the opposite of learning

I’ve decided that the opposite of learning is forgetting.

Several mornings a week, as I sit at the table and drink my daily vitamin shake, my six and a half-year-old grandson gives me a memory test. Sometimes he shows me each of his little die cast airplanes and sees if I remember the name of each. He has dozens, and he knows them all. Sometimes he sets up his dinosaur models and tests me on the names of each of those. Each time I remember a few, but I forget the names of most from day to day — even though he names each for me, speaking very clearly and explaining the distinguishing features of each.

As he learns, I forget.

On the other hand, as he learns, I also find out about all sorts of bits of information that I didn’t know and didn’t know that I didn’t know. Of course, I forget most of it, but, at the time when he is explaining to me that whale sharks eat plankton, I find it interesting, both that I never knew that and also that it doesn’t matter that I never knew that.

I forget. He seems to remember everything, and I think it’s because being home schooled enables him to pursue learning about what interests him, whether it be tornadoes, fossils, war planes, or road construction. And, at the same time, he’s learning that math, science, history, reading and writing are necessary to his understanding of what interests him.

His mom posted a unique perspective on what she has discovered that is important for kids to learn on her own blog.

We are definitely a bunch of avid learners in this extended household. Unfortunately, I am forgetting as much as I’m learning.
Hopefully, my son, who is on a learning curve regarding moving this blog to WordPress, will soon finish the job so that he can then forget it.

Soon. My new look will be up soon.

And, with it, a new photo of me, which my daughter is going to take for the little blurb about me that is going to appear in Vicki Howell‘s upcoming Craft Corps book.

And you thought that I was just a blogger. Live and learn. Except for me. I live and forget.

the digital family

family.jpg
As I walk out of their little “office,” where I had been using their desktop to do some late-night catching up on the Scramble games that I play with my friend in Saratoga, I come upon my daughter and son-in-law engrossed in their laptops. He’s checking up on the latest presidential campaign issues, and she’s going through her photos to find images that match the series of nature-based poems her father wrote. The television remotes lay on the couch where they were tossed. The only sound is the rustling of pages and the tapping of keyboards.
It’s a telling scene for me. We have, as a family, embraced this technology for all that it offers our hungry minds. We are constant learners, thoughtful and curious. The Internet is our classroom.
And it is becoming so for my grandson, who is being home-schooled. He not only has his own XO Laptop; with his mom’s help, he uses their desktop to look for and print out images for learning projects, such as identifying animals and their habitats. The world map that hangs from the mantle in their living room is a constant source of questions on his part that he knows have answers somewhere in the great net-out-there.
At the moment, I am without a laptop, and I find it a great inconvenience. My old one has a major problem with the port the power cord goes into so that the machine turns off as soon as it is turned on. Now it doesn’t even start because I fiddled with it once too often.
I also recently caused the crash of the brand new laptop that I inherited from my once-husband. I guess I got too impatient with Vista, and I am convinced I want to stay as far away from that OS as I can. My plans are to have Vista uninstalled and have a different operating system put in. I’m even thinking about Linux.
It’s interesting how quickly we have all adapted to this technology. I’m planning to have my laptop repaired before I move into my digs at my daughter’s and son-in-law’s, where wifi rules.

I miss Halloween

More to the point, I miss getting costumed up on Halloween.
At my last job (which lasted 20 years, and there’s lots of reasons why), my boss loved Halloween, and every year we all dressed up and made the rounds of all the offices.
snowwhite.jpg
This is some of us as Snow White and some of her dwarfs. That’s me on your bottom left, and that’s my boss behind me. Other years we dressed as the Seven Deadly Sins, Hogwart faculty (I wish I knew what happed to my costume for that; I wonder if I loaned it to someone), gangsters, and, of course witches. I’ve forgotten some of the other themes we used. There are photos, somewhere, but it was all before any of us had digital cameras, and they were never scanned in.
Two years ago, when my boss retired, she chose Halloween as the day for her farewell party, and she urged people to dress in costume. Of course, I did.
About six years ago, I went to a few dance parties as Medusa.
I guess that’s where my grandson gets his love of costumes. You sort of become whatever you wear.

is it the beginning or the end?

So, will it be the beginning of a deeper understanding of how it ALL began, or the end of life as we know it?

GENVEVA, Switzerland – It has been called an Alice in Wonderland investigation into the makeup of the universe — or dangerous tampering with nature that could spell doomsday.

Whatever the case, the most powerful atom-smasher ever built comes online Wednesday, eagerly anticipated by scientists worldwide who have awaited this moment for two decades.

The multibillion-dollar Large Hadron Collider will explore the tiniest particles and come ever closer to re-enacting the big bang, the theory that a colossal explosion created the universe.

In case you’re wondering how it’s supposed to work, here’s a little piece of informative entertainment:

If we make it through Wednesday, our next major worry will be election day — which could mean the end of America as we know it (or rather would like to know it, again) if the GOP candidates win.
While much of the American press seems to be perpetuating the conservative infatuation with perky Sarah Palin, in other parts of the world, a more critical analysis is prevailing. From Australia’s Canberra Times:

…. Palin is just a representation of a new dynamic that’s tearing across the political fabric all around the world. She’s the conservatives’ answer to the new ”post-political” challenge that Obama represents. However, it’s worth noting that she still evokes old-style political responses, and that’s all the people who will turn out to vote just to make sure she fails. The big turn-on among Republican voters will be reciprocated by the angst she arouses among others who have a visceral opposition to her.

From the beginning, Obama’s candidacy has challenged this binary divide. He triumphed over Hillary Clinton by appealing to a new constituency. He positioned himself as representing a new way forward; using new formulations to overcome the seemingly intractable political impasses of the past. In the US, where voting is not compulsory, this still offers him a remarkable chance of becoming the next president. If he can retain the faith of the young and those who want change, he’ll win. The key is to be able to mobilise these people, and keep them enthusiastic long enough to cast their votes.

Palin’s supporters, on the other hand, are a known force. Although her style is a surprise and she seems new, she is just an evolution of a much older political formulation. She divides the world into republicans and democrats. Obama is attempting to move beyond these old concepts and appeal as someone who will deal with the underlying issues.

Of course, the Republicans don’t want to campaign on the issues. Don’t confuse them with the facts. They know what they believe.
Oh well, maybe after Wednesday,if matter and anti-matter cancel each other out, none of that will matter.

Holy Holly

“You say hellraiser like it’s a bad thing.”
Nancy Miller, the creator of the TNT series, Saving Grace writes:

…Grace, that part of you that is fearless, that questions everything, that lives life unconditionally, gloriously, giving in to a freedom of expression so raw and primal that sometimes it leaves you breathless.

According to the website (same link as above):

SAVING GRACE stars Holly Hunter in an astonishing performance as Grace Hanadarko, a top-notch, forceful investigator whose wild personal life translates into a no-holds-barred approach to her detective work……Grace’s mesmerizing journey involves facing both the internal and external demons that stand in her way.

I have never been a fan of Holly Hunter because most of the time I couldn’t understand what she was saying. But either my ears and tv reception have improved, or Hunter has had some elocution lessons between last season and this one. I gave up watching it last summer. Now, I’m addicted to it.
You go, girl!

Embrace Your Grace

You can watch full episodes by going here.

Myrln Monday: SONG FOUND IN A DORY…..

For a while before his death in April 2008, non-blogger Myrln (aka W. A. Frankonis, i. frans nowak), posted here on Kalilily Time some kind of rant or other every Monday. Our daughter, who has salvaged his published, performed, and none-such writings, continues to send me some to post posthumously.
This is one.

SONG FOUND IN A DORY BOBBIN IN THE BAY IN KANKANEMONIOUS GULCH
Enter an old man who moves to a bench and sits. He wears a heavy topcoat, a suit, vest, old shoes.
Very deliberately, he begins going through his pockets and removing the contents.
Coat: one glove, a crumpled handkerchief, a cigar butt.
He removes the coat.
Jacket: one key, a stub of paper, a broken pencil, an empty matchbook, a red balloon.
He removes the jacket.
Vest: one paper clip, a creased snapshot.
He removes the vest.
Trousers: a second crumpled handkerchief, a penny, a hole in the pocket, a stone.
He sits, moving his hand from object to object without touching any of them.
(Sound in.)
Small girl: (singing)
Bring back the old man’s wishes.
Bring back the old man’s hat.
Bring back the old man’s wishes.
(Slow fade to black)

where stories begin

Above the archway leading to my daughter’s country kitchen is a long wooden plaque that says “Home — Where you story begins.”
The story of my grandson’s 6th birthday party is not an unusual one — tables lined up with white paper tablecloths on which the dozen young guests crayon while waiting for the cake and ice cream, members of the family and extended family bustling around each other and gathering around for traditional candle blow-out.
The theme of my grandson’s party was a little unusual: Massachusetts State Trooper hats and badges and ticket books young guests created themselves. Even the cake was decorated with an image of the official State Trooper car.
What will be an oft-told family story, I’m sure, is my grandson’s over-the-top exuberance as he acknowledged each gift, even the ones that weren’t something related to being a cop — and especially the full police outfit that I gave him and that he wore for the rest of the day. For some uninherited reason, he’s enamored of authority-figure costumes — police, fire fighers, FBI agents/spies, doctors, soldiers…. Go figure.
On the drive out to Massachusetts last Thursday, I listened to some beautifully written stories by American combat soldiers on NPR’s Selected Shorts program (see Program 42 here). These were not stories about the inhumanity of war. Rather they were stories that reflected the sweet humanity and humor of the soldiers forced to fight the war, stories that reinforced the identities of these soldiers apart from the war.
While most of the ones read on the air were true, the most poignant to me was actually a work of fiction. It was about a female soldier taking her young son to the airport, where he would fly, alone, to his grandparents, while she went off to war.
Perhaps, some day, there will be no need for war stories.

seeing circles

The poem below by Billy Collins (one of Jim Culleny’s daily poetry emails) makes me sad and angry and wistful and hungry.
I’m not hungry for sweets. I surely eat enough of those.

Rather it’s a soul-deep hunger for the solitude to watch circles become salt, to reach for and conjure the words that make magic of metaphor.

And so I am angry that with each passing year I have had to move farther and farther from that place where destiny can be designed. And I am sad because those years can never be recovered. And I am wistful, finally, because that is what comes of and with age and the utter exhaustion of being someone else’s keeper.

Design
Billy Collins
I pour a coating of salt on the table
and make a circle in it with my finger.
This is the cycle of life
I say to no one.
This is the wheel of fortune,
the arctic circle.
This is the ring of Kerry
and the white rose of Tralee
I say to the ghosts of my family,
the dead fathers,
the aunt who drowned,
my unborn brothers and sisters,
my unborn children.
This is the sun with its glittering spokes
and the bitter moon.
This is the absolute circle of geometry
I say to the crack in the wall,
to the birds who cross the window.
This is the wheel I just invented
to roll through the rest of my life
I say
touching my finger to my tongue.

a book thing

I read books, listen to books, pile up books, buy books, lose books, lend books, give books, and love to get books.
But I don’t make books.
(i don’t “make book” either, which is the slang term by grandmother used back in the forties, when she would send me down the street to the bar where I would bet her weekly “10 cents, combination” on the numbers.)
Last month, a dear friend of mine sent me, as a condolence gift, a book that she had literally made. It’s not just a book; its a sculpture of sorts, fanning out, when opened, with flaps containing her favorite quotes. It’s got color and texture and is a book like no other.
bkks.jpg
And this is my favorite quote of her favorite quotes:

Forgiveness is letting go of all hope for a better past.

–Anne Lamott