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Learning Space

Do much course work in education and you’ll soon find yourself covering some of the same names in various classes: Piaget, Vygotsky, Erikson, Binet, Skinner, Kohlberg, and the list goes on.

It’s frustrating to cover the same material in course after course, but the advantage is that it sits solidly in your head, and you find yourself thinking about it at the oddest times.

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For example, L and I sit down to play chess. Our chess is usually random motions of random pieces, but instructive all the same: she learns that we take turns, and that the object of the game is to defeat your opponent by taking pieces. It’s fun, but her attention span usually only last a few minutes before it’s time to have “tea” or feed her baby or any number of other priorities.

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Today, we try something new. I tell her I’m going to set up pieces on my end of the board, and she needs to try to copy them on her end. A real challenge, to be sure. It is quite taxing on her spacial intelligence, for I am asking her to create a mirror image, which requires quite a bit of mental spacial manipulation.

I think of Piaget and Erikson — does she have the mental development for the task at hand. Technically, those gentlemen would probably say, “No.”

“She’s still at the very beginning of the preoperational state,” Piaget says.

Forget ed psych — let’s have some challenging fun.

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The beginning is slow, and it takes her a good ten minutes to figure out that she’s supposed to be mirroring my pieces. But she puts everything together slowly, and it’s obvious she can do it.

More importantly,  she loves it. And I figure it must be in her “zone of proximal development,” for she’s having great difficulty, but slowly she’s mastering it.

“Let’s do it again!”

And so we do it many times. Each time, I alter the order in which I put the pieces on the board. First one pawn, then the other, then a knight and bishop beside each other before moving to the other side. Sometimes a mix of major pieces and pawns.

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Toward the end, I give her the real challenge: most of the major pieces and some of the pawns are on the board when I tell her, “Figure it out.”

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She looks at my pieces, looks at her own, back at mine, and suddenly, in a flash, her side of the board is perfect.

Once we get the piece positioning down, we’ll start learning how the pawns move.

Music by the Lake

It’s almost over: only a couple of concerts remaining, but we finally made it to Furman’s “Music By the Lake” free concert series tonight. It’s an odd crowd: college students who stick around for the summer, families, and literally bus loads of elderly from local nursing homes.

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Of course, as soon as the music strikes up, the Girl wants to head to the lake and look at the ducks. We wander down, listening to the strange echo: enormous speakers in the clock tower transmit the concert over the entire campus, but there’s just enough time delay to make a cacophony of otherwise fine playing.

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Even behind the stage, it’s noticeable. Not to mention annoying.

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The best place: midway up. Good sound, and lots of room for the Girl to run around, dance, fall, and be a three-year-old.

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And there’s a lot of reason to dance tonight: the Andy Carlson Band is playing, and Andy Carlson can play a fiddle like no one I’ve ever heard. Classically trained (he’s a professor of violin, after all), the man brings a deep understanding of music along with phenomenal playing. It makes for bluegrass of a rare quality.

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Of course, who can go to Furman and not take a picture of the clock tower?

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Top Floor

K’s parents have a large house. They have to: they run a little noclegi business — something like a bed and breakfast, but more often than not, without the latter.

This is the view from their highest balcony.

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All the quirks of Poland, on display. The relatively rich live beside the poor. They both live next to an enormous flea market, where everything is available, and all prices are negotiable. All framed by the mountains that give the region its beauty and its culture.

In Motion

During K’s next-to-last night in Poland, we went out for a little family-and-friends party. I posted several pictures, but only now have I gotten around to the video.

Who could listen to this and sit still? Apparently, not many…

Girls Singing

The Girl loves to sing. It turns out her cousin does too, as does the daughter of her godmother.

Two Polish songs and a number in English about butterflies.

Readjusting

Coming back to the States after a few weeks in Poland requires a few adjustments. Among them:

  1. Driving a car with an automatic transmission. My left foot is bored, restlessly searching for a non-existent clutch, and my right hand wanders to the gear shift every time we approach an intersection.
  2. Hearing English everywhere. This always surprises me: I get used to having to do a little, occasional mental work to understand what’s going on around me. Hearing rivers of voices that are all intelligible to me initially feels a little intrusive.
  3. Hearing other languages everywhere. I go to the grocery store, and I hear Spanish, German, Hindi, and Arabic.
  4. Seeing different races. In the passport check line at the airport, I saw all the colors that make America. In Poland, I see a non-white walking down the street, and it’s difficult not to stare.
  5. "Saggin' and Baggin'" by MalingeringSeeing boys’ underwear in public. On the way back home, we stopped to grab a little something for the Girl to eat because she didn’t eat too much during the journey. Waiting in the check-out line: two adolescent African American boys with their pants seemingly at their knees. I’d mentioned this style in Poland: it seemed incomprehensible to them. It seems incomprehensible to me.
  6. An entire row of paper towels in the supermarket. American consumerism is all about choice. What could possibly be the difference among the towels?
  7. Having someone bag your groceries for you. Perhaps it’s the ultimate sign that Americans are in some way spoiled, but it still surprises me when I go into any grocery store in Poland and have to frantically bag my own groceries before the next customer’s purchases start sliding down into the bagging area. Why not bag as the cashier working? That’s another thing to get used to:
  8. Not having to pay for the bags used in the process. No one provides free shopping bags. The cost is nominal, but the cashier always rings the bags up last. It doesn’t make sense.
  9. Not having potatoes with every meal. I don’t want to see a potato, in any form, for at least a month.
  10. Being warm. In the early morning, temperatures in Jablonka could be in the high forties. During the first week, the temperature seldom rose to the mid-sixties. The warmest it ever got was seventy-five. Back in South Carolina, it’s almost seventy-five when we wake up. It takes some getting used to.

Caution

In the process of saving a Leyland cypress from being utterly destroyed by a vast infestation if bagworm moths, I’ve been removing and killing hundreds (possibly closer to a thousand by now) of bag-encased larvae. Violence in the effort to save a tree.

I discovered a new risk today.

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As I was working to trim the tree and remove the bagworm larvae, I heard the constant call off a bird. It was a distressing call, and I realized I must be near the nest. I moved my ladder a few feet to the east, climbed up, glanced down, and was started with what I saw.

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I only made a slight motion, and the three chicks suddenly raised up about four inches, mouths open, willing to ingest whatever was placed there.

My old addiction
Makes me crave only what is best
Like these just this morning song birds
Craving upward from the nest
These tiny birds outside my window
Take my hand to be their mom
These open mouths
Would trust and swallow
Anything that came along

It’s not just the risk of willingly accepting anything as food that makes a small bird’s life precarious. As they raised their almost featherless bodies from the nest, they swayed, nearly blind, their heads too heavy for their underdeveloped necks. It seemed miraculous that they didn’t fall out of their nests.

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For over two hours, I was working not more than three feet from a nest chicks so young they were barely beginning to get feathers. Had I situated my ladder eighteen inches to the left, I probably would have destroyed the nest.

Irony?

In order for solar water heating to work,

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one has to install them in a country where there is just a little bit of sun. On a vaguely regular basis.

Bags Packed

Henry John Deutschendorf, Jr. made the sentiment famous: bags are packed, and L and I are ready to go, next post from the States, yet mixed emotions linger.

“I want to go home” became L’s refrain a couple of days back, and talking to K on Skype only worsened the situation once. There were variations: “When are we going home?” “Are we going home tomorrow?”

I, too, am ready to go: vacation is great, but returning home is the true heart of any journey. K awaits, as do infected trees await, a likely overgrown lawn, a course to begin Monday, and a host of other things. One can only sit around doing little for a very short time before the feeling of uselessness sets in.

And yet, leaving Poland is always bittersweet. “Would you want to move back?” friends and family asked. Or “When are you all moving back?” Would we move back? Yes, and no. When are we moving back? Soon and never.

I wonder if other countries produce such mixed emotions among its ex-pats and virtual ex-pats?

Cleaning

Instructions

1. Scrub.

2. Rinse.

3. Scrub again.

But be wary of the dog, just waiting to steal your brush.