Halloween 2021
Month: October 2021
Our Tent Last Week
I forgot about the pictures we took in and of the new little tent we used last week.
To call it “cozy” is quite an understatement.
We had to store the gear in the cabin in which some of the other boys slept.
Hero
We all dream of being a hero. We can say we don’t, but we all have those little fantasies that at least once, we save the day. E is no exception, and for that reason, this fall’s soccer season has been disappointing for him. It’s not that he hasn’t felt like a hero; he has positively felt like he’s added very little to his team. In one game, an attacker beat him when he was a defender to score the first goal of the game, and I could see from his expression afterward that he felt horrible about it.
It certainly doesn’t help that his team has won only one game this season, and that was only by forfeit because the other team didn’t know about the game time change somehow and no one showed up. They’ve been beaten and they’ve been positively trounced.
“We’re never going to win,” has been the Boy’s refrain as we head back to the car. The other boys feel the same, I think.
Last week, for example, while we were camping, only five of the players showed up. They played anyway, and the asshole coach of the opposing team played all seven positions against our five boys, so the poor boys got beaten, though not as badly as one might expect (7-4).
Today, too, we were shorthanded, but a boy from the other team joined our team, and we played at even strength. (That coach showed class unlike the classless individual from last week.) We began relatively unremarkably, with neither team really dominating. Then, about ten minutes into the first half, E broke free with the ball and headed straight to the goal, firing a rocket that went right by the goalie and sank into the back corner of the net.
“E just scored!!!!!!!!!!” I texted K with probably the biggest grin smeared across my face. Last season, his first with CESA (the local soccer league), he hadn’t scored a single goal all season.
By the end of the first half the red team had equalized and then pulled ahead, so we went into break under a bit of pressure.
“I was sure we were going to lose,” E explained later. When red scored a third time, E was convinced that they were going to experience their next inevitable loss. But shortly after that, the Boy broke through the defenses again and scored his second goal, pulling his team to within one. Just a few minutes after that, he was through again, but he stumbled a bit and sent the ball well wide of the goal.
“How amazing that would have been!” I thought.
Just moments later, the Boy broke through, outran two defenders, and shot a lovely looping curve into the net. Three goals in one game — a coveted hat-trick. To top it all off, I finally had my camera up while he scored — in the other two, I’d dropped it to my side and just cheered him on, but the final one, I kept firing away.
But of all the shots from today, my favorite is the one just after his first goal when he’d just gotten a big congratulatory low-five from a teammate. Head slightly down, a little spring in his step, he walked back to his position. I look at the image and wonder what exactly he was thinking, wonder just how much it might help his confidence, wonder if it might not be the best thing that’s happened to him in ages.
Eve and Misogyny
It certainly does.
New Lightroom
Messing with the new Lightroom mask feature — it’s like Photoshop in Lightroom.
Martial Law
I have vague memories of this as a child — hearing about it on the news — but only vague. So strange to be able to watch this now, nearly forty years later.
“Great is the burden of responsibility that falls to me” — the question has always been just how great. Had Jaruzelski not imposed martial law, would the Soviets have intervened?
The Run
It’s a slow pace — just over 10 minutes a mile — but it’s the first time I’ve run five miles in thirty years.
Evening Walk
Took the dog for a walk — it was foggy.
Spent the rest of the evening resetting passwords in LastPass to improve my security scores and peace of cyber-mind.
Weebos Woods 2021
The idea is simple: to get Cub Scouts ready for being Boy Scouts, they spend a weekend as a small patrol as for-the-weekend Boy Scouts with an actual scout leading them through the weekend’s activities.
“Parents, you will only see your children in the morning at breakfast, in the afternoon at lunch, in the evening at dinner, and when it’s time to go to bed. We want to begin building a sense of independence in these kids,” the camp leader explained Friday night.
So as to what the Boy actually did, I’m a little clueless. Which is not to say I don’t know what activities he did. He shot a pellet gun, learned how to make a fire, cooked cobbler over a campfire, went on a hike, and a few other things. But as to what that actually looked like, I really don’t know. I saw him here and there throughout the day, but mostly, I left him alone with his patrol and its Boy Scout leader.
And this is why I have no pictures of him doing these things: I was out hiking or reading or grading papers.
In the evening, as with all scout camps, there was a variety show of sorts. The kids put on various skits, including the scout classic “Important Papers.”
“Do you have my important papers?” Scout hands the boy papers. “No! Not these!” The next scout comes up and the main actor asks again, “Do you have my important papers?” Scout hands the boy papers. “No! Not these!” Repeat for as many times as necessary until there’s one scout who comes with a roll of toilet paper. “Yes! These are my important papers!” We’ve seen it done every camp, which is probably one of the reasons why the leaders have to approve each skit — to prevent every patrol from doing the “Important Papers” favorite.
The upshot — we got little sleep but E had a fantastic time and was eager to go again.
Catholic “Humor”
The group that is putting out the Bible in a Year podcast that I’ve been listening to on and off (mainly off, I must admit) has a social media page for podcast participants. Someone posted a joke about one of the most horrific stories in the Bible, when God commands Abraham to sacrifice his own son Isaac.
“Wait,” Isaac asks in the meme, “don’t we need a ram?’
The original passage reads,
“The fire and wood are here,” Isaac said, “but where is the lamb for the burnt offering?”
Abraham answered, “God himself will provide the lamb for the burnt offering, my son.” (Genesis 22.7, 8)
It’s the initial confusion of a boy who’s probably beginning to suspect what’s up but can’t possibly accept it. It’s the confusion of a boy about to experience such trauma that I’m not sure multiple lifetimes of therapy and counseling could heal. It is, in short, the beginning of one of the most horrifying stories in the Bible, a story that non-believers point to as strong evidence of the immorality of the god portrayed in the Old Testament.
In the meme, Abraham answers Isaac’s confusion flippantly, “Not when you’ve got family.”
It’s a screenshot from some film or TV show with which I’m completely unfamiliar, so I’m likely missing something as memes depend often on the disconnect between the visual and the verbal. A quick search reveals the line is from the Fast and the Furious film franchise, something I know absolutely nothing about and have no interest in. Apparently, references to the importance of family in memes stem from these films.
I found the humor disturbing, though. Here’s a man joking about the fact that he’s about to kill his own son. That he was willing to do so in the first place is striking; that the Abraham in the meme is being flippant about it is obscene. So of course I called them on it with a single-word comment: “Disturbing.”
The administrator, though, didn’t like my comment and removed it.
Apparently, I wasn’t being respectful and courteous. They want “all members to feel comfortable expressing their thoughts and opinions about the Word of God” as long as those opinions don’t actually criticize the “Word of God.”
Was the comment disrespectful? I wasn’t criticizing the person, just the idea of the meme, so I don’t see how it was disrespectful.
Did I demean anyone with the comment? Not that I can see.
Did my comment include foul language? No, not at all.
Indeed, it was the meme itself that was disrespectful and demeaning. In making light of such a brutal and barbaric act that a supposed man of God was about to comment, it trivializes the trauma of the story and demeans victims of abuse at the hands of those who are supposed to be protecting them.
I’m sure the common response would be, “Come on, man — it’s just a joke! Relax.” But it makes me wonder how they would react were the roles reversed. Let’s say I share a joke I encountered on Twitter: “When the Holy Ghost impregnated Mary with Jesus, was he shouting ‘Oh me! Oh me! Yes! Yes! Oh me!’?” I don’t think they would be willing to accept the “Come on, man — it’s just a joke! Relax!” argument.
Of course, this “joke” (it’s really not even funny at all) is problematic to believers for two reasons. Most obviously, It’s very disrespectful of one of the central tenants of Christianity, turning it into a crude sex joke. The virgin birth of Jesus is, for some strange reason, very important in traditional Christian theology, and the way this happens is with God himself (in the form of the Holy Ghost) performing the actual impregnation. In no way would this really be thought of as a sexual act. It was a miracle according to Christians. To juxtapose this miracle with the crude image of a sex act demeans the nature of the supposed miracle and makes a mockery of the claim that Jesus was born to a virgin. In truth, it’s not a joke as much as a crude attempt at humor. But that leads to the second reason it’s problematic for believers: It highlights the illogical nature of that central tenant in a way that’s hard to ignore. Due to the dogma of the Trinity, God the Father, Jesus, and the Holy Ghost are all just God. So God impregnated Mary with God. That makes Mary both God’s spiritual spouse and God’s mother. That’s illogical and disturbing, and the joke gets at that around the edges by pointing out that the Holy Ghost is also God, so instead of saying “Oh God!” he/it would be declaring “Oh me!” It’s a very unrefined way of making a basic observation: the idea of the Trinity is illogical and makes the incarnation of Jesus a weirdly incestuous act.
In short, believers don’t like having their beliefs mocked, and that joke does that. But what it’s mocking cuts close to the theological bone: it takes a basic tenant of Christianity and says, “Okay, let’s look at it from a purely logical, material point of view.” But in telling this “joke,” I would essentially be mocking Christian teaching and by proxy Christians themselves.
But doesn’t the original meme do that to victims of domestic abuse? Doesn’t it make light of one of the most tragically common and inexcusable crimes humans across all cultures have historically committed? Certainly. But because it’s wrapped in the cloak of religious dogma, many believers are blind to it.
View from the Door
Already, the Poland I first knew and fell in love with (and groaned in frustration about) twenty-five years ago is gone. Long gone in some cases.
When I first arrived and moved into dom nauczyciela, this was the view from the door of the six-apartment building. It was the not-so-long abandoned elementary school, empty only for about a year. The high school in which I taught also housed the elementary school — it was an enormous building.
The old building stood empty for the first year I was there, from 1996 to sometime in 1997, and its only use was as the rehearsal space for the volunteer firemen’s band.
They rehearsed in the upstairs room, and during the summer, when they left the windows open, the honking and wheezing sounds of amateur musicians filled with more enthusiasm than talent was the soundtrack of many evenings’ cooking.
By the time I left in 1999, they’d begun the renovation process, bringing the ancient and abandoned schoolhouse to modern standards. When I returned in 2001, it was completed, looking slightly similar but much expanded.
Later I moved into one of the apartments that were on the third floor.
This transformation is fairly typical of many of the buildings that had an old world charm for me (read: they were just old) when I arrived in 1996. I certainly don’t begrudge the Poles the natural desire to update and renovate buildings. Still, when in Poland visiting family now, I find myself thinking that I should have taken more pictures of the old when it was old.
Time Machine
One of the things I like most about this site is the Time Machine widget at the bottom that serves up links every day from the past. What were we doing three years ago? Five? Ten?
But it’s the unpredictable things that bring long-forgotten memories that are the most enjoyable — like finding your fourteen-year-old daughter’s glasses that she wore when she was five.
Demo Day
When you make your bathroom look like this
you inevitably make your table look like this
and even your counter, significantly further away, look like this.
Tuesday Unknowns
Unknown 1
We had an online meeting tonight with a company that helps student-athletes navigate the challenge of getting an academic scholarship. It’s something that I have absolutely no firsthand knowledge and little to no general knowledge about. The question is, given the cost of the service (it’s not cheap by any stretch), just how much will this provide us in the long run. Its cost would certainly be justified if we ended up with major savings to L’s college costs through a scholarship to play volleyball. Yet if we just get nothing for it — no real offer, no real scholarship, no real hope — then it was obviously money poorly spent.
Unknown 2
We had a teacher workday today, and the day concluded with a presentation from a therapist about trauma and its effects on learning. It basically boiled down to, “Don’t be a dick and compound these at-risk kids’ issues by taking everything personally and letting that trigger you into a power struggle that damages the relationship.” That’s laudable, and certainly a very basic best practice for classroom management, but it got me thinking about how much we never know about our students in a given moment: what taught a kid to react this way to this stimulus, what’s going on in the kid’s head at the moment, how we’re contributing to it, what other social forces, unseen and unknown, are contributing at that moment due to peer pressure and the idea of lost face — the whole miasmic mess we find ourselves in when an at-risk student is in full panic mode. Not an excuse for disregarding the processes we went over today. Far from it — a full admission to their basic necessity. Yet it still leaves me feeling a bit like Sisyphus.
Unknown 3
One of our final renovations on our house will begin tomorrow: the guest bathroom will get a complete makeover.
Heaven knows it needs it. In a lot of ways, it was always the room most in need of renovation. Ugly subway tiles on the counter, some god-awful trim around the sink, old toilet — it was all awful.
Was?! It is awful. It has been awful for years. And tomorrow, we start renovating it all. Well, we’re not doing anything — we’re hiring our Polish friend who’s done so much already in our home.
This last unknown is finally known: when will we ever get that bathroom done…
Biltmore Fall 2021
It has been a very long time since we were last in Biltmore. We went with my folks in 2006 with my parents (before the Girl was born)
Biltmore
and again in 2007 when Babcia was here from Poland.
Biltmore II
Of course, the Girl was too young to remember anything and the Boy wasn’t even a thought when we last went there, so today being a teacher workday that I took as a personal day, we took the kids for a day at the largest house in America.
The house has looked like this for over a hundred years now,
but there was one significant change this time around, though. It was nothing in the gardens: they looked just like they did 14 years ago.
(Click on images for larger view, as always.)
The exterior really wasn’t any different — the limestone facade is just stunning and overwhelming.
What was different was that photos are now allowed on the interior. I guess in the 14 years since we last went there, the administrators realized with the advent of the smartphone that keeping people from taking photos was going to be impossible. Plus, why not get the free publicity that comes with social media posts.
As we strolled through the house, I kept thinking how “house” is such a poor word for what this is. It’s more like a palace. I believe it’s officially called a chateau. It’s hard to imagine anyone building a structure like that for himself. Vanderbilt was still single when he began building the 170,000 square-foot home, and he and his wife only had the one daughter Cornelia. They took up three of the thirty-five bedrooms. What’s the point of something like that other than to do it?
It’s all so foreign and almost obscene to modern sensibilities. It would take 65 of our homes to equal the area of that house. What does anyone need with that? Nothing — that’s the honest answer. But why would they want something like that?
Yet it’s a piece of art in and of itself.
Since we got year passes, we’re planning on heading back in December for the Christmas decorations (which are already going up).
Working Sunday
More planting in the yard,
a new bookshelf for the Girl,
some re-decoration of the Boy’s room —
not our typical Sunday.
Around the House
In many ways, a fairly typical Saturday: the sun came up from the back of the house, washing everything in a soft morning light.
The Boy played computer games immediately upon waking up — it’s his Saturday morning treat, and considering the fact that we have no kind of gaming console whatsoever (no Xbox, no Wii, no Playstation), it’s a little indulgance we allow.
K and I (though mainly K) talk to Babcia. We talk about important matters (the energy crisis in Europe) and not-so-important matters (I can’t even remember).
I go and look at our front yard, covered with new grass that’s several inches high, thinking that I might finally be able to mow it today.
And then I start my chores. First up — seal up all the cracks in the chimney that I found last week, one (or perhaps several) of which let in enough water to damage the drywall in our bedroom. A serious matter, to be sure, but since it rained for a week a while ago with no additional damage, we think (hope) it was a one-time mini-disaster. Still, it’s best to seal everything as best I can.
In the afternoon, I plant some new shrubs for K and finally mow that yard. It’s a tedious task: the ground is still wet, and if I’m not careful, I dig out a bit of grass and mud every time I turn the mower. Still, once it’s all done, it looks magnificant.
In the meantime, K and the Boy are repainting the ramp that leads to Papa’s room. (We still call it that — probably always will.)
We don’t really need the ramp anymore as Papa no longer needs it for his wheelchair, but what else are we going to do? It would be absurd to get rid of it.
While they’re at it, they go ahead and repaint the small decorative fence that predates our chainlink fence and looks a little weird but a little sweet, too.
A busy, productive day.
How Much Time?
Sometimes, I find myself wondering just how much time I need to give students to finish an assignment. If they’re playing around and wasting time, then they’re doing just that — wasting time. Why should they get extra time? But if I assess what they do turn in, then it’s so incomplete that it’s more an assessment of behavior rather than skill.
Take our current project: we’re writing about how the narrator effectively creates the voice of an uneducated slave girl in Nightjohn by judicious decisions in diction, regularly irregular grammar, and extensive use of fragments. We’ve gone over all this stuff. We’ve practiced finding it. We’ve found it. We’ve noted it.
I’ve planned out everything so that what they have to do is less figuring-out-how-to-do-it and just doing it. We determined potential topic sentences as a class. We found evidence in groups. (Much of the evidence they already had — it should have taken them about 5 minutes to find evidence because it was in earlier work.)
At this point, students who have been focused and working well are almost done; those who haven’t are not close to done. They should work on it over the long weekend. Will they? Of course not. How do I know this? Fifteen years of teaching eighth grade at this school has shown me that 85% of the kids in on-level classes just won’t do anything on their own at home. Anything at all.
English I students, on the other hand, finished up their analysis of “Sonnet 29” with an examination of the elements of a sonnet:
We then turned our attention to “Sonnet 18” — undoubtedly Shakespeare’s most famous sonnet:
Shall I compare thee to a summer’s day?
Thou art more lovely and more temperate:
Rough winds do shake the darling buds of May,
And summer’s lease hath all too short a date:
Sometime too hot the eye of heaven shines,
And often is his gold complexion dimm’d;
And every fair from fair sometime declines,
By chance or nature’s changing course untrimm’d;
But thy eternal summer shall not fade
Nor lose possession of that fair thou owest;
Nor shall Death brag thou wander’st in his shade,
When in eternal lines to time thou growest:
So long as men can breathe or eyes can see,
So long lives this and this gives life to thee.
The difference in what they’re working on is striking, but it’s less striking when you see the difference in how they work. The kids in the honors classes, by and large, are focused and studious. They do homework when I require it. They pay attention when I’m demonstrating. They stay on task when I ask them to cooperate on a task. They remain silent when I tell them I want them to do some step or other on their own.
Reimagined
More playing in Photoshop. I turned this
into this
using only a few layers.
1973
