keelthepot

MIA and this is a hoot!

2009-07-26T20:08:00.002-05:00

I've been MIA for the past few months; helping out at the Bessemer Classical School, preparing Emma, 18, for college, and just generally missing my blogging friends.

I'm baaaack! I thought you would like this one:

How time flies

2008-11-30T10:56:00.002-06:00

My eldest at 2 weeks old, being held by her late great grandmother, a long haired Taxman, with Taxman's mom and sister looking on. That particular sister is 26 and has two adorable children.

You'll Never Get a Medal

2008-11-22T18:43:00.006-06:00

Just put on your best saucy voice, dripping in sarcasm.
Or will I? A Girl Scout patch, maybe?

Rural Doctoring gets it. (Wouldn't it be a hoot if she was one of those who would ask why a woman would forego all the obstetrical accoutrements)

Athletes and adventurers talk about "peak experiences." I understand some people scale mountains, others jump out of airplanes, and still others get beaten to a pulp in extreme wrestling competitions--all in a pursuit of peak experiences: that sense of being more than yourself, better than your best.

Well, you're never going to catch me doing those things. As a well brought-up Asian woman, I will not jump out of an airplane, even if it is on the ground. I'm just a cautious person, so I thought I'd have to sacrifice peak experiences for a sense of safety. (emphasis mine)

Then--I delivered my first baby. I was a fourth-year medical student and I'd been waiting in the wings for weeks to catch a baby, and after it happened--after that new person slipped into my hands--I felt high for hours. Being at a birth is still a peak experience for me. Sometimes, I'll find myself watching a baby crowning and realize I've got a giant grin on my face.

And that is the birth assistant talking. Imagine the peak for the mother. Think about it... a blogger who spent 8 years of her academic life, and at least 5 years of her early career preparing for... and receiving a reward for being a participant in a mothers' experience. Wow. (For the record, none of my midwives "delivered" my babies: I did. I love them deeply and they are more a part of my life than any of the other beloved people I call "doctor.")

While natural childbirth may or may not be yours, I'll tell you what isn't my cup of tea. Taxman gets up in the freezing cold at 5 in the morning, dons compression underwear and spends a small mint on shoes that don't even look good, and runs 10 miles. On a slow day. HE has a medal, for coming in 5,924th place in the Mercedes Marathon, that he defies you to touch. (You are, however, highly encouraged to share your undying admiration.)

A Peak Experience.

Maybe the Taxman gets it. I know it makes no logical sense to pay my midwife thousands of dollars over and above what my insurance won't pay (and I teach logic, remember?); endure lasting, searing ridicule from the in-laws; questioning glances from the pediatrician... not to mention three days of labor and three hours of pushing one's fifth child into the world. The reward is a wet, eager-to-suckle, wide-eyed new human being whose needs only I can fill, and who provided a wormhole to infinity, however brief. That sweet newborn smell (not Johnson's Baby Lotion) is imprinted into my psyche.

For years, I got my birth high fix from doula-ing. Some of the children whose mothers I helped are my Facebook or MySpace friends. Like Taxman and his medal ("not made of anything special," per himself) only a few people really get it.

But hey, we have our medals.

I'd love to do something like this for girls

2008-11-22T16:55:00.003-06:00

Timmy turned 15 just a week ago. He used to have a Mohawk, but his head is shaved clean now. In his long yellow T-shirt, on slender legs, and with arms flailing in unrestrained boyish glee, he runs and leaps joyfully between the rows of squash and tomatoes. He calls out to two visitors, comes smiling up to them, welcomes them, and greets them by their first names. He shakes their hands. His grip lasts several moments longer than one might expect. Timmy's enthusiastic chatter begins at once.
"I'm working over at the greenhouse with my teacher Sam," he says. "We've got new lettuce seedling to transplant today! Hal is planting some now. He's over there. See him? With his teacher Ashley! Come on! See what I'm doing! This will be the last planting for the fall crop. The cool weather is best for late lettuce, you know. And today is payday, too!" Timmy wipes a cascade of sweat from his forehead and face with his shirttail.

I'm convinced that everyone, particularly children, intrinsically need meaningful work, to feel respected by and respect others, a sense of community, and something for which to assume responsibility.

I think it is wonderful that the Kindle Farm School is creating this for at-risk boys. I'm familiar with Oak Meadow, the Waldorf-inspired curricula used be myriad homeschoolers and a handful of private schools, that Kindle Farm uses. I used to teach in a Waldorf school, where I learned to appreciate the value of memorizing good poetry, mastering a musical instrument, knitting, and art in early education. Because it tends to produce aware, self directed learners, I thought that it would be ideal to use as an educational intervention, and figured no one would do it because of the educational intelligentsia being what it is, and the cost (in Vermont, $22,000 per child, courtesy of the public schools).

We place a high value on helping our students to realize and express their own intelligence independently.
At Oak Meadow, we believe that excellence involves more than just academics. For students to realize their full potential, intellectual development must be balanced with self-awareness, critical thinking, social responsibility, and physical activity. The Oak Meadow curriculum encourages integrative thinking, participation in community activities, and exploration of the natural world.
Students have ample opportunities to express their creative faculties through essays, projects, and community service.

Back to Kindle Farm:

Under special-education law, these students are to be placed in "the least restrictive environment" for a chance to get their education when all else in regular public school has failed. For many of these students, this school is their last chance before residential treatment - or jail.

I have worked with pregnant and parenting teens, and one hundred percent of them are "at-risk" in one way or another. The majority didn't have their father, or any adult male married to their mother, in their homes. Many were left to fend for themselves after school, and aside from chores, given no real interaction with caring adults, found their way into trouble. Often, "trouble" included physical involvement with a wayward crowd, substance use as a substitute for the community, respect, and guidance that were missing in their lives. Their lives devoid of hope, direction, and meaning, they became sexually active. I would see the many programs that didn't work and thought, there must be something more. I'm not a therapist but this seemed obvious:

"So many kids come to us with anger issues," said Ashley O'Neal, a horticulturist. She interrupted herself to give clear and sequential directions to two boys who where harvesting celery. "We'll work together on this row first. Carefully remove the big stalks that crowd the new ones, which need light and space. Put the big ones-the ones we are selling-here on this burlap. Push the soil back in around the smaller ones. They still have some growth in them. Like this. Okay?"
Anger-management skills are absolutely required here," said Bob Bursky, the burly, animated, and energized director. "Those directions Ashley just gave help prevent confusion. She didn't just say, 'Thin the celery.' She taught a sequence those boys can follow. If a kid's confused, you have frustration. Then stress. Stress unrelieved brings the explosion. And a kid will predictably throw something, howl profanities, or, at worst, hurt someone else or himself. And that's how most of them got into trouble. It's our mission to catch it early on, before it escalates."
"Here they can learn to process anger before they explode," Ashley continued. "and we have to teach them how - for those times when there's no one around to help. On a job, unprocessed anger means disaster. And these kids are all going to have jobs someday."

The article didn't go on to give data on what became of Kindle Farm School students, but this makes complete sense.

During the mid-90's, Bob Bursky was a special-education teacher at the Brattleboro Retreat in an in-patient setting for youngsters with behavioral or addiction problems. While there, Bob envisioned another kind of program, recalled from his days at the Neve Ur Kibbutz on the Jordan River in Israel. There, in his early twenties (in fact a self described "troubled kid"), Bob found meaning in the rigorous farm work, close mentoring, and strong community ties of kibbutzim life. He foresaw a place for at-risk youth where the student-teacher ration would be such that teachers could work closely as personal mentors with needy students.

It has all the elements to give an at-risk child to succeed.

Schlafly: Where did Reagan Votes Go in '08?

2008-11-22T05:44:00.004-06:00

Talk is cheap. This free-market libertarian would like to know.

Reagan's 1980 and 1984 victories were based on a coalition of three different groups. He attracted the fiscal-integrity/limited-government conservatives who had not given up since Barry Goldwater's campaign, the social conservatives who newly came into the political process to be active against the Equal Rights Amendment and abortion, and the Reagan Democrats (mostly blue-collar, Catholic and/or Irish) who sought a change from the stagflation of the Jimmy Carter years.

In 2008, the first two groups shrank because of lessened enthusiasm for the Republican candidate. Sarah Palin brought new life to the Party, but it wasn't enough.

Schlafly goes to to imply what Taxman and I have said all along. People in power are always thrown out when the going gets tough, but secondly, Republicans haven't been acting like Republicans, either for the past eight years or in this election cycle.

Neither Democrats nor Republicans offered any good solution to the challenge of a depressed economy, but John McCain was particularly insensitive. In the presidential TV debates before the Michigan primary, he brushed off economic questions by pontificating that manufacturing jobs are gone forever and workers should go to a community college and get retrained.

He repeatedly reminded voters that he is the "biggest free-trader" they'll ever meet, a line that may resonate with a few libertarian think tanks but is a poke in the eye to blue-collar guys whose jobs have gone overseas to Chinese working for 30 cents an hour.

I married into a family of union workers for whom this is a penultimate, if not the pinnacle. McCain's comments are more than an eye poke to hardworking families who have lost their jobs, health care, and retirement as of late. Admittedly, I'm a take-care-of-yourself-because-at-the-end-of-the-day-no-one-else-will (no matter what they say) kind of gal, I think these people deserve to have the promises that were made to them honored.

The young people who voted 2-to-1 for Obama were another group that Republicans lost in 2008. They are the generation that has come out of the public schools since they have been teaching political correctness, multiculturalism, diversity, William Ayers-style "social-justice," self-esteem and other nonsense instead of reading, math, and American history.

It's time for the conservative movement to restore parents' rights over public-school curriculum and not leave it up to the anti-parent, pro-diversity policies endorsed by the National Education Association.

Conservatives had the chance to dismantle the Department of Education in 1996, but cowtowed, and blew it. Big time. Those in higher education and those who employ workers directly out of high school know it, but I suspect that most still have their heads in the sand and believe that "our" public schools are somehow "different," or even "good" when up to 40% of college undergraduates need some form of remediation of basic skills.

The third group that Republicans lost in 2008 was unmarried women. By a colossal 40+ point spread, unmarried women voted for Barack Obama by 70-to-29 percent.

One explanation is economic: the women who cast off husbands look to Big Brother Government to support them. They vote for the party that promises more benefits from the Welfare State.

The other explanation is social: the feminists have carried on a 40-year campaign to destroy marriage and what they deride as the patriarchy. They want to replace it with a matriarchy.

In the 1970s, the feminists achieved unilateral divorce-on-demand from state legislatures, unilateral abortion-on-demand from the courts, and unilateral control over children in the welfare class by taxpayer handouts to women that made husbands and fathers unnecessary. ...

The United States today has 24 million children growing up in a household without their own father, and 17 million of those are in mother-headed households. Why is anybody surprised that the dissolution of marriage, depriving kids of their own fathers, and the widespread acceptance of matriarchy, produces eager supporters of Obama's promise to "spread the wealth around"?

I volunteer in two schools where I have the privilege of reading to, doing art with, and supporting children, many of whom are minority and fatherless. I have seen, firsthand, how young children, particularly sons, need their fathers in their lives, day in and day out. I am reminded of the value of a strong, mature father in the lives of boys, and am thankful that there are male principals willing to stand in the gap for these boys.

Overwhelmingly, the 50- and 60-something divorcees of the 1970s in my life, who are facing their golden years alone, voted for Obama.

If Republicans want to win future elections, they will have to field candidates who defend U.S. jobs, parents' rights in public schools, and the institution of marriage.

If there is one thing in which I take solace, I'm comforted in history: After Carter came Reagan. Maybe there is hope.

Do Animals Go to Heaven?

2008-11-13T18:47:00.003-06:00

Of course that was the next question from the children.

Overall I am not sure about the theology of Guuideposts, but I'll be saying this at Spooky's funeral. I remember praying for Spooky in those awful moments of him looking into my eyes and begging God, who cares for the sparrow, to care for my cat.

Consider the story in Genesis of the very first covenant established between God and his people, made with Noah right after the flood. The clouds part and the world’s first rainbow appears. God tells Noah that he is creating a covenant “with you, and with your descendants after you; and with every living creature that is with you, the birds, the cattle, and every beast of the earth with you; of all that comes out of the ark, even every beast of the earth.” God goes on to say that his covenant with “all flesh” shall never be “cut off”—a strong suggestion that animals will not be excluded from his dealings with the world. (This passage was an inspiration for “Rainbow Bridge,” an anonymous poem that has become very popular on the internet. It describes how when people arrive at the gates of heaven, the first thing they will encounter is their deceased pets.)

Then there’s Luke 3:6. “All flesh shall see the salvation of God.” Or Mark 16:15—a passage well-loved by that great friend of animals, Saint Francis of Assisi. The risen Jesus tells the Apostles to go into the world and “preach the Gospel to every creature.” Jesus filled his teachings with references to animals. His promise in Matthew and Luke that not even a sparrow falls to earth without God’s knowing it subtly but powerfully suggests what every grieving pet owner feels: God refuses to forget a single one of his creatures, no matter how small or seemingly insignificant.

What about the argument that runs: “Animals can’t go to heaven because the Bible says they don’t have souls”? Norm Phelps points out in his book, The Dominion of Love that the Hebrew term repeatedly used to describe animals in the Old Testament is nephesh chayah. Chayah means “living,” while nephesh is the Hebrew term for the force that animates the body—what Phelps describes as “the whatever-it-is that makes a person or an animal a conscious, sentient individual.”

A funny thing happened when this term was translated into English. In most English versions of the Bible, different words are used to translate nephesh chayah depending on whether animals or people are being discussed. In Genesis 1:21 and 24, for example, Phelps points out that nephesh chayah is translated as “living creature.” But in Genesis 2:7, where the term refers to people, not animals, it’s translated as “living soul.” The use of two different terms in the English translation completely blurs the fact that in the original Hebrew, no such distinction exists.

Why did the Bible’s english translators take such pains to use different terms for the souls of animals and people, when the Hebrew of the Old Testament repeatedly uses just one? Probably because they were concerned not to contradict Genesis teaching that humans alone are created in God’s image. But to acknowledge that animals have souls isn’t to usurp the unique place of humans in God’s creation-as the original Hebrew makes clear enough.

Of all the biblical passages that I ultimately discovered I could turn to for consolation, the most moving and compelling is the Old Testament’s single greatest passage prefiguring the Christian heaven—Isaiah’s vision of the Peaceable Kingdom:

“The wolf also shall dwell with the lamb, and the leopard shall lie down with the kid; and the calf and the young lion and the fatling together; and a little child shall lead them.”

From Dennis Callen:

This is one subject the Bible is very clear about; death is an enemy of God. First Corinthians 15:26 emphasizes that, “The last enemy that shall be destroyed is death.” Did God create the animals to die? No! Definitely not! Death as an enemy is only a temporary interruption of His plan.

In Ecclesiastes 3:19-21 King Solomon states that man and beasts (animals) have this in common, they both have bodies that return to the dust of the earth and they both have a spirit that survives death. He goes on to say that he didn't know if the spirit of an animal went to a different place than the man's did. In anothe place in the Bible when man was created he is called a living soul (Genesis 2:7), whereas animals are called living creatures in the King James Version of the Bible. Further examination of the original language shows the same word used for man and animals. They are both living souls.

Revelation 19 portrays horses and airfowl

19:17 And I saw an angel standing in the sun; and he cried with a loud voice, saying to all the fowls that fly in the midst of heaven, Come and gather yourselves together unto the supper of the great God;

at the Apocalypse. In short, I don't know if Spooky will be joining me in the Presence of God, but I do know God cares for him. And in that I am comforted.

From Around the Web

2008-11-12T20:23:00.002-06:00

I'm not selling this stuff. Do not.... I repeat DO NOT click on a full stomach.

For the environmentally conscious, a free Target tote shopping bag. Terms and conditions apply.

This probably makes you laugh but

Do I Creep You Out | Funny Jokes at JibJab

this and the ubiquitousness Big Brother-esque-ness of Google totally creeps me out.

GOOGLE, continuing to work closely with government, claims it would keep individual user data confidential: "GOOGLE FLU TRENDS can never be used to identify individual users because we rely on anonymized, aggregated counts of how often certain search queries occur each week."

Google working with the government. Closely. How reassuring. Determining disease outbreaks based on internet searches, how scientific.

Fortunately alternatives are popping up like daffodils.

I'm glad I bake my own bread (occasionally) when I read stuff like this. If it has fur, whiskers, and a long skinny tail, it's probably a mouse. Bon Appetit!

If you have a daughter, read this before her next round of shots. Gardasil may help protect against cervical cancer but the tradeoff is, um, warts. Ew, yuck.

Corruption in Africa is nothing new: Tribal leaders sold their charges into slavery hundreds of years ago. This is just awful.

Sorious Samura shows how in Africa corruption has become normal and accepted, even though it's tearing the continent to pieces. Despite the billions in western aid poured in, Samura claims Africa is heading into oblivion: but it's not war, famine and disease strangling development; it's corruption.

Dispatches provides a sober portrait of how modern Africa really works, where the voiceless millions, living in poverty, have had their futures stolen by their corrupt governments, aided and abetted by the West.

This roundup courtesy of my pals over at www.alabama-moms.com.

I. should. have. honked.

2008-11-12T19:57:00.005-06:00

“That we may end our lives in faith and hope, without suffering and without reproach, let us pray to the Lord.” -Book of Common Prayer

It's been one of those weeks that anything that can go wrong has. My cell phone bit the dust and I don't yet have another one. Monday I got lost and went ten miles to go three blocks in Bessemer... wouldn't have happened with my phone. I am heartbroken. I caused a living creature to die a horrible, grievous, torturous suffering death.

I ran over Spooky, the kitten I love. He was a sweet and snuggly kitty and let Caroline love on him and never hissed at her. Spooky had a nasty habit of snuggling up next to wheels of large vehicles and John moved him out from his spot before we were leaving this afternoon. I forgot to honk my horn to scare him.

I moved the van out of the carport and felt a small dull thud and saw the cat flailing in the carport like a fish out of water. I parked the van and ran over to him. I didn't see blood or a bone, and couldn't remember what the rule was -- did I move him or not? He was crying loudly, so I gently scooped him up, and fished for the right key, went in and called Scott. He said he thought the vet clinic on Hwy 11 was open til 9. Did they handle emergencies? He didn't know and couldn't tell me because he was in the BATHROOM. I imagined him fiddling with his fly one handed and listening to me freaking out.

I looked at Spooky. His belly was distended, his body was contorted into an unnatural twist. He lost control of his bladder and bowels. He arched his neck and opened his mouth and let out a soft, but gutteral howl. I was crying, praying, and hoping we could make it to the vet's at rush hour, and that they could help him.

We got into the van and I continued to talk to him and rub his face. We got about half a mile down hiway 11 when his little kitty tongue, which had turned a dusky gray, stuck up as he gave me another moan. Those sound like agonal moans, I thought. He's dying. His ordinarily tiny kitty pupils fully dilated.

Spooky, my sweet black kitty, who liked to sleep in my laundry, ate leftovers, and who would sit on my lap and purr for hours on end, died in my arms. I am sick to death that I caused any creature, particularly one that I love, such a horrible painful death. I could have honked. I. Could. Have. Honked.

I went back home and took the little shoebox that Fairlie had made for his home, and twisted his body to make it look like he was sleeping. I tried to close his little furry eyelids. I encouraged his sister and littermate to come and sniff him, but she didn't seem interested.

I changed clothes but still have cat pee smell on me and his little furry smell and feel on my hands. The other kids aren't home yet. I am kind of shocky and can't do anything but sit and type. It is like this shock -- no real FEELING yet but grief and sadness but it hasn't manifested -- just has to come out through my fingertips and nothing else really matters.

Only here becauseI don't dare fly it on my house

2008-11-04T21:15:00.002-06:00

Reminiscing

2008-10-29T16:20:00.004-05:00

This picture comes to us via the Tuscon Waldorf School

Thinking of Kristen's description of her kids' school as a hippie preschool.

I used to teach there, thirteen-and-some-change years ago. I loved the simplicity of the rhythm of the day, the sweet, simple songs, the healthy snacks, the enchanting poetry the children memorized.

One of Emma's (now 17) favorites, now loved by John and Caroline, by Rowena Bastin Bennett:

Down in the grasses
Where the grasshoppers hop
And the katydids quarrel
And the flutter-moths flop-
Down in the grasses
Where the beetle goes “plop”,
An old withered fairy Keeps a second-hand shop.
She sells lost thimbles
For fairy milk pails
And burnt-out matches
For fence posts and rails.
She sells stray marbles
To bowl on the green,
And bright scattered beads
For the crown of the queen.

Oh, don’t feel badly
Over things that you lose
Like spin tops and whistles
Or dolls’ buckled shoes;
They may be the things that Fairy folk can use,
For down in the grasses
Where the grasshoppers hop
A withered old fairy
Keeps a second-hand shop.

The book is back in print, for who knows how long. From this bibliophile: Buy it before it sells out.

From around the news

2008-10-24T13:27:00.003-05:00

Is it nature? Nurture? Or both? Judith Rich Harris claims neither -- it's peers. It appears that she took her control group -- her natural and adopted children, and when the adopted child behaved, well, like an adopted child [Silverstein and Roszia (1999) have identified core issues related to adoption: loss, grief, rejection with accompanying feelings of guilt/shame, identity, and intimacy/ relationships issues. As noted before, these core issues do not imply that the institution of adoption is pathological. Rather, these expected issues evolve logically out of the child's experience of adoption.], she sought and found information that fit her hypothesis.

I've written before about the pornification of little kids. This, dear reader is one of many reasons my daughters don't play with Bratz dolls, have free reign of the TV remote or computer.

The idea for a book about porn culture came to Kevin Scott the day his daughter decided she absolutely had to have a Bratz-doll pony. For months, the 5-year-old had begged him for a Bratz doll—clad in spike heels, fishnets and miniskirt, enormous puppy-dog eyes protruding from her oversized head. Her sexy look seemed a little too sexy for a preschooler, so he and his wife bought her a different doll, which she was happy with. Except that a few months later, Bratz came out with Bratz Babyz. "If Bratz had looked like Barbie hookers, these looked like baby hookers," Scott says. Again, he convinced his daughter that My Little Pony was just as cool—and for a moment, the conversation ended. Until, of course, the Bratz came out with Bratz Ponyz. And then, says Scott, an English professor at a small college in Georgia, "I realized porn culture and I were in a death match for my daughter's soul."

In a market that sells high heels for babies and thongs for tweens, it doesn't take a genius to see that sex, if not porn, has invaded our lives. Whether we welcome it or not, television brings it into our living rooms and the Web brings it into our bedrooms.

My solution? Dump the TV and keep the computer in your kitchen, locked up tightly.

Classical Education "For the Least of These"

2008-10-24T12:45:00.002-05:00

I knew there was a reason God put us here in the city. I don't know why. I've avoided the public schools like the plague, until I began volunteering there. I mentioned that I don't think the school is "bad" per se, but parents don't appear to be as involved. I realized that the second-graders my little girl plays with know the latest rap stars but were never told nursery rhymes.

It's a done deal. I'm going back to Alabama for my master's in education. My passion is Classical Christian education in particular. My kids have been involved in Classical Christian homeschooling, and it is by and large people like us -- highly educated parents who want a college-preparatory, literature based education. Folks, this stuff works.

In my community, some Classical educators are putting their money where their mouths are. FREE Classical Christian education for inner city children in Bessemer, Alabama. Please go see the video and support them.

Thoughts on education

2008-10-21T17:30:00.007-05:00

I was raised in a family that valued education: go to school, do your best, go to college, and "make something" of yourself. I have one who is staring college in the face, and seems to be college-bound. That said, I think what we call "education" is over-rated. My kids' retired pediatrician once told me that he had no college degree -- in the late 1960s he had to have 2 years of college and college algebra, basic biology and chemistry to go to med school. Oh, and nurses learned their craft in hospitals, not colleges.

An older gentleman I know, an attorney for many years, has a bachelor's degree, only, as opposed to the Juris Doctor usually required today. In Taxman's field, in the 1980s (when I was in college), a bachelor's degree was required to sit for the CPA exam, now it is the equivalent of a master's. I theorize that the availability of financial aid and student loans has inflated higher ed and devalued K12.

Per a very interesting article on how a BA is overrated:

Only 23 percent of the 1.3 million high-school graduates of 2007 who took the ACT examination were ready for college-level work in the core subjects of English, math, reading, and science.

Is this because students at better secondary schools don't take the ACT exam or because K12 does not seem to be preparing its grads for either college or the workforce. Probably both.

You could lock the collegebound in a closet for four years, and they'd still go on to earn more than the pool of non-collegebound — they're brighter, more motivated, and have better family connections.

I always suspected that this was true. People in jobs that require a bachelor's degree (think law, accounting, education, medicine) are going to be fostering connections that could one day benefit their children.

In the 1960s my father in law was paid a family wage right out of high school, climbing poles for the phone company. A "family wage" wouldn't have made anyone rich, or allowed a wife a separate car, tony schools, and a large home... but can a high school graduate today earn any semblence of a living wage right out of high school? Why or why not? This is simply anectotal -- the folks I know without college degrees who earn family wages either a.) are gifted and talented and even entrepreneurial in culinary arts, nursing, funeral directing, construction scheduling, or appraising b.) are well skilled in a trade (brick masonry, plumbing) c.) work long hours in a technical field e.g., heating and air, information technology, often bolstered by a union.

I disagree that the purpose of high school is to enable its graduates to get a job. The purpose of K12 is to educate. I have been asked why my children take Latin, logic, and higher maths, when they may or may not attend college. I educate them so that they will not be led around my the nose by the media, partisanship, or whatever sounds good. If their studies should lead them to college (and I hope that it does) then that is well and good. If it doesn't, I hope that they are the best educated homemaker, hairdresser, pole-climber, plumber, secretary, or whatever God has called them to be.

Simple life experience suggests that this is true:

If your child's high-school grades and test scores are in the bottom half for his class, resist the attempts of four-year colleges to woo him. Colleges make money whether or not a student learns, whether or not she graduates, and whether or not he finds good employment.

If your student is in the top half of her high-school class and is motivated to attend college for reasons other than going to parties and being able to say she went to college, have her apply to perhaps a dozen colleges. Colleges vary less than you might think (at least on factors you can readily discern in the absence of the accountability requirements I advocate above), yet financial-aid awards can vary wildly. ...

If your child is one of the rare breed who knows what he wants to do and isn't unduly attracted to academics or to the Animal House environment that characterizes many college-living arrangements, then take solace in the fact that countless other people have successfully taken the noncollege road less traveled. Some examples: Maya Angelou, David Ben-Gurion, Richard Branson, Coco Chanel, Walter Cronkite, Michael Dell, Walt Disney, Thomas Edison, Henry Ford, Bill Gates, Alex Haley, Ernest Hemingway, Wolfgang Puck, John D. Rockefeller Sr., Ted Turner, Frank Lloyd Wright, and nine U.S. presidents, from Washington to Truman.

College is a wise choice for far fewer people than are currently encouraged to consider it. It's crucial that they evenhandedly weigh the pros and cons of college versus the aforementioned alternatives. The quality of their lives may depend on that choice.

Good food for thought.

Being Told

2008-10-17T18:16:00.002-05:00

I could have written this. From My Birth Name is Allison. I hate to put so much of her post here, but I remember exactly, being about four years old, in our house that was my grandmother's, knowing instinctively that babies came from mothers, having a foreboding feeling that something was just plain wrong.

I think, I was around 4. I remember the house we lived in and we were in that house. We only lived in that particular house until I was almost 5, so I had to have been somewhere between 4 and 5.

Now, I preface this with the fact that while I am now pushing 40, I can still remember the moment I was told about being adopted. It was a defining moment in my life. I remember this clearly as if it were last week.

I remember the look on my adoptive mothers face. And the color of the carpet on the floor, and the doll I was clutching and what she was wearing.

I asked the big question, “Mommy, what was it like when I was in your tummy, tell me about that.”

She got rather flustered, and said, “You didn’t grow in my tummy, another lady had you and couldn’t take care of you, so you were chosen.”

I said, “You mean you are not my mommy?”

She said, “I am your mommy, your REAL mommy. The other lady is not your mommy, she just gave birth to you.”

I said, “You mean she didn’t want me?”

Adoptive mom said, “We wanted you MORE.”

Body language that my adoptive mom started to give off was this was very uncomfortable for her.

Adoptive mom said, “It is called being adopted, and it makes you more special than if I would have had you.”

I said, “I want to find my real mommy… where is she?”

Adoptive mom: “But I AM your REAL mommy! Who wanted you.”

Keep in mind, it is 1974. And my adopvite mom believed all the lies about closed adoption. And she thought (still thinks today) that children are born as blank slates and that they have absolutey no idea or feelings of what is going on around them. I don’t say this in her defence, she just sincerly belives that. She knows how I feel, but I can’t convince her otherwise. I think it is a self protective measure. She doesn’t have to face the real horror of what she told me, if she just hides behind her “children are blank slates” theory.

At this point, I think I cried. But I had an odd feeling of relief. Somewhere deep inside of me, I already knew, that I didn’t fit with these people. I knew it!

Requiem for Joseph

2008-10-03T20:22:00.004-05:00

JESUS called them unto him and said, Suffer the little children to come unto me, and forbid them not: for of such is the kingdom of God.

HE shall feed his flock like a shepherd: he shall gather the lambs with his arms, and carry them in his bosom and shall gently lead those that are with young.

I love new babies. I've helped a couple hundred birth babies and the sweetest thing is new mothers, tenderly caressing tiny fingers, toes, and dressing them in outfits they carefully picked.

I never thought I'd bring one home from the hospital they way I did today. With count-able fingers and toes, visible sweet little body parts but wrapped in a four inch piece of gauze, put in a denture container with my name and PRODUCTS OF CONCEPTION emblazoned in red ink, wrapped in a baby blanket and put in a white box tied with a white ribbon. Oh and some pamphets on grieving.

My dear friend Sherry was a perinatal nurse who was the one on the L&D floor who was "good" with the fetal demises, the stillbirths, and the families whose babies died. She has been precious to me, reminding me that despite what people think an early and mid-pregnancy loss is hard because you don't have as much time to "know" your pregnancy -- and every mother notices how strong/mellow/active her unborn baby is -- and you may be ok or you may be devastated. It will vary from day to day. Sherry is a nurse who helped me give birth to Mary Ellis, Fairlie, and John Garland. She's also arranging a burial for our sixth child, Joseph, who died in the womb.

Except ye be converted, and become as little children, ye shall not enter into the kingdom of heaven. Whosoever therefore shall humble himself as this little child, the same is greatest in the kingdom of heaven. And whoso shall receive one such little child in my name receiveth me. Take heed that ye despise not one of these little ones; for I say unto you, That in heaven their angels do always behold the face of my Father which is in heaven.

I simply have to hold that Joseph and other tiny humans lost in the womb, whether as a clump of cells, or as a term stillborn or somewhere in between sees the face of our Father in heaven. This is a perspective held by the church in antiquity, and Orthodox Jews, ancient and modern, that conception, not viability, not quickening, and not birth, is the moment when the body and soul collide. (Most of the church universal acknowledges, if not celebrates the conception of John the Baptist, Jesus, and His Blessed Mother.) Was it C.S. Lewis who said that we aren't bodies with souls, we are souls with bodies? I think so.

I'm blessed. I had a compassionate staff at St. Vincents, a nun to pray with me, and left the hospital with Joseph's remains. In my loopy, Versed-inspired pre-operative stupor, I'm told that I embarrassed the anesthesiologist by calling him Dr. McDreamy.

I remember my elderly aunt, who died in her 90s, had lost two babies in the 1930s. A friend of the family had attended a funeral for a baby and my elderly aunt, on her deathbed was aghast, and heartbroken, that there was a such thing as a baby funeral. No one told her that when her babies died. Oh, sweet Aunt Alliene, your babies aren't forgotten here. I have several friends who ended pregnancies, voluntarily, decades ago, while living in the grasp of hedonism, who, years later, also grieve those humans. They aren't forgotten either.

O GOD, whose most dear Son did take little children into his arms and bless them; Give us grace, we beseech thee, to entrust the soul of this child to thy neverfailing care and love, and bring us all to thy heavenly kingdom; through the same thy Son, Jesus Christ our Lord. Amen. (1928 Book of Common Prayer)

Joseph, God willing, will be laid to rest with a proper burial on Monday at a beautiful Catholic monastery with a cemetery for the unborn. Meanwhile, he will repose in our refrigerator next to the kale and above the beer for tomorrow's football game.

I can't let one more day pass without telling you guys how much I love you and how much you mean to me, and thank you for being you.

John Garland makes his Presidential Endorsement

2008-10-01T12:36:00.002-05:00

I'm not voting for Won Paul, Mommy, says my five year old over a lunch of soup and grilled cheese, wike you and Daddy. He remembers campaigning for Ron Paul during the primaries. He wore a pint-size Ron Paul shirt and could seriously explain the finer points of Austrian economics better than many MBAs I know.

Oh? I ask. There is a candidate you like better?

Yep, he declares. Geowge Washington. Off he ambles, reciting In pwin-kippio ewat wewbum (In principio erat verbum, John 1:1 in Latin) to release a tree frog he found, and to collect some aging ferns to try to see their sporangia under the microscope.

Not me, declares his ten-year-old sister. I like Palin. She has a bunch of kids, keeps a home, and the whole entire State of Alaska.

She's got a big gun, says JG. Is she wunning with Won Paul?

No, says Fairlie, 7, the most adamant of them all. She's running with McCain, and that's who I'll vote for. As if that settles the issue.

I didn't have a chance to let her give me her version of taxes, war, foreign policy or cleaning up the financial mess.

A Waffle House wedding and True Confession Time

2008-07-12T09:55:00.000-05:00

I have a streak of redneck in me... for exsample, in 1987, I rode all the way to Panama City Beach, Florida, from Auburn, Alabama, with my feet hanging out the window. The youngest of my five has on one occasion snuck out of the house clad in nothing but a disposable diaper. I have had an inoperable vehicle and large appliance in the yard. I keep up with Crimson Tide football.

I've seen lots of truly amazing wedding photographs, but I think this couple's are a must-see. Bubba and Pam, the happy couple, tying the knot at the Waffle House. The bride puffed on a cigarette prior to walking the "aisle", their youngest child picked her nose as her mama and daddy kissed.

Women and Children First?

2008-07-12T06:53:00.003-05:00

The L.A. Times posted an opinion piece from author Jennifer Block. As you are well aware, the American Medical Association, the American College of Obstetricians and Gynecologists et al seem to be on the defensive. Perhaps it has to do with celebrities planning homebirths and making films about it.

These folks are all for patient autonomy when it lines their pockets, e.g., inductions of labor and maternal choice cesareans, but when it doesn't, they have a collective conniption. It's kind of fun to watch.

Block says:

Last year I flew to Britain to be with a good friend for the birth of her first child. She's American but married into Britain's National Health Service, lucky duck. The differences in the prenatal care she got there were striking. First and foremost, she never saw a doctor. As a healthy woman with a normal pregnancy, she saw midwives. And one of their first questions to her was, "So, would you like to give birth in the hospital maternity ward or at home?"

All the available evidence suggests that, with some caveats (the midwife is trained, certified in neonatal resusitation, the mother's health falls within normal parameters, and a cooperating hospital is close by) homebirth is a safe, reasonable choice for many women. Ironically, midwives in the countries whose childbearing outcomes are the best are not nurses as well.

Block goes on:

Organized medicine can't believe this. Dismissing the research evidence, the AMA resolution states that "the safest setting for labor, delivery and the immediate postpartum period is in the hospital" or an accredited birth center. In its own statement earlier this year, the American College of Ob/Gyns went even further, implying that women who choose home birth are selfish and irresponsible: "choosing to deliver a baby at home ... is to place the process of giving birth over the goal of having a healthy baby."

Compare that to this information in Britain's NHS-issued handout my friend was given at her first prenatal appointment: "There is no evidence to support the common assertion that home birth is a less safe option for women experiencing uncomplicated pregnancies." In a joint statement last year, the Royal College of Obstetricians and Gynecologists and the Royal College of Midwives said, "There is no reason why home birth should not be offered to women at low risk of complications, and it may confer considerable benefits for them and their families."

The AMA's statement calls for legislation that could be used against women who choose home birth, possibly resulting in criminal child-abuse or neglect charges. The group says this is about safety, but with no credible research to back up its claim, this argument falls flat. Women are simply caught in a turf war over the maternity market, and it would appear that the physicians' groups are perfectly willing to trample the modern medical ethic of patient autonomy -- grounded in our legal rights to self-determination, to liberty and to privacy -- in their grab for control.

So often we forget that the AMA/ACOG are *trade organizations*, not nice people in white lab coats making objective, scientific decisions based on all the evidence for the benefit of women and children. They are doing what they are supposed to do for their members, that is, protect their market share and find ways to get more.

They can do that in several ways. Creating a demand for their service, check. Keeping out competitors, check. Legislating that all potential customers use services of their members, working on that one.

It's lack of respect for maternal autonomy and restraint of trade, purely and simply.

Can This Really Be Happening in the America that I Love?

2008-07-08T13:37:00.002-05:00

When I was a growing up, some things would have been no-brainers. In a divorce, uneless there was some evidence of gross misconduct, it was generally believed that children belonged with their mothers. (Yours truly believes that both parents are important to children.) Young ladies, even those who wore pants, were generally modest, and certainly didn't swear or attend R-rated movies.

I can't believe this is an issue, and in Alabama, the buckle of the Bible belt. After her divorce, a mother of a little girl converts to Christianity. The little girls' father, according to the New York Times, had nothing but "occasional visits" with his daughter. In 2006, for reasons unstated, the court gave primary custody to the father who had "occasional visits" earlier in the child's life.

Go figure.

The Times goes on:

In upholding the rulings of lower courts to grant primary custody to Mr. Mashburn, the Supreme Court of Alabama said the Sniders’s involvement in missionary work took Libby away from her extended family in Alabama. The Sniders are quietly, unapologetically fundamentalist. They believe that American culture, even conservative denominations like the Southern Baptist Convention, has drifted perilously far from biblical teachings. They attend a large Independent Baptist church in Madison, where the music, the sanctuary and the congregants are unadorned and old-fashioned.

Women wear skirts as a sign of modesty. They do not swim in mixed company. They eschew rock music and nearly all popular culture. They do not drink, smoke or swear.

I am inferring from the article that the child's grandparents (on her mother's side) disapprove of the family's faith, and use missionary work as fodder for court action. I grew up in an average town in the free-wheeling 1970s, and wore skirts about half the time, wasn't allowed to listen to popular music (disco at the time), and the male family members didn't smoke, drink or swear (we call it "cuss") around the women and children. It was common decency.

What was formerly common decency in the not-so-distant past is now "rabid fundamentalism." I don't get it.

To make matters worse, the little girl herself says:

“I’m more of my mom’s religion, and my dad sometimes talks bad about my mom,” she said. “He called it a cult, and it’s definitely not a cult. It kind of makes me mad sometimes. Maybe he thinks her religion may be bad for me, but I think mainly he doesn’t like my mom and is using that as an excuse

So, the clown who talks badly about the mother of his child is the good parent in this scenario? What is the world coming to? Would someone please enlighten me?

Jon Bon Jovi on Leadership

2008-06-23T15:10:00.002-05:00

Watch this one.

I really, really liked him in high school. Except for the hair, but mine wasn't so great either. Over the past decades since, I have appreciated Jon Bon Jovi more and more. He's talented, versatile, and a family man. I just caught this video... he embodies so much of plain old good leadership. Work hard. Give back. Be resolutely loyal and fastidiously honest.

I love this:

"My biography's only half written. This was just the opening act," he said..."I never was gonna be a coulda/shoulda/woulda. Too many people I've met are, 'I coulda done that, I shoulda done that, I woulda done that,'" he replied. "Me, I said, 'Let's go.'"

Everyday Grace

2008-06-11T15:46:00.007-05:00

Photo from Daymark Pastoral Counseling

John 14
"Let not your hearts be troubled.Believe in God;[a] believe also in me. 2In my Father’s house are many rooms. If it were not so, would I have told you that I go to prepare a place for you?

3And if I go and prepare a place for you, I will come again and will take you to myself, that where I am you may be also. 4And you know the way to where I am going."

5Thomas said to him, "Lord, we do not know where you are going. How can we know the way?" 6Jesus said to him, "I am the way, and the truth, and the life. No one comes to the Father except through me.

7 If you had known me, you would hav known my Father also. From now on you do know him and have seen him." 8 Philip said to him, "Lord, show us the Father, and it is enough for us." 9Jesus said to him, "Have I been with you so long, and you still do not know me, Philip? Whoever has seen me has seen the Father. How can you say, 'Show us the Father'? 10Do you not believe that I am in the Father and the Father is in me? The words that I say to you I do not speak on my own authority, but the Father who dwells in me does his works. 11Believe me that I am in the Father and the Father is in me, or else(U) believe on account of the works themselves.

12"Truly, truly, I say to you, whoever believes in me will also do the works that I do; and greater works than these will he do, because I am going to the Father.

Thank you for your ministry, Dewayne Wood. I will always remember, "What does (or could) grace in this look like for you? Tell me about it, and I will weep when you weep and rejoice when you rejoice." Thank you for pointing us to Jesus in small, everyday things. May you evermore rest in the arms of our Savior.

I cannot help but wonder why God's purpose for you in my life has ended... the book slammed shut, with the ink still dripping down the page.

I will miss you. Thank you.

Thought you might enjoy this

2008-06-09T18:22:00.000-05:00

via The ObiBlog, a good read.

In Memoriam

2008-06-09T14:08:00.004-05:00

In memory of Mrs. Froelich

Because you weren't afraid to do what was right, even when it was unfashionable and unpopular, your courage and boldness changed the lives of many of us, for three generations.

Rest in peace.

More here , here, here,
here.

Sweet Little House For Sale

2008-06-05T07:59:00.002-05:00

If you care to read about my boring life -- recipes, homekeeping, keeping whites white, flower gardening, landscaping (or the lack thereof) -- instead of my opinion on everything, see my other blog at www.southroebuckliving.blogspot.com.

I'm sooo bummed that the contract on our house fell through. I think when the listing contract goes through I will just try to FSBO it and see what happens. I mean, every time it's been shown, I've shown it with no help from the agent. I also am coming to the conclusion that agents encourage their clients to push and push to get the max, rather than just focusing on making things win-win for all parties.

I hope the sweet couple we met who are house hunting finds the precious house of their dreams.

An Honest Woman

2008-05-21T12:35:00.005-05:00

After 18 years of living in sin, says Taxman, he finally made an honest woman out of me.

Yup. We did it. Last night we got "married." Well, sort of. My friend Laura, a blogger, photojournalist and photographer, was taking a specialty wedding photography class at Samford University. She asked the Taxman and me to come model for her.

Actually, her first question was, "Do you have your wedding dress?" Which was a laugh... I am 30 pounds heavier today than the day I got married, and if you saw me on my wedding day, you would understand. I also don't have fancy wedding photos from my wedding, as our wedding was, um, shall we say, intimate. An austere, stone Episcopal church, two priests, a crucifer, a couple of bridesmaids and groomsmen and a handful of friends and family. We were also cash-strapped. Taxman's stepmother and her friend catered the reception (and did a bang up job), my mother and I made my dress.

But enter my friend Sylvia, director of group sales for David's Bridal who sets me up with an elegant strapless gown, shoes, and a veil, and the Taxman with a tux shirt, sexy bowtie and cummerbund (Neither of his tuxes fit him anymore). Rowr! Add the backdrop of Hodges Chapel and you have quite the nifty wedding photo-op.

But let me back up. Earlier in the day, I had two plans: wait for the plumber to come fix the hot water heater, and I had already purchased a waist cincher and push up bra with "enhancements" (read: silicone falsies) to make that strapless puppy stay put. My 40- year old B-cups have nursed five babies and don't have the, um, substance that they did the day I got married when they were 22. We have a contract on our house, and I had a nebulous suspicion that a visit from an inspector was a possibility, but had not been provided with any details.

Of course before the arrival of any potential homeowner, contract or no, I would want to ensure that the place is safe from wonky kitchen smells (hoarded chicken nuggets that were forgotten), slip-and-fall hazards (k-nex on the floor), and unpleasant bathroom odors (from the kid who still browns his shorts on occasion.) It would also be nice to mind the clean but unfolded laundry so that any guests wouldn't be treated to the Taxman's chili pepper boxer shorts, my silicone enhancements, or other unmentionables. That was pushed aside as I put half a mop of curly hair in a clip to straighten the bottom half, slathered my face in wrinkle serum, applied self-tanner, cinched my waist, attended to the top half, enhancements and all, and painted my nails a delicate bridal pinkish white.

So, at 1:00 sharp, a truck pulls up. I assume it's the plumber and continue to straighten my hair. He sits and doesn't knock. I scratch my head about it, but rub in the wrinkle serum. I wonder if he needs direction to the hot water heater, so I throw on some clothes to go outside and provide some direction. My heart sinks as I see the sign on the truck: Acme Home Inspectors. A horde of people descend on my house: the new potential homeowners who had taken a half day off work to visit and show off their potential new old house, their stepfather, their best friend Sam, their other best friend Jane, their agent James, and of course Mr. Acme. Eek.

Their agent is cordial but reminds me that it isn't customary that a homeowner is present during an inspection. I retort that is is also customary to provide some notice prior to invading my house at my baby's naptime, and on my wedding day, no less. I am furious with my agent that I wasn't given any notice. This is a bad, bad day for this. Caroline needs a nap, but can't nap because Mr. Acme is in her room looking at the walls with his x-ray vision -- remind me to tell you about that -- the hopeful homeowners are measuring and drawing out the rooms.

My wet nails smudge. I need to put on a Crest strip and some more wrinkle serum, not to mention straighten my hair, but go outside to swing Caroline and stay out of their hair. It's a humid 90 degrees and I sigh at the thought of another shower and coiffure.

The plumber arrives and proceeds to tell me that the hot water heater needs replacing. He also wants to tell the potential homeowners that he recommends a sump pump for the moist basement. I am trying to thank him politely and guide him back to his truck, reiterating that THEIR inspector is here, he already said that ten out of ten crawlspaces are moist, just replace the hot water heater, thankyouverymuch.

Three and a half hours, and a wonderful visit later, I am alone again. I lay C down for a late nap, refresh my hair, re-cinch my waist, decide to can the enhancements, and go to my "wedding" sans makeup and with smudgy nails that thanks to the magic of Photoshop, might not be an issue.

Sylvia made a wonderful "mother of the bride" as she fitted my veil, told me how to adjust the enhancements to actually have cleavage. Every bride should be so lucky. Taxman and I actually began modeling at the "reception", with a fake cake, some nuts and pink and yellow mints. A honey bun from the vending machine was cut up for us to feed each other.

We posed for some photos outside, then went inside for the "wedding". The "minister" opened the Bible to whereever it fell, which I noticed was I Chronicles, detailing the conquests of Hezekiah, not your typical wedding fare. My husband took me to be his lawful wedded wife, all over again. Laura was my "bridesmaid."

Unfortunately, there were no petit fours or champagne waiting for us. Afterward we went to Soho and had a burger, and went home and enjoyed a memorable wedding night ;)

PS -- I love you guys, but you can quit emailing me your congratulations. We haven't been illicitly shacking up. If you are so inclined, though, we'll register at Bed, Bath and Beyond, Macy's and Target.

More here from Kimberly, who was kind enough to allow me to use her photos here: