Letter to my children: Love languages

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Letter to my children: Love languages

Dearest Beloveds,

There are many ways to communicate. Words are very useful but also constrain. You will realize when you become familiar with more languages that languages are both a container and a funneling of experiences/wordview. The most glaring example that comes to mind is the ability to own land vs belonging to the land vis-a-vis the Europeans and the Native Americans (respectively).

The wonderful thing about strong relationships is that communication can happen without words - and often does.

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Letter to my children: Ego, The Cranky Monster, and Kundalini

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Dearest Beloveds,

Four years ago, I wrote about the importance of spending the early morning with The Good (thank you Mary Magdalene)- and not just once in a week, but on a consistent daily basis to keep you anchored to The Good. Then I did the bone marrow transplant and all self care of that nature flew out the window.

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Know Where Your #$)@#% Food Comes From

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Know Where Your #$)@#% Food Comes From

In mid-May, Congress released a 61 page report entitled, “Now to Get Rid of those Pesky Health Departments!” How the Trump Administration Helped the Meatpacking Industry Block Pandemic Worker Protections. Specifically, the report details the lobbying involved to ensure meatpacking workers were deemed essential workers in the spring of 2020. These essential workers were forced to “continue working in dangerous conditions” and were deprived of benefits “if they chose to stay home or quit” - and people died.

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Letter to my children: On Inspiration, Electronic Distractions, and Boredom

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Dearest Beloveds,

Baba used to tell me when he was faced with a particular quagmire at work he would sleep on it. He would deliberately think of the issue before he fell asleep and, “9 times out of 10,” he would awaken with the solution in his mind.

This, my dearest children, is called inspiration. Sometimes it might take longer than a night. Sometimes it might take a few days. But, in my experience, it always happens. The key is giving the issue space.

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Letter to my children: Greased Pigs and Loud Yawns

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Dearest Beloveds,

We were a puppy pile in bed early on Saturday morning. Two of us were giggling and wrestling while the other two snuggled deep and soft in the expansive warmth. Your father extricated himself from tickling limbs and sat up. “Okay children, it is time to get dressed for breakfast. Who is ready?”

Dragon fired a response, “I am as ready as a greased pig!”

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Homeschool learnings: Snapshot and Math Curricula thoughts

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Homeschool learnings: Snapshot and Math Curricula thoughts

Homeschooling is an adventure. Every day looks different.

Bean and I had an appointment first thing in the morning in Poughkeepsie. On the way home we visited Eleanor Roosevelt’s home (Val-Kill - the only National Historic site honoring a First Lady). Unlike the imposing homes along the river (of FDR, the Vanderbilts. Astors, Livingstons, etc) the place feels people sized. The road wends to a small bridge where a collection of small building sit clustered on a small hill in the curve of the river.

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Letter to my children: Privilege and Poodle English

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Dearest Beloveds,

We are going to dive in right away with a quote from Vershawn Ashanti Young’s amazing article entitled Should Writer’s Use They Own English?:

Cultural critic Stanley Fish come talking bout - in his three-piece New York Times “What Should Colleges Teach?” suit - there only one way to speak and write to get ahead in the world, that writin teachers should “clear [they] mind of the orthodoxies that have taken hold in the composition world” (“Part 3”). He say don’t no student have a rite to they own language if that language them them “vulnerable to prejudice”;

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Convalescing as a Country Mouse

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Yesterday morning, I was admiring the rotund bellies of the robins. A passel of them were spread under the apple trees devouring warm wriggling goodness from the warming earth. Their russet beachball bellies protruded forth, so prominent and cheerful. It was delightful. Clearly, I am now a country mouse.*

A country mouse who didn’t grok until recently that she signed up for an iron man. I thought convalescing from a bone marrow transplant would be a marathon to be sure, I wasn’t aware I was enrolling up for one of those races that last for three days and involve surprise dodgeball games every 20 miles.

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Hic sunt dracones

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Hic sunt dracones

Apparently, the more frequently used phrase during the Medieval era was “hic sunt leones,” to denote areas on a map that were considered unchartered territory. Off the map. Beyond that which was known. There is one extant example of “hic sunt dracones” - here there are dragons from 1504 CE. I am going to use that one.

When I checked in for the Bone Marrow Transplant, they very kindly gave me a schedule of what medicine I would receive what day, color coded, each day clearly demarcated, the two days of receiving cells highlighted in a different color.

Then nothing. Hic sunt dracones.

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