This story starts here.
Helia stripped off her hose before sinking into the couch. The interview had been good but she didn't really like the school. Alistaire had headed back to their bedroom to change his clothes.
"I thought the interview went well." he shouted.
"The money is good." she shouted back.
"The school is well-respected." he said as he sat down next to her.
She loosened her belt before looking him in the eye. "You hate it too?"
"Yep."
"We've gotten spoiled working for the Foundation. You can't replicate that kind of flexibility in a regular school."
"I'm going to miss making it up as I go along."
"Did you see the stack of the previous year's lesson plans? They are required to turn them in!"
"The money is good."
"Really good."
"I'm pretty sure they liked us."
Helia kissed Alistaire before getting up to get changed.
While she was changing, Alistaire switched on the answering machine.
"Hello, this is Janet Michelle of Blair Productions calling to let you know you've made it to the first round of interviews for a teaching position at Childrise School. Please call me so we can discuss times..."
"Childrise School? I've never heard of it. Did we apply there?"
"I don't remember applying to a school named Childrise."
"Whoopee!" Niko came sailing in the the living room waving a print out of an email.
"Yes, and the good news is?" Helia asked.
"We're going to be on TV! Childrise is considering our applications. We're supposed to audition on Saturday! Please, say we can go."
Helia and Alistaire exchanged glances.
"Niko, you wouldn't have submitted applications for us would you?" Alistaire questioned.
Niko exploded. "They want you too! Awesome! We're going to be on TV. We're going to be on TV."
"Did we name him for your father or for Marchiavelli?" Alistaire asked.
"Machiavelli, definitely."
This story continues here.
Friday, August 25, 2006
Thursday, August 24, 2006
Sunday, August 20, 2006
Uniform Solution
When you put the words "sturdy", "attractive" and "cheap" in the advertising for clothing you have my attention. After all I have five kids who eat clothes--that's only a metaphor for three of them. I got the idea last year to have the girls wear uniforms while we did school, and it was so great! They got up and they put on their uniform. I bought them several options of blouses and various jumper, pant, skort combinations, but the basic colors and details tied us together as a unit. Our class time had a certain respect that had been lacking. Putting on your comfortable clothes was a sign that you had finished your work. Clothing lasted longer, and looked better.
So, we're doing it again this year. We went on a treasure hunt for all the various pieces of last year's wardrobe. Everyone had grown. We had to throw out a few blouses that Iris had, well, eaten. But even so, we are more than halfway outfitted for this year. I've got to order a few items for the oldest and for the fourth who is just young enough to be too short to inherit the third's stuff.
If you homeschool and have a large family, I recommend the uniform solution. I've been very pleased. We use French Toast. They are inexpensive, and the clothes do hold up. I've not always gotten the best service, but eventually they do make things right if they go wrong. Uniforms, who knew? They really work for us.
So, we're doing it again this year. We went on a treasure hunt for all the various pieces of last year's wardrobe. Everyone had grown. We had to throw out a few blouses that Iris had, well, eaten. But even so, we are more than halfway outfitted for this year. I've got to order a few items for the oldest and for the fourth who is just young enough to be too short to inherit the third's stuff.
If you homeschool and have a large family, I recommend the uniform solution. I've been very pleased. We use French Toast. They are inexpensive, and the clothes do hold up. I've not always gotten the best service, but eventually they do make things right if they go wrong. Uniforms, who knew? They really work for us.
Thursday, August 17, 2006
Australia, Here I come
Today was one of those days. You know the kind of day that Alexander had. The terrible, horrible, no good, very bad days. The ones where you plan to move to Australia. It started last night actually. I went to my writer's group with a piece I knew was going to be eaten alive. Why I tortured myself doing something so foolish? I thought that the jokes were funny enough to coax them to forgive me. I was wrong. No one got my jokes for all the reasons that I knew they were going to eat the piece alive. I think I'll move TV School to Australia.
Then I woke up and I had a took my medicine late so I could go to the writer's group hangover. The kids were not interested in getting organized on their own, and we were a little late for swim class. I was going to let the littles play on the playground while we shared a box of Junior Mints, but I forgot my watch, so we had to go sit on the benches in the humid pool area, again. Peter stole another child's cars and then tried to run away while I was watching and waving at the three in the pool. I wonder if you have to know how to swim to live in Australia.
We got home and I set them free to play while Peter took his nap. They were having a grand time riding down the middle of the street on their bikes. My friend came by and reminded me that some of the teens drive too fast, and that she usually sits outside with her kids when they play outside. She had a point. I brought them all inside and they got really bored. I bet they'd be able to entertain themselves for an hour in Australia.
My poison ivy began to itch and I was out of the cream to make it stop. The kids decided to gang up on each other, and to test the line between clever dialogue and sass. I had to be momzilla. My popularity sank through the floor. I bet moms are deeply revered in Australia.
I scratched the poison ivy until it bled. Sometimes you have to give in to these things. I officially became a masochist when I splashed it all with Sea Breeze. Then I remembered that I have Zyrtec from a bad reaction to Amoxicillin. Why couldn't that thought have suggested itself before I gave in to the orgy of scratching? I bet Zyrtec is over the counter in Australia.
Then my husband took over and made dinner. He got all those ornery kids to eat and clean up and behave with some decorum. He gave me permission to go blog it out, and he made me up a plate for when I feel better. You know I bet they don't have anyone that great in Australia. I guess I better stay home.
Then I woke up and I had a took my medicine late so I could go to the writer's group hangover. The kids were not interested in getting organized on their own, and we were a little late for swim class. I was going to let the littles play on the playground while we shared a box of Junior Mints, but I forgot my watch, so we had to go sit on the benches in the humid pool area, again. Peter stole another child's cars and then tried to run away while I was watching and waving at the three in the pool. I wonder if you have to know how to swim to live in Australia.
We got home and I set them free to play while Peter took his nap. They were having a grand time riding down the middle of the street on their bikes. My friend came by and reminded me that some of the teens drive too fast, and that she usually sits outside with her kids when they play outside. She had a point. I brought them all inside and they got really bored. I bet they'd be able to entertain themselves for an hour in Australia.
My poison ivy began to itch and I was out of the cream to make it stop. The kids decided to gang up on each other, and to test the line between clever dialogue and sass. I had to be momzilla. My popularity sank through the floor. I bet moms are deeply revered in Australia.
I scratched the poison ivy until it bled. Sometimes you have to give in to these things. I officially became a masochist when I splashed it all with Sea Breeze. Then I remembered that I have Zyrtec from a bad reaction to Amoxicillin. Why couldn't that thought have suggested itself before I gave in to the orgy of scratching? I bet Zyrtec is over the counter in Australia.
Then my husband took over and made dinner. He got all those ornery kids to eat and clean up and behave with some decorum. He gave me permission to go blog it out, and he made me up a plate for when I feel better. You know I bet they don't have anyone that great in Australia. I guess I better stay home.
Pop Quiz for TV School fans
OK, mom and whoever else has read TV School. (I hope you're out there.) I know that the stuff I'm writing is all wrong, wrong, wrong, but I thought it was at least a little amusing. I will be rewriting the whole thing from a fixed point of view and all that crap when I've made this world up in all of its glorious detail. I need to know all the details for reasons that I shall reveal upon publication--maybe.
Anyway, here goes. (Record your answers in the comment section and when all the correct answers have been entered I'll reveal the official answer key.
1. Who wears a blue dress?
2. What cartoon series (that is itself an homage to a silent film series) is quietly given the nod?
3. What ancient myth is the actual inspiration for the plot?
4. One of my goddesses is out of the closet, can you out the other?
5. 1.46 Name it and claim it.
Please somebody figure these out. I'm hopeful that while the scaffolding is just scaffolding, that it has some amusement value of its own.
Anyway, here goes. (Record your answers in the comment section and when all the correct answers have been entered I'll reveal the official answer key.
1. Who wears a blue dress?
2. What cartoon series (that is itself an homage to a silent film series) is quietly given the nod?
3. What ancient myth is the actual inspiration for the plot?
4. One of my goddesses is out of the closet, can you out the other?
5. 1.46 Name it and claim it.
Please somebody figure these out. I'm hopeful that while the scaffolding is just scaffolding, that it has some amusement value of its own.
Monday, August 14, 2006
A Nosegay of Freshly Sharpened Pencils
I'm starting to get school fever. I was really struggling to get my physics study off the ground until I found the God's Design Series. They have all the experiments and helpful text in one place. Phew! I was going to base it all on the Teaching Company Physics course, but I couldn't find any really good books to support my efforts to bring the material down to the kid's level, at least none that were in our family's budget for this year. If our budget grows I may purchase some Science in a Nutshell sets. I've never bought them before, but I've drooled over them for years. If anyone has any input on them, I'd love to hear it.
I'm teaching Shurley English for the second year in a row. I love the ease of preparation and the thoroughness with which she teaches grammar. We'll be continuing our daily quick writes, and hopefully we will make some progress on handwriting. Rosie's struggle with spelling--partly due to an undiagnosed far-sightedness--has convinced me that we need to add Spelling Power to our routine. I also love Color Phonics for reinforcing and teaching phonics. I have had some trouble with the disks having errors that impeded play, but it's still a great product.
History? We are basing our study on the Veritas Press History Cards. I don't like their support materials, but the cards themselves are a simple way to steer through history. I pull in books on the event we are studying from the library in order to make the viewpoint a little more in line with current research. Veritas Press is a lot too retro for my taste, but it is a good gimic. Our study this year will start in 1815 America and continue to the present.
I must admit that I take the wimp's way out with math and leave the bulk of mathematics instruction to the prepackaged curriculum we use during quiet school. I will be doing drills on basic facts and emphasizing counting.
Our study of the Bible will be an oldie, but goodie Betty Lukens flannelgraph. I remember it from my childhood, and it's fun. The girls love it. I may let Mea and Rosie prepare some of the lessons this year.
As always the girls are responsible for their own education in the afternoon--though I may move Quiet School to the morning hours. The older girls use SOS because it is so easy for me. The computer does the majority of the grading and such. Mea is going to give Latin a go. The littles will be working through the Horizons workbooks.
I am so excited about next year. I hope you have a wonderful time preparing for the next school year no matter how you teach your children.
I'm teaching Shurley English for the second year in a row. I love the ease of preparation and the thoroughness with which she teaches grammar. We'll be continuing our daily quick writes, and hopefully we will make some progress on handwriting. Rosie's struggle with spelling--partly due to an undiagnosed far-sightedness--has convinced me that we need to add Spelling Power to our routine. I also love Color Phonics for reinforcing and teaching phonics. I have had some trouble with the disks having errors that impeded play, but it's still a great product.
History? We are basing our study on the Veritas Press History Cards. I don't like their support materials, but the cards themselves are a simple way to steer through history. I pull in books on the event we are studying from the library in order to make the viewpoint a little more in line with current research. Veritas Press is a lot too retro for my taste, but it is a good gimic. Our study this year will start in 1815 America and continue to the present.
I must admit that I take the wimp's way out with math and leave the bulk of mathematics instruction to the prepackaged curriculum we use during quiet school. I will be doing drills on basic facts and emphasizing counting.
Our study of the Bible will be an oldie, but goodie Betty Lukens flannelgraph. I remember it from my childhood, and it's fun. The girls love it. I may let Mea and Rosie prepare some of the lessons this year.
As always the girls are responsible for their own education in the afternoon--though I may move Quiet School to the morning hours. The older girls use SOS because it is so easy for me. The computer does the majority of the grading and such. Mea is going to give Latin a go. The littles will be working through the Horizons workbooks.
I am so excited about next year. I hope you have a wonderful time preparing for the next school year no matter how you teach your children.
Sunday, August 13, 2006
A TV School (Janet's headache)
This story starts here.
Janet had a headache. The West Trust had thrown a fit over the recasting of the teachers. Evidently, their authority superceded Ms. West's authority as headmistress. They were not going to allow her to cast any teachers they had not approved. All the current faculty would remain and any new faculty would have to go through the ordinary Sonrise hiring process. They had scrapped all of her teachers. Janet was under new directions from Daniella. The new emphasis was on the teacher's peccadillos, oddities, and unusual talents. Instead of just finding attractive, sympathetic teachers, she had to find pecuiliar teachers.
Janet culled through the resumes for the seventh or eighth time, and then decided to see if any new applications had popped up. An intriguing pair of applications from a married couple caught her attention. They had gone to good schools, but neither had a degree in education. Sonrise would like that. Working for the Reinvent Foundation, they had entered the education business through the back door. The West Trust had granted money to Reinvent. Janet hurriedly scrolled down to the personal information--wow, five kids. How much do you want to bet that they've applied to be on the show? Sure enough, a quick scan through the clog of new children's applications brought up five little Thistles. Daniella would like this. Big families were hot. She put them on the list for a call-in.
Janet had a headache. The West Trust had thrown a fit over the recasting of the teachers. Evidently, their authority superceded Ms. West's authority as headmistress. They were not going to allow her to cast any teachers they had not approved. All the current faculty would remain and any new faculty would have to go through the ordinary Sonrise hiring process. They had scrapped all of her teachers. Janet was under new directions from Daniella. The new emphasis was on the teacher's peccadillos, oddities, and unusual talents. Instead of just finding attractive, sympathetic teachers, she had to find pecuiliar teachers.
Janet culled through the resumes for the seventh or eighth time, and then decided to see if any new applications had popped up. An intriguing pair of applications from a married couple caught her attention. They had gone to good schools, but neither had a degree in education. Sonrise would like that. Working for the Reinvent Foundation, they had entered the education business through the back door. The West Trust had granted money to Reinvent. Janet hurriedly scrolled down to the personal information--wow, five kids. How much do you want to bet that they've applied to be on the show? Sure enough, a quick scan through the clog of new children's applications brought up five little Thistles. Daniella would like this. Big families were hot. She put them on the list for a call-in.
Thank you, I. M. Pei
I find the first fruits of the oft promised convergence so promising. The ability to go online and find books from my library, movies from netflix, and all kinds of cultural information is so rich. The idea that someday, hopefully in my lifetime, I will be able to find anything I want on the internet--probably on some handheld device that works wherever I happen to be--is one of the best and happiest parts of the future. When I was growing up, culture was limited to the local library's collection of books, the dedicated efforts of my teachers, and some lengthy and expensive trips to Washington D.C. and Baltimore.
Today, thanks to netflix, I watched a documentary on the work of I.M. Pei. I have admired I. M. Pei since I stepped into the East wing of the National Gallery of Art. When they got to that part of his resume, I was amazed to see him tearing up at the abundance of young people crowding the museum. He had been designing the project at the same time that the Museum of Air and Space was going up, and he was trying to compete for young people's attention. I teared up too, because his decidedly modern architecture was one of the first experiences that inspired me to accept modern art instead of eschewing it as my little subculture routinely did. I found the building so alive that it was itself a rival for my attention. I love the West Wing, but the architecture said little to me except that it was very expensive. I happily ignored it and enjoyed the galleries. My parents didn't take me into the East Wing. I discovered it on one of my teenage trips to the mall. I was mesmerized, and I had a strong feeling of homecoming.
What a pleasure this age of information is! I can feel a connection to a person I will never meet, but that has profoundly influenced my life. Because he was willing to share his ideas and himself, his work has taken on another dimension for me. I've seen his buildings around the world; buildings that I'll probably never see in person. I've had the opportunity to hear him express what it means to be creative, and to discover that he meant to draw me into art. The well-laid trap was well-intentioned. I hope it sets others free as it has set me free. Thank you, Mr. Pei. I noticed, and I'm grateful.
Today, thanks to netflix, I watched a documentary on the work of I.M. Pei. I have admired I. M. Pei since I stepped into the East wing of the National Gallery of Art. When they got to that part of his resume, I was amazed to see him tearing up at the abundance of young people crowding the museum. He had been designing the project at the same time that the Museum of Air and Space was going up, and he was trying to compete for young people's attention. I teared up too, because his decidedly modern architecture was one of the first experiences that inspired me to accept modern art instead of eschewing it as my little subculture routinely did. I found the building so alive that it was itself a rival for my attention. I love the West Wing, but the architecture said little to me except that it was very expensive. I happily ignored it and enjoyed the galleries. My parents didn't take me into the East Wing. I discovered it on one of my teenage trips to the mall. I was mesmerized, and I had a strong feeling of homecoming.
What a pleasure this age of information is! I can feel a connection to a person I will never meet, but that has profoundly influenced my life. Because he was willing to share his ideas and himself, his work has taken on another dimension for me. I've seen his buildings around the world; buildings that I'll probably never see in person. I've had the opportunity to hear him express what it means to be creative, and to discover that he meant to draw me into art. The well-laid trap was well-intentioned. I hope it sets others free as it has set me free. Thank you, Mr. Pei. I noticed, and I'm grateful.
Saturday, August 12, 2006
A TV School (MI: Yaya Style)
This story starts here.
Hera knew she was acting badly, but it was the first time Niko had come to her. Niko always went to Nicholas, but this time it was Hera who got the nod. So, here she was secretly using a camera she didn't understand and a computer she understood even less. All so that her beautiful grandchildren could be on TV at that fancy school the Wests ran.
Niko pulled a square thing out of the camera and inserted it into the computer. All the pictures they had just taken flashed up on the screen. There was Penny, hiding in the closet, Dolores hamming it up, Demetra looking angry because she hadn't finished brushing her hair, and Quade's sweet smile. Hera had beautiful grandchildren and this wasn't even the half of them. The big score were the pictures of Helia and Alistaire. They had been on their way to an interview so they looked very professional. Helia was so beautiful. Hera could never understand her attraction to Alistaire, but she knew the Alistaire was a very good man--not an attractive man, but a very good man.
Niko sorted through the pictures culling and cropping and finally inserting them into the appropriate blanks in the online applications. He had even found the appropriate area to submit teacher applications.
"This is going to be great, Yaya. They have to choose us. We're smart. We're good looking, and our parents are teachers. Where else will they find a family like that? We have great back story."
"Absolutely." Hera enthused, though she wasn't sure what "back story" meant.
The applications were finished except the resume portion of Alistaire and Helia. Hera had helped to secure a copy of their resumes by saying that she would pass it on the principal of the Orthodox school. Niko added the input in the proper places.
"That's that, Yaya. Thanks for letting me use the bakery computer. I didn't want mom and dad to catch me."
"No problem. I'll let you know if they reply." she promised.
This story continues here.
Hera knew she was acting badly, but it was the first time Niko had come to her. Niko always went to Nicholas, but this time it was Hera who got the nod. So, here she was secretly using a camera she didn't understand and a computer she understood even less. All so that her beautiful grandchildren could be on TV at that fancy school the Wests ran.
Niko pulled a square thing out of the camera and inserted it into the computer. All the pictures they had just taken flashed up on the screen. There was Penny, hiding in the closet, Dolores hamming it up, Demetra looking angry because she hadn't finished brushing her hair, and Quade's sweet smile. Hera had beautiful grandchildren and this wasn't even the half of them. The big score were the pictures of Helia and Alistaire. They had been on their way to an interview so they looked very professional. Helia was so beautiful. Hera could never understand her attraction to Alistaire, but she knew the Alistaire was a very good man--not an attractive man, but a very good man.
Niko sorted through the pictures culling and cropping and finally inserting them into the appropriate blanks in the online applications. He had even found the appropriate area to submit teacher applications.
"This is going to be great, Yaya. They have to choose us. We're smart. We're good looking, and our parents are teachers. Where else will they find a family like that? We have great back story."
"Absolutely." Hera enthused, though she wasn't sure what "back story" meant.
The applications were finished except the resume portion of Alistaire and Helia. Hera had helped to secure a copy of their resumes by saying that she would pass it on the principal of the Orthodox school. Niko added the input in the proper places.
"That's that, Yaya. Thanks for letting me use the bakery computer. I didn't want mom and dad to catch me."
"No problem. I'll let you know if they reply." she promised.
This story continues here.
Friday, August 11, 2006
A TV School (Excellent Service)
This story starts here.
Gerald was swearing inwardly, though outwardly he was maintaining his lawyerly demeanor. Phil had always been disorganized, but this was approaching legendary. Somewhere in this haphazard stack of SIGNED! contracts she had turned over the school's identity, constitution, and perhaps even property rights. He was going to be in such trouble with the Trust's officers. She had called him to ask for advice, albeit in her typical backward fashion. If it weren't for granfather Corney he'd have resigned as the school's lawyer years ago.
Phil was repentant, but it was beginning to look like too little, too late.
Good old Yeats brought in supper. Maggie must be feeling for the old lady. She'd sent them stroganoff just like his grandmother used to make.
Taking a breath he pushed back the papers and stepped over to the work table where Yeats had laid out supper.
"Aunt Phil, this is a nightmare. I'm still not sure I understand what's happenned or how you can get back on top of this situation." He gestured to the stacks of sorted contracts. "This stack gives them the ability to rename the school for television purposes. This one gives them 24 hour camera access. This one allows them to control admissions and that one allows them to hire new teachers. So far the only thing they can't do is fire you and that's only because Trust policy supercedes this more recent batch of paperwork. I think Trust policy will help with a good number of these items, but there are a lot of things including the possibility of uniforms that you are just going to be out of luck on. I've called Bernie and he's going to help me. Yeats, you signed these documents as witness, didn't it strike you that she might want to slow down?"
"Miss West is an excellent decision maker."
"Be that as it may, Yeats...." Gerald gave up. Grandma's stroganoff was really good.
"On the other hand, Master Gerald, She is not the most efficient person."
Phil looked hurt. Yeats never criticized her and here he was doing it in front of Gerald, who always criticized her.
Gerald, however, saw something different behind Yeats' comment and stepped back to look at the pile of contracts. They weren't all signed. She'd forgotten some of them. Maybe things weren't so bad after all.
This story continues here.
Gerald was swearing inwardly, though outwardly he was maintaining his lawyerly demeanor. Phil had always been disorganized, but this was approaching legendary. Somewhere in this haphazard stack of SIGNED! contracts she had turned over the school's identity, constitution, and perhaps even property rights. He was going to be in such trouble with the Trust's officers. She had called him to ask for advice, albeit in her typical backward fashion. If it weren't for granfather Corney he'd have resigned as the school's lawyer years ago.
Phil was repentant, but it was beginning to look like too little, too late.
Good old Yeats brought in supper. Maggie must be feeling for the old lady. She'd sent them stroganoff just like his grandmother used to make.
Taking a breath he pushed back the papers and stepped over to the work table where Yeats had laid out supper.
"Aunt Phil, this is a nightmare. I'm still not sure I understand what's happenned or how you can get back on top of this situation." He gestured to the stacks of sorted contracts. "This stack gives them the ability to rename the school for television purposes. This one gives them 24 hour camera access. This one allows them to control admissions and that one allows them to hire new teachers. So far the only thing they can't do is fire you and that's only because Trust policy supercedes this more recent batch of paperwork. I think Trust policy will help with a good number of these items, but there are a lot of things including the possibility of uniforms that you are just going to be out of luck on. I've called Bernie and he's going to help me. Yeats, you signed these documents as witness, didn't it strike you that she might want to slow down?"
"Miss West is an excellent decision maker."
"Be that as it may, Yeats...." Gerald gave up. Grandma's stroganoff was really good.
"On the other hand, Master Gerald, She is not the most efficient person."
Phil looked hurt. Yeats never criticized her and here he was doing it in front of Gerald, who always criticized her.
Gerald, however, saw something different behind Yeats' comment and stepped back to look at the pile of contracts. They weren't all signed. She'd forgotten some of them. Maybe things weren't so bad after all.
This story continues here.
Wednesday, August 09, 2006
Living Sacrifice
empty cracker
no grief
no regret
dead communion
in remembrance.
Host of Life
His Life
Broken Life
Breaks me into Breathing
Take. Eat. This is my Body,
Broken for You
no grief
no regret
dead communion
in remembrance.
Host of Life
His Life
Broken Life
Breaks me into Breathing
Take. Eat. This is my Body,
Broken for You
Sunday, August 06, 2006
Larry Boy Says...
That I can't be the superhero God wants me to be if I'm thinking about chocolate all the time. Drat! I thought getting the mildew off my daughter's special frog doll qualified me for superhero status, but if a chocolate obsession gets in the way of that, well, let's hope he stays out of the bathtub next time.
I love Larry Boy and all his friends. We have the entire collection, and somehow the formula never grows old. But. I'm beginning to question the very low bar we set for "superhero" status in my little corner of the Christian world. A guy writes a short little book on an even shorter prayer, and he is suddenly a superhero because it sells well. I find it telling that when he actually tried to live his superhero life, he found it so hard he came home. Shouldn't superhero status have something to do with genuine sanctity, not salesmanship?
Maybe I'm asking too much of my fellow believers to expect them to want their heroes to be more than glorified salesman, and that their gurus be more than inspirational entertainers. After all, the real thing has never been exactly popular. Genuine saints have an alarming tendency to be martyred or at least seriously persecuted. I don't think evangelical Christianity is about that. Larry Boy may give up his chocolate, but I don't think he'll be moving out of the mansion or giving up his butler.
I'm probably never going to reach superhero status in my faith, but I don't think it will be because I couldn't give up chocolate. I think there are much more grievous sins that the average evangelical celebrates which will ensnare me.
I love Larry Boy and all his friends. We have the entire collection, and somehow the formula never grows old. But. I'm beginning to question the very low bar we set for "superhero" status in my little corner of the Christian world. A guy writes a short little book on an even shorter prayer, and he is suddenly a superhero because it sells well. I find it telling that when he actually tried to live his superhero life, he found it so hard he came home. Shouldn't superhero status have something to do with genuine sanctity, not salesmanship?
Maybe I'm asking too much of my fellow believers to expect them to want their heroes to be more than glorified salesman, and that their gurus be more than inspirational entertainers. After all, the real thing has never been exactly popular. Genuine saints have an alarming tendency to be martyred or at least seriously persecuted. I don't think evangelical Christianity is about that. Larry Boy may give up his chocolate, but I don't think he'll be moving out of the mansion or giving up his butler.
I'm probably never going to reach superhero status in my faith, but I don't think it will be because I couldn't give up chocolate. I think there are much more grievous sins that the average evangelical celebrates which will ensnare me.
Saturday, August 05, 2006
A TV School (The Rookary)
This story starts here.
Sharp could see that he was headed to someplace special. Young Frankie could barely contain himself.
"Children in Frankie's pod are not allowed on the third floor of the library, thanks to nervous Nellies and cantankerous censors, but Phil's not here and you ought to see this."
"You lead the way, Professor Spurgeon."
Fred led them to the Southern tower and unlocked the door. Sharp stepped through the door and nearly stepped back in surprise. He was standing on a wide balcony that was continous around the room except for periodic piercings for what appeared to be fire poles. Floor to ceiling shelves were built into the walls as were study desks placed beneath large windows. The edge of the balcony was protected by a wrought iron guard rail decorated with fantastical flowers and birds. Sharp stepped forward and looked down three stories.
"We call it the Rookary, for obvious reasons. I've always thought it spectacular."
"Absolutely, but..."
"Isn't it a hazard? I had hoped for better things from you. Students aren't allowed on this level until they are in their final pod, and sometimes not even then. Originally, this was due to the very many rare books and the more mature content of the books on this level, but little boys who once sailed down the long pole grew up to be lawyers and now deny their children the priveledge due to 'liability.'"
"The long pole?" Sharp asked.
"Oh,here, they took the pole out, but the gate is still here--welded shut, mind you, but still here. There was a fireman's pole that went the entire distance. It was a legend with the students that you couldn't graduate untl you had slid down the whole thing. They took it out in '82. Now the poles only go a story at a time. Speaking of, hop to it, Master Stein, your mother will be waiting."
"Yes, sir!" Frankie began his descent, happily scrabbling from pole to pole. When he reached the first floor he crashed out of the door and into the hallway.
Sharp smiled.
The rest of the tour was just as intriguing. Fred had an encycolpedic knowledge of the school history, and was delighted to have someone to share it all with.
As the two men finally returned to the first floor they found themselves in the midst of a small gathering of mothers and children. They had obviously let themselves in and then become aware they were being rude. A stack of papers was growing on a table in the entrance hall.
"May I help you, ladies?" Fred asked.
A young mother blushed. "The children were so excited by the advertisement and the web site that we came to hand deliver our applications."
"Advertisement? Web site?" Now it was Fred's turn to be confused.
Sharp stepped in. "I'll take care of these. There will be a secretary to collect applications here on Monday, but for now you may leave these here with me. You are also welcome to submit applications online."
"Could we tour the school? Randall was riding Manely, and Brooke just kissed old Beakley on the nose." The woman smiled encouragingly.
"I'm sorry, maam, but the school is closed for today." Sharp ushered all the mothers and children out into the school yard.
Fred thumbed through the stack of applications. The pile represented twenty children. He smiled as he looked at their photos. Phil was a genius.
This story continues here.
Sharp could see that he was headed to someplace special. Young Frankie could barely contain himself.
"Children in Frankie's pod are not allowed on the third floor of the library, thanks to nervous Nellies and cantankerous censors, but Phil's not here and you ought to see this."
"You lead the way, Professor Spurgeon."
Fred led them to the Southern tower and unlocked the door. Sharp stepped through the door and nearly stepped back in surprise. He was standing on a wide balcony that was continous around the room except for periodic piercings for what appeared to be fire poles. Floor to ceiling shelves were built into the walls as were study desks placed beneath large windows. The edge of the balcony was protected by a wrought iron guard rail decorated with fantastical flowers and birds. Sharp stepped forward and looked down three stories.
"We call it the Rookary, for obvious reasons. I've always thought it spectacular."
"Absolutely, but..."
"Isn't it a hazard? I had hoped for better things from you. Students aren't allowed on this level until they are in their final pod, and sometimes not even then. Originally, this was due to the very many rare books and the more mature content of the books on this level, but little boys who once sailed down the long pole grew up to be lawyers and now deny their children the priveledge due to 'liability.'"
"The long pole?" Sharp asked.
"Oh,here, they took the pole out, but the gate is still here--welded shut, mind you, but still here. There was a fireman's pole that went the entire distance. It was a legend with the students that you couldn't graduate untl you had slid down the whole thing. They took it out in '82. Now the poles only go a story at a time. Speaking of, hop to it, Master Stein, your mother will be waiting."
"Yes, sir!" Frankie began his descent, happily scrabbling from pole to pole. When he reached the first floor he crashed out of the door and into the hallway.
Sharp smiled.
The rest of the tour was just as intriguing. Fred had an encycolpedic knowledge of the school history, and was delighted to have someone to share it all with.
As the two men finally returned to the first floor they found themselves in the midst of a small gathering of mothers and children. They had obviously let themselves in and then become aware they were being rude. A stack of papers was growing on a table in the entrance hall.
"May I help you, ladies?" Fred asked.
A young mother blushed. "The children were so excited by the advertisement and the web site that we came to hand deliver our applications."
"Advertisement? Web site?" Now it was Fred's turn to be confused.
Sharp stepped in. "I'll take care of these. There will be a secretary to collect applications here on Monday, but for now you may leave these here with me. You are also welcome to submit applications online."
"Could we tour the school? Randall was riding Manely, and Brooke just kissed old Beakley on the nose." The woman smiled encouragingly.
"I'm sorry, maam, but the school is closed for today." Sharp ushered all the mothers and children out into the school yard.
Fred thumbed through the stack of applications. The pile represented twenty children. He smiled as he looked at their photos. Phil was a genius.
This story continues here.
Friday, August 04, 2006
A TV School (Frankie Stein)
This story begins here.
Fred was surprised to find Frankie waiting on the steps. There was nothing surprising about his enthusiasm. What ten year old wouldn't want to mummify a bat? The surprise was that Phil was late. Phil woke up at 4 am and dashed out of her house at 5 in order to avoid her household staff. Fred would never understand why she didn't dismiss the staff, sell the house, and move into a nice condo, but to each her own.
Frankie took off for the third floor lab while Fred unlocked the front door and turned on a few lights. He wasn't expecting anyone else today, but occasionally Alan like to come and work equations on the glassboard.
Frankie had the bat in a tray and a dissection kit all laid out. Fred had to smile. he had been just the same at that age. In fact, his childhood pet--a cat named Ra--was in a papier mache casket on a shelf with other animal mummies he had made over the years.
Fred and Frankie set to work, and quickly removed the sacred organs. Fred was reaching down a jar of dessicant when the sound of a door slamming distracted him.
"I'll be right back. You can begin prepping the body for immersion."
Fred headed to the stairs to see where the sound was coming from and startled a young man. Dressed in jeans and a crisp, blue t-shirt, Balder Sharp was poking around in the school.
"Hello, I knew there had to be someone around, but the building is so still it was hard to imagine it. I'm B. Sharp of Blair Productions. I'm here to draw up a layout of the school and begin planning how to light and film the show here."
"So, Phil went ahead with it. Welcome to Sonrise. I'm Fred Spurgeon, professor of logic and whatever else the children get interested in. Today I'm teaching a young man how to properly mummify a bat. Is there any way I could help you?"
"I need to know how you use this building, so I can figure out how to film the show. If you could give me a tour, I'd greatly appreciate it."
"Certainly, let me get our bat comfortably settled in the natron and then Frankie and I will pretend to care about the ceremonial incantations. After that, I'm all yours."
"Thanks. I'll come find you."
"Third floor, history lab, take a right at the top of the stair and keep going until your nostrils scream."
Sharp continued measuring the rooms while he waited. The school was beautiful in its simplicity. The only complications to the very straightforward planning were the giant towers on the corners of the building. He had found the Southern tower locked, but the Northern tower had contained a chapel on the first floor and an art studio on the second.
He slogged through the endless classrooms on the second floor. They seemed little used, but well maintained. The third floor was a mess. Rooms were completely given over to an endless, ratty clutter. There were some slight indicators of order--racks of costumes, rows and rows of file cabinets, jars of chemical and art supplies--but the overall impression was one of filthy chaos.
He began to appreciate the comment about his nostrils screaming. There was a definite odor that began to make itself unavoidable as he drew closer to the history lab. Gagging, he entered the room.
The professor and his student were deeply involved in some ritual and they didn't seem to notice Sharp at all. The room was very orderly. He proceeded through time as he circled the walls.
He settled himself in the cold war section because it was the most down wind. Fred and Frankie finished up and Frankie headed for the stairs.
"Wait a minute, Frankie. How'd you like to slide down the library and out?"
"Really, Dr. Spurgeon?"
"Certainly, I need to give Mr. Sharp a tour and the library is the best part, right?"
"Right!"
This story continues here.
Fred was surprised to find Frankie waiting on the steps. There was nothing surprising about his enthusiasm. What ten year old wouldn't want to mummify a bat? The surprise was that Phil was late. Phil woke up at 4 am and dashed out of her house at 5 in order to avoid her household staff. Fred would never understand why she didn't dismiss the staff, sell the house, and move into a nice condo, but to each her own.
Frankie took off for the third floor lab while Fred unlocked the front door and turned on a few lights. He wasn't expecting anyone else today, but occasionally Alan like to come and work equations on the glassboard.
Frankie had the bat in a tray and a dissection kit all laid out. Fred had to smile. he had been just the same at that age. In fact, his childhood pet--a cat named Ra--was in a papier mache casket on a shelf with other animal mummies he had made over the years.
Fred and Frankie set to work, and quickly removed the sacred organs. Fred was reaching down a jar of dessicant when the sound of a door slamming distracted him.
"I'll be right back. You can begin prepping the body for immersion."
Fred headed to the stairs to see where the sound was coming from and startled a young man. Dressed in jeans and a crisp, blue t-shirt, Balder Sharp was poking around in the school.
"Hello, I knew there had to be someone around, but the building is so still it was hard to imagine it. I'm B. Sharp of Blair Productions. I'm here to draw up a layout of the school and begin planning how to light and film the show here."
"So, Phil went ahead with it. Welcome to Sonrise. I'm Fred Spurgeon, professor of logic and whatever else the children get interested in. Today I'm teaching a young man how to properly mummify a bat. Is there any way I could help you?"
"I need to know how you use this building, so I can figure out how to film the show. If you could give me a tour, I'd greatly appreciate it."
"Certainly, let me get our bat comfortably settled in the natron and then Frankie and I will pretend to care about the ceremonial incantations. After that, I'm all yours."
"Thanks. I'll come find you."
"Third floor, history lab, take a right at the top of the stair and keep going until your nostrils scream."
Sharp continued measuring the rooms while he waited. The school was beautiful in its simplicity. The only complications to the very straightforward planning were the giant towers on the corners of the building. He had found the Southern tower locked, but the Northern tower had contained a chapel on the first floor and an art studio on the second.
He slogged through the endless classrooms on the second floor. They seemed little used, but well maintained. The third floor was a mess. Rooms were completely given over to an endless, ratty clutter. There were some slight indicators of order--racks of costumes, rows and rows of file cabinets, jars of chemical and art supplies--but the overall impression was one of filthy chaos.
He began to appreciate the comment about his nostrils screaming. There was a definite odor that began to make itself unavoidable as he drew closer to the history lab. Gagging, he entered the room.
The professor and his student were deeply involved in some ritual and they didn't seem to notice Sharp at all. The room was very orderly. He proceeded through time as he circled the walls.
He settled himself in the cold war section because it was the most down wind. Fred and Frankie finished up and Frankie headed for the stairs.
"Wait a minute, Frankie. How'd you like to slide down the library and out?"
"Really, Dr. Spurgeon?"
"Certainly, I need to give Mr. Sharp a tour and the library is the best part, right?"
"Right!"
This story continues here.
Thursday, August 03, 2006
Silence
Today is one of those days when the loveliest sound I can imagine is complete silence. The older girls are taking swim classes and while I am delighted with their joy and their success in the classes, the younger ones and I are getting thoroughly crabby with the humidity and the boredom of sitting and watching them swim. Add to that the pressure I've put on myself to keep writing, and the way that my writer's group has cranked up the pressure to write well, and I just want to shut up and not say anything. I want to go off into the deepest woods I can find and put in ear plugs. I'd like to just sit and listen to nothing until I finally hear it. It feels like I've been years away from stillness, and there is nothing I want more.
So, my apologies world if I'm too quiet for your taste. My bucket is empty. I need to return to the stillness to fill it.
So, my apologies world if I'm too quiet for your taste. My bucket is empty. I need to return to the stillness to fill it.
Naughtingham
I keep deleting work. I don't think that's a good trend, so I'm putting this back. People may not get it, but I've never worried about that before. It's a meditation on life under the the law man and life under His Grace.
The maid has become a madam
Sure Wood is all veneer
There is nothing left but the robbin'
The sheriff won't interfere.
The madam turns maid in an instant
As the Robin heralds new Spring
Men once again become merry
When the sheriff bows to the King.
The maid has become a madam
Sure Wood is all veneer
There is nothing left but the robbin'
The sheriff won't interfere.
The madam turns maid in an instant
As the Robin heralds new Spring
Men once again become merry
When the sheriff bows to the King.
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