tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-273988882024-03-13T14:49:35.420-06:00Wistful WanderlustUnschooling in Cornfield Countrypiscesgrrlhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12279344142538980436noreply@blogger.comBlogger308125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-27398888.post-45009126771114483072011-09-11T10:41:00.000-06:002011-12-26T13:39:50.665-06:00Transitions<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">
<span style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS", sans-serif;">Found this old thing. Wrote it in September. Publishing it now. *Shrug*</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS", sans-serif;">Hello?</span><br />
<br /><span style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS", sans-serif;">Hello-o-o-o-o-o-o....</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS", sans-serif;">Pssssst.... You out there? *cough cough* </span><br />
<br /><span style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS", sans-serif;">It's dusty in here.</span><br />
<br /><span style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS", sans-serif;">I forgot about this place. Well, I didn't entirely forget, because I've recently gotten several requests that I blog again. I even received an extremely poignant compliment from my grouchy-and-cynical cousin who said he enjoyed my blog because he never gets to read good writing and he appreciates it when he sees it. Picture me, humbled and speechless. </span><br />
<br /><span style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS", sans-serif;">Ask my Facebook friends, I don't do speechless.</span><br />
<br /><span style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS", sans-serif;">And then my friend Kristin and her new <a href="http://http//inprintwriters.hostoi.com/index.php">Professional Writers Group</a> had to go and woo me into doing seven hours of events at their book fair yesterday, including reading some of my own original poetry (who knew?) and I had several people approach me afterwards with kind words and feedback about my writing. </span><br />
<br /><span style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS", sans-serif;">I love to write. But writing is time-consuming. I found that the more I wrote about our lives and our unschooling, the less I was living my life and unschooling. Something had to give.</span><br />
<br /><span style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS", sans-serif;">And yet you gotta scratch the itch.</span><br />
<br /><span style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS", sans-serif;">Emotions are a'tumble today as I sit here, missing my son who moved out 6 weeks ago - the one who was supposed to COME HOME AND VISIT HIS MAMA this weekend but didn't - and listening to the heart-breaking anniversary coverage of 9-11. </span><br />
<br /><span style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS", sans-serif;">Life. </span><br />
<span style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS", sans-serif;">Death. </span><br />
<span style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS", sans-serif;">Growth. </span><br />
<span style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS", sans-serif;">Loss. </span><br />
<span style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS", sans-serif;">Transition.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS", sans-serif;">Brady's departure was sudden and quite unexpected. He had plans to travel this fall, to Oregon, to Vermont, and back again. He had plane tickets in hand, and itineraries mapped out with friends. And then we got an email about a job in film. He sent his resume (after first writing it in a frenzy), got a callback, interviewed, got the job, and moved out - all within the span of about 5 days. And just like that, my oldest child was launched.</span><br />
<br /><span style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS", sans-serif;">The job is going well (so well he DIDN'T COME HOME TO SEE HIS MAMA THIS WEEKEND) and it promises opportunities in faraway lands like Los Angeles and beyond, if only his parents in the cornfields can wrap their heads around it enough to help him get there.</span><br />
<br /><span style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS", sans-serif;">Brady called a few days ago to talk about finding an apartment in LA. Right after I puked up a little bit in my mouth, I peppered him with questions. I asked about the seriousness of this job option, if this was the track he was sure he wanted to take. I explained what a 'sublet' is, and then told him to quit this nonsense and come back home right this minute and sit in his room for 13 hours a day playing World of Warcraft.</span><br />
<br /><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS;">Wait, what?</span><br />
<br /><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS;">It wasn't all that long ago that Brady had a mini-meltdown in our kitchen. He claimed he wasn't an extrovert like me, that he didn't know how to talk to people like I do, that breaking into groups was uncomfortable for him and there were opportunities he'd missed because he was shy. </span><br />
<br /><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS;">My first question, haven't you been watching me all this time? Dude, I can talk the pants off a rock. (If rocks wore pants.) Some things you learn by exposure. But in this case, he needed more explicit advice, so I gave him some pointers.</span><br />
<br /><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS;">A few months later he got a job in the filmmaking industry because, among other things, "he was comfortable" with the interviewers and they liked him. This, about my boy who doesn't know how to talk to people.</span><br />
<br /><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS;">Sometimes all it takes is the right motivation. </span><br />
<br /><span style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS", sans-serif;">Because we don't subscribe to the one-size-fits-all model of school, there is little pressure to learn, grow and evolve on a timeline set by someone else. Just as he didn't have to learn to long-divide in 2002 because he turned 9 years old, he isn't pressured to do other things because he crossed some invisible, arbitrarily-set age line. He started community college at age 15 (because he wanted to) but doesn't have plans to start university until age 20, maybe, possibly, and even that is simply one option on an ever-expanding list of possibilities. And this job tosses all previous plans out the window.</span><br />
<br /><span style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS", sans-serif;">Usually, when my boys transition, it's practically overnight. Often, stages seem to last longer than they might if they were in school (where you MUST transition when they say so), and it can sometimes seem like "he'll never get past this" but then suddenly..... he does. Just like that. I'm still continually amazed in these unschooling moments by how things evolve when we are able to honor our own timelines. It's not always convenient, for sure - it would've been far better if he'd felt this confidence earlier, to help him with other situations that caused him angst - but in this case it happened when it needed to. And it was as if someone lifted the old Brady and replaced him with the new, more confident version.</span><br />
<br /><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS;">School imprisons children by severely restricting their movement and ability to make choices for themselves. So much so that if you ask most high school graduates what their plans are, what they want to do, most don't know. And how could they? They've had no time to dabble, to try things on to see what fits, discover what they like, what they don't like. Most insulting, during high school, the years when they ought to be transitioning toward more and more independence, they're still treated as children: told what to do and when, told just how many pages their essays should be, and given only "controlled choice." And if they rebel? Troublemakers. </span><br />
<br /><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS;">With unschooling, the transitions are all natural. Restrictions that are imposed occur authentically - a resume that must be turned in by the end of the day, registration that ends on Wednesday at 5pm, a bus that leaves with or without you. We don't see the need to create arbitrary rules and restrictions. Life provides plenty of those.</span><br />
<br /><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS;">And Brady, who not so long ago "couldn't talk to people," evolved overnight into a young man who could not only talk to people, but talk his way into his dream job.</span><br />
<br /><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS;">Go figure.</span><br />
<br /><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS;">Rob and I are feeling a bit afloat during this kids-moving-out transition. Jonathan is only 15, but Brady's sudden departure showed us that things can change in a heartbeat. As we sat at side-by-side laptops, largely ignoring each other, Rob said "we'll need to be more interesting." </span><br />
<br /><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS;">But all is as it should be. The 9-11 anniversary coverage reminds me that not all transitions are happy ones; many aren't chosen but thrust upon us. I'm feeling grateful this morning, that even though some transitions are more painful than others, we are free to explore this life on our own terms.</span><br />
<br /><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS;">I can't think of a better preparation for "real life" than living in the real world all along.</span><br />
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<br />piscesgrrlhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12279344142538980436noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-27398888.post-7600484461104900522010-07-27T09:48:00.004-06:002010-07-27T10:29:57.406-06:00I am THAT MomI'm gonna dust off the ol' blog so I can join in on the unschooling bloggie fun.... thanks for the prompt!<br /><br />I am That Mom....<br /><br /><br /><br />I am that mom who still gets hugs from her teenage boys; and knows when a hug isn't welcome and respects that without reading into it. (Like today, when dropping Jonathan off for his first day of football camp. All throughout the gymnasium moms were filling their sons' ears with last-minute instructions, trying to hug them, brushing their hair out of their eyes, while their sons brushed away their hands, rolled their eyes, and practically crawled out of their skin with each doting embrace. How can they find the inner strength to tackle a day of football camp among total strangers when mom's attention is all soft and schmoopy?)<br /><br />I am that mom who doesn't flinch when her child tells her he wants to cut his hair into a mohawk, or learn to ride a motorcycle, or promote hemp oil as a cancer cure, or sleep behind the couch for three months straight. I am that mom who sees her kids' interests and desires, no matter how unusual or dangerous, as valid, worthy, and do-able.<br /><br /><br /><br />I am that mom who says, "How can we make this happen?"<br /><br /><br /><br />I am that mom who gets physically and emotionally ill when I witness (or even hear about) a parent shame, berate, or threaten her child. I am that mom who some days can't go out in public because I'm not strong enough to navigate such interactions. I am that mom who, on those days, feels overwhelmed with gratitude for my relationship with my children.<br /><br />I am that mom whose child says, "some of my friends need an escape, which makes sense. But I love my life and I love the people in it, and I can't relate to the need for escape."<br /><br />I am that mom whom other parents thought (and some, probably, still think) was the irresponsible one, the one who'd "pay for it later" when my kids ran wild, became disrespectful, or couldn't function in public due to my "hands-off style" of parenting. I am that mom who knew all along that wasn't true. I am that mom who watches those controlling, authoritative, drastic-measures, zero-tolerance, 'my way or the highway' parents struggle today. I am that mom from whom they now seek advice. Advice I begin with "It's never too late."<br /><br /><br /><br />I am that mom who knows that because I listened before passing judgement, my kids talk to me. That because I don't over-react, my kids trust me. That because I have no hard and fast rules, my kids seek my advice and input. <br /><br /><br /><br />I am that mom who believes in 'people over principles' and 'relationship first' and 'everything is negotiable.' EVERYTHING.<br /><br /><br /><br />I am that mom who will end friendships if they are detrimental to our family's well-being. I am that mom who understands that her children choose their friendships for their own reasons. I am that mom who will tell you to back down if you are infringing on my child's sense of self. I am also that mom who will empathize with YOU when you struggle, when you hurt, and when you want to be better.<br /><br />I am that mom who can go from setting a proper table to having a sock-throwing fight (ewwwww, nasty!); from scrubbing a floor on hands and knees to watching the "most amazing video game replay ever"; from talking to listening at the moment it's necessary.<br /><br /><br /><br />I am that mom who believes nothing - NOTHING - is more important than this family. Who'd live in a cardboard box before she gave up a minute of these growing-up years.<br /><br /><br /><br /><img style="TEXT-ALIGN: center; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 400px; DISPLAY: block; HEIGHT: 252px; CURSOR: hand" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5498622381196612370" border="0" alt="" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_Fhy4b4cZ8sE/TE8H7Dk8kxI/AAAAAAAAFrs/I_bBsmIRHfE/s400/me.bmp" /><br />I am THAT mom.<br /><p>Any questions? :)<br /></p>piscesgrrlhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12279344142538980436noreply@blogger.com35tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-27398888.post-9020581753621270272010-06-24T13:02:00.004-06:002010-06-24T13:16:13.717-06:00All in a Day's WorkLet's try this - random snapshot views of our charmed life.<br /><img style="TEXT-ALIGN: center; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 267px; DISPLAY: block; HEIGHT: 400px; CURSOR: hand" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5486420299282968930" border="0" alt="" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_Fhy4b4cZ8sE/TCOuMaNA8WI/AAAAAAAAFrc/U8UHfoxoRTM/s400/June+10+456.jpg" /><a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_Fhy4b4cZ8sE/TCOuM7Y-8oI/AAAAAAAAFrk/stPs8i2S-z8/s1600/June+10+459.jpg"><img style="TEXT-ALIGN: center; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 267px; DISPLAY: block; HEIGHT: 400px; CURSOR: hand" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5486420308191539842" border="0" alt="" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_Fhy4b4cZ8sE/TCOuM7Y-8oI/AAAAAAAAFrk/stPs8i2S-z8/s400/June+10+459.jpg" /></a><br /><div><br /><br /><div><img style="TEXT-ALIGN: center; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 400px; DISPLAY: block; HEIGHT: 267px; CURSOR: hand" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5486419441051814450" border="0" alt="" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_Fhy4b4cZ8sE/TCOtadCwyjI/AAAAAAAAFrM/hkuszJcTzUM/s400/June+10+380.jpg" /><a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_Fhy4b4cZ8sE/TCOtau72lFI/AAAAAAAAFrU/6vLxY7Au1LQ/s1600/June+10+484.jpg"><img style="TEXT-ALIGN: center; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 400px; DISPLAY: block; HEIGHT: 266px; CURSOR: hand" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5486419445854671954" border="0" alt="" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_Fhy4b4cZ8sE/TCOtau72lFI/AAAAAAAAFrU/6vLxY7Au1LQ/s400/June+10+484.jpg" /></a><br /><div><div><a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_Fhy4b4cZ8sE/TCOtaC9xBXI/AAAAAAAAFrE/cngldkw8Q4I/s1600/June+10+345.jpg"><img style="TEXT-ALIGN: center; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 400px; DISPLAY: block; HEIGHT: 267px; CURSOR: hand" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5486419434051536242" border="0" alt="" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_Fhy4b4cZ8sE/TCOtaC9xBXI/AAAAAAAAFrE/cngldkw8Q4I/s400/June+10+345.jpg" /></a><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><div><br /><br /><div></div><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><div></div></div></div></div></div></div>piscesgrrlhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12279344142538980436noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-27398888.post-27719021259895509002010-02-18T20:41:00.007-06:002010-03-22T13:12:03.119-06:00Brady and I Changed his First Flat Tire<span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;">I keep my cellphone on vibrate most of the time, so I didn't get Brady's text that he had a flat tire. Rob finally reached me a while later, and since he was out of town, I donned my "rescue persona" - a mix of "I'm coming to help you, honey!" and "Dangnabit, I'm not in the mood for this" - and headed out, after changing into clothes I didn't mind getting dirty. Brady's never changed a flat before, so I had visions of me doing most of it, teaching my boy how it's done, getting my hands dirty.</span><br /><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;"></span><br /><a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_Fhy4b4cZ8sE/S34AkrrHc3I/AAAAAAAAFqY/c0E9AAN0LfM/s1600-h/Feb+10+011.jpg"><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5439786030108996466" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 400px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 267px; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_Fhy4b4cZ8sE/S34AkrrHc3I/AAAAAAAAFqY/c0E9AAN0LfM/s400/Feb+10+011.jpg" border="0" /></span></a><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;"> So this is where I think I'm still needed. "Here, let me show you how to do the jack."</span><br /><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;"></span><br /><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;">"I know how to do the jack, Mom."</span><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;"><br /></span><br /><a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_Fhy4b4cZ8sE/S34AkUKBoLI/AAAAAAAAFqQ/ZUxzP3uvu1M/s1600-h/Feb+10+012.jpg"><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5439786023796187314" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 400px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 267px; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_Fhy4b4cZ8sE/S34AkUKBoLI/AAAAAAAAFqQ/ZUxzP3uvu1M/s400/Feb+10+012.jpg" border="0" /></span></a><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;"> "Well, maybe I should make sure it doesn't slip."</span><br /><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;"></span><br /><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;">"It won't slip, Mom."<br /><br /></span><div><a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_Fhy4b4cZ8sE/S338y_qmYII/AAAAAAAAFqI/Xly2hYT8JdI/s1600-h/Feb+10+014.jpg"><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5439781877947195522" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 400px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 267px; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_Fhy4b4cZ8sE/S338y_qmYII/AAAAAAAAFqI/Xly2hYT8JdI/s400/Feb+10+014.jpg" border="0" /></span></a><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;"> "The last time I tried to change a tire, I couldn't get the lug nuts off so I had to get help. But for the record, I KNOW how to change a tire. Don't think I play 'helpless female' because I don't."</span></div><div><span style="font-family:Trebuchet MS;"></span> </div><div><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;"></span></div><div><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;">"Ok, Mom."</span></div><div><span style="font-family:Trebuchet MS;"></span> </div><div><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;"></span></div><div><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;">Brady's friend, Joe Convoulsion Bubenzer, smiles nervously. </span></div><div><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;"><br /> </div></span><div><a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_Fhy4b4cZ8sE/S338yjXyEtI/AAAAAAAAFqA/G79H0g87wz8/s1600-h/Feb+10+015.jpg"><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5439781870352077522" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 400px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 267px; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_Fhy4b4cZ8sE/S338yjXyEtI/AAAAAAAAFqA/G79H0g87wz8/s400/Feb+10+015.jpg" border="0" /></span></a><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;"> "See? Those lug nuts are a b*tch to get off, aren't they? We might need help."</span></div><div><span style="font-family:Trebuchet MS;"></span> </div><div><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;"></span></div><div><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;">"I'll get it, Mom." </span></div><div><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;"><br /> </div></span><div><div><a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_Fhy4b4cZ8sE/S338yd7m0VI/AAAAAAAAFp4/LJqtP-TziCk/s1600-h/Feb+10+017.jpg"><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5439781868891722066" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 400px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 267px; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_Fhy4b4cZ8sE/S338yd7m0VI/AAAAAAAAFp4/LJqtP-TziCk/s400/Feb+10+017.jpg" border="0" /></span></a><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;"> "I wonder if there's a service station nearby?"</span></div><div><span style="font-family:Trebuchet MS;"></span> </div><div><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;"></span></div><div><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;">"Mom, I'll GET it."<br /><br /></span><div><a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_Fhy4b4cZ8sE/S338yM2X1CI/AAAAAAAAFpw/4AnWaqb-SLI/s1600-h/Feb+10+020.jpg"><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5439781864306365474" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 400px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 267px; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_Fhy4b4cZ8sE/S338yM2X1CI/AAAAAAAAFpw/4AnWaqb-SLI/s400/Feb+10+020.jpg" border="0" /></span></a><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;"><br />"Wow, you got it. How do you know how to change a tire anyway?"</span></div><div><span style="font-family:Trebuchet MS;"></span> </div><div><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;"></span></div><div><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;">"I watched Dad once."<br /><br /></span><div><a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_Fhy4b4cZ8sE/S336lqAW5hI/AAAAAAAAFpo/BAii9UYtdmQ/s1600-h/Feb+10+021.jpg"><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5439779449771320850" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 400px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 267px; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_Fhy4b4cZ8sE/S336lqAW5hI/AAAAAAAAFpo/BAii9UYtdmQ/s400/Feb+10+021.jpg" border="0" /></span></a><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;"><br />"Need me to get anything for you?"</span></div><div><span style="font-family:Trebuchet MS;"></span> </div><div><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;"></span></div><div><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;">"Nope."<br /><br /></span><div><a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_Fhy4b4cZ8sE/S336lU78C9I/AAAAAAAAFpg/WhhN1BqpCLo/s1600-h/Feb+10+023.jpg"><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5439779444115639250" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 267px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 400px; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_Fhy4b4cZ8sE/S336lU78C9I/AAAAAAAAFpg/WhhN1BqpCLo/s400/Feb+10+023.jpg" border="0" /></span></a><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;"><br />Ho hum... la dee dah.... *twiddles thumbs*...<br /><br /></span><div><a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_Fhy4b4cZ8sE/S336ladUPtI/AAAAAAAAFpY/PWUwzDCnV_M/s1600-h/Feb+10+024.jpg"><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5439779445597814482" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 400px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 267px; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_Fhy4b4cZ8sE/S336ladUPtI/AAAAAAAAFpY/PWUwzDCnV_M/s400/Feb+10+024.jpg" border="0" /></span></a><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;"><br />"I'll put the flat in the trunk for you."</span></div><div><span style="font-family:Trebuchet MS;"></span> </div><div><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;"></span></div><div><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;">"Ok, Mom, you do that."<br /><br />So I did.<br /><br /></span><div><a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_Fhy4b4cZ8sE/S336kxoX-XI/AAAAAAAAFpQ/aRKfqRBCX6w/s1600-h/Feb+10+026.jpg"><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5439779434638342514" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 267px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 400px; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_Fhy4b4cZ8sE/S336kxoX-XI/AAAAAAAAFpQ/aRKfqRBCX6w/s400/Feb+10+026.jpg" border="0" /></span></a><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;"><br />"Why did I drive all the way up here?"</span></div><div><span style="font-family:Trebuchet MS;"></span> </div><div><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;"></span></div><div><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;">"Because I didn't have a jack."<br /></span><div></div><div><a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_Fhy4b4cZ8sE/S336klCtVAI/AAAAAAAAFpI/_7i86ebbvGM/s1600-h/Feb+10+029.jpg"><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5439779431259132930" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 400px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 267px; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_Fhy4b4cZ8sE/S336klCtVAI/AAAAAAAAFpI/_7i86ebbvGM/s400/Feb+10+029.jpg" border="0" /></span></a><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;">So I WAS needed after all.</span></div><div> </div><div><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;"></span></div><div><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;">Nicely done, Brady, nicely done.<br /></span><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><div></div></div></div></div></div></div></div></div></div>piscesgrrlhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12279344142538980436noreply@blogger.com14tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-27398888.post-22865334846330920882010-02-09T09:11:00.002-06:002010-02-09T09:28:52.001-06:00Well, Hello There<span style="font-family:verdana;font-size:85%;">Hello all you new readers. Um, where did y'all come from? Oh that's right, my blog was listed in the latest statewide H.O.U.S.E. newsletter, wasn't it. I forgot all about that since it seems like ages ago that Pamela asked if she could use my blog to jumpstart that section. I haven't written much lately, so I kinda cringed about being listed. Sending folks to a quiet blog probably isn't the best way to generate excitement.<br /><br />But I've written lots in the past about unschooling. Check the sidebar for category LABELS such as </span><a href="http://piscesgrrrl.blogspot.com/search/label/Unschooling%20Q-and-A"><span style="font-family:verdana;font-size:85%;">'Unschooling Q&A'</span></a><span style="font-family:verdana;font-size:85%;"> or </span><a href="http://piscesgrrrl.blogspot.com/search/label/An%20Unschooler%20Goes%20to%20School"><span style="font-family:verdana;font-size:85%;">'An Unschooler Goes to School'</span></a><span style="font-family:verdana;font-size:85%;"> about Brady's year of private college-preparatory high school after eight years of radically unschooling, or if you're in the mood to laugh check out </span><a href="http://piscesgrrrl.blogspot.com/search/label/Cornfield%20Country"><span style="font-family:verdana;font-size:85%;">'Cornfield Country'</span></a><span style="font-family:verdana;font-size:85%;"> or </span><a href="http://piscesgrrrl.blogspot.com/search/label/Family%20Farm"><span style="font-family:verdana;font-size:85%;">'Family Farm.'</span></a><span style="font-family:verdana;font-size:85%;"> And if you want to know why this isn't a food blog, check out </span><a href="http://piscesgrrrl.blogspot.com/search/label/Why%20I%27m%20Not%20a%20Food%20Blogger"><span style="font-family:verdana;font-size:85%;">'Why I'm Not a Food Blogger.'</span></a><span style="font-family:verdana;font-size:85%;"><br /><br />And now, because you're likely here because you're an IL homeschooler, be sure to check out my one post about last year's </span><a href="http://www.inhomeconference.org/"><span style="font-family:verdana;font-size:85%;">InHome Conference</span></a><span style="font-family:verdana;font-size:85%;"> - it's not comprehensive by any means, nor a review, nor a plug as publicity chair (bad publicity chair! Bad!). It's a bunch of goofy pictures of us </span><a href="http://piscesgrrrl.blogspot.com/search/label/Kids%3B%20InHome%20Conference"><span style="font-family:verdana;font-size:85%;">having a good old time</span></a><span style="font-family:verdana;font-size:85%;">. Be sure to pop on over to the InHome site and register - it's always fun fun FUN! I was in charge of workshops for kids ages 10 and up, so I've been very involved this year and it's going to be a great year. John Taylor Gatto is coming! If you go, if you see me, say hi or introduce yourself. I'm a Chatty Patty and love to meet new peeps.<br /><br />For now, I'm at the </span><a href="http://www.ugo.unschoolgathering.com/"><span style="font-family:verdana;font-size:85%;">UWWG</span></a><span style="font-family:verdana;font-size:85%;">, where I'm scheduled to speak tomorrow on 'Seasoned Unschoolers' (wait - does that just mean I'm OLD?) and Thursday on 'An Unschooler Goes to School.' We're having a grand old time. </span><br /><span style="font-family:Verdana;font-size:85%;"></span><br /><span style="font-family:Verdana;font-size:85%;">Coffee calls. And Gatto. And waterslides. And more chatting. Woot!</span>piscesgrrlhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12279344142538980436noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-27398888.post-12860040043280929472009-12-14T08:38:00.004-06:002009-12-14T08:56:04.151-06:00Hello? Is it Really You?Wow, it's been two months - TWO WHOLE MONTHS! - since I've written on my blog. It seems my passion for blogging has all but disappeared, I'm sorry to say. I'll keep it - I've met so many great people this way, and there's too much writing on here to just hit the delete button and banish it forever, but posting has been spotty at best and unless I have a sudden change of heart, I doubt that will change. I'm on Facebook - not a lot, but I'm there. And I'll be speaking at the <a href="http://www.ugo.unschoolgathering.com/">UWWG</a> in Ohio and <a href="http://lifeisgoodconference.com/">Life is Good</a> in May - perhaps we'll meet up?<br /><br />In other news, life in the cornfields is great. Brady is exploring industry requirements for computer programming and game creation so he knows what secondary education route to pursue. He's working at Subway, taking Community College classes, and teaching programming to homeschoolers.<br /><br />Jonathan is taking sax lessons, karate lessons, and art lessons. He's writing a book about Chewy McBuckBuck, a schizophrenic beaver, and knows more about football and football history than most adults. He is a happy kid, every day. Rob has an exciting new venture at work coming up but I can't share it yet because it's still a secret. He's teaching karate to several friends and cousins every week in our basement and loves getting back into it.<br /><br />We're all doing <a href="http://www.beachbody.com/product/fitness_programs/p90x.do?code=P90XDOTCOM">p90x</a> together. That's been fun and challenging. Sometimes my *ss hurts so badly I wonder why our house suddenly has so many stairs? I've started providing personal training for clients at our fitness center, so with teaching, training, and doing p90x, I'm wearing way more spandex than should be allowed, and feel like all I ever do is squat-and-reach and count in sets of 8.<br /><br />Oh, and.... just in case you're wondering, our marriage is a still a smoldering volcano of torrid passion it's always been. See? This was taken just yesterday by my mom's new husband, Gordy. <br /><br /><br /><a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_Fhy4b4cZ8sE/SyZOJqnw-TI/AAAAAAAAFoo/KG-fqdcg0Ng/s1600-h/DSCF3332.JPG"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5415101529926465842" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 300px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 400px; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_Fhy4b4cZ8sE/SyZOJqnw-TI/AAAAAAAAFoo/KG-fqdcg0Ng/s400/DSCF3332.JPG" border="0" /></a><br />Hope you and yours are well! If you haven't already, find me on Facebook and let's keep in touch there!piscesgrrlhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12279344142538980436noreply@blogger.com20tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-27398888.post-140716806402161662009-10-13T08:08:00.004-06:002009-10-13T08:18:26.779-06:00Good Morning!<span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;">Good Tuesday morning! The sun is shining, the birds are singing, and other than an achy hip which has translated into an achy knee on the other leg as I over-compensate (running is hard on a grrrl), I am feeling wide awake, chipper, and alive! Somedays you feel like grabbing life by the fistful and diving right in. Sometimes you feel like you have unlimited options, like the sky's the limit, like the world is your oyster. </span><br /><span style="font-family:Trebuchet MS;"></span><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;"></span><br /><a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_Fhy4b4cZ8sE/StSKFT6BQoI/AAAAAAAAFoE/KPyOTzZUfMU/s1600-h/Oct+09+083.jpg"><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5392086477716931202" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 400px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 267px; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_Fhy4b4cZ8sE/StSKFT6BQoI/AAAAAAAAFoE/KPyOTzZUfMU/s400/Oct+09+083.jpg" border="0" /></span></a><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;"> Oh wait.<br /></span><div><a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_Fhy4b4cZ8sE/StSKE0mzBpI/AAAAAAAAFn8/tfZG49qHRJc/s1600-h/Oct+09+082.jpg"><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5392086469314807442" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 267px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 400px; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_Fhy4b4cZ8sE/StSKE0mzBpI/AAAAAAAAFn8/tfZG49qHRJc/s400/Oct+09+082.jpg" border="0" /></span></a><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;"> And somedays reality just smacks ya right upside the head.<br /><br /></span><div><a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_Fhy4b4cZ8sE/StSKEeo1uJI/AAAAAAAAFn0/Dyl1fufKalI/s1600-h/Oct+09+081.jpg"><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5392086463417792658" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 400px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 267px; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_Fhy4b4cZ8sE/StSKEeo1uJI/AAAAAAAAFn0/Dyl1fufKalI/s400/Oct+09+081.jpg" border="0" /></span></a><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;"> I can still live large... I can still revel in the day's endless possibilities... I can still be joyful and optimistic... <br /><br /></span><div><a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_Fhy4b4cZ8sE/StSKDmgJ6kI/AAAAAAAAFns/XRZ8h4EdQcA/s1600-h/Oct+09+080.jpg"><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5392086448348981826" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 400px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 267px; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_Fhy4b4cZ8sE/StSKDmgJ6kI/AAAAAAAAFns/XRZ8h4EdQcA/s400/Oct+09+080.jpg" border="0" /></span></a><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;"> Right after I clean up this mess. Good morning indeed. Or 'twas a good night, if you're a raccoon living in cornfield country.</span></div><div><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;"></span> </div><div><div></div></div></div></div>piscesgrrlhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12279344142538980436noreply@blogger.com6tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-27398888.post-88202648995564254502009-10-01T22:59:00.002-06:002009-10-01T22:59:00.451-06:00Another Reason to Unschool<span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;">In July, Jonathan turned 13. One of the gifts he received from a friend was juggling balls and a homemade instructional DVD of his friend demonstrating and explaining some basic juggling moves.</span><a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_Fhy4b4cZ8sE/SsE01WtfIQI/AAAAAAAAFnk/Cqb-ycG--AQ/s1600-h/Sept+09+190.jpg"><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5386644720545898754" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 267px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 400px; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_Fhy4b4cZ8sE/SsE01WtfIQI/AAAAAAAAFnk/Cqb-ycG--AQ/s400/Sept+09+190.jpg" border="0" /></span></a><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;"> Jonathan was thrilled. He practiced diligently. He consulted his friend Eli for help whenever he got stuck, or whenever he was ready to learn a new trick.<br /></span><div><a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_Fhy4b4cZ8sE/SsEzzQaLBHI/AAAAAAAAFnc/0CB8HifwtPU/s1600-h/Sept+09+197.jpg"><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5386643584982910066" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 400px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 267px; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_Fhy4b4cZ8sE/SsEzzQaLBHI/AAAAAAAAFnc/0CB8HifwtPU/s400/Sept+09+197.jpg" border="0" /></span></a><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;"> He juggled for hours every day. He looked up juggling instructions on the internet. He invited Eli over more often than usual so they could juggle together. He brought his juggling balls along when we went places.<br /><br /></span><div><a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_Fhy4b4cZ8sE/SsEzzE-ZljI/AAAAAAAAFnU/lfRVeo9fIc4/s1600-h/Sept+09+199.jpg"><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5386643581913634354" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 400px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 267px; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_Fhy4b4cZ8sE/SsEzzE-ZljI/AAAAAAAAFnU/lfRVeo9fIc4/s400/Sept+09+199.jpg" border="0" /></span></a><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;"> Eight weeks later - only eight weeks - he was good enough to be asked to juggle at a Renaissance Faire in Monroe, WI.<br /><br /></span><div><a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_Fhy4b4cZ8sE/SsEzytb3gwI/AAAAAAAAFnM/HJxnJrsWEsk/s1600-h/Sept+09+202.jpg"><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5386643575594779394" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 267px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 400px; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_Fhy4b4cZ8sE/SsEzytb3gwI/AAAAAAAAFnM/HJxnJrsWEsk/s400/Sept+09+202.jpg" border="0" /></span></a><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;"> What does juggling have to do with unschooling? Unschooling means we help our children pursue their interests, we support them in their passions, we assist in whatever ways they need. And in doing so, our children learn. Juggling isn't listed in the "scope and sequence" section of any curriculum, I know, but anyone can see that he's learning many things in addition to juggling. He's researching, committing to a task, challenging himself, and setting goals for himself. He's reading about juggling, networking with other jugglers, and applying his juggling knowledge to real life situations. </span></div><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;"></span></div><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;"></span></div><div><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;"><div></div><div>Unschooling, really, means we live life fully, without worrying about all those schoolish terms above. But rest assured, all those schoolish things are happening, all the time. We just don't name them and quantify them and demand they happen in a specific order on a specific timeline.</div><div></div><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5386642428427147826" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 400px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 267px; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_Fhy4b4cZ8sE/SsEyv75ymjI/AAAAAAAAFms/wUPGvTbDsX8/s400/Sept+09+206.jpg" border="0" /></span> <div><a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_Fhy4b4cZ8sE/SsEzyeupqbI/AAAAAAAAFnE/zL46_YXouZI/s1600-h/Sept+09+203.jpg"><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;"></span></a><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;">If school were to teach juggling, it would be broken down into a easily-measured objectives. You might have to learn specific steps and do them in a specific way and a specific order, proving you've mastered each level before you can move on to the next. You might be tested on it to prove you've learned something. You might not get to touch the juggling balls during the first few lessons. You might only get to read about it, or use something easier to juggle like scarves that waft slowly through the air. Your juggling skills, or at least participation or attention to the lessons or willingness to cooperate, would be graded. </span></div><div><span style="font-family:Trebuchet MS;"></span></div><div><span style="font-family:Trebuchet MS;">By that time, juggling has become very very un-fun.</span></div><div><span style="font-family:Trebuchet MS;"></span></div><div><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5386643566214447730" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 400px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 267px; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_Fhy4b4cZ8sE/SsEzyKfbAnI/AAAAAAAAFm8/pWDgCmJija0/s400/Sept+09+204.jpg" border="0" /></span></div><div><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;">Unschoolers just start juggling. </span></div><div><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;"></div><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5386642431910348290" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 400px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 267px; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_Fhy4b4cZ8sE/SsEywI4QBgI/AAAAAAAAFm0/p-4pU4X6bHY/s400/Sept+09+205.jpg" border="0" /></span> <div><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;">And sometimes, if they like it, they continue juggling and find themselves performing a juggling act on stage at a Renaissance Faire in front of strangers.</span><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;"><br /></span></div><div><div></div></div></div>piscesgrrlhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12279344142538980436noreply@blogger.com12tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-27398888.post-51622236079850635792009-09-30T22:47:00.000-06:002009-09-30T22:47:00.189-06:00I Brake for Yard Sales<span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;">Listen carefully, I have some very important advice for you.</span><br /><span style="font-family:Trebuchet MS;"></span><br /><span style="font-family:Trebuchet MS;"></span><a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_Fhy4b4cZ8sE/SsEwTO2nLQI/AAAAAAAAFmM/aPXTHTmQk-A/s1600-h/Sept+09+046.jpg"><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5386639736274627842" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 400px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 267px; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_Fhy4b4cZ8sE/SsEwTO2nLQI/AAAAAAAAFmM/aPXTHTmQk-A/s400/Sept+09+046.jpg" border="0" /></span></a><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;"> You must - MUST - stop at yard sales.</span><br /><br /><div><a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_Fhy4b4cZ8sE/SsEwS7pbaTI/AAAAAAAAFmE/Of9RmkCoTUg/s1600-h/Sept+09+043.jpg"><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5386639731119057202" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 400px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 267px; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_Fhy4b4cZ8sE/SsEwS7pbaTI/AAAAAAAAFmE/Of9RmkCoTUg/s400/Sept+09+043.jpg" border="0" /></span></a><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;"> You never - NEVER - know what you'll find.<br /><br /></span><div><a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_Fhy4b4cZ8sE/SsEvjXg-k-I/AAAAAAAAFl8/lctrVlyKFAo/s1600-h/Sept+09+042.jpg"><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5386638913966085090" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 400px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 267px; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_Fhy4b4cZ8sE/SsEvjXg-k-I/AAAAAAAAFl8/lctrVlyKFAo/s400/Sept+09+042.jpg" border="0" /></span></a><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;">A beautiful antique floor lamp, a backpack, a decorative candle....<br /><br /></span><div><a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_Fhy4b4cZ8sE/SsEvi_6a4OI/AAAAAAAAFl0/Kvb2QIzGNCU/s1600-h/Sept+09+041.jpg"><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5386638907630346466" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 400px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 267px; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_Fhy4b4cZ8sE/SsEvi_6a4OI/AAAAAAAAFl0/Kvb2QIzGNCU/s400/Sept+09+041.jpg" border="0" /></span></a><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;"> Two goofy costumes made out of cardboard and paint....<br /><br /></span><div><a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_Fhy4b4cZ8sE/SsEviURy59I/AAAAAAAAFls/6S7IvWHxbM4/s1600-h/Sept+09+040.jpg"><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5386638895917230034" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 400px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 267px; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_Fhy4b4cZ8sE/SsEviURy59I/AAAAAAAAFls/6S7IvWHxbM4/s400/Sept+09+040.jpg" border="0" /></span></a><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;"> If you never stop, you'll never happen upon a find like these. And then you'll never be able to come home, make your 16 yr old and husband dress up in them and make fools of themselves in the yard.<br /><br /></span><div><a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_Fhy4b4cZ8sE/SsEvh1uSovI/AAAAAAAAFlk/1lqgL9yimLg/s1600-h/Sept+09+039.jpg"><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5386638887715250930" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 400px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 267px; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_Fhy4b4cZ8sE/SsEvh1uSovI/AAAAAAAAFlk/1lqgL9yimLg/s400/Sept+09+039.jpg" border="0" /></span></a><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;">And that'd just be a real shame.<br /><br /></span><div><a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_Fhy4b4cZ8sE/SsEvhslRD2I/AAAAAAAAFlc/yfrpwq_6cA4/s1600-h/Sept+09+038.jpg"><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5386638885261479778" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 400px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 267px; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_Fhy4b4cZ8sE/SsEvhslRD2I/AAAAAAAAFlc/yfrpwq_6cA4/s400/Sept+09+038.jpg" border="0" /></span></a><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;"><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /></span><div></div></div></div></div></div></div></div>piscesgrrlhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12279344142538980436noreply@blogger.com6tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-27398888.post-65923429210004554662009-09-29T22:00:00.001-06:002009-09-29T22:00:02.587-06:00Another Farm Fiasco Part II<a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_Fhy4b4cZ8sE/SsEoMSOYFKI/AAAAAAAAFk8/K_uEJ5Tw0xs/s1600-h/IMG_8086.jpg"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5386630820827501730" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 400px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 267px; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_Fhy4b4cZ8sE/SsEoMSOYFKI/AAAAAAAAFk8/K_uEJ5Tw0xs/s400/IMG_8086.jpg" border="0" /></a><br /><div><br /><div><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;">Hey <s>cows!</s> readers! Remember part I of the Great Escape <a href="http://piscesgrrrl.blogspot.com/2009/09/another-farm-fiasco.html">story</a>? </span><span style="font-size:0;"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5386630815188995938" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 400px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 267px; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_Fhy4b4cZ8sE/SsEoL9ODT2I/AAAAAAAAFk0/CW7gXwsrGPE/s400/IMG_8082.jpg" border="0" /></span><a href="http://irishgrove.blogspot.com/2009/09/lost-and-found.html"><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;">Here's part II</span></a><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;">. The part where I save the day. Seriously! </span></div><br /><div><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;"></span></div><div><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;">From my sister's blog I quote, <em>"[She] saved the day, I tell you." </em><strong>In</strong> <strong>italics</strong>.<br /><br />Nevermind it was after a thinly veiled criticism of my tendency to talk a lot. But hey, it was my ability to talk a lot that <em>saved the day</em>. <strong>In italics.</strong><br /></div></span><br /><div><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5386630830532930914" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 400px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 267px; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_Fhy4b4cZ8sE/SsEoM2YVLWI/AAAAAAAAFlM/qI3xet8hruQ/s400/IMG_8164.jpg" border="0" />(I kinda like this whole 'someone else writes my blog posts' thing.) </span></div><br /><div><span style="font-family:Trebuchet MS;"></span></div><br /><div><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5386630827228671106" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 400px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 267px; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_Fhy4b4cZ8sE/SsEoMqEiLII/AAAAAAAAFlE/9yZFsdJiUyo/s400/IMG_8102.jpg" border="0" /></span></div></div><br /><p><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;">Hey cow - Who you lookin' at, huh? After all that, I'm done taking any crap from you bovines, ya hear? Done.</span></p><p><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;">I think we've been going too easy on them. Gotta show 'em who's </span><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;">boss. This oughta intimidate 'em: <img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5386633685312282946" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 400px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 267px; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_Fhy4b4cZ8sE/SsEqzBQxIUI/AAAAAAAAFlU/o1EBgzfKGg8/s400/Sept+09+110.jpg" border="0" />You think?</span></p>piscesgrrlhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12279344142538980436noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-27398888.post-62380308858264570222009-09-28T14:49:00.003-06:002009-09-28T14:58:08.018-06:00Ten Things Overheard at Grandma's Birthday Party<span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;">1. </span><br /><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;">Grandma: "I'm an old lady now. That means I can't remember words." </span><br /><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;"></span><br /><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;">2. </span><br /><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;">Mom: "That was a long time ago." </span><br /><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;">Grandma: "It wasn't THAT long ago, it was only like 30 years ago." </span><br /><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;"></span><br /><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;">3. </span><br /><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;">Grandma, talking about a high school boyfriend: "He must've been gay. In two years the only time he touched me was when we were dancing." </span><br /><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;"></span><br /><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;">4. </span><br /><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;">Grandma: "Back then we didn't say gay, you know. We just said he was 'different.'" </span><br /><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;"></span><br /><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;">5. </span><br /><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;">Grandma, receiving a gift wrapped in a plastic bag: "Is this a dead chicken?" </span><br /><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;">Jackie, the gift giver: "Yes, as a matter of fact it is." </span><br /><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;"></span><br /><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;">(Note: It WAS a dead chicken.) </span><br /><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;">(Yes way.)</span><br /><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;"></span><br /><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;">6. </span><br /><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;">Grandma: "A dead chicken for an old hen!" </span><br /><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;"></span><br /><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;">7. </span><br /><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;">Me to Grandma: "Here's MY gift. Dead beets." </span><br /><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;"></span><br /><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;">8. </span><br /><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;">Grandma: "Dead beets from a bunch of deadbeats." </span><br /><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;"></span><br /><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;">9. </span><br /><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;">Jackie doing a 5-minute impression of her horse after taking a big bite of a jalapeno plant in the garden. </span><br /><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;"></span><br /><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;">10. </span><br /><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;">Aunt Susan: "You know what they say, if my boobs were any longer they'd be nuts." </span><br /><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;"></span><br /><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;">and a bonus: </span><br /><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;"></span><br /><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;">11. </span><br /><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;">Gordy: "I think football in the other room is calling. Please excuse me." </span><br /><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;"></span><br /><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;"></span>piscesgrrlhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12279344142538980436noreply@blogger.com8tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-27398888.post-47332276017724900662009-09-21T19:55:00.003-06:002009-09-21T20:11:37.201-06:00Google Likes Me! They Really Really Like Me!<span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;">Did you know that if you search for "Boots in the 80's," my blog comes up as the </span><a href="http://www.google.ca/search?hl=en&source=hp&q=boots+in+the+80%27s&meta=&aq=f&oq="><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;">first option</span></a><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;"> of 3,010,000? I thought you might want to know. And </span><a href="http://piscesgrrrl.blogspot.com/2008/04/hold-on-to-your-elf-boots-its-80s-meme.html"><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;">here's why</span></a><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;">.<br /><br /><br /></span><a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_Fhy4b4cZ8sE/SrgvP1mxvHI/AAAAAAAAFks/z0_NriREcKE/s1600-h/IMG_8382.jpg"><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5384105303655693426" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 400px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 267px; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_Fhy4b4cZ8sE/SrgvP1mxvHI/AAAAAAAAFks/z0_NriREcKE/s400/IMG_8382.jpg" border="0" /></span></a><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;">I think it should somehow be my new tagline...<br /><br />"Wistful Wanderlust.... Your Place for Useless Knowledge"<br /><br /><br /></span>piscesgrrlhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12279344142538980436noreply@blogger.com5tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-27398888.post-35641429648694340652009-09-18T11:40:00.004-06:002009-09-18T12:00:41.644-06:00Another Farm Fiasco<a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_Fhy4b4cZ8sE/SrPH8ZKhLoI/AAAAAAAAFkM/xGUQtunU598/s1600-h/Sept+09+123.jpg"><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5382865819998957186" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 400px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 267px; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_Fhy4b4cZ8sE/SrPH8ZKhLoI/AAAAAAAAFkM/xGUQtunU598/s400/Sept+09+123.jpg" border="0" /></span></a><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;"> "</span><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;"><em>Now where'd did that d*mn steer go?!?"<br /></em><br /></span><div><div><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;">We had another eventful weekend on the farm, but this time it wasn't my fault! I wasn't involved! I am completely innocent of any and all wrong-doing! </span></div><div><span style="font-family:Trebuchet MS;"></span> </div><div><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5382867360545422530" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 400px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 267px; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_Fhy4b4cZ8sE/SrPJWEJavMI/AAAAAAAAFkc/e-8Y1Yb1VVs/s400/Sept+09+111.jpg" border="0" />Ok, I did inadvertently allow that one rogue steer to crash <strong>through</strong> the fence (as opposed to jumping <em>over</em>, like a sane animal might do) and escape into a 100 acre cornfield, but that's only because after racing him up and down the fence line he finally decided to show me who's boss and put on the steam. </span></div><div><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;"></span></div><div><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;"><br /></span></div><div><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5382865796079312226" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 400px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 267px; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_Fhy4b4cZ8sE/SrPH7ADoXWI/AAAAAAAAFj8/hwpDyi5DAGk/s400/Sept+09+106.jpg" border="0" />Sounds like a new tv game show - "Are You Faster than a 1000 lb. Steer?" </span></div><div><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;"><br /></span></div><div><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;"></span></div><div><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;">In a word, no. No, no I'm not. </span></div><div><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;"><br /></span></div><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5382865826631916674" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 400px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 300px; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_Fhy4b4cZ8sE/SrPH8x38HII/AAAAAAAAFkU/jrwDU3K4pQI/s400/standing+on+car.jpg" border="0" /><br />I'd love to tell you the whole story, but I've got a busy weekend ahead. I'll let my sister regale you with the details. Besides, it's her farm, they're her steers, and it's about time one of the farm fiascos happened while she was <em>in</em> town rather than out, </span><a href="http://piscesgrrrl.blogspot.com/2009/07/oh-hey-you-still-here-in-case-you-hadnt.html"><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;">leaving us dopes in charge</span></a><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;">. (Wishing now you'd've booked that exotic Caribbean cruise, aren't ya sis.) </span></div><div><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;"></span> </div><div><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5382867368129098642" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 400px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 267px; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_Fhy4b4cZ8sE/SrPJWgZgc5I/AAAAAAAAFkk/55yxy195uBs/s400/Sept+09+119.jpg" border="0" />And besides, she's funny. And she can lift haybales her own d*mn self, thank you very much.<br /><br /></span><div><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;">Part I of the "Great Escape" is </span><a href="http://irishgrove.blogspot.com/2009/09/escape.html"><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;">here</span></a><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;">. Enjoy! </span></div></div><br /><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;"></span><br /><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;"></span>piscesgrrlhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12279344142538980436noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-27398888.post-21593013679935312582009-08-26T07:27:00.000-06:002009-08-26T07:27:00.125-06:00Calf Update<a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_Fhy4b4cZ8sE/SpQXD-3qTFI/AAAAAAAAFik/L2nh58r4W8c/s1600-h/calf.jpg"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5373945612543347794" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 400px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 267px; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_Fhy4b4cZ8sE/SpQXD-3qTFI/AAAAAAAAFik/L2nh58r4W8c/s400/calf.jpg" border="0" /></a><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;">I'm sorry to report that the little calf didn't make it.<br /><br />After attempting to feed the little bugger for hours upon hours, we knew it wasn't going to end well. The vet had already been consulted, the little guy had already not responded well to treatments. Something was just plain wrong.<br /><br />The next morning Rob and I arrived to find him barely alive, gasping, tongue hanging out. But his tail wagged when I approached and petted him. Feeling like I had to at least try something I went to the house to make a small bottle. When I returned a few moments later, he took his last breath.<br /><br />It was like he waited all night for us to return so he wouldn't die alone.<br /><br />It was awful. No mother should witness a babe - of any species - die. It was heart-wrenching. I sat with him a while. Rob waited quietly, patiently. He called my sister, the real farmer. I couldn't talk.<br /><br />We decided to bury him down in the farm's stone quarry, and we got the tractor and set to work. I didn't bring my camera - that just wouldn't be right - but it was something to see the other cows and calves gather round and watch. There were several times Rob couldn't even move the tractor because the cows wouldn't move out of the way.<br /><br />There was nothing to be done for that little guy. As </span><a href="http://openheartedlife.blogspot.com/"><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;">Caren</span></a><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;"> said, something was just wrong, and he knew it. It didn't make it any easier to lose him, but at least he wasn't alone.<br /><br />The cows on our farm aren't just products - they're live beings, treated with love and care. They're used to people, and they're used to wide-open spaces and sunshine and organic grasses. And their well-being isn't taken lightly around here.<br /><br />These days I understand a little more about why </span><a href="http://piscesgrrrl.blogspot.com/2007/08/howdy-do-in-corn-country.html"><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;">farmers are a crusty lot</span></a><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;">. It's not always a walk in the park, this farmin' business, and that's coming from me, not even a real farmer, but the occasional </span><a href="http://piscesgrrrl.blogspot.com/2009/04/close-call-where-close-call-means-oh.html"><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;">poser fill-in</span></a><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;">. I know my sister and her husband carry a lot of weight on their shoulders, muddling through these early years, learning. Just thought you should know that.</span><br /><span style="font-family:Trebuchet MS;"></span><br /><br /><p><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;"> </p><br /><br /></span>piscesgrrlhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12279344142538980436noreply@blogger.com6tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-27398888.post-45309468124996534372009-08-25T09:55:00.005-06:002009-08-25T10:23:12.684-06:00Willow Weekend<span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;font-size:85%;"></span><div><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;font-size:85%;">This year's Willow was wonderful as usual, but a bit subdued. I didn't take nearly as many pictures, and I'm sure there are a few folks who were relieved at that. I didn't even get photos of our friends performing, as I was busy taking video for a friend. Taylor, I'm sorry I sang along into the video recording - I was taken by the moment. Am I off-key? How's my vibrato? Can you hear the group over my singing? I'd be happy to handle all the recording for next year, too. Taylor? Taylor? Taylor?<br /><br /></span><a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_Fhy4b4cZ8sE/SpQL-iOtxiI/AAAAAAAAFiM/qdgpZILvH9s/s1600-h/Aug+09+146.jpg"><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;font-size:85%;"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5373933424328164898" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 400px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 267px; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_Fhy4b4cZ8sE/SpQL-iOtxiI/AAAAAAAAFiM/qdgpZILvH9s/s400/Aug+09+146.jpg" border="0" /></span></a><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;font-size:85%;"> Gemma was back this year, and with her came these two cute little punks.<br /><br /></span><div><a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_Fhy4b4cZ8sE/SpQL99FJbgI/AAAAAAAAFiE/yUcwRXCHCqA/s1600-h/Aug+09+147.jpg"><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;font-size:85%;"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5373933414355922434" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 400px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 267px; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_Fhy4b4cZ8sE/SpQL99FJbgI/AAAAAAAAFiE/yUcwRXCHCqA/s400/Aug+09+147.jpg" border="0" /></span></a><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;font-size:85%;"> Doug learning how to carve a bird from the chef.<br /><br /></span><div><a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_Fhy4b4cZ8sE/SpQL9au_MsI/AAAAAAAAFh8/OKJuuBUWfKs/s1600-h/Aug+09+150.jpg"><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;font-size:85%;"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5373933405136171714" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 400px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 267px; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_Fhy4b4cZ8sE/SpQL9au_MsI/AAAAAAAAFh8/OKJuuBUWfKs/s400/Aug+09+150.jpg" border="0" /></span></a><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;font-size:85%;"> The spread of food was amazing as always. I swore Sunday evening I wouldn't have to eat for a week. It was Monday evening before I even felt hunger again.<br /><br /></span><div><a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_Fhy4b4cZ8sE/SpQK3cYQw9I/AAAAAAAAFh0/h69wdjcsNf8/s1600-h/Aug+09+139.jpg"><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;font-size:85%;"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5373932202986882002" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 400px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 267px; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_Fhy4b4cZ8sE/SpQK3cYQw9I/AAAAAAAAFh0/h69wdjcsNf8/s400/Aug+09+139.jpg" border="0" /></span></a><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;font-size:85%;">This year we didn't tent camp - we got a bed. Woot! Thanks Duffords! Your B&B service is the best.<br /><br /></span><div><a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_Fhy4b4cZ8sE/SpQK3Hw8ouI/AAAAAAAAFhs/5G-9r14RxCc/s1600-h/Aug+09+138.jpg"><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;font-size:85%;"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5373932197453275874" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 400px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 267px; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_Fhy4b4cZ8sE/SpQK3Hw8ouI/AAAAAAAAFhs/5G-9r14RxCc/s400/Aug+09+138.jpg" border="0" /></span></a><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;font-size:85%;">Dan gave us the garden tour.<br /><br /></span><div><a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_Fhy4b4cZ8sE/SpQK2daPmUI/AAAAAAAAFhk/2dbMIvyAZ-M/s1600-h/Aug+09+127.jpg"><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;font-size:85%;"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5373932186083760450" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 400px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 267px; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_Fhy4b4cZ8sE/SpQK2daPmUI/AAAAAAAAFhk/2dbMIvyAZ-M/s400/Aug+09+127.jpg" border="0" /></span></a><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;font-size:85%;"><br /></span><div><a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_Fhy4b4cZ8sE/SpQK16BQGDI/AAAAAAAAFhc/pHhEA5hrHP4/s1600-h/Aug+09+123.jpg"><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;font-size:85%;"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5373932176583694386" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 400px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 267px; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_Fhy4b4cZ8sE/SpQK16BQGDI/AAAAAAAAFhc/pHhEA5hrHP4/s400/Aug+09+123.jpg" border="0" /></span></a><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;font-size:85%;">Dan playing the </span><a href="http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Shofar"><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;font-size:85%;">shofar</span></a><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;font-size:85%;">, which </span><a href="http://davidstocker.net/"><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;font-size:85%;">David Stocker</span></a><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;font-size:85%;"> brought back from his trip to Palestine.<br /><br /></span><div><a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_Fhy4b4cZ8sE/SpQK1JEz1qI/AAAAAAAAFhU/eh4I6USQFew/s1600-h/Aug+09+122.jpg"><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;font-size:85%;"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5373932163445282466" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 400px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 267px; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_Fhy4b4cZ8sE/SpQK1JEz1qI/AAAAAAAAFhU/eh4I6USQFew/s400/Aug+09+122.jpg" border="0" /></span></a><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;font-size:85%;"> A new game inspired by the young 20-somethings set.<br /><br /></span><div><a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_Fhy4b4cZ8sE/SpQKXEqXSOI/AAAAAAAAFhM/D8IINSdglCY/s1600-h/Aug+09+121.jpg"><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;font-size:85%;"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5373931646864541922" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 400px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 267px; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_Fhy4b4cZ8sE/SpQKXEqXSOI/AAAAAAAAFhM/D8IINSdglCY/s400/Aug+09+121.jpg" border="0" /></span></a><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;font-size:85%;"> The labyrinth mowed into the yard, a new addition. I never even walked it! Hard to meditate when surrounded by revelry.<br /><br /></span><div><a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_Fhy4b4cZ8sE/SpQKWkXx0_I/AAAAAAAAFhE/Y1Vdg7PwrFg/s1600-h/Aug+09+119.jpg"><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;font-size:85%;"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5373931638196655090" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 400px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 266px; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_Fhy4b4cZ8sE/SpQKWkXx0_I/AAAAAAAAFhE/Y1Vdg7PwrFg/s400/Aug+09+119.jpg" border="0" /></span></a><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;font-size:85%;"> Our teens were happy to be together again.<br /><br /></span><div><a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_Fhy4b4cZ8sE/SpQKV-A86RI/AAAAAAAAFg8/HP-B1kEwWdw/s1600-h/Aug+09+116.jpg"><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;font-size:85%;"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5373931627900365074" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 400px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 267px; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_Fhy4b4cZ8sE/SpQKV-A86RI/AAAAAAAAFg8/HP-B1kEwWdw/s400/Aug+09+116.jpg" border="0" /></span></a><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;font-size:85%;"> View from the amazing porch.<br /><br /></span><div><a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_Fhy4b4cZ8sE/SpQKVbbvmdI/AAAAAAAAFg0/nHfW2xAxgUI/s1600-h/Aug+09+113.jpg"><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;font-size:85%;"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5373931618617498066" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 400px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 267px; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_Fhy4b4cZ8sE/SpQKVbbvmdI/AAAAAAAAFg0/nHfW2xAxgUI/s400/Aug+09+113.jpg" border="0" /></span></a><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;font-size:85%;"> Ashley, Gemma and I filled tamales....<br /><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5373936201339128098" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 266px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 400px; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_Fhy4b4cZ8sE/SpQOgLZuSSI/AAAAAAAAFic/_13rLaFlIh4/s400/Aug+09+114-1.jpg" border="0" />made by the Willow kitchen goddess, Joanieji.<br /><br /></span><div><a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_Fhy4b4cZ8sE/SpQKU3BBjwI/AAAAAAAAFgs/0h7FwPY0zuY/s1600-h/Aug+09+108.jpg"><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;font-size:85%;"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5373931608841752322" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 400px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 267px; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_Fhy4b4cZ8sE/SpQKU3BBjwI/AAAAAAAAFgs/0h7FwPY0zuY/s400/Aug+09+108.jpg" border="0" /></span></a><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;font-size:85%;"><br /><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5373933432680206210" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 400px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 267px; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_Fhy4b4cZ8sE/SpQL_BV_z4I/AAAAAAAAFiU/Q2iGcgXCjuY/s400/Aug+09+145.jpg" border="0" /> And as usual, the requisite "we can't believe you didn't come home for Willow, see what you're missing?" photo to send to our faraway friends. </span></div><span style="font-family:Trebuchet MS;font-size:85%;"></span></div><div><span style="font-family:Trebuchet MS;font-size:85%;"></span><span style="font-family:Trebuchet MS;font-size:85%;"></span> </div><div><span style="font-family:Trebuchet MS;font-size:85%;">Ah, Willow.... </span><div><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /></div><div></div></div></div></div></div></div></div></div></div></div></div></div></div>piscesgrrlhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12279344142538980436noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-27398888.post-17062312606555574522009-07-31T22:37:00.000-06:002009-07-31T22:37:00.306-06:00Playin' Farmer Again<span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;">So the other day I was going to pop on here and tell you another funny farm story that involves me showing up at the farm, being the only one there, getting scared out of my wits when a strange man said "<em>Excuse me</em>?" while I was bent over collecting eggs in the barn, and being asked questions about the "new 40 acres going organic" by the stranger, who turned out to be an organic fertilizer dude.<br /><br />Not wanting to sound like the complete dope I am, I managed to furrow my brow and nod as he talked, and say things like, "<em>Well I should do some checking to be sure, I'll be right back</em>" instead of what I was really thinking: "</span><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;"><em>We're turning 40 more acres over to organic? Well I'll be darned."<br /></em><br />Mostly I was just glad to find out that the big-*ss truck he was driving - and no lie, my van looked like a happy meal toy parked next to his spreader - was going to spread organic fertilizer and not </span><a href="http://piscesgrrrl.blogspot.com/2007/08/raining-cats-and-dogs-and-chicken-poop.html"><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;">organic chicken sh*t</span></a><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;">.<br /><br />(Note to self: Never, ever forget camera when heading to the farm.)<br /><br />But I missed my window for humor when the very next day things once again became dire on the farm. The </span><a href="http://irishgrove.blogspot.com/"><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;">real farmers</span></a><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;"> have again fled the coop and left us in charge of the farm for a few days. Once again, the instructions started out fairly mundance - collect eggs, make sure water tanks are full, let chickens out, close chickens in, yadda yadda.<br /><br />But then the more serious points: 3 mama cows are still pregnant - #31, #T14, and "one of the tagless Murray Greys, the bigger one" (picture me trying to find THAT cow in the field) - check on them at least twice a day to see if they're in labor. If they have trouble, </span><a href="http://piscesgrrrl.blogspot.com/2009/07/oh-hey-you-still-here-in-case-you-hadnt.html"><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;">you know what to do</span></a><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;">. </span><br /><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;"></span><br /><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;">And then... there's a calf that needs to be bottle-fed. </span><br /><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;"></span><br /><a title="July 09 150 by intuitiongrrl, on Flickr" href="http://www.flickr.com/photos/piscesgrrl/3776950408/"><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;"><img height="334" alt="July 09 150" src="http://farm3.static.flickr.com/2552/3776950408_3c5199bb33.jpg" width="500" /></span></a><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;"> </span><br /><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;"></span><br /><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;">Usually when a calf needs to be bottle-fed it's because the mama won't let him nurse. This one, however, is different - HE won't nurse. Won't have any of it. The mama cow tries and tries to get him to nurse - she licks him, sucks on his ears, nudges him. He won't do it. Because she was such a good mama, my sister didn't even realize at first he wasn't nursing. Eventually they noticed he wasn't gaining weight and realized what was going on.<br /><br /></span><a title="July 09 155 by intuitiongrrl, on Flickr" href="http://www.flickr.com/photos/piscesgrrl/3776951790/"><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;"><img height="334" alt="July 09 155" src="http://farm4.static.flickr.com/3569/3776951790_4fba93383c.jpg" width="500" /></span></a><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;"><br />But here's the thing.... he isn't fond of the bottle, either.</span><br /><br /><a title="July 09 154 by intuitiongrrl, on Flickr" href="http://www.flickr.com/photos/piscesgrrl/3776145709/"><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;"><img height="334" alt="July 09 154" src="http://farm3.static.flickr.com/2490/3776145709_ae3898c5c6.jpg" width="500" /></span></a><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;"><br /></span><br /><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;">It took him several days to start drinking from the bottle. Then he steadily increased the amount he'd drink, culminating in one or 1-1/2 bottles in the morning and again at night.</span><br /><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;"></span><br /><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;"></span><a title="July 09 152 by intuitiongrrl, on Flickr" href="http://www.flickr.com/photos/piscesgrrl/3776951042/"><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;"><img height="500" alt="July 09 152" src="http://farm4.static.flickr.com/3564/3776951042_589632eb78.jpg" width="334" /></span></a><br /><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;">Until today. Today I found him lethargic and lying down. It took me quite a while to get him up, and longer to get him to suck on the bottle. After about 45 minutes of trying, I'd finally gotten him to drink 1/4 of a bottle. I'd pry his mouth open with my left hand, shove the bottle in with my right, then massage his jaw or clamp his mouth shut on it, trying to encourage him to suck. Every once in a while he'd humor me and take a few swallows.</span><br /><br /><a title="July 09 151 by intuitiongrrl, on Flickr" href="http://www.flickr.com/photos/piscesgrrl/3776950694/"><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;"><img height="334" alt="July 09 151" src="http://farm3.static.flickr.com/2452/3776950694_a9ea2b7321.jpg" width="500" /></span></a><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;"><br /></span><br /><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;">But most of the time he'd do this.<br /><br /><br /></span><a title="July 09 156 by intuitiongrrl, on Flickr" href="http://www.flickr.com/photos/piscesgrrl/3776952060/"><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;"><img height="334" alt="July 09 156" src="http://farm3.static.flickr.com/2675/3776952060_5303651f55.jpg" width="500" /></span></a><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;"> </span><br /><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;"></span><br /><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;">Something's wrong with this little guy. Something's very very wrong. </span><br /><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;"></span><br /><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;">I've gone to the farm five times today, each time spending nearly an hour trying to get him to drink. Sometimes he'd be standing when I got there. More often, though, he'd be lying down, barely moving. Once, I tried to lift his head and it rested heavily in my hands - he wouldn't even hold it up. After hours of trying, he never finished even one bottle.</span><br /><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;"></span><br /><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;">But after another visit at 10pm, he's still alive. He took a few more sucks and then turned away and refused any more attempts. He even seemed to get a little pissed. Which is fine.</span><br /><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;"></span><br /><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;">Being pissed is a sure sign of life.</span>piscesgrrlhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12279344142538980436noreply@blogger.com9tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-27398888.post-87911727068213052732009-07-27T16:41:00.000-06:002020-08-10T16:48:33.358-06:00I Tried to Learn Nothing Yesterday<span style="color:#3333ff;"><em>"Today for Show and Tell, I've brought a tiny marvel of nature: a single snowflake. I think we might all learn a lesson from how this utterly unique and exquisite crystal turns into an ordinary, boring molecule of water, just like every other one, when you bring it in the classroom. And now, while the analogy sinks in, I'll be leaving you drips and going outside."</em> </span>
<span style="color:#3333ff;">--Calvin, from Calvin & Hobbes</span>
<span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;">I nabbed this most insightful quote from a </span><a href="http://frecklesfilledwithlove.blogspot.com/"><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;">kick-*ss blog</span></a><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;"> written by a kick-*ss unschooler. (Thanks Heart-Rockin' Mama!)
Yesterday was </span><a href="http://www.sandradodd.com/learnnothingday/"><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;">Learn Nothing Day</span></a><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;">, a holiday created by Sandra and Holly Dodd to poke a little fun at those folks who ask us questions like, "<em>But if you don't go to school, how do you learn?"</em>
We've gotten that comment, mostly from kids. The adults are a bit more discerning in their questioning, asking if we worry about college or how we learn about physics or what our days look like because they could never "stand to be home with their kids" every day. It's ok, it's normal to misunderstand something that's out of your realm of experience, but to unschoolers, who operate on the belief that learning happens all the time - ALL*THE*TIME - it does, truthfully, get a little tiresome after a while.
I'd forgotten to warn my kids ahead of time that Learn Nothing Day was approaching. It's only the 2nd annual and I didn't pay much attention to it last year. This year, however, I told Jonathan about it over breakfast. His reply? "<em>I wish I'd known this sooner, so I could've planned better."
</em>
He has a whole pile of new birthday gifts so there's no WAY he won't learn anything today. But then we laughed about how we were learning something while we discussed not learning anything. And then we learned how hard it is to try to learn nothing. Doh!
His school friend summed up our point nicely by chiming in, "<em>I try not to really learn anything during summer break</em>" with a shrug. What he means, of course, is that he doesn't do anything schooly - no reading of textbooks, no writing of reports after reading a good book, no creating a diorama to explain that cool documentary you just watched. And therein lies one of my biggest beefs with the way school operates. Schools would have us believe that learning happens only when you are being taught by someone else. They'd also have us believe that it's "work" and "a kid's job" and "very serious" and other such sobering things. And in school - it is, usually. Even the younger grades get less and less fun as the push for higher test scores and earlier reading takes over.
But kids are learning all the time - ALL*THE*TIME - in AND out of school. They're learning even when they're seemingly "doing nothing" because, honestly, it's impossible to do nothing.
What unschoolers have captured is the beautiful realization that learning isn't separate from living. That in the process of living, learning happens. ALL*THE*TIME. When you're preparing for a birthday party, you're learning. When you're reading, watching tv, playing a video game you're learning. You're even learning as you rest or watch clouds drift by or sun yourself on the beach. It's impossible to not learn.
Humans are hard-wired to learn from their surroundings, but it helps if one is interested, motivated, and inspired. And this is where school does a really sh*t job. And before you give me over to the teachers' unions for a lashing in the public square, listen - I WAS a public school teacher and I KNOW how teachers' hands are tied (to a certain extent). What would be really beautiful is if a whole bunch of school personnel rose up and said, "<em>we're tired of this drudgery!"</em> and started interacting - <em>really</em> interacting, on a level that isn't "I say - you do" - with the kids. Then watch the students' eyes light up and let the revolution begin.
I know, I know. DUDE - WHAT AM I SMOKING?
But seriously, people - we've got to stop operating under the assumption that kids won't learn if they aren't forced, coerced, prodded, and locked into a damn brick building for 7 hours of every day, 180 days a year. It's ludicrous. And we also have to stop believing that the only important things one learns are what's taught within school walls.
When talking with Jonathan's school friend today, we used the example of his juggling. He's an expert juggler for his age and he spends a lot of time researching technique, watching pros on youtube, finding the right equipment, practicing, and even choreographing new and unique rhythms. "<em>Just think how much you learn about juggling all the time!"</em> I pointed out, and we talked about how learning isn't something one only does at school. He does learn at school, and he's an excellent student, but that's one way to learn among many. He seemed happy at that notion, that he learns at school but he learns in other ways at other times and in other places as well, and it's not always stressful or boring or difficult.
And as for the whole "what about college" thing (or what about physics or writing term papers or learning to meet assignment deadlines or "insert stereotypical worry here"), unschooling doesn't mean you just give everything over to the universe and say "<em>what will be, will be!"</em> and then dance off into the sunset. You do what anyone would do who wants to get into college (or take a physics class or write a paper or meet a deadline) - you prepare. Unschoolers don't learn little bits of this and that in separated-out morsels in preparation of possibly "someday" needing that information. They follow their interests and tackle their goals and learn what they need to learn as they go. And it works.
And it works on a radically different timeline from school, too. Just because state mandates say that fourth graders learn to long-divide, it doesn't mean there's some innate need to learn to long-divide at age 9. No one needs to long-divide until they need to long-divide. Not sooner, not later. And when one needs to know something, one typically goes about learning it.
Adults have a difficult time wrapping their heads around this. But usually those fears also stem from the worry that their child will be too different from other kids, or they'll appear to be neglectful parents. It's easier to follow the herd. I totally get that. That's why you'll see unschoolers hugging and jumping up and down in glee when they get together - SOMEONE LIKE ME! It ain't easy to paddle against the public school current, lemme tell ya.
But what it comes down to is this: What do I care about more, my child's freedom and well-being and happiness? or the nosy lady's misinformed opinion at the local mini-mart?
No contest. </span>
<p><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;">Paddling upstream gets easier. </p>I tried to learn nothing yesterday. I gave it a really good go. I was so tired from hosting 4 parties in 6 days that I sat on my butt almost all day, sorting through digital photos (oops, I learned how to use flickr), blogging (oops, I used an online thesaurus to choose some words), reading magazines (oops, I flagged several recipes and art activity ideas), and eating (oops, I learned that grazing on leftover party food all day makes me a bit queasy *BURP*).
<a title="386 by intuitiongrrl, on Flickr" href="http://www.flickr.com/photos/piscesgrrl/3752976155/"><img height="333" alt="386" src="http://farm3.static.flickr.com/2554/3752976155_960e076e1a.jpg" width="500" /></a>
I challenge you to learn nothing for one day. And then, the next time you wonder about us wacky weirdo unschoolers, perhaps you'll pause and think.... "<em>You just might have something there...."
</em>
</span>piscesgrrlhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12279344142538980436noreply@blogger.com18tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-27398888.post-19332601302343744602009-07-24T14:11:00.007-06:002009-07-24T16:35:19.799-06:00Pullin' a Calf<span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;">Oh hey! You still here? In case you hadn't noticed I've been taking a little blog siesta. I've taken several, each little disappearance growing longer each time, this one being the longest. </span><br /><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;">("MAY 6th!" my grrrlfriend said pointedly, "You haven't blogged since <em><strong>May</strong> <strong>6th</strong>!"</em> AlRIGHT already.) I can't explain it other than to say I <em>WANT</em> to WANT to blog, but, well, I haven't WANTED to. I'm fickle like that. And it's not like my 3 readers will care. Most of them get the live version of this side-show.<br /><br />But I thought I'd wait until I had something really blog-worthy before I made my re-entry. Let's see.... Pictures of my new woods floors? Boring. Camping with a bunch of Jesus freaks? Nah. Capsizing our canoe on a float trip? Whatever. Jamming some air guitar at a family wedding? Blah. Mom's wedding? Eh.<br /><br />Oh I know.... more farm stories! Also known as the WHO IN THEIR RIGHT MIND LEAVES THE FARM IN ROB AND LAURA'S HANDS chronicles. Um, </span><a href="http://irishgrove.blogspot.com/"><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;">Sis</span></a><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;">? Eventually this is gonna bite you in the *ss. You know that, right?<br /><br />So the other day I'm minding my own business, working in my yard preparing for the first of five parties we were set to host, when Rob tells me he's heading to the farm to check on a laboring mama cow.<br /><br /></span><a title="107 by intuitiongrrl, on Flickr" href="http://www.flickr.com/photos/piscesgrrl/3752393889/"><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;"><img height="333" alt="107" src="http://farm4.static.flickr.com/3418/3752393889_823fe2bbfc.jpg" width="500" /></span></a><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;"><br /><br />And when he asks if I'd like to join him, I thought for a moment - pull 4-foot tall thistles or witness the birth of new life? - and answered, "<em><strong>hellsa ya</strong></em>."<br /><br />When we arrived at the farm, we saw Mama Cow lying on her side with the calf's hooves hanging out of her.<br /></span><a title="126 by intuitiongrrl, on Flickr" href="http://www.flickr.com/photos/piscesgrrl/3753191468/"><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;"><img height="333" alt="126" src="http://farm4.static.flickr.com/3419/3753191468_49c008d9e5.jpg" width="500" /></span></a><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;"><br />This must be a good sign, thought we, the <a href="http://piscesgrrrl.blogspot.com/2009/04/close-call-where-close-call-means-oh.html">rookie farmer posers</a>, and we grabbed a soda and some popcorn, and prepared to be entertained.<br /><br /></span><a title="130 by intuitiongrrl, on Flickr" href="http://www.flickr.com/photos/piscesgrrl/3753193074/"><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;"><img height="333" alt="130" src="http://farm3.static.flickr.com/2666/3753193074_00158237fe.jpg" width="500" /></span></a><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;"><br /><br />We weren't the only nosy ones. These little calves were curious about us. So while we watched Mama Cow, baby cows watched us.<br /><br /></span><a title="142 by intuitiongrrl, on Flickr" href="http://www.flickr.com/photos/piscesgrrl/3752399383/"><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;"><img height="333" alt="142" src="http://farm3.static.flickr.com/2517/3752399383_ea1d8013b5.jpg" width="500" /></span></a><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;"><br /><br />And these buggers were no help. They insisted on blocking our view of Mama Cow. We'd move further down the fence row; so would they. Cute, yes, but gah - MOVE YER RAWHIDE, wouldja?<br /><br /></span><a title="139 by intuitiongrrl, on Flickr" href="http://www.flickr.com/photos/piscesgrrl/3753194788/"><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;"><img height="333" alt="139" src="http://farm3.static.flickr.com/2536/3753194788_ba63daff83.jpg" width="500" /></span></a><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;"><br />They paid a bit too much attention to Mama Cow too, sniffing around her while she labored. Finally, she tired of the attention, leaped up and began head-butting the offending cow.<br /><br /></span><a title="138 by intuitiongrrl, on Flickr" href="http://www.flickr.com/photos/piscesgrrl/3752401059/"><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;"><img height="333" alt="138" src="http://farm3.static.flickr.com/2592/3752401059_53afb140cb.jpg" width="500" /></span></a><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;"><br />"<strong>I'll give birth AND kick your *ss, b*tch."</strong><br /><br />Never, ever, mess with a mama in labor.<br /><br />Eventually, what with all the stress of a nosy audience and, well, FIGHTING while laboring, we noticed Mama Cow wasn't progressing. With each push, the calf's hooves would emerge, but after each contraction was over they'd recede back in. And Mama Cow would again stand up, ask if any other cows wanted a piece of her, and gaze at me as if to say, "<em>Can't you DO something</em>?" before lying down again with the next contraction.<br /><br />That's when the seriousness of the situation began to sink in. Here we were, sipping soda and munching popcorn like we were at a feature matinee, giddily talking about how great that we were going to witness a live birth right here in the cornfields, when we started realizing we might actually have a wee, tiny problem on our hands.<br /><br />Sometimes a first-time mama cow has trouble birthing. She gets too tired. Or the calf isn't positioned properly. And sometimes, the calf needs to be pulled. And by pulled I mean CHAINS TIED TO ITS LEGS AND <strong><em>PULLED</em></strong>. Holy freakin' haybales, what do we do now?<br /><br />The </span><a href="http://irishgrove.blogspot.com/"><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;">real farmers</span></a><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;"> were on vacation, and even when they're around they need help pulling a calf. Mom and her husband weren't around. And my sister had just blogged about the whole </span><a href="http://irishgrove.blogspot.com/2009/06/of-life-and-death.html"><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;">it's bad if you pull too soon and it's bad if you don't pull soon enough</span></a><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;"> thing. I grabbed the bag of popcorn, dumped its contents, and began hyperventilating into it while Rob called my sister.<br /><br />We got the number of Farmer Scott who lives down the road and is their #1 go-to guy in these kinds of emergencies, and THANK THE HIGHER POWER he answered his cell phone and said he'd be right over. My sister stayed on the phone with us, reminding us that we'd be just fine with Farmer Scott's help, and began giving us instructions.<br /><br /></span><a title="152 by intuitiongrrl, on Flickr" href="http://www.flickr.com/photos/piscesgrrl/3752405835/"><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;"><img height="333" alt="152" src="http://farm3.static.flickr.com/2571/3752405835_b71fb73617.jpg" width="500" /></span></a><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;"><br />Rob and Farmer Scott managed to get Mama Cow into the chute in the time it took me to run to the main farm and retrieve the pulling equipment.<br /><br />I climbed into the barn <s>to help</s> to take pictures.<br /><br /></span><a title="154 by intuitiongrrl, on Flickr" href="http://www.flickr.com/photos/piscesgrrl/3753202364/"><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;"><img height="333" alt="154" src="http://farm4.static.flickr.com/3470/3753202364_4989f03e0c.jpg" width="500" /></span></a><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;"><br />Farmer Scott adeptly secured the chains around the right spot on the calf's legs (wrong spot and you'll break its legs *shudder*) while Rob <s>and I</s> waited for instructions. Sometimes it takes two people to pull a calf if the Mama Cow isn't helping much. But Farmer Scott decided to give it a whirl on his own.<br /><br /><strong>WARNING</strong>: The following Graphic Photos may make you puke up in your mouth a little bit.<br /><br /></span><a title="156 by intuitiongrrl, on Flickr" href="http://www.flickr.com/photos/piscesgrrl/3753203062/"><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;"><img height="333" alt="156" src="http://farm4.static.flickr.com/3507/3753203062_d72cda25c2.jpg" width="500" /></span></a><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;"><br />Farmer Scott braced his legs against the door frame and pulled, while I balanced precariously over a rusty stall gate. Pulling calves is tricky! I almost fell. And there's 6 inches of slurry manure on that barn floor.<br /><br /></span><a title="159 by intuitiongrrl, on Flickr" href="http://www.flickr.com/photos/piscesgrrl/3753203836/"><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;"><img height="333" alt="159" src="http://farm3.static.flickr.com/2553/3753203836_59eb555946.jpg" width="500" /></span></a><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;"><br />VERY quickly the calf began to emerge. Mama Cow was all over helping by pushing. Farmer Scott was all "<em>C'mon.... C'mon...."</em> and Mama Cow was all "<em>I'm bringin' it! I'm briiiingin' it!"</em> and I was all "<em>Could you move a little to the left so I can get a better shot</em>?"<br /><br /></span><a title="161 by intuitiongrrl, on Flickr" href="http://www.flickr.com/photos/piscesgrrl/3752411391/"><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;"><img height="333" alt="161" src="http://farm3.static.flickr.com/2586/3752411391_b9ec92f82a.jpg" width="500" /></span></a><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;"><br />It was only a matter of seconds before Baby Calf was born. Farmer Scott went from pulling to catching. Ever try to catch a greased-up 80lb calf? That was tricky. I would've helped but, you know, it happened so fast.<br /><br /></span><a title="163 by intuitiongrrl, on Flickr" href="http://www.flickr.com/photos/piscesgrrl/3752413547/"><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;"><img height="333" alt="163" src="http://farm4.static.flickr.com/3523/3752413547_b7062a88ff.jpg" width="500" /></span></a><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;"><br />Immediately Farmer Scott began sticking straw into the calf's nostrils, causing it to gasp and begin to breathe. Hey, it's better than a slap on the *ss, isn't it?<br /><br /></span><a title="167 by intuitiongrrl, on Flickr" href="http://www.flickr.com/photos/piscesgrrl/3753208992/"><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;"><img height="333" alt="167" src="http://farm3.static.flickr.com/2672/3753208992_d208e16fbc.jpg" width="500" /></span></a><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;"><br />There were a few nerve-wracking moments as we wondered if Baby Calf was ok. She just layed there.... she was breathing, but not moving much.<br /></span><a title="170 by intuitiongrrl, on Flickr" href="http://www.flickr.com/photos/piscesgrrl/3753209964/"><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;"><img height="333" alt="170" src="http://farm3.static.flickr.com/2500/3753209964_b83ae6c13a.jpg" width="500" /></span></a><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;"><br />Farmer Scott lifted her out into the barnyard so we could release Mama Cow and let her find her babe.<br /><br /></span><a title="174 by intuitiongrrl, on Flickr" href="http://www.flickr.com/photos/piscesgrrl/3752416709/"><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;"><img height="333" alt="174" src="http://farm3.static.flickr.com/2467/3752416709_67ca5afe3b.jpg" width="500" /></span></a><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;"><br />Which she did. She immediately began licking the babe. And licking. And licking. Licky lick lick. Precious.<br /><br /></span><a title="184 by intuitiongrrl, on Flickr" href="http://www.flickr.com/photos/piscesgrrl/3752418193/"><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;"><img height="333" alt="184" src="http://farm3.static.flickr.com/2521/3752418193_fdd6e84732.jpg" width="500" /></span></a><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;"><br />And no sooner had she gotten a good sniffing in did she begin urging her babe to stand up. "<em>There'll be no lazy calves on MY watch. There is grass to eat, and.... well, grass to eat.... and, well... just get up. I can't stand laziness."</em><br /><br /></span><a title="191 by intuitiongrrl, on Flickr" href="http://www.flickr.com/photos/piscesgrrl/3753214596/"><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;"><img height="333" alt="191" src="http://farm3.static.flickr.com/2656/3753214596_8e0a57216d.jpg" width="500" /></span></a><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;"><br />And she did.<br /><br /></span><a title="196 by intuitiongrrl, on Flickr" href="http://www.flickr.com/photos/piscesgrrl/3752421181/"><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;"><img height="333" alt="196" src="http://farm3.static.flickr.com/2668/3752421181_78ef856e2e.jpg" width="500" /></span></a><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;"><br />She wobbled and flopped and rose and fell, and eventually she began to get the hang of those knobby little legs.<br /><br /></span><a title="207 by intuitiongrrl, on Flickr" href="http://www.flickr.com/photos/piscesgrrl/3753218640/"><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;"><img height="333" alt="207" src="http://farm4.static.flickr.com/3445/3753218640_b1181e45a5.jpg" width="500" /></span></a><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;"><br /><br />Farmer Scott left, and Rob and I high-fived that we survived our first-ever calf-pulling - and more importantly, Mama Cow and Baby Calf survived!</span><br /><br /><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;">And I would've settled back in with my popcorn, but I had dried cow blood under my nails. </span><br /><br /><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;">This farmin' business is rough on a grrrl's manicure.</span><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><a title="186 by intuitiongrrl, on Flickr" href="http://www.flickr.com/photos/piscesgrrl/3753485164/"></a>piscesgrrlhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12279344142538980436noreply@blogger.com22tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-27398888.post-62357183025181162122009-05-06T17:11:00.005-06:002009-05-06T17:24:09.242-06:00Mmm French Fries. Or, My Interview on Unschooling<span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;">Humor writer, blogger, and homeschooling mama, </span><a href="http://www.blogger.com/profile/02209691050549648880"><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;">Debbie H</span></a><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;">, contacted me a few months ago asking if she could interview me for her blog, </span><a href="http://homeschoolingisfreedom.blogspot.com/"><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;">Homeschooling: Freedom and Fun for your Family</span></a><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;">. Somewhere she heard I like to talk about myself. Not wanting to prove her hunch wrong, I accepted.<br /><br />The interview was posted on April 17th, and I just now remembered to look for it. I might like to talk about myself, but I also have short-term memory problems. Maybe that's why I talk so much - I can't remember what I've already said.<br /><br />Another blog post of Debbie's caught my eye on Facebook today, and as I clicked over I suddenly remembered the interview. Doh! There I am, sandwiched among other cool home- and unschooling folks like </span><a href="http://www.rethinkingeducation.net/barb.html"><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;">Barb Lundgren</span></a><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;"> of </span><a href="http://www.rethinkingeducation.net/"><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;">Rethinking Education Conference</span></a><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;"> fame (oh how I wish-wish-wish I could go). I'm honored to be among such cool folks.<br /><br />When I first found my interview, I was stumped as to why a photo of french fries provided the header of the post. Ah, short term memory challenges strike again.<br /><br />To find out what french fries have to do with unschooling, </span><a href="http://homeschoolingisfreedom.blogspot.com/2009/04/homeschoolers-testing-school-lauras.html"><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;">go see for yourself</span></a><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;">.<br /><br />Thanks Debbie!<br /><br />(Mmmmmm.... french </span><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;">fries..... *grabs kids and car keys*)</span>piscesgrrlhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12279344142538980436noreply@blogger.com9tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-27398888.post-63018768693811228632009-05-05T20:05:00.005-06:002009-05-05T21:13:53.331-06:00Look Ma - UNSCHOOLERS!<span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;">I love blogging. I love blogging because I love to write, I love to promote unschooling, and also because I'm an "over-sharer" (a term I heard during an NPR interview today). I like to talk, and I tend to get comfortable with people straight off and next thing you know we're having an intimate and easy conversation whether you're ready for it or not. And that's why I love unschoolers so much. </span><br /><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;"></span><br /><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;">It's not just that we have a common educational philosophy, though there is that wee bit; it's because there's an openness, an optimism, and deep love of life and children that is present when in the company of unschoolers. It's an energy you can't understand until you've been in its glow. Find yourself some unschoolers and get yourself some of that good stuff; you won't be sorry.<br /><br />I also love blogging because of the amazing connections and friendships I've made with people all across the country. It's completely amazing to meet other unschooling bloggers at conferences and gatherings after only knowing each other online. It's so much fun knowing people around the country, knowing we have the potential to gather no matter where we travel.<br /><br />But what tops all that? <em>Finding unschoolers in my neck of the woods.<br /></em><br />Thanks to my blog, Jodi of </span><a href="http://sunflowerhillfarm.blogspot.com/"><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;">Sunflower Hill Farm</span></a><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;"> recognized me at the </span><a href="http://www.inhomeconference.org/"><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;">InHome Conference</span></a><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;"> and introduced herself. She also invited me to visit their local homeschooling group that gathers in a town not 30 minutes from my house. And yesterday, that group gathered at </span><a href="http://www.blogger.com/www.innserendipity.com"><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;">Inn Serendipity</span></a><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;">, an eco-B&B owned by my friend Lisa, someone I adore but rarely see.<br /><br />How fun to meet up with a great group of home- and unschoolers, meet bloggers I'd connected with online, and reconnect with old friends. It was like a coming home.<br /><br /></span><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5332531087150762386" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 267px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 400px; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_Fhy4b4cZ8sE/SgD0xVNZSZI/AAAAAAAAFPQ/klgQJdJ-ua8/s400/IMG_6868.JPG" border="0" />Lisa led a Renewable Energy scavenger hunt on their homestead, guiding the kids to discover the myriad ways they harness the earth's power and live gently on their plot.<br /><br /></span><a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_Fhy4b4cZ8sE/SgD2Fi1PtdI/AAAAAAAAFQw/QAuhwi6geOE/s1600-h/IMG_6873.JPG"><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5332532533916579282" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 400px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 267px; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_Fhy4b4cZ8sE/SgD2Fi1PtdI/AAAAAAAAFQw/QAuhwi6geOE/s400/IMG_6873.JPG" border="0" /></span></a><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;"> Lisa's husband, John (award-winning photographer, writer, author, national speaker, ecopreneur and globetrotter), stepped in when it was time to explain kilowatts and photovoltaic energy and...<br /></span><a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_Fhy4b4cZ8sE/SgD2FvyD1VI/AAAAAAAAFQo/oBCKjTv1f6M/s1600-h/IMG_6875.JPG"><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5332532537392878930" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 400px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 267px; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_Fhy4b4cZ8sE/SgD2FvyD1VI/AAAAAAAAFQo/oBCKjTv1f6M/s400/IMG_6875.JPG" border="0" /></span></a><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;"> the </span><a href="http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Savonius_wind_turbine"><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;">Savonius Rotor</span></a><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;"> (say what?)<br /><br /></span><a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_Fhy4b4cZ8sE/SgD2FZnl82I/AAAAAAAAFQg/2R6T4UpGDQA/s1600-h/IMG_6879.JPG"><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5332532531443397474" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 400px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 267px; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_Fhy4b4cZ8sE/SgD2FZnl82I/AAAAAAAAFQg/2R6T4UpGDQA/s400/IMG_6879.JPG" border="0" /></span></a><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;"> and their 1974 </span><a href="http://www.whokilledtheelectriccar.com/"><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;">electric car</span></a><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;">. Seriously!<br /><br /></span><div><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5332532210486306290" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 400px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 286px; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_Fhy4b4cZ8sE/SgD1yt9dZfI/AAAAAAAAFQA/abTsBpEDqKo/s400/IMG_6884.JPG" border="0" />They also have several kinds of solar panels<img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5332531100712507202" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 400px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 286px; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_Fhy4b4cZ8sE/SgD0yHuxF0I/AAAAAAAAFPw/RilRAGwYePc/s400/IMG_6885.JPG" border="0" />And even a solar cooker.</span><a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_Fhy4b4cZ8sE/SgD1y93JJQI/AAAAAAAAFQY/FkIMg3bHZFk/s1600-h/IMG_6880.JPG"><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5332532214754780418" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 267px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 400px; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_Fhy4b4cZ8sE/SgD1y93JJQI/AAAAAAAAFQY/FkIMg3bHZFk/s400/IMG_6880.JPG" border="0" /></span></a><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;"> Here's their wind turbine, and I didn't remember to take a picture of their straw-bale constructed greenhouse where they grow papayas, of all things!<br /><br /></span><div><a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_Fhy4b4cZ8sE/SgD1y4ZfOaI/AAAAAAAAFQQ/qA6bpIrqMsM/s1600-h/IMG_6882.JPG"><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5332532213288221090" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 400px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 267px; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_Fhy4b4cZ8sE/SgD1y4ZfOaI/AAAAAAAAFQQ/qA6bpIrqMsM/s400/IMG_6882.JPG" border="0" /></span></a><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;"> I did manage, however, to take a picture of the tree with a mini-trampoline in it.<br /><br /></span><div><a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_Fhy4b4cZ8sE/SgD1yloeFHI/AAAAAAAAFQI/WJq7vZ_5AJU/s1600-h/IMG_6883.JPG"><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5332532208250786930" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 400px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 267px; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_Fhy4b4cZ8sE/SgD1yloeFHI/AAAAAAAAFQI/WJq7vZ_5AJU/s400/IMG_6883.JPG" border="0" /></span></a><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;">As always, the potluck was delicious and inspired. Homemade goodies like sweet breads and applesauce and jams, pesto pasta, macaroni-and-cheese from scratch (it wasn't neon!), bean salads and green salads. There was even a delightful Indian dessert that I must learn about. I can't even remember what it was called. I'll call it oh-my-goddess-please-may-I-have-another. And-another.</span></div><div><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;"><br /></span></div><div><div><div><div><div><a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_Fhy4b4cZ8sE/SgD0xylvBuI/AAAAAAAAFPo/iRyDQzkOsq0/s1600-h/IMG_6887.JPG"><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5332531095037478626" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 400px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 267px; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_Fhy4b4cZ8sE/SgD0xylvBuI/AAAAAAAAFPo/iRyDQzkOsq0/s400/IMG_6887.JPG" border="0" /></span></a><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;"> Here's Jen of </span><a href="http://circletheworld.blogspot.com/"><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;">Circle the World</span></a><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;"> - it was so great to meet her! - with Jodi.</span></div><div><br /></div><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5332532206505117730" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 400px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 267px; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_Fhy4b4cZ8sE/SgD1yfIRSCI/AAAAAAAAFP4/VJmLVxYynp0/s400/IMG_6889.JPG" border="0" /> And a sampling of the other cool mamas (some had already left) - Paula (a farmer and expecting #6!), Darla (a </span><a href="http://www.darladoula.com/index.html"><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;">doula</span></a><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;">), </span><a href="http://www.innserendipity.com/owners/owners.html"><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;">Lisa</span></a><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;">, me, and </span><a href="http://sunflowerhillfarm.blogspot.com/"><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;">Jodi</span></a><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;">.<br /><br />Finding unschoolers in my neck of the woods made my day. </span></div><div> </div></div></div></div></div></div>piscesgrrlhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12279344142538980436noreply@blogger.com6tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-27398888.post-37277199687408562712009-04-30T20:21:00.003-06:002009-04-30T20:32:23.485-06:00Back in Time<span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;">I don't always feel like blogging. Today is one of those days. So was yesterday. But it occurred to me that it might be interesting to share some old posts, either 'best of' kinds of posts or posts that have special meaning.<br /><br />Did you know I started blogging when my father died? I don't know what in tarnation spurred me to decide to blog about the mind-numbing pain I felt, but that's what started this whole shebang. I've come a long way, don't you think?<br /><br />My first ever post - </span><a href="http://piscesgrrrl.blogspot.com/2006/05/misty-morning-musings.html"><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;">Misty Morning Musings</span></a><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;">. (What can I say? I'm fond of alliteration.)</span><br /><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;"></span>piscesgrrlhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12279344142538980436noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-27398888.post-21417873216953264002009-04-28T21:25:00.003-06:002009-04-28T21:46:19.330-06:00Unschooling Story Hour<span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;">Once upon a time there was an audience, a group of people trying to listen to a man and a woman sing songs. The man and woman sang very beautiful songs and the audience members enjoyed their singing very much.<br /><br />But there was also a group a children playing nearby, children of the audience members. The children weren't so interested in the man's songs. The children weren't so interested in the woman's songs. The children were tired after a long day and just wanted to play and have fun and be a little noisy, as children often want to do.<br /><br />"Shhhh!" said an audience member, "We can't hear the singing!"<br /><br />"Hush!" said another, "You need to be quiet!" </span><br /><p><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;">"Be quiet!" said another, "And sit still!"</p>One by one, the audience members, some of them parents of the noisy children, tried to quiet the children. They shushed them. They frowned at them. A few whispered to others nearby, "If those were MY kids, I'd punish them and make them be quiet."<br /><br />"Those children should behave!" whispered another.<br /><br />Nothing the audience members did quieted the children, who, rather than growing quiet, grew increasingly loud instead.<br /><br />But before things got out of hand, before audience members had time to dream up too many punishments, before the man's songs and the woman's songs were drowned out entirely, something magical happened.<br /><br />The singing man beckoned to the children. "Come forth," he said, "I need help with this song."<br /><br />The children went forth. They didn't go quietly, and they didn't sit quietly, but they went. They clambered onto the stage and gathered at the singing man's feet and they waited to see what he wanted.<br /><br />"Let's sing a song," said the singing man. And he began to sing. <br /><br />And so they sang. They sang loudly, they sang quietly, but all of them sang quite enthusiastically, with arms swinging and feet tapping and mouths open as wide as mouths could open.<br /><br />And the audience sat back and listened to their beautiful music.<br /><br />The End<br /><br /><br /></span><a href="http://www.clonlara.org/interview_pat"><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;">Pat Montgomery</span></a><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;">, homeschool advocate, founder of Clonlara, and one of my heroes, once said, "All you can really do for your children is model."<br /><br />Today's unschooling question: Will you be the audience or will you be the singer?</span><br /></span>piscesgrrlhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12279344142538980436noreply@blogger.com9tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-27398888.post-11133636088837206552009-04-26T22:23:00.000-06:002009-04-26T22:23:00.157-06:00I Have Purpose<a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_Fhy4b4cZ8sE/SfKCaqdStOI/AAAAAAAAFPI/LaWhoknB4jQ/s1600-h/IMG_4154.JPG"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5328464703718077666" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 400px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 267px; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_Fhy4b4cZ8sE/SfKCaqdStOI/AAAAAAAAFPI/LaWhoknB4jQ/s400/IMG_4154.JPG" border="0" /></a><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;">Tonight my nephew, Armando, marched into our house and said to Rob, "Where's Laura? I'm hungry."</span><br /><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;"></span><br /><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;">At least I know I'm needed for something around here.</span>piscesgrrlhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12279344142538980436noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-27398888.post-54825856675287981242009-04-25T22:12:00.000-06:002009-04-25T22:12:00.628-06:00Love and Marriage<span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;">17 years ago I decided to marry this bloke:</span><a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_Fhy4b4cZ8sE/SfJ_0_xH61I/AAAAAAAAFPA/_dHBfGSrd6w/s1600-h/IMG_6076.JPG"><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5328461857580116818" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 266px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 400px; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_Fhy4b4cZ8sE/SfJ_0_xH61I/AAAAAAAAFPA/_dHBfGSrd6w/s400/IMG_6076.JPG" border="0" /></span></a><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;"> 17 year later....<br /></span><div><a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_Fhy4b4cZ8sE/SfJ_0hkQGHI/AAAAAAAAFO4/DtJu_WUWmmc/s1600-h/IMG_5976.JPG"><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5328461849473063026" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 400px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 267px; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_Fhy4b4cZ8sE/SfJ_0hkQGHI/AAAAAAAAFO4/DtJu_WUWmmc/s400/IMG_5976.JPG" border="0" /></span></a><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;"> I'm still glad I did.<br /></span><br /><div></div></div>piscesgrrlhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12279344142538980436noreply@blogger.com9tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-27398888.post-20247349941806834542009-04-25T09:06:00.000-06:002009-04-25T09:06:00.888-06:00Reuniting with my Inner Activist<span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;">Busy today, dusting off the old protest signs. If you need me, all weekend I'll be </span><a href="http://www.noprivatearmies.org/take_action.html"><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;">here</span></a><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;">.</span> <br /><br /><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;">Story to follow, be sure of that.</span>piscesgrrlhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12279344142538980436noreply@blogger.com3