Month: April 2009

Pandemic Education

Teaching eighth grade as a pandemic approaches creates certain challenges, especially when a girl passes out in the bathroom and a local high school closes for disinfection.

Thirty Greenville County School District employees wearing gloves and masks started to clean Mauldin High School from the top down last night and will continue to disinfect desks, lockers, doors and bathrooms throughout the day today after up to 18 of 70 students who had attended a band camp at Disney World last week reported flu-like symptoms which led the district to close the school today. (Greenville Times)

Students come running into the classroom, desperate not to touch anything but the bottles of hand sanitizer that they’re most eagerly sharing amongst themselves. They sit down and put their hands in the air as if they’re being held up at gun point. They open doors with their feet and they laughingly refuse to touch the copies of Much Ado About Nothing we’ve been using in class.

A quick look around the room confirms my suspicions: I won’t be able to accomplish anything without dealing with this first. A quick review of how viruses are spread. “You can’t get it from simply touching a desk, even if an infected person has just touched it,” I say. “If you touch that contaminated desk then rub your eyes, pick your nose, and dig something from between your teeth, you might get it.”

It truly satisfied few, but at least there was some semblence of calm afterwards.

Snack

Often, when L and I arrive home, we take a snack together. An eternal favorite is apple slices with a light spread of peanut butter and a shared glass of milk.

I don’t know how we began sitting on the floor, but we do now consistently — even when it’s a Saturday afternoon snack.

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I hold the apple; L spreads the peanut butter. The cooperation is a blessing: she often insists on doing everything herself, and that can lead to frustration.

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She also cleans up messes. Occasionally, the mess is bigger after she completes the task, but in the case of peanut butter on a finger, she does a thorough job.

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Dress

Sunday morning, before church, there was some twirling and dancing in the backyard. I was there with a camera, of course.

For a brief moment, I look at this photo and think I can imagine what she’ll look like ten years from now. Every few months, I catch a moment that seems to be speaking from the future. “Prepare yourself, Tata,” she says in those moments. “I’m not going to be a toddler for long.”

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Definitely not, but she’ll certainly be a dancer. She dances endlessly, tirelessly.

“All kids at this age like dancing and music,” says the lady at daycare.

“Yes, but you don’t understand,” I want to say. “She dances more than any other person I’ve ever encountered.”

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But I don’t say it. She’s probably already heard it a million times.

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Digging and Playing

A busy weekend. L’s confirmed cat allergy necessitated the re-thinking of our cat situation. She how sleeps in the basement. (The cat does, not L.) Part of the solution involved a cat door, but where to put it? Simple: in the basement window. That involved creating a framed enclosure for the door — yesterday’s project. There’s still a shelf to be built on the outside portion as it’s too high for convenient entry.

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Sunday was planting day. Squash and melons. The squash looks heartier than the melons. In fact, the melons, while healthy, look almost miniature compared the the hefty squash plants. Don’t worry, melon — you’ll catch up and surpass your neighbor in our improvised front garden.

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The day ended with another first for L — her first train ride. With beautiful weather and a jolly conductor, we were certain it was going to be a big hit.

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L sat waiting, watching the train make a circuit and excitedly talking about getting on the train.

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Once she boarded with K, though, it was a different story

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It’s something we should have expected, for it happens often enough. We could have prepared her: it usually helps if she knows what she’s expecting.

Still, the swinging, running, sliding, jumping, and general frolicking undid the anxiety.

1600 and All That

It’s rare that we read something that makes us say “ah!” I’m not quite talking about epiphanies, but something very similar. Take the following passage from Sam Harris’ The End of Faith: Religion, Terror, and the Future of Reason:

It is a truism to say that people of faith have created almost everything of value in our world, because nearly every person who has ever swung a hammer or trimmed a sail has been a devout member of one or another religious culture. There has been simply no one else to do the job. We can also say that every human achievement prior to the twentieth century was accomplished by men and women who were perfectly ignorant of the molecular basis of life. Does this suggest that a nineteenth-century view of biology would have been worth maintaining? There is no telling what our world would be like had someone great kingdom of Reason emerged at the time of the Crusades and pacified the credulous multitudes of Europe and the Middle East. We might have had modern democracy and the Internet by the year 1600.

A kick to the head when I first read that.

Simply put, there is no difference between the Earth today and the Earth when Shakespeare was was writing Julius Caesar, Much Ado About Nothing, or As You Like It (all possibly written around 1600, give or take a few). Granted, we’ve depleted many resources since then, but the no new elements have been created (except a few radioactive ones in the lab).

More tellingly, nothing has changed about the physiology of humans. Our brains haven’t become more efficient; our general intelligence hasn’t really increased; our bodies haven’t become necessarily more adept at anything. Granted, we do live longer and are stronger, but that’s due to improved living conditions, which has been brought about by improved technology — the whole point of this.

But as far as resources and intelligence go, it is, at first blush, difficult to understand why we haven’t had “modern” technology for centuries.

What could have held the human race back? Only the human race itself.

How? Simple: unrelenting, unbending dogma.

Take away all the restrictions of dogma, all the assurances that slaughtering animals will somehow help us after death, all the certainty that initially unexplainable experiences (pestilences, plagues, diseases, seizures, and the like) can only be explained supernaturally, take away the fear that someone’s different thoughts pose an existential threat to us as individuals, and what do you have left? Free inquiry: the liberty to pursue questions to their end no matter how uncomfortable. It is this, above all, that leads to technological development.

Yet there is always a push against it — a reaction from the powers that be, because those powers understand that their authority is based on a presumption of never-changing Truth. Because eternal Truth and new, contrary evidence are in conflict, one or the other must be crushed. Usually it’s the new, contrary evidence.

Progress undermines Truth, and history is replete with examples:

The printing press was invented in fifteenth century, but Bibles in the vernacular were banned many decades afterward. Why?

Someone looked at nature and came up with an explanation for its diversity that differed from that which had been delivered in a book written in pre-scientific times; many people wanted (and still desire) to muzzle the theorist.

A gentleman provided reproducible, mathematical evidence that an earlier gentleman’s suggestion might in fact be correct: the motions of the planets might better be explained by placing the sun at the center of our planet’s rotation instead of the opposite. The gentleman was condemned as a heretic.

And “heresy” is a useful term here, for its Greek root means “choice.” Choice historically has been stifled in the name of salvation and homogeny between what individuals see and what those with metaphysical authority say must be say. In short, dogma, in its many forms, stifles choice, and in turn, stifles curiosity, and in turn, stifles progress. Without people constantly looking over their intellectual shoulders for centuries, we might have achieved a much greater technological development much earlier.

Really, the only thing that stopped us was ourselves. And that is perhaps the most tragic legacy I can imagine delivering to our progeny.

A sobering question is whether or not we’ve rid ourselves of this dogma. The simple answer is, “No.” And why?

Because dogma cannot change. Dogma cannot even admit the possiblity of change. Development — of any kind — depends on the ability and (more importantly, for humanity has the ability) the willigness to change our ideas when new evidence emerges. Dogma prevents this. Dogma says, “What is true is true, for all times.” Dogma instists on its own veracity and because Truth never changes, dogma never changes.

Could we have had the Internet in 1600? Certainly, but we didn’t give ourselves the necessary freedom.

Eighth Grade Shakespeare

Shakespeare is a challenge to our modern ears, no doubt about it. Even the most knowledgeable experts halter a line or two of a performance before they settle in to the poetry. In my experience, it takes me about a few minutes before the language on stage sounds completely natural and non-foreign.

I’ve been teaching Shakespeare to eighth graders of various academic levels for the past week: an enlightening, frustrating, ultimately rewarding experience. We’re reading an abridged version of Much Ado About Nothing. It is, in fact, part of the required eighth grade curriculum here in Greenville County, and I’m thrilled that those who designed the curriculum had the wisdom of chosing a comedy rather than, say, Julius Caesar. (A perfectly fine play in its own rights, it’s an absolute bore to teenagers.) Much Ado has all the elements adolescents can relate to: unrequited love; jealousy; the twittery, jittery joy of new love.

Yet it’s still been difficult enough for them that it’s been, at times, a chore. And so to remedy that, I changed my unit plan and decided to show the Branaugh Much Ado concurrently with our own reading. We’ve completed the first two acts in class; we watched the first two acts today.

What a joy to watch the kids watch Shakespeare and enjoy it. What was most rewarding for me was to hear them laugh at lines that had been omitted from our abridged version. “They’re really getting it,” I almost said aloud.

Head

This was an unpublished entry that had been lurking with the other drafts.

A couple of years ago, when I was working with autistic children, I learned the versatility of using “head” as part of a compound word. The children were absolute masters. A small selection:

  • poo-poo head
  • Barbara head
  • shoe head
  • chair head
  • silly head
  • birthday head
  • sugar head
  • bye head
  • pizza head
  • straw head
  • puckle head (no idea what that is)
  • five minutes head

Planting

April showers bring May flowers: so the saying goes. Hopefully, they’ll bring summer veggies as well.

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We’ve already got the flowers covered. Those are nature’s doing, though. We do very little. Strike that. We do nothing.

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The veggies require a little intervention. Fortunately, we have a helper these days.

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At this point, L is so fascinated with imitating us that she gladly helps. She’ll clean, mop, “clip” her finger nails, clean out Mama’s ears — everything we can do, she can do, if not better in her own eyes.

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Hopefully, we can keep that willingness — that desire — to help developing.

Gardening

We’ve planted our garden. Actually, that should be plural, because we’re planting all over the place: some veggies in the back, some in the front.

Nothing we do will compare with Pani Barnas’s garden in Poland. I live rented from her for a couple of years and every summer, she had a garden that amazed me.

Cabbage
Dream Garden || September 2, 2002 || Lipnica Wielka, Poland

“One day,” I tell K, “one day we’ll have a garden like this.”

Then I go out to prepare our two small patches for planting. The next day everything aches in a most splendid way, and I think, “Why rush?”

Trabant

Nothing says communist East Germany quite like the Trabant — a plastic car with a two-stroke engine that was produced in East Germany for nearly thirty years.

A friend of mine in Poland had a Trabi for a few weeks and I had the privilege of riding in it. Winter in rural Poland is the worst time to be on the road, as snow is continually packed down into ice, making conditions less than ideal. To ride around rural Poland in the winter in a plastic car with a lawn mower motor for an engine was probably not wise.

Der Spiegel has a photo essay on East Germany, comprised of pictures taken just after the Wall fell, in 1990. It includes many pictures of Trabis, including this one:

East Germany, Up Close and Personal

It’s well worth a look.

Happy Birthday, Papa

Friday was Papa’s birthday: he’s doing 50 again. He thought about going up to 51, but I talked him out of it. “Fifty is such a nice, round number,” I argued. “Fifty-one has very little going for it. It’s not even a prime number.”

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When Papa has a birthday, there’s only one kind of cake we can buy with a clear conscience: cheese cake. The Girl liked it too, but seemed to enjoy the act of shoving it into her mouth more than actually eating it.

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Papa didn’t want to laugh — thought it might encourage her to continue — but he couldn’t keep the laughter in forever. In the meantime, he looked a little goofy.

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Afterward, it was time to play. Papa had some trouble throwing the exercise ball up the stairs, much to the Girl’s delight. It’s always fascinating to me how something so insignificant, repeated ad nauseum, can give her so much joy.

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Bubbles followed, and L followed the bubbles.

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Inside, L showed her acrobatic nature while Papa showed his, well, Papa nature.

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Catch!

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Catching

Coordination is developing.

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Throwing

Strength is improving.

Spring Evening

The trees in the backyard are slowly filling out; the sun came out today after two days’ rain. The only option was to get out in the warmth.

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Swinging is always the start. Swinging sets the stage for everything else. It often bookends activities in the summer: it’s that popular with the Girl.

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Afterward a walk — such a change from last spring’s walks.

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Baby came with us; turtle had to stay in the mailbox.

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Lonely, I’m sure.

Warsaw Village Band

The Warsaw Village Band (“Kapela ze wsi Warszawa” in Polish) is a folk-ish band from Warsaw, Poland. Their music is more popular outside Poland, though, particularly with dance club DJs. Recently, the band released an album of remixed versions.

This is the opening track: “W Boru Kalinka.”

This is one of the CDs recently-married Kuba and Maja gave us last summer during our homecoming visit.

Kuba on His Street

The band has released a new album; a copy is on its way. Unfortunately, the package (which includes several CDs and a few DVDs) has been “on the way” for quite some time — I suspect it’s been “lost” in transit.

Easter Party

Yesterday was Easter: it was time for a party. What’s a better way to celebrate anything than to be with family and friends?

Naturally, there’s a lot of preparation before hand. My job (other than smoking the tenderloin): deviled eggs. I’ll admit: it was the first time I’d made them, and I was an utter disaster when it came to peeling eggs.

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Still, they turned out well.

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K made at least a million sauces to go with the multitude of different eggs, meats, and veggies.

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First to arrive were Nana and Papa — always a good and helpful thing. It keeps L busy and out from underfoot.

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By the time all the guests arrived, there was a tremendous amount of food. After every such party, I reaffirm my conviction that there should be a simple rule with parties: when you leave, take with you what remains of what you brought.

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It wasn’t as if there weren’t enough people to eat it all. Guests in the kitchen;

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guests out on the deck.

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After all the food and libation, it’s a shame we all have to go to work tomorrow: things were cut entirely too short.

Happy Easter

Easter 2009
Three exposures (1/8, 1/30, and 1/2), f/4.5, 120mm

Blessing the Baskets

Blessing the BasketsOn Holy Saturday (called “Great [as in, big, important] Saturday”), Poles (and others in Eastern Europe) head to the village or neighborhood church to have baskets filled with food blessed.

Usually, the contents are some of the main ingredients of the Easter morning breakfast: eggs, sausage, etc.

In the States, we’ve always sought out churches that have this tradition. And it’s almost exclusively Poles who attend.

Today was no different. We were different, though: K and L both put on their finest Polish Highlander outfits for the service.


We had a brief photo session before the blessing. The shots with K were easy enough, but it was tough to get the Girl to sit for a moment for an individual picture.

She kept wanting to go dance on the manhole cover.

Before long, our friends had arrived, which meant the Girl’s friends had arrived: everyone was thrilled.

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A group picture followed, with everyone seeming to forget that we were using digital cameras: “Here, take one with mine!” “Get one with mine next!”

Before leaving, one of L’s friends had some words of wisdom to share. We’re not quite sure what he said, but it must not have been pleasant: the Girl was fussy and whiny for much of the afternoon.

She wasn’t the only one getting advice.

On returning home, K took the basket out for some pictures,

and I, with a cigar, Guinness, and Drive By Truckers in my ears while smoking meat in our barrel/smoker, felt positively conflicted.