my one big idea

Recently I was asked for my one big idea for this year's schooling. What was the one thing among all the other plans that I had determined would be done no matter what, or that solved that one problem to make life run smoother? The speaker had chosen a new kind of diary for a record of certain day-to-day decisions and plans. The other mom in our trio gave her idea but my mind was roving through the corners of the empty room to find something, anything to give as answer. Nothing but dust bunnies came to my rescue. I parried and changed the topic.

Of course, since I'm talking of it now when the conversation happened weeks ago you may be sure that it's bothered me. And to be frank, the question in a different format had been asked by me, of myself many times since late winter/spring. What really are my ideas? Yes, school fills my thoughts. The plans, hopes, desires and work towards those goals. But apart from school: who am I? Do I have any real thoughts of my own? Where are my interests? Do the reasons I give for not pursuing interests hold water? Or am I just thoughtless and uninterested in life? I can hear someone telling me not to be silly and giving me examples. Or maybe someone else has similar thoughts. But I'm good at covering up what goes on inside.

There. You've caught me at a quiet, open moment. I won't go on to reveal more of those inside thoughts right now. Instead I will parry and change the topic.

I just received a book I'd ordered called a Grain of Sand by Dr. Gary Greenberg. It is beautiful. The photographs of each grain of sand are incredible. I pored over the book Saturday morning with my children and my niece and nephew. It was a beautiful time not only of reading of the wonders of sand but also of sharing the wonder with these precious children. And I get to brag because my 10 year old immediately identified three of the grains as coming from a sponge, lime and coral. I wanted to know how he knew that and he replied that it was from reading Life and Her Children by Arabella Buckley, last year's school book.

*Sigh of happiness*

And speaking of books, I have a whole new stack for this year, including my very own copy of the Complete Poetical Works of Wordsworth. I'm sure the other library patrons will be happy to hear that.

I sense in part my life is in a transition from a mother of children to a mother of growing thinkers. Perhaps this has left a void that I want to fill meaningfully instead of just with the junk that hovers at the edge wanting to be sucked in in order to exclude the meaning. The question of who I will be when I grow up has perhaps a different twist. Who will I have been when I look back?

la

Are we ready?

After a day that has followed a week that has followed months of planning for school this fall (ok, I admit it, it seems in fact to be what I do all year round), I find myself unsure of whether I've actually accomplished anything. I can look at the specifics of what I did and feel happy that certain things are taken care of. For our first term I've chosen 4 of 6 Wordsworth poems, I've chosen our Plutarch life and printed it off all ready with the term 2 life chosen but not printed, I've gone through my sister's booklist and found the books I already own so she can borrow them, I've located in my shelves a science book we'll use this year. That's not bad really. And although I had thought to give you the list of things yet to accomplish I think I won't. I'll instead enjoy the feeling of satisfaction from the things completed.

But back to the idea that this is what I do all the time, this planning. I think some of what I describe as planning I should just rename research or teacher development or maybe even just for fun. Because this idea that I must always be planning drags me down since it means I'm never ready for whatever is upcoming. And most of it is fun. Especially those "planning days" that are combined with my friends as an excuse to read each other's books, pick each other's brains and share coffee and chocolate together. And then finish it all off with dinner out. I almost feel guilty for enjoying my work so much even if I don't get paid.

My final thoughts:

The Labourer's Noon-Day Hymn by Wordsworth 1834-1835

Up to the throne of God is borne

The voice of praise at early morn,

And he accepts the punctual hymn

Sung as the light of day grows dim:

Nor will he turn his ear aside

From holy offerings at noontide:

Then here reposing let us raise

A song of gratitude and praise.

What though our burthen be not light,

We need not toil from morn to night;

The respite of the mid-day hour

Is in the thankful Creature's power.

Blest are the moments, doubly blest,

That, drawn from this one hour of rest,

Are with a ready heart bestowed

Upon the service of our God!

Each field is then a hallowed spot,

An altar is in each man's cot,

A church in every grove that spreads

Its living roof above our heads.

Look up to Heaven! the industrious Sun

Already half his race hath run;

He cannot halt nor go astray,

But our immortal Spirits may.

Lord! since his rising in the East,

If we have faltered or transgressed,

Guide, from thy love's abundant source,

What yet remains of this day's course:

Help with thy grace, through life's short day,

Our upward and our downward way;

And glorify for us the west,

When we shall sink to final rest.

la