Our Report Card

2011-08-26T20:31:00.003-04:00

“The amount of eccentricity in a society has generally been proportional to the amount of genius, mental vigor, and moral courage it contained. That so few now dare to be eccentric marks the chief danger of the time.” John Stuart Mill

2011-06-16T17:48:00.001-04:00

We've had an awesomely cool week with lows in the 50s and highs in the 80s. This is totally unusual for June in NC. But we're loving it! Supposed to get hot again tomorrow.

Henry's team, the Orange County Efland Angels, won their season championship!!!! GO ANGELS!!!! It was a fun season for Henry. He caught a game winning ball in mid season. Good job Henry :o)

Blackberry the calf is, indeed, living in our yard. That's been fun. And one of our chickens went broody on a wooden egg. So Riley and I got a fertile egg from Woodcrest for her. She's been sitting over week now. Good Mama!

We've been watching three Black Swallowtail caterpillars eating on our dill for a couple of weeks now. Today Henry and noticed the last one was gone, after leaving a pile of frass (caterpillar poop) on the Corsican mint growing under the dill. Moments later we found the fat green stripey fellow crawling for China. We picked him up on a stick about 10 seconds before a chicken got to him. He opened his osmeterium (I do hope you are all impressed with these caterpillar related words) and shot out a stinky cheese smell. At first I thought we'd put him in a dirty milk jar. (Imagine my HORROR that one of milk jars would be so dirty!) Then we thought the stick he was on was old and stinky. Nope, smell the work of the osmeterium. Apparently they drop a big load of frass (check) and start a lot of climbing and crawling (check) and are about 1.5 inches long (check) about 24 hours before they form a chrysalis. So we put lil'stinky in a good clean jar and will await a butterfly hopefully in about 1-2 weeks.

All this caterpillar research happened while Riley was across the street playing with Emma. She had a super fun day. Details for that, perhaps, to follow on her blog? (hint hint)

Osmeterium are unique to Swallowtails:

2011-06-01T12:26:00.002-04:00

After two days of 102, I'm willing to admit its really hot. We made it to June anyway, which is a personal goal of mine. And then I broke down and turned on the a/c. Its oddly quiet inside the house now. We can't hear the cicadas. (This was their 13th yearly return and Henry has been collecting tubs of shucked cicada skins, ewwwww.) And tonight we won't hear the owls. But the dogs are praising all that's holy for this odd magical cool air.

Last night we visited a neighboring corn field at dusk to see the fireflies. There must have been thousands of them blinking over the deep green field. It was so beautiful, nature's real magic.

In early May we went to Topsail and stayed at the Sea Vista to celebrate our dear May babies. We hadn't been in a couple of years and, oh my, it was lovely to be by the ocean again. Standing on the pier one evening we saw an osprey fly in. I've never seen that at the beach before. Dolphins rolled past us in the breakers. We found shells, swam, napped, ate really good food - root beer floats for Ry, with coconut cake as well!

In mid May Grandpa Tom came for a visit. He could not have been nicer. It was so good to see him and Tyrone. They are traveling biannually between Phippsburg Maine and Tom's new condo in Florida. So hopefully we'll get to see lots more of those two.

Tyrone is much braver about de-ticking than Jackson!

Of course, we took the crew for ice cream at Maple View Farms.

Even though its only the first of June I found two baby zucchinis in the garden this morning. The tomatoes are thigh high (now that they are staked) and our beans are climbing as fast as they can. Its good for my soul, gardening and harvesting food. We've eaten 100% more chard this spring than we would have otherwise, just because its growing in the back yard. I planted the tomatoes early in between a row of kale and a row of chard. That has worked fabulously. As the tomatoes come up, the greens get cut back, and the extra greens are becoming mulch for the tomatoes. It has worked out as a good use of space and companion planting. Peppers for our dear Henry look good too.

2011-05-28T08:27:00.002-04:00

Blogging! I need to start again. There is a beach trip, a calf in the yard, and a visit from Grandpa Tom all unrecorded. Plus, our garden is cranking.

2011-04-21T07:29:00.000-04:00

Henry's first baseball game was last night. Perhaps the enormous four leaf clover that Riley found for him before the game worked. Or maybe it was sheer skill, but the Angels beat the White Sox 12 to 7. Go Angels! Henry, number 10, center out field. Yay Henry!

2011-04-16T20:19:00.000-04:00

From Belinda's camera, last week, an afternoon lunch in Exchange Park in Hillsborough.

2011-04-15T13:01:00.001-04:00

Allan and Chris raised five born children. And 25 adopted or fostered kids. Allan has a lot to say about parenting. The most moving of which is that in his opinion God gives birth parents very specific knowledge about their specific children. He says this is the loss of adoption, parenting blind without that critical specific insight into each specific child.

This comforts him as a grandparent. Because his children frequently make different choices for their children than he would. They have different boundaries and varying levels of acceptable risk. But he is completely certain and settled in his heart, after 40 years of parenting, that while parents can be flawed their wisdom is sacred.

He also believes that diversity is God given and sacred.

This wonderful as it removes judgment and allows for very spacious individuality and room to love each child (and parent) as they are. Not only does this comfort me when I see parenting with which I disagree. It also bolsters my confidence when I'm called on to make decisions for you kids.

2011-04-05T17:15:00.002-04:00

2011-04-05T12:33:00.000-04:00

Stevie Taylor's blog post this morning reminds me of you kids:

http://ruffledfeathersandspilledmilk.com/?p=2006#more-2006

2011-04-05T09:21:00.002-04:00

2011-04-05T07:34:00.001-04:00

Its just us now. Only Henry Riley Joe and Katherine. I love you!

2011-04-01T11:43:00.000-04:00

The local science museum yesterday. A lovely rainy day, card to capture. Nice pictures of Henry, especially, I think. (the young demon refuses to be caught)

2011-03-28T07:04:00.001-04:00

Here's to the land of the long leaf pine,
The summer land where the sun doth shine,
Where the weak grow strong and the strong grow great,
Here's to "Down Home," the Old North State!

Here's to the land of the cotton bloom white,
Where the scuppernong perfumes the breeze at night,
Where the soft southern moss and jessamine mate,
'Neath the murmuring pines of the Old North State!

Here's to the land where the galax grows,
Where the rhododendron's rosette glows,
Where soars Mount Mitchell's summit great,
In the "Land of the Sky," in the Old North State!

Here's to the land where maidens are fair,
Where friends are true and cold hearts rare,
The near land, the dear land, whatever fate,
The blessed land, the best land, the Old North State!

~Leonora Martin 1904

2011-03-20T07:34:00.001-04:00

The Owl Sweater, as promised.

2011-03-17T11:00:00.000-04:00

Scanner Maddness: I kind of went nuts with the scanner. Because searching for the triangle hat picture, had me through old baby pictures. And blogs weren't invented when the kids were babies. So, I found the hat picture (but not one from the side, alas.) And whole bunch of old pictures I'm going to post as well. We'll begin with the triangle hat. Its a triangle, tied under the chin. Plus the first sweater I ever knit for Ry.

After triangles, I moved on to bonnets. I like this pattern a lot. But I would change the details. Here it is again, next to Henry wearing his Pirate sweater. The first sweater I ever knit. And on of the most difficult. I didn't know any better at the time, which turns out to be a decent way to learn - go for the hard stuff in innocence. I like the anchor on his sleeve.

Now we get into some baby pictures!

Joe holding Henry. He is such a beautiful man, eh?

I have no idea where she gets all this attitude!

The beginning of my love affair with farms. My first chicks.

A hat Mom made for Ry for her first Halloween: A Bunch Of Roses. Thanks Mom!

2011-03-17T07:56:00.001-04:00

I bought a bunch of curricula and made some plans and announced it was time to sit down and study. Riley said, "oh, I changed my mind, I don't want to do that anymore." Umm humm. Just as I suspected. Just as last time. But that's okay. Its good to explore different ideas about learning. Its good to expand our possibilities. And its great to have new resources in the house.

Since we began homeschooling I've had it in mind to make a Multiplication Tables Quilt. Which means, yes, I've been designing it now in my mind for seven years. I think its time to get on the quilting train again. I'll add quilting to my other list of projects. Riley pointed out that we don't need anymore quilts.

Don't need anymore quilts? What on earth can she possibly mean? I can't even compute that statement. But math has never been my strongest subject. Although, I did make an A+ on a paper I wrote in college titled: "The Mathematics of Quilting". The professor even asked if he could keep a copy, which was so shockingly delightful to me, I gave the paper to him for keeps.

2011-03-17T07:49:00.000-04:00

There has been all kinds of knitting going on and I owe pictures. I'm super inspired by this Scottish woman knitting and blogging at Needled. I bought her pattern for The Owl Sweater and knit one for Riley for Christmas. I'll get a picture of that. Plus....the whole sock boondoggle is in full swing. I have a spiritual problem with socks. I can't knit them. And I'm a fairly accomplished knitter. I can knit lace and sweaters and Barbaloot Suits. But not socks. I try and try. I knit sock-like things. I knit socks that don't fit. I'm especially good at ONE sock well fitting/one sock not. Sigh.... Its okay. One must try hard to learn. One must have perseverance and what Aunt Katherine called "stick-to-it-tivness." Socks are giving me the opportunity to model sticktoittivness. So, pictures. I'll get right on that.

And I'll find a picture of the triangle hat I knit for Riley when we lived in Texas. Its a pattern from Aunt Katherine. She knit these hats for us when we were little. Kate Davies at Needled just knit one and seeing it delighted me. I'm going to knit one for grownups, too.

When I'm done with all of that knitting and posting, I'm going to make myself the apron off of Needled, as well. Every self respecting milkmaid OBVIOUSLY needs one of those.

2011-03-16T21:02:00.000-04:00

2011-03-15T07:51:00.001-04:00

Let The Kids Rule The School

"The students in the Independent Project are remarkable but not because they are exceptionally motivated or unusually talented. They are remarkable because they demonstrate the kinds of learning and personal growth that are possible when teenagers feel ownership of their high school experience, when they learn things that matter to them and when they learn together. In such a setting, school capitalizes on rather than thwarts the intensity and engagement that teenagers usually reserve for sports, protest or friendship." ~Susan Engel

2011-03-15T07:37:00.001-04:00

Riley is pushing for more formalized study. I'm trying to get on the formal train. But I'm rusty after so many years. Still, I am a responsible adult. (I'm working on it, Honey.) On her own time, she is reading her way through the American Girl Series for an overview of American history. She plans to start writing book reports on these for language arts. Tomorrow we are going back to Barnes Ig Noble for math curricula. And she's decided Rosetta Stone Italian will suffice for a second language. She is driving all these plans for herself.

Henry started little league baseball last night. Oh! How wonderful is that? He is the only player who has never played before. The coaches were fantastic with him. They took tons of extra time to help him build up his skills. He is in a truly competitive situation for the first time in his life and it looks like its going to be really really really FUN. So that's quite happy. His week goes like this: guitar, baseball, ice skating, baseball, homeschool group, rest on Friday. When will he have time for all the reading he loves?

I can't go to evening practices because I'm working with the cows. Riley took a few pictures for me.

The first practice on a chilly evening. What promises spring more than that?

2011-03-10T18:43:00.000-05:00

MUD PUPPIES! Before:

And, if you can believe it, AFTER rinsing off. Try again, this time UNDER the chin:

2011-03-07T11:11:00.001-05:00

We've had Harry Potter-a-thon, a movie a night, concluding this evening. On Saturday night Ry made her famous chocolate cake iced with melted chocolate chips and powdered sugar. I suggested we cut the whole warm cake into four pieces. Which is just what we did and we ate while we watched. Blurgh! That was too much cake. And so much fun! :o)

2011-03-07T10:41:00.002-05:00

Paul Krugman argues in Degrees and Dollars this morning that college degrees are becoming less valuable every decade. I couldn't agree more. The old carrot trick telling five year olds they have to sit still and study hard so they can get into good colleges so they can be upper middle class wealthy adults is no longer true. Of course, its always been true that bad grades do not predict success in life, they don't even always predict the ability to get into college. But now its also true that the job market is forever changed. The jobs that will always be here are the jobs we create for ourselves. Given that, how do we prepare children for adult life? Do we put them in class rooms and drill math facts?

My kids spent about 40 minutes eating a hot breakfast this morning. Sitting in the warm morning sunshine with cold milk and steaming hot food in front of them, they did what they most often do at meals. They visited the world they created called Pez. This morning in Pez, May was in a bind. She was running a successful business selling ice cream when a competitor showed up. Apparently the competitor was neither sane nor fair. May's mother could not help her. Polite negotiation was not working. And May had to solve this problem to save her business. For 40 minutes, in the warmth and safety of their own home where the stakes were nil, the children worked hard to solve an intractable problem of huge importance. May was required to be brave, confrontational, and resourceful. Together the children engaged each other with the most outrageous creative problem solving and role-playing possible. They set for themselves and navigated a very real and salient adult problem. They laughed often and left the table well fed on many different levels.

One drifted away to practice guitar. Another will likely spend the next several hours upstairs drawing. Later we'll leave for guitar lessons and errands. Tomorrow will be another day with a new set of challenges. This is like no curricula I've ever encountered in any school public or private; we call it unschooling.

2011-03-04T07:09:00.001-05:00

Ry asked what we would watch if we could only watch one thing for the rest of our lives. I asked if she meant like a field of cows or like TV? She meant like a field of cows. Henry said, "Oz Fest." I suggested either the cows in the field or the ocean. Ry chose a river.

They were bouldering in a river with their Dad last weekend. He said, "All we need now is for a couple of geese to land." Within minutes a pair of geese wheeled in about 30 feet above the river and landed in front of them. They could hear feathers riffling the wind and see geese feet splay out before they hit the water. The humans hopped up on the path and trotted around the river crook to see the geese swim. Knowing they were there, the geese were still hard to find.

Apparently, our lives are exactly defined by Ry's question. My adult life has been devoted to watching: children grow, the road reel out in front of my car, and food assembling itself underneath my hands. With a dash of my husband on stage and a recent emphasis on cows. As a child most of my time not carefully worshipfully and longingly watching enormous industrial clocks in school or TV was spent staring at water and Pine trees.

If you could only watch one thing for the rest of your life, what would it be? It is not an esoteric question.

2011-03-02T16:01:00.003-05:00

The kids are gone for the day. And I couldn't figure out what to do with myself. Forswearing housework as too obvious and lame, this is what I came up with: procured and rendered seven pounds of pork leaf, strained the whey from a quart of fresh full fat homemade raw milk yogurt, got the dog up to date on vacs, spent a decent amount of time arguing the merits of grass based farming (ala Joel Salatin) as compared to a vegan study on grain-to-meat calorie conversions, and happily noticed the first blooms on the First Breath of Spring. After milking the cow this morning and dropping the kids off in the next county, naturally. Now its almost time to go milk the cow and pick up the kids. What will I do when the kids are gone off to school and life? Perhaps a nursing degree? Perhaps life with a BFF running a food van? Its fun to imagine the next adventure queuing up. Even happier, that we'll all be off together in our separate directions. Sometimes life seems like an ass pain. Sometimes it just seems lovely. Tiger Lilies are sending up shoots. Roses are sprouting teeny leaves.

2011-03-01T15:10:00.000-05:00

Valentines Gone Past.... I'm loving the passage of time around here, lately. Things are moving fast and kids are growing in a most gratifying way. They've had a paying job this week milking three goats and bottle feeding five babies (four goats and a sheep who thinks she's a goat.) They've done great work at a hard job.

2011-02-21T15:27:00.003-05:00

This is what we did today.

We dug this bed under this cute little tunnel frame for the garden. Yesterday we planted a spring garden with kale, chard, radishes, carrots, sugar snaps, and corn flowers. This summer bed will get planted with runner beans, zuchs, cukes, a pumpkin, and a passion flower. Tomatoes and peppers will go in the spring garden as its fading out. The garlic gets harvested in June.

Digging garden beds in clay is really hard work.

Hauling out all the weeds, roots, and wire grass by hand is a challenge as well.

I dug and planted this bed of comfrey on Saturday. Its much more casual, as comfrey is basically unstoppable and needs no silly coddling nor fluffy special soils. A farmer in Mendocino California sent me a whole box of the roots. Pretty cool! I can't wait to see it come up and fill in. It makes great salve and fodder for cows.

2011-02-17T10:13:00.003-05:00

Skateboards are in the house! Okay, Val, not IN the house but on the road. Now for some helmets...

2011-02-15T07:08:00.003-05:00

You won't catch these two being still. Happy spring is springing no matter the calendar.

You never know what is about to happen when you walk into the barn. Yesterday evening, as the sun was setting on a gorgeous spring day and I was headed into the milking parlor for my chores, the children were planning to loiter, woo horses, play with cats, and hold down some round bales with their backsides. Instead, a wet bloody lamb was thrust into Riley's arms and she was told to start drying. They helped sort out a lamb who wasn't so lucky. They bottle fed baby goats, milked Mama, watched as I helped round up, separate, and send out a herd of sheep with all (it looked like maybe a thousand or so) their new babies.

It was like setting enormous popcorn free on the pasture. They weren't turned out so much as exploded out. The new calf, Blackberry, thought for a moment it might be end times. Then she thought it might be alien invaders. Then she ran for about a million hours and miles in ten seconds, reminding me of the way Riley used to run so fast on the beach she turned into a real pony and you could see her real tail, for real. Then Blackberry spent the rest of daylight trying to figure out what they were eating, why, and what would happen if she were to just...try...this?! Or this?! Or even this?! You can scatter the popcorn sheep some, the little ones more. And every day is new. And we all laughed.

2011-02-14T07:27:00.001-05:00

Last night I asked the kids if they have felt the aching pain of love. They've had crushes but I haven't noticed anyone hurting. I haven't even noticed much pining or drooping or even vacant staring. This is curious to me because by the time I was in my tweens, I had experienced the misery and horror of love. And I know full well I don't know everything there is to know about the inner life of my children. So I asked. They say no, no searing horrible pain. (Yet, the hag of misery whispered to me.) Then Henry offered a curious observation. Maybe it was so painful for you, Mom, because you were in school every day.

Wow. There's a thought. No one can argue the primacy of hormones in young love. However, what if half the drama and power comes not from longing for your one true love. So much as a sublimated longing to be free ? Or a longing for something, anything, lovely and real and meaningful to distract from the marching hollow drone of life in school? Or, what if the protection homeschoolers enjoy from excessive peer pressure, social inanity, and bullying also corrects the lens of love? Surely and thankfully, Love is and is felt. But what if you aren't so ground by it, and can see it in a slightly more reasonable perspective, if you aren't alone with it in what basically amounts to prison? Huh.

Riley said, rather morosely, that she's been alive over a decade and never received a Valentine from anyone outside our family. Actually that's not true. But I know what she means. She means Cupid hasn't slapped her upside the heart with any juicy romantical construction papered confections. I told her Valentines Day is mostly a myth. Its something that mostly happens between married people and in families. What she is thinking of, a great feast of love happening today with all the kids in school, isn't happening. Possibly some cheap slips of preprinted paper are floating around. But we aren't talking about anything real or deep. We are talking about the shallowest possible face of love. And all good love is good. But I told her: you honestly aren't missing much.

All of which is fairly cheerful to me, actually. Valentines should be for true lovers, the deep end of the pool, the dark magical forest, the bed of coals, the reddest Goddess kissed lips. We're talking about Mom and Dad kind of love, fat baby kind of love, puppy kisses and new born baby goats, the kind of love that bonds. Its way better than the folded print out they are trying to sell my daughter. Its real Love, my dearest Loves. And that is some good news on a happy bright morning sometime just before spring.

2011-02-12T07:06:00.002-05:00

Want some math? Last night we spent one hundred and sixty dollars on books for the kids. Other than paying for guitar and ice skating classes, one hundred and sixty dollars is the cost of the kids education this year. So far.

Most of our books come from the library, paid through our taxes. We're in the library almost every week. We use a suitcase on wheels to haul, store, and organize these trips. Otherwise we would certainly be losing books, forgetting books, and accruing fees. We live and homeschool on a shoe string budget as do almost all the homeschooling families we know. Late fees at the library make a difference in our monthly budget. So we manage them.

That math matters to our family. We talk about budget, what is possible, what isn't. Sometimes it surprises the kids; what we willingly buy, what we refuse. It may look impenetrable to them. Why spend Friday night in Barnes-ig-Noble (where oh where for art thou, dear independent local books store?) paying solid money answering yes yes yes you may have that book, asking did you see this one or this one? The answer is simple: to light fires, to put tools in their hands, to demonstrate alternative gathering - always seek outside sources, children.

And it works, this fire lighting tool gathering strategy. They pour over their books, can't wait to spend the coming days reading, learning, and trying. Eighty per child is a pittance, of course. (Lordy, what do they spend per child each day in school?)

Then there is the other math, school math. I suspect my kids are behind their peers mathematically. Not wretchedly behind, as they are aware math is a language to describe the physical world. They can add and subtract, understand multiplication and division as grand adding and subtracting. They know money and time, length, weight, and motion experientially if nothing else. Unlike, for instance, Temple Grandin's graduate students to didn't know how to find the middle of a circle with a compass. Apparently, those well schooled folks grew up learning math, not living it. I look at the math curricula stacked in my hands, put them all back on the shelf.

I've spent several weeks caring about behindness in math. Oh, my hypocritical dogma be damned. I care. I care. I care. I care? Do I care? What am I really caring about? Why? This is a snap shot of the conversation in my head. I will send the kids to highschool. Will I send the kids to highschool. Do I care? I care I care I care. What am I really caring about? This is mental math, a crazy world where dogma does not equal reality and you must land on value. Yes, reside on values, figure out what it all equals. Ask yourself, one more time, how do we grow smart children?

Take Back Your Education - John Gatto

Changing Education Paradigms - Sir Sexy Ken Robinson

Race To Nowhere - Kate the unschooled child all grown up

Seven Sins Of Our System Of Forced Education - Peter Gray

2011-02-11T21:33:00.002-05:00

2011-02-06T11:43:00.001-05:00

I've known, for a long time, about the white deer in our county. I've heard about them. I know folks who have seen them. But I think on some level I must have doubted. Doubted they were really that white or even doubted they actually exist, doubted the observers.

Coming home from a long day out, last night, Riley spotted a white white tailed deer. It was dusk and I turned the car around as fast as I could. We doubled back to the spot - an acre of unfenced backyard pasture in a semi rural neighborhood. And there it was. Like something from a storybook, something from The Forbidden Forest, a unicorn with no horn. White as frost kissed egg shells, gleaming in the dusk, grazing next to normal brown white tailed deer. We looked as long as the fast fading light allowed, a breath-holding moment as time suspending and as fleeting as those things always are.

Except to raise and lower its head, it never moved. It grazed as regal and unconcerned as all the deer around this liberal suburban county where dogs live in pens and men hunt with mouse pads and tv remotes. I tried hard to see a rack and determine gender. Perhaps it was a doe. Perhaps I really did see the rich brown antlers I thought I saw. Impossible to know for sure. I wanted to see antlers, looked for them, but can't trust my eyes. It was getting too dark. We looked until we regretfully drove away. The deer could still be standing there now, for all I know.

2011-02-03T05:39:00.001-05:00

Joe is reading "Great Expectations" in the evenings. On this night the children listen dressed as Ninja. We don't know why.

2011-02-03T05:32:00.001-05:00

It was in the 70s here last weekend. Its 35 as I type this dark sleepy morning and won't get all that much warmer over the next couple of rainy cold days. Still, sleeveless arms bare feet hair full of sunshine days are on the way. We hiked our favorite trail with mud in our toes and green onions on our breath.

2011-01-26T07:35:00.003-05:00

Carnation delivered a bull calf yesterday just before lunch. Today, I begin milking a lot. A whole lot.

2011-01-22T07:43:00.002-05:00

"You'll find us rough, sir, but you'll find us ready." ~Mr. Peggotty

Riley asked for assignments the other day. "Like what kids do in school, ya know, projects and stuff." I'll pick up some advanced and cool looking math curricula I saw at A.C Moore. (Of all places?) This is unschooling too. Its all about seeking to learn. If they seek classes, planned lessons, any course of study we still call it unschooling. Because they want to learn. And more importantly, they control their learning. But it made me a little sad, they way she framed her request. Partly because I suppose the notion of assignments arises from some conversation with a child who is forced to study. She even asked me for grades. Nevertheless, she is eager. And that is the goal from my point of view.

Her request puts me in mind of the day, not too far off now, they'll leave for high school or college. I don't believe in shoving them out the door as frightened clinging babies. I want to see them striding out the door, thrilled, excited, surely nervous but old enough to be genuinely capable. Not easily frightened babies but bright young folks ready to learn. Even if they go with some hesitation and a sentimental glance back, they go strong and capable and ready. Isn't it more appropriate, when its time for the children to go, the parents are sad and not the children? That's how it should be, perhaps, rather than the new normal: relieved secretly happy parents escaping from sobbing terrified babies.

2011-01-21T10:32:00.000-05:00

Collaboration is common. So is cooperation. Its nice.

2011-01-17T10:37:00.000-05:00

I left the milking parlor this morning thinking that love matters so much to cows. I believe they know the difference between love and not love. Milking is personal. And maybe what we call emotion is all a byproduct of hormones. Be that as it may, hormones exist and elicit and return love; its what I believe they are made to do - or the physical side of the phenomenon. And milking is all about oxytocin.

Last week was hard. On both me and Little Red. Things were said and done we both regret. But nothing got better until I brought less fear and more love to the milking parlor. Now its better everyday. I was thinking this is the perfect milking song. I sang it all morning as I milked.

2011-01-16T17:41:00.003-05:00

MAINTAIN YOUR CALM

Three days ago I was questioning my involvement with cows. It took exactlty one serious kick aimed at my head to break my spirit. ...Nearly break my spirit... It psyched me out bad and I think the cow, Little Red, started to figure that out pretty quick. I was afraid to milk her. Most kicks in the milking parlor are aimed at the udder - trying to knock pesky flies and human hands away.   This was different; she raised her foot to the level of her hip and shot it straight out. The only reason she didn't make her mark, was probably because she had to raise her foot so high. The extra .12th of a second it took to do that gave me time to lean back.

I went through the barn routine for a couple of days after, but the process was getting me down. Because I was afraid. Which made me jumpy. Which is like a neon sign to cows: I am quivering mouse/You are big strong cow!   I thought about it a lot. I discussed my fear with the kids. Helmets were mentioned. Tying the calf in the milking parlor was mentioned. I recalled everything I'd ever heard about cows. Hobbles? The belly rope trick?

I decided, mostly, I just needed to get my head together - was the kick actually pyschic? I decided to project calm assertiveness. I worked hard to remember "the slow way is the fast way", and I decided to try working from the point of view of the cow. Der, what took me so long?

What ever worked, the change is very happy. Baby gets tied in the milking parlor next to Little Red's head; she is less likely to kick wildly around her baby. I try to move with the casual authority of a Monk, chanting to myself "experts never hurry". I am lavish with praise. Also, humming bravely seems to help.

The cows are calmer.  The Baby is delighted to play outside all day. I'm getting a 1/2 gallon of milk a day. And Little Red is keeping her feet on the down low.   Oh yeah, I do love cows.    Furthermore, I will win. Quitting is not an option.    I've quit plenty in my life. Not this time.   The stakes are high for me, the food I want to feed my children, the farm and their investment in a gorgeous new dairy parlor, and for the cows. Dairy cows can live up to 18 productive happy years. They have to be well and happy to last that long. Beef cows? They die young. Yeah, this is a coopertive venture; if I win we all win.

Riley and her friend Maddy gave each other an assignment. Disgusted with Princess Peach, they decided to find a movie with strong female lead characters. We suggested Crouching Tiger, Hidden Dragon.

2011-01-15T07:30:00.003-05:00

Resting in simpatico for a moment:
http://crooked5280.blogspot.com/2010/07/through-lens-darkly.html#comment-form

2011-01-14T22:07:00.000-05:00

Henry and I are reading "The Phantom Tollbooth". Its the first time for both of us and we love it. I'm considering changing my name to "Faintly Macabre". A couple of nights ago we sat reading in his top bunk with flashlights. When we were done, we used the flashlights to brighten the stars on his ceiling. "Kind of like the opening scene of 'Dandelion Wine,' Mom."

This morning the children discovered two newborn lambs in the barn. They watched the ewe deliver her placenta and the babies nurse.

Little Red had somehow been left out of Baby's stall last night. I had been planning to switch their schedule, turn them out together during the day, and separate them at night. I would not have chosen a 16 degree night to make the switch but it was done and all were fine. So the baby spent her first day (she's two weeks old) out on the pasture kicking up her heels. She came up to the barn with her Mom this evening and it was easy to get her in her stall. In the morning I'll tie her next to Little Red in the milking parlor while I milk first. I'm hoping this will help still Mom's feet. Baby is accepting her halter, my presence, and the rope pretty well. Sometimes I even get kisses.

2011-01-08T11:31:00.000-05:00

We dropped our activities of the moment: a good game of Magic The Gathering, knitting on the couch, and a tea party for one, to walk in the sudden snow showers today. What a lovely surprise.

Last night was the first Family Game Night Potluck. Current favorites: Bananagrams and Zombie Fluxx.

2011-01-05T10:47:00.001-05:00

The Story has become an important part of our unschool. We are often in the car when it comes on and have decided to start listening when we are home, as well. The Story is enriching our lives.

From their website:

"Our goal is to find people whose lives are intersecting with significant issues in the news and give them the opportunity to tell their story.

At a time when "celebrity rules" and the only "ordinary" people we see are faces in the crowd, The Story reminds listeners that their stories and their lives matter. We believe that by creating a space for first person stories we are choosing not to accept a pollster's version of our thoughts and attitudes.

We've learned that hearing directly from people about their experiences can transform our understanding of what's happening in the world."

Divinity Doc fascinated us yesterday. Last Monday Time For A Change surprised us with a story about an academic who returned to farm life and, Paleo, an interesting young musician.

2011-01-04T20:56:00.003-05:00

"Currently, concerns regarding monopolies created by Dean Foods, Kraft, and other major buyers of bulk dairy products on the Chicago Mercantile Exchange have been raised, as American dairy farms have suffered extreme price depression and chaotic fluctuations while processors and retailers report record profits. Many theorize that unregulated imports of milk protein concentrate used by processors to boost cheese yield has artificially and unfairly influenced the markets in an effort to force consolidation and vertical integration in what has historically been a highly diversified industry."

2011-01-04T10:42:00.003-05:00

"I used to sit and wonder and wonder why things in life have no outlines." ~Henry

2011-01-04T08:55:00.003-05:00

God, grant us the

Serenity to accept things we cannot change, the

Courage to change the things we can, and the

Wisdom to know the difference

I've solved the ADHD problem. Give the children something sufficiently meaningful and real on which to focus. Children with what we call ADHD are either smarter, more interested in reality, or deeper than their environments. Environments which are, by the way, set and controlled by teachers. Which could cause some of us to conclude children with ADHD are smarter, more realistic, and/or deeper than their teachers. But that notwithstanding, if you fix the environment, the children will pay attention. So fixing the environment fixes the problem. The problem is in the environment, not in the children. Sorry, children who have been medicated, denied, and misunderstood. Forgive us please. We know not what we do. Even though we all like to think we know what we do. But frankly, most adults are stupid.

There are people, for instance some people who survived the holocaust, who can lose everything including their most beloved family and homes, and who still live well. They continue; they find love and contentment in the world. How is that possible? Pema Chodron teaches us that Buddha taught we are not to struggle against the pain in our lives. Because struggling inevitably increases suffering. I'm paying attention to this idea.

My neighbor showed up the day before yesterday because our dogs ran off together some many days ago. He was worried and wanted to know if I was worried. I was not. By last night, my daughter and husband were both worried. I was not. Though, I was beginning to think about dark possibilities.

I believe in freedom. God Bless Me, I must be a real American! I deeply believe in freedom. I completely understand that my free chickens, cats, dogs, and children will encounter pain in the free world. Because what Williams Goldman said is as true now as it ever will be: "Life is pain Highness. Anyone who says differently is selling something." I can not shelter them from pain. Holding them home or down or trapped or cooped or schooled will not shelter them from pain. Holding them could mollify my fear, my need for control, my desire to protect them, and my ego. But it will not shelter them from pain nor death. Indeed, as the impulse to control might appear to serve me, it is a disservice to life. Even if life causes death, the illusion of control is a disservice to healthy life.

I mean that on a fundamental and well balanced level. Of course, I still teach manners, boundaries, and reach to grab a toddler heading for the road. I do understand the need for law and what it means to be a citizen. Never the less...

Even as I know I will grieve again, I struggle (irony!) to remember not to grasp and struggle against the pain in this life. Pain is inevitable. We all grieve and suffer. Struggle against or attempts to control that truth only increase suffering. You can not fix the problem through denial. You can't fix the problem by keeping the kids, dogs, cats or chickens locked in the coop. Ask any addict, there are no drugs to fix this problem.

"The police came looking for Jimmy Jazz. I said he was here but he went past." Jackson came home just now. He is skinny, exhausted, and probably full of worms. We've loved him and fed him and leave him here, for now, to nap while we go tend the cows. Life is punk rock hard core. Chaos might have some wisdom for us.

2011-01-03T12:15:00.001-05:00

Little Baby calf will be one week old tomorrow. She is spending nights with her mom and days alone in the barn wearing her flashy new green halter, which goes on in the morning and comes off at night. Today she got started working with the lead rope. I clipped it to her halter and followed behind while she bucked and kicked tried to escape the rope. Then each child got a turn following her around keeping the rope high enough to safeguard those precious tiny legs. She did well and we released her after 20 minutes or so. Everyday she accepts the halter more easily. I assume it will be the same with the rope.

Her mother, Little Red, is coming along as a milk cow. This week she gets grain in the morning and grain in the evening. At dinner she gets milked. I only take two cups and leave the rest for Baby who nurses all night. I still don't trust Little Red enough to pull up a stool and sit to milk. But she quit trying to kick me several days ago. Three days ago I shaved her udder. Two days ago I introduced the concept of having a scary bucket at your feet. She flipped out, kick kick kicking it as hard as she could. I just left it there under her and let her do her best to demolish the hated bucket. It didn't work. The bucket is still there. Now she has to step over it to get to her grain. I think (hope) that contest is won. I believe she is shaping up to be a fine family milk cow. She'll go up for sale after her calf is weaned in, perhaps, a couple of months.

The kids did a great job working with Baby. They stayed calm and were very gentle with her.

2010-12-31T17:10:00.002-05:00

SKATING INTO THE NEW YEAR 2011 WAHOOOOO

What's that you say? There are hardly ever any pictures of Henry? Tell me about it. But here he is. See?

Talk to the hood. And have a very happy new year. :o)

2010-12-31T17:00:00.004-05:00

Hi Kat and Happy New Year to you,
Thought you might enjoy parts of this article on children, play and the role of 'open' environments etc. on children's ability to continue to think outside the box, to think creatively and to conceive of worlds and ideas of their own; ideas that transcend the limits so often in place in our current culture; limits that put boundaries on children's own thinking.

http://www.fastcodesign.com/1662826/frog-design-the-four-secrets-of-playtime-that-foster-creative-kids

From my friend, Wendy, who runs Learn Outside.

Little Red's Christmas Heifer Calf 12-26-10

2010-12-30T14:33:00.001-05:00

2010-12-30T11:55:00.000-05:00

Every time there is a big shake up in cow world at the barn I have a day or two of freak time. Cows are scary. Confronting a fresh heifer is scary. And all of this is very good for our homeschool. All homeschooling parents should be visibly challenged from time to time. Because its humbling. Because it creates an air of compassion for the challenge of learning. And because it models the learning process for kids. I'm learning so hard I come home with a stomach ache. Oh yeah, the kids can relate.

I've learned I can carry a calf and how to do it. With emphasis on how to put them down. Avoid dropping them. Probably best to sink to your knees unless you happen to have arms and a back of steal. Which I do not.

I'm learning how to train an inexperienced heifer to give milk to humans. I'm learning to redouble my vigilance for my personal space, for where the Mother Cow is, where she is going, and where I hope to be. I'm learning to remember patience, that the slow way is the fast way.

I'm learning that I have a predictable learning curve and reaction process. That is not only valuable for the children to see. Its valuable for reminding myself. Kind of like the process of grieving - it helps to remember you are in A Process and it Will Proceed and Progress Is Likely. The prognosis is positive if yet painful.

Riley made the quantum jump to reading proficiency. She reads for fun now. She reads well enough to play Zombie Flux easily. She is studying Irish flute and heading for fiddle. Henry is having a surge with guitar. His practice is more experimental and repetitive now. Both children are doing a lot of writing. Riley, via a locked diary and Henry on graph paper and concerning secret worlds. Learning and growing are happening.

Also, there is a puzzle out on the dining room table. I like doing puzzles with my family.

2010-12-29T21:58:00.000-05:00

Did y'all see this:
http://foodfreedom.wordpress.com/2010/12/22/monsantos-neotame-molecule-allowed-in-usda-certified-organic-foods/
And this:
http://www.huffingtonpost.com/dr-mercola/fast-food-health_b_800297.html
Our world is getting really weird. It might be a good idea to pay some attention to this stuff.

2010-12-28T11:29:00.000-05:00

Little Red had a heifer calf last night. This morning we got the calf in the barn and milked two ounces out of Little Red. Huge excitement around here. Pictures to follow...

2010-12-27T14:29:00.001-05:00

Trauma: How We've Created A Nation Addicted To Shopping, Work, Drugs, and Sex ~Amy Goodman
An excerpt:

AMY GOODMAN: Dr. Maté, there’s a whole debate about education in the United States right now. How does this fit in?

DR. GABOR MATÉ: Well, you have to ask, how do children learn? How do children learn? And learning is an attachment dynamic, as well. You learn when you want to be like somebody. So you copy them, so you learn from them. You learn when you’re curious. And you learn when you’re willing to try something, and if it doesn’t work, you try something else.

Now, here’s what happens. Caring about something and being curious about something and recognizing that something doesn’t work, you have to have a certain degree of emotional security. You have to be able to be open and vulnerable. Children who become peer-oriented—because the peer world is so dangerous and so fraught with bullying and ostracization and dissing and exclusion and negative talk, how does a child protect himself or herself from all that negativity in the peer world? Because children are not committed to each others’ unconditional loving acceptance. Even adults have a hard time giving that. Children can’t do it. Those children become very insecure, and emotionally, to protect themselves, they shut down. They become hardened, so they become cool. Nothing matters. Cool is the ethic. You see that in the rock videos. It’s all about cool. It’s all about aggression and cool and no real emotion. Now, when that happens, curiosity goes, because curiosity is vulnerable, because you care about something and you’re admitting that you don’t know. You won’t try anything, because if you fail, again, your vulnerability is exposed. So, you’re not willing to have trial and error.

And in terms of who you’re learning from, as long as kids were attaching to adults, they were looking to the adults to be modeling themselves on, to learn from, and to get their cues from. Now, kids are still learning from the people they’re attached to, but now it’s other kids. So you have whole generations of kids that are looking to other kids now to be their main cue-givers. So teachers have an almost impossible problem on their hands. And unfortunately, in North America again, education is seen as a question of academic pedagogy, hence these terrible standardized tests. And the very teachers who work with the most difficult kids are the ones who are most penalized.

2010-12-27T05:28:00.001-05:00

Its funny how things aren't as they seem. This truth is a deep one, ultimately a salvation, yet a consistent pain in the ass here and now.

It seems so snotty to me, sitting here talking about handmade holidays. Does it read as judgment? It is, partially. I mean, its no secret the holiday has gotten out of hand. Where does it go, this holiday out of hand? It goes to the mall, right? What archetype, message, or love is that? I have hardly any friends who can afford Christmas. Literally, most of us put it on a credit card. What archetype, message, or love is that? This, we visit upon the heads of the children. This is exactly where we pass the neurosis along. We are teaching them this, as much as we are giving them this. This present. This presence. This archetype, message, and form of love.

I knitted a sweater for Riley this year. I bought the pattern online from a young designer who recently suffered a stroke and is relearning to walk. (Her blog is here, scroll down to see the owls.) I bought the pattern because its cute. And it isn't hard, either. Its straight forward, as patterns go. I've knit much more complicated cables and lace.

I don't think I've ever struggled so hard with a piece of knitting. In the moment I pondered the problem. I'm still pondering. I think it was a spiritual issue, but I'm not clear exactly how. I reknit it several times. I almost put it in the trash. It caused me agony. Agony isn't a very nice present, is it? Usually, in fact every single time, I knit a present for someone it is knit intentionally. Every stitch is a consideration, a dream, and a wish for that person. And I don't mean that in a high minded way. I simply mean, these dreams and considerations of color, pattern, lifestyle, taste, activity, all the things one might desire from a knitted garment, these are the stitches that draw me physically and mentally along the needle. And don't think all that consideration equals something perfect. Its not about perfection. But for sure, it is about consideration.

Somehow, magically almost, the sweater was finished on Christmas Eve. The least perfect sweater I've ever made, for my darling daughter on Christmas Eve. I had mixed feelings about the imperfections but they don't show. The same finishing magic was at work for my son. A couple of years ago I painted a few glow in the dark stars over his bed and promised to finish them later. Christmas Eve, after eyes were stitched on owls, I got busy with a tube of paint and a brush. I spent a couple of hours with his ceiling. That evening I had a surprise for each child, a gift from me to them.

Learning is often painful. But I hope we are getting somewhere and I hope that where is logged here correctly. Its not about snooty handmade-ivity. Its not about being more perfect. Its about more love and less things. Its an oddly difficult transition for me. But then, its hardly taught and certainly not what's handed down, culturally. This is the first year we bought Christmas almost completely without a credit card. I fretted it wasn't enough. There weren't enough presents, I falsely worried. But honestly, my failing is in presence, that's where I need to give more. That's what I'm trying to learn. Presence doesn't live at Biltmore, doesn't live at the mall, doesn't live in a stitch.

What is the metaphor of a baby in a barn? Bring your love. Be honest. Keep it real. There isn't anything else a baby needs. And we are all babies.

2010-12-21T14:11:00.005-05:00

We just got home from a Christmas trip to the Biltmore House. Biltmore is the largest private residence in the United States. Its huge. You can't see it all in one visit. A private family lived there for a couple of generations, now they sell tickets per view. All the unseen halls and rooms and floors of the place used to fire my imagination. As a child I had very elaborate fantasies of being left alone to explore the whole place. Oddly, I had no fantasies of living there, no delusions of the grandeur, no hankering for fancy wall paper, marble, and servants. I was compelled by the mystery of the space, the grounds, and the history.

Seeing it as an adult felt very different. I still feel compelled by the history, seen and unseen artifacts, by the architectural detail. (Architectural detail thrills me. How odd?) But the space itself filled me with two unexpected ideas. One: it might be nice to keep my house a bit cleaner and a bit more artistically. Because its inspiring. But which is also a fine line. Because cleaner and more decorated quickly become the opposite of inspiring and even downright vapid a whole lot of the time. So I thought on that. And I noticed I had more affinity for the clean spare lines of bottom tier life at Biltmore. It was warmer down there, physically and psychologically. The kitchen may be the nicest room in the whole estate. I think that's a common irony of money, though; the finer things often aren't. Not really.

And secondly: the size of the space seemed rather dreadful. As a child I longed to explore. As an adult I considered what it might be like to actually live there, to raise children there. For instance, to traverse across the house, find the pool, to swim there in the silence of something like a catacomb. No thank you. I can hardly imagine a more ghostly place. True, I'm the girl who courted my future husband in a 30x30 uninsulated tool shed and think it, far and away, the grandest place I've ever lived. And clearly, I believe in holding the children close. But who in their right mind gives birth to babies in a home where it is actually possible to lose them, not to mention the horrifyingly dangerous way the building keeps dropping away at every turn or hovering over man made cliffs above pillows of glass all up on a mountain top. I don't know...I think the metaphor of physicality matters. And what does that place say? My penis is bigger than your penis? Or does it say, Before pride there rides a fall? Well, the family did decide to move out; they are still alive.

Maybe its simple sour grapes. Biltmore is a national treasure of sorts, if not a national symbol of excess. And it is shockingly well done. And it is beautiful. No photography is allowed inside. And it was way too cold up on the mountain yesterday for snapping pictures outside. I got two as we drove away. One, the shot of the front we've all seen a thousand times. The side view, I think, gives you a better idea of just how big this house really is.

No, I don't think its possible for me to express how big this house is, photographically. You really should just go see it. The real highlight was time with Pops.

Also, listening to Sissy Spacek read "To Kill A Mockingbird", hearing Henry toss off an easy and apt definition of foreshadowing and nefarious, and his spontaneous decision to thank Pops for dinner in Italian. (Forgive me, but this warms an unschooling mother's heart.)

Riley curled her hair for the first time, in rag curls no less. And ate her first rare filet mignon. Some of the finer things really are finer.

2010-12-18T08:51:00.044-05:00

"Maybe Christmas doesn't come from a store? Maybe Christmas, perhaps, means a little bit more."

For the last 45 years the elder women of my family have been making Christmas stockings for their children. They are felt, of a very specific style, and treasured family heirlooms. This year the tradition was passed on to me. Let me tell you, its way more work than it looks. Which is why I was so touched by these two Riley made by herself for the dogs. With each stitch and each creative decision I feel the love of the Grandmothers, the impulse to make life a little more beautiful, independence from commercial dreck, and a circle of evolving history and capability passed from wrinkled old hands to nimble dewy ones.

I don't believe a baby called Jesus was born on December 24 in a manger under a huge portentious star and visited by kings. So much more the miracle, then, that our society pauses to celebrate the birth and the active potential of love every year. That's pretty nice. And I like to look around my house, every December, to see cheerful little tokens of love all around. Most of the decorations on the tree are reminders of love. The stockings hang there practically dripping sparkled puddles of love on the floor. All of it contains a circle of history and invisible connection to family here and gone. And its personal, you can count each stitch, a literal thing, also a metaphor of time and generosity. I think it must be just that - the invisible made tangible - that gives a sacred flavor to the whole season. Just in time to rescue us from the mall and the bank; there is Love. Amen.

2010-12-18T07:36:00.001-05:00

Italian in the kitchen.

2010-12-12T20:35:00.000-05:00

The Tale of Pacifies by Riley

One moonless night somewhere far off in the range of the western sea, there was a little remote island. A small tribe lived there. One night there washed up on the shores a strange creature. No one can be quite sure what it looks like. But they can be sure it was there because it left the most peculiar of tracks. At the end of the tracks lay a little baby swaddled in seaweed. The baby had the bottom half of a horse and the upper half of a girl. But the thing that made it most truly peculiar is that growing up out of the body of the little horse was also a boy.

A fisherman was walking back from his late night crab hunting expedition when he came upon what seemed to be a boy and a girl swaddled together in seaweed. So expertly had the seaweed been arranged, he couldn't tell there was the bottom half of a horse underneath. He murmured to himself, "Oh my, I have found two children abandoned on a night like this." He picked them up and muttered to himself, "Whoa, heavy for two young children." He carried them back to his small hut. And gave them some warm milk with honey. Then laid them down on a makeshift bed on the floor. But never once did he remove the seaweed.

Pacifies grew at a remarkable rate in the night. Becoming much stronger and able to break the seaweed and wander out of the hut. That night the fisherman had a strange dream: A storm was raging; the sea seemed almost angry. In his dream a mysterious girl had come out of the ocean. She had long tangled blue green hair and starfish clung to her body. She was calling at the top of her lungs, "PACIFIES COME BACK. THEY ARE GETTING ANGRY." She wandered up and down the shore calling PACIFIES.

When he woke up the next morning the children were gone. There was a pile of broken seaweed on the ground, human foot prints up and down the beach as though someone had been looking for something, and horses hoof prints leading off into the water. The fisherman told everyone in the village how he rescued two small children and dreamed that night of someone calling: Pacifies. Not even the elders in the village could understand what Pacifies meant. The closest thing they could translate it to was "a child of the sea."

The fisherman wondered: how could it have been a child of the sea when he had seen two children, not knowing they joined underneath. They searched far and wide around the island calling for Pacifies. But they never found the Pacifies. They named the spot where they looked the Pacific Ocean. And to this day the fisherman believes it was a blessing from the Gods.

2010-12-10T08:51:00.001-05:00

Riley had her first public showing as an artist last night. She's been taking a class where they are studying Islamic tile and made reproductions. Their collected work is on view at the local Cup A Joe. I'm sorry I couldn't get sharper pictures. The children's work is fantastic and the camera doesn't do it justice.

2010-12-06T20:50:00.003-05:00

I was standing outside in my freezing yard Sunday morning, when I decided to shake the snow off my lavender bushes. They looked heavy, burdened. So I was standing in the cold stark bright air shaking snowy boughs when I was hit with huge wafts of the very freshest sort of smell. It was so strong and cold, the lavender through the snow. You might think lavender in bloom is the best sort of smell, crawling with bees, damp ferny shadows, summer updraft. But I think this might be even sweeter. Who would expect that kind of luxury on such a shivery day? Its must have been the juxtaposition and the surprise of it. It smelled like a fairy godmother might be near, like wishes can occasionally come true, like life will always hold surprises and you can count on that.

Life has a fairytale quality these days. Maybe its because I'm thinking a lot about God. Maybe its because I'm thinking a lot about ego. Maybe its because I'm in the constant company of gangly tween creatures who are mercurial, primal, and oh so tenderly dear as they lay around shedding their teeth like sharks and changing shape so fast they are falling over their own toes and elbows, falling over their own psyches and moods.

Anyway, fairytales are fun. Snow is fun. Growing up is hard. And we can all expect the unexpected. Sometimes it will even be cheerful.

2010-12-04T17:58:00.001-05:00

Are you kidding me? It hasn't snowed here before Christmas in my whole life. What a beautiful day!

2010-12-03T07:51:00.003-05:00

Pez: A narrative game running between the children for several years now. What follows is a jumbled interview about the world of Pez. Not much attempt is made to note who is speaking. The kids often finish each other's sentences and we are more interested in capturing the rollicking creative spirit of the game, than good form.

What is Pez? A candy. Its a game. No, its a candy. Its a game too.
Tell me about this game:
Its a candy. Its not a candy. Well, first of all its set in a world we didn't actually create.

Meaning its set in this world?
No. The thing about pez is that it all started out when we were bouncing on Josh and Emily's trampoline. We were playing Pokemon and Pokemon Trainer. Henry was the trainer and I was the Pokemon. My name was Delcatty. That's all. Just Delcatty. So then one night in meetings (which, for the record, are forbidden) we were bouncing around on my bed, back when it was the big four poster bed, when I'm not entirely sure how it happened but we decided to turn Pez into a game set in the Pokemon world.

We started out with making the main character, May. The years of Pez take place in between the time when she was 10 and 16.

Another of the main characters (played by me, Henry) is this little French guy who narrates everything. He lives up in a little apartment on a cloud (sits around in his bathrobe all day eating scones and drinking cocoa). He can read May's mind and is constantly making annoying comments. In the game, he pretty much runs the world. (We tried it the other way, it didn't work. Yes it did.) He has no name.

The children point out that the narrator doesn't work as a main character because he "just sits around trashing things. He waits for the the main character to bring him everything. So he has to be the narrator."

Riley, tell me more about May:
Well she's the main character and she's died a bunch of times. Most of them were in a dream though. The very first part of Pez took place in a dream, for several years of her life. Though when we were telling the story, we didn't know it was a dream until I decided to say, "And then I woke up." The reason I've died so many times in the real world, was because when I was young I was interested in being a mad scientist and I split part of my soul into two separate bodies. (Hey Riley, we don't see Victoria much anyone. You're right.) Anyway, the body of a cat and the body of a bird. That was in the dream, at least. So when I came back to the real world of Pokemon I had to make some modifications and put the cat in the body of a Glammeow which is a Pokemon that highly resembles a cat.

Tell me about Victoria:
I was just getting to that. Victoria is the bird I mentioned earlier. Though, again, when I came back I had to make some more modifications and put her in the body of a Pokemon that resembles a sparrow called Pidgey.

(The children smile at each other mysteriously and say "Somethings should be kept a secret.")

Henry, why is Pez called Pez?
Her idea. (Points at Ry.)

Adrian and Takeshi:
Apparently Takeshi got pushed off a building by May (Oh hush, in the dream) because he was climbing up to a secret meeting house the wrong way. (Maybe we should talk about May's earring. Wait, you talk.) Okay, Adrian is pretty much my principal character now. The Narrator only shows up occasionally. Adrian has white spiky hair even though he's not that old. And a weird jacket. He stores a lot of stuff in the jacket. It also has electricity and running water. (Kind of like May's earring.) Including the cable used to wench himself down from the sky while playing his theme music. Adrian has theme music. His name was originally Adrieth but we thought that sounded dumb so we changed it. Adrian also really really really loves chocolate covered apricots.

Cowa:
(Cowa! Moodash! I love Cowa!) Cowa is a little cow, from the planet of cows, who stands upright and talks. She also tunnels, an odd habit for a cow. With her favorite move: "Moodash!" She plows through about 100 yards of dirt. We don't see Cowa that often anymore. (Maybe I should bring her back in the story again. Yeah.)

Carol isn't that interesting. She only eats ice cream. Her real name is Caroline. For a long time in the game she was trying and trying to taste ice cream but all these things kept happening so she couldn't taste it. But when she finally tasted it, she sort of went on a spree. Also, she's 27 and married now so she had a kid.

What other characters are there?
June. Eh, she isn't so interesting. She doesn't come into the story very much. When May was fifteen, for her birthday her parents adopted a kid and gave it to her, a baby. June was the baby. Did she grow up? She's 10 or 11 now.

Then there was Jay. Dream Jay or annoying brother Jay? Annoying brother Jay. Ugh, he's so annoying. When May was in the dream a lot of the characters resembled characters in the Pez world. So in the dream May found her evil identical twin Jay. (This is May, she thinks everyone who doesn't like her is evil.) When she woke up she found she had an 18 year old brother. Jay is older, by some amount. (There is controversy concerning if they are actual twins or not.)

There is Mr. Kaput. (Oh he is so annoying. He is my very least favorite character. Ugh, he makes things go kaput. It was a catchy name though: Kaput.) Um, Mr. Kaput is kind of super hero or super villain depending on who hires him. He uses his kaput powers to make things go kaput. (Which means to he makes things disappear, sending them off to another plane of existence.) Mr. Kaput wears kind of a white jumpsuit with a big red K on the front. He also wears a black cape. That's all about Mr. Kaput, except that he's made May go kaput a bunch of times. Only twice. Yeah, well that's enough.

Pez is enormous and complex. We can't begin to outline the various story lines here. Let's end this interview with a list of as many characters as you can remember:

Kamikaze, The E Person (Elvira), Elsa and Elliot, Henry and Riley, (there are warps that lead to different worlds - we haven't even got into warps yet, but anyway), Dean and Dave, Muffin, Cup Cake, and Spiffing, The Mad Scientist, Mittens (part of Jay's soul - a little tan cat with a bunch of black spots with a removable black spot - he can also turn to steel at will), (when you slip part of your soul into an animal in this world you lose part of your personality), The Psychic Dave, The Peaka's Manager, The Float Glass (everyday at 8:02 May walks into a cafe called The Peaka's where a float glass is waiting for her. Her hand is molded into the glass.) Mr. Happy and Mr. Intimidation (who collided together and Mr. Happy exploded. May got it on video). The Orphanage Babies and The Barbarians. The Necromancer and Assorted Minions (you got held hostage and met the talking skeleton, remember that?) Little Guy, May's dragon - he was so tiny and never got very big so we called him Little Guy. Great Lord Cheese, Granny - the creepy one who can disappear at will and turn into trees and stuff. The Gran that May built - she's kind of a robotic Granny who runs ridiculous errands for May. The Orphanage Teenagers who worship the Great Lord Cheese. (About The Cheese: no one knows where The Cheese came from. But when May went upstairs in the orphanage there were all the teenagers playing boardgames. When she flipped a switch the fake white walls flipped up to revealed graffiti walls and a closet that was stocked with many things the orphanage woman didn't know about including a warp to another world, and various highly caffeinated soda cans (which the babies occasionally stole, they are weird babies. The things these babies can make out of Tinker Toys....) The Cheese lives in this Tupperware container there and its so moldy its become a living organism the teenagers worship. Occasionally its speaks. It sounds like some fat guy smacking his lips underwater.

2010-11-30T08:08:00.003-05:00

I was a nanny for ten years before I became a mother. I learned a lot. I miss that job. I woke up thinking about what I learned. And I can't get this little clip (Time-Lapse Map of Every Nuclear Explosion Since 1945 by Isao Hashimoto) out of my mind. How are the two related?

Fifteen years ago a wealthy business man sent a high powered lawyer out for coffee with me. They were trying very hard to get my testimony to legally wrest the man's child from its mother. To this day, I am proud of the conversation that transpired. Its is one of the moments I can point to, in reviewing my life, and say my life and my work matter. I asked that lawyer: do you realize I am a trained midwife, a professional nanny, a volunteer with the Rape Crisis Center who has advocated for children in the past, and I will never hesitate to advocate for children? Please put me on the stand.

So here is the thing about those nuclear bombs and soft fat helpless little babies. Men, and this seems to go double for Republican men, never hesitate to throw the baby out with the bath water in service to their egos. I'm sorry. I try really hard to avoid isms, sexism included. Not all men are this way. And in talking it over with my husband this morning I admitted, as power corrupts and absolute power corrupts absolutely, if women were running the country the result might be the same.

Until humans value life over money and love over materialism, which is to say: children over adults, we will have environmental degradation. Today, ego satisfaction comes first with our country. And this is true to varying degree, citizen by citizen, right up the chain of command and culminating with exactly the kind of personality drawn to power.

We are the society that values ours egos more than our children. We can't wait to put our babies in daycare and get back to work. We don't value children, we tolerate them. Barely. We wait for them to grow up. Because we are busy doing powerful important things, satisfying our needs and egos at all costs. We are forgetting what actually matters. What actually matters has become invisible. That is the secret shadow, the real inconvenient truth, the thing about to rise and win for all time.

I have never in my life seen such profound wiener shaking, as all this self inflicted bombing. Talk about throwing the baby out with the bathwater. Talk about cutting off your nose to spite your face. Is it clear to everyone who watches this whole clip, that nuclear testing itself has been a weapon? Its clear to me. Oh, the irony. A father so emotionally and spiritually small and scared he is willing to pull his own child off a wet breast, just to mollify his own ego. And to grasp at some attempt or illusion of control. The baby is less important than the ego.

At this point, I think we have safely proven that babies are less important than soda bottles, large screen tvs, second cars, bigger houses, and generally speaking, all things a second income can buy. Babies are less important than driving cars. The air we breathe is less important than industry. Water is less important than development. How can we be shocked that nuking our own land is less important than international posturing?

The child I was charged to care for, by the way, was never taken from his wonderful mother and is now off to college. The father is a local politician.

2010-11-27T17:34:00.005-05:00

I know some folks have moved on to Christmas. We are still firmly planted in Thanksgiving. After a breakfast of homemade bagels and homemade Gravlox, we took Grammie and Grandpa, Stuart, Karin, Isabel, and the kids bowling. Then on for a bit of antiquing. Now some folks are napping. One folk is cooking yet another feast, this time with rabbit. And some folks are sipping red wine. This may have been the feastiest Thanksgiving I've ever had. There has been no end to the insanely delicious lovely food around here. (Note to self: always invite such good cooks over for the holidays.)

2010-11-21T18:56:00.000-05:00

Friday, Henry decided he wanted a job. So he spent a couple of hours making a poster advertising leaf raking and trash can scrubbing. He was planning to charge $5 a yard for raking and I can't remember what for cleaning out cans. I bumped his leaf price up to $25 a yard and told him I'd scan and print his poster later.

Saturday morning I told him to rake our yard, before I printed the poster, to be sure he really wanted the job. This kid has never had paying job. And leaf raking seems like it might be five dollar easy at first. I figured I'd teach him a lesson at home before setting him loose in the big leafy world. I wanted to be certain he knew what he was getting into. Affably he said, "Okay Mom" as he nearly always does. After breakfast he went outside in my boots with a rake. He worked from 9:00 that morning till 2:00 that afternoon, with a break for lunch. And he did a great job on the leaves. I guess he taught me a lesson. His father paid him $25 and I offered to go print his poster. He said, "No thanks."

Turns out, his goal was to make $25 for a Yugioh Red Nova Dragon tin. He bought it that afternoon. I'm really proud of him. This kid is a hard worker with a super nice attitude. And he's cute too.

2010-11-18T08:28:00.000-05:00

Hot breakfast is good. Annoying mothers with cameras, not so much.

2010-11-17T17:08:00.001-05:00

I milked the cow. :o)

2010-11-17T11:21:00.001-05:00

We are just in from meeting, Carnation, the newest Jersey cow in the dairy. She is a bit wild with fear today. I was kicked for the first time ever. But not hurt. She fought the stanchion. She fought the bucket. She fought the hay. She fought the other cows sniffing her. She was just plain fighting. That's okay. She and I will get along fine. She just needs some time to trust us and settle down. Her udder is so small and she has to be dried off in a few weeks anyhow. So I'm not worried about skipping the morning milking. I'll go back this afternoon and try again. If she's still so freaky, tomorrow morning we'll tie her leg back and milk her no matter what. But I think we can do this the slow easy way. She had on a horse halter that was heavy with lots of brass fittings. I took that off, which she didn't fight too much. Then I put on a smaller, lighter, proper cow halter. She didn't fight that at all. So I think there is hope. When I look in her face I see intelligence.

Interestingly, Little Red came up to the barn for "Cow Cafe" which is a game the kids invented. They feed the cows through the gate in exchange for scratches. Little Red was still head shy when she was turned out last spring. She let me scratch all over her head this morning. Either, growing up has given her confidence. Or she remembers us well. Or both. Either way, its good news for everyone. This is one step closer to halter breaking.

2010-11-17T08:16:00.001-05:00

I saw my first homeschool bumper sticker yesterday: Homeschool, where learning and love go hand in hand. I admit it made me smile. A scruffy unshaven cute middle aged dad was driving the minivan. It all looked so typical and familiar I thought: there is my tribe. It was a moment of happy recognition.

Riley and I have taken up an interest in math. This is the first time anyone in our homeschool has shown any interest, outwardly. Apparently the kids have been thinking about it. We were talking about the multiplication tables and Riley said, "oh yeah, Henry is really good at math, he helps me calculate my screen time." Right, unschooling still and always surprises me. Folks think I'm over here on the blog beating my drum. Actually, I'm convincing myself. When it all works I'm surprised and thrilled every time.

I'm working hard to set down notions of ahead and behind. Because its not a helpful rubric. All children are ahead and behind in many ways. What does it matter?

It doesn't matter because it doesn't tell us anything about the way children really learn. The industrial timeline of elementary education is a fabrication and an irrelevancy. Cramming math facts at 5, 7, or 9, says nothing for the shape of the child's mind. Any child with interest can cover math from 1+1 through Algebra II in a year. Homeschoolers do it all the time. Anyone can do it, if that's a goal.

Sitting with workbooks noticing patterns and enjoying ourselves, with a genuine feeling of love and pleasure in the room, that's math unschooling style. Its lovely. Its fun. For Ry, its normal. For me, its almost unspeakably tender and surprising. This is learning? This is caring? This is math? What the what?

2010-11-16T10:27:00.002-05:00

I snagged a chair off a dump pile at the thrift shop last week. It needs recaning, which I can do. And I've noticed, because I'm a serious thrift/antique shopper, that old ladder back chairs are becoming as scarce and expensive as natural fiber vintage dresses. (Foolish child, I never thought about the the finitude of vintage while I was happily clubbing in the 80s in my old dresses.) Also, with a nod to my husband, I have a bit of an ~~obsession~~ ~~problem~~ ~~issue~~ quirk about furniture. But let's not get into that psychology. I found a chair for free and made plans to save it. Last night I ordered ash splints to recane the seat. This morning I washed the chair.

We went to The Alamance Battleground last month for a living history day. It was alright. But I inevitably get a bit tiffed at those things for all they get wrong. The woman dipping candles who clearly doesn't really know how to do it. The woman lecturing about slow food who clearly hasn't ever eaten that way. Don't even get me started on the medical misinformation. Its not that these folks must live their lectures for purist reasons. Its not that I don't appreciate a good volunteer. Its just seems to me, if you are going to teach something, you should really try to get it right. Anyhoo, the best thing going on, other than the cider press, was the black smith.

He rocked it out on his trestle table (which, boys, I still want one of those) with his mobile forge. He made all the clothes he was wearing, made all the tools he was demonstrating, and just so clearly knew EXACTLY what he was talking about. Also, he was precious. He spent much longer than should have been necessary explaining to Larry Bose and me (the children long since having wandered off) how to spot a chair made with hand forged tools. Which involves the inner shape of a dowel hole, its squareness or roundness. Unfortunately the chair has to be dismantled to see it.

I thought of Mr. Precious the Blacksmith this morning. I see now, my rescued chair appears to be hand made. A few of the dowels are machined. But the oldest ones -the front ones and the ones holding up the seat- are hand carved. The whole chair has an off square countenance, a nearly symmetrical charm, and it sits low. Apparently all dowels were machined after the 1860s. So hand carving is quite old. And apparently all chairs sat lower back then. (Maybe folks were shorter?)

Someone refinished it. I'm guessing from wear on the paint, sometime in the 90s. I don't care. I don't want it for resale value. But its fun to find an artist's hands on this piece. Its fun to think about the life this chair, both recent and distant, has had. And its satisfying to save something, anything.

2010-11-15T20:24:00.003-05:00

A new fresh cow is arriving on the farm tomorrow. Halt the goat project. Resume the dairy. Oh Lordy, I've got to get my hands back in shape fast. She is three years old and seven months pregnant with her second calf. So we'll be drying her off in a few weeks. But, oh thrill, a new cow, more farm work, and really fresh milk once again!

2010-11-12T08:41:00.000-05:00

"Light can give a wavelike answer when you ask a wavelike question. And it can give a particle-like answer when you ask a particle-like question."

Check out John Pulkinghorne, mystic physicist.

2010-11-11T08:18:00.001-05:00

Consider this: the stories we tell ourselves are often wrong.

2010-11-09T10:15:00.001-05:00

What to serve for breakfast when you're out of milk? Pumpkin Cakes, which I just invented and are worth repeating. They are hearty, filling, healthy, and the kids liked them.

Preheat griddle
Mix in a large bowl:
2 eggs
1 can of pumpkin
1/2 cup oil (olive works, coconut is nice, or melted butter)

Mix in a small bowl then add to the larger bowl:
1 1/2 cups whole wheat flour
1 Tbs. cinnamon
1 Tbs. baking powder
1/2 cup sugar
1 tsp. salt

This is a thick batter. You fry big scoops, flattened out to 1/2 inch, on a medium griddle with lots of butter, flipping once. I put a lid on the pan while the first side cooked. Serve with butter and a pot of hot mint tea.

2010-11-09T07:05:00.001-05:00

Riley invented a new way to cast on stitches.

2010-11-09T07:00:00.000-05:00

Fighting Bullying With Babies So what they are proving, is that bullying would drop if children spent more time at home, with their siblings, being well parented before we send them off to be well schooled.

2010-11-08T12:00:00.003-05:00

We had such a nice fall weekend. Joe made Italian vegetable sauce and Batter Bread. We watched Singing In The Rain. We shopped at the farmer's market, shuddered at the rising price of flour in the local foodie mart ($6.69 for a 5 lb. bag of King Arthur?!), and picked up some beautiful wool for a new hat for Joe. I spent Saturday evening helping a friend while Joe and kids played guitar and rainy day games at home. Sunday was Meeting and lunch with friends at our favorite local Mexican joint. Joe and Ry took a long bike ride on trails near The Eno. Henry and I lounged. Scott B. and Ella stopped by. She's going to homeschool the rest of high school! This is huge good news for us because we'll get to see her more often. Not to mention the liberation of her. And we all snuggled up for a long delicious first freeze of an evening at home. Riley made chocolate cake and we watched The Rookie.
We seem to be waiting for strangers to come build that goat pen. We'll let you know how that goes...

2010-11-07T06:48:00.002-05:00

2010-11-05T12:17:00.003-04:00

I'm not satisfied this laundry detergent is strong enough.
I'm going to make it with more soap next time.
Just keeping it real....

In September I was washing my hair with coconut oil and baking soda, which worked. But was expensive. And, it turns out, unnecessary. About a month ago I quit putting anything on my hair. I took the shampoo out of the children's bathroom as well. We wash with warm water.

Yeah, warm water. Hard to get more sustainable than that. All the hair in this house is simply gorgeous. But consider something way more beautiful. I had a vision last week. What if every isle of shampoo and conditioner disappeared? Along with every factory making shampoo and conditioner. Along with every building dedicated to shampoo and conditioner.

How much less plastic is that in the world? How much more acreage? How much more clean water. And that's not just water used to manufacture shampoo and conditioner, its also water polluted by their use.

Wow. Shampoo is responsible for an enormous burden on the earth. And IT DOESN'T EVEN MATTER.

2010-11-04T09:06:00.001-04:00

2010-11-03T07:40:00.002-04:00

Today is washing day. I have a big pail full of gooey gloopy detergent. It doesn't look smooth like the grocery store stuff. But I hear that's normal.

I've been planning to make detergent for a couple of years. This year I've easily spent over $40 for it in the store. I kept not making my own because it seemed like trouble, I worried I couldn't do it right, and I didn't know how. I can't tell you how easy it is. Its moronically easy. Its laughable. And it makes me question, yet again, what other foolish things I've been doing, or not doing, my whole life just because that's the way its always been done. (Always, meaning in the last two generations.)

It makes me question yet again, how many things I don't, haven't, and won't do just because I'm reflexively afraid to fail, learn, or try. And this is laundry detergent. Laundry detergent, Liz Lemmon!

For the last six months I've put off making my own detergent because I didn't have a nice five gallon bucket like all the successful detergent making people seem to have. Please review: I didn't make my own detergent because I didn't have The Right Bucket. It was only after typing that out: I'm waiting to make my own until I get The Right Bucket, that God or my psyche or basic common sense finally broke through my 13 years of school training, fear of failure, certainty that experts are important, perfectionism, and belief in expensive tools.

I have a laundry bucket. I used that. It worked fine. I slapped a plastic plate on the top for a lid. After I decant the soap back into all the plastic five dollar detergent jugs I've been saving, I'll fill the bucket with warm water and mop my floor.

My recycling bin will no longer house plastic laundry detergent containers. Its getting lonely in there, what with all the missing plastic milk jugs. Pretty soon there will only be wine bottles to recycle. Hey....wait a minute... Nah, I'll always shell out for a good spicy Shiraz or Cabernet. Glass is perfectly recyclable, after all.

2010-11-02T15:01:00.000-04:00

We made two gallons of our own laundry detergent today. I estimate it cost us a dollar to make. I'll let you know how it works.

1 grated bar of soap (we used Ivory)
1/2 cup baking soda
1/2 cup borax

melt soap flakes in six cups of simmering water
pour that into a plastic bucket with 4 cups of hot water
stir in soda and borax until dissolved
add 1 gallon plus 6 cups of water and stir well
let sit for 24 hours to cure. stir occasionally while curring.
use a scant half cup per load

2010-11-01T08:36:00.001-04:00

2010-10-31T07:47:00.001-04:00

"They say when things start to fall together naturally, you're on the right path."

I said, here, a long time ago, that poets are necessary for simultaneously expanding and contracting an event. I feel my life simultaneously expanding and contracting and there ain't been no poets around to write it all down for me. The idea of family and right living have been on my mind. (Aren't they always?) More than on my mind, these ideas have been in play. Let's just say they've been in play.

Who is family? Them what love you for real. What is real love? Hard questions to answer.

We spent a long weekend up in The Blue Ridge at the purple house, which is starting to feel like a personal retreat. And its free. How did this happen? We went to Tweetsie's Ghost Train on a cold full moon lit night. (Full Double Rainbow!) It was beautiful and too scary for the kids. But the Trick or Treating was fine.

The next day we spent with The Lockes. The day was so beautiful, full, and compact, its hard for me to put it all in words. In the space of a day Henry was wanting to call Norman, Grandpa. We were just enfolded in their love. They behaved and loved like Grandparents might. It was emotionally stunning. And delicious. We came home full on every level. Also, we went to the farmers market, bought pumpkins and honey. We picked up (with our hands, off the tree) over a bushel of apples. We shared three meals, if you consider the fresh bread, goats cheese, and wassel at the market breakfast. Since it was 8:30, I say it counts. Three meals, ATV rides, hikes, reading, lounging, being regaled with family stories, porch swinging, babbling brook dabbling, puppy loving, butter fetching, dish washing, normal daily loving, family time. Such love! When Jackson decided to run the holler, for 6 hours longer than we planned to spend on the mountain that last day, no one could blame him. It was hard to leave.

At home we are putting up the goat fence and I'm fairly settled on some local nubains from the farm where my friend used to work. (Check out her way totally excellent blog.) Soon we should be milking again. Which is a huge relief. The longer we do it, the more committed I am to producing as much of our own food as we can. Its not a small idea and its a lot of work, but very gratifying.

Ry is in a new art class. They are studying the tile work of Islamic cities. Henry is making big progress on his guitar. We still hit the library once a week or so. In fact, now that Ry's in a weekly class in town, I drop one kid in one place, another kid in another place, and I go run errands. Its all perfectly legal and natural. How amazing is that? We are all at work in busy town, gainfully employed, independent, and free. So amazing.

Did I say Trick or Treating? We spent yesterday on a mission with a wild woman searching for the heart of Halloween. We found many things, tangential and beautiful, along the way. But we also found MORE Trick or Treating. That was accidental. And, of course, the kids will be Trick or Treating tonight, for reals. So, count 'em. Trick or Treating THREE TIMES IN ONE YEAR? Unprecedented and outrageous. What's a mother to do? Roll with it. We did a haunted house lite. We hit Fearrington for their evening pumpkin promenade. We were taken to a backwoods, unadvertised, secret, amazingly elaborate Halloween house display. We were fed green chili stew. (ARE YOU KIDDING ME?!) And our host makes, among a thousand other things, Native American Flutes. Guess what Riley's been aching to do? Thank you, Universe!
Tonight we return to the traditional hay riding country Trick or Treating of yore, with old friends, home wrought costumes, and cold noses. But sheesh, three times in one year. Seriously?

Also, we're attending a church now. There, I said it. BOO! Just in time for Halloween, a scare. Actually, I find organized religion enormously scary. And I'm not a Christian. And I thought I don't believe in church. It turns out, I very much do believe in this church. Its weighty. It feels right. Everything about all of it is working for me. And things seem to be falling into place. In a way I'm not adequate to describe. But since we moved home from Texas, life has been suckitudinally hard. I'm ready for some falling into place. Place is elusive, actually, and perhaps the only way to get there is to fall. I'll side step biblical reference here, since I don't teach the bible and am not exactly a fan. But I am willing to do some letting go and some falling into place. And some finding higher love. And some connecting of old circles. Some discerning, quieting, listening inward. Expanding and contracting all at once, just in time for the feast of winter holidays.

Let the wild rumpus begin!

2010-10-28T08:07:00.001-04:00

2010-10-27T17:12:00.000-04:00

There are 14 cattle panels and 40 t-posts sitting in my driveway. This is enormously exciting.

2010-10-25T20:35:00.001-04:00

There is no proof the rote facts we push on children in elementary school make them smarter or give them advantage in life. Elementary school, as its currently taught, is a colossal insignificance. What makes children smarter? We don't know. Some theories say intelligence is genetic, some say environmental. I say (with a nod to Dumbledore) that love makes children smarter. Love, good food, and access to the world.

2010-10-22T09:57:00.001-04:00

Moon rise over the Blue Ridge Mountains tonight. The wind is hustling and its cold.

Holy host right outside the kitchen door.

Ry, did you have any trouble getting up the mountain?

No, except for the thistles, hawthorns, and briars. .

"It was the most beautiful thing I've ever seen, Mom."

2010-10-20T09:04:00.000-04:00

Three months and 10 years.

2010-10-20T08:18:00.001-04:00

Clarion calls happen. Themes, an artful shape on which our lives get hung almost as if they are crafted that way. But it can't be so, can it? Still, I can't totally ignore the consistency and life gets harder when I try.

Birds are one theme. Gordon Lightfoot is in there. Poetry, nature, Buddhism, all consistent since early childhood. True, birds, poetry, nature, God, and Gordon Lightfoot are fairly ubiquitous. But are they perched and dangling, do they appear to nearly holler "Over here, this way, yes, now, at this place" to everyone?

Apparently prisoners leave notes for each other in books in the prison library. These notes are called kites. Are patterns like kites from God? It feels so silly to try and talk about it. Yet, as I said, if I try to ignore it all life gets harder.

Here's what I think, then. I think its hard to know how to live. I've noticed you can't really count on experts or dominant paradigm, and certainly not fad. Though, at any time any of those might be correct. Often they are wrong.

Perhaps, if you are living right, patterns sift up and you can see them shining there like phosphorescence in the sand at night. Maybe its that simple. Patterns become more obvious, a thing you can begin to notice and rely on, when you are living well. Maybe?

2010-10-19T21:17:00.000-04:00

Sea Of Tranquility

by Gordon Lightfoot

I live in the light of the bright silver moon

I'll take you off sailing from midnight til noon

I'll show you the Sea of Tranquility

You can have any flavor you happen to see

I live in the shade of a forest of green

In the wildest of woodlands that you've ever seen

There's rabbits and quail and tender young snails

As brown as the seaweed on old rusty nails

There's fireflies dancing in the cool evening breeze

There's love and romancing as nice as you please

There's otters and frogs and spotted ground hogs

And wiley old weasels in rotted out logs

There's rivers of rainbow and grey mountain trout

And little dark holes where the varmints hang out

There's foxes and hares in traps and in snares

And lots of bald eagles so you'd better take care

So if you've got the time and you'd like to pass by

Come down around midnight and give us a try

We'll show you the Sea of Tranquility

You can have any flavor you happen to see

2010-10-18T09:49:00.002-04:00

Debbie, in answer to your question from yesterday's comments, I think the sooner the general public understands the fallacy of industrial elementary education, the sooner we can put this nonsense to rest forever.

If you pluck up a young Buddhist peasant from a Tibetan neighborhood, a tribal kid from Kenya, an aboriginal kid from Australia, an American slave right off the plantation (we'll take Frederick Douglass as an example), or any child raised by loving intentional parents. If they speak English and they know how to read, you can drop these kids into college and they will thrive. If they care to thrive, they will thrive. Period.

Because industrial elementary education is not only arbitrary, it is unnecessary. Grow the children of the various cultures or situations of the world in any moral loving diverse way, teach them to read, and put them in college. They will thrive.

Because unlike the preponderance of our high school graduates, they will care. They will have what an admissions officer from Middlebury College just labeled, in an article in the NYTimes today about the worth of SATs, "fire in the belly" and moral footing. Qualities which trump rote learning and work sheet math every day.

Imagine industrial education setting about to offer their students Fire In The Belly, Moral Complexity, and a profound understanding of True Nature 101? Its laughable, but who would you rather teach? I would rather teach True Nature from The Yak Farm than Bucky from Video Game Lane USA, any day. Much moreover, with whom would you rather inhabit the planet?

2010-10-17T06:53:00.000-04:00

What are the values of institutional school to which my children are supposed to be socialized? What is my indigenous culture? And if we achieve human monoculture through industrial elementary education (which appears to be happening), who will we be as a people on this planet?

Western industrial education is creating the new indigenous culture. Is everyone perfectly clear on that? And is everyone okay with that? Because I find the idea horrifying. Beyond theory, we know about the results. We know our culture is manifesting an increase in bullying, suicide, depression, and compartmentalization.

2010-10-17T06:33:00.001-04:00

2010-10-14T08:54:00.001-04:00

Breakfast on a raining morning in October. It must be the month of yellow blurry images.

Chickens stand under the fig tree in the rain. The hound dog shivers, doesn't like to be cold. Riley works with hot glue on her Cat Goddess mask. Late season basil wilts on the kitchen counter. Of all the things planted this year, my two favorite are tiny, unseen, easy to miss: chocolate mint and some hybrid thyme that smells like heaven. There isn't any other way to describe it. And usually I don't much like thyme. Henry has been up since before dawn. We chatted in the dark, listened to the storm, wondered why storms seem to roll. The planet rolls. By now he is sequestered with Super Scribblenauts. In that world chickens can stand anywhere.

2010-10-11T05:35:00.000-04:00

Twelve blurry pins.

Twelve blurry candles.

Clearly, one beautiful and happy boy.

2010-10-07T09:35:00.000-04:00

So kiss me and smile for me

Tell me that you'll wait for me

Hold me like you'll never let me go

2010-10-06T19:13:00.001-04:00

Michael McCullough: "Forgiveness is a brawny muscular exercise that I imagine someone with a great passion for life and a great hardy disposition being able to take on."

I've been thinking about this quote all day. I have so many different ways to think about being a more forgiving person. I can call up many faces, examine my emotional reaction, and brood on my hurt or my ideas of the way the owner of that face may lack or suck. Yeah, I can go to the brooding suck tank of fault pretty easily these days. But its not a place I enjoy, not a place I want to live. And when conflict can't be resolved, as is so often the case when dealing with the population of Suck, forgiveness is the only other option.

Is it false to forgive in a demeaning way? I think so. On the surface it often goes like this: "Bless their flawed little heart, they can't help how much they suck, poor little things." That kind of forgiveness is narcissistic.

How about forgiving in a circular way? That does't work either. It goes like this: You suck. I don't want to be near your crazy dance of suck. So, I'll stay away just long enough to remember that I love you which is just long enough to get sucked into your crazy dance again which is just long enough to remember that you are dancing the crazy dance of suck. That kind of forgiveness is crazy making.

How about forced forgiveness? That's when you plaster a smile on your face and play nice. In psychological terms its called, Fake It To Make It. While you can fake your way through times of stress or fear, faking your way through a relationship is shallow. So that does't work either, unless shallow relationships feel good to you. I think people are far too complicated and mysterious to be so reduced, and knocking on the hollow void isn't my idea of a genuine life.

How then, to grasp this gorgeous bounteous expansive light kind of forgiveness? I'm thinking about it. And I'm thinking about God. And I'm thinking about Quakers. And I'm recalling all the best forgivers I've heard of: my husband, my children, Haven, Pierre Teilhard de Chardin, Tenzin Gyatso, Olive, dogs. A list before which I am unworthy. But there are clues in the list and hints and I'm thinking about it.

Today for a moment I summoned every unforgivable seeming face, in my mind, and I forgave. I forgave completely. It felt great. But it slipped, alarmingly easily, into the "Bless their heart" kind of forgiveness. I need more brawn, a hardier disposition, for all this letting go and acceptance. Or possibly, just to finally learn the truth of the situation: most of ones worldly trouble is self inflicted. Right? If you have a problem with someone, you probably ARE the problem. Who troubles our lives more than ourselves?

Interestingly, I never have the expectation of being forgiven. And I waste no time considering it. If it happens, its lovely. But its been a rare phenomenon in my life. And anyway, if we truly do design most of our own trouble, self forgiveness would be paramount. But it has to be real. Which involves remembering just how very much of your own trouble is your own fault - directly on a situation by situation basis, with almost everyone. Even when your ego can't figure out how its your fault, it probably is your fault. Which is a pretty serious kicker. Yeah, that would take some Herculean mental and emotional brawn, for sure.