Lift Up Your Hearts!

Having discovered FEEDJIT on Stephanie's blog, I had to try it myself. (That's the "Recent Visitors" map in the panel to the right.) It's a graphical (and geographical) peek at who my faithful readers are, and who has wandered in via a random search.  Don't worry, I don't really know who you are, just where you're coming from (which allows me to guess who you might be).  Even that isn't always accurate; I'm certain that all those Portsmouth, Rhode Island hits are actually from Hartford, Connecticut.  And my Swiss fan has only once showed up as from Basel—the rest are all over the map, and I'm certain I don't have a following at the Château de Chillon, despite the hits from Montreux. The greatest problem is that I won't see you if you hide behind a feedreader; until Heather posted a comment, one would have thought I had no readers in Pittsburgh at all.

The most popular page for searchers is the quick Fahrenheit/Celcius conversion formula I developed when we were in New Zealand and posted for friends who were travelling to Spain.  This was long before it came in so handy for us thanks to all Janet's travels.  Searches for that one come from many places on the globe.  From Rochester, New York it's not surprising to find searches for the Bay Punch recipe.

I am on an Andrew Pudewa kick.  I first discovered his Institute for Excellence in Writing through an online forum for early childhood education, and—as usual—once I'd heard of him, his name started coming to my attention in other ways.  A friend of ours is the principal of a private Christian school which emphasizes academic excellence as well as a solid Christian worldview, and she and her teachers waxed so enthusiastic about his program for teaching writing that she even sent me a sample videotape of one of his lectures.  It didn't take me long to get hooked.  For the first three minutes, I found Pudewa's voice to be annoying; after that I was so intrigued by what he was saying and how he was presenting it that it didn't matter.

Now I'm not averse to spending money on educational materials for our grandkids, but they're not yet old enough for the writing materials, which are a bit pricey to buy on speculation, especially since there might well be a subsequent edition or two by the time they would be used.  Fortunately for my curiosity, one of our favorite homeschooling families was impressed enough to try it out, and I'm looking forward to hearing about their experiences.

Some of Pudewa's other materials are financially more accessible, and since I couldn't interest anyone else in his poetry memorization program, I bought it for myself!  I think I'm going to enjoy it.  It came with a bonus DVD of his lecture entitled Nurturing Competent Communicators, which I highly recommend.  As a writing teacher, he has been appalled by the lack of writing ability very much evident today, and has come to the conclusion that you can't get out of a mind something that's not there in the first place.  Today's children (and those from a generation or two before, as well) simply have not had sufficient input of good language vocabulary, structure, and style; this hinders not only their ability to write, but also their ability to think.  Rather than spend much time berating the negative influences on language (peers, media, lack of reading, stress and fast pace of life), Pudewa suggest two positive solutions.

Read good books (especially poetry) aloud.  This is still critical well after children are competent readers.  One can read aloud books at a much higher level of sophistication than a child can (or will) read for himself.  Moreover, even very good readers will often mispronounce words they've only encountered in print, and will often read so quickly as to get the meaning of the words while missing their music; hearing them read aloud corrects both these errors.  A cosy family situation is best for such reading, but Pudewa acknowledges the time crunch many families suffer and the value of books on tape.  He also suggests enlisting grandparents in the project, suggesting we create heirloom recordings of our own.  Reading aloud is more critical to language development, says Pudewa, than much of what we give higher precedence.  I'm grateful that Porter knew this instinctively and for many years ended each meal by reading aloud to us.  He even began with poetry—and no, it wasn't just a way of getting out of helping with the dishes, though I must say it did make doing the dishes much more interesting.

Memorize poetry and other examples of good language.  Memorization itself promotes brain growth, and memorization of good language provides the brain with a stock of good language patterns.  Pudewa tells a story close to my own heart for reasons most of you will recognize.  As a Suzuki violin teacher, he had lived in Japan for three years, studying under Shinichi Suzuki himself.  Naturally he wanted to learn the language, and had reached the point where he could communicate reasonably well, and yet was frustrated by knowing that he wasn't really getting things right.  Drawing on his Suzuki training, he devised a plan:  He asked his sensei to record himself reading a Japanese children's book version of Jack and the Beanstalk.  This Pudewa practiced and practiced, phrase upon phrase, until he had it completely memorized.  As a result, his ability to speak Japanese took a significant leap forward; through a simple children's story he had given his brain many of the patterns and cadences of the Japanese language.  Plus he became a great hit with the little Japanese children he met.  He would have loved the HIPPO Family Clubs!  No wonder my dad was so smart:  when he was young, he walked a lot, and when he walked, he memorized poems.

At the same time that I purchased the poetry program, I couldn't resist getting a couple of CDs containing his lecture, The Profound Effects of Music on Life.  I'm anxious to hear my favorite musician's take on this lecture (if she ever has time to listen to it).  I know he has greatly oversimplified things for his lay audience, but much of what he says rings true to my ears and I'd love to have an expert's opinion.

And I wonder why everthing takes me so long!  It was to clean my office that I set out to do, but I couldn't just put the CDs on the shelf, I had to enter them into my library software, and I had to rip them to mp3s so I could listen to them when I go out walking.  In the process of ripping I discovered that one was a DVD, and since I couldn't rip it I listened to it then and there.  And that inspired me to install another piece of software that I was going to install "sometime," and then of course I couldn't stop but had to write about it all.  Now I'm done and can finally put the materials away.  But there's still the rest of the room to work on, and where did the day go???

In case any of you are more aware of the news than I am (I suspect that includes most of you), we have not been affected by the Florida Power and Light blackout.  (We have a different power company.)  I understand that parts of our county have been, so I might notice if I were out driving around, but I'm not, and aside from a brief Internet glitch (which is not all that uncommon) everything seems normal.  A beautiful sunny day, with a lovely more-than-normal breeze, though I did wish I'd changed into shorts before going for my walk this morning.

Has anyone here seen the movie, The English Patient?  If so, did you like it?  If you did, why?

I appreciate Heather and Jon's zero tolerance policy when it comes to objectionable elements in movies, but I'm not that strict myself.  If a book or movie has enough good in it, I will often put up with the parts I don't like.  There's a moment I would like to cut out of Kenneth Branagh's Henry V, for example, but that doesn't stop it from being one of my favorite movies of all time.  His Much Ado about Nothing has two scenes that are even more objectionable, but it's right up there in my estimation as well.  I've been far more unhappy about some of the Oscar winners we've been watching, but still able to say afterwards, "I didn't like the movie, but so-and-so acted the part really, really well."  Or, "There's a lot about this movie I don't like, but I can't help admiring the way it was crafted."

Not so The English Patient.  Perhaps my view was colored by it being not at all the movie I had thought it was, but I found nothing redeeming about it at all.  My mind is left scarred by disturbing images and sounds, and I find myself none the richer.  Did anyone out there get more from the movie than I did?

Why, I wonder, do people watch disturbing films?  Am I just unusually fussy?  I understand that there are times when a book or movie has become so embedded in the culture that it is probably a good idea to know them, even if they are otherwise objectionable.  The Lord of the Flies is an unpleasant book, yet what it says and the effect it has had probably make it worth reading, if only for understanding of the many subsequent references to it.  On the other hand, I believe I have learned quite as much as I need to know about Hannibal Lector from crossword puzzles!

I find it hard to believe that I'm the only one dramatically affected by what I read or watch.  Words and images make their mark on my brain and soul and cannot be undone.  (I wish I remembered names and faces that well, or even history dates.  It would be much more useful.)  I must be very careful about what I allow into my mind, because it changes me.  "Garbage in, garbage out" applies to more than computers.   I suppose I could become inured to it all with more frequent exposure, but that's not exactly a comforting thought.

Then again, maybe I'm just being grumpy.  Forrest Gump was better, but I was still less than impressed.  I'd seen it before and hadn't cared much for it, but it was actually worse than I had remembered.  (I must have seen a version that had been edited for television.)  It was okay, and I supposed it's good to know the context for "Life is like a box of chocolates," but the sixties were a very unhappy time, and reliving them is not high on my list of what consitutes a good use of a couple of hours.

So, what do you think?  Do movies (and books) leave an indelible impression on your soul?  Can you appreciate the craft of a movie if you don't like the content (and vice versa) or does the one spoil the other?  What makes a movie worth the time it takes to watch it?

I mentioned the advantages of my customized Google News page yesterday, and here today is another example of its serendipity. One of my categories is "Basel Switzerland," which I'll admit is not usually very interesting as it usually contains only stories about banks, drug companies, and the occasional Paris Hilton slip-up.  This morning, however, I was greeted by the headline, More Dairies Go Raw.  That sounded interesting, given my interest in foods natural and unpasteurized, and my observation that, while Switzerland does cheese very, very well, the milk—at least that available in the grocery stores—is less than stellar.  Just like here, everything is pasteurized and homogenized, and if you want skim milk (as I do), you are reduced to buying that which has been so denatured as to be able to sit, unrefrigerated, on the shelf for an indeterminant time.  No thanks; I got my dairy from yoghurt and cheese while we were there.

So what was a story from the Boston Globe doing in my Basel news feed? Because of these sentences:

Researchers at the Institute of Social and Preventive Medicine at the University of Basel in Switzerland followed nearly 15,000 children ages 5 to 15 in Austria, the Netherlands, Switzerland, Sweden, and Germany from 2001 to 2004. The study, sponsored by the European Union and published in 2007, found that children who drank raw milk had a lower incidence of asthma and allergies.

I love the season of Lent.  Not only because of all the great hymns associated with it, but because of the new possibilities it opens up.  At face value, idea of giving something up for Lent is a negative one, and a rather poor picture of the one at whose "right hand are pleasures forevermore."  Whether we observe Lent by abstention from something pleasurable, or by some positive action, I believe God's purpose in the exercise is to unshackle us from old habits and open our hearts to something new and better.

Lent came late for me this year.  At its beginning we were in Switzerland visiting Janet, and Mark 2:19 seemed applicable.  For another, even after we returned there was nothing that seemed right to do.  Until now.

About a month ago I read French Women Don't Get Fat; I found it only moderately interesting, but if all I take from it is the author's baguette recipe I am still much the richer.  (Side note: I have a friend who is gifted with the ability to make an excellent summary of the important points in a book.  The down side of this is that I'm usually disappointed when I read a book she has recommended, because I'm expecting more but have already received most of what's there.  It happened with The Power of Full Engagement, and again with this book.)  One of the author's suggestions, which I've heard before, is to keep a food diary, in which one writes down everthing eaten over a period of several days or even weeks.  Similarly, Randy Pausch's lecture on Time Management strongly suggests keeping a time log, for thirty days, chronicling how one's time is spent—for every 15-minute interval!  If the food diary seems daunting, this seems downright impossible.  We're talking about someone who is woefully behind in her personal journal, and unaccountably uninspired to do better.  I can't do this!  It's crazy.  It would require...um...discipline!  Ah, ha!  And look, thirty days brings me right up to Easter.

So I'm attempting both:  keeping logs of both food and time.  You needn't worry that I'll share the details here—for both my sake and yours I'll limit myself to general observations.  One thing I've learned already is that I'm a compulsive multitasker.  I like to read while I eat, work while I'm talking on the phone, scan photos while IM-ing, and write (mentally) while doing almost anything else.  (One reason I don't care for watching television and movies is that I don't knit and there's not much else you can do effectively at the same time.)  Even my 15-minute segments often have X's in two or more boxes!   This may be a natural part of my personality, but I'm also convinced it's a learned behavior, a consequence of my career as wife/mother/homemaker.  Is there any other job more prone to constant interruptions?  Children, of course, but also husbands, friends, neighbors, telephones, and boiling-over pots are all prone to demanding frequent attention—and right now!  Before long, the ability to string two thoughts together is in jeopardy, and one loses the habit of concentrating on one task alone.  Of course, being available when needed is part of the job description, but perhaps we allow it to be taken too far.

The ability to multitask is a useful one, to be sure.  To be able to fit more than one activity into the same time slot enables us to accomplish more, and this is no small achievement.  But it's also true, I'm afraid, that we're likely to do neither activity as well as we could if only we'd give it our full attention.  And perhaps our enjoyment is less, also.  In many cases that may be okay, and "good enough is better than perfect."  But the problem is worth considering.

And at this point, just considering.  The purpose of these Lenten exercises is not change, but observation only.  Change may come later, but it's going to be quite enough at the moment just to write things down!

Those of you who begin each day with my Morning Coffee page are already familiar with the Geography Zone challenge.  Thanks to DSTB you will now see a new geography quiz in the list, National Geographic's GeoBee.  This is a tough one, not only because it covers more than locations (natural resources, culture, and religion for example), but because the questions are not always multiple choice.  Not only is it necessary to come up with the answer on one's own, which is much more difficult than merely choosing, but spelling counts.  I mis-spelled "Montpelier."  :(

It's been a while since we paid college tuition (though the loans linger on), and even longer since we paid for private schooling pre-college (Heather's kindergarten and first grade years), but the desire to compare the cost of a trip to Antarctica to other forms of education led me to some shocking discoveries.

The educational system in America, like the health care system, is in terrible shape.  Don't get me wrong.  I have yet to be convinced that the situation is better in any other country, and the number of people who flock here from overseas, both to our doctors and to our schools, is ample evidence that I'm not the only one.

The per-student cost of public education is not an easy figure to calculate, since (1) it varies from district to district and (2) school boards aren't always eager to make the figures readily available.  I did find that Fairfax County, Virginia calculates its average annual cost per student as about $13,500.  I'm not sure this has much meaning other than to depress those who are paying for private or home education on top of the taxes necessary to foot such a bill, but I offer it for what it's worth.

I surveyed the tuition costs of six private schools:  one Catholic (C), one "Classical Christian" (CC), one "other Protestant" (OP), and three elite private boarding schools (EPB).  Note:  the numbers are approximate, but accurate enough.  Some figures reflected this year, and some next, so I did some rounding.  Also, tuition isn't everything—I added the cost of a required annual "fee" of nearly $1000 to the tuition figure of the Classical Christian school, though for the other schools the fees were minor and I ignored them.  The elite schools have two figures, because there are two classes of students: day and boarding (boarding figures in parentheses).  In all cases I considered high school tuition.  (Lower schools usually charge less.)  So, for each year of private high school education, you will pay (scholarships excepted):

• C: $9,000 if you're Catholic; $12,000 if you're not, or not active in your parish
• OP: $9000
• CC: $10,000
• EPB1: $24,000 ($38,000)
• EPB2: $29,000 ($37,000)
• EPB3: $29,000 ($39,000)

For comparison, a year at Harvard University (tuition, room, board, fees) is about $46,000.

I'm not questioning anyone's decision to spend that kind of money on their children's schooling.  Those we know who have chosen these options (and we know people in all categories) are convinced that this is a worthwhile investment for their children: socially, spiritually, academically, and even financially.  (One parent credits his son's Classical Christian education with the "free ride" given him by a highly-ranked private university, and it's hard to argue that spending $40,000 to save $140,000 is unwise!  Not that that happens to everyone.)

The more I learn, the more I'm convinced that the wise expenditure of money on education before college is more important than saving for college itself.  But these numbers rattled me, and I fling them out as a challenge to all parents who have chosen public or home education for their families.  (I wish we'd thought of it this way during our homeschooling days.)

I like my customized Google News page, the keyhole through which I see not only major world and U.S. stories, but also the latest news on specific topics of particular interest to me, such as home birth, home education, and Basel, Switzerland.  That's how I occasionally come upon little gems I'd never find otherwise, such as Homeschooling Grows Up, an article from today's Catoosa County News.  Have you ever  heard of the Catoosa County News?  How about Catoosa County itself?  Me, neither.  (It's in Georgia.)

Not that the article says anything spectacular or new to those already in the home education field, but it caught my eye because of a conversation I had recently with Janet, in which she noted that in her lifetime home education has gone from being considered extremely counter-cultural to being so common some people homeschool simply because that's what's expected of them, at least in their own circle of friends.  It's hard for me to imagine the latter, but apparently in places it's true.  I can't get too upset by that—I don't see it as being any worse than sending your kids to public school because "that's what's done"—but admit it does pose some risks as the pool expands.

We've heard the story for years, how Grandma's cousin was captain of an icebreaker and had a place in Antarctica named for him.  But is it Truth or Tapioca?  Thanks to the Australian Antarctic Data Center and the U.S.G.S. Geographic Names Information System, we now have Evidence! (Click here for an interactive map.)

I know you're all waiting to hear of our most recent adventures in Switzerland, but I've been catching up on blog reading (over 100), which resulted in yesterday's post, and e-mail (also over 100), which inspired this one.

Most of my readers, I suspect, are familiar with Randy Pausch, the CMU professor whose inspirational "final lecture" has been making the Internet rounds for months.  If you're not, I recommend listening to the entire recording, but some may prefer the much shorter "reprise" featured on Oprah.  (The latter is also grandchild-safe, as far as I recall—not that they would sit still long enough to catch the few mildly offensive words in the CMU version.)  Thanks are due to my friend LJ, whose e-mail to me of the Oprah version brought this all back to mind, and incidentally led me to one more Randy Pausch lecture, this one on time management.  (If you listen to that one first, you will probably opt for the Oprah version of the other lecture.  )  Most of what Pausch has to say is not new, but the purpose of such talks is more inspiration than information, and at that Pausch is a master.  If you're as frustrated as I was at not being able to see the PowerPoint slides he refers to, you'll be happy to know they're available here.

Humor is a funny thing.  Laughter may be the best medicine, but it can also wound deeply.  John Stackhouse addresses this issue thoughtfully in his post, Why No One Here Is Laughing at My Jokes.  While lecturing in India, he discovered that all his standard jokes fell flat with his Indian audience, except amongst those who had been educated in the West.  Only when he switched to more obvious, I Love Lucy-style joking did the others respond.

Their humour, it seems, is straight on the nose, big smiles telegraphing the punch line, with no ambiguity: That’s a joke. Ours, instead, comes at you sideways, no smile, with a dash of bitters. Oh, yeah: I get it.

The experience caused him to reconsider his own joking.

Friends have warned me...that people near me, whom I want to stay near me and to enjoy being near me, are frequently uncomfortable with me just because they’re not quite sure what I mean by that. And not knowing means not feeling safe. And nobody likes to feel unsafe....

So some of my students are wary of me. Some of my colleagues keep a certain distance. And some of my family members wonder—if only for a second—whether I really love them.

That’s a pretty big price to pay for trying to be humorous.

Humor has indeed taken a dark turn in recent years.  Even children's movies must have a cynical (or sexual) twist, to entertain parents while purportedly going over the heads of the children.  Walt Disney would be appalled at what now passes for humor at his theme parks, where even the guests are insulted by pattering cast members.  Family members and friends routinely disrespect each other, verbally and physically.  All in the name of a joke.  This is not new behavior, but it does seem to be more widespread, and accepted, than ever.

The root of the problem is not, however, simply I Love Lucy versus Frasier.  Like Stackhouse, I prefer cleverness, wit, wordplay and irony to slapstick.  It's not a specific genre of comedy that I find disturbing; anyone who has watched the Three Stooges knows how cruel the latter can be.  Rather, to paraphrase a line from Randall Garrett's marvellous Lord Darcy mysteries, black humor is a matter of symbolism and intent.  If we would not give offense, it is important to know both ourselves and our audience.

What is my intent?  Does my supposed humor mask real hate, anger, or contempt in my heart?  If so, the victim is sure to detect it.  Worse, hearers who harbor similar feelings will be encouraged in their sin.

What about the audience?  The physical and mental sparring that might strengthen some would crush others.  To trade insults and even blows is a well-accepted form of bonding, especially among males; whether this is overall beneficial or harmful I'm not in a position to judge, though I have my suspicions.  An appreciation of such humor requires a certain security, emotional stability, and self-confidence that I'm not sure we have a right to assume.  To joke about fat people with those who struggle with weight issues, mental illness among those who've fought depression for years, or brain death to one who has ever faced life-support decisions is to deliver a potentially devastating blow.

I would not have all humor crippled by a fear of "political incorrectness," but love and decency require that at the very least we not ignore the circumstances and personalities of those with whom we jest.