Latin-centered learning has come to a screeching halt at our house. Gracie's Latina Christiana I student book has vanished along with my teacher's guide for LC II, prompting an all out tear-the-shelves-apart search for the missing materials. And that in turn prompted a mass decluttering spree, inspired by the postings of Mungo and others, including some via TWTM board. Less is More! Simplify! I have been dumping supplies on the Sale and Swap Board ever since.

Inspired to eliminate more unnecessaries from our lives, I requested the girls sort through everything they own and place all items they can absolutely live without in a large bag for donation. Exemptions were made for Playmobil and a certain large, realistic-looking brown bear named Biggity, who is the favorite sleeping companion of my middle daughter. Yes, they could technically live without those too, but I'm not that much of a meany. Their total haul? One Furby, one wooden cube shape sorter, and one soft baby book with attached baby doll. They're going to have to dig deeper. Either that, or I just wait until they're asleep.

flip, flop

Was that the sound of us changing our minds again? Maybe. But to protect myself from any blood relative who may be reading and who will certainly give us grief over this renewed plan:

Eeway aray oingay ownday underay extnay Aymay.

And that's about all the Latin you'll hear around here for awhile.

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Last night disaster was narrowly averted when Sarabelle and Gracie pried a baby cardinal from the jaws of our normally wimpy cat, Orlando. The bird, nearly fledged, ended up on the ground just a wee bit too soon. Was he pushed, or just overconfident? We’ll never know. He was in good shape, though shaken up after seeing his little birdie life flash before his eyes, and the girls placed him in a towel-lined box for safe keeping overnight. This morning, on his never-ending commute, Jorge dropped Wally, the name arbitrarily assigned to the poor thing, off at the Wild Animal Rescue Center in Fort Lauderdale. He’s going to be fine and will be released in a few days.

The girls insisted I blog about it. My stock response, “Get your own blog,” seemed to put an end to the matter, and yet I kept thinking about that bird.

The empty nest. Independence. Taking a big leap and landing flat on your beak. Or being pushed out, headed for a big fall. Being mauled.

I keep saying I want my girls to be independent.* That’s what you’re supposed to say. That’s what you’re supposed to do. And I was pretty sure I meant it, until I thought about the dichotomy presented by our long term plans. We’ve always thought it would be great to find a piece of property in some idyllic rural setting and set each of the girls up with a couple adjoining acres and eventually a home of their own. It would be an investment for their future and their security, Jorge being rather pessimistic about the quality of potential suitors for his darling daughters and wishing to provide a nice, soft, feathered nest for them to land in, and besides, we just plain enjoy their company. I’d love to grow old and be surrounded by children and grandchildren. They’d have the opportunity to perpetuate the family business, and provide gainful employment for possible future spouses if necessary. Teaching self-sufficiency would be a valuable lesson. But that’s cutting into their independence.

*This being modified from the earlier, “They can do anything they want, even if they want to be table dancers, just as long as they’re the best damn table dancers in town and they’re happy,” when I ended up with one for whom that possibility would not come as a complete shock.

Maybe my girls have the potential to cure cancer. What are the chances they actually achieve this? Would a self-sufficient life be less valuable than one that aims to save the world? One can dream of being a marine biologist or a pilot or a ballerina, but are these realistic?

Is it possible to live an old fashioned family-centered lifestyle and still encourage independence? Is our idea of independence different from what it was one hundred years ago when families generally stuck together? Does independence only mean being able to choose your own path from limitless possibilities or is there room for independence within a controlled situation? Would we be clipping their wings? To some extent, intentional communities do this. The Amish and Mennonites seem to be able to keep most everyone close, but their options are limited. Is that a good thing or a bad thing? Does it even matter in the grand scheme of things?

Then there is the added dichotomy of teaching them about the importance of creating and maintaining strong family ties at the same time we consider moving far, far away from our own, because there sure isn’t any idyllic rural setting around here.

Thanks a lot, Wally.

Cheat sheet

Gracie wants to know if she reads all of What Your Fifth Grader Needs to Know this summer, will she be done with all her work for next year?

---

Let's see. What's new?

Our DSL is out. This is a quickie post as Elle and I enjoy the Fust library again.

We began reading Animal Farm last night. This is going to be a fun one! Sarabelle and Gracie finish up Kayak Kamp today. They have asked to go to the second session at the end of July and Jorge is all for it. I just sent in applications for Sarabelle, Gracie, and me to be extras for the filming of "Hoot" in mid-July.

I am expecting the scores from the IOWA tests to be here any day now.

It may be a few days before I can post again... Enjoy your weekend!

I was as happy as...

...an autodidact in a library.

Elle and I spent an enjoyable three hours amongst the shelves today. The not very large children's room of the Johann Fust library is remarkable both for its coziness and its content. It's all about quality versus quantity. All the classics of great children's literature, the ones you see on The Well Trained Mind, or Charlotte Mason, or Great Books Junior lists are there in beautiful old hardbound editions. There are some good reference books available. Very little twaddle.

I've never had a chance to peruse the main stacks until today. Oh, man, they had Teaching Company tapes, video taped documentaries on ancient civilizations, the Fagles translation of the Odyssey and the Fitzgerald translation of the Iliad books on tape. Again, not a huge room, but packed to the rafters with great material.

With all that to choose from, what did I bring home? Lost in Translation on DVD. But I did balance it with The Children's Homer
.

----

I received an email from a friend a few weeks ago asking me to support a petition for continued government funding of children's public television programming. I ignored it, figuring it was one of those numerous outdated, inaccurate, annoying internet requests, like the one to send the poor cancer boy cards to get into the Guinness Book of World Records. Even if it was legitimate, which I find out now that it was partly correct at least as far as funding for the Corporation for Public Broadcasting is concerned, I still wouldn't sign it.

What? How could I spurn the happy, furry faces of Elmo and Cookie Monster, or deny millions of children the chance to enjoy a visit to kindly Mr. Rogers's neighborhood?

Easy. The government doesn't need to be paying for this. I don't think they need to be paying for this anymore than they need to be subsidizing farmers or creating complicated international trade agreements. They need to be reducing the deficit and rebuilding our industrial strength. Besides, is it really education, or is it entertainment? The primary concern of the producers of those shows is not the children's welfare, it's the bottom line. Yes, contrary to what they'd have you believe, their job is to pull in the revenue just like any other for profit network executive. Public television always advertised through its brief dignified mentions of partners and corporate sponsors. Now it's less subtle with Chuck E. Cheese and Juicy Juice baldly hawking their wares directly to the kids.

To all those outraged parents begging or demanding federal support of these programs I would ask, "Are you a member? Do you financially support your local station?"

Please, put the public back in public television.

It's Tuesday

That may not be news to you, but I am having difficulty keeping track of the days here. Again.

This week Sarabelle and Gracie are in Kayak Kamp. Yes, I openly disdain all intentional misspellings, refusing to grocery shop at the blatantly illiterate Kash and Karry, and only tolerating Publix because the bag boys will haul your groceries out to the parking lot and load your car for free, but what can you do? We narrowed our search for perfect summertime activities down quite a bit since the end of May when the summer seemed endless. Sarabelle wanted to get back into tennis, and Gracie wanted to get back into gymnastics and even had her sisters willing to participate, which scored high points with me because, you know, I am all about the one-size-fits-all and one-single-block-of-my-time kind of extracurricular activities. Elle has no preference, whatever sounds good to her. Except swimming. They have all become a little tired of swimming. Golf looked good, especially since there are something like twenty-five courses within ten minutes of any one of our various locations, and, when in Rome, right? But the break is nearly over. Elle begins school August 8. Ridiculous. I still have so much to do. Anyway, we thought kayaking might be a fun way to get them more intimately involved with our local waters and it wasn't a big time commitment. Five days. And it was close to the island where we should be spending more time. Initially they scoffed at the idea, but they are loving it. Yesterday they took a leisurely trip around Coral Creek. Today was a grueling two-hour paddle and mastering righting the kayak. Tomorrow is a fishing trip, followed by a longer trip Thursday, and a still longer excursion Friday to a small, private island for a barbeque.

So what occupies Elle and I in the meantime? The short answer is, we drive around a lot. Monday after banking and checking the post office box, we rented a kayak and snuck up on the campers, shadowing the class for a bit before embarking on a little independent exploration. Then we sat in the car and I read half of Eloise: The Ultimate Edition to her while it downpoured. Today I planned to take her to the county park with the library next door for a double header. The weather didn't cooperate so the park was out and the kids' reading room had been closed for renovations. Plan B: Head over the small, private toll bridge to Boca Grande to visit the Johann Fust library, again, small and private, which has a lovely children's section. I even had ten bucks on me to renew our membership there. Summer hours are Monday, Wednesday, Friday. Instead we ended up driving to the marina and running the boat out to the island to wait for the girls to finish.

Kayaking kicks ass. Theirs. Yesterday and today, S and G came home and took naps. Something they haven't done in, oh, about nine and six years respectively. Elle and I, though, are like one-cylinder diesels. Chug, chug, chug. Walking, biking, swimming, and now kayaking... We're not fast, but we can run forever.

Now last week was a different story when we went on a field trip to a bayside historical site and some other homeschool siblings tagged along. Those kids were built for airconditioning and extended television watching. They were hot, they were tired, they were bored. They wanted to sit and rest and wondered aloud how much longer before we were done. Sarabelle and Gracie, annoyed by the whining, set out to prove their own stamina skipping and jogging down the paths, running circles around me, loudly discussing how much fun they were having and wondering if we could return to some of the exhibits or go around a second time, and marveling at how great the weather was. I think we successfully deterred the other kids from ever coming along on one of our outings again.

I'm looking forward to our library visit tomorrow. The plain but elegant pink exterior conceals one of my favorite spaces: the covered reading porch overlooking the beautiful courtyard garden. Other highlights are the donated display of shells collected locally by the local DuPonts, a page from the Book of the Dead, and a page from one of the Gutenberg bibles. Plus, now it's wireless. And there's usually no one there but the one book checker-outer. The place takes its name from the money man behind Gutenberg. Johann Fust financed Gutenberg's printing venture and when the printer defaulted on his loans, Fust cheerfully repossessed all his equipment and set up his own printing business. That's Boca Grande for you.

"I call the hammock!"

We're getting a really late start -- it was supposed to be yesterday afternoon -- but eventually we'll soon be heading out to the island for the remainder of the weekend.

Jorge was tied up at work yesterday and didn't arrive back here 'til well past the hour I wanted to go drag everyone out in the dark, on a boat, to a house where every bed had been stripped and was awaiting clean linens.

Waiting for him to arrive I took advantage of an invite to dinner with a couple friends and later for a nightcap, or two, at one of the friends house. Boy, did I pay for it this morning. But my dear, sweet husband let me sleep late and ran out and bought me some more club soda, my beverage of choice, and my sole beverage for a long time to come, and never once tsk tsked my naughty behavior, and managed our three plus another friend's son who is spending the weekend with us.

It's Kid Central here. The weekend neighbor boys, Andy and Dandy, are here with their Star Wars Monopoly game. It's funny that my girls' best friends are all boys. How long will that last, I wonder.

Jorge received two interesting birthday gifts from Gracie and Elle. The first was a combination pencil/business card holder made from a tower of Q-Tips. Handy and practical. The second was a mixed media work, created presumably in the wee hours while we all slept, or while most of us slept and one other was nearly unconscious, of pen, pencil, colored 3-D glue, and a five dollar bill cut into pieces, reassembled, and embellished. Somewhere between a Matisse collage and a Warhol. Everyone has been asking each other all morning, "Did you see Elle's present?!"

Dystopic

That word has been flying around inside my head for the past several days and has once or twice even exited in some form or another.

The idea of packing up and heading out is still on the back burner, and unfortunately will continue to simmer in the back of our minds until June of 2006 when our Australian residencies expire. As late as yesterday, Jorge mentioned parking a shipping container under our rented stilt house in conjunction with the termination of our lease and preparing for a transoceanic move.

He swears it's purely coincidence, but he's currently reading Oryx and Crake, a book I finished and left on the tank for his morning read, and one that hopefully will not take him too long as I'd like to read all over again.

It is a rare story, and characteristic of my favorites, that can simultaneously horrify, terrify, and amuse me. The last time was eight years ago watching Roberto Benigni's La Vita e Bella (Life Is Beautiful). They're few and far between, but definitely worth the wait.

Come on get happy!

After Sarabelle had her braces put on, I had a dental appointment.

Since the last guy recommended I replace my metal fillings with newer enamel colored ones, did one, then damaged the tooth so badly it needed a root canal, and then suggested after all that, it should really be crowned too, you could say I'm more than a little skeptical of dentists' motives. As far as I'm concerned, they're on par with vets, always creating new, expensive, and usually unnecessary treatments involving many repeat visits. No, thanks.

Upon entering the well-decorated office, with its supposed-to-be-soothing water sculpture, scented candles, and new age-y music droning in the background (to cover the sounds of drilling and screaming no doubt), we were greeted, or attacked, by the really excited receptionist, who just wanted to be my very best friend in the whole world. She launched herself out of her chair to shake my hand, and nearly fell across the front desk. Then the super elated robot assistant lady came out, introduced herself, and walked us back to the treatment room giving us a tour of the facilities along the way. The whole time I'm thinking HOW MUCH IS THIS GOING TO COST ME? WHO IS PAYING FOR ALL THIS HAPPINESS?

This was a one-man show, yet he had at least seven treatment rooms, so I expected the bum's rush. How wrong I was. He took loads of time chatting it up with me and the girls. He also won my heart by telling me that he's still got all his metal fillings, and that he wouldn't mess with my discolored root canal tooth, capping it could damage it more. Even if aesthetically it was really bothersome, if I were his sister, he would still recommend leaving it alone. AH, BUT WHAT IF I WAS YOUR GIRLFRIEND? He also debunked the high numbers given me by the last dentist when he measured the pockets in my gums. No sixes and sevens like I was told last time; mostly twos and threes for this smiley face. "Your last dentist's advice was, uh, let's just say with your daughters here, 'inaccurate'."

But the best part was that he looked like Danny Bonaduce.*

And so, from the broken record that is my mind today:

I'm sleeping
And right in the middle of a good dream
like all at once I wake up
From something that keeps knocking at my brain
Before I go insane
I hold my pillow to my head
And spring up in my bed
Screaming out the words I dread:
"I think I love you!" (I think I love you)

This morning, I woke up with this feeling
I didn't know how to deal with
And so I just decided to myself
I'd hide it to myself
And never talk about it
And didn't I go and shout it
When you walked into my room.
"I think I love you!" (I think I love you)

I think I love you
So what am I so afraid of?
I'm afraid that I'm not sure of
A love there is no cure for
I think I love you
Isn't that what life is made of?
Though it worries me to say
I've never felt this way

Believe me
You really don't have to worry
I only want to make you happy
And if you say,
hey, go away, I will
But I think better still
I ought to stay around and love you
Do you think I have a case?
Let me ask you to your face:
Do you think you love me?
I think I love you!

*Edited later to add -- Not that I like Danny or anything, although I did bizarrely find him cuter than Keith, it's just that I only heard about fifty percent of what the doc was saying because the rest of the time I was thinking DANNY BONADUCE IS MY DENTIST, BRING ON THE NITROUS, BABY, HAHAHAHAHA!

Little mouth, big investment. 

She's In

Serendipity?

Our challenge has been how to get Jorge established over here. He continues to work on the east coast, commuting almost daily, because it's hard to turn down guaranteed income there for a big question mark here.

But two things happened almost at once.

1) A space opened up for the Kindergarten class over at the neighboring island's small public charter school. Fortunate considering there's only ten children per class and the preschool feeds into it. But it's for their island residents first, and on-island employees next.

2) A conversation with our realtor buddy on the neighboring island during which he mentioned opening his latest office and invited Jorge to take a look at his new 'factory'. J mentioned that he would like to represent the office out on our island one of these days, being immediately able to ferry people across and show property, and later farming listings. End result: My license is currently being transferred to his office, and J's will be when he gets all his paperwork together. As we left the preliminary meeting, my husband received a great big slap on the back and Realtor Buddy told him, "Anytime you're ready, I've got investors lined up to build duplexes and small townhouse projects all over the place. They just need a builder."

So, would holding my license with Realtor Buddy count? His office is on-island, but we wouldn't be...

The principal invited Elle and me over to visit the school. My usually clingy daughter was off eagerly exploring while I explained our situation. One of these days we would be employed on island, presumably building, but for now the best we could do was work off-island through Realtor Buddy. We wouldn't be able to show thirty percent of our income or a minimum of twenty hours of employment coming from the island, a requirement of the charter, until then. I explained I didn't want to steal someone else's spot, I have a contingency plan: Homeschool. While I pried my youngest away from the treasure trove of books and puzzles, the principal stated she would advise the board of our situation at the next meeting and decisions would be made.

Guess who raised 2.2 million for the new school building and whose wife sits on the board?

This fall, Elle will be among the privileged few enjoying French lessons from a retired Phillips Exeter instructor, at a school where the letter of the day "M" is illustrated with a martini glass, and where the owners of Smarty Jones drop by and teach the children about horses.

Oh, yes, this will be an education.

Traveling to Europe this summer?

Don't forget this essential phrasebook.

Turtle Patrol

Sarabelle and Gracie accompanied our neighborhood homeschool friends this morning as the friends and their mother performed their weekly scheduled Turtle Patrol walk.

Every Thursday and Friday during sea turtle nesting season, May - October, this family, as part of an organized effort of volunteers all along the Southwest Florida coast, walks a stretch of beach observing, recording, and marking new loggerhead nests. As the season goes on, they dig up nests after hatchlings have emerged, count egg shells, catalog remaining hatchlings and eggs, and nests destroyed by predators or nests washed away in storms. They've been patrolling more than ten years.

The girls were thrilled to document six sites: four definite nests, one questionable nest, and one false crawl. What's a 'false crawl' you wonder? Imagine a poor mama turtle crawling up to the beach, loaded with eggs, dragging herself all the way up above the high tide line to dry land, ready to burst, and then deciding that, in the words of Miss Clavell, "Something is not quite right," and then having to haul her heavy, egg-filled fanny way back to the water to do it all over again. That's got to be a little uncomfortable and a lot exhausting, don't you think?

They measured the distance from where the tracks first appeared on shore, to the nesting site, and then used triangulation to position the nest. S and G have been invited back on the 24th, when, if temperature conditions are favorable, the first nest of the season is due.

"Those who cannot remember the past are condemned to repeat it."

-- George Santayana

I finally finished reading Gods and Generals. We watched the movies Gods and Generals and Gettysburg. I will be beginning The Killer Angels, the book that the movie Gettysburg was based on, next (even though I know how it ends.)

In the meantime, I pulled out my copy of Gardner's Photographic Sketchbook of the Civil War and have been poring over the photos once again.

Is it better to have loved and lost than never to have loved at all?

As far as family heirlooms and books, and especially family heirloom books, I can say without a doubt, no.

Alexander Gardner was employed and overshadowed by Matthew Brady. He operated an ingenious mobile horse-drawn darkroom and traveled during the Civil War documenting battlefields, troops, camps, death, and destruction. He is also credited with copying maps for the Union generals and photographing Lincoln's funeral. He was present at the battle of Antietam (Bull Run to us Southerners) and many other early conflicts, and is credited with taking three-quarters of the photos of the Army of the Potomac. Very shortly after the war, in 1866, after he parted company with Brady, Gardner took his plates and published one hundred of them in this collection. Because the technology to reproduce photos mechanically was nonexistent, actual photographic positives were printed and glued onto the pages of the huge leatherbound volumes. They were never big sellers. The war had just ended and nobody was up for rehashing the past. In a report from the Library of Congress prior to 1958, only five copies were available in American libraries and only as many as five other copies were thought to survive in private hands.

I am fortunate to say that my hands were among those that held one of the original editions. It probably came into our family's possession by my great-great-grandfather, who though he was of the last generation born on the family's Virginia plantation, was raised in Baltimore after the death of his father and eventually became an Engineer in the Union navy. His commission, signed by Lincoln, sword, scabbard, and naval log books are on display, part of the permanent collection of the Tacky Museum*.

* (aka: my parents' house) Open Sun-Mon, 9:00 - 5:00, except Christmas, Easter, national holidays, family birthdays, days with scheduled doctor appointments, and days ending in "Y".

As a child I spent many long hours sprawled out on the floor with the massive sketchbook, fascinated, or maybe, "engrossed" would be a better word, with the gruesome spectacle. That explains so much, doesn't it?

Anyway, my parents inexplicably sold the book. I say "inexplicably" because though I'm sure it's that they thought they needed the money, their justification has never been satisfactorily explained to me. Now I must content myself with Dover's 1959 lightweight paperback reprint, a book which had I seen it as a child, would have scared the bejeezus out of me with its horrific cover. Pictures of men hauling wheelbarrows of body parts just weren't as scary when accompanied by the smell of old leather and feel of heavy, creamy papers. Strangely, reviewing the devastation brings back comforting feelings of time spent with a great companion. A companion, alas, forever lost and lamented.

My brother's children are returning from England this month, happily a year earlier than we expected, and the girls and I will be heading up to NJ to help out during his two week visitation allowance. I've been scouting airfares, and considering the cost of renting a vehicle for two or three weeks, and wondering about the availability of a vehicle that will seat seven people comfortably, and thinking about our proximity to Gettysburg, and reenactments, and my desire to revisit Fredericksburg where we briefly stopped in an unsuccessful attempt to meet up with Dy and her boys, and Chancellorsville, and the historical marker we blew by last time announcing the location where Stonewall was hit by the friendly fire that cost him his arm, and you know what I'm thinking?

Yep.

Road trip.

What Famous Leader Are You?
personality tests by similarminds.com

A new blog!

I know what you're thinking, "Isn't this the second new blog she's set up in the last couple of weeks?" Well, sure is, though I don't think I'll actually be doing much more with the Homeschoolblogger version of SCHOLA. After all, how much more do I have to say on the subject than what's already been written here? Not much apparently. Rather than torture you all with the ongoing saga of our DIY projects, even though they could technically be called homeschooling topics, or apprenticeships, if you will, I've set up another blog dedicated solely to these efforts.

C'mon over to Another Fine Mess for a visit.

See you there.

Enjoyed this tidbit on CBS this morning as L got a dose of Saturday morning cartoons:

Little Bill's friend returns from a trip to the lavatory and asks, "How did Teacher know I had to go to the bathroom?"

Little Bill replies, "Oh, Teacher always knows. That's what teachers are for!"

Ominous

Omnibus I: Biblical and Classical Civilizations, Veritas Press’s new student text, is a thought provoking course with interesting topic introductions, great follow up comprehension questions and discussion prompts, if, and it’s a big ‘if’, you share the specific brand of Christianity that the authors espouse.

I was brought up Catholic, so have some familiarity with various Christian teachings, although Catholics are sometimes seen as having their own misguided beliefs by other followers of Christ, and have had past success incorporating materials from other Christian publishers, most notably Tapestry of Grace. The providential thinking underlying TOG’s materials mirrored the beliefs of many of the founding fathers in the era we were studying. Did I agree with it all? No, of course not, but we worked around it, using it secularly, and many deep conversations ensued regarding varying points of view. Tearing into my copy of Omnibus, I was hopeful, in the beginning, that I could adapt most of the information, minimally editing to reflect morals and virtues rather than exact beliefs.

So, can Omnibus be used secularly? Not no, but H-E-double-hockey-sticks no, at least for this girl. The Bible, in a literal interpretation, is the ultimate authority here. Everything is clearly black and white, and every topic or character trait is evaluated through numerous scripture readings. While there are a few questions or discussions in each chapter that could suit my needs, for me, it does not justify owning the book.

Which leads me to wonder how or why one should even have such discussions or bother joining the Great Conversation when one already has all the answers? It’s indoctrination, pure and simple. A true classical education and this type of Christianity, or any other religious affiliation with such heavy blinders on, are mutually exclusive.

Omnibus left me with mixed feelings: It is a beautiful, hefty, hardcover textbook, filled with rich illustrations of magnificent artworks and in-depth analysis of subjects written to the student. It is just what I would have hoped to find for my own use, had it not been filled with such slanted convictions. I cannot think of another book that left me feeling so insulted for holding my particular viewpoints.

Clearly, I am going straight to Hades.

Spread the seeds of the organic rebellion: Store Wars

Let me be the first to wish you all...

...Happy Hurricane Season!