Bits and Pieces of Our Days: The My-Laptop-May-Have-Died Edition (With Other Stuff That's Much Cheerier)

Photo courtesy of FreeImages.com

This post is brought to you courtesy of the old, old, old laptop that belongs to Atticus. Where's mine, you ask? I'm glad you're feeling inquisitive as I am ready to complain. You see, I tried to update the operating system on mine, and apparently this was a near-fatal decision. We'll know soon, but for now I am just extravagantly grateful for the fact that I obsessively back up my work when I'm writing a book. So ... Whew!

And, dear friends and readers, please remind me to never, ever, ever, NEVER EVER do anything that could even remotely be described as tech-y when I am working on a manuscript. Thank you. 

~~~~~

I'm done obsessing over Mad Men and the series finale. Really. I think. I never did get that post written, but partly because I'm mulling over the idea that some of my thoughts could go into this book I'm writing. Soooo ... best to keep mulling for now. Stop obsessing. Keep mulling. That's the ticket.

~~~~~

Ramona has been baking and she has mastered my chocolate chip cookie recipe. No wonder I haven't been hungry for real food the last couple of days. Too. Many. Delicious. Cookies. Sitting. Around. 

~~~~~

The VanWonderful VanDerwater (that's Amy Ludwig VanDerwater) is running a summer edition of Sharing Our Notebooks, and she's inviting readers to share ideas. I love this!

This post explains the idea.

Here's the Summer Notebooking: Try This! list so far. 

And here's the idea that Ramona and I contributed: Make Your Own Notebook. 

Ramona's Homemade Notebook

Bits and Pieces of Our Days

Whither has October fled?  It's gone missing and I'm left wondering if one of my favorite months met all her obligations before she took off for a year's sabbatical.

At least one obligation was clearly fulfilled -- October brought us, as it has for twenty-one marvel-filled years now, the birthday of Anne-with-an-e.

I'd never before bought a daughter a margarita for her birthday, but I can no longer make that claim. And she likes my favorite red wine, too. Yes, I am a good homeschooler indeed. I know how to teach all the important stuff.

~~~~~

Ramona and I are still on World War II. So far we've read The Winged Watchman by Hilda van Stockum, Lois Lowry's Number the Stars, The Little Riders by Margaretha Shemin, and Ian Serraillier's Escape from Warsaw (which I wish still bore its original title, The Silver Sword.)

We read Snow Treasure, which I usually include it in the WWII bundle of books, last year because it was a book club pick. I'll leave it up to her whether or not she wants to reread it this year.

I also have a stack of picture books -- we've read Always Remember Me: How One Family Survived World War II, and in the next week will pick up The Bracelet, So Far from the Sea, and
The Yellow Star: The Legend of King Christian X of Denmark. 

Lots of good geography stuff happening as we read these books, too.

~~~~~

What am I reading these days? The epic and wonderful Kristin Lavransdatter. Granted, I am only one book into the trilogy (I almost typed "three-book trilogy" ... more coffee, anyone?) but I have already dubbed it Wonderful and More.

What am I watching on the laptop these days, while I work out? Gilmore Girls. It is wonderful in a different way, and strangely connected to Kristin.

Sean Herriott Has a New Show!

Sean Herriott's Faith as a Second Language is a terrific podcast and I'm delighted to say that I will soon get to be a part of it. I'll be talking to Sean in the very near future, so I'll keep you posted about the air date.

{Updated to note: My chat with Sean will be available tomorrow, September 17th!} 

In the meantime, check out some of the great stuff he's been doing:

"Letting Go of Worry" with Gary Zimak

Dr. Tim Weldon on Art, Faith, and the Future

... and loads more.

You can also check out Sean's blog, Holly Park, and his Facebook page.

Whovian Quote of the Day

Kahler-Jex: You’re a mother, aren’t you?

Amy: How did you know?

Kahler-Jex: There’s kindness in your eyes. And sadness. And ferocity, too.

The Doctor, Vincent, and Me

I'm late (as I am for everything. I need to have a Late to the Party category for the blog) jumping on the Dr. Who bandwagon. Or rather, Tardis-Wagon. Band-Tardis?

I finally started watching. I'm on Season 5, Eleventh Doctor, Matt Smith. I really struggled through the first/Eccleston season (okay, I know it's not the first season of all time and relative dimension but you know what I mean) and I only persevered because my daughters assured me that soon all would be well and better than well.

Well.

It took me awhile because at first I was just so irritated by cheesy effects and slimy monsters. The Daleks drove me batty and I wasn't having much fun with the Cybermen either. Goo and metal? That's all you've got, Universe?

But somewhere around the intersection of David Tennant and Rose, at the corner of Martha and Donna, something clicked. I stopped saying, "Are you sure this will get better? I mean, yeah, I liked that one about Rose and her father, and 'The Empty Child' haunted and touched, but...." and I began to sheepishly murmur, "I think I kind of completely love this show." Sometimes I'd add, "Except when it's slimy. Can we have more time travel, please?" Then River Song would show up, totally out of time-sync, and I'm all, "That's what I'm talkin' about."

I'm still moving slowly through it, as I watch only when I'm working out. (Clearly, I don't work out enough.) At any rate, yesterday I watched "Vincent and the Doctor." Yes, I knew I was being emotionally manipulated ...

... but I didn't care one bit.

I began to love Vincent Van Gogh  -- when? I can't even remember exactly when it started. I love him the way I love coffee and breathing. He just is, has always been. He was the first artist who spoke to my heart on a level I couldn't articulate. My tattered copy of Dear Theo: The Autobiography of Vincent Van Gogh still lives on a bookshelf, having survived a number of book purges over the years. I have more books about Van Gogh than anyone needs. I didn't see his work in person until I was in my 40s, and I remember the moment vividly. The beauty I had detected in two dimensions -- on posters and in books -- leapt to life, blazing. The strokes, the texture, the color... I couldn't stop the tears. The painting wasn't even a favorite, and it was certainly a sedate one by all standards. Still.

(If you're late to everything, too, and haven't seen the episode, and don't want spoilers, stop reading now....)

Obviously I was fully primed for this episode to touch me and it did, hitting all the right chords -- exploring what is inexplicable about art and beauty, cocking its head to see how an artist experiences the world, eliciting sighs at the picture of lying in a field, holding hands with your best friend and Vincent, looking up at a starry sky, considering how we are connected.

Perhaps the most significant detail for me was the episode's monster. Sometimes, with Dr. Who, I think, do we have to have a monster? Can't we just time-travel today?

But ... an invisible monster that only Van Gogh could see? As a depression metaphor, it was a brilliant little detail that touched me as Van Gogh touches me: quietly, and with tears. It was the only kind of monster that would or should work with a Vincent episode, and it was the monster that, despite their attempts to cheer and assure him, The Doctor and Amy couldn't fully vanquish either.

I think I kind of completely love this show.

I have to go work out now.

Can You Guess What We Recently Saw?

Monsters, Inc. figures: supplied by Ramona. 

Sadly, we do not have a Mike Wazowski. 

Atticus stepped in. 

A honeydew melon and a Sharpie can solve any number of problems. 

(Monsters University wasn't quite up to the level of the original, but we enjoyed it.) 

Today's Lesson on Linguistics

Fun stuff for word nerds!

This link shows 22 maps, put together by PhD student Joshua Katz. The maps illustrate just how we Americans are separated by a common language.

How do you pronounce "caramel"? Or "crayon"? What word do you use for "a sweetened carbonated beverage"? (Apparently I am out of sync with the rest of the midwest, because I call it "soda," not "pop." Also? I call mayonnaise "man-aze" which makes me geographically incorrect.)

"You're more of a Domestic Cat Mom."

Yesterday I mentioned to my daughters that I'd read this article about the ways in which the children of "tiger moms" are, generally speaking, unhappier than non-tiger cubs.*

It got me thinking about the definition of success, and about how my definitions have changed over the years. There was a time when "success" for me would have meant following my dream to become a stage actress. But as I explored that possibility, I became disenchanted because when I seriously examined what I was doing, I realized I got bored during the run of a play. While it was always fun at the outset -- the read-through, the first rehearsal, figuring out the character -- to play a Tennessee Williams villain, or to take up smoking in an effort to make inhaling look realistic to the audience, in the end it all just got a little dull.

When I set out on a quest to find a new spark, a purpose, the meaning of life, my definitions grew fuzzy for a long time before they came back into focus. I remember -- sometime in my twenties, I think -- a friend's mother saying that she was worried about me. I was "just drifting." I had no plan for success, no goals. Where was I going, she wondered?

I didn't know where I was going either. I was worried about me, too. If I had crafted a plan entitled, "How to Achieve Happiness, Relative Emotional Stability, a Strong Marriage, and a Highly Imperfect But Fulfilling Life," that plan would not have included, "Have a conversion to Christianity, abandon everything you thought you believed, become a Catholic, give up birth control, have babies and miscarriages, and trust God even when life is annoyingly hard and challenging." Point A and Point B would not have appeared, in my previous perceptions, to ever, ever merge.

But when I decided that my priority in life -- my one thing, my definition of success -- was to figure out what I did and did not believe in, other things began to fall into place. My faith, my marriage, my family ... that's my hierarchy. It's the kind of hierarchy that Atticus and I have tried to teach our daughters, too. Get things figured out with God and the rest will eventually follow. Writing, for example.

That doesn't mean that life won't require discernment, courage, the discipline of an education, or that our children can skip sifting through the often-confusing choices available to young women in the career and family arenas. It doesn't mean their lives are predetermined, predestined, or guaranteed to be easy. It simply means that if they define success in spiritual terms -- How's stuff going with us, God? Are we good? -- the worldly terms don't much matter, and the worldly choices become a little clearer. A successful life might end up including stage acting, or it might not. It might mean being an at-home mom, or teaching in a public school and hearing kids tell you that you made a difference to them. It could mean a loud, public life, or a quiet, hidden one.

Their one thing. That's what I want my daughters to figure out, know, understand. And I can't, tiger-mom style, force that on them or on anyone.

~~~~~

"Thank you for not being a tiger mom," Anne-with-an-e said.

"Yeah, you're more of a Domestic Cat Mom," added Betsy.

I can live with that.

*Obviously, it's not quite as simple as that, and the article is worth a read. 

Without Homework or Tests? How Is That POSSIBLE?

It's fascinating to me, the ways in which people react to what they consider (or don't consider) an education.

This headline says, "Photo Series Explores What Happens When Kids Don't Do Homework." A little foreboding, no? Kind of a, "This is your brain on drugs," feel to that one. The headline for the Toronto Star article is a little more straightforward: "Children of Toronto alternative school, 40 years later." I also saw a tabloid headline that screamed, "What did the children who went to school WITHOUT homework or tests do next? Students of free-spirited experiment 40 years later."

(Without homework or tests?! Horrors! Witness the freaks of educational nature as they grapple with pencils and backpacks, moaning, "I don't know how to fill in the bubbles on this hellish thing called an answer sheet!")

Anyway. Got that out of my system.

To get the full story, rather than just the snippets that Yahoo or a tabloid would have you to read, visit Michael Barker's website. He's a photographer who attended the Alpha Alternative School in Toronto in the 1970s. With Ariel Fielding (who provided the text and interviews for the project and also attended the school), he has put together a fun and interesting "Then-and-Now" scrapbook of lives and experiences. It isn't definitive; it isn't meant to be. It's not a treatise on education or an in-depth examination of alternative methods. It's just a handful of stories -- stories of people who happened to go to a school that was different.

It was worth visiting the website for the full essays -- especially due to things like this Yahoo snippet from Flannery Fielding, for example. In the Yahoo bit:

She says, "I think most kids at Alpha had a sense of supe­ri­or­ity about the free­dom we had -- to learn, to play, to be our­selves — although for me and my friends, that even­tu­ally trans­formed into a kind of dread about what we might be miss­ing, how hard it was going to be for us in the 'real world.'"

On Barker's site, her quote goes immediately on to say,

From ALPHA I went on to two dif­fer­ent alter­na­tive junior high schools and then to a ‘reg­u­lar’ high school, which was ter­ri­fy­ing at first but turned out to be eas­ier to adapt to than I expected (although I never really got the hang of home­work.)

Fielding affectionately recalls the freedom and joy the school provided. She also honestly mentions that, "The down­side of that free­dom to do what I liked was less expo­sure to math and other sub­jects, and I think that worked to rein­force my sense that I wasn’t good at math or French."

Another former student, Maggie Marelli, said

I’d say ALPHA gave me a sense of com­mu­nity and of myself as a val­ued per­son, with things to con­tribute, and also the abil­ity to explore and learn in an inde­pen­dent fash­ion. The dis­ad­van­tage was prob­a­bly that, as a kid who really hated aca­d­e­mics, I took every chance I could to avoid the for­mal learn­ing ses­sions, and thus have some holes in my foun­da­tional knowl­edge.

Gaps.
Early influences.
Weirdness in school or out.
Trying to pin down the definition of an education.
Questions about what might have been different had we gone to a different school.

We all have those. I went to public schools for twelve years (thirteen, I guess, if you count half-days and naps at Kindergarten, where the main thing I remember learning is that I loved to quote my Kindergarten teacher to my siblings: "Mrs. Nelson says it's not polite to interrupt.") I still have gaps in my foundational knowledge. I always will. One thing I've learned is that learning is lifelong.

Marelli also said:

At my main­stream high school I was quite shocked by the stu­dents vs. teach­ers men­tal­ity, which seemed like such a bar­rier to learn­ing....

I believe the demo­c­ra­tic nature of ALPHA has made me a more sen­si­ble per­son. I also see that qual­ity quite strongly in the peo­ple I went to ALPHA with, now that we are all grown up....

ALPHA was a home to me, and my class­mates were a fam­ily. I don’t think you can have a bet­ter start in life than that.

I didn't closely read the comments on the Yahoo page -- I skimmed just a handful of them and some were exactly what one would predict: criticisms of the school, triumphant proclamations that alternatives will never produce math geniuses, snarky comments about the lack of doctors and lawyers among the eight subjects. But there also seemed to be a contingent who saw the project (even that edited piece of the project) for what it was: a snapshot. A look at some interesting, sometimes average people. Some quirky, some "normal" (whatever that is.) The acknowledgement that some people will thrive in an alternative educational environment and others will not. An affectionate look back at a unique place and time. A brief, human reflection.

Just as the Alpha School Project was not meant to be an exhaustive research piece, my musings on homeschooling are not definitive proclamations. I never claim that our way of educating is the best possible of all ways and I won't claim that we don't have gaps, are academically superior, that we have all the answers, or never take a misstep.

What I can claim is that our eclectic methods work for us, and our situation is really all I can speak to. We are average, sometimes-interesting, sometimes quirky, sometimes normal people making our way in the world. We're figuring it out as we go. We give each other room to make mistakes. We love each other. We forgive.

And, as Maggie Marelli said, "I don't think you can have a better start in life than that."

And one more share ...

Great post from Betty Duffy.

(It's a fallen world, folks. Just accept it.)

What We Don't See

Shared by my beautiful friend, Lissa:
(Made me cry, too, Lissa.)

Bits and Pieces of Our Days (and Why I Wasn't Here for Poetry Friday)

On Poetry Friday, we opted for live theater over bloggy verse. We went to see a play based on The Borrowers (one of our Homeschool Book Club picks last year.) The production was at The Rose, which is a gorgeous old theater in Omaha:

I have to admit that I wasn't entirely convinced that they solved the problems inherent in trying to portray the size difference between Human Beans and Borrowers. But we all enjoyed the show, and I had fun talking nonstop with a great friend on the way to and from the show.

*****

How about a great TV show? Call the Midwife is perfect. Touching, richly detailed, beautiful. Atticus and I are watching together, and we both love it.

*****

A fun TV show? I watch Once Upon a Time with Anne-with-an-E and Betsy. Loving season two more than we did season one.

*****

Speaking of Anne-with-an-E, she recently turned 19. I'm in a bit of shock. She was 12 when I started this blog, so my stories about her have necessarily changed a bit. Here's a story that hadn't changed for four years, but finally changed today: her braces finally came off. Four years.  This girl is a trouper. A 19-year-old, fabulous trouper.

*****

I am reading I Capture the Castle. I am loving I Capture the Castle. I Capture the Castle has captured  me.  I enjoy saying, "I Capture the Castle." Possibly because I've always wanted to live in a castle. A quaint, crumbling, cavernous castle. With electricity, of course.

A perfectly charming way to start my day

With this article:
Thinking Too Much About Chalk.

Thanks for the link, Atticus.

TV and Movie Talk

Last month, we got rid of cable TV in order to save a little money, so now we watch stuff past its prime via Netflix or Hulu. This is working extremely well (and thanks to my friend Beth for telling me about Roku, too) since we don't mind watching stuff a day or two later (or years later, in some cases.)

There are two situations in my life that make me want to turn to TV:

1. The end of a long day. Dare I say this is many days? Not always, and much more often on the weekends. But, at the end of a long or stressful day I like to curl up next to Atticus and watch something we both really enjoy. Add a glass of red wine. Perfect mix.

2. Working out. I have this thing called a Fitness Flyer (although I always forget its name and refer to it as the "Flexible Flyer" which leads Atticus to tease me about going sledding) which I bought from the Magical Mrs. M. for $15. It's the best $15 I ever spent, though I didn't fully appreciate that until this past Lent, when I added 45-minute workouts to my life. In the past, I couldn't get beyond the 20-30 minute mark on the Flyer without some pain in my back. This Lent, I pushed through the pain and extended the workouts to 45 minutes, many more times per week, and I got beyond the pain-in-the-back. Who knew that actually strengthening those back muscles would do the trick?

Anyway, while I'm working out/sledding, I watch something. Preferably, a show that will make me pine for the next episode, so that I'll be motivated to work out again.

Here's what I am/we are watching these days:

TV:
Awake 
Atticus and I watch this one together. I'm a Jason Isaacs fan, so it had me at " ... starring Jason Isaacs"  but I love the premise and so far love the execution. The last two episodes slowed down a bit for me, though, and I'm not sure they can sustain what they've started, but I'm enjoying watching it unfold.

Once Upon a Time
Anne-with-an-e, Betsy, me. Anne and I were late to this one, though.  To catch up with Betsy, I watched an episode a day, during workouts. I loved what Haley said the other day about it. I agree with her, but mostly come out on the awesome side and have a lot of fun with it.

Friday Night Lights
Atticus and me. (Why, yes, we are always late to every party ... how did you know? I'm years behind on Lost, too, but more about that in a minute.) The football! (That is not a cheerleading kind of exclamation point.) The obsessions! The bad choices! More bad choices! Pathos, pathos everywhere, and not a clear head in sight!

After the first few episodes, I turned to Atticus and said, "I can't decide if I like it or if it makes me want to kill myself."

We watched the entire first season, but I may be done with it. It's just so exhausting to watch that many people wreck their lives. Still, I kinda want to find out what happens with Landry ...


Lost
Watched by me, during workouts and by Anne and Betsy whenever they can get their hands on a laptop computer. Couldn't get Atticus to watch it with me when it was on, and I still can't get him interested. I'm hooked. Anne and Betsy are almost a whole season ahead of me.

So don't tell me anything. Even though I kinda know where it's going because I read too many blogs and have too many friends who watched it for six years.


Movies:

Atticus and I have recently watched:

The Trip:  Funny (especially the dueling Michael Caine voices), touching, thoughtful ... surprised me.

Midnight in Paris: Roger Ebert said, "This film is sort of a daydream for American lit majors." I couldn't have said it better. Perfect date night movie for Atticus and me. How often can you say, "Hemingway had me laughing out loud!" I loved this movie. Pass the popcorn.

Bright Star: Atticus and I watched this several months ago, and Anne and Betsy watched it very recently. John Keats, the love of his life, pining, death ... A different kind of perfect date night movie. Lovely. Jane Campion makes everything waft as in a celestial dream.

To Serve Them All My Days
This was one of the first shows Atticus and I ever watched together, back when we were dating oh-so-many years ago. A few months back, we watched it again and though it's now rather dated, it's really lovely, and funny and poignant and I loved it as much as I did the first time around.

***

Finally, I have to mention that Anne and Betsy recently watched Tootsie. Now they know why Atticus and I have said the following things for years (things which previously baffled them):

"Quick, quick, like little bunnies!"

"You were a tomato! A tomato doesn't have logic! It can't move!"

"You've got a Howard Johnson's thing going."

"It is for the money, isn't it? It's not so you can wear these little outfits?"

***

Disclaimer: Some of the above have varying levels of language and violence that might be offensive to some, so be sure to check them out for yourself before deciding what's appropriate for you, your kids, etc.

Fr. Robert Barron on The Hunger Games

After I posted yesterday, I was led to this video link, in which Fr. Barron talks about The Hunger Games, and today I found this written piece (he is basically saying the same thing in each, so you may watch or read.)

And here is today's update from him, a terrific one at that:

A Little Bit About The Hunger Games While I Decide Whether Or Not I Want to Write About The Hunger Games

Oh, The Hunger Games. 

There will be spoilers here, so if you've not read the book or seen the movie ...

If you don't want it spoiled for you ...

If you'd rather click away now ...

There.

Have I scrolled us down far enough to avoid spoilers?

I.

Hope.

So.

This book series has been part of my life since 2009. I read the first two books, then spent some time discerning whether or not my daughters (one of them is extremely sensitive) would even want to read them. In the end, I let them decide, knowing that we'd be discussing the books all the way. And we did. At two in the morning, for example, when Betsy finished reading the last book in the trilogy.

I've read that some people are upset because these books are "about kids killing kids." (The horror of the "games" is part of the storytelling vehicle, but that is not what the books are about. And, certainly, we are meant to be disturbed by it. Deeply so.)

I've heard from other people, fans, who were upset because the series did not have a tidy or happy ending (a happy ending would be impossible. War does not lead to happy endings.)

I've read comments by those who are horrified about "a girl who volunteers" to fight in the arena. (Katniss is not an eager or willing participant -- but when her sister's name comes up in the lottery, Katniss, desperate to save her sister, volunteers to go in Prim's place, effectively offering up her life for her sister. There is no greater love....)

You can see I'm not convinced by the naysayers. I see this series as political and cultural critique. It is about war and the ways in which power corrupts. It's about selling one's soul for a political end; it explores media manipulation, propaganda, the ethics (or lack of any) in reality TV.  It's about "bread and circuses" -- the country is not named Panem for nothing. (And, while we're on the subject of a circus, does anyone else think we already live in the world of the Panem Capitol's fashion sense?) The books ask important questions about personal choices, knowing who we are and what we want to be -- they examine the lives of people trying desperately to hold on to morality and truth in hellish circumstances.

Initially, as we are drawn into Katniss' world and the depravity of the bloodsport of the annual "games," we also find ourselves on the side of those who are plotting a rebellion against the Capitol. It's tempting to imagine a noble group of souls banding together to overthrow the evil President Snow. We want them to be noble, anyway.

We want them to be like "the boy with the bread" -- Peeta, the baker's son, who said in the first book,

"I want to die as myself. Does that make any sense?" he asks.

I shake my head. How could he die as anyone but himself?

"I don't want them to change me in there. Turn me into some kind of monster that I'm not."

We want a Peeta to be in charge -- someone who can see that holding on to goodness is worth something. But when in the final book of the trilogy we meet the rebels of District 13, we find a highly rigid and militaristic group, led by the cold and calculating President Coin.

Yeah.

This is a war, and people are in it to win power. District 13, we discover, is capable of doing everything of which the Capitol was capable, right down to staging more games for revenge. President Coin is the flip side of the conflict, and the line between the good guys and bad guys has become maddeningly blurred.

We see characters making choices throughout the series that will define who they ultimately will be. Katniss's friend, Gale, hardened from years of pain, cruelty and loss, and another character (Beetee, from Catching Fire and Mockingjay) used their natural talents — combining their brilliance, hunting strategies, and battle tactics — in ways that were chilling, and were portrayed as such.

As he became more deeply involved in the rebellion, Gale chose to join a world that ultimately Katniss wouldn't accept or live in.

There is an amazing juxtaposition of songs in these books — there is one called “The Hanging Tree,” a song that Gale and Katniss share from their past. Its lyrics are an invitation to rebellion and death. They represent the fire of Gale — the fire that Katniss, in the end, rejected.

And then there is a sweet, hopeful lullaby that is used a couple of times in the series. Katniss sings it to Rue (a little girl who was forced to fight in the arena and was murdered by a brutal participant) as Rue is dying. Katniss then decorates Rue's tiny body with wildflowers and her tears. This is one of the most moving scenes in the entire series, and it's the one that blew me away. A book "about kids killing kids" shows me this? That life is precious? Yes.

We later find out, in the epilogue of the final book, that Katniss sings the lullaby now to her own children. For Katniss, the lullaby always represented hope, peace, and a kind of rebirth, which she found, in as full a way as one so wounded could, with Peeta.

The trilogy does not end "happily" exactly. Peeta and Katniss are psychologically damaged and scarred and always will be, as so many victims of wars are. And yet they married, they had children ... they did everything they could to embrace hope. There is, ultimately, a life-affirming ending, if a melancholy one.

As for our heroine, I have heard people say that they find Katniss unlikeable. There were times throughout the series when I was irritated with the character for her indecision and her flip-flopping thoughts and feelings, too.

Then I realized that Collins quite deliberately chose first-person/present tense for the book — something that is sadly but understandably lost in the movie — for exactly this reason: By living the story moment to moment with Katniss, we see her immediate responses, good, bad, and ugly. We’re privy to every awful thought that flits into her head (just the kinds of thoughts we have) and every loving impulse (just as we have) and every wrestling match, debate, and bit of confusion she experiences (just like what we endure in our heads, too.)

Katniss doesn’t act on every ugly thought or every generous impulse, and she doesn’t give voice to every mental wrestling match. Neither do we. But we have them, don't we? And in seeing her mental process, we can identify with her -- with the real Katniss that no one else sees as fully as we do.

It makes her both less likable and more so. It makes her human.

And this is YA literature, you say? Whatever happened to redheaded girls who talk too much?

Yeah, I know. And I'm not trying to convince you to read the books. I'm just saying that there's more to them than meets the eye.

So, here's the thing. I loved these books. But yes, they required loads of discussion with my daughters. Great discussions that I'm terribly glad we had. My daughters and I take these books seriously. So, yes, it bothers us a bit to think of things like gimmicky movie showings complete with games (which couldn't encourage anything but a circus atmosphere, could they?) and school re-enactments (Really?) and the fact that some kids probably laughed or cheered when certain characters in the movie met their end. But here's the other thing: the fact that there are a handful of kids in every movie theater reacting or laughing inappropriately doesn't change the fact that there are good, serious books and movies out there to be read, watched, and discussed with our kids.

Am I sad or concerned that many, many parents aren't discussing these books with their kids, and aren't discerning appropriate ages for kids to read them? Yes, I am. Just as I'm sad and concerned that many parents aren't reading anything with their kids, or talking to them about anything at all. Suzanne Collins is not the problem.

And, umm, about my post title? I guess I decided to write about The Hunger Games.

"Ten Things I Will Not Think About in My Last Seconds of Life"

Poets and Writers Magazine regularly posts creative writing prompts on their website. I sometimes forward good or relevant ideas to my teens and to our writing circle. (We have a teen writing group that meets once a week.)

This week, on the 29th, the non-fiction prompt was "Ten Things I Will Not Think About in My Last Seconds of Life."  Their direction:

Give yourself ten minutes to freewrite the list, then turn the list into an essay. It can be funny, serious, or strange; the points may be connected or not. The important part is to allow yourself to linger on each item in your list and let it grow into its full potential, perhaps keeping it mind for an essay of its own. For this assignment, make sure to incorporate all ten things from the list into your essay.

Essays could, I suppose, grow out of these ideas down the road, but for now, here's my quick take:

1. The cobwebs in the corners of my house.

2. Wasted years. No year has been wasted, because every, single one has made me who I am now, and who I will be when I die.

3. What kind of car I drove. I'll be happy that I never cared. Not one bit.

4. My resume.

5. No regrets about my choice of spouse. He is perfect for me. I am not perfect in any way, and he puts up with me anyway. I am mad about him.

6. My kitchen's design.

7. Homeschooling. I can't imagine ever being sorry we made the sacrifices. And -- so far, twelve years in -- my kids can't imagine ever changing the paradigm, so I don't think it'll be on my radar in my last moments unless it is to say, "I'm so happy we created the family we had," followed by a contented sigh.

8. What shape the yard is in.

9. "I wish I'd taken the time to read poetry." Nope. Won't be on the list.

10. Coffee. I won't have to think about it because I'll have a cup in my hand.

Dear Google Reader,

I don't even know where to begin.

We had a great thing going. Oh, sure, I know you had the same thing with just-about-everyone-else-on-the-internet, but that was okay with me. Actually, that was kind of the point. Sharing. Y'know? It was everything to me. How could you have missed that our relationship was all about the sharing? You never really listened to me, did you?

When you went through this mid-life redesign and pulled the plug on the Share feature, I was, to put it mildly, shocked. It took days just to get over the denial. ("You aren't really doing this. Tell me you're not doing this. If I just pretend you're not doing this, you'll come to your senses Won't you?")

Then there was the anger ("You will not do this! I will not allow this! You do not even understand what you're doing, do you?! Google, are you listening to me? I will not be ignored, Google!" )

Then came the bargaining. ("C'mon, G., I mean, c'mon. Let's just go back to the way it used to be. We were a team, an effortless waltz, can't you see that? I'll dump Facebook for good. Really. Totally. I'll never click a Like button again, and I'll tell everyone I've ever met about Google+ if you'll just give me back the Share bookmarklet. Please?")

You know what came next, right? And you know that you caused it. Yeah. The depression. Don 't deny your culpability here. I couldn't even blog about it -- every key stroke was too much effort. What was there to say, anyway? It was pointless. You weren't coming back and my life was forever altered. I had to learn a new way of being.

And finally? Acceptance.Yeah, I made it. I get it. You don't really care about my needs. I've moved on.

And now I'm going to share with my friends how I moved on, and how they can, too. First, I have to thank Lissa, who was (you cad) more heartbroken than I was. She suggested the Tumblr part of this idea, and for that, I must thank her. Her empathetic blog posts about our messy relationship were a salve for my denying, angry, bargaining, depressed self.

But (hey, I'm no longer bitter) back to what I did:

I already had AddThis on my browser. If you don't have it, it's quick and easy to add -- an effortless way to email links, send them to Twitter, Facebook, Google+, etc.

Then, I followed up on Lissa's idea about Tumblr for links. I quickly and easily set up a Tumblr page: My Shared Stuff. 

Then I went to the Tumblr Goodies page (just scroll down to "Embed your blog") and found the code to add to my sidebar so that you can now see my shared items from Tumblr here. (See over there? In my left sidebar? Under "What I'm Reading"? That's where you used to be, Google Share.)

Now, all I have to do to fling anything from  the web far and wide (all the places we used to go together, Google) is click on my AddThis button, click on my Tumblr button, and -- Ta-da! -- I'm a new woman.

(And, actually, it's even quicker than that -- on the Tumblr Goodies page, I found, right at the top, a "Share on Tumblr" bookmarklet. Just drag that to your bookmark bar and you'll be sharing in one click. You can skip AddThis altogether.)

It's a whole new relationship and I'm kind of walking on air here.

Oh, and as for you, Google Shared Items?

I'm going to wear red to your funeral.

~~~~~~~~~~

Updated to add a quick clarification:

I have not dumped Google Reader for reading, subscribing, staying current with favorite blogs, etc. I do not want to bother with a new reader, new subscription set-up, etc.  That's too much trouble and work. (Although, I did go ahead and set up a FriendFeed account, if that makes it easier for anyone else to share posts, etc. Still haven't fully investigated FriendFeed, though -- just an FYI.)

What I truly missed was an easy way to share an item from either a blog I'm already subscribed to, or from a random page I happened to land on. That's what Google Reader's universal Share bookmark allowed -- sharing from any page without first subscribing to it. That's the biggest convenience lost through this change.

Embedding Tumblr on my blog has resurrected that ability. I can now use either "Add This" or "Share on Tumblr"  to share anything at all, subbed or not, and it will end up both on my blog and on my Tumblr page (which can also be subbed to via a feed.)


(Photo thanks to Stock.xchng.)

Ramona's "Miserable" Version of Facebook

Ramona hasn't seen Les Miserables, but she's heard enough of the story (and she's heard the music again and again and again ....) from her sisters to get a pretty good idea of what's going on.

Yesterday, she wrote this:


LES MIZBOOK

Username: 24601
Password: i.hate.Javert.

ENTER

Welcome, 24601. Not you? No problem. Click here.


Recent posters: Eponine, Javert......


Javert:
Oh, how I hate you, 24601!


Visit Javert’s page


Eponine:
Eponine changed her relationship status from “Single” to “It exists in my head.”


Visit Eponine’s page


Marius:
Marius changed his relationship status from “I’m looking, stop pestering me!” to “Walking on air.”


Visit Marius’s page


Javert:
Javert changed his relationship status from “Dumped” to “No time for girls.”

Bits and Pieces of Our Days

~ Ted Kooser on Wednesday night. At first we thought Ramona was going to be the only young child there. Eventually two or three others showed up, and a handful of other young people, which cheered me, because how often do you get the chance, when you live in Nebraska, to listen to a former U.S. Poet Laureate? Who's a Nebraskan? Anyway, a little girl in the back row asked, "How many books have you wrote?" Kooser repeated the question with a slight tweak: "How many books have I written?" He taught English for only one year before he took a job in insurance, but there are some things up with which no former English teacher will put.

He was humble, amusing, charming and gracious. A lovely evening.

Did you know he wrote a children's book?

~~~~~

All three of my girls helped with Vacation Bible School last week. Anne-with-an-e and Betsy were the skit leaders and Betsy, aka Patty the Panda, was much loved and much hugged by numerous preschoolers and kindergarteners. She was rewarded with a virus which knocked her down for three days.  She suffers for her art.

~~~~~

Because they know I love him.
Because they know that I know what it is to have been dead and to be Alive Again.
Because they ripped a piece of paper off scratch pad that was in Anne-with-an-e's purse and got in line for autographs after the Matt Maher concert:

Why do I love my kids?

Because.

~~~~~