forage for their own information, and so guided towards the proper use of libraries and books for reference, and shown how to tell which sources are authoritative and which are not.

Towards the close of this stage, the pupils will probably be beginning to discover for themselves that their knowledge and experience are insufficient, and that their trained intelligences need a great deal more material to chew upon. The imagination-- usually dormant during the Pert age--will reawaken, and prompt them to suspect the limitations of logic and reason. This means that they are passing into the Poetic age and are ready to embark on the study of Rhetoric. The doors of the storehouse of knowledge should now be thrown open for them to browse about as they will. The things once learned by rote will be seen in new contexts; the things once coldly analyzed can now be brought together to form a new synthesis; here and there a sudden insight will bring about that most exciting of all discoveries: the realization that truism is true.

It is difficult to map out any general syllabus for the study of Rhetoric: a certain freedom is demanded. In literature, appreciation should be again allowed to take the lead over destructive criticism; and self-expression in writing can go forward, with its tools now sharpened to cut clean and observe proportion. Any child who already shows a disposition to specialize should be given his head: for, when the use of the tools has been well and truly learned, it is available for any study whatever. It would be well, I think, that each pupil should learn to do one, or two, subjects really well, while taking a few classes in subsidiary subjects so as to keep his mind open to the inter-relations of all knowledge. Indeed, at this stage, our difficulty will be to keep "subjects" apart; for Dialectic will have shown all branches of learning to be inter-related, so Rhetoric will tend to show that all knowledge is one. To show this, and show why it is so, is pre-eminently the task of the mistress science. But whether theology is studied or not, we should at least insist that children who seem inclined to specialize on the mathematical and scientific side should be obliged to attend some lessons in the humanities and vice versa. At this stage, also, the Latin grammar, having done its work, may be dropped for those who prefer to carry on their language studies on the modern side; while those who are likely never to have any great use or aptitude for mathematics might also be allowed to rest, more or less, upon their oars. Generally speaking, whatsoever is mere apparatus may now be allowed to fall into the background, while the trained mind is gradually prepared for specialization in the "subjects" which, when the Trivium is completed, it should be perfectly will equipped to tackle on its own. The final synthesis of the Trivium--the presentation and public defense of the thesis--should be restored in some form; perhaps as a kind of "leaving examination" during the last term at school.

The scope of Rhetoric depends also on whether the pupil is to be turned out into the world at the age of 16 or whether he is to proceed to the university. Since, really, Rhetoric should be taken at about 14, the first category of pupil should study Grammar from about 9 to 11, and Dialectic from 12 to 14; his last two school years would then be devoted to Rhetoric, which, in this case, would be of a fairly specialized and vocational kind, suiting him to enter immediately upon some practical career. A pupil of the second category would finish his Dialectical course in his preparatory school, and take Rhetoric during his first two years at his public school. At 16, he would be ready to start upon those "subjects" which are proposed for his later study at the university: and this part of his education will correspond to the mediaeval Quadrivium. What this amounts to is that the ordinary pupil, whose formal education ends at 16, will take the Trivium only; whereas scholars will take both the Trivium and the Quadrivium.

Is the Trivium, then, a sufficient education for life? Properly taught, I believe that it should be. At the end of the Dialectic, the children will probably seem to be far behind their coevals brought up on old-fashioned "modern" methods, so far as detailed knowledge of specific subjects is concerned. But after the age of 14 they should be able to overhaul the others hand over fist. Indeed, I am not at all sure that a pupil thoroughly proficient in the Trivium would not be fit to proceed immediately to the university at the age of 16, thus proving himself the equal of his mediaeval counterpart, whose precocity astonished us at the beginning of this discussion. This, to be sure, would make hay of the English public-school system, and disconcert the universities very much. It would, for example, make quite a different thing of the Oxford and Cambridge boat race.

But I am not here to consider the feelings of academic bodies: I am concerned only with the proper training of the mind to encounter and deal with the formidable mass of undigested problems presented to it by the modern world. For the tools of learning are the same, in any and every subject; and the person who knows how to use them will, at any age, get the mastery of a new subject in half the time and with a quarter of the effort expended by the person who has not the tools at his command. To learn six subjects without remembering how they were learnt does nothing to ease the approach to a seventh; to have learnt and remembered the art of learning makes the approach to every subject an open door.

Before concluding these necessarily very sketchy suggestions, I ought to say why I think it necessary, in these days, to go back to a discipline which we had discarded. The truth is that for the last three hundred years or so we have been living upon our educational capital. The post-Renaissance world, bewildered and excited by the profusion of new "subjects" offered to it, broke away from the old discipline (which had, indeed, become sadly dull and stereotyped in its practical application) and imagined that henceforward it could, as it were, disport itself happily in its new and extended Quadrivium without passing through the Trivium. But the Scholastic tradition, though broken and maimed, still lingered in the public schools and universities: Milton, however much he protested against it, was formed by it--the debate of the Fallen Angels and the disputation of Abdiel with Satan have the tool-marks of the Schools upon them, and might, incidentally, profitably figure as set passages for our Dialectical studies. Right down to the nineteenth century, our public affairs were mostly managed, and our books and journals were for the most part written, by people brought up in homes, and trained in places, where that tradition was still alive in the memory and almost in the blood. Just so, many people today who are atheist or agnostic in religion, are governed in their conduct by a code of Christian ethics which is so rooted that it never occurs to them to question it.

But one cannot live on capital forever. However firmly a tradition is rooted, if it is never watered, though it dies hard, yet in the end it dies. And today a great number--perhaps the majority--of the men and women who handle our affairs, write our books and our newspapers, carry out our research, present our plays and our films, speak from our platforms and pulpits--yes, and who educate our young people--have never, even in a lingering traditional memory, undergone the Scholastic discipline. Less and less do the children who come to be educated bring any of that tradition with them. We have lost the tools of learning--the axe and the wedge, the hammer and the saw, the chisel and the plane-- that were so adaptable to all tasks. Instead of them, we have merely a set of complicated jigs, each of which will do but one task and no more, and in using which eye and hand receive no training, so that no man ever sees the work as a whole or "looks to the end of the work."

What use is it to pile task on task and prolong the days of labor, if at the close the chief object is left unattained? It is not the fault of the teachers--they work only too hard already. The combined folly of a civilization that has forgotten its own roots is forcing them to shore up the tottering weight of an educational structure that is built upon sand. They are doing for their pupils the work which the pupils themselves ought to do. For the sole true end of education is simply this: to teach men how to learn for themselves; and whatever instruction fails to do this is effort spent in vain.

Email from a sensible friend

2007-10-15T19:45:00.000-04:00

How often do you let other people's nonsense change your mood? Do you let a bad driver, rude waiter, curt boss, or an insensitive employee ruin your day? Unless you're the Terminator, for an instant you're probably set back on your heels. However, the mark of a successful person is how quickly she can get back her focus on what's important.

Sixteen years ago I learned this lesson. I learned it in the back of a New York City taxi cab. Here's what happened.

I hopped in a taxi, and we took off for Grand Central Station. We were driving in the right lane when, all of a sudden, a black car jumped out of a parking space right in front of us. My taxi driver slammed on his breaks, skidded, and missed the other car's back end by just inches!

The driver of the other car, the guy who almost caused a big accident, whipped his head around and he started yelling bad words at us.

My taxi driver just smiled and waved at the guy. And I mean, he was friendly. So, I said, "Why did you just do that? This guy almost ruined your car and sent us to the hospital!"

And this is when my taxi driver told me what I now call, "The Law of the Garbage Truck."

Many people are like garbage trucks. They run around full of garbage, full of frustration, full of anger, and full of disappointment. As their garbage piles up, they need a place to dump it. And if you let them, they'll dump it on you. When someone wants to dump on you, don't take it personally. You just smile, wave, wish them well, and move on. You'll be happy you did.

So this was it: The "Law of the Garbage Truck." I started thinking, how often do I let Garbage Trucks run right over me? And how often do I take their garbage and spread it to other people: at work, at home, on the streets? It was that day I said, "I'm not going to do it anymore." I began to see garbage trucks. Like in the movie "The Sixth Sense," the little boy said, "I see Dead People."

Well, now "I see Garbage Trucks." I see the load they're carrying. I see them coming to drop it off. And like my Taxi Driver, I don't make it a personal thing; I just smile, wave, wish them well, and I move on.

One of my favorite football players of all time, Walter Payton, did this every day on the football field. He would jump up as quickly as he hit the ground after being tackled. He never dwelt on a hit. Payton was ready to make the next play his best. Good leaders know they have to be ready for their next meeting. Good parents know that they have to welcome their children home from school with hugs and kisses. Leaders and parents know that they have to be fully present, and at their best for the people they care about. The bottom line is that successful people do not let Garbage Trucks take over their day. What about you? What would happen in your life, starting today, if you let more garbage trucks pass you by?

Human Evolution Timeline Link

2007-10-14T23:48:00.000-04:00

This is really cool. The links it has (the ones that work) are pretty cool, too.

Thyroid

2007-10-11T09:38:00.000-04:00

After three months of tiredness and general drag-assedness, my chiropractor gave me some Thyroid supplements. I started taking them on Tuesday. I feel positively perky and clearheaded. Well thank God for that!

We Seek Your Prayers

2007-10-08T21:09:00.000-04:00

Oak has broken his left arm. Both his ulna and radius. They'll have to reduce the break tomorrow It's deforming his arm because the two sides of the bone are at and angle to one another. It didn't puncture the skin, but it's pretty severe. Give a little prayer that the reduction will be straightforward, that he'll be given sedation for the procedure, that he won't react badly to it, and that it will all go well. It has been kind of a hellish day and I think that tomorrow will be worse. Pray, please.

dove onslaught

2007-10-04T23:39:00.001-04:00

Excellent video.

A-Freakin-Men

2007-10-04T23:37:00.001-04:00

You know what I love?

2007-10-02T22:10:00.001-04:00

I love the letters that intern George writes in response to weired emails received at Go Fug Yourself. You know. The ones where he calls people Gentle Dumpling and such. Makes me laugh and laugh and laugh.

Fwah!

2007-10-02T17:34:00.001-04:00

Good things come to those who wait... Guinness

2007-10-02T17:22:00.001-04:00

Excellent.

More Rugby Ads

2007-10-02T17:18:00.001-04:00

You can't have too many.

Someone Else Said This

2007-10-02T11:42:00.000-04:00

"Educate your children to self-control, to the habit of holding passion and prejudice and evil tendencies subject to an upright and reasoning will, and you have done much to abolish misery from their future and crimes from society." -
-- Benjamin franklin

I stole it from Scott, the Pragmatic Chef

2007-09-28T15:31:00.000-04:00

After being married for 44 years, I took a careful look at my wife on morning and said, "Honey, 44 years ago we had a cheap apartment, a cheap car, we slept on a sofa bed, and watched a 10 black and white TV, but at least I got to sleep evey night with a hot 25 year old gal.

Now I have a $500,000 home, a $45,000 car, a nice big bed and a plasma screen TV, but I'm sleeping with a 65 year old woman. It seems to me that you're not holding up your side of things."

My wife is a very reasonable woman, so she told me to go out and find a hot 25 year old gal, and she would personally make sure that I would once again be living in a cheap apartment, driving a cheap car, sleeping on a sofa bed, and watching a 10 inch black and white TV.

Go visit Desert Island Foods and get yourself some Survival Spice. It's so good that you can put it on buttered popcorn. Heck. You could just spoon it out of the tin and into your mouth. Or your Bloody Mary or your tomato soup or your rack of ribs or your shrimp on the barbie. Mmmmmmm.

Cathedrals

2007-09-27T09:06:00.000-04:00

This was in my in-box this morning:

I'm invisible.

It all began to make sense, the blank stares, the lack of response, the way one of the kids will walk into the room while I'm on the phone and ask to be taken to the store. Inside I'm thinking, "Can't you see I'm on the phone?" Obviously not. No one can see if I'm on the phone, or cooking, or sweeping the floor, or even standing on my head in the corner, because no one can see me at all. I'm invisible.

Some days I am only a pair of hands, nothing more: Can you fix this? Can you tie this? Can you open this? Some days I'm not a pair of hands; I'm not even a human being. I'm a clock to ask, "What time is it?" I'm a satellite guide to answer, "What number is the Disney Channel?" I'm a car to order, "Right around 5:30, please."

I was certain that these were the hands that once held books and the eyes that studied history and the mind that graduated summa cum laude - but now they had disappeared into the peanut butter, never to be seen again. She's going she's going . She's gone!

One night, a group of us were having dinner, celebrating the return of a friend from England. Janice had just gotten back from a fabulous trip,and she was going on and on about the hotel she stayed in. I was sitting there, looking around at the others all put together so well. It was hard not to compare and feel sorry for myself as I looked down at my out-of-style dress; it was the only thing I could find that was clean. My unwashed hair was pulled up in a banana clip and I was afraid I could actually smell peanut butter in it. I was feeling pretty pathetic, when Janice turned to me with a beautifully wrapped package, and said, "I brought you this."

It was a book on the great cathedrals of Europe. I wasn't exactly sure why she'd given it to me until I read her inscription: "To Charlotte, with admiration for the greatness of what you are building when no one sees."

In the days ahead I would read - no, devour - the book. And I would discover what would become for me, four life-changing truths, after which I could pattern my work: No one can say who built the great cathedrals - we have no record of their names. These builders gave their whole lives for a work they would never see finished. They made great sacrifices and expected no credit. The passion of their building was fueled by their faith that the eyes of God saw everything.

A legendary story in the book told of a rich man who came to visit the cathedral while it was being built, and he saw a workman carving a tiny bird on the inside of a beam. He was puzzled and asked the man, "Why are
you spending so much time carving that bird into a beam that will be covered by the roof? No one will ever see it." And the workman replied, "Because God sees."

I closed the book, feeling the missing piece fall into place. It was almost as if I heard God whispering to me, "I see you, Charlotte. I see the sacrifices you make every day, even when no one around you does. No act of kindness you've done, no sequin you've sewn on, no cupcake you've baked, is too small for me to notice and smile over. You are building a great cathedral, but you can't see right now what it will become."

At times, my invisibility feels like an affliction. But it is not a disease that is erasing my life. It is the cure for the disease of my own self-centeredness. It is the antidote to my strong, stubborn pride. I keep the right perspective when I see myself as a great builder. As one of the people who show up at a job that they will never see finished, to work on something that their name will never be on. The writer of the book went so far as to say that no cathedrals could ever be built in our lifetime because there are so few people willing to sacrifice to that degree.

When I really think about it, I don't want my son to tell the friend he's bringing home from college for Thanksgiving, "My mom gets up at 4 in the morning and bakes homemade pies, and then she hand bastes a turkey for three hours and presses all the linens for the table." That would mean I'd built a shrine or a monument to myself. I just want him to want to come home. And then, if there is anything more to say to his friend, to add, "You're gonna love it there."

As mothers, we are building great cathedrals. We cannot be seen if we're doing it right. And one day, it is very possible that the world will marvel, not only at what we have built, but at the beauty that has been added to the world by the sacrifices of invisible women.

This is where I'm headed

2007-09-26T21:09:00.000-04:00

Go here. And here. Read. Don't drink and read. You'll spew it out your nose.

Sometimes you open your mouth and stupid falls out

2007-09-26T20:50:00.001-04:00

And there's just nothing to do about it except say, "sorry. I'm wearing the stupid hat." and get over it.

Is it the sniffles? Or is it nose cancer?

2007-09-25T08:41:00.001-04:00

Turn forty common symptoms into hours and hours of worry and dread! Delight your family! Here's where you can get it. I'm thinking that there are a few people that I know who would love it.

State Mottos

2007-09-24T09:33:00.001-04:00

Alabama -- Hell Yes, We Have Electricity.
Alaska -- 11,623 Eskimos Can't Be Wrong!
Arizona -- But It's A Dry Heat.
Arkansas -- Literacy Ain't Everything.
California -- By 30, Our Women Have More Plastic Than Your Honda.
Colorado -- If You Don't Ski, Don't Bother
Connecticut -- Like Massachusetts, Only The Kennedy's Don't Own It Yet.
Delaware -- We Really Do Like The Chemicals In Our Water.
Florida -- Ask Us About Our Grandkids.
Georgia -- We Put The Fun In Fundamentalist Extremism.
Hawaii -- Haka Tiki Mou Sha'ami Leeki Toru (Death To Mainland Scum,Leave Your Money)
Idaho -- More Than Just Potatoes... Well, Okay, We're Not, But The Potatoes Sure Are Real Good
Illinois -- Please, Don't Pronounce the "S"
Indiana -- 2 Billion Years Tidal-Wave-Free
Iowa -- We Do Amazing Things With Corn
Kansas -- First Of The Rectangle States
Kentucky -- Five Million People; Fifteen Last Names
Louisiana -- We're Not ALL Drunk Cajun Wackos, But That's Our Tourism Campaign.
Maine -- We're Really Cold, But We Have Cheap Lobster
Maryland -- If You Can Dream It, We Can Tax It
Massachusetts -- Our Taxes Are Lower Than Sweden's
Michigan -- First Line Of Defense - >From The Canadians
Minnesota -- 10,000 Lakes...And 10,000,000,000,000 Mosquitoes
Mississippi -- Come And Feel Better About Your Own State
Missouri -- Your Federal Flood Relief Tax Dollars At Work
Montana -- Land Of The Big Sky, The Unabomber, Right-wing Crazies, and Very Little Else.
Nebraska -- Ask About Our State Motto Contest
Nevada -- Hookers and Poker!
New Hampshire -- Go Away And Leave Us Alone
New Jersey -- You Want A ##$%##! Motto? I Got Yer ##$%##! Motto Right here!
New Mexico -- Lizards Make Excellent Pets
New York -- You Have The Right To Remain Silent, You Have The Right To An Attorney...
North Carolina -- Tobacco Is A Vegetable
North Dakota -- We Really Are One Of The 50 States!
Ohio -- At Least We're Not Michigan
Oklahoma -- Just Like The Play, But No Singing
Oregon -- Spotted Owl...It's What's For Dinner
Pennsylvania -- Cook With Coal
Rhode Island -- We're Not REALLY An Island
South Carolina -- Remember The Civil War? Well, We Didn't Actually Surrender Yet
South Dakota -- Closer Than North Dakota
Tennessee -- The Edyoocashun State
Texas -- Se Habla Ingles
Utah -- Our Jesus Is Better Than Your Jesus
Vermont -- Ay, Yep
Virginia -- Who Says Government Stiffs And Slackjaw Yokels Don't Mix?
Washington -- We have more rain than you do
West Virginia -- One Big Happy Family...Really!
Wisconsin -- Come Cut The Cheese!
Wyoming -- Where Men Are Men... And The Sheep Are Scared

Got this from my mom today.

Dynasty: Joan Collins dancing and singing

2007-09-23T20:15:00.001-04:00

Nightmares. You're going to have nightmares.

They aren't "just like us" nor are they "freedom fighters"

2007-09-23T14:31:00.000-04:00

They are teaching their children how to be terrorists. How to behead people.

That's one of the thousands of reasons that we're at war.

If you haven't gone to Laura Mansfield dot com yet....

2007-09-23T14:27:00.000-04:00

It's time to go and have a look at how she's pissing off Jihadists. Go Laura Mansfield go!

If the swimps should cause you to sin....

2007-09-23T13:56:00.000-04:00

The second fajita, stuffed as it is with grilled bacon-wrapped shrimp, may not necessarily be your friend. It may call to your tastebuds, "Come! Let us dance and cavort together in bacon-y cheesy peppery joy!" But it is your stomach that pays the piper. Your stomach that foots the bill. Your stomach that advertises like a round, doughy billboard that you are incapable of zipping up the fat pants.

Damn the swimps. Damn the bacon. This is why they are not kosher. This is why they are unclean. You are dead to me! No! No! Dead, I tell you. Dead. Dead and stuffed with jalapeno and cheese and stuck on a stick and wrapped in bacon and basted with butter and grilled to perfection. Aiiiiiiiiii!

You all can relax. The devil is currently busy with me so you should be safe for a little while.

Yum, Yum! Everyone line up for some Universal Healthcare!!

2007-09-22T22:38:00.000-04:00

Chaoulli v. Quebec (Attorney General) [2005] 1 S.C.R. 791, 2005 SCC 35 was a decision by the Supreme Court of Canada where the Court ruled that the Quebec Health Insurance Act and the Hospital Insurance Act prohibiting private medical insurance violated the Quebec Charter of Human Rights and Freedoms. In a 4 to 3 decision, the Court found the Acts violated Quebeckers' rights to life and security of person under the Quebec Charter; as such the ruling is only binding in Quebec. Three of the seven judges also found that the laws violated section seven of the Canadian Charter of Rights and Freedoms. The highly controversial nature of this ruling has brought much of the current Canadian public health system into question.

From Wikipedia.

I'm thinking that socialized medicine is a nightmare.

Beadboard

2007-09-22T20:29:00.000-04:00

Kitchen beadboard is up on the longest wall. The floor molding and the chair-rail molding look really good with it. But I am dead tired.

Going to go eat olives.

wheres your pet beaver eh!

2007-09-22T18:50:00.001-04:00

For Diana.

Manatee Up Close

2007-09-22T18:35:00.001-04:00

Manatees are funny!

Oriented Strand Board

2007-09-22T17:12:00.000-04:00

We now have the last of the subfloor in the living room. The hall and the dining room may be finished tonight. No telling. It's all going to be OSB (Oriented Strand Board) under the hardwoods. There were mushy parts in the half in plywood that sat on the joists and the three quarter inch OSB really stiffens up the floor.

It also happens to be a very handsome building material and I would gladly have it sanded and sealed and use it as real flooring in a home. It's tones are golden and in the sun it gives a burnished gold look to the floors. Quite stunning if you ask me. Looks great with the paneling in the living room.

Here's a link. The kitchen has sealed OSB floors.

Whatcha Doin'?

2007-09-21T22:32:00.000-04:00

Tonight we've been watching Les Stroud's documentary, Off The Grid. Something that the Viking King and I should not watch. Because it brings to mind the wilds of West Virginia and living far away from anything and everything. Or even the semi-wilds of Virginia and living kinda far away from everything.

It's a song that's hard to ignore. We both love the idea of living far away. Uncomplicated lives. Being self-sufficient as a family. Buying enough grain for the year. Canning enough vegetables to get by. Raising a steer and a hog and a yard full of hens. It's the life that Don's grandparents lived.

Only I'd like a composting toilet and maybe a couple more buildings. Oh. And running water. I want running water.

DOG EXTREME PETE..LEARN TO TRAIN LIKE THIS

2007-09-21T09:21:00.001-04:00

Skateboarding Dog

2007-09-21T09:18:00.001-04:00

Here you go.

Tile Days Have Begun

2007-09-21T09:07:00.000-04:00

The Viking King has started tiling the kitchen floor. It will be a multi-day process but once it's done, it's all over but the grouting.

Heh heh heh.

C is for cookie

2007-09-20T19:40:00.001-04:00

I have to ask. Is there anything better in all the world than a hot chocolate chip cookie and a cold glass of milk? The cold milk gets all in the little pockets of buttery nothingness and quick cools the cookie, but not too much. Nooo. And then it's all cold and crunchy and warm and gooey and sweet and chocolaty and plain milky. Lord is there anything better than a hot chocolate chip cookie and a cold glass of milk?

Home

2007-09-20T18:01:00.000-04:00

Home isn't so much the roof over your head and the upholstered pieces in your living room. Home is a tickle fight with your two-year old. Home is making tacos from a box with your seven-year-old because he can really help make tacos from a box. Home is picking the cheap flooring because if you get the expensive stuff you're going to be a bitch on wheels about it getting scratched up--and it will get scratched up, so why go there?

Home isn't worth a damn if the relationships that it's intended to shelter are fearful or hateful or demeaning or more yelling than not. Home isn't much if you aren't there to enjoy it--if you're forever on a business trip or volunteering or gadding away with your friends on the phone or computer.

Home isn't the place, really. It's what you do in the place that makes it home.

Here come my Vikings up the driveway! It's pizza time! They're home!

Some things I've noticed and should remember, but won't

2007-09-20T11:42:00.000-04:00

First, I thought that marriage, and all of life, really, was going to be much more orderly and planned and predictable and peaceful. Princess-y, if you will. My husband thought that marriage, and all of life, really, was going to be much more laid back and spontaneous and easy going and mellow. Dude-esque, if you will.

Our expectations have not been met. In fact, I think you could say that we have been wildly disappointed by much. The Viking Princess has had screaming mimi temper tantrums and the Viking King has held his breath and given it the silent treatment. Despite having made honorable effort to move away from our expectations, our expectations are so dissimilar (contrary even) that as each looks at the other's new position, we are still in total opposition. However, we are coming along and that must be acknowledged and celebrated and one must take some serious joy in knowing that one's spouse has come along solely for the benefit of the other. Good has been done here and that's something. In fact, when two people are so different, it says quite a bit about how much they love one another. So bully for us.

Next, I really thought that my parent's marriage was a total disaster and that they were really crappy at it and that they should have given up long before they did. They yelled and hollered and were generally unkind to one another most of the time. Or so it seemed to me. I was not going to do marriage as my parents had done it. They always fought. All the time. They always had it out. No stone unturned or unhurled. God they could fight.

And so I can fight. Man can I fight. In fact, one of my goals in life is to learn enough about rhetoric to actually be able to fight with precision. Which would make me dangerous, but I don't care. Anyway, all of this fighting taught me that it was important to engage and to be passionate. Not to release. I'm a ferret, in some ways. I dig around, hunt it up, drag it out, and I DON'T LET GO.

The Viking King has always been pretty sure that his parents had the perfect marriage. That is the picture that has been set in his mind and he has never really examined it. It's easy to see how that could have come about. They never argue. They never fight. They never disagree. It's almost like it's forbidden. "We never fight" is, in fact, the unspoken family value. They talk about other people to beat the band, but not one another. At least not to one another's faces.

This kind of peace is very attractive to someone who ate conflict for breakfast, lunch, and dinner. It's seductive in a weird Ward Cleaver kind of way. But human beings living together are going to disagree. There are going to be conflicting values. There are going to be times when you just can't agree. You both feel strongly about something. The options are to have it out and reach a compromise that you can honestly deal with or to stuff it and act all Stepford-y and just say, "I hate you" in your head as you mentally pour emotional acid on them all the while smiling sweetly and not fighting.

So what do you think this does to a person? This value? "Above all else, we are agreeable people. We don't fight." Well, for one, it could make a person not invest in anything because if they do, they're eventually going to have to fight for it, and that's not allowed. For another, it could make a person unwilling to feel too deeply because strong feeling is the root of disagreement and that's not allowed. Strong feelings are dangerous to the perpetually agreeable. They are to be mocked. The unwillingness to put being agreeable above ALL ELSE--read: foul temper--is to be
ridiculed.

It's a wonder that we carry on as a species, really.

Field trip week

2007-09-19T19:43:00.000-04:00

Monday: Chattahoochee Nature Center
Tuesday: Atlanta History Center; homeschool swamp study; soccer
Wednesday: Fernbank Museum; Choir

Exhaustion is setting in but tomorrow we're going to the Carlos Museum and Friday we'll go to the Mineral Museum and the Indian Mounds.

God Today

2007-09-13T10:53:00.000-04:00

This morning (9:30) I was driving home from a doctor's appointment. I drove past a homeless man. He was going the same direction I was.

God told me that he wanted me to get this man his breakfast.

Ha. Clearly I am losing whatever bananas I may have left in my fruit basket. I am not going to stop and frighten this homeless man be confronting him with breakfast and looning on about God wanting him to eat something. No.

There's a QT right there. Stop and get him breakfast.

I pulled into QT thinking about how stupid I was going to feel coming up to this guy and telling him that I have breakfast for him. Me me me. It's all about me. I stood in front of the hot breakfast sandwich thingy and pondered which kind of protein this guy might want.

He's a vegetarian. He won't eat this.

Oh. I. Mean. Really. He's homeless. He needs protein. He'll likely eat whatever I damn well give him. Vegetarian. All the while I'm staring blankly at the sandwiches looking for something without meat. No go. I grab one and go on to the donuts, coffee, oj, and water. Into a bag it goes and out I go to wait for this guy so I can accost him with my good deed. Self-righteous git. He's probably going to hate me with my turquoise tee shirt, matching flip flops, and product laden curls. Maybe I should just tilt my head sideways and squeak when I offer it up. Me me me.

So here he comes, down the street. Hundreds of people have seen him. Driven past. They know he doesn't have a home. What were they thinking?

"Hi. Have you had breakfast yet?"
"No."
"Yeah. Well. I was driving down the street and God told me to make sure you had something to eat for breakfast. Here it is."
He peers into the bag.
"Oh. Thanks. I'm a vegan. I can't eat meat or..."
"Yeah. I know. God told me you couldn't eat that. I'm sorry. There's a donut in there. Some juice. A water. It's all sugar. I'm sorry. Here. Let me take that out. You can have the rest. Is that okay? Can I get you something else?"
"No this is great. It'll get me on my way. Bless you."
"Would five bucks help?"
"No. I have money. I just have an aversion to purchasing things."
"Can I purchase anything for you?"
"No. Thank you. This is great."
"Okay."

That's fairly specific.

He's out there. Pray.
He's speaking. Listen and obey.

What this little girl would do to a Monster if she saw it

2007-09-12T21:19:00.001-04:00

Excellent

Funny Baby

2007-09-12T21:13:00.001-04:00

This child is trying to alert his father to a potentially dangerous situation and his father LAUGHS at him. Laughs, I tell you. I'd say he was going to be damaged by it. If it weren't so damned funny.

Laughing Baby

2007-09-12T21:07:00.001-04:00

It's laughing baby day at Run Jester Run.

The laughing Baby ( VERY FUNNY)

2007-09-12T21:05:00.001-04:00

This child's cheeks must have hurt after all of that laughing.

Penguins, a Butterfly, and Laughing Children

2007-09-12T21:02:00.001-04:00

Penguins chasing a butterfly. Cute cute cute.

Tuvan Throat Singing

2007-09-10T16:34:00.001-04:00

This is where school lead us today.

Monday, Monday

2007-09-10T11:13:00.000-04:00

Today actually started at 6:30. Very good. Maybe I'll be getting back into the swing of school sooner than I'd expected. Went to the grocery store, called my mom to check on her, had a bagel, and planned a little school.

The Viking Prince is outside drawing the house. It's a huge project and he's gone to it with some enthusiasm. Once he comes in we'll start with some other subjects.

The Baby Viking is stealing the phone from me and insisting on talking to whomever has happened to call. Too bad for anyone who wants to talk with me.

It's going to be in the 90s today, but not the relentless 90s. The fall 90s. It's different. Believe me.

Okay. Time for reading and writing and spelling and grammar. God willing.

First Day of Sunday School

2007-09-09T14:07:00.001-04:00

This is the first time in five years that Sunday School has started and I haven't had an atrium. It's supposed to be a break because I was so beat. But the best part of being a Sunday School teacher is being with the kids and hearing them make connections and to start to make sweet statements about their relationship with God. I miss that already.

Lost: Sense of Humor

2007-09-06T16:42:00.001-04:00

No reward. Just letting you know.

A Visit From the Princess of the Nomadic Gypsies

2007-09-03T19:42:00.000-04:00

Ah. Now I feel better. Miss Jara in all of her Bayou goodness came over for a bit of mental health assistance. God bless her. She points out that it's a "fresh start" and that all of this "not having a kitchen" thing is really just camping inside the house. Which is nicer than camping outside of the house because we have beds, toilets, showers, and AC.

Which makes me feel better.

Tonight we had a celebration of camping at dinner.

Cast iron to grill bacon on cheese burgers. The buns were lightly oiled with pig grease and put on the grill to toast. It was delicious. I'm going to go take some baby aspirin now.

This is what happens when I'm stressed

2007-09-03T18:04:00.001-04:00

I'm looking for Hall and Oats.

More Cowbell!

2007-09-03T17:53:00.001-04:00

Desparation in her voice and beer in her hand

2007-09-03T17:41:00.000-04:00

What I need is more cowbell.

So. Here's the 411 on making a woman desperate.

Drywall. Check.
Plywood subfloors. Check
Georgia clay on subfloors. Check.
Dust everywhere. Check.
No sink. Check.
No stove. Check.
No dishwasher. Check.
No countertops. Check.
Mother in the hospital. Check
Home school starting tomorrow. Check.
Huge legal broohaha with said mother on the horizon. Check.
Adjuster from insurance company ignoring phone calls and emails. Check.

That's the recipe. Now you know.

Happily, beer is a fine elixer for the nerves and I plan to get well aquainted with it.

Home Remodeling Man Rules, List One

2007-09-03T16:02:00.000-04:00

Buy the cheapest plywood beadboard you can find so you have to sand it, prime it, sand it again, prime it again, cut it to fit, sand it again, paint it, sand it, and paint it again. Instead of the vinyl stuff that goes up in about an hour. That's important.

When you buy the cheapest plywood beadboard you can find, make sure you get one sheet that can't be used so you can't get the whole job done all at once. It's important to waste time on trips to the lumber yard.

When you clean out the paint sprayer that you borrowed, make sure that you clean it out on the driveway so it's even dirtier than it already is from the rusting blue dumpster.

When you say it's going to take twenty minutes to finish up the cabinet fronts, make sure it takes at least an hour and a half.

Hee hee hee

2007-09-03T00:35:00.001-04:00

What is she wearing, exactly?

2007-09-02T23:37:00.001-04:00

Still one of my favorite songs ever.

Oy!

2007-09-02T23:28:00.001-04:00

Save us from the mustaches and the dancing and the mustaches. And the dancing.

Just be thankful the 80s are over

2007-09-02T23:26:00.001-04:00

Look What I Found In The Overflow Drain!

2007-09-02T23:21:00.001-04:00

Time to clean the overflow drain.

It's Time to Clean the Overflow Drains!

2007-09-02T23:03:00.000-04:00

Here's how to go to it. Get busy.

The cabinet prayer

2007-09-01T07:43:00.000-04:00

The kitchen cabinets are being sanded, puttied, and primed in preparation for paint. We thought we would get new ones but that didn't happen. They have always been an inch too high (37 instead of the standard 36) and the Viking King wants to take an inch off of each one so that they'll sit right. Seemed like a good idea to me. Then the Kitchen Aid can slide under the bottom cabinets instead of hanging off when I'm using it on the countertop. Great.

That is, until you think about taking an inch off of each and every already-put-together cabinet, so that they're all just right, original line, kerfs, steadiness of the sawing and everything. It seems really unlikely. It's like hemming an inflexible dress only you just get one chance. So I told the Viking King we could live with them as they are. And then he pointed out that the bottoms of the cabinets are water damaged. The soaked up a lot of water and now the wood is swollen at the bottom and starting to split. Of course, it has mildew stains, too. So it's not just a matter of lowering the cabinets so I can slide the Kitchen Aid farther back while I'm using it. It's a matter of the heights being standard and of stopping the bottoms from fanning out further.

I have a feeling that those cabinets aren't going to come out level. That it's going to look just a wee little bit strange to my eye. That's going to make me nuts. I'd like to hire a carpenter to come in and put the cabinets back. Including taking off the inch of water damage. I don't think that's going to happen. I think that my husband wants to do it and I think that he's set on it. And I'm pretty sure that is going to make us end up with slightly funny looking cabinets. Funny looking to me, even if they look right to everyone else.

So my prayer isn't that God talk my husband out of it or that he suddenly make him a really good carpenter--although that last one would be nice--but that God change me. That he makes it so I care more about my husbands feelings and how he wants to do some of this himself than I care about how the damned cabinets look in the kitchen.

There are people who are better at stuff like this. Better at working around people. Willing to sacrifice harmony in exchange for the goods and services that they desire. I can't do it. I have to boil it down to the bones of an argument and measure them out. I'm a frigging ferret.

Education

2007-08-31T08:02:00.000-04:00

School starts back up at the Viking Encampment this Tuesday. To which I say, "No frigging way." Alas, it is time. Evaluate the children, make a schedule for the week and plow forward. I can tell it's time because The Viking Prince has started trying to teach himself cursive and fractions. I keep telling him he's six but he'll have none of it. Meanwhile, The Baby Viking has started tatooing himself with washable marker. He is The Son of the Viking King. Despite having been incubated in my own personal body for seven or eight months, my genes lost the battle and The Viking King rules in this boy's heart, mind, and spirit. I just kind of look at him from a distance and think, "What the hell?" most of the time. I can not believe that I have a child so like his father. Deeply perplexing.

Anyway, what we do is focus intensely on one or two subjects (A) and give the others (B and C) a little attention until we blow a gasket on the main subjects. Then we switch our attention from subjects A to subjects B and pretty much gloss over subjects A for a couple of months. When we blow out on subject B, we turn to subject C. Then we circle around to subject A again. Round Robin learning. It works very well, you just have to be attentive to the child's cues that he's done with a subject. Oak will start to whine a little, but the real give away is when he glazes over and can't tell me anything that he's learned in the past six to eight weeks. He's saturated in those subjects and it's time to give him a break.

Let's now pretend that the reason my six year old wants to do fractions and cursive is because of my superior teaching abilities. Okay. Let's be done with that filthy lie and admit that he's a natural learner and thirsts for information at all times and I have very little to do with it. There. That's better.

It's Faster on HGTV

2007-08-29T07:44:00.000-04:00

Just so you're aware of an outrageous deception being perpetrated on the American People. When they destroy and restore and pretty up houses on HGTV, it's faster. It takes longer than half an hour. No, really.

Envy Me

2007-08-28T20:20:00.000-04:00

Atlanta. Late August. No air conditioning until tomorrow. YES! You want to be just like me. You do. Admit it.

Return of the Native(s)

2007-08-28T13:52:00.001-04:00

We're back in the house. Such as it is. We have some places where we have no subfloors so we're walking on joists and taking care not to fall through to the dirt two and a half feet below. It's so exciting being a viking!

In Da House

2007-08-09T23:23:00.000-04:00

Okay. So then. We're going to be in The House Without Furniture until Wednesday. This is getting old.

Yeh Hum Naheen - English subtitles - We are not that

2007-08-09T17:54:00.001-04:00

It is impossible to see this and to think of abandoning Iraq to Al Queda.

We're still heeeeeeeeer

2007-08-09T16:12:00.000-04:00

Well. They were supposed to start mold abatement on Monday. But they didn't get the estimate to the adjuster until Monday. So then they said Wednesday. It got approved by the adjuster Wednesday. By which time we were packed and living in Zen house of no furniture or kitchen. The abatement people called to let us know that they could start Wednesday. But it's Thursday, you say. Right. Next Wednesday. As in, live in your house without a kitchen, dining room, or living room for seven days, Wednesday.

Bloody hell.

William Lawson's - Great Scotch Whisky #1

2007-08-08T23:38:00.001-04:00

Yeah. Okay. This came from Miss Cellania. Who has all the great stuff.

Zen Mama

2007-08-08T14:31:00.000-04:00

We have nothingness in the living room and nothingness in the dining room. The kitchen is void of all but the most necessary items. Ohm.

It's strangely serene here. There is nothing to dust or polish. Nothing to rearrange or put away. No one expects to stop in for an unexpected anything because we are having a crise de mold. So we have wide open spaces downstairs. Lots of clean horizontal surfaces. Lovely.

Some people need massage to unwind. I need an empty house. I think I'm turning Japanese, I think I'm turning Japanese I really think so, think so, think so.

I can devote my attention entirely to the boys. Very nice.

Go. Just go.

2007-08-05T23:37:00.001-04:00

Each post at boobs, injuries, and Dr. Pepper is funnier than the last. I've peed myself about seventeen times tonight.

Two people I love and why I love them

2007-08-05T14:19:00.001-04:00

Jara and Katy. Two people that I see almost never but whom I love very much indeed. Why would this be? Tassles and Iron. Yup.

A few months ago, or maybe even a year ago I don't know, I wanted to run away. One of those times in a mommy's life when she seriously contemplates deserting for like ten or fifteen minutes. Men don't understand this. Women do. Women get wanting to "get the hell out and never come back." I don't know why we sometimes want to run like fire, we just do. If you are a wife or a mother and claim never to have felt this way about your very fine life, you are a liar, missy. Don't bother trying to talk to me until you can 'fess up. God I hate people who pretend never to get angry or sad or irrational or slightly psychotic or depressed. It's even more galling when they claim that they don't get that way because they have Jesus. And I suppose I wouldn't get that way either except I'm condemned to hell. I digress.

Anyway, I was talking to Jara during one of these times and suggested that my most likely marketable skill was exotic dancing. Which tells you a lot more about my marketable skills than about the likelihood that I could make my fortune as said dancer. So Jara says, "If you have no guilt about it, you could definitely be in tassels by the end of the week." I laughed so hard I had tears streaming down my cheeks. So I wrote it down and taped it to the inside of my cupboard where I see it every day but hardly every read it. Today I am cleaning out the cupboard--because we're packing up our lives for a month--and I found that little slip of paper. It made me laugh all over again in a moment when I was again considering Vegas. Then I felt better. She paid it forward. Said it once, but it's there forever. She makes me laugh because she gets my crazy and always responds appropriately.

And as I was cleaning out the cupboards I realized that I was throwing out quite a lot of stuff that we are never ever even on a bet going to use. Katy was right. When I told her we had to pack everything up and started to grouse about it she stoically said, "It's a good opportunity to throw stuff out." And little more. Katy is gloriously practical and she never ever stops. Bad moods and sadness and all that crap show up in her life but she's made of iron and she beats them out of her life the moment they rear their ugly heads. She is made of iron. And I love this about her and I want to be like her. And this is why I love Katy.

Where would we be without our friends?

Things that can happen in less than an hour. An incomplete list.

2007-08-05T12:13:00.000-04:00

Cobbler.
We can have home-made cobbler forty minutes from the moment the request crosses someone's lips. That includes ten minutes cooling time.
Bleached laundry flapping in the breeze.
I can put in a load of whites complete with bleach, wash 'em in hot water, spin them twice, and hang them out on the back porch in 55 minutes. No breeze? Start the ceiling fans.
Shiny hardwood floors.
We can wash, box-fan dry, and get a layer of Holland House Floor Restorer on the floors in the hall and kitchen in just under an hour.
Fluffy black dog.
In less than an hour we can get Norm outside and wash him down with dog shampoo, dry him, comb him and have one beautiful glossy black dog. He knows how good he looks, too.
Flowers in a vase.
Get the scissors, get a glass with some water in it. Go outside and cut some flowers. At this time of year they are yellow. All of them.
Righteous Spin Class.
Truck on down to the YMCA for a spin class with Lorna. Emerge sweaty beyond words but certain that you are a beast.
Pizza.
We have pizza down to a science here at the Viking Keep. Dough goes into the breadmaker in five minutes, sauce takes ten more, cheese shredding takes five. Just wait for the dough to rise.
Norman Rockwell drive to the lake.
We can make it to Red Top Mountain in the Woody in forty-five minutes. Usually we'll hike or swim or something like that. Sometimes we have the fluffy dog.

King of the Vikings' Helmet Hits Ground with Great Force. King of the Vikings' Head in Helmet at the Time.

2007-08-04T18:24:00.000-04:00

So, then. We were in the bike park where there are ramps and jumps and a ravine and all kinds of cool stuff to play on. The King of the Vikings made it down the ravine the first time, looking pretty darned slick.

Then he followed the Viking Prince down the trail with the jumps. Big jumps. The Viking Prince took them slow and easy. Like a roller coaster. No jumping. The Viking King took them fast and hard.

In fact, that last jump he took particularly hard. Landed on his Kingly head, then shoulder, then back. Ripped the bottom clean off his shoe. Tucked and rolled. His watch came flying off. He jumped up, doubled over, and started spitting. There was the temporary uneasy feeling that perhaps I was watching my husband's death throes. Broken rib to the lung or something. He kept spitting and staggering like he'd been shot. Which was a little traumatic for the children, admittedly. Anyway, he couldn't catch his breath and he kept trying to stand insisting that he was okay, which he most certainly was not. There was a lot of "Daddy, are you okay?" "I'm fine. Gimme a minute."

But his bike was badly bent--the handlebars will have to be replaced--his shoe had come apart at the seams, and he was sporting a good case of trail rash on his face. Bloody and bruised. To say nothing of his shoulder and leg. And all of that pesky disorientation. And more than anything, he was strangely quiet.

So we did what anyone would do: we went to Chic-fil-A and had some nuggets. Mmmmm. Good chicken. Tasty fries.

Then we went to the hospital for X-rays, a CAT scan, and observation. While we were there another mountain biker came in with a compound fracture: bone stickin' out of his arm. Yikes. Thank God it wasn't one of us. Anyway, no bones broken, no concussion, just a bunch of prescriptions for some very fine pills and a tetanus shot.

He's gonna be sore in the morning. Poor Viking King.

Mountain Bike (Trials Bike) Trickster - Danny Macaskill

2007-08-04T10:54:00.001-04:00

Please please please go watch this.

Freeride Mountain Bike Jumps

2007-08-04T10:52:00.001-04:00

Oooofa.

Making Bread or Nan in PESHAWAR

2007-08-04T10:42:00.001-04:00

Cool.

chdh 2006 downhill race mountain bike mtb

2007-08-04T10:13:00.001-04:00

Want. New. Bike.

And fearlessness. Want fearlessness, too.

VAS Mountain Bike Reel

2007-08-04T10:07:00.001-04:00

They aren't biking. They're flying.

Crazy Mountain Bike Downhill

2007-08-04T10:05:00.001-04:00

Mommy doesn't ride like THIS. But I wish I could.

Woo-hoo!

2007-08-02T21:20:00.000-04:00

We won Team Trivia tonight at our local pizza joint. That's a $40 credit. It's something. A nice little gift from our God who looks after the details.

Thank you, God! Good Pizza! Mmmmmmmm.

Inventory

2007-08-02T09:11:00.001-04:00

It is time to inventory the house. To take stock of all that we own. It's going to be a long day.

It might be nice, but

2007-08-02T09:03:00.000-04:00

Yesterday I got my hair cut. The local bakery brings carts of sandwiches by for the stylists and if they want something, they can purchase it. One of the ladies cheerfully declined and went back to her work. That interaction made me stop. I remember putting on a dress and make up and doing my hair and getting ready for work every morning. Getting a paycheck. Talking to adults. Having responsibilities that people thought were worthwhile. Although, in retrospect, they were responsibilities that made money but weren't necessarily worthwhile at all.

Anyway, it occured to me that it would be nice to go back to work with adults and have grown up conversations and responsibilities that were appreciated and work that could actually be completed with real result, and to do something that mattered in the eyes of society at large and get dressed up and stop to chat over coffee sometimes. I might be a nicer mother if I did that and all of the self-doubt that creeps in when you're having a bad month.

Of course, when I got home I started tearing through my Montessori books and thought about exactly how long I have my children before they leave home and I pondered my mortality and thought, "Hell no."

Carling Black Label - Mission Impossible (squirrel)

2007-08-01T23:18:00.001-04:00

Squirrels are always good.

The Big Ad

2007-08-01T23:07:00.001-04:00

Always worth watching.

Badass Babalu

2007-08-01T00:10:00.001-04:00

This is the only reasonable response to mold abatement. Ole ole ole ole!

I Love Lucy- Cuban Pete/Sally Sweet

2007-08-01T00:07:00.001-04:00

Shake that moneymaker, Lucy. Dang.

1959 Chevrolet Station Wagon

2007-07-31T23:48:00.001-04:00

Fun to buy!

See the USA in Your Chevrolet - Dinah Shore 1952

2007-07-31T23:43:00.001-04:00

We need more advertising like this.