tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-68486701239466000232024-02-01T22:55:16.945-08:00Quest.ionWe like to imagine that we can go on quests for knowledge or adventure.
I believe that is exactly what we are doing already.
The first step is not to embark, but to accept that the journey has already begun. Now is the time to open our eyes in wonder and our hearts in wisdom.Eileen Chevalierhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08506006217059815000noreply@blogger.comBlogger11125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6848670123946600023.post-63360649914197727702014-07-08T04:18:00.000-07:002015-01-05T09:46:14.863-08:00To Learn is To Question<br />
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My oldest is about to be in fourth grade, the year when North Carolina school children study the state they live in. As with most subjects, I find my knowledge lacking and no single, clear, comprehensive source of information.<br />
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What to do?<br />
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Study NC using a variety of texts, of course, and then get out there and see it, schlep around museums, and make my own journal about it all.<br />
Just as I discovered in grad school, research using a variety of texts creates the best overall picture- no single source is cutting it for me.<br />
And just as I learned in studying world history, I need a basic framework in place before I can add depth or remember specifics.<br />
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Forget the wordy "adult" books and bring on the K-6 texts!<br />
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More on this later in the summer...<br />
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In the meantime, I woke up thinking about the Universe (aka Space) unit that we did this past year and what that study taught me about the acquisition and application of knowledge.<br />
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Historians, scientists, and scholars get it wrong!<br />
I always knew this, but I never pondered <i>why</i> such clearly intelligent people would spend such vast amounts of time on a subject yet be unable to find the truth in it. This is important to me because as a teacher and learner, I am incredibly concerned with how to avoid this mistake!<br />
Western-centric, short-sighted studies of the universe would lead us to believe that Galileo Galilei (Italian-1564-1642) first came up with the idea of a helio-centric universe. Nonsense, he was just the first to prove it - based on the phases of Venus - in the modern era. Non-western cultures (I'm thinking of the Maya in particular.) understood the workings of our solar system. So why couldn't the Europeans?<br />
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ONE PROBLEM: Knowledge is Subject to the Powers of the Day <br />
Powerful religious leaders taught that humans were the center of God's universe, so how could our planet not be the center of our solar system? Nevermind that this makes no sense either in a religious or scientific context. Questioning authority was - and is - an invitation for punishment. <br />
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ONE SOLUTION: Creativity, Simplicity, and an Open Mind<br />
Ptolemy (Greek, 100-170) is remembered not for his fantastic, comprehensive catalog of the stars, but for his back-bending efforts to inaccurately prove a geo-centric universe. Orbits within orbits, complexity within complexity. Only when Nicolaus Copernicus (Polish, 1473-1543) demanded simplicity was he able to discover the truth. Of course, there was plenty of creativity and open mindedness going on. Issac Newton (English, 1642-1727) and Albert Einstein (German, 1879-1955) are terrific examples of what can be accomplished when an open, creative mind looks for the simplicity in our universe.<br />
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Sadly, many models of education tend to squelch creativity and open-mindedness in the relentless pursuit of hammering facts, or what is believed at the time to be facts. What we lack is the freedom to question. I am certainly not saying that we shouldn't learn what has been discovered and hypothesized. On the contrary, I stress to my children that the only way any of the scientists we studied accomplished anything was by learning everything they could and then questioning it all. <br />
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My parents, once again, deserve credit for this one. My mother often tells me of how her father was emphatically taught that the atom cannot be split. (Perhaps the world would be a much better place if this were indeed the case, but along came an open-minded, creative individual to deliver more power than power-hungry humans have sense to use.) In my own immediate world, my parents have always given me the freedom to pursue knowledge and truth rather than demand strict adherence to any one point of view. I grew up watching them argue about politics and religion, question the policies and practices of school systems, and refuse to settle for the prescribed answers of the day. I hope that as a teacher and parent, I can impart that same perspective and liberty to my own children and students. <br />
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Learn voraciously.<br />
Question incessantly. <br />
Truth is out there.Eileen Chevalierhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08506006217059815000noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6848670123946600023.post-24463355977403792892011-07-09T19:12:00.000-07:002011-07-09T19:20:58.838-07:00At Last<style>p.MsoNormal, li.MsoNormal, div.MsoNormal { margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt; font-size: 12pt; font-family: Times; }div.Section1 { page: Section1; }</style> <p class="MsoNormal">Saturday morning comes early. Thin white mini-blinds aren’t much for holding back the mid-summer sunlight.<span style=""> </span>But I manage to slide out of bed and get myself together.<span style=""> </span>When I came into this guest room the night before, I’d absently dropped some of my things on a dresser.<span style=""> </span>This morning, I find some mail there as well, next to my things.<span style=""> </span>Addressed to Eileen Rosenfelder.<span style=""> </span>Hmmm…<span style=""> </span>Sure, I pretty much decided last night that I’d love to marry into the family, but this is a bit bewildering.<span style=""> </span>My spine is tingling and I really want to know who this Eileen Rosenfelder is, anyway.<span style=""> </span>Is she real?<span style=""> </span>Is this some crazy mistake?<span style=""> </span>Having the name Eileen, especially at my age, is very rare.<span style=""> </span>I used to hate it for that reason.<span style=""> </span>What crazy person gets named Eileen?<span style=""> </span>It wasn’t until we moved to North Carolina that I heard the name used for someone else- and she was my Grandmother’s age.<span style=""> </span>By then, I’d come to love having an unusual name.<span style=""> </span>I never mistook someone else’s beckoning for my own.<span style=""> </span>I never had to alter my name so that a teacher could distinguish between the five Eileens in the class.<span style=""> </span>I was the only Eileen around. I was.</p><p class="MsoNormal"><br /></p> <p class="MsoNormal"> </p> <p class="MsoNormal">I soon discover, chatting with Mike as he fixes me breakfast, that the Eileen in question is his grandmother.<span style=""> </span>She and I are not alone, though; Aunt Eileen, daughter of Nana Eileen lives just across the street.<span style=""> </span>Whew.<span style=""> </span>I’m a shoe-in with this family where everyone’s name spans at least two generations.<span style=""> </span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"> </p><p class="MsoNormal"><br /></p> <p class="MsoNormal">After Mike’s compelling display of domesticity, we head for a Baltimore-area quarry.<span style=""> </span>Under whatever clothes I have on, there is a bathing suit.<span style=""> </span>The best one I have ever had- blues and reds on cream with brown trim.<span style=""> </span>If you think about it, which I’m sure lots of guys do, girls are pretty naked with just a bikini on.<span style=""> </span>Sure, some vital parts are covered up with stretchy fabric, but there isn’t a lot left to figure out.<span style=""> </span>As we get out of the car and head up to the pool for a quick swim test, I anticipate the stripping of my day clothes as never before.<span style=""> </span>To be seen, to be enjoyed, and to be desired is a wonderful thing.<span style=""> <br /></span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span style=""><br /></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"> </p> <p class="MsoNormal">I am not the only one being enjoyed or desired, though.<span style=""> </span>Mike is gorgeous, his pale skin dappled in sunlight, the strength of his arms… Eventually, I stop staring long enough to understand the instructions for our test and in we go.</p><p class="MsoNormal"><br /></p> <p class="MsoNormal"> </p> <p class="MsoNormal">For those of you not well acquainted with me, you should know that I possess an inordinate amount of raw confidence.<span style=""> </span>It’s really very helpful since almost everything turns out better with it.<span style=""> </span>I can accomplish things I would never dare to attempt without it- such as keeping pace with Mike as we swim across the pool.<span style=""> </span>Unfortunately, there are also times when it blindsides me.<span style=""> </span>Turns out, Mike was on his swim team.<span style=""> </span>I, on the other hand, approximate something slightly more refined than a dogpaddle.<span style=""> </span>By the time we hit the opposite wall, I am completely out of breath and not entirely sure about the return trip.<span style=""> </span>Just as Mike is finishing up the treading water section of the test, I arrive, hands behind my back in an awkward attempt to retie the straps that apparently came lose due to my speediness.<span style=""> </span>Good thing I long ago decided to see the humor in life whenever possible.</p> <p class="MsoNormal"> </p><p class="MsoNormal"><br /></p> <span style="font-size: 12pt; font-family: Times;">Hours of fun ensue.<span style=""> </span>Diving, failed attempts at the rope swing run, submersing ourselves in clear, cold water, and, finally, lying beneath giant pines trees watching the bright blue sky.<span style=""> </span>Well fed, worn out, and still excited, we start talking again.<span style=""> </span>One thing leads to another and the next thing I know, we decide to get married.<span style=""> </span>It seems clear and right, obvious even.<span style=""> <br /><br /></span>And just like that, it is begun.</span>Eileen Chevalierhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08506006217059815000noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6848670123946600023.post-77950086723675260332011-06-05T19:25:00.000-07:002011-06-05T20:11:46.628-07:00Hook, Line, and Sinker<style>p.MsoNormal, li.MsoNormal, div.MsoNormal { margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt; font-size: 12pt; font-family: Times; }div.Section1 { page: Section1; }</style> <p class="MsoNormal">Mike is picking me up from the airport, so I waste no time getting off the plane and out to the front of Reagan International.<span style=""> </span>I’m wearing a black halter and my favorite skirt, one I bought years before from an Indian clothing store, wine-colored with beading in the front, flowing down to drag the dirty curb where cars come to pick up the recently arrived.<span style=""> </span>I carry my small, yellow vinyl carry-on and hope that this man I have only seen once, four weeks earlier, will recognize me in a sea of happy homecomings. As it happens, I’m not even sweating on this hot July day when he swings the passenger door inches from my eager hands.<span style=""><br /></span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span style=""><br /></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal">I climb in and he offers me a bouquet of flowers, freshly picked from the roadside on his way to meet me.<span style=""> </span>Which, if you know anything about picking flowers and hot summer days, you know is a terrible idea.<span style=""> </span>They are all shriveling and bent over, exhausted: an obvious contrast to our swelling excitement.<span style=""> </span>Here we were, finally, close enough to smell one another, able to see the smiles we had so often heard.<br /></p><p class="MsoNormal"><br /></p><p class="MsoNormal">Those four intervening weeks had been a blur of ever-extending phone calls.<span style=""> </span>We found ourselves agreeing often, including an agreement that we would never date each other.<span style=""> </span>I always hated dating.<span style=""> </span>By the time I was allowed to start dating, I was ready to be married.<span style=""> </span>Past ready.<span style=""> </span>In fact, I think I was born ready.<span style=""> </span>All through Elementary school, I had a huge crush.<span style=""> </span>During that time, AIDS was discussed on the news and it rocked my world, my little eight-year-old world.<span style=""> </span>That night, I decided that even if the guy I was in love with got AIDS, I would marry him anyway.<span style=""> </span>Commitment was the easy part for me.<span style=""> </span>The hard part was dating.</p><p class="MsoNormal"><br /></p><p class="MsoNormal">What I definitely did not want was a boyfriend.<span style=""> </span>I’d had plenty already, which was helpful, I suppose.<span style=""> </span>I knew what I couldn’t take and what I couldn’t live without.<span style=""> </span>I knew my aversions to tall men and atheists as well as my undeniable attraction to creative, arrogant fellows who found life fascinating…especially the Irish ones.<span style=""><br /></span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><br /><span style=""></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal">So along comes this pale-faced red-head, a perfect four inches taller than me, traveling around singing the soulful songs he'd written.<span style=""> </span>Interesting.<span style=""> </span>Then I find out we have a lot in common: our backgrounds, our beliefs, our perspectives and life goals.<span style=""> </span>A week later, we’re talking every day, for hours, finding out all the things we have in common.<span style=""> </span>Of course, we both want to find that someone.<span style=""> </span>Who doesn’t want that, really?<span style=""> </span>So we both start thinking that maybe this is it and decided to meet up in DC, where I’m traveling for a video shoot anyway.<span style=""> </span>He grew up just outside DC, so we plan to spend the night at his parent’s house. </p><p class="MsoNormal"><span style=";font-family:Times;font-size:12pt;" ><br /></span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span style=";font-family:Times;font-size:12pt;" >There is just enough time for a museum visit before heading to his parents for dinner, lounging in the yard, and a quick tuck-in before bed.<span style=""> </span>It’s the tuck-in that does it for me.<span style=""> </span>Mike is wearing a thin sleeping shirt and I can just make out a beautiful tattoo on his left bicep.<span style=""> </span>Having a special weakness for nice arms and beautiful tattoos, I ask to get a better look and he explains when and why he got it.<span style=""> </span>Then the clincher- he describes the tattoo he really wants.<span style=""><br /></span></span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><br /><span style=";font-family:Times;font-size:12pt;" ><span style=""></span></span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><style>p.MsoNormal, li.MsoNormal, div.MsoNormal { margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt; font-size: 12pt; font-family: Times; }div.Section1 { page: Section1; }</style> </p><p class="MsoNormal">At the top of his back there is another tattoo, of an abstracted sun. Below this, as if basking in its light, he pictures a scientific-style drawing of a rose bush, with the largest two roses labeled as his wife and himself, and the smaller ones labeled as his children. SOLD! It is clear to me that whatever we may have thought we were doing, we have actually spent a month putting one another on trial, allowing ourselves to be questioned as thoroughly as possible in an attempt to discover if we could love one another.<span style=""> </span>We have been witness and judge, we have examined and cross –examined.<span style=""> </span>All that is left for me is to know that my love will not be given in vain, to know that I am with someone whose commitment is as sure as mine.<span style=""> </span>A gigantic tattoo seems like an excellent indication of that.<span style=""> </span>How much did he already love his family to come up with such a beautiful way of expressing that love for them?<span style=""> </span>How could I not want with all my heart to be the one named as his wife?<span style=""> </span>To be the one who gets to make those little rosebuds with him?</p> <span style=";font-family:Times;font-size:12pt;" >I am his for the having and the holding.</span> <p></p>Eileen Chevalierhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08506006217059815000noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6848670123946600023.post-65968928199235906612011-05-08T16:06:00.000-07:002011-05-08T16:39:50.435-07:00The Bartender and the Boy on Tour<style>p.MsoNormal, li.MsoNormal, div.MsoNormal { margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt; font-size: 12pt; font-family: Times; }div.Section1 { page: Section1; }</style> <p class="MsoNormal">I will now regale you with anecdotes from our first three months…the only ones we had together before we were married.</p> <p class="MsoNormal"><br /></p> <p class="MsoNormal">Lots of people go to bars looking for love.<span style=""> </span>I went looking for enough of a paycheck to sustain me while I poured all my energy into art exhibit which left me with no funds whatsoever.<span style=""> </span>Fortunately for me, I found the love that no one ever seems to.<span style=""> </span>This sort of love is obviously much more valuable than wealth, <span style="font-size: 10pt;">though it can be enjoyed more fully with an adequate amount of it</span>.<span style=""> <br /> </span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><br /> <span style=""></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span style=""></span>I would say it was like any other night, but it was my last tending bar at Bickett Gallery.<span style=""> </span>I arrived after a long photoshoot of my work, <span style="font-size:85%;">which necessitated shooting as it was screenprinted on skin.</span><span style=""> </span>No going home for a shower or a bite to eat.<span style=""> </span>Just straight to work.<span style=""> As I was setting up</span>, the bands arrived.<span style="">.. </span><span style="font-size:85%;">I will now leave out some vaguely important and rather interesting tidbits for the very reasons which make them interesting in the first place and just leave you to wonder.<span style=""> </span></span><span style="font-size: 10pt;"><span style="font-size:85%;">Please use this opportunity to</span> make up your own wild and fantastic version of events. </span><span style="font-size: 12pt; font-family: Times;">...thanks to him, I screenprinted myself onto my future husband's forearm.</span> </p><p class="MsoNormal"><br /> <span style="font-size: 10pt;"><span style=""></span></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span style=""></span>There were other interesting characters as well.<span style=""> </span>The drunken door guy, ordered to stick around and make sure nothing happened to me as I closed up alone on a deserted street in the dead of night.<span style=""> </span>Perhaps that would have been helpful if he weren’t drunk. Or if he had questioned the two men who stuck around when he finally left.<span style=""> </span>Which brings me to the next interesting character: Moustache Man.<span style=""> </span>As I recall that night now, I honestly can’t remember him in it.<span style=""> </span>I just know that he was there.<span style=""> </span>We joked about it.<span style=""> </span>We told our friends about it.<span style=""> </span>We would see him around town and jab each other and nod in his direction and exchange knowing smirks.<span style=""> </span>Obviously, we don’t know his name, but this small, aging photographer often showed up at bars.<span style=""> </span>I’m not sure I ever saw him actually take any pictures, but the camera was always swinging from his neck.<span style=""> </span>On this particular night, he accompanied us to the dumpster.</p> <p class="MsoNormal"><br /></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span style=""></span>Mike, like many an appreciative musician, gave me a copy of his CD after the show.<span style=""> </span><span style="font-size: 10pt;">I, as always, listened to it later before placing it on the shelf next to the others.<span style=""> </span>In fact, I have never picked it up again.<span style=""> </span>Recently, I was at home listening to the ipod on shuffle when I heard someone who sounded like Mike singing a song I did not recognize.<span style=""> </span>It was indeed my husband.<span style=""> </span>A song from this album that he gave me the night we met, this album that would come to cause so much grief between us; his first gift to me.</span><span style=""> </span>He explained that the white-out tree drawings were a poor copy of his previously screen-printed album covers.<span style=""> </span>I, with the purest intentions, offered to have a screen burned and sent to him…only because I knew the difficulties of getting a screen made once you leave the resources of a university.<span style=""> </span>Since there were screens in the dumpster that Bickett shared with Aardvark Screenprinting, I suggested we try to find a decent one that he could use for his album cover.<span style=""> </span>There we were: a penniless artist, a penniless musician, and a mysterious moustached man perusing a dumpster by streetlight.<span style=""> </span>But there were no screens to be had.<span style=""> <br /></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span style=""><br /> </span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span style=""></span>We found instead many many similarities.<span style=""> </span>That’s all we found really, for a good month.<span style=""> </span>Similarities.<span style=""> </span>We kept talking and they kept coming up.<span style=""> </span>We had similar pasts. We had similar tastes in food.<span style=""> </span>We had similar philosophies of life- why we are here, what is worth working for, why we should never date…<span style=""> </span>Not all of that came up the first night.<span style=""> </span>The moon did, though.<span style=""> </span>We saw it rise, big and bright over the trees.<span style=""> </span>And as the sun, too, began to rise, the two of us, exhausted from a happily sleepless night, said goodbye.<span style=""> </span>I exchanged my phone number for a kiss on my hand and a babbled hope that this night would change the course of our lives.</p> <p class="MsoNormal"> </p> <p class="MsoNormal"> </p> <p class="MsoNormal"> </p> <p class="MsoNormal"> </p> <p class="MsoNormal"> </p> <p class="MsoNormal"> </p>Eileen Chevalierhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08506006217059815000noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6848670123946600023.post-83707104357782644332011-05-04T07:10:00.000-07:002011-05-04T07:28:53.325-07:00Chapter OneAs you may have heard Mike say on the Kickstarter for the Mike & Eileen album, I am planning to write my own version of our story. I have started that quest several times over the years with little success, save some cathartic moments. So, I want to use this blog to put some thoughts in writing, get feedback, and figure out exactly what this rememory looks likes. Here’s to me writing and you telling me what you think…what you really think.<br /><br />First, I want to make it clear while what we did may seem noble to some, its roots were the best kind of "selfish." But my understanding of selfishness is probably not your idea of selfishness. None of us lives in a vacuum. What is good for me must, by the very nature of goodness, be good for others as well. In my darkest moments during our first year, I must admit that my motivation was not to do what was best for my husband or our families or our friends. My motivation was to do what was best for me. What was best for me?<br /><br />Selfish<br />–adjective<br />1. devoted to or caring only for oneself; concerned primarily with one's own interests, benefits, welfare, etc., regardless of others.<br />2. characterized by or manifesting concern or care only for oneself: selfish motives.<br /><br />I believe that confusion comes when we are unable to discern what is truly in our own interest. If we confuse our laziness with our self-interest, there will no doubt be problems, not just for others, but for ourselves as well. If we imagine that escaping a bad marriage will benefit us more than getting down to the hard work of becoming a better person and enabling our spouse to become a better person, I believe we are sadly mistaken. It was difficult to learn how to take care of each other, just as it is difficult to learn how to take care of ourselves. <br />Overcoming difficulty enriches us. Laziness depraves us.<br /><br />As long as our perspective is broad and clear, we cannot do harm to others when we do what is best for us. To do what is truly best for one is to do what is truly best for all.Eileen Chevalierhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08506006217059815000noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6848670123946600023.post-67735082856927431412011-01-02T04:08:00.000-08:002011-01-02T05:32:31.929-08:00ResolutionsJanuary one: time for reflection, assessment, hope<br /><br />In the past few days, I have heard repeated wishes for a happy new year, always including some form of "hope it's your best yet." We always wish this for one another and for ourselves. Who wants to have an mediocre year? On the other hand, how realistic is it that each year will be better than the last? First, we must define "better," which generally implies more of something. More what? Happiness; prosperity; peace; generosity; enlightenment? Is it that we accomplish what we set out to do or enjoy what life brings? Should we try to make more money or be happier with less? Concentrate on the pounds, the energy, or the miles run? I suppose that there are so many ways of defining better that we could apply the term to our detriment; imagining that things are better even as we sacrifice our personal best to the pursuit of someone else's. <br /><br />My ability to present the tangible is more of an inability. I've started more projects in the last few years than anyone could finish in a lifetime. Yet I want so badly to finish. I need to have something to show for myself. One year, my single resolution was to finish what I start. But I can't tell you which year that was...must have finished just as much as in any other year. I should be producing, though, right? How else can my talents be judged? And without judgment, how can I know if I am getting "better?"<br /><br />A few days ago, I was explaining the intricacies of my town...you know, the one I've been designing for years; the one nobody but me believes will actually happen (and I have no choice but to believe in that which compels me). During this explanation, it occurred to me that though my portfolio is weak, my catalog of design is strong. (Sure, I didn't actually start a town, but I do have some genuinely innovative designs, maybe even important ones.) <br /><br />Paradigm Shift <br /><br />I have always been a designer. Some people think of me as an artist or dancer or teacher, because I have done those things. But who I am, at the heart of all those pursuits, is a designer. I have been busy working at the skill of designing all my life. It is my impetus for acquiring skills, the means to experience the manifestation of my designs. Unless I bring those designs to fruition, I have nothing (much) to show. But it is not because my hands are empty that I feel inadequate. It is because this measuring stick was made for someone else. Perhaps I should design my own stick. I live in a world of ideas; the root rather than the fruit. In that light, what I am is actually important...so long as I am the root of something. <br /><br />Therefore, this year I resolve to be who I am. I will love my gifts and nurture them. I will not measure myself in the light of another man's mystery, but seek to solve my own. This is my only hope for a year better than the last.Eileen Chevalierhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08506006217059815000noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6848670123946600023.post-63493770843617900792010-11-27T05:44:00.000-08:002010-11-27T06:25:56.918-08:00Response to a friend's post about the 2nd Amendment...and thoughts on parenting"A well regulated militia, being necessary to the security of a free state, the right of the people to keep and bear arms, shall not be infringed."<br /><br />http://video.google.com/videoplay?docid=-4069761537893819675#<br /><br />Suzanna Gratia-Hupp's last statement is that the unelected need guns to protect themselves against the elected. Bizarre. We have ballot boxes to protect ourselves from them.<br /><br />The point of the second amendment is to keep a free state...one where officials are elected in free and fair elections; to protect ourselves from those who would take our country from us (think Great Britain not the very politicians we put in office).<br /><br />As for Gratia-Hupp's statement referring to what I gather is using semi-automatic rifles as an appropriate means of defending one's property against looters, I cannot imagine how this would be defended by the Second Amendment. First, it states that a "well-regulated militia" will secure of our free state. There is nothing well-regulated about a man on his roof with a lethal weapon. Nor could he be seen as a militia. <br /><br />As for duck-hunting, this is not addressed either, unless you imagine the militia out in the woods on duty with nothing to eat but wild ducks and nothing to kill them with except their rifles.<br /><br /><br />All this gets me thinking...<br />The larger problem is not one of guns. (She is correct, as the adage goes, "guns don't kill people; people kill people.") The larger problem stems from the motivation of anyone to take the life of another human being and more deeply from our understanding of death and life and the meaning of it all. We are, like it or not, deeply dependent on one another in this world- dependent on those we love and those we hate and those we fail to recognize as our fellow humans. <br /><br />As a mom, I am constantly convicted by the words and actions of my children- they have capacity for the entire gamut of blessings and cursing. We all do. Good and evil are equally available and more than occasionally disguised as one another. In my role as mother, I must take responsibility for teaching my children the lifelong skill of training their own mind rather than lamely attempt to control their actions while they reside in "my" house. Sure, I could make them behave in any way I wanted (Skinner), but there is no use in that. <br /><br />We ALL must learn to "take every thought captive" so that we are at peace and instruments of peace in the world. <br /><br />I cannot take my children's thoughts captive, but I can teach them to. As adults, if we did not receive the guidance we need, there are ways of obtaining it now. Not only is there a plethora of self-help practitioners, each of us has the capacity to know, love, and correct ourselves.<br /><br />At the heart of it all, I believe that pleasure is the point of life. <br />To enjoy and bestow the pleasures afforded us on this earth must surely please the creator also.Eileen Chevalierhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08506006217059815000noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6848670123946600023.post-3723950270127368442010-08-29T18:26:00.000-07:002010-08-29T19:01:46.219-07:00Com________Com- means "together, with"<br />Think of community, commune, commit...competition.<br />Somehow it always seems to come to that, that angsty winner/loser version of competing where no one actually wins anything better than a false sense of superiority or worse than not measuring up to some arbitrary standard lasting only for a moment. <br /><br />I've had a pretty decent record when it comes to competitions- I get very competitive with all that adrenaline flowing, I can't deny. But I only feel it in games (aka playtime, diversions- won by strength, skill, luck). I never was into competitions when it comes to who we are- who looks/smells/wears better anything, who gets who to sit with them, who is ahead in any particular form of measurement...<br /><br />It makes me sad to read blogs and posts and hear and see the competitions among those I love. Exceptionally sad when I am part of that competition without having entered it. At a total loss when anyone thinks I have won. <br />For surely I have indeed won- by any measure I care to use I have the best of everything I desire. But I desire the same for everyone. <br /><br />Define your own desires- not the desires presented to you by others incapable of living in peace, ever running after that elusive prize of having "won." <br /><br />And know that you have little say in your attainment of those desires. Games are won by strength, skill, and luck! Desires are granted by a God who exists outside this petty competition we have created to enslave ourselves. The real prize is to be free.<br /><br />Com + pete = together, with + aim, seek in the original Latin. <br />I wonder if competition is available in some pure form that idealistic capitalists once believed in- one that provided mutual benefit because all were aiming together, seeking with their fellows. That is the only kind I am interested in. Unless, of course, there happens to be a boggle board around- or a willing arm to wrestle- dartboard?Eileen Chevalierhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08506006217059815000noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6848670123946600023.post-41567028949544208422010-08-01T11:50:00.000-07:002010-08-01T12:05:47.756-07:00So Little TimeAccording to a plethora of sources, I should need an hour (or less!) per day to complete my child’s kindergarten studies. I’m not sure whether to laugh at the absurdity or weep for all the children whose parents are giving them so little. Perhaps I should also weep for the parents who believe an hour is all they can handle, all their children deserve, or even worth their time. Small wonder that homeschooling is scoffed at.<br /><br />My daughter wakes up asking me when we're going to start (even on the weekend). Once we get into it, it really is hard to stop- she's a sponge and I'm a faucet! What we need is more time, not less. Except for that one day...we had been doing so much, I think she needed a day of something different while her brain caught up. Hooray, homeschooling! I can give her what she needs every day, maximizing her progress while minimizing her stress. <br />(Sure, this isn't what happens in the average, low-paying job. But why is it that we want our children to start hating life earlier and earlier instead of learning to use their creativity to do something that nourishes their mind and spirit?)Eileen Chevalierhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08506006217059815000noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6848670123946600023.post-88874220631801617622010-07-14T03:01:00.000-07:002010-07-14T04:48:43.577-07:00Thirteen YearsThirteen years is a long time. Especially when preceded by only four or five barely memorable ones and when six of them are yet to be served. Anything that demands that much time of nearly every American's life must also demand our analysis, creativity, and careful attempts to improve it.<br /><br />One approach is homeschooling. Within that category are countless alternatives: from school-at-home, which is an alternative setting rather than an innovative educational approach, to unschooling, which is based on the belief that whatever needs to be learned will be if a caring parent guides and enables their children to pursue what they are interested in. Methodology is a manifestation of personal philosophy. <br /><br />What is my why?<br /><br />I constantly tell both skeptics and supporters that there are countless reasons why: to maximize independence and achievement while minimizing stress and pretense, to interact with my children and have them interact with one other, to learn what I missed the first time, to travel and set our own schedule, to not take the full the thirteen years…<br />What it really boils down to is that I believe I can do it better. Granted, I value a “school” more than most of the people in them, but in lieu of starting my own, I am content to develop my educational philosophy and approach with those students in whom I am most invested.<br /><br />As a public school teacher, I learned that our mission was to create "good citizens." When I honestly examine public school, I realize that most of what is learned there is obedience based on extrinsic rewards...obedience and extrinsic rewards...inauthentic, disingenuous compliance. This is my first major fault with our public system, both for what it is and for what it breeds. Is a life of inauthentic disingenuous compliance really what we want for ourselves, our children, or those we leave behind as we give our children something better? (Removing oneself from the public education system does not remove one's responsibility to demand its efficacy and empowerment for those who are still there, those who will be our neighbors, build our empires, rob our houses, write our laws…)<br /><br />My second, and really my most fundamental problem with public education, is the return. If we consider school to be an investment (and if you pay taxes, you are most certainly an investor in the public education system), the returns we get are abysmal. To be clear, most graduates have mastered what I expect of my children by the end of fourth grade. Some get more, some get (how is it even possible?) less. I got more, but very much less than I hope to give my children.Eileen Chevalierhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08506006217059815000noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6848670123946600023.post-32526198777910254682010-07-11T17:09:00.000-07:002010-07-11T17:23:16.397-07:00GenesisI never had any interest in writing a blog. I have several of my friend's blogs in my bookmark toolbar so that I can visit them easily, but actually entering into the world of writing random and personal things doesn't really appeal to me. I did have a blog, once, long ago, that I used to record things I had already written, but that was before marriage and children and years of sleep deprivation had enveloped me. Unfortunately, that blog, with all the words I put there in an attempt to preserve them, has been completely lost to me.<br /><br />A friend of mine, or rather someone I hope to become friends with, has a blog to keep herself accountable while she homeschools. I thought about doing the same. But my passions are endless and I would find it impossible to stick to one subject. So, it will just have to be the running account of my rambling heart. Here goes...Eileen Chevalierhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08506006217059815000noreply@blogger.com3