bearing blog

bearing blog


bear – ing n 1  the manner in which one comports oneself;  2  the act, power, or time of bringing forth offspring or fruit; 3 a machine part in which another part turns [a journal ~];  4  pl comprehension of one’s position, environment, or situation;   5  the act of moving while supporting the weight of something [the ~ of the cross].

  • Evangelical group carefully words a “statement of faith” specifically to exclude Catholics, and then manages to word it in a way that doesn’t actually exclude Catholics.

    Jimmy Akin has a post describing the conversion to Catholicism of a high-profile evangelical.  The post contains this interesting tidbit as a side note about the Evangelical Theology Society’s statement of faith, which reads as follows:

    "The Bible alone, and the Bible in its entirety, is the Word of God written and is therefore inerrant in the autographs. God is a Trinity, Father, Son, and Holy Spirit, each an uncreated person, one in essence, equal in power and glory."

    Another evangelical blogger, James White, had written,

    In 1998 I attended the national meeting of the ETS in Orlando, Florida. At one of the sessions some of the founding members were being asked questions about why they did certain things, why they wrote the statement of faith as they did, etc. A woman asked a question of the panel. "Why did you write ‘the Bible alone’ in the statement of faith?"

    …Roger Nicole [a panel member] rose, slowly, and made his way to the podium. He looked out at the lady and said, "Because we didn’t want any Roman Catholics in the group." He then turned around and went back to his seat. While most sat in stunned silence, I and a friend with me broke into wild applause.

    But as Jimmy points out, any Catholic could (and should!) sign on to that statement of faith.  We do believe that there are no errors in Scripture, as do the ETS, even though the evangelicals there probably interpret many passages differently from us (and indeed from each other).  We do believe that the Bible is "the Word of God written."  We do indeed believe that there is nothing else but the Bible that is "the Word of God written."  (That word "written" is key.)  IOW, "Bible alone" in that context doesn’t sway us.   And, of course, we are Trinitarians.

    I wonder why the ETS thought that would exclude us?  Do they think we have some other documents that we call "the Word of God?"  (We do, of course, have a Savior whom we call by that name, but He’s not "written," now, is He?)  It certainly doesn’t speak well about their comprehension of the differences between them and us.  Couldn’t they have found something else that was actually different to put in their statement of faith, if the intent was merely to keep us out?

    UPDATE:  Predictably, the comment boxes over there have begun to devolve into an argument about grammar.  What do they teach them in these schools?

    UPDATE II:  Ah, I see.  The problem was that the founders of the ETS wrote a text that later got misinterpreted.  Father Al Kimel thinks maybe they need a magisterium.

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  • I so need a visit from Latte Lad.

    Desperate Irish Housewife is dreaming of superheroes. 

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  • Bittersweet?

    I’ve been testing Milo’s limits over the past few days, with respect to nursing, and I think I’m going to start weaning him.   (Milo is three years six months old, and his baby sister is nearly nine months old.)  Since I got back from my trip 11 days ago, it has been pretty easy to put him off till later— he asks for milk, I say I’ll nurse him later, and most of the time he accepts this and wanders off.  I think I’ve nursed him about once every other day, without much complaining, since then.   

    But I do not want to "test his limits" any more —  I think I’m just going to try to lengthen the time between nursings, gradually.  I’ll start where we are, nursing about every other day, and after a while I will try to push that to two days between nursings.  Will let you know what happens.

    This is different from how I decided to do it with Oscar, who weaned around his 4th birthday.  (Also when the baby, i.e. Milo, was nine months old.)  Although I had weaned Oscar from nighttime nursing and from nursing in public places long before then, I didn’t ever deliberately decrease his nursing frequency in other situations and especially at home.  I said no when I didn’t feel like nursing, of course, but I never made an effort to systematically  lengthen his time between nursings.  He did that himself, and got up to three or four days between nursings until he nursed for the last time (to comfort himself after whacking his head on something) and then just never came back.

    Why now?  I guess the easy answer is "because it seems like I can, with not too much distress."   A couple of months ago, nursing Milo went from "occasionally unpleasant and draining" to "almost never anything BUT unpleasant and draining."  I remember that happening with Oscar too.  It seems to be something that happens within myself, not a change in how the older child is nursing.   

    Of course, now, with the kids all asleep and me sitting here at my computer, the prospect of weaning my second child is bittersweet.   Poor little guy!  And poor us, moving on past that lovely connection, someday never to enjoy it again!  But the next time I nurse him, I’ll remember how much I’m looking forward to never ever ever ever ever doing it again.  Motherhood is weird.

    ADDED FOR REFERENCE:  My two most popular posts, on situational weaning, are here and here.

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  • Deus Caritas Est in the streetcorner beggars.

    I’ve had a bit of an epiphany.  It’s time to try a new experiment:  one where I look people in the eye, and exchange a sincere word with them, if I can.   

    Let me explain:  I finally got around to reading Deus Caritas Est.   I kept promising myself I was going to read it, and I kept opening up browser windows at www.vatican.va and then wandering away from them to get a cup of coffee or fold laundry and then never coming back.  Finally I printed a copy, stapled it together and put it on my bedside table; I finished it in one day.   What an immediately accessible, immediately applicable piece of writing.   

    I am used to JPII’s theology, which I’ve related to very cerebrally.  I enjoy thinking about it, making connections in my head, and being pleased when it all fits together well.   I was already married and "with the program" by the time I really started reading JPII’s work, so even his extensive writings on marital sexuality — though they’re very relevant — have taught me far more about how to think, what kind of attitude to have, than about how to modify my behavior.   Maybe that would be different if I’d discovered it a few years earlier! 

    Deus Caritas Est also contained many gems to meditate on.  But besides that, I immediately saw in it a call for me to change the way I react to certain situations.  The most prominent one is the way I react to the sight of a street beggar.

    Living in the central city as I do, I frequentlyencounter people who are begging for money.  When the weather is not too cold, I see several beggars each day.  The ones that I see are usually standing at intersections, near freeway ramps, holding a cardboard sign with a predictable message:  "Homeless veteran, anything helps, God bless."   They are usually middle-aged, and maybe there are twice as many men as women.  I frequently see the same people in the same places.  I have heard that they stake out claims to the most lucrative intersections, and even charge each other fees to use the best spots.  I have heard that they stash the signs in the nearby foliage for the next person to use.  I do not know if these rumors are true.   

    I do not know anything about the people who stand there asking for money.  I do not know if they are ill or healthy.  I do not know if they are looking for work, unable to work, or if they really do have a job.   I do not know if the signs speak the truth: if that woman is really homeless, or if that man is really a veteran, or — and this is crucial — if "anything helps."  Does anything help?

    You know what goes through your mind — if I give him money, will he just use it for drugs?  If I give her money, will she turn most of it over to some exploiter?  An I just perpetuating "the system?"  I’ve handed over money and wondered whether I did something wrong.  I’ve kept granola bars in my car and handed those out, thinking to myself that at least it won’t hurt (but still had a nagging wondering if that person really deserved a granola bar.  Ouch.)   And lots of times I’ve changed lanes so as not to be obligated to open the window.   Lots of times, when I’ve known I wasn’t going to give, I’ve looked away, I’ve pretended not to see.  And I’ve wished there was a simple answer.

    Deus Caritas Est has answered.  Part II of the document is all about the service of charity, particularly as it interweaves with the question of social justice.  Charity and justice are not the same.  Are they in conflict?    Here are some quotes.

    …[A]n objection has been raised to the Church’s charitable activity…: the poor, it is claimed, do not need charity but justice. Works of charity—almsgiving—are in effect a way for the rich to shirk their obligation to work for justice and a means of soothing their consciences, while preserving their own status and robbing the poor of their rights. Instead of contributing through individual works of charity to maintaining the status quo, we need to build a just social order in which all receive their share of the world’s goods and no longer have to depend on charity. There is admittedly some truth to this argument, but also much that is mistaken. It is true that the pursuit of justice must be a fundamental norm of the State and that the aim of a just social order is to guarantee to each person, according to the principle of subsidiarity, his share of the community’s goods. …

    [T]wo fundamental situations need to be considered:

    a) The just ordering of society and the State is a central responsibility of politics… The Church’s social teaching argues on the basis of reason and natural law…. It recognizes that it is not the Church’s responsibility to make this teaching prevail in political life. Rather, the Church wishes to help form consciences in political life …

    b) Love—caritas—will always prove necessary, even in the most just society. There is no ordering of the State so just that it can eliminate the need for a service of love…. There will always be suffering which cries out for consolation and help. There will always be loneliness. There will always be situations of material need where help in the form of concrete love of neighbour is indispensable.

    …The Church can never be exempted from practising charity as an organized activity of believers, and on the other hand, there will never be a situation where the charity of each individual Christian is unnecessary, because in addition to justice man needs, and will always need, love.

    All that is to say, that individual acts of charity are good.   And that the Church’s social mission must always be centered in charitable work, not "justice" work, that it is the Church’s job to spur us laypeople on on to do the right thing so that we can build just social structures and respond with charity to individuals in need.

    But what is charity, and what exactly should I offer that unknown beggar at the intersection?   Is the question whether handouts will solve the problem of homelessness?  Ought I to write "Jesus loves you" on the granola wrappers?  Benedict spends most of the rest of the encyclical writing about charitable organizations, not individuals.  He begins by writing what charity is not:  it is not a means of improving "the world," and it is not a means of proselytism.

    It is not a means of changing the world ideologically, and it is not at the service of worldly stratagems, but it is a way of making present here and now the love which man always needs. … Part of Marxist strategy is the theory of impoverishment: in a situation of unjust power, it is claimed, anyone who engages in charitable initiatives is actually serving that unjust system, making it appear at least to some extent tolerable. …. Seen in this way, charity is rejected and attacked as a means of preserving the status quo. What we have here, though, is really an inhuman philosophy. People of the present are sacrificed to the moloch of the future…. One does not make the world more human by refusing to act humanely here and now….

    Charity, furthermore, cannot be used as a means of engaging in what is nowadays considered proselytism. Love is free; it is not practised as a way of achieving other ends.   But this does not mean that charitable activity must somehow leave God and Christ aside…. Often the deepest cause of suffering is the very absence of God. Those who practise charity in the Church’s name will never seek to impose the Church’s faith upon others. They realize that a pure and generous love is the best witness to the God in whom we believe and by whom we are driven to love. A Christian knows when it is time to speak of God and when it is better to say nothing and to let love alone speak.

    Sprinkled throughout the encyclical is this practical advice:

    1.  Before trying to give charity to others, draw it from Christ himself.  (It’s living water we want to give, after all):

    [Man] cannot always give, he must also receive. Anyone who wishes to give love must also receive love as a gift. Certainly, as the Lord tells us, one can become a source from which rivers of living water flow (cf. Jn 7:37-38). Yet to become such a source, one must constantly drink anew from the original source, which is Jesus Christ, from whose pierced heart flows the love of God (cf. Jn 19:34).

    2.  The parable of the Good Samaritan reminds all Christians that "Anyone who needs me, and whom I can help, is my neighbour":

    The concept of “neighbour” is now universalized, yet it remains concrete. Despite being extended to all mankind, it is not reduced to a generic, abstract and undemanding expression of love, but calls for my own practical commitment here and now.

    3.  Even if you don’t have any "feelings" for the stranger in need (you are not attached to the stranger!), you can encourage in yourself charitable feelings, a desire to help,  by contemplating that we are all the beloved of Jesus Christ — attached through him:

    Love of neighbour … consists in the very fact that, in God and with God, I love even the person whom I do not like or even know. This can only take place on the basis of an intimate encounter with God, an encounter which has become a communion of will, even affecting my feelings. Then I learn to look on this other person not simply with my eyes and my feelings, but from the perspective of Jesus Christ. His friend is my friend.

    4.  We must not avoid an encounter with a person in need because of fear of what he may demand or some other reason.  In all situations we can and must give what that is needed most:

    Going beyond exterior appearances, I perceive in others an interior desire for a sign of love, of concern. This I can offer them not only through the organizations intended for such purposes, accepting it perhaps as a political necessity. Seeing with the eyes of Christ, I can give to others much more than their outward necessities; I can give them the look of love which they crave.

    (So much for going out of my way to avoid looking the beggar in the eye, eh?)

    5.  Giving just to alleviate our consciences is no charity.  Give of yourself, not just from your things.  The anonymous passing out of dollars, or granola bars, won’t do. 

    My deep personal sharing in the needs and sufferings of others becomes a sharing of my very self with them: if my gift is not to prove a source of humiliation, I must give to others not only something that is my own, but my very self; I must be personally present in my gift.

    6.  And yet, don’t fear giving because you’re not humble enough; the humility that is necessary for your efforts to bear fruit will be given to you as a result of your attempts to give.

    This proper way of serving others also leads to humility. The one who serves does not consider himself superior to the one served, however miserable his situation at the moment may be. Christ took the lowest place in the world—the Cross—and by this radical humility he redeemed us and constantly comes to our aid. Those who are in a position to help others will realize that in doing so they themselves receive help; being able to help others is no merit or achievement of their own. This duty is a grace.

    7.  Pray regularly, and pray for the people whose needs you see:

    Prayer, as a means of drawing ever new strength from Christ, is concretely and urgently needed. People who pray are not wasting their time, even though the situation appears desperate and seems to call for action alone. Piety does not undermine the struggle against the poverty of our neighbours, however extreme. In the example of Blessed Teresa of Calcutta we have a clear illustration of the fact that time devoted to God in prayer not only does not detract from effective and loving service to our neighbour but is in fact the inexhaustible source of that service. In her letter for Lent 1996, Blessed Teresa wrote to her lay co-workers: “We need this deep connection with God in our daily life. How can we obtain it? By prayer”.

    8.  Do not be discouraged by the smallness of your first moves towards charity.  (I know I’ve often thought that my charity was no good because of the grudging feelings that I often harbor.)  Whatever your inadequacies, you are qualified to practice charity by the very fact of your humanness:

    Hope is practised through the virtue of patience, which continues to do good even in the face of apparent failure, and through the virtue of humility, which accepts God’s mystery and trusts him even at times of darkness. Faith tells us that God has given his Son for our sakes and gives us the victorious certainty that it is really true: God is love!…Love is possible, and we are able to practise it because we are created in the image of God.

    So what have I learned?  I think perhaps I should worry less about the content of the "handout" and more about the content of the human connection that I could make with the strangers holding the cardboard signs.   What keeps me from looking that man in the eye and giving him a warm, generous smile?  Guilt that I’m not giving him some cash?  That’s a pitiful excuse.  What keeps me from rolling down the window and saying sincerely, "I hope you enjoy the beautiful weather we’re having?"  It’s sure not safety, because I have rolled down the window to hand out a snack.   

    Like I said at the beginning, it’s time to try a new experiment.  I think that the granola bars are (at this time) getting in the way of my making a real human connection, so I’m gonna put them away (for a while) and see what happens if the only thing I give to a person on the corner is "of myself. " 

    There are many other themes in Deus Caritas Est that catch my eye and draw me to contemplate more:  the starting point of the contemplation of charity is the pierced side of Christ; to understand Jesus’s parables, we must first understand that "love can be commanded because it has first been given;"  in divine love, as is not usual in imperfect human love, eros and agape are in perfect union.  But I’ve never before felt so stirred by a bit of theology into action, and I’m going to make that move the next time I have a chance.

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  • Playing hooky.

    Where have I been?

    For starters, I have a client right now.  (Have I mentioned lately that I occasionally work as a freelance technical editor?)  Said client has assured me that it’s fine if I only manage the five-hour minimum that I promised him each week, but deep down I know he needs me to produce more, so I’ve been grabbing my spare minutes whenever I can.    Fifteen minutes here, thirty there.  Yesterday afternoon Melissa invited us over so the boys could play with her children while I worked at her kitchen table, and we each kept one eye on Mary Jane — that was wonderful; I managed nearly four hours of work in one stretch.

    I enjoy editing, especially technical editing, particularly assisting writers whose first language is something other than English.   It’s not the most lucrative work, I guess, and I don’t like to think about how the hourly wage works out after taxes (self-employment and all) — but as home-based businesses go, it requires little capital, and I really can set my own hours.  Right now, having no need to work, I gather clients by word-of-mouth, mostly through the few connections I still have through the chemical engineering department at the university where I did my PhD, and when one comes along I devote time to that client; I am not really seeking them. 

    I’m not sure whether I want to do so or not.  I could, if I liked, really get serious about editing as a home-based business.  Print up cards.   Send letters to the few contacts I have, announcing that my doors are open.    I know I have enough time that I could do this.  Do I want to? 

    Hmm.  I have gotten settled into this homemaker routine.  There’s something deliciously low-stress about devoting my time to my family, and the leftover time can be me time.  It took me a few years, but I’ve managed to discard the need for a job to validate my personality.   

    And I’ve even developed a mental technique to deal with that tiny niggling feeling, leftover from the old high-achieving years, of  shouldn’t you be doing something with yourself?  When that happens (less and less often these days) I turn my mind back to a memory of a warm, early-spring afternoon, probably a composite of many such afternoons, of sitting at Hannah’s kitchen table with my thesis work spread out in front of me, empty teacups overturned onto the stacks to keep the pages from blowin away in the breeze.  I am looking up and down at the papers and up again through the open sliding doors to the back yard, out past the shadow of the porch roof onto the sunlit grass.  When I look up I see her little boy pushing a riding toy around on the lawn, and I see my little boy digging in the sandbox; Hannah is not visible, perhaps she is in the garden around the corner.  In that memory I look down at the papers and up through the door, and then I put down my pencil and shove the last piece of paper under another teacup and leave my sandals under the table and take my still-hot cup of tea, and step outside into the sunshine where the children are playing.  I find a dry sunny spot and sit down, put my tea carefully in the grass, bend over and roll up the cuffs of my jeans (my legs are fish-white in the sun!), lean back and close my eyes and feel the warmth on my face.   

    The memory stops there; that’s all of it that I need.  It’s one of the more vivid memories stored in this dusty library in my head:  I can feel under my feet the sticky kitchen floor, the smooth planks of the porch,  the cool bricks under the shadow of the porch roof,  the warm bricks under the sun, the soft grass (they had the nicest, thickest variety of grass in that yard).    I can see the dull red glow of the sunlight through my closed eyelids.

    But the part of the memory that I am trying to recapture by replaying it is an emotion:  on that day (and on other similar days) I had the most wonderful feeling of playing hooky.  I was supposed to be sitting inside doing work.  I wasn’t really enjoying it very much even though it was exactly the sort of work I had planned on doing for years and was what I was "supposed" to be doing.  And yet I was discovering on that afternoon that there is tremendous luxury and freedom in the state of being home with children.  Yes, there’s work to be done.  Yes, I really ought to be doing that laundry, I really ought to be preparing that schoolwork, yes, one can’t exactly lie around all day. 

    But… one can lie around for some of the day.

    And… the laundry can wait, when there is a gorgeous sunny day outside beckoning.  One could, for example, weed the garden instead.

    And… one can blow off the housework entirely and decide to take the children to the zoo.   

    Where am I going with this?  Well, back to work, actually.  I do have that client.  Still, it’s a lovely day outside, and we’ll be going to a friend’s house for a barbecue and a nine-year-old’s birthday, later.  Have a happy weekend.

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  • I’m roundly maligned by people who haven’t read enough history!

    Which Twentieth Century Pope Are You?

    You are Pope Pius XII. You’re efficient and dedicated, but not very approachable.
    Take this quiz!

    Quizilla | Join | Make A Quiz | More Quizzes | Grab Code

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  • Simple art.

    Kind of a neat article about Ed Emberley, writer of children’s drawing books, in the Boston Globe.

    The idea for the drawing books had its germination in the early 1950s at the Massachusetts School of Art, where the budding artist was required to draw countless variations on simple geometric figures. One day in class, an instructor claimed he could draw a face in two seconds.

    "There’s nothing more cocky than a sophomore in art school," Emberley jokes. "I could paint a nude from a model like nothing." But when the instructor made a curling line that went from nose to crown to chin, adding a dot for an eye and a line for a mouth, the student found himself smitten.

    "I couldn’t help but smile," he says. "That’s magic."

    In time, he came to believe that there was no less intrinsic value to the symbolism of a stick figure than an immaculately rendered life study.

    I have to agree with that last sentence:   Surely concise expression of the essentials of a subject is a worthy artistic goal.  Anybody out there ever use Emberley’s books, either as a fun activity or as bona fide homeschool art?  I’ve been intrigued by them but never actually bought any.

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  • How’d he do?

    Mark says that Milo was fine while I was gone. When I called to say “Good night” the first night, of course, as soon as he got the phone, he had one message for me: “Mommy. You have to come home NOW.”

    “I’ll be home Sunday.”

    “No. You don’t understand. COME. HOME. NOW.”

    After I got home Sunday afternoon, I experimented with distracting him from nursing. How long can I put it off? Turned out, until rather late that evening. I think I’ve only nursed him twice today so far.

    So, no weaning; but maybe I can ratchet it down a little bit thanks to my trip.

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  • Waffling.

    Mary Jane and I are traveling this weekend to attend an out-of-town family wedding.  Mark and the boys will stay here.

    After I mentioned my plans to a friend some weeks ago, she asked, "So, do you think Milo will wean while you’re gone?"  I stopped mid-sentence — I hadn’t even thought of that possibility. 

    Milo’s three, and he asks to nurse a lot.  I don’t have, never had, a "plan" for how to get him weaned.  I figure he will at some point.  Meanwhile, I don’t have a "plan" for how often I ought to be nursing him, either.  I try to be honest about how much I can nurse him and stay positive about it.   I say yes when we’re in a place I feel comfortable nursing him and when it’s a good time for me to sit down and nurse him and when I’m not feeling irritable about it.  I say no if I can’t stand the thought of nursing him or if it’s not a good time or if we’re out in public.  I’m trying not to say "yes" or "no" automatically without thinking about whether I really want to do it or not.   I find that I’m wanting to say no more and more often. 

    Now, I have limits that differ from the ones I had when I was nursing both Oscar and Milo a few years ago.  If you’ve ever nursed a toddler or older child, maybe you know nursing aversion — for me it’s like a feeling that I’m going to go completely out of my mind if I don’t pop this child off the breast RIGHT THIS MINUTE.  My back teeth start to hurt and I begin to hallucinate a clicking noise emanating from deep within my breast with every cycle of the boy’s jaw.    At that point I usually do pop him off.  But I can tell I’ve not been saying "no" often enough to the older child when I start feeling that same nursing aversion for the eight-month-old.  When that happens I know I’ve got to start listening to my limits (with Milo) more often.

    The other day I told Mark:   "That’s it.  I am never, ever, ever, ever again going to try to nurse Milo down for a nap.  I’m done."

    "Doesn’t work, and it annoys the pig?" asked Mark, mixing punchlines from old, well-used jokes.

    "Yes.  Or the sow."  It used to be quick and easy:  lie down with Milo on the couch in the late afternoon, nurse him, he’d be out in fifteen minutes for a nice, long nap.  A nap that I looked forward to every day, a little respite from the intensities of mothering a three-year-old.  But that worked less and less often.  Because I hoped he’d nap, I’d try nursing him… and nursing… and nursing… waiting for those eyes to close.  Thirty minutes, forty-five.   The nursing aversion would come and I’d grit my teeth and think about the nap.  The baby would start to cry and I’d be thinking — just a few more minutes and he might be asleep.   Finally I can’t stand it any more, I’d pop him off, he’d cry, the baby’d be crying, and now I can’t stand the thought of nursing her either.  Before you know it, we’re all crying.

    Makes my teeth hurt now, just thinking about it.

    OK, so that’s not helpful anymore.   No more naps! 

    Maybe it sounds like it’s time to wean him?  No, I still don’t want to pull a cold turkey on the poor kid.  Sometimes, nursing him is still nice.  It’s just that it’s getting to be nice (for me) less often than it was.  I think the best course is still to say yes when I can really, honestly say "Yes!  I do want to cuddle with you and give you milk!" and no when I can’t say that.   Ditching the nursing-down-for-a-nap is part of that.

    I’m tempted to start the bribery, ah, substitution.  "Ah, so you really want some milk right now.  Do you … er… want a Popsicle?"  That sounds bad.  It doesn’t have to be Popsicles.  One of Milo’s favorite things in the world is oatmeal with butter and brown sugar.  That’s better than Popsicles.  I could keep the rice cooker full of hot, buttery, brown-sugary oatmeal all day long.  I could give him all the oatmeal he wants.  Maybe he’d stop asking for milk so much (it’s not that I want him to stop entirely — it just feels like a lot lately) if he could have oatmeal with brown sugar any time he liked. 

    Well.  I guess we’ll see how things are when I get home from my trip on Sunday.

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  • Library skills curriculum, part 7.

    I haven’t forgotten the series of posts I’m writing about developing a library skills curriculum for second grade.  (Start here)  I wanted to bang out a few of the planned lessons before posting any of them.

    Here’s what my first lesson looks like, in first-draft form.

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    Lesson One.   How to behave in the library. How to treat library materials. What happens in the library? Who works in the library?

    At Home: Review the library rules and discuss the reason for each. They can then be assigned as copywork or memory work:

    • Speak quietly or whisper.  (People are working, reading, and studying. Noise is a distraction.)
    • Drink only at the water fountain, and leave your food at home. (Spills and crumbs could ruin the books. )
    • Walk from place to place in the library. (Running makes noise and might knock people over)
    • Don’t write on the library materials, damage them, or get them dirty. (They belong to everyone and are sometimes hard to replace.)
    • Obey the time limits posted. (Other people need a turn.)
    • If you need help figuring anything out, ask the librarian for help. (It is his job.)
    • Don’t put books back on the shelf. (They might go in the wrong place.)

    Talk about the reference librarian, the children’s librarian, and the checkout desk staff.   Read A Day in the Life of a Librarian.

    Library Lab: Visit the local library when the children’s librarian is on duty. Introduce yourselves. Tell the librarian that this year the child will be learning how to use the library and how to ask for help in the library. Ask if there are any brochures about special events that are coming up, like story hour, classes, or performances. Take some home!

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    Meanwhile, I’m drafting the other lessons.  A question arose when I considered teaching children to search for nonfiction books:  Should I teach the child first how to use the library’s computer system to search by subject, or should I teach them how to look directly on the shelves first?  I decided to save the computer for near the end.  I want the child to develop a mental model of the physical layout of a library and of the organizing system — so that he can see that the computer is just a way to find quickly the information that he could, after all, figure out on his own.

    For the lesson about the Dewey Decimal system and the Library of Congress system I spent some time with the resources linked in this post and produced a one-page "cheat sheet" for each system.  My idea is to have the child use the "cheat sheet" to find books on a general topic.  For each, I deleted, renamed, and combined some of the subtopics to make a child-friendly sheet that would fit on one page.  Here’s a download of each.    Download Dewey.doc Download LibCon.doc

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  • Mental note for next year.

    When planning the curriculum for, oh, about weeks 22 to 25 of the 36-week school year, allow a lot of lee-way for burnout.

    Why are we suddenly having so much trouble keeping up with all the things I’d planned to do?  Is it just the nature of March and April?

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  • “If a great musician plays great music but no one hears… was he really any good?”

    Gene Weingarten of The Washington Post describes (and shows video of) a fascinating stunt, or experiment, depending on how you look at it:

    Virtuoso violinist Joshua Bell dressed in a T-shirt and jeans, toted his Stradivarius to a D.C. subway station at rush hour, set the case open on the floor for change, and played notoriously difficult pieces for an hour.  A thousand people hurried past.  Twenty-seven of them threw money in his case, for a total of $32.   

    It’s a great story, if a little depressing (unless, I suppose, it validates your assumptions about the masses’ appreciation of culture) — read it.  There is a bit of a happy ending:  a few commuters, interviewed later, recognized that the musician was something special.  A small child was riveted as his mother dragged him off.  One person recognized Bell, knew his name.  I was entranced by this bit, where Bell confesses:

    "It was a strange feeling, that people were actually, ah . . ."

    The word doesn’t come easily.

    ". . . ignoring me."

    Bell is laughing. It’s at himself.

    "At a music hall, I’ll get upset if someone coughs or if someone’s cellphone goes off. But here, my expectations quickly diminished. I started to appreciate any acknowledgment, even a slight glance up. I was oddly grateful when someone threw in a dollar instead of change." This is from a man whose talents can command $1,000 a minute.

    Before he began, Bell hadn’t known what to expect. What he does know is that, for some reason, he was nervous.

    "It wasn’t exactly stage fright, but there were butterflies," he says. "I was stressing a little."

    Bell has played, literally, before crowned heads of Europe. Why the anxiety at the Washington Metro?

    "When you play for ticket-holders," Bell explains, "you are already validated. I have no sense that I need to be accepted. I’m already accepted. Here, there was this thought: What if they don’t like me? What if they resent my presence . . ."

    Maybe everyone feels like an impostor sometimes.  Via DarwinCatholic.

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