Monday, September 15, 2014
This has come up a lot around here lately, as the boys get older and put more and more of their own ideas into what they do all day. It's made me remember, from what seems like a long time ago, when I could say to them "hey, that class about rocket science/archaeology/drawing sounds interesting, want to try it?" and confidently expect an unequivocal – enthusiastic – "yes!"
Even strewing things nonchalantly around the house doesn't work as well as it used to, although that is probably because I still strew things based on pre-tween interests… Books about building with Lego or paper airplanes just don't get picked up anymore.
Now, strewn items are more likely to be those that Ben and I just forgot to pick up, which brings me to my original point. When somebody is done reading, for example, Smithsonian magazine and leaves it open on the table to an article about Abraham Lincoln, just by accident, and then Owen sits down next to it to eat breakfast, is the article about Abraham Lincoln what he reads? No, he is far more interested in the side effects for the prescription drug advertisement on the facing page. He giggles his head off, reading about some of the really sickening side effects and asks: why would anyone in their right mind take that medicine when it causes such awful side effects, sometimes even causing what it supposedly cures?
Which inevitably leads to this: It's happy! It's fun! It's Happy Fun Ball!
(Best line: Do not taunt Happy Fun Ball.)
Which leads to one of our many conversations about advertising, truth, incentives, ethics… and suddenly both 10- and 14-year-olds are excited, engaged, laughing, sharing, thinking for themselves.
We have entered an age where an interest in Green Day leads to the mastery of bar chords, where the desire to share about Dungeons and Dragons leads to a writing game called The Silent Conversation because the only way I can stand to hear one more fact about D&D is silently.
Sometimes, it is still really hard to embrace the non-linear learning, because I wonder, what if they're not learning the right stuff? I wish the learning could be more linear, that there was some proscribed path leading brightly into the future for them. At times like that, I try to look to the past, especially the very recent past in which they have made wonderfully sound decisions for themselves that carry their interests forward. Luke, working with power tools, plumb lines, and angles to help build our new gaga pit; Owen striving to improve his bike riding skills to ride all over the campground with his cousins, both expert riders.
Could it be that they really are on a proscribed path leading brightly to the future?
Monday, June 23, 2014
My great ideas come from a combination of three things: creative constraint, percolation, and interaction with people, books, and media (like awesome podcasts!)
I'll take the last one first: thank goodness, my life is full of great conversations, listening, and reading. Ben and I have always loved talking together (well, except for that one time when the kids were away and we had a huge fight about, for some reason, incentive pay for teachers), and Luke and Owen ask the most amazing questions, starting from when they were really small. Personal favorite, when Owen was two: "Mom, where was I before I was in your belly?" As a family, we often talk about history and current events. Mostly our conversations focus on academic-minded topics, like using technology to solve problems, or behavioral economics. About a year ago, I put the book Freakonomics into 13-year-old Luke's hands, and it changed his life – then, he took a Harvard Secondary School Program class in game theory, and changed mine right back. (I am currently kind of obsessed with game theory.)
In his great book, Talk Like TED, Carmine Gallo discusses the 18-minute maximum length of a TED talk, referring to it as a creative constraint – I guess in public speaking, an 18-minute presentation is super short, which helps the speaker distill his or her presentation into the clearest, most crystallized form.
In my life, these last three years have been quite a restrictive form of creative constraint; with an arthritic-like tendon condition that affects every part of my body, I have sometimes felt like I am in a box that keeps getting smaller and smaller. To preserve my sanity, I have had to find ways of stimulating my brain without overusing my limbs, enjoying participation in the world of ideas through reading, podcasts, and more recently with voice recognition software. Also, music has been a huge help –Spotify in particular is a favorite in our home, because of its serendipitous nature and fabulous playlists – and meditation has saved my bacon too, even though I am the world's worst meditator.
|Owen, at four, 'meditating' with a book|
|Luke, at about 10, showing the patience needed for gardening|
Most of my ideas have to do with home, hearth, and family, which makes good sense given that I am a homeschooling mama. They are perhaps not life- or career-changing, but they make our household run a little more smoothly, help the boys figure something out in their learning, or bring us all closer together.
But recently, I had an idea that is about a little bit more than just our family. It has to do with the changing face of childhood in our culture, with how we treat kids growing up in this place and time. As an educator, I learned that giving kids – even very young kids – real choices and real control over their lives helps them learn better. However, as a society we seem to be doing the opposite and causing a crisis with our young children. That link up there will bring you to a study, Crisis in the Kindergarten, by Joan Almon and Edward Miller and endorsed by the Alliance for Childhood, a group that is full of early childhood luminaries and geniuses such as Howard Gardner and Vivian Gussin Paley, two of my heroes. The study shows that, nationwide, the time that children spend making their own choices in a school day is mostly extremely limited, and sometimes nonexistent.
It seems that we are scheduling our children's days to be full of learning experiences, which sounds like a good thing. But between test prep, squeezed budgets that limit recess and other self-directed time in a day, and the kind of hectic, crazy lives that we all live with as we try to get everybody to their music or sports practices, kids are losing the ability to stretch their own imaginations, and implement their own ideas.
Anyway, the idea that came to me (through creative constraint, reading and conversation, and especially percolation) was this: when we take away a child's ability to make choices and have some control, we fail to take them seriously.
Think about that for a minute. Think about how, when a decision that concerns you is made without your input, how disrespected that can make you feel. Think about how difficult that is to combat – even as an adult.
My idea for exploring this is called The Sincerity Project, and even though it seems like quite a small shift in perspective, it is leading to big changes in how I view teaching, learning, and parenting. I can't wait to share more about it!
Sunday, June 22, 2014
Here are some favorites that have kept me amused, and have helped me learn, sometimes about stuff I never even knew I needed to learn about. So, in completely random order:
The Price of Privilege by Madeline Levine totally blew my mind. Written by a psychiatrist, it details a phenomenon with which therapists nationwide are currently grappling, namely, that children and teens who outwardly appear to have every need taken care of are instead full of anxiety caused by pressure to succeed, and in huge numbers are turning to alcohol and drugs, destroying their futures and inner lives at the same time. It is a real eye-opener for anyone with children or who cares about children, and the author shares many great ideas for helping now.
The Lost Art of Feeding Kids by Jeannie Marshall was a favorite for so many reasons: the recipes, her description of the wonders of living in Italy with children, and especially for the analysis of how and why our foodways have become so broken. Read this if you've been wondering about the how and why, and also about how to start fixing.
The Lemonade War Series, five books in all by Jacqueline Davies, is a rarity in that each book is about some different aspect of childhood and deals with serious stuff but in a way that is really appealing to children – and adults! Chapters alternate between the perspectives of a brother and sister, instantly making it a series for both genders, and one of my favorite things is that the author never uses labels. There are characters in these books with serious challenges, and any adult reading will be tempted to put those characters into a labeled box; but children interact with others at a more basic, label-free level, and the author does a fantastic job of highlighting the importance of that. Read these because they are fun and entertaining – and also because they will give you and your children a way to approach complex issues such as sibling rivalry, ill or aging grandparents, bullying, divorce… The list goes on.
Finally, my current obsession is Jane Austen, Game Theorist by Michael Suk-you Chew. Actually, it is a uniting of two long-time obsessions, the novels of Jane Austen and the economic school of thought that is game theory. I know, they sound like two things that could never, ever be united – but the author makes an excellent and compelling case that Jane Austen was in fact the first game theorist. If you love Jane Austen and have never heard of game theory – or vice versa – then you might enjoy this book very much. And, if like me you love both, thenI know you will enjoy this book very much!
Wednesday, June 11, 2014
I have been thinking about something else, too, and that is the idea of taking children seriously. It's very easy to just blow off a child's ideas, and the younger a child is, the easier it is to make that mistake.
So, if you have kids in your home or your life, try to take them seriously. Try to honor their ideas and their attempts at communicating them. Because children who are taken seriously when they are young grow into people whose ideas can have a big impact in our world.
Thursday, May 15, 2014
This past December, as I laced up ice skates for the first time since beginning my unwanted dance with chronic tendinitis, I realized it was almost exactly 2 years since I first needed the chair. The silliness of friends and family is what made that accursed chair bearable; without them, it would only remind me of the howling pain and fear of the unknown which I felt during many of those months. It took a long time, but my legs regained their strength.
The problem with tendons is, they aren't just in your legs. These past few years have been a long series of whanging my head on a proverbial garden rake that I had left carelessly lying around, saying to myself “jeez, I better move that rake,” and then whanging my head again. And again. And…
This time around, the recovering tendons are in one elbow and the other thumb. Poor Ben is doing all my jobs, plus all his usual jobs; thankfully, our homeschooling Village and amazing network of friends and family are helping with moral support and meals. Also thankfully, Luke and Owen enjoy cooking, and are learning great lessons in ability, disability, and home economics. (Luke and Owen, in my completely unbiased opinion, are two of the best kids on the planet. But I'll save my gushing for another post.)
So, what's a girl to do when she can't use her hands for writing, typing, cooking, cleaning, card-playing, making music, knitting, or anything really, beyond holding a fork? Well, I've spent a lot of time in my own head, learning patience. Also, I have read some great books – again, another post – thunk thoughts both shallow and deep, and used my voice, sometimes for singing, sometimes for conversation and laughter, and sometimes, as now, for writing.
I have really missed blogging. I have missed having my own little corner of the Internet to share my opinions, and more importantly ask yours. I have missed documenting the boys' growth and development through the blog, where I can really highlight their joyful approach to life. Most, I have missed blogging as a space to discuss meta-learning, the learning that has gone on for me above (and because of) my children's learning.
In that last category, I include lessons they have taught me, like the time Luke rang the bell at the top of the climbing wall, things I have learned as the facilitator of their learning, and conversations I've had with others here in this blog about homeschooling, about learning, about teaching.
My hope is to blog again. Probably I will start off with fewer pics and hyperlinks, as both of those require hand power that I don't have.
Can I stave off the garden rake and bring the blog back to life at the same time? Well, we'll see.
Wednesday, April 18, 2012
One day, I stood up and walked away from the computer without even thinking about it – no planning where to put my feet, no thinking about shifting weight from one side to the other side. Before I knew it, I was up and away.
Another day, I discovered that I can shave my legs standing up in the shower! Funny what constitutes progress.
Those plants in the banner up there? They are now so big, that they no longer fit on the table and have had to be moved outside into a tiny greenhouse that I got last Christmas. It's like Attack of the Nasturtiums.
Thank goodness the boys and their Dad are digging a new garden, we're gonna need it soon!
Owen learned to read in such tiny increments that I didn't realize what was happening. Over a period of about six months he went from not reading, to decoding print, to almost effortless reading with inflection and emphasis. And giggling, lots of giggling – Owen prefers comics. The other day, I asked him to choose a book to bring to physical therapy in case he got bored while I was getting treatment. As he ran off to grab his favorite Garfield, he paused, looked up at me, and asked "Mom? Am I a reader?" I was so happy to be able to say to him with a big smile, "Yep!"
Slowly, slowly – it seems like everything has been moving at a snail's pace. And yet here we are in sunny April, walking and reading and growing. It feels incremental and at the same time all at once.
Thursday, March 15, 2012
A month ago, I wasn't walking; now, for very limited periods, I can. Also, the only thing my leg needs now is strength, so different from a month ago when every movement hurt. Big, big change!
In February, Owen had a lot more teeth than he does now:
As he's gotten more vampire-y looking, he's also developed a thirst (d'oh! cringe) for tales of that mysterious rabbit, Bunnicula. Coincidence?
In February, we had no new seedlings. And now:
Those nasturtiums, closest of the seedlings to the window and to the camera, have doubled in size since I took this picture yesterday.
And the Monster Spray has been repurposed, now hydrating our plants while keeping the house monster-free:
But some things never change. As ever, Luke loves paper airplanes, and this mild winter has presented lots of opportunities for flying them.
Here's to a spring with all positive changes. Fingers crossed!
Thursday, December 22, 2011
I've learned many lessons from these last months of illness; I think the two most important are 1) it's okay to depend on others sometimes and 2) patience really is a virtue. I want to thank everybody who contacted me here, or on Facebook, or via e-mail - your support really got me through this! I'm very lucky in my virtual friends as well as my real-world ones.
My kids have learned many lessons too, and have spent lots of their homeschooling time honing their life skills ( laundry, chicken care, dishes, cooking, etc. ) and their patience. In a way, these months have been extra-special because we've spent more time at home with each other, playing board games and talking about everything under the sun, and just laughing together. I wish I could've blogged about the time that Luke and Owen performed a shadow-puppet show, The Lord of The Rings Part One, with a theater and puppets they'd made from scratch to cheer me up during an especially low point. I could take no pictures, but oh boy, did this work. I'm tearing up thinking about it. It was awesome.
With health improving and Christmas coming, the month of December has been pretty exciting. The boys have been good to each other, have shared their time, energy, and even some of their hard-earned money to help less fortunate families in our area, they've been truly helpful around the house – so this week seemed like a good time to bust into the gingerbread. A few years ago, my dear friend Nicole, whose fantastic blog about unschooling you can check out here, somehow managed to get geometry concepts across while making gingerbread houses in the math class she taught; since then, Luke and Owen look forward to replicating that project every Christmas. Here are this year's results!
Instead of gingerbread, we use graham crackers because they are approximately the same size as index cards. ( And they're already made – gingerbread for houses is one thing I have yet to perfect.) So first, each boy uses index cards and tape to make a model for their gingerbread house. Here is Owen's, next door to his partially completed house:
Barn, actually. He declared his gingerbread house would be "the old barn where Jesus was born." "You mean manger?" I asked, enjoying his substitution for a word he did not know. "Yes!" came the answer.
It was fun to watch him design this. He spent his time painstakingly folding roof pieces and cutting small pieces for the upper walls. I wouldn't be surprised if he pulls out index cards just to build with them again sometime.
Luke went sort of in the other direction, making a cute, fairly unconventional house… complete with outhouse in back. Here he is, putting it together:
Their eyes widened so much when I brought out the candy:
It's rare that they see that much candy in one place, never mind in our house.
A happy boy.
Here's Owen putting the finishing touches on his manger:
This one gives you a good view of Luke's house, and outhouse:
He said at one point, "Hey Mom! I just put up a jellybean as an air freshener in the outhouse!" I haven't laughed that hard in weeks.
And here are the finished products:
Owen's manger, complete with candy gardens in front and back – and a stash of candy inside for the residents.
And Luke's, which he designed and built and decorated all on his own. Yes, it's an outhouse, but it's his outhouse, know what I mean?
When Owen developed the idea from the Rollo chimney, Luke soon followed suit. In fact, they traded ideas, as well as candy and extra frosting, very companionably. I kept thinking how great it is that they're such good friends, how even though they fight sometimes they're very quick to make up and care very much about each other.
And, not only can they rely on each other for help and support and fun and silliness, but Ben and I can rely on them for these things too.
It's been just one more positive lesson to come out of the trying year of 2011.
Thursday, November 17, 2011
I know that this blog is about homeschooling (well, and knitting) but for the last six months our lives have been as much about health, sickness, and insurance as anything else. And this is really a blog about our life, so this is what I'm blogging about.
In case the links stops working after today, here is the text from the letter:
Crying in pain, and in anguish over coverage woes
November 17, 2011
RE “AT best, Mass. health strategy offers halfway house to universal care’’ (Op-ed, Nov. 10): I really identified with Robert Kuttner’s op-ed. From my family’s standpoint, the health care glass sure looks half empty.
This year, I developed two fairly serious health issues, one chronic. In the midst of this crisis, my husband and I learned that our best health care option for next year, involving priced tiers, would make most of the doctors our family relies upon unaffordable for us as of Jan. 1.
Now I cry myself to sleep, not just from the pain of my physical ailments, but from the anguish of leaving the doctors we chose, including our primary care doctors, our sons’ pediatricians, and four excellent specialists. They’re among the best in their fields, and our relationship with some of them goes back more than a decade.
This experience has shaken my faith not just in our government but in our whole society. I wonder whether the soul-crushing mess that is health care in this country can ever be fixed?
Tuesday, November 8, 2011
The name of this plan is the Tufts Your Choice Plan.
Tryin' to get healthy, it continues to be a long road, so I thought it was time to check in for a mini-rant.
I guess what bothers me most about the name of this plan is that it seems intended to make people believe that they're getting more choices, while their choices are simultaneously being limited. Six out of seven doctors, people! It's so patronizing, calling it the Your Choice Plan.
In other news, the boys are good, the weather is lovely - I guess that's owed to us after a gigantic snowfall on the eve of Halloween - and hubby is now making better homemade pizza than I ever did. I continue to feel incredibly lucky, despite some stubborn obstacles to optimum health.
I hope you can say the same, or better!
Tuesday, September 6, 2011
On September 10, 2001:
I didn't intimately know the geography of Manhattan island, which I learned frantically in the hours of 9/11 because it was where my brother worked at the time.
I trusted air travel. Slightly.
I carried around 45 more pounds than I do now.
I suffered from asthma, frequent migraines, post-partum depression.
I didn't have my beautiful Owen yet. (I did have my beautiful Luke, and even through the post-partum depression, I knew what a treasure he was.)
I was mighty interested in keeping up with the Joneses.
I, along with my family, ate terribly.
Really, changing that last one has led to many of the other changes. The year Owen was born I read The Tightwad Gazette from cover to cover and we joined a CSA, events which precipitated the complete restructuring of our household. I even attribute homeschooling to those events, because although we didn't start that until years later, they are part of the same mindset. For me, at least.
In the intervening decade, I've looked at the clock at exactly 9:11 stupidly often. It still gives me goosebumps, as does thinking about how close my brother came to being a victim that day. He tells of coming through the under-the-towers subway station just after the first plane struck, and getting off to change trains one stop north. While waiting he heard sirens, screams, and a bland message over the intercom about "an incident interrupting train service," and along with everyone else he just waited in that seen-it-all New Yorker way until eventually a train came and he got on. He didn't find out what was happening until he arrived forty-five minutes later at his job in northern Manhattan, all his co-workers gathered around the television weeping.
And now, it is September of 2011. We've been adhering to our new normal as much as possible, given some health problems of mine; the boys hang with the chickens each day and have taken on the largest part of chicken-care, while Ben has had to do far more in the garden than I would like. (Just a little aside, the 2001 me would have laughed really hard at the idea of ever keeping chickens.) I've managed to put up quite a bit of salsa, tomatoes, jams, and have dehydrated several quarts of our favorite fruits.
You may know the golden rule about food preservation: always label and date the food, lest you forget what it is or come across it later and can only wonder if it is safe to eat. Hence, the relish I made in July of last year states "Relish, 7/10." I've labeled stuff that way since 2004, when I started canning, and now that we are in September of 2011 the labels read "9/11." Goosebumps, every time.
I've been giving serious thought to lying, to deliberately labeling everything canned, dried, or frozen during this month with the date 8/11, or 10/11.
But I think I won't. Our country changed that day in ways that are still being realized ten years on. Our laws, politics, world view, the way that we treat neighbors and strangers alike, everything is different because of 9/11. The very fact that we in our home have learned to put by so much of our own food, to be so invested in the local economy, so embedded in our community, began with 9/11. It would feel like a denial of history to lie on those jam jars or pickle jars.
Boy, that last sentence sounds bizarre. How can I possibly link up denial of history to canning jars? And yet it's true. Because every time I label preserved food this month, I'm going to have goosebumps. And then this winter, every time I grab some dehydrated peaches, or apples to make pie, those goosebumps will shiver their way up my spine again.
I'll think about how lucky I am to still have my brother, and I know that in the same moment I'll also be sad for those who did lose loved ones. I'll think about changes, especially of the wrenching negative kind, but I'll also think about the positive ones. I'll think about the kind of hope that causes a family to plant a garden and put up some produce.
It's a tiny way of remembering, a different kind of memorial.
Monday, July 25, 2011
They aren't newlyweds anymore, but I still hope that when my baby brother and his excellent wife pull out this blanky and snuggle under it, they will remember it as made for them on the occasion of their marriage. Even though that was almost two years ago.
Here's another picture of the blanky, because I do love pics without flash:
You can see the vertical stripes in it, one of the reasons I chose this pattern.
Anyway, just a quick check-in here at Stone Age Techie, where we are having a summer filled with health problems and have recently adopted the motto, 'if you can't laugh, you'll only cry, so better laugh.'
Yep, it's been that kind of summer.
We have also had some fun, though, and some personal triumphs - the Newlywed Blanky for me, canoeing on the Saco River in Maine, where Luke did nearly all the paddling for he and I (also where the banner pic comes from), and Owen's big thrill: jumping in the shallow end of the pool from the edge (and not from the steps in the water).
Lots of great stuff! Hope your summer is full of reasons to laugh, and none to cry.
Thursday, June 16, 2011
In my defense, I can only say that it's been a pretty busy few weeks, and culminated in my getting sick, like hospital sick. (Not wisdom teeth sick, though, that's still on the back burner.) For dignity's sake I will not go into what put me in the hospital; when I tell you that it involved more pain than labor and that I will continue to recover for the next probably eight weeks, that should be enough.
In the time leading up to my getting sick, I was making plans to go and be an angel of mercy for my parents while my mom recovered from knee surgery. I was looking forward to the trip, but not the airplane flight – flying is not my favorite mode of transportation. A week or so before I was due to go, Luke and I did a get-ready-for-bed exercise, and ever since then I've been planning to blog about the exercise.
I'd been really worrying about flying. I couldn't sleep for worrying, couldn't keep my mind on a book, didn't enjoy stuff I usually enjoy like playing Legos with the kids or knitting.
And then came the night of this exercise; I was so worried, I wasn't even looking forward to that. Luke chose the Cup Exercise, the one where we design a cup, fill it with our favorite liquid, drink it down, and place the cup in a box of our own design. When we got started, all I could think was that I wanted something comforting, but I couldn't think what.
Then my imagination took over; suddenly the plain drinking glass I started with had turned into one of those thick, white mugs that you get in an old-fashioned diner. And something more: the words 'Don't Panic!'appeared on the mug, along with several suggestions for hitchhiking around the galaxy – things like 'always remember your towel.' When we got to the part where you fill the cup with liquid, mine miraculously filled with a perfect cup of tea, just the right sweetness and just the right amount of milk. Somehow, when on the verge of a big trip, my mind channeled The Hitchhikers Guide to the Galaxy as just exactly what I needed; it was so right.
At the time, I thought the only thing I was going to have to worry about was a plane flight. My Don't Panic mug has seen me through a lot more than that, however.
Now, it will have to see us all through this summer; as I recover and get into the swing of summer harvesting and putting up food for the winter, I'm placing The Stone Age Techie on hold. I might be back to check in once or twice, but only plan to get back to regular blogging in September or October, when things settle down around here.
I hope you have a great summer, filled with all the sunshine and joy that your heart could possibly desire. See you in the fall!
Tuesday, May 10, 2011
I came upon these guys hanging out near our seedlings recently, and was struck by the difference in scale between the powerful, but teeny, warriors, and the giant baby herbs and tomato plants right next door.
It made me think about how big the warriors must seem to Owen, creator of their spaceship. And how just at that moment the baby plants might not have been babies at all, but part of a forest of giants.
Perhaps they are as big as his imagination; perhaps as big as childhood.
Thursday, May 5, 2011
Tuesday, April 26, 2011
Our state homeschooling organization, Advocates for Home Education in Massachusetts, planned a day for homeschoolers to visit the State House. The visit included a well-set-up scavenger hunt which took us all over the building, a State House tour, and the chance to meet with our State Representative.
Here are some pictures:
Up there, that's the statue of General Hooker. One of the many well-dressed workers at the State House took time out of his busy day to tell us all about Gen. Hooker, a Civil war hero. He also discussed how, in a sculpture of a person on a horse, you can tell if the subject is alive or dead by the number of hooves on the ground or in the air. Gen. Hooker, it turns out,lived through the Civil War; had he died the horse would be rearing with both front legs off the ground.
These next two pictures are of the Great Hall of Flags, which houses each Massachusetts town's official flag.
For much of our visit, the Great Hall of Flags was full of people and TV cameras and officials all gathered to discuss autism. It wasn't the only area of the state house bustling with senators, representatives, aides, journalists, photographers, and visitors. In most hallways and gathering spaces, people were everywhere! Another beautiful gallery, the Hall of Nurses, hosted a meeting the morning we were there attended by police officers from across the state. Just add in the flying paper airplanes that count as interoffice mail in the Ministry of Magic, and we could've been in the wizarding world.
It seemed like everywhere we went, there was somebody to help us. On our scavenger hunt, we needed to get into a large reception hall to find a painting of Horace Mann. A guard informed us that there was a meeting going on, we wouldn't be able to get into the reception room; as he was finishing his sentence, a senator rushed up, overruled the guard, and took us in to the room by a door further down the hallway, telling us many facts about the hall and the building as we went. When he opened the door to show us the picture, we saw officials, journalists, and photographers way over on the other side of reception hall – and the picture we were seeking was just above our heads.
Here is a lovely window that I enjoyed as we walked through the State House.
We were lucky enough to meet with the representative from our area, at a moment when he had the time to give us a tour of the House Debating Chamber. This picture hangs in the chamber:
Also, our representative told us about the Sacred Cod, which you can see in the gallery below. The cod's head points toward the side of the party in power; here in Massachusetts, the cod has pointed toward the Democrat's side since 1948 – a fact which our Republican representative told us with no irony or bitterness whatsoever; I liked him for that. When you are attempting to rear children with respect for their civil government, it's nice to have your elected representatives treat the other side with civility.
And, here is our group posing for a picture with the representative in the debating chamber. We are standing where the Speaker of the House stands; it was quite a feeling!
One of the most memorable parts of the day for me will always be when our representative was showing Luke, Owen, and I some of the quieter chambers off to the side of the big chamber. Luke asked a really interesting question: "Representative, why is everything oval-shaped in here? I mean, the curtains, the tables, the plaster above the lights…"
A conversation ensued about how the architecture in this building reflects the builders' belief in equality for everyone. Our representative told us further that the chairs in the Senate Chamber are carefully set so that everyone's head is at the same height while they debate. He then asked if the boys knew about the legend of King Arthur; when they responded enthusiastically, the three of them shared in a conversation about why the Round Table was round.
Owen: "Representative, our mom lets us watch clips of a movie about King Arthur on YouTube. Have you ever heard of Monty Python?"
Representative: (smiling)"Yes, I have."
Owen:"Oh, that is one of our favorite movies to watch clips from! Have you ever seen the part with the Killer Rabbit?"
Representative:(smiling even wider)"Sure, I remember him!"
Owen:"Do you remember this part? What's he gonna do, nibble my bum?" Seriously, my six-year-old said that to our State Representative. I was a bit embarrassed, but I have to admit I also thought it was very cute – and, I think the Representative will remember our meeting with fondness. He laughed heartily at Owen's imitation.
As for us, we remember this visit with fondness too. Really, all that were missing were the flying interoffice memos; the State House is quite a magical place.
Tuesday, April 19, 2011
But we thought, hey, we'll get covers for them, the sunflowers will be gone in a month, tops.
Fast-forward to two weekends ago, when I happened to look into the Last Chance bin at Ikea - and got $500 worth of couch covers for $30! Sure, they were meant to fit different-sized cushions, but I thought I could make them fit ours. So, one panic attack (at the thought of using scissors on such gorgeous fabric - I made the first cuts while on the phone with my Mom, I'm so glad she was home or I might not have had the guts) and a whole lot of thread later:
Bliss. One tiny corner of our tiny home has been tamed.
Thursday, April 14, 2011
I think I only want to visit Cape Cod in the off-season ever again! No crowds, just friendly year-round residents and blissfully empty open spaces.
This is just a few steps from the inn we stayed at.
Nobksa Light, one of two lighthouses we checked out - I have a thing for lighthouses like Topsy has a thing for waterfalls, so this was my kind of trip.
The view from Nobska Light.
Any thoughts on what this bird might be? He was hunting for lunch in Nauset Marsh.
Here's the second lighthouse, Nauset Light. It overlooks Nauset Beach:
And there's Ben, way up the beach.
Notice that we are in full winter gear! It was beautiful, but very cold and windy.
My Ben, I am so glad that you're the one I get to turn forty with! But, will you still need me when I'm sixty-four?
Monday, April 11, 2011
Wednesday, April 6, 2011
Tuesday, March 29, 2011
This is from a huge room of mini-dioramas explaining mining, starting with the Gold Rush; I loved this depiction of sluice-mining.
A canary in a coal mine, just one tiny part of just one of the amazing 'mines' you can walk through here. They really give you an idea of what miners' days were (and are) like!
A huge sculpture of a miner, mining. I also loved the elaborate stained glass windows, depicting everything from jackhammers to those huge dump trucks, one of which you can see behind the sculpture.
The pictures simply do not do this place justice. We walked in thinking, 'okay, we'll spend an hour, how exciting can a museum about mining be?' And left thinking, 'whoa.'
If you're ever in Leadville, Colorado, it is worth a stop!