Friday, October 24, 2014

Friday Photo


Friday Photo

A single photo, every Friday. No words required.


Monday, October 20, 2014

Spider Hunting

Aunt Susie knows how to look for spiders. Big ones.


If you go out at night with a bright light shining from about your own eye level, any animal that looks at you will reflect their eyeshine in your direction. When you see the light in their eyes, you know that you and the animal are regarding one another through the darkness. A small cluster of green eyeshines in the grass is often a spider.


Let the backyard wildlife expeditions begin!

Monday, October 13, 2014

Parent Teacher Conferences

Today were our parent-teacher conferences for the kids. Apparently, while I was busy with other things, my children have shown themselves to be well-liked, well-educated, and well-behaved. On grade level or above in every subject. (Hazel's my math girl, Rain's a great reader.) Managing their emotions, getting along with peers, growing in maturity with their polite and appropriate self-advocacy. Staying focused, being on-task, accepting transitions. What progress these little munchkins have made!

Their teachers mentioned just one area where they could both use a little more practice. Writing. Doesn't it just kill you?? I could use some more writing practice too.

I've got a little notebook that I pass back and forth with Rain. He has filled it with the most amazingly detailed pictures, mostly of animals in nature. His teacher suggested that I ask him to label the pictures and then try to write at least one or two good sentences about them. 

As I type this right now, Hazel sits at the other corner of the desk, plotting and planning her piece of short fiction. I'm going to ask her to share it with me. Maybe she'll workshop one of my short essays in return.

Smart, good kids. I am so lucky.

Now all we have to do is the 504 meetings with the G/T teacher so that we can educate her about how a person can have a high IQ or great talent and a disability which requires accommodation at the same time.

Friday, October 10, 2014

Friday Photo


Friday Photo

A single photo, every Friday. No words required.


Monday, October 6, 2014

Jack O'Lantern

You know what's the best? When you're doing something really hard and scary (and bloody!) and then your sister comes in and she's so encouraging and proud of you for being so brave.


From great struggle comes great success. Look at that mouth, would ya?


He has decided that this is the perfect year to go as a Jack O'Lantern for Halloween. Gotta love age 7.

Friday, September 26, 2014

Friday Photo


Friday Photo

A single photo, every Friday. No words required.


Monday, September 22, 2014

Quotations for Health and Sanity: James Thurber on Writing


Quotations for Health and Sanity

James Thurber, on Writing, from his introduction to "My Life and Hard Times"

 
"Benvenuto Cellini said that a man should be at least forty years old before he undertakes so fine an enterprise as that of setting down the story of his life. He said also that an autobiographer should have accomplished something of excellence. Nowadays nobody who has a typewriter pays any attention to the old master's quaint rules. I myself have accomplished nothing of excellence except a remarkable and, to some of my friends, unaccountable expertness in hitting empty ginger ale bottles with small rocks at a distance of thirty paces. Moreover, I am not yet forty years old. But the grim date moves toward me apace; my legs are beginning to to go, things blur before my eyes, and the faces of the rose-lipped maids I knew in my twenties are misty as dreams.
At forty my faculties may have closed up like flowers at evening, leaving me unable to write my memoirs with a fitting and discreet inaccuracy or, having written them, unable to carry them to the publisher's. ...
The notion that such persons are gay of heart and carefree is curiously untrue. They lead, as a matter of fact, an existence of jumpiness and apprehension. They sit on the edge of the chair of Literature. In the house of Life they have the feeling that they have never taken off their overcoats. Afraid of losing themselves in the larger flight of the two-volume novel, they stick to short accounts of their misadventures because they never get so deep into them but that they feel they can get out. This type of writing is not a joyous form of self-expression but the manifestation of a twitchiness at once cosmic and mundane. Authors of such pieces have, nobody knows why, a genius for getting into minor difficulties: they walk into the wrong apartments, they drink furniture polish for stomach bitters, they drive their cars into the prize tulip beds of haughty neighbors, they playfully slap gangsters, mistaking them for old school friends. To call such persons 'humorists,' a loose-fitting and ugly word, is to miss the nature of their dilemma and the dilemma of their nature. The little wheels of their invention are set in motion by the damp hand of melancholy."