Roll on, thou deep and dark blue ocean, roll.
Ten thousand fleets sweep over thee in vain:
Man marks the earth with ruin, –his control
Stops with the shore.
–Lord Byron Childe Harold
Comrades! now that we have established our peace on land, let us conquer the freedom of the seas.
–Napoleon Bonaparte
Anyone can hold the helm when the sea is calm.
–Publilius Syrus Sententiae
The sea folds away from you like a mystery. You can look and look at it and mystery never leaves it.
–Carl Sandburg Remembrance Rock
All the rivers run into the sea; yet the sea is not full.
From all the research that has been done, I think we might, might, might be able to make some progress solving the problems in governmental institutionalization of our children. It would take drastic change, though.
No matter what you are thinking, I meant more drastic than that.
English: Jewish Children with their Teacher in Samarkand. Early color photograph from Russia, created by Sergei Mikhailovich Prokudin-Gorskii as part of his work to document the Russian Empire from 1909 to 1915. (Photo credit: Wikipedia)
Most classrooms have far too many children in them.
Instead, each classroom would have to reduce to only around 5 children per adult. Many homes have something like that, and national research shows it is the best way to learn. It certainly would be more natural. Some high school children might make do with 10 to 12 per adult, if they were mature .
It’s how the ancient Greeks taught.
Most classrooms have all same-age children in them.
Bizarre! Instead, each child should be allowed to receive the gift of relationships with vastly different-aged others. Most homes have that and the learning potential is expanded when the students are of differing levels of learning. Especially the older ones would learn, truly learn the subjects if they were, in this more organic approach, occasionally in positions to help teach.
We do learn most when we teach, right?
Most classrooms labor under the false assumption that touch, being sexual and subject to lawsuit, should be prohibited.
Instead, we all should acknowledge what we instinctively know, and has been proven, that hugs and pats and other touch, including light corporal punishment, are part of socializing and leaving them out is wrong. Most homes have touch. Remember, orphans who are never touched die, whereas touched children are healthier and grow taller.
To protect the child from the occasional bad teacher, and the teacher from the occasional bad parent, of course video cameras in every room and every hall would be essential. That way, any teacher or child who doesn’t care about God, could realize that Big Brother is also up there.
We have the space, really. We are closing schools every day because we’ve aborted zillions of the children who could have filled them.
We do not have enough teachers, but how quickly they would come if they learned we’d solved the discipline problems, wouldn’t they!
It would take a large staff of volunteers, but what better place to volunteer! Lots of families have become single-income these days, so one spouse must be somewhat free. Then that parent could discover the joy of watching or even helping his or her own child learn things of great value, even about volunteerism. It would be a whole lot like home schooling, and might even get the better results of homeschooling, but would happen at the school.
Or, we could just send them all home, which would be lots more cost effective.
Great abundance of riches cannot be gathered and kept by any man without sin. – Desiderius Erasmus
Talent is always conscious of its own abundance, and does not object to sharing. – Alexander Solzehnitsyn
Slavery is founded in the selfishness of man’s nature—opposition to it, is [in?] his love of justice…. Repeal the Missouri compromise—repeal all compromises—repeal the declaration of independence—repeal all past history, you still can not repeal human nature. It still will be the abundance of man’s heart, that slavery extension is wrong; and out of the abundance of his heart, his mouth will continue to speak. – Abraham Lincoln
Machinery that gives us abundance has left us in want. Our knowledge has made us cynical, our cleverness hard and unkind. We think too much and feel too little. More than machinery, we need humanity. More than cleverness, we need kindness and gentleness. Without these qualities, life will be violent, and all will be lost. – Charlie Chaplin
She either gives a stomach and no food—
Such are the poor, in health; or else a feast
And takes away the stomach—such are the rich,
That have abundance and enjoy it not.
– William Shakespeare
Rocks, dens and caves, but I in none of these find place or refuge. –Milton
The high hills are a refuge for the wild goats. –Psalm 104
This last old man—their latest refuge was to send to him. –Shakespeare
Light must be supplied, among graceful refuges, by terracing any story in danger of darkness. –Wotton.
Bred to disguise, in public ‘tis you hide. –Pope
On this date, in 1951, the Unites States adopted the Twenty-Second amendment to the Constitution, stipulating that a president may not serve more than two terms.
In spring, these woods beckon to me. I leave housekeeping, planting, and writing, and walk alone through my woods. I can feel the presence of those who have gone before. I think ancient people walked my woods. They were welcome.
In these woods is a small, natural chapel. Pines bent by ice storms form arches over a deep bed of straw. A trickling spring interrupts the palpable hush. Surely the wild things growing here have waited, their beauty unnoticed for ages.
Paths through these woods lead to a gravel road, which leads to town. No one coming from town would be able to find the outlet, the access to the paths; a charming privacy. There are no sounds except the ones God created; a calming quiet.
I go to these woods when they call to me, when housekeeping, planting and writing weary me.
We once had a house cat. He was amazing at first, the funniest kitten I’d ever seen, and I’m a connoisseur. A totally fluffy gray furball with longer white hair, he looked frosted. We named him Pussy Willow Catkin, Willy, for short.
As Willy grew, he developed issues with me, the discipline person who floated through the house in those wonderful reversible gauzy skirts, draped armloads of sheets to the laundry, and popped open trash bags, all of which activities scared him.
Not only that, but I often exchanged his raunchy litter box for one that smelled good, an activity he took as very personal rejection.
Eventually he learned which side of the bed was mine and occasionally he dumped on me. He knew which chair I would least like full of gray fuzz. He knew which floor was most problematic if peed on. He knew which windowsills had breakable brick-a-brack. He used all his information to pay me back for scaring him with my floaty, drapey, trashy ways.
I only did one thing right in his eyes: catnip. He loved it; I grew it.
The day came, though, when we weaned him to be an outdoor cat. After an initial wild exploration, he settled in to sleeping in the bird feeder. The birds frowned about that. He often fantasized that he could catch a bird, although all his forays into the wonderful world of the hunt were flops.
Especially the last one.
Around our property lived a mockingbird, which I don’t care what Jem’s Dad said, they do harm. They deliberately flaunt their senseless songs and seducing dances from atop the huge light pole that holds not only several wires and a yard light, but also the transformer for a few families. They do this only if a cat is in sight. Every time our cat would start up the tree near that pole, our mockingbird would keep up its cat-courting ritual just long enough to irritate the cat, then fly off.
One morning, Willy did not show up for breakfast. It wasn’t long before we discovered where he was: at the very top of the pole. At 5:00 a.m.
We decided he might learn a lesson if he had to wait until normal business hours to be rescued. We never dreamed what would happen next.
The skies opened up and dumped an inch of rain in 15 minutes. I’ve never seen anything like that and I’m also a connoisseur of rain. Love to watch it.
At this point, cat is drenched and bird is wherever birds go to survive downpours. Cat decides to take matters into his own hands and discovers that the perfectly safe props that got him up are now hot. Live. Murderous. In a moment, Pussy Willow Catkin lies at the base of the pole, basically dead.
Home's Cool! 