The statewide homeschool conference is today. It used to be a given that we'd be there. We saw friends. We collected ideas. We were energized in our decision to homeschool. We led workshops. We purchased goodies from the curriculum fair. It was a highlight of our year for nearly twenty years.
This is the fourth year in a row we have been unable to go. That constitutes a huge change in my life.
Not only that, but I am not as distraught over missing this conference as it seems I would expect. When I see the cool workshops, I know those ideas are for bygone days -- just like when I see awesome baby toys or puzzles or dollies that nobody in my house is interested in. In these waning years of homeschooling, wonderful new school ideas are more burdensome than stimulating.
As we approach the end of our homeschooling years, I find that there is less joy in it. When the older kids were finishing up their high school years, there were always younger ones around who still had time to pursue their passions, read and discuss books and music and ideas. There was still lots of self-motivated learning that grabbed our attention. That provided balance to the family. Nowadays, it seems like we're just trying to jump through others' hoops, whatever hoops may be necessary for college and career and jobs. Our homeschooling efforts now are focused on making the kids acceptable to the outside world. That takes so much of the joy out of homeschooling; we are no longer learning for the sake of taking pleasure in learning. Now we do what "they" expect us to do. And that is like a monstrous vacuum cleaner, sucking delight out of our school days. Almost like a dementor.
And just think: that's how most students spend almost all their school years, doing what they must to keep Somebody happy, seldom experiencing the thrills of learning for learning's sake.
Saturday, May 08, 2010
Today's Laugh
How many second violinists does it take to change a light bulb?
None. They can't get up that high!
None. They can't get up that high!
Friday, May 07, 2010
Compost
A lot of creeping charlie, dandelions, and thistles have been weeded out of the berry patches. Personally, I have no desire to put thistles and dandelions into my compost pile. They say that a proper compost pile will generate enough heat while decomposing so that weed seeds are rendered sterile. I doubt my compost heat is proper.
So what to do with all those dandelion roots and thistles? Seemed reasonable to get rid of them. Y'know, like as if they were GARBAGE. Bagged 'em up. Put 'em out with the trash. Garbage man came and took the trash ... and left the bags of nasty weeds.
When I called town hall to see what was up, they told me the rule is that no compost materials can go into the garbage. It must all go to the town's compost pile. But ... but ... but ... that means if I take compost from the town's heap o' compost, I'm going to be taking nasties. Wow, I'm glad I never got around to picking up compost last year.
Several years ago my friend Sandy got compost or mulch from her city. There had been poison ivy in it. Unbeknownst to her, Sandy contaminated her flower beds with poison ivy oils. For a couple of years, she contracted a rotten case of poison ivy when she went outside to work around the house. That fear niggled at the back of my mind last year and prevented me from taking public compost. Now that I know the rules about No Yard Waste In The Garbage, there ain't no way I'm taking public compost. If I can't make my own compost, I'd rather have stale, used-up, tired dirt, or buy chemical fertilizer.
So what to do with all those dandelion roots and thistles? Seemed reasonable to get rid of them. Y'know, like as if they were GARBAGE. Bagged 'em up. Put 'em out with the trash. Garbage man came and took the trash ... and left the bags of nasty weeds.
When I called town hall to see what was up, they told me the rule is that no compost materials can go into the garbage. It must all go to the town's compost pile. But ... but ... but ... that means if I take compost from the town's heap o' compost, I'm going to be taking nasties. Wow, I'm glad I never got around to picking up compost last year.
Several years ago my friend Sandy got compost or mulch from her city. There had been poison ivy in it. Unbeknownst to her, Sandy contaminated her flower beds with poison ivy oils. For a couple of years, she contracted a rotten case of poison ivy when she went outside to work around the house. That fear niggled at the back of my mind last year and prevented me from taking public compost. Now that I know the rules about No Yard Waste In The Garbage, there ain't no way I'm taking public compost. If I can't make my own compost, I'd rather have stale, used-up, tired dirt, or buy chemical fertilizer.
Today's Laugh
One Sunday, sitting on the side of the highway waiting to catch speeding drivers, a State Police Officer sees a car puttering along at 22 mph.
He thinks to himself, "This driver is just as dangerous as a speeder!" So he turns on his lights and pulls the driver over.
Approaching the car, he notices that there are five little old Indian ladies -- two in the front seat and three in the back -- wide-eyed and white as ghosts. The driver, obviously confused, says to him, "Officer, I don't understand, I was doing exactly the speed limit! I always go exactly the speed limit. What seems to be the problem?"
"Ma'am," the officer replies, "you weren't speeding, but you should know that driving slower than the speed limit can also be a danger to other drivers."
"Slower than the speed limit? No sir, I was doing the speed limit exactly! Twenty-two miles an hour!" the old Indian woman says a bit proudly.
The state police officer, trying to contain a chuckle, explains to her that "22" was the route number, not the speed limit.
A bit embarrassed, the woman grinned and thanked the officer for pointing out her error.
"But before I let you go, Ma'am, I have to ask ... Is everyone in this car okay? These women seem awfully shaken and they haven't muttered a single peep this whole time," the officer asks with concern.
"Oh, they'll be all right, officer. We just got off Route 119."
He thinks to himself, "This driver is just as dangerous as a speeder!" So he turns on his lights and pulls the driver over.
Approaching the car, he notices that there are five little old Indian ladies -- two in the front seat and three in the back -- wide-eyed and white as ghosts. The driver, obviously confused, says to him, "Officer, I don't understand, I was doing exactly the speed limit! I always go exactly the speed limit. What seems to be the problem?"
"Ma'am," the officer replies, "you weren't speeding, but you should know that driving slower than the speed limit can also be a danger to other drivers."
"Slower than the speed limit? No sir, I was doing the speed limit exactly! Twenty-two miles an hour!" the old Indian woman says a bit proudly.
The state police officer, trying to contain a chuckle, explains to her that "22" was the route number, not the speed limit.
A bit embarrassed, the woman grinned and thanked the officer for pointing out her error.
"But before I let you go, Ma'am, I have to ask ... Is everyone in this car okay? These women seem awfully shaken and they haven't muttered a single peep this whole time," the officer asks with concern.
"Oh, they'll be all right, officer. We just got off Route 119."
Thursday, May 06, 2010
1984
In 1984, George Orwell wrote about a society where there was no privacy. Homes and offices were bugged. Everything people said and did was recorded.
That sounds bad.
But compare that to what we've got today. On Facebook and elsewhere on the internet, we digitally record our conversations, our opinions, our likes and dislikes, and whom we associate with. We post information about birthdays, anniversaries, locations, and employers. I was thinking that this is worse than Orwell's scenario because today --in real life-- we not only have our conversations recorded, but with the power of the computer, everything we say or like or comment upon can be archived, searched, sorted, and analyzed. With the click of a button or two, particular snippets of conversation can be lifted out of gazillions of sentences written by millions of people.
Tonight Nathan sent me a link to an article explaining the technicalities of recent Facebook changes. One sentence says, "The API now includes a search function so developers can finally mine the 25 billion things that the 400 million FB users are sharing each month."
Yup. That's exactly what I've been pondering. I've been considering deleting my Facebook account. And yet, I like seeing friends' pictures. Even if I opt out of conversations, I'm still desirous of seeing pictures. Is that important enough to me to willingly submit to Big Brother's surveillance activities?
That sounds bad.
But compare that to what we've got today. On Facebook and elsewhere on the internet, we digitally record our conversations, our opinions, our likes and dislikes, and whom we associate with. We post information about birthdays, anniversaries, locations, and employers. I was thinking that this is worse than Orwell's scenario because today --in real life-- we not only have our conversations recorded, but with the power of the computer, everything we say or like or comment upon can be archived, searched, sorted, and analyzed. With the click of a button or two, particular snippets of conversation can be lifted out of gazillions of sentences written by millions of people.
Tonight Nathan sent me a link to an article explaining the technicalities of recent Facebook changes. One sentence says, "The API now includes a search function so developers can finally mine the 25 billion things that the 400 million FB users are sharing each month."
Yup. That's exactly what I've been pondering. I've been considering deleting my Facebook account. And yet, I like seeing friends' pictures. Even if I opt out of conversations, I'm still desirous of seeing pictures. Is that important enough to me to willingly submit to Big Brother's surveillance activities?
Today's Laugh
A man observed a woman in the grocery store with a three-year-old girl in her basket. As they passed the cookie section, the child asked for cookies, and her mother told her "no." The little girl immediately began to whine and fuss, and the mother said quietly, "Now Ellen, we just have half of the aisles left to go through; don't be upset. It won't be long."
He passed the mother again in the candy aisle. Of course, the little girl began to shout for candy. When she was told she couldn't have any, she began to cry. The mother said, "There, there, Ellen, don't cry. Only two more aisles to go, and then we'll be checking out."
The man happened to be behind the pair in the checkout line, where the little girl began to clamor for gum and burst into a terrible tantrum upon discovering her mother would not buy any gum. "Ellen, we'll be through this checkout stand in five minutes, and then you can go home and have a nice nap," the mother said.
The man followed them out to the parking lot and stopped the woman to compliment her. "I couldn't help noticing how patient you were with little Ellen," he said.
The mother replied, "My little girl's name is Tammy. I'm Ellen."
He passed the mother again in the candy aisle. Of course, the little girl began to shout for candy. When she was told she couldn't have any, she began to cry. The mother said, "There, there, Ellen, don't cry. Only two more aisles to go, and then we'll be checking out."
The man happened to be behind the pair in the checkout line, where the little girl began to clamor for gum and burst into a terrible tantrum upon discovering her mother would not buy any gum. "Ellen, we'll be through this checkout stand in five minutes, and then you can go home and have a nice nap," the mother said.
The man followed them out to the parking lot and stopped the woman to compliment her. "I couldn't help noticing how patient you were with little Ellen," he said.
The mother replied, "My little girl's name is Tammy. I'm Ellen."
Wednesday, May 05, 2010
Today's Laugh
Bill and George are bungee-jumping one day. Bill says to George, "You know, we could make a lot of money running our own bungee-jumping service in Mexico." George thinks this is a great idea, so the two pool their money and buy everything they'll need: a tower, an elastic cord, insurance, etc.
They travel to Mexico and begin to set up on the square. As they are constructing the tower, a crowd begins to assemble. More and more people gather to watch them at work. As they complete their set-up, they decide to demonstrate to the potential customers what fun it is to bungee jump. Bill goes first. He bounces at the end of the cord, but when he comes back up, George notices that Bill has a few cuts and scratches.
Unfortunately, George isn't able catch him and pull him back onto the platform before Bill plummets for another bounce. When Bill comes back up again, he is bruised and bleeding. Again, George misses him.
Bill falls again and bounces back up. This time, he comes back pretty messed up; he's got a couple of broken bones and is almost unconscious. Luckily, George finally catches him this time and says, "What happened? Was the cord too long?"
Bill says, "No, the cord was fine. But what the heck is a 'pinata'?"
They travel to Mexico and begin to set up on the square. As they are constructing the tower, a crowd begins to assemble. More and more people gather to watch them at work. As they complete their set-up, they decide to demonstrate to the potential customers what fun it is to bungee jump. Bill goes first. He bounces at the end of the cord, but when he comes back up, George notices that Bill has a few cuts and scratches.
Unfortunately, George isn't able catch him and pull him back onto the platform before Bill plummets for another bounce. When Bill comes back up again, he is bruised and bleeding. Again, George misses him.
Bill falls again and bounces back up. This time, he comes back pretty messed up; he's got a couple of broken bones and is almost unconscious. Luckily, George finally catches him this time and says, "What happened? Was the cord too long?"
Bill says, "No, the cord was fine. But what the heck is a 'pinata'?"
Tuesday, May 04, 2010
Today's Laugh
A man goes into a bar and seats himself on a stool. The bartender looks at him and says, "What'll it be buddy?"
The man says, "Set me up with seven whiskey shots and make them doubles." The bartender does this and watches the man slug one down, then the next, then the next, and so on until all seven are gone almost as quickly as they were served. Staring in disbelief, the bartender asks why he's doing all this drinking.
"You'd drink them this fast too if you had what I have."
The bartender hastily asks, "What do you have, pal?"
The man quickly replies, "I have a dollar."
The man says, "Set me up with seven whiskey shots and make them doubles." The bartender does this and watches the man slug one down, then the next, then the next, and so on until all seven are gone almost as quickly as they were served. Staring in disbelief, the bartender asks why he's doing all this drinking.
"You'd drink them this fast too if you had what I have."
The bartender hastily asks, "What do you have, pal?"
The man quickly replies, "I have a dollar."
Monday, May 03, 2010
Today's Laugh
When I returned home from college for a break, I noticed a paper posted on the refrigerator. It listed some goals my dad had set for himself. "Help wife more. Lose weight. Be more productive at work."
I promptly added to the list: "Send Michelle money every month."
A few days later my brother wrote: "Make payments on car for Jason."
Then my boyfriend joined in with: "Buy Tom a Jeep."
Finally my father added a new goal to his amended list: "Wean kids."
I promptly added to the list: "Send Michelle money every month."
A few days later my brother wrote: "Make payments on car for Jason."
Then my boyfriend joined in with: "Buy Tom a Jeep."
Finally my father added a new goal to his amended list: "Wean kids."
Sunday, May 02, 2010
Today's Laugh
A cannibal was walking through the jungle and came upon a restaurant operated by a fellow cannibal. Feeling somewhat hungry, he sat down and looked over the menu:
Tourist -- $5
Broiled Missionary -- $10
Fried Explorer -- $15
Baked Democrat or Grilled Republican -- $100
The cannibal called the waiter over and asked, "Why such a price difference for the politicians?"
The cook replied, "Have you ever tried to clean one? They're so full of crap, it takes all morning."
Tourist -- $5
Broiled Missionary -- $10
Fried Explorer -- $15
Baked Democrat or Grilled Republican -- $100
The cannibal called the waiter over and asked, "Why such a price difference for the politicians?"
The cook replied, "Have you ever tried to clean one? They're so full of crap, it takes all morning."
Saturday, May 01, 2010
Freecycle
Several people have recommended participating in freecycle. Today I finally signed up for an account. Over a dozen people jumped posthaste at my first listing, a musical instrument. And suddenly I become suspicious.
I have to arrange to contact somebody. I need to give somebody my address and arrange for a time that they can pick up the item. How do I know the person isn't just trying to find out when a house will be empty?
And how do I know whether these people are telling the truth? People say, "My husband is a musician, and our child wants to play music like her daddy," or "My sister --a music teacher-- would be thrilled to use with her classes." These people may be telling the truth. Or they may be spinning an attractive tale so that they can get something for free and then try to sell it. At this point, though, I've tried to sell it at garage sales, on ebay, and at sales for used homeschooling materials. I'm ready to start making space in my garage whether I make money off the items or not.
It's sad that I'm not sure how to tell the difference between being cynical and being wary.
I have to arrange to contact somebody. I need to give somebody my address and arrange for a time that they can pick up the item. How do I know the person isn't just trying to find out when a house will be empty?
And how do I know whether these people are telling the truth? People say, "My husband is a musician, and our child wants to play music like her daddy," or "My sister --a music teacher-- would be thrilled to use with her classes." These people may be telling the truth. Or they may be spinning an attractive tale so that they can get something for free and then try to sell it. At this point, though, I've tried to sell it at garage sales, on ebay, and at sales for used homeschooling materials. I'm ready to start making space in my garage whether I make money off the items or not.
It's sad that I'm not sure how to tell the difference between being cynical and being wary.
Today's Laugh
A little boy went to the store with his grandmother and on the way home, he was looking at the things she had purchased.
He found a package of panty-hose and began to sound out the words "Queen Size".
He then turned to his grandmother and exclaimed, "Look Grandma, you wear the same size as our bed!"
He found a package of panty-hose and began to sound out the words "Queen Size".
He then turned to his grandmother and exclaimed, "Look Grandma, you wear the same size as our bed!"
Friday, April 30, 2010
Experiment: Male Pattern Baldness
We used to tease that my husband is bald "just like his father." I was told repeatedly that this is wrong wrong wrong. Men do NOT get their baldness from their dads; they get it from their moms. Genetics says so.
I'm not so sure I believe the scientific proof.
My husband is bald. His dad was bald. His mom's dad was bald. (Gary didn't stand a chance!)
My dad had hair. My brother has hair. My grandpas both had hair. My uncles have hair. There doesn't appear to be a smidge of baldness anywhere on my side of the family. (Shoot. I said that right out loud. You know Murphy's Law will have me bald as a cue ball in about three weeks....)
If baldness comes from the mother and not the father, seems to me my sons should keep their hair. But at their tender young ages, they're already getting thin on top.
Maybe male pattern baldness does come from the mom's genes. Science proves it [coughcough] and we must never doubt science. I am suspicious, however.
I'm not so sure I believe the scientific proof.
My husband is bald. His dad was bald. His mom's dad was bald. (Gary didn't stand a chance!)
My dad had hair. My brother has hair. My grandpas both had hair. My uncles have hair. There doesn't appear to be a smidge of baldness anywhere on my side of the family. (Shoot. I said that right out loud. You know Murphy's Law will have me bald as a cue ball in about three weeks....)
If baldness comes from the mother and not the father, seems to me my sons should keep their hair. But at their tender young ages, they're already getting thin on top.
Maybe male pattern baldness does come from the mom's genes. Science proves it [coughcough] and we must never doubt science. I am suspicious, however.
Funeral Sermons
The best way to tell what a church believes is to attend a couple of funerals. Is the focus on Jesus' redemption of sinners? Is the focus on our feelings? Is the focus on upstanding character of the deceased? What the pastor and the congregation believe --the message is given to the bereaved-- is seen clearly at a funeral.
Unbelievers come to church more for funerals and weddings than they do for any Sunday service. It's the pastor's chance to preach the gospel to those who usually don't bother to listen. What does he say about the Faith when we're staring death in the face? What kind of conditions does the pastor attach to the forgiveness Jesus won? At funerals we see how a church "does evangelism."
Unbelievers come to church more for funerals and weddings than they do for any Sunday service. It's the pastor's chance to preach the gospel to those who usually don't bother to listen. What does he say about the Faith when we're staring death in the face? What kind of conditions does the pastor attach to the forgiveness Jesus won? At funerals we see how a church "does evangelism."
Today's Laugh
An old man lived alone in Idaho. He wanted to spade his potato garden, but it was very hard work. His only son, Allen, who used to help him, was in prison. The old man wrote a letter to his son and described his predicament:
Dear Allen,
I am feeling pretty bad because it looks like I won't be able to plant my potato garden this year. I'm just getting too old to be digging up a garden plot. If you were here, all my troubles would be over. I know you would dig the plot for me.
Love, Dad
A few days later he received a letter from his son:
Dear Dad,
For heaven's sake, Dad, don't dig up that garden. That's where I buried the BODIES.
Love, Allen
At 4:00 the next morning, FBI agents and local police showed up and dug up the entire area without finding any bodies. They apologized to the old man and left. That same day the old man received another letter from his son:
Dear Dad,
Go ahead and plant the potatoes now. That's the best I could do under the circumstances.
Love, Allen.
Dear Allen,
I am feeling pretty bad because it looks like I won't be able to plant my potato garden this year. I'm just getting too old to be digging up a garden plot. If you were here, all my troubles would be over. I know you would dig the plot for me.
Love, Dad
A few days later he received a letter from his son:
Dear Dad,
For heaven's sake, Dad, don't dig up that garden. That's where I buried the BODIES.
Love, Allen
At 4:00 the next morning, FBI agents and local police showed up and dug up the entire area without finding any bodies. They apologized to the old man and left. That same day the old man received another letter from his son:
Dear Dad,
Go ahead and plant the potatoes now. That's the best I could do under the circumstances.
Love, Allen.
Thursday, April 29, 2010
A Man After God's Own Heart
I don't know about you, but I always heard that phrase before to mean, "David had such a great heart, so God wanted him to be His own" or "he's doing all the right things to make God like him."
That's how I've heard the phrase used so often. Don't we often hear people admonish us to raise up our children so that they will be people "after God's own heart"? Don't we hear what they should do, how they should act, what kind of morals we should instill, so that they can be people "after God's own heart"? Aren't we told to pray more and strive to be good so that we can be people "after God's own heart"?
Our Bible class this week was on the story of David. Pastor started with this scriptural description of David. And he started with "WHO is after WHAT?" It's not that God likes David because he's such a swell guy. David wants to go after God's heart. (Hey! Look! That's actually what the words say!)
And what is "God's own heart"? A heart of mercy and grace and sacrificial love. "A man after God's own heart" is a man who desires the Lord's love which he has not earned.
That's how I've heard the phrase used so often. Don't we often hear people admonish us to raise up our children so that they will be people "after God's own heart"? Don't we hear what they should do, how they should act, what kind of morals we should instill, so that they can be people "after God's own heart"? Aren't we told to pray more and strive to be good so that we can be people "after God's own heart"?
Our Bible class this week was on the story of David. Pastor started with this scriptural description of David. And he started with "WHO is after WHAT?" It's not that God likes David because he's such a swell guy. David wants to go after God's heart. (Hey! Look! That's actually what the words say!)
And what is "God's own heart"? A heart of mercy and grace and sacrificial love. "A man after God's own heart" is a man who desires the Lord's love which he has not earned.
Today's Laugh
My mother and I returned to my parents' house late one evening to find my father, my college-age brother, Steven, and my ten-year-old sister fast asleep.
Mom had forgotten her house keys, so we knocked loudly, first at the back door and then the front and side doors. We yelled my father's name over and over, with no answer. The car horn aroused the neighbors but no one at our house. We drove into town and phoned home, finally waking Steven.
When we got back, he let us in. Dad was in bed, snoring, with the television on. Mom quietly switched it off. Dad woke right up.
"Don't turn that off," he said. "I'm watching it!"
Mom had forgotten her house keys, so we knocked loudly, first at the back door and then the front and side doors. We yelled my father's name over and over, with no answer. The car horn aroused the neighbors but no one at our house. We drove into town and phoned home, finally waking Steven.
When we got back, he let us in. Dad was in bed, snoring, with the television on. Mom quietly switched it off. Dad woke right up.
"Don't turn that off," he said. "I'm watching it!"
Wednesday, April 28, 2010
Access to the Father
Romans 3 -- In Christ Jesus we have boldness and access with confidence through faith in Him.
Pastor loves to refer to this picture of President Kennedy. He uses it to illustrate our privileged status as the sons of God. You and I cannot go visit the President whenever we want. We don't have the right to do that. But John John? He could crawl around under his daddy's desk, climb into his daddy's lap, or whatever. He had special privilege because he was his daddy's son. He had access that reporters and politicians didn't have.
Once upon a time, when I still didn't know very many pastors, we were at a district pastors' conference. The featured speaker for the conference was Robert Preus. Gary and I were at dinner at a restaurant. At a table not far from our booth were all the bigwigs: Dr Preus and our district president and some other men. There was one young whippersnapper, not much older than us, in there with the gang of revered men. I didn't know who he was or why he "rated." Later, Gary introduced me to Rolf. Oh, I get it. He "rated" because he was at supper with his daddy and his daddy's cohorts. He had access to that dinner table that not everyone had. He was a son.
We have access to God. Yes, He is the King of the Universe. Yes, we respect Him. But we have boldness of access as His sons.
When the car was in the shop recently and I had to figure out ways to get around, our mechanic let me have his loaner car for a day. I had access to a vehicle without figuring out whether I was going to walk, bike-ride, or hitch a ride from a friend. It made everything so much simpler.
When our friend Leah is visiting our house and needs to use the computer, she doesn't sit down and start web-surfing. She asks first. She needs to have us input the password to open the computer to her. But Maggie and Andrew? They pretty much have free access to my computer.
I have access to my mother's house in a way that I wouldn't have if she had moved away from the home where I grew up. I feel comfortable there and know where a lot of things are stored, even decades later.
When I finally got the car back, all nice and repaired, I was struck by how much freedom it gives me to have full & free access to that vehicle. I don't have to ask anybody to use it. I don't have to borrow keys. I don't have to worry about whether somebody is going to be upset because I put too many miles on it. I have free access to that hunk o' metal.
Because of baptism, because we have the status as sons of God, we have free access to speak to the King of the Universe, that He will hear us, that He will give us an abundance of good gifts. That throne room of heaven is ours and we have every right to be there bending His ear.
Therefore, brethren, having boldness to enter the Holy of Holies by the blood of Jesus, by a new and living way which He consecrated for us, through the veil, that is, His flesh, and having a High Priest over the house of God, let us draw near with a true heart in full assurance of faith, having our hearts sprinkled from an evil conscience and our bodies washed with pure water. (Hebrews 10:19-22)
Today's Laugh
The proud father brought home a backyard swing set for his children and immediately started to assemble it with all the neighborhood children anxiously waiting to play on it. After several hours of reading the directions, attempting to fit bolt A into slot B, etc, he finally gave up and called upon an old handyman working in a neighboring yard.
The old-timer came over, threw the directions away, and in a short while had the set completely assembled.
"It's beyond me," said the father, "how you got it together without even reading instructions."
"To tell the truth," replied the old-timer, "I can't read, and when you can't read, you've got to think."
The old-timer came over, threw the directions away, and in a short while had the set completely assembled.
"It's beyond me," said the father, "how you got it together without even reading instructions."
"To tell the truth," replied the old-timer, "I can't read, and when you can't read, you've got to think."
Tuesday, April 27, 2010
Am I an Unschooler?
A young friend asked the other day about whether I'm really an unschooler; she said there are a lot of things that I write about on my blog that sound similar to how she'll be homeschooling. And she doesn't see herself as unschooly.
I never set out to be an unschooler, and depending on your point of view, I may or may not be an unschooler.
We first heard about homeschooling via Focus on the Family in 1985. I read all the library books I could find by Raymond Moore, John Holt, and later one by the Colfaxes. When we began homeschooling, families didn't label themselves as this kind of homeschooler or that kind of homeschooler. If you were nutsy enough to not enroll your kids in school, you were thrilled to find another nutso to hang out with, regardless of what they thought about religion, politics, or educational philosophy. As we began homeschooling, what we did each day was mostly enjoying unit studies and learning-through-literature.
As the years passed, I had more students in my tiny school, less money in the household, and eventually a calendar full of doctor appointments and surgeries and therapist appointments. We became what has been termed unschoolers-by-default. I had kids who were oh-so-curious and gobbled up books and explored the world with vigor. My time was increasingly spent washing diapers and sheets from wet beds, feeding lots of people, driving to doctor appointments, etc. I certainly still read with the kids (a lot!) and bought them cool toys (such as electricity kits, educational games, maps, and more) and practiced strewing.
Is unschooling my educational-theory-of-choice? Nope.
Have I observed that unschooling produces bright, capable learners who are pleasant people, and serve graciously in their callings? Yup.
Even though unschooling does not exactly reflect my educational philosophy, do I support unschooling for those who choose it? Most certainly. Children are different; they have different strengths and weaknesses; they have different interests. An educational method that works for one child may not work at all for another. The parents know the child best. The parents are the ones given the responsibility to care for the child. Parents are the ones who have the most incentive/desire to help a child live up to his potential.
Families, too, face different challenges. Depending on family dynamics, geographical location, finances, proximity to extended family or other support, health, and other issues, parents may not be able to give their children what's best, but only what's second-best, or even third-best. It doesn't matter whether a family considers "third-best" to be unschooling or a traditional textbook curriculum or enrolling a child in a private school, the parents are the ones who must make the decision of what to do if they are unable to provide the BEST. (By the way, public schools can't compete for the rank of "best." Homeschoolers who aren't living up to all their goals still provide a better education than the government schools.)
Should school-at-homers support the rights of unschoolers to homeschool? Of course. Should unschoolers support the rights of textbook-users and classical-ed folks to homeschool? Of course. Should classical ed folks work with people who have entirely different educational philosophies? Yes, if they want to maintain their own homeschooling freedoms. When homeschoolers divide themselves up into groups, determining which ones are Real Homeschoolers and which are not, we are succumbing to the mentality that someone other than parents (whether govt or society or some organization) should be monitoring the parents' decisions on behalf of the child's well-being.
I never set out to be an unschooler, and depending on your point of view, I may or may not be an unschooler.
We first heard about homeschooling via Focus on the Family in 1985. I read all the library books I could find by Raymond Moore, John Holt, and later one by the Colfaxes. When we began homeschooling, families didn't label themselves as this kind of homeschooler or that kind of homeschooler. If you were nutsy enough to not enroll your kids in school, you were thrilled to find another nutso to hang out with, regardless of what they thought about religion, politics, or educational philosophy. As we began homeschooling, what we did each day was mostly enjoying unit studies and learning-through-literature.
As the years passed, I had more students in my tiny school, less money in the household, and eventually a calendar full of doctor appointments and surgeries and therapist appointments. We became what has been termed unschoolers-by-default. I had kids who were oh-so-curious and gobbled up books and explored the world with vigor. My time was increasingly spent washing diapers and sheets from wet beds, feeding lots of people, driving to doctor appointments, etc. I certainly still read with the kids (a lot!) and bought them cool toys (such as electricity kits, educational games, maps, and more) and practiced strewing.
Is unschooling my educational-theory-of-choice? Nope.
Have I observed that unschooling produces bright, capable learners who are pleasant people, and serve graciously in their callings? Yup.
Even though unschooling does not exactly reflect my educational philosophy, do I support unschooling for those who choose it? Most certainly. Children are different; they have different strengths and weaknesses; they have different interests. An educational method that works for one child may not work at all for another. The parents know the child best. The parents are the ones given the responsibility to care for the child. Parents are the ones who have the most incentive/desire to help a child live up to his potential.
Families, too, face different challenges. Depending on family dynamics, geographical location, finances, proximity to extended family or other support, health, and other issues, parents may not be able to give their children what's best, but only what's second-best, or even third-best. It doesn't matter whether a family considers "third-best" to be unschooling or a traditional textbook curriculum or enrolling a child in a private school, the parents are the ones who must make the decision of what to do if they are unable to provide the BEST. (By the way, public schools can't compete for the rank of "best." Homeschoolers who aren't living up to all their goals still provide a better education than the government schools.)
Should school-at-homers support the rights of unschoolers to homeschool? Of course. Should unschoolers support the rights of textbook-users and classical-ed folks to homeschool? Of course. Should classical ed folks work with people who have entirely different educational philosophies? Yes, if they want to maintain their own homeschooling freedoms. When homeschoolers divide themselves up into groups, determining which ones are Real Homeschoolers and which are not, we are succumbing to the mentality that someone other than parents (whether govt or society or some organization) should be monitoring the parents' decisions on behalf of the child's well-being.
Today's Laugh
Little Johnny's teacher asks, "What is the chemical formula for water?"
Little Johnny replies, "HIJKLMNO"!!
The teacher, puzzled, asks, "What on Earth are you talking about?"
Little Johnny replies, "Yesterday you said it was H to O!"
Little Johnny replies, "HIJKLMNO"!!
The teacher, puzzled, asks, "What on Earth are you talking about?"
Little Johnny replies, "Yesterday you said it was H to O!"
Monday, April 26, 2010
It Wasn't Traumatic
So if it wasn't traumatic, why do I still have this unreasonable urge to cry about it?
This afternoon I headed to town to do errands, including hitting up Goodwill and Salvation Army for a dresser and a bookshelf for Paul's new apartment. I was thrilled to find an $8 bookshelf at Salvation Army. The bottom couple of inches sustained some water damage in the past. But for eight bucks, it will hold his books.
I was also thrilled to find a very nice 5-drawer chest for $50. A bit high for resale, but the drawers pull nicely, the finish is excellent, and it's a nice size. Mostly wood, not that cheap material of glued-together sawdust. Then ... ah, ... then was when the trouble began.
I found another dresser. Four drawers. Nearly as big in drawer space, but narrower -- all the better for carrying into and out of apartment buildings and around corners, my dear. This one was all wood. And only $20. The other $20-30 dressers in the store were not worth bringing home. This one was surely a great deal! So I bought it. Paid. Loaded it into the van. Needing to hunt for shorts and a blender, I headed back into the store.
A few minutes later, I heard yelling by the cash register. As the customer ranted on and on, pretty soon I heard the words "dresser" and "took it" and "removed my sold tag and claimed it for herself." I approached the clerk and the woman making the scene and asked if they were discussing the $20 dresser that had been sitting near the back door. Uh. Yeah. That's it. So she yelled at me for taking her dresser while she was transporting a different load of furniture home.
Yikes. I told her there was no sold sign on the dresser I bought. I asked some more questions to verify whether we were talking about the same dresser. We were. The clerks and manager clearly were expecting a big argument over who got item. Instead I apologized and told them I'd bring my van around back and give her the dresser back.
Shoot. I knew that dresser was too good to be true.
I was stunned when the clerk told me that she couldn't refund my money but that I could find $20 worth of other merchandise in the store. Granted, I wanted the other dresser, so it worked out. But if there hadn't been another dresser I wanted? Then what? I understand that they don't give refunds. But c'mon -- when they sell the same piece of furniture to two different people??? At least the manager offered to split the cost different; she said I could have the more expensive dresser for $35 instead of $50; that helped a bit to make up for the clumsier size of the one I ended up buying.
I keep telling myself that I got a nice dresser. That it will hold Paul's socks and jammies. That it does fit --with some finagling-- into the van for transport purposes. I keep reminding myself that I bought this dresser for $15 less than I had originally intended to pay for it. This is good. Right???
How come I still feel so unsettled about the whole icky mess?
I wonder if I would feel differently now if the woman had apologized for accusing me. Or if she had apologized for my not being able to have the dresser. Or if she had thanked me for not giving her any guff about letting her take it.
This afternoon I headed to town to do errands, including hitting up Goodwill and Salvation Army for a dresser and a bookshelf for Paul's new apartment. I was thrilled to find an $8 bookshelf at Salvation Army. The bottom couple of inches sustained some water damage in the past. But for eight bucks, it will hold his books.
I was also thrilled to find a very nice 5-drawer chest for $50. A bit high for resale, but the drawers pull nicely, the finish is excellent, and it's a nice size. Mostly wood, not that cheap material of glued-together sawdust. Then ... ah, ... then was when the trouble began.
I found another dresser. Four drawers. Nearly as big in drawer space, but narrower -- all the better for carrying into and out of apartment buildings and around corners, my dear. This one was all wood. And only $20. The other $20-30 dressers in the store were not worth bringing home. This one was surely a great deal! So I bought it. Paid. Loaded it into the van. Needing to hunt for shorts and a blender, I headed back into the store.
A few minutes later, I heard yelling by the cash register. As the customer ranted on and on, pretty soon I heard the words "dresser" and "took it" and "removed my sold tag and claimed it for herself." I approached the clerk and the woman making the scene and asked if they were discussing the $20 dresser that had been sitting near the back door. Uh. Yeah. That's it. So she yelled at me for taking her dresser while she was transporting a different load of furniture home.
Yikes. I told her there was no sold sign on the dresser I bought. I asked some more questions to verify whether we were talking about the same dresser. We were. The clerks and manager clearly were expecting a big argument over who got item. Instead I apologized and told them I'd bring my van around back and give her the dresser back.
Shoot. I knew that dresser was too good to be true.
I was stunned when the clerk told me that she couldn't refund my money but that I could find $20 worth of other merchandise in the store. Granted, I wanted the other dresser, so it worked out. But if there hadn't been another dresser I wanted? Then what? I understand that they don't give refunds. But c'mon -- when they sell the same piece of furniture to two different people??? At least the manager offered to split the cost different; she said I could have the more expensive dresser for $35 instead of $50; that helped a bit to make up for the clumsier size of the one I ended up buying.
I keep telling myself that I got a nice dresser. That it will hold Paul's socks and jammies. That it does fit --with some finagling-- into the van for transport purposes. I keep reminding myself that I bought this dresser for $15 less than I had originally intended to pay for it. This is good. Right???
How come I still feel so unsettled about the whole icky mess?
I wonder if I would feel differently now if the woman had apologized for accusing me. Or if she had apologized for my not being able to have the dresser. Or if she had thanked me for not giving her any guff about letting her take it.
Cats and Joseph and Superstar
The kids attended their friend Matthew's musical this weekend. Matthew played Judah in Joseph and the Amazing Technicolor Dreamcoat.
As they talked about the show the next morning, suddenly the songs were resurrected in my mind. When Joseph was first written (and was only about 15-20 minutes long) we learned it in Sunday school. I can't remember whatever happened to performing it; maybe we never did. The songs were still very new at the time; the full show hadn't been developed yet. Until the kids started singing parts of the musical, until we started bopping around YouTube clips of the song&dance routines, I didn't realize I remembered anything.
1. Watching YouTube clips, I couldn't believe how very very very similar Joseph and Cats are. The sound and the whole feeling of Cats, Joseph, and Jesus Christ Superstar make you wonder if you're watching the exact same show.
2. Boy, Joseph has horrid theology. Whenever we work our way through the last quarter of Genesis during chapel or Bible class, I'm offended by the cockamamie theological notions I bear regarding the Joseph story. Watching some of those bits of the opera, I see where my warped ideas come from! PS: Horrid theology aside, Rice & Webber sure produced some fun music!
3. A little memory jog brought all those songs to the fore. Think what that means for those of us who are trying to teach GOOD things to kids. Even if those hymns and Bible verses lie dormant for years --for decades-- they can come back.
As they talked about the show the next morning, suddenly the songs were resurrected in my mind. When Joseph was first written (and was only about 15-20 minutes long) we learned it in Sunday school. I can't remember whatever happened to performing it; maybe we never did. The songs were still very new at the time; the full show hadn't been developed yet. Until the kids started singing parts of the musical, until we started bopping around YouTube clips of the song&dance routines, I didn't realize I remembered anything.
1. Watching YouTube clips, I couldn't believe how very very very similar Joseph and Cats are. The sound and the whole feeling of Cats, Joseph, and Jesus Christ Superstar make you wonder if you're watching the exact same show.
2. Boy, Joseph has horrid theology. Whenever we work our way through the last quarter of Genesis during chapel or Bible class, I'm offended by the cockamamie theological notions I bear regarding the Joseph story. Watching some of those bits of the opera, I see where my warped ideas come from! PS: Horrid theology aside, Rice & Webber sure produced some fun music!
3. A little memory jog brought all those songs to the fore. Think what that means for those of us who are trying to teach GOOD things to kids. Even if those hymns and Bible verses lie dormant for years --for decades-- they can come back.
Fieldtrips
Some homeschoolers I know have been talking about decompression time, when a family new to homeschooling takes some time off to recuperate from the school-way of studying, resting first, and allowing the kids to begin to find their own interests, to discover books or projects that excite their minds. In a similar way, I keep wondering if I'm still in "decompression" from autumn 2007.
For a long time, I've been wanting to learn something about photography. When [free] workshops were offered at the Janesville library, somehow they never worked out with our schedule. Last Thursday, our local library offered a photography class. I was hyped for it. But the other activities of the day (supremely fun activities) pushed back dinner-prep, and I wasn't ready with food early enough for us to be on our way by 6:15. (By the way, I don't regret how I spent Thursday at all.) A day or so later I realized that other families might have gone to Culvers and picked up burgers on their way to the library. Spending money at a restaurant never crossed my mind.
Maggie and I are reading about birds these days. It would be a great fieldtrip to visit Sand Bluff Bird Banding Station. Even though it's a 4-hour roundtrip, I think it would be worth it. Thing is, it's only open on the weekends, and you really want to arrive between 8 and 9:00 because the birds are more active in the morning. I was trying to gather my energy and my will, and make this Saturday the day for the big trip. Thing is, the kids decided to attend Matthew's play on Friday night with a bunch of the other folks from church. There was no way we were leaving the house at 6am, for a long day, a long drive, and hiking, after teenagers put themselves to bed at 11:00 or later. Two fieldtrips untaken this week. As it turns out, with the rain this weekend, we wouldn't have gone anyway.
It's that time of year when I long to visit Mackenzie Environmental Education Center. We often stopped there on our way to the state homeschool conference which used to be held in Stevens Point. I love that place. I love the wildflowers in late April and early May. And the kids love the two-headed pig in formaldehyde.
If we drove as far as MEEC, another great fieldtrip for learning about birds is the International Crane Foundation.
I really need to look into finding some volunteer opportunities for Maggie. We've done some websurfing, looking for stables that offer therapeutic riding for the disabled. I should talk to the folks back at Smiles and see if they can point us in the right direction.
I think we should go to museums more. To the zoo. To nature centers. To the beach when it's warmer (IF it ever gets warmer... thankyouAlGore). To re-enactments. To art shows. To concerts and plays. To ball games. And then there are music lessons, sports teams, and summer-school classes from which the kids might benefit if we signed 'em up.
Especially since we moved and the economy tanked (thankyouBigGovernment), the cost of these activities is usually prohibitive. The county parks and the state parks require different entry passes. This year we're going to have to pick one vehicle to be the going-to-the-park car, because it would be wasteful to buy passes for both cars. But it's not just the money. Finding time to go to the zoo or the museum is the bigger problem. I'm just too tired.
We go to chapel most mornings, and we take Maggie to choir 3x a week. We buy groceries now and then. Pretty soon we need to make a trip to Mankato to get Paul's car back to him; we'll hit up some Betsy-Tacy sites and may consider stopping to see cranes. There's a homeschoolers' beach day coming up that I want to attend with friends. We'll have to get to Chicago to see Rachel and Matt's new place. There's also a family reunion and symposium. It's not like we never go anywhere!
How do we fit in more activities? How do we make time for volunteering at a horse barn or at the library or some other opportunity for Maggie? Why can all these other families provide music lessons and art lessons and dance lessons and softball teams and 4-H, and still fit in cool outings? I'm doing good if I can remember to make supper every day.
I want to give my kids the mind-broadening, fun opportunities that can acquaint them with new ideas and give them new skills. But it seems like laundry and supper take everything I've got. So schoolwork is done the lazy, sit-on-the-couch, read-the-book way, and not the fulfilling way of experiencing all those different places & people & concepts. It reminds me of the Erma Bombeck essay about the mom who was old, and how her youngest had such a different life from the older brothers.
Sometimes I think maybe we're the ones with our act together, not over-committing and running around like crazy. But other times I wish we could be free to get out there in the Real World the way we used to.
PS: This is blogpost #2500. Good grief....
For a long time, I've been wanting to learn something about photography. When [free] workshops were offered at the Janesville library, somehow they never worked out with our schedule. Last Thursday, our local library offered a photography class. I was hyped for it. But the other activities of the day (supremely fun activities) pushed back dinner-prep, and I wasn't ready with food early enough for us to be on our way by 6:15. (By the way, I don't regret how I spent Thursday at all.) A day or so later I realized that other families might have gone to Culvers and picked up burgers on their way to the library. Spending money at a restaurant never crossed my mind.
Maggie and I are reading about birds these days. It would be a great fieldtrip to visit Sand Bluff Bird Banding Station. Even though it's a 4-hour roundtrip, I think it would be worth it. Thing is, it's only open on the weekends, and you really want to arrive between 8 and 9:00 because the birds are more active in the morning. I was trying to gather my energy and my will, and make this Saturday the day for the big trip. Thing is, the kids decided to attend Matthew's play on Friday night with a bunch of the other folks from church. There was no way we were leaving the house at 6am, for a long day, a long drive, and hiking, after teenagers put themselves to bed at 11:00 or later. Two fieldtrips untaken this week. As it turns out, with the rain this weekend, we wouldn't have gone anyway.
It's that time of year when I long to visit Mackenzie Environmental Education Center. We often stopped there on our way to the state homeschool conference which used to be held in Stevens Point. I love that place. I love the wildflowers in late April and early May. And the kids love the two-headed pig in formaldehyde.
If we drove as far as MEEC, another great fieldtrip for learning about birds is the International Crane Foundation.
I really need to look into finding some volunteer opportunities for Maggie. We've done some websurfing, looking for stables that offer therapeutic riding for the disabled. I should talk to the folks back at Smiles and see if they can point us in the right direction.
I think we should go to museums more. To the zoo. To nature centers. To the beach when it's warmer (IF it ever gets warmer... thankyouAlGore). To re-enactments. To art shows. To concerts and plays. To ball games. And then there are music lessons, sports teams, and summer-school classes from which the kids might benefit if we signed 'em up.
Especially since we moved and the economy tanked (thankyouBigGovernment), the cost of these activities is usually prohibitive. The county parks and the state parks require different entry passes. This year we're going to have to pick one vehicle to be the going-to-the-park car, because it would be wasteful to buy passes for both cars. But it's not just the money. Finding time to go to the zoo or the museum is the bigger problem. I'm just too tired.
We go to chapel most mornings, and we take Maggie to choir 3x a week. We buy groceries now and then. Pretty soon we need to make a trip to Mankato to get Paul's car back to him; we'll hit up some Betsy-Tacy sites and may consider stopping to see cranes. There's a homeschoolers' beach day coming up that I want to attend with friends. We'll have to get to Chicago to see Rachel and Matt's new place. There's also a family reunion and symposium. It's not like we never go anywhere!
How do we fit in more activities? How do we make time for volunteering at a horse barn or at the library or some other opportunity for Maggie? Why can all these other families provide music lessons and art lessons and dance lessons and softball teams and 4-H, and still fit in cool outings? I'm doing good if I can remember to make supper every day.
I want to give my kids the mind-broadening, fun opportunities that can acquaint them with new ideas and give them new skills. But it seems like laundry and supper take everything I've got. So schoolwork is done the lazy, sit-on-the-couch, read-the-book way, and not the fulfilling way of experiencing all those different places & people & concepts. It reminds me of the Erma Bombeck essay about the mom who was old, and how her youngest had such a different life from the older brothers.
Sometimes I think maybe we're the ones with our act together, not over-committing and running around like crazy. But other times I wish we could be free to get out there in the Real World the way we used to.
PS: This is blogpost #2500. Good grief....
Today's Laugh
A kindergartner was practicing spelling with magnetic letters on the refrigerator: cat, dog, dad, and mom had been proudly displayed for all to see.
One morning while getting ready for the day, he bounded into the room with his arms outstretched. In his hands were three magnetic letters: G-O-D.
"Look what I spelled, Mom!" with a proud smile on his face.
"That's wonderful!" his mom praised him. "Now go put them on the fridge so Dad can see when he gets home tonight."
The mom happily thought that her son's Catholic education was certainly having an impact. Just then, a little voice called from the kitchen: "Mom? How do you spell 'zilla'?"
One morning while getting ready for the day, he bounded into the room with his arms outstretched. In his hands were three magnetic letters: G-O-D.
"Look what I spelled, Mom!" with a proud smile on his face.
"That's wonderful!" his mom praised him. "Now go put them on the fridge so Dad can see when he gets home tonight."
The mom happily thought that her son's Catholic education was certainly having an impact. Just then, a little voice called from the kitchen: "Mom? How do you spell 'zilla'?"
Sunday, April 25, 2010
Cinnamon Rolls
Okay, okay, so cinnamon rolls isn't exactly the most nutritious supper. Gary was watching an episode of Man vs Food, and the food challenge was a massive cinnamon roll. So Gary was trying to surreptitiously wipe the drool off his chin. He managed to get control of himself.
Later, Maggie and I were reading Betsy in the living room where Gary was working on his Latin translation. The new housekeeper at Betsy's house is, apparently, absolutely famous for her cinnamon rolls.
All right! All right! Hie thee off to the kitchen and start that dough a-risin'.
Why do recipes always call for us to roll out the dough to a 10x15" rectangle? Or 9x13"? Or even 12x17? And they always tell you to roll it from the long side. I rolled my dough into a thin 8x22" rectangle, and I rolled it from the skinny side. Whenever I follow instructions, it seems like I barely have any swirls, any spirals, any loopies. If I roll the long side across the skinniness of the dough, the cinnamon-sugar isn't spread nicely around and around and around. Drives me nuts. Am I the only one who wants my cinnamon rolls nearly flat but with a spiral that just keeps spiraling?
Later, Maggie and I were reading Betsy in the living room where Gary was working on his Latin translation. The new housekeeper at Betsy's house is, apparently, absolutely famous for her cinnamon rolls.
All right! All right! Hie thee off to the kitchen and start that dough a-risin'.
Why do recipes always call for us to roll out the dough to a 10x15" rectangle? Or 9x13"? Or even 12x17? And they always tell you to roll it from the long side. I rolled my dough into a thin 8x22" rectangle, and I rolled it from the skinny side. Whenever I follow instructions, it seems like I barely have any swirls, any spirals, any loopies. If I roll the long side across the skinniness of the dough, the cinnamon-sugar isn't spread nicely around and around and around. Drives me nuts. Am I the only one who wants my cinnamon rolls nearly flat but with a spiral that just keeps spiraling?
High-Speed Kitties
Rosie is not fond of cars and noisy engines since her accident in kittenhood. During lunch today I saw Rosie, way way far from the house, making a bolt for it. I had no idea what she might have been chasing. But, whatever, she disappeared. About a minute later, she came running to the house faster than I've ever seen her move, and for a longer distance than I've ever seen her run.
Hmmm. Don't know what frightened her. But we let her in.
Pretty soon we see an ATV in the property out back, near where Rosie had been loitering. Ah. Fear of engines. Of course. Rosie finally learned that big, scary, dangerous, kitty-squashing cars stay on asphalt or concrete. If you're on the grass, you're safe.
Not today. No wonder she panicked.
Funny thing was that, about 2 minutes later, Athena also came careening from several houses away. Same high speed. Same long distance. And sure enough, shortly after Athena made a run for it, the ATV was zipping loudly past those woodsy spots where the cats hang out.
Hmmm. Don't know what frightened her. But we let her in.
Pretty soon we see an ATV in the property out back, near where Rosie had been loitering. Ah. Fear of engines. Of course. Rosie finally learned that big, scary, dangerous, kitty-squashing cars stay on asphalt or concrete. If you're on the grass, you're safe.
Not today. No wonder she panicked.
Funny thing was that, about 2 minutes later, Athena also came careening from several houses away. Same high speed. Same long distance. And sure enough, shortly after Athena made a run for it, the ATV was zipping loudly past those woodsy spots where the cats hang out.
The Sword That Killed Goliath
So David prevailed over the Philistine with a sling and a stone, and struck the Philistine and killed him. But there was no sword in the hand of David. Therefore David ran and stood over the Philistine, took his sword and drew it out of its sheath and killed him, and cut off his head with it. (1 Samuel 17:50-51)
As we discussed the story of David and Goliath this morning, Pastor quickly squeezed in a comment at the very end. This verse is not merely about the story of Goliath being trounced by a young whipper-snapper.
The reason Satan had power was because of God's own word to Adam and Eve: In the day that you eat of it, you shall surely die. God had said it. Adam had transgressed. The punishment must be exacted. It wasn't Satan being an ol' meanie. It was that God's word always is true. God said they would die, and they would indeed die.
God became man and took the punishment that man had to bear for his sin. David (the type of Christ) had no tool to kill Goliath. Instead, he took the sword from Goliath (as Jesus took the sword of the law from Satan's misuse) and used it to defeat the one who would not have anything to do with God's grace and mercy. Goliath's own sword was used to chop off his head. The law which Satan tried to use to damn man was the law used to chop off his head: He shall crush your head, and you shall bruise His heel.
As we discussed the story of David and Goliath this morning, Pastor quickly squeezed in a comment at the very end. This verse is not merely about the story of Goliath being trounced by a young whipper-snapper.
The reason Satan had power was because of God's own word to Adam and Eve: In the day that you eat of it, you shall surely die. God had said it. Adam had transgressed. The punishment must be exacted. It wasn't Satan being an ol' meanie. It was that God's word always is true. God said they would die, and they would indeed die.
God became man and took the punishment that man had to bear for his sin. David (the type of Christ) had no tool to kill Goliath. Instead, he took the sword from Goliath (as Jesus took the sword of the law from Satan's misuse) and used it to defeat the one who would not have anything to do with God's grace and mercy. Goliath's own sword was used to chop off his head. The law which Satan tried to use to damn man was the law used to chop off his head: He shall crush your head, and you shall bruise His heel.
The Stone That Took Down Goliath
This morning's Bible class was on David and Goliath. David -- a type of Christ. Goliath -- a type of Satan.
Goliath had his own armor to fight against God's people. Psalm 147: The Lord does not delight in the strength of the horse; He takes no pleasure in the legs of a man. The Lord takes pleasure in those who fear Him, in those who hope in His mercy.
David used a stone to kill Goliath. It just so happens that that word for stone is the same word which refers elsewhere to Jesus. Psalm 118 and Matthew 21: The stone which the builders rejected has become the chief cornerstone.
David put his hand into his bag and took out a stone. He slung it and struck the Philistine in his forehead, so that the stone sank into his forehead, and he fell on his face to the earth. (1 Samuel 17:49)
Jesus told the Jews, "Whoever falls on this Stone will be broken, but on whomever it falls, it will grind him to powder." (Matthew 21:42-44)
Goliath had his own armor to fight against God's people. Psalm 147: The Lord does not delight in the strength of the horse; He takes no pleasure in the legs of a man. The Lord takes pleasure in those who fear Him, in those who hope in His mercy.
David used a stone to kill Goliath. It just so happens that that word for stone is the same word which refers elsewhere to Jesus. Psalm 118 and Matthew 21: The stone which the builders rejected has become the chief cornerstone.
David put his hand into his bag and took out a stone. He slung it and struck the Philistine in his forehead, so that the stone sank into his forehead, and he fell on his face to the earth. (1 Samuel 17:49)
Jesus told the Jews, "Whoever falls on this Stone will be broken, but on whomever it falls, it will grind him to powder." (Matthew 21:42-44)
Your Debit Card
The bank sent a notice this week of policy changes. I skimmed it, expecting to throw it out. You know how most of those notices are -- they are "privacy notices" which tell a gazillion places they can send your private information as they protect your privacy. [Can anyone say "1984"???] The notice wasn't about privacy, though. It was about fees and overdraft protection. I read it more thoroughly. Still didn't understand it. Gary looked it over and we discussed it. We still weren't sure what it said.
Saturday I took the paper to the bank and asked them to explain it to a dummy. They assured me I was no dummy. As they began to explain about new government policies regarding overdraft protection on debit cards, the lightbulb began to glow dimly. I told the tellers that the reasonable procedure would be for a debit card to be rejected if there were insufficient funds to cover a particular expense. The girls told me to "X this box here to opt-out, and sign the document, if that's what you want."
I asked what current policy is. They told me current policy is for the nationwide system to accept any attempt to use a debit card, even if there are insufficient funds; the bank will provide overdraft protection (in essence, shuffling money in your accounts or even possibly giving you a tiny insta-loan, with all associated fees). I looked at them skeptically and then asked, "What was the policy a couple of months ago?" They told me that, until recent government regulations demanded banks change their policies, a debit card would indeed have been rejected if there wasn't enough money in the account to cover a charge. In other words, if your debit-card "check" isn't going to clear, then it's not okay; you just cannot use the card. But ... the government is here to help us. And the policy is now that all charges go through unless you opt out.
So my brain is spinning through possible scenarios. How is this "help"? By what stretch of the imagination did somebody in Washington decide that this policy change would help ANYBODY?
If somebody steals my debit card, he can clean out my checking account. According to new helpful policies, he can clean out my savings account too.
What if I make a math error in my checkbook? Or what if there's a glitch in communication between my husband and me, in different places, both trying to use the same money at the same time? Do we want the computer-system to allow us both to spend the same dollars in different places at the same time, so that we have to pay fees to the bank for covering our butts when we bounced a check? Or do we just want the computer-system to say "NO, you can't spend the money; it ain't there"?
Will this policy change encourage people to spend money they don't have? Will this policy end up costing consumers a lot of money in bank fees?
Maybe you can help me. WHO might this policy help? I figure that maybe the people who are stuck in Europe and Asia because of the volcano, who are running out of money, who don't have any way to transfer funds or restock their checking accounts, maybe they would be glad to have access to extra cash. Maybe. However, running up debt on a credit card would probably be more frugal than incurring overdraft fees on a debit card.
So ... short of unforeseen once-in-a-lifetime disasters that cause a person to be stranded without access to credit ... who could benefit from the government's recent help with regard to debit cards and overdraft protection?
Saturday I took the paper to the bank and asked them to explain it to a dummy. They assured me I was no dummy. As they began to explain about new government policies regarding overdraft protection on debit cards, the lightbulb began to glow dimly. I told the tellers that the reasonable procedure would be for a debit card to be rejected if there were insufficient funds to cover a particular expense. The girls told me to "X this box here to opt-out, and sign the document, if that's what you want."
I asked what current policy is. They told me current policy is for the nationwide system to accept any attempt to use a debit card, even if there are insufficient funds; the bank will provide overdraft protection (in essence, shuffling money in your accounts or even possibly giving you a tiny insta-loan, with all associated fees). I looked at them skeptically and then asked, "What was the policy a couple of months ago?" They told me that, until recent government regulations demanded banks change their policies, a debit card would indeed have been rejected if there wasn't enough money in the account to cover a charge. In other words, if your debit-card "check" isn't going to clear, then it's not okay; you just cannot use the card. But ... the government is here to help us. And the policy is now that all charges go through unless you opt out.
So my brain is spinning through possible scenarios. How is this "help"? By what stretch of the imagination did somebody in Washington decide that this policy change would help ANYBODY?
If somebody steals my debit card, he can clean out my checking account. According to new helpful policies, he can clean out my savings account too.
What if I make a math error in my checkbook? Or what if there's a glitch in communication between my husband and me, in different places, both trying to use the same money at the same time? Do we want the computer-system to allow us both to spend the same dollars in different places at the same time, so that we have to pay fees to the bank for covering our butts when we bounced a check? Or do we just want the computer-system to say "NO, you can't spend the money; it ain't there"?
Will this policy change encourage people to spend money they don't have? Will this policy end up costing consumers a lot of money in bank fees?
Maybe you can help me. WHO might this policy help? I figure that maybe the people who are stuck in Europe and Asia because of the volcano, who are running out of money, who don't have any way to transfer funds or restock their checking accounts, maybe they would be glad to have access to extra cash. Maybe. However, running up debt on a credit card would probably be more frugal than incurring overdraft fees on a debit card.
So ... short of unforeseen once-in-a-lifetime disasters that cause a person to be stranded without access to credit ... who could benefit from the government's recent help with regard to debit cards and overdraft protection?
Today's Laugh
A man walks into the front door of a bar. He is obviously drunk. He staggers up to the bar, seats himself on a stool, and with a belch, asks the bartender for a drink.
The bartender politely informs the man that it appears that he has already had plenty to drink -- he could not be served additional liquor at this bar, but the bartender offered to call a cab for him.
The drunk is briefly surprised then softly scoffs, grumbles, climbs down off the bar stool, and staggers out the front door.
A few minutes later, the same drunk stumbles in the side door of the bar. He wobbles up to the bar and hollers for a drink. The bartender comes over, and still politely --but more firmly-- refuses service to the man due to his inebriation. Again, the bartender offers to obtain a cab for him.
The drunk looks at the bartender for a moment angrily, curses, and shows himself out the side door, all the while grumbling and shaking his head.
A few minutes later, the same drunk bursts in through the back door of the bar. He plops himself up on a bar stool, gathers his wits, and belligerently orders a drink.
The bartender comes over and emphatically reminds the man that he is clearly drunk, will be served no drinks, and either a cab or the police will be called immediately.
The surprised drunk looks at the bartender and in hopeless anguish, cries, "Man! How many bars do you work at?"
The bartender politely informs the man that it appears that he has already had plenty to drink -- he could not be served additional liquor at this bar, but the bartender offered to call a cab for him.
The drunk is briefly surprised then softly scoffs, grumbles, climbs down off the bar stool, and staggers out the front door.
A few minutes later, the same drunk stumbles in the side door of the bar. He wobbles up to the bar and hollers for a drink. The bartender comes over, and still politely --but more firmly-- refuses service to the man due to his inebriation. Again, the bartender offers to obtain a cab for him.
The drunk looks at the bartender for a moment angrily, curses, and shows himself out the side door, all the while grumbling and shaking his head.
A few minutes later, the same drunk bursts in through the back door of the bar. He plops himself up on a bar stool, gathers his wits, and belligerently orders a drink.
The bartender comes over and emphatically reminds the man that he is clearly drunk, will be served no drinks, and either a cab or the police will be called immediately.
The surprised drunk looks at the bartender and in hopeless anguish, cries, "Man! How many bars do you work at?"
Saturday, April 24, 2010
Yo-Yos and Environmentalism
Wisconsin television stations were recently scammed. Or duped. Or made a less-than-wise programming decision. A guy named Kenny purportedly preaches a message of environmentalism, using yo-yos and humor to reach kids. Several stations invited him on-air. The segments got weird. (You can see the exposé here, but you probably want to close the window on the ads partially covering the screen.)
I honestly don't care diddly about the so-called scam or who Kenny really is. What should be surprising (but unfortunately isn't) was that more than one station invited this man to be on live tv. They didn't check into his background. They didn't verify facts. His claim that he spoke about environmental issues was enough for them to usher him right onto the stage and stick a microphone in front of him.
And the mainstream media wonder why the public is looking for alternative news sources on the internet?? The ratings on TV news is dropping?? Hello!
I honestly don't care diddly about the so-called scam or who Kenny really is. What should be surprising (but unfortunately isn't) was that more than one station invited this man to be on live tv. They didn't check into his background. They didn't verify facts. His claim that he spoke about environmental issues was enough for them to usher him right onto the stage and stick a microphone in front of him.
And the mainstream media wonder why the public is looking for alternative news sources on the internet?? The ratings on TV news is dropping?? Hello!
Unschooling
Good Morning America interviewed an unschooling family recently, chose the snips of film that would make them look as weird as possible, and then proceeded to run the "news story" and disparage unschooling.
A better explanation of unschooling can be found at momlogic, in an interview with Sandra Dodd. I love how Sandra gives her point of view but is also careful to explain that other homeschoolers have different methods and motivations. I also like how she describes the difference between unschooling and school-at-home (both of which are valid ways to homeschool). She points out that school-at-home makes use of many management tools that are used for large groups of children in the classroom; they can be used at home, but are not necessary when teaching one child or a small group.
HT: Jenny and Dawn
A better explanation of unschooling can be found at momlogic, in an interview with Sandra Dodd. I love how Sandra gives her point of view but is also careful to explain that other homeschoolers have different methods and motivations. I also like how she describes the difference between unschooling and school-at-home (both of which are valid ways to homeschool). She points out that school-at-home makes use of many management tools that are used for large groups of children in the classroom; they can be used at home, but are not necessary when teaching one child or a small group.
HT: Jenny and Dawn
Today's Laugh
US tourists, a man and his wife are traveling in the Middle East. An Arab approaches the husband, saying, "I'll give you 100 camels for your woman."
After a long silence, the husband says, "She's not for sale."
The indignant wife says, "What took you so long to answer?"
The husband replied, "I was trying to figure out how to get 100 camels back home."
After a long silence, the husband says, "She's not for sale."
The indignant wife says, "What took you so long to answer?"
The husband replied, "I was trying to figure out how to get 100 camels back home."
Friday, April 23, 2010
How Vain Am I?
Ten weeks ago I got a haircut. I liked it enough to want to keep it that length. I should've had it cut 2-4 weeks ago. I don't want to spend the money or take the time to go to a salon.
Rachel has cut my hair in the past. But she's going to be moving, so I can't depend on her to give me bimonthly haircuts.
Do I trust my husband to do it? He would be the obvious choice; he'll be sticking around for a few years, y'know.
What if he botches it? Does he trust me to forgive him if he makes me look like a complete weirdo? Do I trust me to forgive him if he butchers my hair? Hmmm. This could get dicey.
But I betcha he can do it.
(It's amazing to think that anybody who looks as frumpy as I do could even care about an imperfect "learner's permit" haircutting job. It's simply not logical.)
Next question: If I talk myself into having Gary cut my hair, can I talk him into doing it?
Rachel has cut my hair in the past. But she's going to be moving, so I can't depend on her to give me bimonthly haircuts.
Do I trust my husband to do it? He would be the obvious choice; he'll be sticking around for a few years, y'know.
What if he botches it? Does he trust me to forgive him if he makes me look like a complete weirdo? Do I trust me to forgive him if he butchers my hair? Hmmm. This could get dicey.
But I betcha he can do it.
(It's amazing to think that anybody who looks as frumpy as I do could even care about an imperfect "learner's permit" haircutting job. It's simply not logical.)
Next question: If I talk myself into having Gary cut my hair, can I talk him into doing it?
Today's Laugh
A little girl was trying to raise $100 for her softball team. She prayed for two weeks but nothing happened. Then she decided to write a letter to the Lord requesting the $100.
When the postal authorities received the letter addressed to "The Lord, USA," they decided to send it to the President of the United States. The President was so impressed, touched, and amused that he instructed his secretary to send the little girl a $5 bill.
The President thought this would appear to be a lot of money to a little girl. The little girl was delighted with the $5 and sat down to write a thank-you note to the Lord, which read:
Dear Lord, Thank you very much for sending me the money. However, I noticed that for some reason you had to send it through Washington, DC. As usual, those jerks deducted $95. Love, Sara.
When the postal authorities received the letter addressed to "The Lord, USA," they decided to send it to the President of the United States. The President was so impressed, touched, and amused that he instructed his secretary to send the little girl a $5 bill.
The President thought this would appear to be a lot of money to a little girl. The little girl was delighted with the $5 and sat down to write a thank-you note to the Lord, which read:
Dear Lord, Thank you very much for sending me the money. However, I noticed that for some reason you had to send it through Washington, DC. As usual, those jerks deducted $95. Love, Sara.
Thursday, April 22, 2010
The Problem with "Work Before Play"
It seems frivolous to play when there's work to be done. Do the work first. Then rest. Or goof off. If we play before we work, we could play forever and not ever buckle down.
Problem #1. Workaholics can work forever and not ever stop buckling down. But that's not the point of this post.
Problem #2. Homeschooling can be confounding when you intend to "work before play." The "work" is the housekeeping and the gardening and the errands that must be done to maintain a household. The "play" is snuggling in bed on a cold morning and reading a book with your daughter. The "play" is going on learning-tangents to assuage your curiosity about a few dozen items that come up during the day's section of history-reading. The "play" is going on a nature walk with binoculars and scouting out birds so that real-life experience fleshes out what you're reading from your science book. The "play" is building a transmission or a sewing machine out of your Fischertechniks.
But if the "play" is the schoolwork that should be occupying a hefty portion of your day as homeschoolers, then "play" needs to come before work. At least, sometimes it does.
Such frivolity. Such goofing off. This workaholic is going to have to try harder to quit working so hard. Or do one doozy of a job of redefining "work."
Problem #1. Workaholics can work forever and not ever stop buckling down. But that's not the point of this post.
Problem #2. Homeschooling can be confounding when you intend to "work before play." The "work" is the housekeeping and the gardening and the errands that must be done to maintain a household. The "play" is snuggling in bed on a cold morning and reading a book with your daughter. The "play" is going on learning-tangents to assuage your curiosity about a few dozen items that come up during the day's section of history-reading. The "play" is going on a nature walk with binoculars and scouting out birds so that real-life experience fleshes out what you're reading from your science book. The "play" is building a transmission or a sewing machine out of your Fischertechniks.
But if the "play" is the schoolwork that should be occupying a hefty portion of your day as homeschoolers, then "play" needs to come before work. At least, sometimes it does.
Such frivolity. Such goofing off. This workaholic is going to have to try harder to quit working so hard. Or do one doozy of a job of redefining "work."
Today's Laugh
A farm boy accidentally overturned his wagonload of wheat on the road. The farmer that lived nearby came to investigate.
"Hey, Willis," he called out, "forget your troubles for a while and come and have dinner with us. Then I'll help you put the wagon right."
"That's very nice of you," Willis answered, "but I don't think Dad would like me to."
"Aw, come on, son!" the farmer insisted.
"Well, OK," the boy finally agreed, "but Dad won't like it."
After a hearty dinner, Willis thanked the host. "I feel a lot better now, but I know Dad's going to be real upset."
"Don't be silly!" said the neighbor. "By the way, where is he?"
"Under the wagon," replied Willis.
"Hey, Willis," he called out, "forget your troubles for a while and come and have dinner with us. Then I'll help you put the wagon right."
"That's very nice of you," Willis answered, "but I don't think Dad would like me to."
"Aw, come on, son!" the farmer insisted.
"Well, OK," the boy finally agreed, "but Dad won't like it."
After a hearty dinner, Willis thanked the host. "I feel a lot better now, but I know Dad's going to be real upset."
"Don't be silly!" said the neighbor. "By the way, where is he?"
"Under the wagon," replied Willis.
Wednesday, April 21, 2010
Beans
It's such fun to have Philip over. He's the one who, for so many years, drove our homeschool with his curiosity about a gazillion things. When the older kids are around visiting, they're always doing what they've done all their lives, hypothesizing and looking up answers to bizarre questions and discussing.
Sunday it was beans. What's the difference between the different kinds of beans? After some web-surfing and science-searching, he discovered that black beans, navy beans, kidney beans, etc, are all the same species. Now, lentils and peas are in the same family/subfamily/tribe, but different genus and species. Garbanzos are the same family/subfamily as all the other beans, but different genus and species; same goes for fava beans.
But Anasazi, pink beans, pinto beans, black beans, navy beans, and kidney beans are all the same species. That threw me: they're different colors and they taste different and their nutrients aren't identical. But people come in different colors and we're all the same species. Dogs might look different from one another, but they're all the same species. I guess beans are the same.
The freaky things you learn when Philip comes to visit!
Sunday it was beans. What's the difference between the different kinds of beans? After some web-surfing and science-searching, he discovered that black beans, navy beans, kidney beans, etc, are all the same species. Now, lentils and peas are in the same family/subfamily/tribe, but different genus and species. Garbanzos are the same family/subfamily as all the other beans, but different genus and species; same goes for fava beans.
But Anasazi, pink beans, pinto beans, black beans, navy beans, and kidney beans are all the same species. That threw me: they're different colors and they taste different and their nutrients aren't identical. But people come in different colors and we're all the same species. Dogs might look different from one another, but they're all the same species. I guess beans are the same.
The freaky things you learn when Philip comes to visit!
Today's Laugh
A band director named Ravelli was having a lot of trouble with one drummer. He talked and talked and talked with the drummer, and performance simply didn't improve.
Finally, before the whole band, he said, "When a musician just can't handle his instrument and doesn't improve when given help, they take away the instrument, and give him two sticks, and make him a drummer."
A stage whisper was heard from the percussion section: "And if he can't handle even that, they take away one of his sticks and make him a conductor."
Finally, before the whole band, he said, "When a musician just can't handle his instrument and doesn't improve when given help, they take away the instrument, and give him two sticks, and make him a drummer."
A stage whisper was heard from the percussion section: "And if he can't handle even that, they take away one of his sticks and make him a conductor."
Tuesday, April 20, 2010
Alia Pictures
Because some of you aren't Facebook friends with Katie, here are a few pictures from recent months.
Drawing with markers in February
Just had a taste of bubble-wand
March
Easter
Drawing with markers in February
Just had a taste of bubble-wand
March
Easter
A Second Laugh for Today
Go read my daughter's tale of an interchange with some customers at work last weekend. I couldn't stop laughing as I read it!
Today's Laugh
The father of five children had won a toy at a raffle. He called his kids together to ask which one should have the present.
"Who is the most obedient?" he asked. "Who never talks back to mother? Who does everything she says?"
Five small voices answered in unison. "Okay, Dad, you get the toy."
"Who is the most obedient?" he asked. "Who never talks back to mother? Who does everything she says?"
Five small voices answered in unison. "Okay, Dad, you get the toy."
Monday, April 19, 2010
Accurate Ears and Intuition
Sandy tells the story of how, when she was little, her uncle would play a game of asking the kids to "sing an A" or "what is an F-sharp?" Sandy has perfect pitch, and she could never figure out what the "game" was; somebody asks you to sing a B-flat and you do; so what's the trick?
When I was in school and the music teacher would have us listen to a concert piece, she would point out, "Do you hear what the oboe is doing in this section?" or "Aren't the violins beautiful here!" I didn't get it. I could hear music, but I couldn't hear individual instruments. Of course, I was the kid who drove my 1st- and 2nd-grade teachers batty when they tried to teach me to spell pen and pin, or are and our. "Can't you HEAR the difference?" Nope. Sure couldn't. (By the way, now that I'm grown up, I can hear the difference in the words, and I usually can recognize the trumpets and the cellos and the flutes in a recording of a symphony.)
When Gary was repairing the deck, there was almost nothing I could do to help during the day while he was at work. He had a picture in his head of what needed to be done, and he worked methodically at bringing that picture to life. But to explain the steps to me? Couldn't do it. He didn't have it all figured out; he just had something in his mind that he was making come about. Paul would do the same thing with Lego castles. They have a mechanical-spatial intelligence that I don't have.
People on the autism spectrum don't read faces well. They don't pick up on social clues so as to know what other people are thinking and feeling, or what's motivating the other guy. Then there are others of us who are pretty darn perceptive when it comes to noticing other people's feelings or motivations. When asked to explain how I know what somebody's thinking, I can't do it. But that doesn't mean I don't know -- just like Gary knew what he was doing with the deck but couldn't say why, just like Sandy can pull an on-key pitch out of thin air when other people can't even match a pitch as they're hearing it.
When other people can't see something that is obvious to me, sometimes I try to convince myself that I don't know what I know. After all, I can't explain why I know. I can't prove it. Other people don't see it. So am I nuts to perceive things that other don't perceive? Or is this just like when a 9-yr-old can't hear the difference between pen and pin? Some people detect things that others do not; some people have intelligences that are not as well developed in others.
When I was in school and the music teacher would have us listen to a concert piece, she would point out, "Do you hear what the oboe is doing in this section?" or "Aren't the violins beautiful here!" I didn't get it. I could hear music, but I couldn't hear individual instruments. Of course, I was the kid who drove my 1st- and 2nd-grade teachers batty when they tried to teach me to spell pen and pin, or are and our. "Can't you HEAR the difference?" Nope. Sure couldn't. (By the way, now that I'm grown up, I can hear the difference in the words, and I usually can recognize the trumpets and the cellos and the flutes in a recording of a symphony.)
When Gary was repairing the deck, there was almost nothing I could do to help during the day while he was at work. He had a picture in his head of what needed to be done, and he worked methodically at bringing that picture to life. But to explain the steps to me? Couldn't do it. He didn't have it all figured out; he just had something in his mind that he was making come about. Paul would do the same thing with Lego castles. They have a mechanical-spatial intelligence that I don't have.
People on the autism spectrum don't read faces well. They don't pick up on social clues so as to know what other people are thinking and feeling, or what's motivating the other guy. Then there are others of us who are pretty darn perceptive when it comes to noticing other people's feelings or motivations. When asked to explain how I know what somebody's thinking, I can't do it. But that doesn't mean I don't know -- just like Gary knew what he was doing with the deck but couldn't say why, just like Sandy can pull an on-key pitch out of thin air when other people can't even match a pitch as they're hearing it.
When other people can't see something that is obvious to me, sometimes I try to convince myself that I don't know what I know. After all, I can't explain why I know. I can't prove it. Other people don't see it. So am I nuts to perceive things that other don't perceive? Or is this just like when a 9-yr-old can't hear the difference between pen and pin? Some people detect things that others do not; some people have intelligences that are not as well developed in others.
Today's Laugh
For Eamonn --
A girl went out on a date with a trumpet player. When she came home that evening, her roommate asked, "Well, how was it? Did his embouchure make him a great kisser?"
"Nah," said the first girl. "That tight, dry, tiny little pucker. It was no fun at all."
The next night she went out with a tuba player. When she came home, the roommate asked, "Well, how was his kissing?"
"Ugh!" the first girl exclaimed. "Those huge, rubbery, blubbery, slobbering slabs of meat. It was just gross!"
The next night she went out with a French horn player. When she came back, the roommate asked, "Well, how was his kissing?"
"His kissing was just so-so. But I loved the way he held me."
- - - - - - - - - - - - - - -
and for Kara --
What's the difference between a viola and an onion?
No one cries when you cut up a viola.
A girl went out on a date with a trumpet player. When she came home that evening, her roommate asked, "Well, how was it? Did his embouchure make him a great kisser?"
"Nah," said the first girl. "That tight, dry, tiny little pucker. It was no fun at all."
The next night she went out with a tuba player. When she came home, the roommate asked, "Well, how was his kissing?"
"Ugh!" the first girl exclaimed. "Those huge, rubbery, blubbery, slobbering slabs of meat. It was just gross!"
The next night she went out with a French horn player. When she came back, the roommate asked, "Well, how was his kissing?"
"His kissing was just so-so. But I loved the way he held me."
- - - - - - - - - - - - - - -
and for Kara --
What's the difference between a viola and an onion?
No one cries when you cut up a viola.
Sunday, April 18, 2010
John 21
In the story of the great catch of fish after the resurrection (John 21), when the disciples arrive onshore, they find Jesus with a fire of coals. When Isaiah was commissioned as a prophet (Isaiah 6), the angel touched his lips with [ta da!] a burning coal from the fire.
Near the end of the chapter, Peter asks Jesus about John. What's going to happen to John? Will he be a prisoner some day too? Jesus tells Peter to "Follow Me." Interestingly enough, that was what Jesus said when He first called Peter to be an apostle (Matthew 4).
It's kind of comforting that even the great St Peter had to be told some things over and over.
Near the end of the chapter, Peter asks Jesus about John. What's going to happen to John? Will he be a prisoner some day too? Jesus tells Peter to "Follow Me." Interestingly enough, that was what Jesus said when He first called Peter to be an apostle (Matthew 4).
It's kind of comforting that even the great St Peter had to be told some things over and over.
Saturday, April 17, 2010
Thomas Saw
Did Jesus show Himself to Thomas to get Thomas to believe in Him? (John 20)
That's what we usually hear.
But Paul tells us that faith comes by hearing, not by seeing. In the resurrection accounts, Luke (chapter 24) shows us that the Emmaus disciples did not see Jesus even though they saw Him. It was His preaching that thrilled their hearts, and it was the breaking of the bread that finally opened their eyes to see.
Thomas's seeing was not Jesus' scheme to get Thomas to change his mind about the stories the others had been telling him. Thomas saw because Jesus had said beforehand that the apostles would see Him. Jesus chose His apostles; they needed to be witnesses of the resurrected body of the Lord. Jesus had promised them on Thursday night (John 16) that for a little while they would not see Him, because He was going to the Father, but that after a little while they would see Him. And Jesus' word always always comes true.
Thomas saw in fulfillment of Jesus' word -- not because it was the only way Jesus could think of to convince Thomas of the resurrection.
Seeing is not believing.
Hearing is believing.
That's what we usually hear.
But Paul tells us that faith comes by hearing, not by seeing. In the resurrection accounts, Luke (chapter 24) shows us that the Emmaus disciples did not see Jesus even though they saw Him. It was His preaching that thrilled their hearts, and it was the breaking of the bread that finally opened their eyes to see.
Thomas's seeing was not Jesus' scheme to get Thomas to change his mind about the stories the others had been telling him. Thomas saw because Jesus had said beforehand that the apostles would see Him. Jesus chose His apostles; they needed to be witnesses of the resurrected body of the Lord. Jesus had promised them on Thursday night (John 16) that for a little while they would not see Him, because He was going to the Father, but that after a little while they would see Him. And Jesus' word always always comes true.
Thomas saw in fulfillment of Jesus' word -- not because it was the only way Jesus could think of to convince Thomas of the resurrection.
Seeing is not believing.
Hearing is believing.
Too Much TV
Hemmed and finished the second dress on Tuesday while I was hawking CCA materials at the district pastors' conference.
Thursday I had a lovely day with a friend from Janesville who came to visit.
Been doing house-cleaning, bread-baking, soil-loosening, compost-spreading, and pruning. And I've barely made a dent in the yard chores.
There has been a lot of car-shuffling and bike-riding as we have been trying to have the green car repaired. Thought it was all fixed, but three times shortly after I picked up the car, the engine died going around a corner, so it's got to go back on Monday.
I got spoiled watching TV while sewing last week. I watched
Smile
Ballet Shoes
Man vs Food
10 Things I Hate About You
Kate & Leopold
Julie & Julia
Bedtime Stories
Shakespeare's Women
Ballykissangel
Bedtime Stories and Ballet Shoes were new to me and most excellent! 10 Things and Kate & Leopold are always fun. Shakespeare's Women was an actress's reflection on her Shakespearean roles, a little dry; the best part was Portia's speech on mercy from Merchant of Venice.
I started watching Ballykissangel near the end of my sewing stint and wish I'd found it earlier. It was a hoot! I wonder if it's such a crack-up for people who haven't lived in a parsonage in a small town and lived under the machinations of church bureaucracy? Now I'm wanting to watch all the episodes and dive into other seasons, but there's gardening to do and schoolwork to do.
Here's the picture of the winter dress. Don't you love the fabric?! I'm disappointed in the sleeve length; it's longer than anything I could buy, but still not long enough. This picture makes me look like allergies have swelled up my eye; I think it's just the lighting; I don't really look like I've been punched.
Thursday I had a lovely day with a friend from Janesville who came to visit.
Been doing house-cleaning, bread-baking, soil-loosening, compost-spreading, and pruning. And I've barely made a dent in the yard chores.
There has been a lot of car-shuffling and bike-riding as we have been trying to have the green car repaired. Thought it was all fixed, but three times shortly after I picked up the car, the engine died going around a corner, so it's got to go back on Monday.
I got spoiled watching TV while sewing last week. I watched
Smile
Ballet Shoes
Man vs Food
10 Things I Hate About You
Kate & Leopold
Julie & Julia
Bedtime Stories
Shakespeare's Women
Ballykissangel
Bedtime Stories and Ballet Shoes were new to me and most excellent! 10 Things and Kate & Leopold are always fun. Shakespeare's Women was an actress's reflection on her Shakespearean roles, a little dry; the best part was Portia's speech on mercy from Merchant of Venice.
I started watching Ballykissangel near the end of my sewing stint and wish I'd found it earlier. It was a hoot! I wonder if it's such a crack-up for people who haven't lived in a parsonage in a small town and lived under the machinations of church bureaucracy? Now I'm wanting to watch all the episodes and dive into other seasons, but there's gardening to do and schoolwork to do.
Here's the picture of the winter dress. Don't you love the fabric?! I'm disappointed in the sleeve length; it's longer than anything I could buy, but still not long enough. This picture makes me look like allergies have swelled up my eye; I think it's just the lighting; I don't really look like I've been punched.
Wednesday, April 14, 2010
Garden Report
In a brazen theft of Melody's idea, I'd like to try a weekly farm report garden report.
One tulip has bloomed. The other should be lovely tomorrow or Friday.
Somebody thinks the tiny daffodil blossoms are a tasty snack. (Where is my huntress and why is this daffodil-eater still alive??)
Hostas are coming up nicely. I have to call Ann and tell her to come take whatever she wants before I start thinning; the hostas were quite overcrowded last summer.
Kids and I worked on digging some of last year's compost out of the box today. We loosened soil around the grapes and blueberries, weeded there, and then worked in some of that lovely compost.
The potatoes I planted on Good Friday have not even begun to poke up their little sprouts through the thin layer of soil over them.
Itty-bitty spinach and romaine and beets are beginning to peek through.
Rhubarb is beginning to leaf out.
We weeded out a lot of the parsley that made it through winter and started growing again. Some is still in the garden, and some of what was culled went into tuna salad for lunch. Mmmm.
A four-foot strip of cilantro was planted today, with lots more to be planted later for the tomatoes.
One tulip has bloomed. The other should be lovely tomorrow or Friday.
Somebody thinks the tiny daffodil blossoms are a tasty snack. (Where is my huntress and why is this daffodil-eater still alive??)
Hostas are coming up nicely. I have to call Ann and tell her to come take whatever she wants before I start thinning; the hostas were quite overcrowded last summer.
Kids and I worked on digging some of last year's compost out of the box today. We loosened soil around the grapes and blueberries, weeded there, and then worked in some of that lovely compost.
The potatoes I planted on Good Friday have not even begun to poke up their little sprouts through the thin layer of soil over them.
Itty-bitty spinach and romaine and beets are beginning to peek through.
Rhubarb is beginning to leaf out.
We weeded out a lot of the parsley that made it through winter and started growing again. Some is still in the garden, and some of what was culled went into tuna salad for lunch. Mmmm.
A four-foot strip of cilantro was planted today, with lots more to be planted later for the tomatoes.
Tuesday, April 13, 2010
"Who Are You?"
It is SO awkward when somebody comes up to you with a big smile and a buoyant greeting and a hug/handshake ... and you don't know who they are. And then you embarrass yourself and ask, and find out it's somebody you obviously should've recognized, except he's aged a LOT since you last saw him and that's why you didn't recognize him. When it happened today, at least I had the sense to bite my tongue and refrain from blurting out why I didn't know who he was.
Educational Standards
As Andrew and I prepped for his ACT, we were both initially intimidated by all the stuff that he was supposed to know about literature. I don't Teach Literature here. We read. We discuss. We enjoy. Sometimes we even analyze ... but NOT in the way we studied literature in school.
In light of those recent experiences, I found this article to be telling.
I heartily recommend the rest of the article to those who care about education and how the government is undermining education. The article is also a good wake-up call to those of us who have been hearing the sirens singing as we waded into the public-school mindset which is inherent to ACT testing.
Thanks to Beth S who forwarded the link on FB.
In light of those recent experiences, I found this article to be telling.
Now assuredly what these literary artists [such as Melville and Austen] hoped above all else was that a century or two from their own time students in high schools would be using their great works not better to understand love or honor or revenge or nobility or happiness, but to "analyze how multiple themes or central ideas in a text interact, build on, and, in some cases, conflict with one another"; as well as to "analyze the impact of the author’s choices regarding how to develop and relate elements of a story or drama (e.g., where a story is set, how the action is ordered, how the characters are introduced and developed)." We know that this sort of innocuous thing is what the authors had in mind because that is what our teachers told us in school. We remember the drill: the plot graphs -— rising action, climax, falling action (or denouement) -— the cast lists of main characters and outlines of "main ideas," the possible literary techniques -— foreshadowing, alliteration, onomatopoeia. What we do not remember is one dad-gum thing about these stories.
I heartily recommend the rest of the article to those who care about education and how the government is undermining education. The article is also a good wake-up call to those of us who have been hearing the sirens singing as we waded into the public-school mindset which is inherent to ACT testing.
Thanks to Beth S who forwarded the link on FB.
Friday, April 09, 2010
Trial Dress
I had planned on spending one day sewing up a quick dress. It was more like one day just to lay out the pattern with all the adjustments I had to make. And there's a lining on the bodice; I haven't done that before. Then I tried it on and discovered that I needed to make some alterations (like raising the neckline and adjusting some baggy spots). Okay, so it was a week-long project and not a day-long project. This was supposed to be the trial dress, made with el-cheapo fabric, just to get my feet wet. Next I start the winter dress, hopefully with a lot more wisdom under my belt. The next one on the same pattern should be much easier. Right? Right????
Are You Having Fun?
Have you noticed how often that question comes up? When you're at the park or a concert or a museum or a skating rink, parents (or other kids) are frequently asking kids, "So, are you having fun?" Questions like that arise on vacations and other family outings too.
Why do we ask?
If somebody says, "No, this isn't fun," are we going to interrupt our bowling game and take the whole family home because one person isn't having fun? C'mon admit it -- if a kid says he's not having fun at the beach, you're not going to break off your week's vacation, pack up your belongings, and drive home. If he'd have more fun in the hotel with video games than at the beach, are you going to let him hole-up in his own little on-screen world and disconnect from the family, or are you going to stay at the beach and enjoy the sun and the sound of the waves and the smell of the saltwater?
So why do we ask?
I think the frequency of this question in our society encourages us to turn inward. Instead of enjoying (or not enjoying!) experiences, we are evaluating our response to experiences. We can't take an event for what it is, but we focus instead on whether we're having fun with it. I think the pervasiveness of this question leads to depression at holidays, where people are so concerned with how they feel about the enjoyment of their holiday that they cannot just take Thanksgiving or Christmas as it comes, however it comes. Frequently wondering "Am I having fun?" leads us to become fun-junkies, always looking for more excitement and a bigger high; it easily leaves us with disappointment when the new Lego set or the new car or the great vacation doesn't bring endless joy.
You know what? I have a whole lot more fun when I'm not trying to have fun.
Why do we ask?
If somebody says, "No, this isn't fun," are we going to interrupt our bowling game and take the whole family home because one person isn't having fun? C'mon admit it -- if a kid says he's not having fun at the beach, you're not going to break off your week's vacation, pack up your belongings, and drive home. If he'd have more fun in the hotel with video games than at the beach, are you going to let him hole-up in his own little on-screen world and disconnect from the family, or are you going to stay at the beach and enjoy the sun and the sound of the waves and the smell of the saltwater?
So why do we ask?
I think the frequency of this question in our society encourages us to turn inward. Instead of enjoying (or not enjoying!) experiences, we are evaluating our response to experiences. We can't take an event for what it is, but we focus instead on whether we're having fun with it. I think the pervasiveness of this question leads to depression at holidays, where people are so concerned with how they feel about the enjoyment of their holiday that they cannot just take Thanksgiving or Christmas as it comes, however it comes. Frequently wondering "Am I having fun?" leads us to become fun-junkies, always looking for more excitement and a bigger high; it easily leaves us with disappointment when the new Lego set or the new car or the great vacation doesn't bring endless joy.
You know what? I have a whole lot more fun when I'm not trying to have fun.
Thursday, April 08, 2010
Not Enough Time
Jane linked to an article about time-debt, and how we overspend our time like so many of us overspend our dollars. We plan to "pay it back" later, but we won't have any more spare time later than we do now.
Everything in this article is stuff I already know. But it's so hard to deny ourselves activities, socialization, duties, and other time-commitments. But the biggest thing that struck me was my consideration of a job. I cannot reduce any of my penny-pinching do-it-yourself ways if I take on paid employment. (Well, I could if I earned enough, but it would have to be a LOT.) But the reality is that my hours at a job each day mean I'd have to give up something else, and where would those hours come from? Probably do-it-yourself cooking, baking, and other frugality measures. So how much would I have to earn before a job paid off?
Everything in this article is stuff I already know. But it's so hard to deny ourselves activities, socialization, duties, and other time-commitments. But the biggest thing that struck me was my consideration of a job. I cannot reduce any of my penny-pinching do-it-yourself ways if I take on paid employment. (Well, I could if I earned enough, but it would have to be a LOT.) But the reality is that my hours at a job each day mean I'd have to give up something else, and where would those hours come from? Probably do-it-yourself cooking, baking, and other frugality measures. So how much would I have to earn before a job paid off?
Tuesday, April 06, 2010
Bits from Vigil -- Bound on the Altar
In Genesis 22, when Abraham is about to sacrifice his son, he bound Isaac his son and laid him on the altar, upon the wood.
In Psalm 118, the passover psalm, the psalm the pilgrims sang on Palm Sunday as Jesus rode into Jerusalem on a donkey, we hear: Bind the sacrifice with cords to the horns of the altar.
Sometimes we see crucifixes or paintings that show cords binding Jesus to the cross. This is a bad thing if the nails have been left out so that people don't get the heebie-jeebies over Jesus' being nailed to the cross. But if the wounds and the nails are there, the rope isn't a bad thing. We hear both in Genesis 22 and in Psalm 118 that the sacrifice is bound. And Jesus is the sacrifice.
In Psalm 118, the passover psalm, the psalm the pilgrims sang on Palm Sunday as Jesus rode into Jerusalem on a donkey, we hear: Bind the sacrifice with cords to the horns of the altar.
Sometimes we see crucifixes or paintings that show cords binding Jesus to the cross. This is a bad thing if the nails have been left out so that people don't get the heebie-jeebies over Jesus' being nailed to the cross. But if the wounds and the nails are there, the rope isn't a bad thing. We hear both in Genesis 22 and in Psalm 118 that the sacrifice is bound. And Jesus is the sacrifice.
Repetitions in Musical Lyrics
The liturgical-type folks often complain about the contemporary-worship folks having songs that repeat choruses over and over, or repeat the same lines again and again. Contrary to those "on my side of the argument," I don't necessarily see that as a problem. I very much like "God the Father, Be Our Stay" which repeats the same prayer, first to the Father, then to the Son, then to the Spirit.
I noticed too that Bach's and Handel's pieces are often very repetitious. It only takes a line or two to write out all the words from a 5-minute piece from the Messiah or from an aria. Similarly, it can be repetitious to pray the Our Father or the Hail Mary or the Jesus Prayer over and over. People may differ on opinions of whether this is good or bad, but it would be inconsistent to say that the meditative repetition is good for the one kind of music but bad for the other kind of music. Maybe we need to admit that there really is a difference in theology between the two kinds of music, and not claim that there's a problem with the style.
I noticed too that Bach's and Handel's pieces are often very repetitious. It only takes a line or two to write out all the words from a 5-minute piece from the Messiah or from an aria. Similarly, it can be repetitious to pray the Our Father or the Hail Mary or the Jesus Prayer over and over. People may differ on opinions of whether this is good or bad, but it would be inconsistent to say that the meditative repetition is good for the one kind of music but bad for the other kind of music. Maybe we need to admit that there really is a difference in theology between the two kinds of music, and not claim that there's a problem with the style.
Monday, April 05, 2010
Bits from Vigil -- Moses' and Miriam's Song
Your right hand, o Yahweh, has become glorious in power.
You stretched out Your right hand;
the earth swallowed them.
You in Your mercy have led forth the people whom You have redeemed.
I'd prefer to capitalize "Right Hand" because it is so often a name for Jesus, yet another designation for the pre-incarnate Second Person of the Holy Trinity.
The reason the Israelites passed through on dry ground,
the reason the Egyptians were destroyed,
the reason all enemies of God are defeated,
the reason He has safely brought His people through danger,
is
because Jesus was "stretched out" on the cross.
And that is how He has become glorious in power.
That death is how His enemies are dashed to pieces.
You stretched out Your right hand;
the earth swallowed them.
You in Your mercy have led forth the people whom You have redeemed.
I'd prefer to capitalize "Right Hand" because it is so often a name for Jesus, yet another designation for the pre-incarnate Second Person of the Holy Trinity.
The reason the Israelites passed through on dry ground,
the reason the Egyptians were destroyed,
the reason all enemies of God are defeated,
the reason He has safely brought His people through danger,
is
because Jesus was "stretched out" on the cross.
And that is how He has become glorious in power.
That death is how His enemies are dashed to pieces.
Bits from Vigil -- Noah's Animals
We hear in Genesis 1 about the animals being brought forth, each according to its kind.
And then in chapters 6-7, when we hear about the destruction of the earth and the re-creation of the new earth, we hear that God gathered the animals and brought them to the ark, each after its kind. And they were sent out after the flood according to their kind.
And then in chapters 6-7, when we hear about the destruction of the earth and the re-creation of the new earth, we hear that God gathered the animals and brought them to the ark, each after its kind. And they were sent out after the flood according to their kind.
Sunday, April 04, 2010
Bits from Vigil -- Questions to Consider
In the first chapter of Genesis, God gives every green herb, and every seed from the green herbs and from the trees yielding fruit, to man and the critters for their food. This has something (but I don't know what yet) to do with Jesus being the sustenance for all creation. It's not just about His feeding us earthly food, although it is about that too. Somehow, it's connected to the end of Isaiah 55 and that chunk of Colossians 1.
We kept hearing in various readings that So-and-so "lifted up his eyes and looked...." That "lifted up his eyes" probably means something. Not just that he opened his peepers and pointed them in a particular direction. But I don't know what it means.
In Genesis 22, after God stops Abraham from slaying his son, his only son whom he loved, we hear that "Abraham lifted up his eyes and looked and there behind him was a ram caught in the thicket by his horns." Interesting that he saw what was behind him when he looked up. I'm not sure what that means, either.
Oh, I do love the story of the sacrifice of Isaac. From our vantage point, we see how clearly God's people SAW the events of Good Friday in that story, even though they didn't realize what they were seeing. There are probably plenty of things we see, too, in the stories, truths that we don't realize we're seeing. But they will be clear enough one day when we no longer see as though in a mirror dimly.
We kept hearing in various readings that So-and-so "lifted up his eyes and looked...." That "lifted up his eyes" probably means something. Not just that he opened his peepers and pointed them in a particular direction. But I don't know what it means.
In Genesis 22, after God stops Abraham from slaying his son, his only son whom he loved, we hear that "Abraham lifted up his eyes and looked and there behind him was a ram caught in the thicket by his horns." Interesting that he saw what was behind him when he looked up. I'm not sure what that means, either.
Oh, I do love the story of the sacrifice of Isaac. From our vantage point, we see how clearly God's people SAW the events of Good Friday in that story, even though they didn't realize what they were seeing. There are probably plenty of things we see, too, in the stories, truths that we don't realize we're seeing. But they will be clear enough one day when we no longer see as though in a mirror dimly.
Saturday, April 03, 2010
Bits from Vigil -- Candlelight
We're so accustomed to electric lights.
Holding my candle tonight, in the dark in church, listening to the most beautiful words in all the liturgy*, eyes closed and head bowed, I could see the light of the candle dancing on the outside of my eyelids. A flame is nearly alive. So different from electric light bulbs. It's why we need real candles and real oil lamps --real flames-- as light in our churches.
O God, You are like a refiner's fire, and Your Spirit enkindles the hearts of Your faithful people with the fire of Your love. Bless, we implore You, this new flame and those who keep this joyful Easter festival ...
* This is the night when You brought our fathers, the children of Israel out of bondage in Egypt and led them through the Red Sea on dry ground...
Holding my candle tonight, in the dark in church, listening to the most beautiful words in all the liturgy*, eyes closed and head bowed, I could see the light of the candle dancing on the outside of my eyelids. A flame is nearly alive. So different from electric light bulbs. It's why we need real candles and real oil lamps --real flames-- as light in our churches.
O God, You are like a refiner's fire, and Your Spirit enkindles the hearts of Your faithful people with the fire of Your love. Bless, we implore You, this new flame and those who keep this joyful Easter festival ...
* This is the night when You brought our fathers, the children of Israel out of bondage in Egypt and led them through the Red Sea on dry ground...
Bits from Vigil -- Genesis 1:12
And the earth brought forth the tree that yields fruit,
whose seed is in itself, according to its kind.
Jesus is the Vine. (John 15)
He is the firstfruits of them that sleep in the earth. (1 Corinthians 15)
Whoever abides in Him bears much fruit. (John 15)
When you make His soul an offering for sin,
He shall see His seed,
He shall prolong His days. (Isaiah 53)
And here, silly me, I'd always thought that first chapter of Genesis was primarily about science and botany and zoology, with a few theological overtones. Maybe it's the other way around: thoroughly theological with a few science points which can be drawn from it too.
whose seed is in itself, according to its kind.
Jesus is the Vine. (John 15)
He is the firstfruits of them that sleep in the earth. (1 Corinthians 15)
Whoever abides in Him bears much fruit. (John 15)
When you make His soul an offering for sin,
He shall see His seed,
He shall prolong His days. (Isaiah 53)
And here, silly me, I'd always thought that first chapter of Genesis was primarily about science and botany and zoology, with a few theological overtones. Maybe it's the other way around: thoroughly theological with a few science points which can be drawn from it too.
Seven Last Words
Matthew and Mark record only "My God, My God, why have You forsaken Me?"
Luke has three: "forgive them," "today you will be with Me," and "into Your hands I commend the Spirit."
John has three: "behold your son," "I thirst," and "it is finished."
Interesting. Matthew and Mark and Peter (Mark's apostolic authority) weren't there at the cross. Luke's apostolic authority was Paul; Saul was probably there with the Pharisees who were murdering Jesus. Luke also relied heavily on Mary's eye-witness accounts; she was at the cross. John was at the cross, too, and he reports details that Matthew and Mark wouldn't have been there to hear.
(I like in the Passion how Mel Gibson shows Christians in the court of the high priest, the court of Herod, and the court of Pilate. It makes sense that there would be. And it would explain how the Church came to know some of the conversations that transpired that Thursday night and Friday morning.)
Pastor pointed out that it would be particularly important to Paul --given his background as a Pharisee and his persecution of Christians-- to ensure that Luke include the words of Jesus from the cross where He prayed for those who "know not what they do." In other words, Jesus was praying forPaul Saul. And the repentant thief was promised heaven, as was Paul. Finally, when Saul murdered Stephen, Stephen's last words were the same as two of Jesus' here; no wonder Paul wanted those words recorded in the gospel.
Luke has three: "forgive them," "today you will be with Me," and "into Your hands I commend the Spirit."
John has three: "behold your son," "I thirst," and "it is finished."
Interesting. Matthew and Mark and Peter (Mark's apostolic authority) weren't there at the cross. Luke's apostolic authority was Paul; Saul was probably there with the Pharisees who were murdering Jesus. Luke also relied heavily on Mary's eye-witness accounts; she was at the cross. John was at the cross, too, and he reports details that Matthew and Mark wouldn't have been there to hear.
(I like in the Passion how Mel Gibson shows Christians in the court of the high priest, the court of Herod, and the court of Pilate. It makes sense that there would be. And it would explain how the Church came to know some of the conversations that transpired that Thursday night and Friday morning.)
Pastor pointed out that it would be particularly important to Paul --given his background as a Pharisee and his persecution of Christians-- to ensure that Luke include the words of Jesus from the cross where He prayed for those who "know not what they do." In other words, Jesus was praying for
Friday, April 02, 2010
Potato-Planting by the Moon
Experiment year-#2 begins.
Mom told me that my grandma believed that it was important to plant potatoes by the moon. I could never remember, though, whether you were supposed to plant at the new moon or the full moon. Story goes that planting at the right time results in plenty of potatoes; planting two weeks later gives you lots of green leaves.
Last year we didn't get started on the garden until late. It was cold and wet. By the time the neighbor tilled for us and we received our order from Jungs, it was mid-June. I got those potato eyes in the garden as quickly as possible. The yield was miserable: three potatoes per hill.
Melody says to plant potatoes on Good Friday. That would be just after the full moon. (Moon phases determine the date for Easter.) Between Melody's advice and the beckoning of the sunny warmth of outdoors, I spent Thursday afternoon tilling the garden. Today two short rows of potatoes were started. By October I should have round-two of our experiment done.
It is amazing to me that I got ANYthing done around here today, with three church services, a visit to the pedorthist, and a late wake-up because of last night's prayer vigil. Happily, planting wasn't that hard in the light, fluffy, airy, crumbly, lovely soil that resulted from all thatpulverizing tilling yesterday.
PS: If you haven't heard/seen the footage of the congressman who's worried that Guam may capsize (yes, you heard me ... capsize) if a US military base is built there, you can find the you-tube snip on Melody's blog.
Mom told me that my grandma believed that it was important to plant potatoes by the moon. I could never remember, though, whether you were supposed to plant at the new moon or the full moon. Story goes that planting at the right time results in plenty of potatoes; planting two weeks later gives you lots of green leaves.
Last year we didn't get started on the garden until late. It was cold and wet. By the time the neighbor tilled for us and we received our order from Jungs, it was mid-June. I got those potato eyes in the garden as quickly as possible. The yield was miserable: three potatoes per hill.
Melody says to plant potatoes on Good Friday. That would be just after the full moon. (Moon phases determine the date for Easter.) Between Melody's advice and the beckoning of the sunny warmth of outdoors, I spent Thursday afternoon tilling the garden. Today two short rows of potatoes were started. By October I should have round-two of our experiment done.
It is amazing to me that I got ANYthing done around here today, with three church services, a visit to the pedorthist, and a late wake-up because of last night's prayer vigil. Happily, planting wasn't that hard in the light, fluffy, airy, crumbly, lovely soil that resulted from all that
PS: If you haven't heard/seen the footage of the congressman who's worried that Guam may capsize (yes, you heard me ... capsize) if a US military base is built there, you can find the you-tube snip on Melody's blog.
Farewell to My Birkenstocks
I picked up my orthotic inserts today. Even though I'm wearing shoes [SHOES? shoes???] I think it kinda feels good on my feet. They warned me to be careful and only wear the inserts for a few hours a day to start and to gradually work my way up. He said it will take a few weeks after becoming entirely comfortable in them before the leg- and foot-pain begins to lessen.
Right now, though, I am having a hard time adjusting to the mere thought of wearing anything but Birkenstocks. Ten years I spent in Birkenstocks. People made fun of me for my hippie shoes. Countless times they poked fun at me for my wool socks with my sandals in January. After that many years of thinking of myself as the-Birkenstock-girl, I'm beginning to realize that my Birks are part of my identity.
Okay, I acknowledge that that's pretty weird. But nevertheless, who am I now that they're gone? Am I still me?
Right now, though, I am having a hard time adjusting to the mere thought of wearing anything but Birkenstocks. Ten years I spent in Birkenstocks. People made fun of me for my hippie shoes. Countless times they poked fun at me for my wool socks with my sandals in January. After that many years of thinking of myself as the-Birkenstock-girl, I'm beginning to realize that my Birks are part of my identity.
Okay, I acknowledge that that's pretty weird. But nevertheless, who am I now that they're gone? Am I still me?
Golgotha
Jesus was crucified on Golgotha -- the place of the skull. The cross was driven into the place of the skull.
He shall crush your head,
and you shall bruise His heel.
He shall crush your head,
and you shall bruise His heel.
Wednesday, March 31, 2010
Catch Up
Paul is home for Easter break!
I spent time outdoors today, hauling manure, spading garden, doing lessons with Maggie. I love sunshine.
I get stressed out when there are blogposts in my mind, wanting to bust out, and I do my regular work and don't indulge my desire to write.
I'm going to have a day and a half next week with no kids. I might have to sew that winter dress I've been needing for the last several years. IF I can find any appropriate material, it should be marked way way down at this time of year. Or maybe I'll just spend the time tilling the garden.
Gary preaches for Maundy Thursday. It is so hard for him to find time to write a sermon in the couple of hours he has at home, especially when there are away-from-home commitments in the evenings.
Another day and a half till I get my shoe inserts. I'm hoping this will alleviate a whole lot of pain, and resolve some health problems that came in the wake of the pain.
I spent time outdoors today, hauling manure, spading garden, doing lessons with Maggie. I love sunshine.
I get stressed out when there are blogposts in my mind, wanting to bust out, and I do my regular work and don't indulge my desire to write.
I'm going to have a day and a half next week with no kids. I might have to sew that winter dress I've been needing for the last several years. IF I can find any appropriate material, it should be marked way way down at this time of year. Or maybe I'll just spend the time tilling the garden.
Gary preaches for Maundy Thursday. It is so hard for him to find time to write a sermon in the couple of hours he has at home, especially when there are away-from-home commitments in the evenings.
Another day and a half till I get my shoe inserts. I'm hoping this will alleviate a whole lot of pain, and resolve some health problems that came in the wake of the pain.
Tuesday, March 30, 2010
Today's Laugh
I think my son-in-law misses my daily jokes. He's hunting some up for me. Little does he know that I have a couple of goodies that I haven't gotten around to typing in yet. But only a couple. Somehow gardening and housecleaning and schoolwork have taken priority over joke-hunting.
So here's one from Nathan --
What happens to pastors who eat chili dogs?
They have to sit in their own pew.
So here's one from Nathan --
What happens to pastors who eat chili dogs?
They have to sit in their own pew.
Monday, March 29, 2010
Flowers
I saw yellow tulips in the neighbor's yard, against the nice, sunny south side of their garage. Wooo hooo for spring! My columbine, sedum, and daisies that I planted last year are all looking spiffy and healthy. Oh boy! The red tulips planted by the previous owner are coming up thicker and stronger than last year, and the leaves are 7-8" high now.
But I still don't see even the tiniest hint of the daffodils I planted last fall. Maybe they're very late daffodils? Maybe I will have to replant next fall.
Somewhere underneath last fall's leaves I managed to find last summer's compost. I dug some out, added it to part of a raised bed, and plunked down some spinach, lettuce, beet, and kohlrabi seeds. I should have salad fixin's just in time for Andrew to get his braces on and for Paul to be done with spring semester.
But I still don't see even the tiniest hint of the daffodils I planted last fall. Maybe they're very late daffodils? Maybe I will have to replant next fall.
Somewhere underneath last fall's leaves I managed to find last summer's compost. I dug some out, added it to part of a raised bed, and plunked down some spinach, lettuce, beet, and kohlrabi seeds. I should have salad fixin's just in time for Andrew to get his braces on and for Paul to be done with spring semester.
CCA Symposium Registration
The registration form for this June's symposium in Sussex/Waukesha has been uploaded to the church's website.
Sunday, March 28, 2010
Voting for Socialism
Brief clip of Maxine Waters during a House hearing nearly two years ago. It's making the online rounds, so you may have seen it already. But if you haven't, be sure to see what the Democrats admit their plans are.
Saturday, March 27, 2010
Ribs!
Even though I've made ribs and they turned out good (or maybe "good enough") tonight was the first time I made ribs that knocked our socks off. This was completely different. Deliciously different.
Every other time, I simmered the ribs for about an hour, and then put on the barbecue sauce to grill them for a few minutes. This time I looked up a variety of online recipes. Most said to boil the ribs as I'd always done. But some recipes said not to; one said that you boil all the flavor out so that you have great broth but not-great ribs.
The trick is to cook them very very very long on very very low heat. Neither Gary nor I wanted to tend the grill for the whole day. So I applied a rub (some sugar, salt, spices) to both sides of the meat and let it sit for an hour. Then the racks of ribs were laid on large pieces of foil. I poured on barbecue sauce and sealed up the foil into a tight package. Then those packets baked at 250 for about six hours. When it was nearly time to eat, I opened the packets, poured on another tablespoon or two of BBQ sauce, and popped them under the broiler for a few minutes.
These were the best ribs I've ever eaten in my life. I've never been much of a rib person, but I could definitely have eaten more than my share of the meat tonight!
Every other time, I simmered the ribs for about an hour, and then put on the barbecue sauce to grill them for a few minutes. This time I looked up a variety of online recipes. Most said to boil the ribs as I'd always done. But some recipes said not to; one said that you boil all the flavor out so that you have great broth but not-great ribs.
The trick is to cook them very very very long on very very low heat. Neither Gary nor I wanted to tend the grill for the whole day. So I applied a rub (some sugar, salt, spices) to both sides of the meat and let it sit for an hour. Then the racks of ribs were laid on large pieces of foil. I poured on barbecue sauce and sealed up the foil into a tight package. Then those packets baked at 250 for about six hours. When it was nearly time to eat, I opened the packets, poured on another tablespoon or two of BBQ sauce, and popped them under the broiler for a few minutes.
These were the best ribs I've ever eaten in my life. I've never been much of a rib person, but I could definitely have eaten more than my share of the meat tonight!
John 18:4
In the Garden, when Judas showed up with the soldiers --
Jesus therefore, knowing all things that would come upon Him, went forward and said to them, "Whom are you seeking?"
Knowing all things that would come upon Him. When the soldiers arrived, He knew what was coming, and still He went forward to face it. A Lamb goes uncomplaining forth...
Interestingly, when He answered, "I am He" a few verses later, they drew back. Jesus --who, humanly speaking, has everything to fear-- goes forward. The thugs --who, humanly speaking, have nothing to fear-- are the ones who retreat. Love goes forward, in spite of suffering. Unbelief pulls away from that love.
Jesus therefore, knowing all things that would come upon Him, went forward and said to them, "Whom are you seeking?"
Knowing all things that would come upon Him. When the soldiers arrived, He knew what was coming, and still He went forward to face it. A Lamb goes uncomplaining forth...
Interestingly, when He answered, "I am He" a few verses later, they drew back. Jesus --who, humanly speaking, has everything to fear-- goes forward. The thugs --who, humanly speaking, have nothing to fear-- are the ones who retreat. Love goes forward, in spite of suffering. Unbelief pulls away from that love.
Friday, March 26, 2010
The Disciples on Maundy Thursday
I don't get it.
Jesus tells them that one of them will betray Him. They must've thought He knew what He was talking about. They didn't doubt the veracity of what He said; they apparently assumed they were capable of such treachery: they all asked, "Is it I, Lord?"
An hour or so passes. Judas left to fetch the soldiers. Jesus is teaching the others. He says that Peter will deny Him. Peter says "no way; ain't gonna happen." And "they all said likewise." In other words, they thought Jesus was completely off-base about this.
Why? If they thought they were such staunch followers that nothing could make them deny, then why did each one ask if he were the one who would betray the Lord?
Jesus tells them that one of them will betray Him. They must've thought He knew what He was talking about. They didn't doubt the veracity of what He said; they apparently assumed they were capable of such treachery: they all asked, "Is it I, Lord?"
An hour or so passes. Judas left to fetch the soldiers. Jesus is teaching the others. He says that Peter will deny Him. Peter says "no way; ain't gonna happen." And "they all said likewise." In other words, they thought Jesus was completely off-base about this.
Why? If they thought they were such staunch followers that nothing could make them deny, then why did each one ask if he were the one who would betray the Lord?
Today's Laugh
I haven't made time to hunt up jokes this week since my last batch of pre-dated blog jokes ran out. A bunch of you probably saw this one already on the newest episode of my favorite geek show, Big Bang Theory, but I'm posting it anyway since I busted gut over it!
Why did the chicken cross the Mobius strip?
To get to the same side.
Why did the chicken cross the Mobius strip?
To get to the same side.
Thursday, March 25, 2010
Honey-Roasted Chicken
Yeah, yeah, I know "honey-roasted" makes ya think of peanuts on an airplane. I bought a chicken a few days ago. Andrew decided that "honey-roasted" sounded good. Where he got that idea, I haven't a clue. But we hunted up some recipes, merged them, and tried it out.
Woooo boy!
For a 5# chicken, we used:
about 2/3 or 3/4 cup honey
about 2 Tbsp lemon juice
about 2 Tbsp olive oil
1/8 or 1/4 tsp Emeril's Essence
about 1/2 tsp salt
about 1/8 tsp pepper
Stir together the glaze/marinade stuff.
Rinse the chicken under running water; shake off excess water.
Put chicken in a big ol' plastic bag.
Pour the honey stuff all over the bird, both sides.
Close bag; smear the marinade all around the bird.
Marinate for 4-6 hours in the fridge, turning the bag over every 1/2 hour or so.
Bake in high-sided roaster (I used the crock from my crockpot) at about 375. It takes about an hour for a 3# bird, and a little more than 2 hours for a 5# one.
After removing chicken from the roaster, dump the liquid from the roaster into a skillet, and boil it like silly to reduce it. This makes an awesome dipping sauce for the chicken. Or to pour on your veggies. Or to dip bread in.
This was super easy and super tasty, and we have to make it again.
Woooo boy!
For a 5# chicken, we used:
about 2/3 or 3/4 cup honey
about 2 Tbsp lemon juice
about 2 Tbsp olive oil
1/8 or 1/4 tsp Emeril's Essence
about 1/2 tsp salt
about 1/8 tsp pepper
Stir together the glaze/marinade stuff.
Rinse the chicken under running water; shake off excess water.
Put chicken in a big ol' plastic bag.
Pour the honey stuff all over the bird, both sides.
Close bag; smear the marinade all around the bird.
Marinate for 4-6 hours in the fridge, turning the bag over every 1/2 hour or so.
Bake in high-sided roaster (I used the crock from my crockpot) at about 375. It takes about an hour for a 3# bird, and a little more than 2 hours for a 5# one.
After removing chicken from the roaster, dump the liquid from the roaster into a skillet, and boil it like silly to reduce it. This makes an awesome dipping sauce for the chicken. Or to pour on your veggies. Or to dip bread in.
This was super easy and super tasty, and we have to make it again.
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