Life happens in waves, swirls, and especially spirals.
We learn a lesson and assimilate parts of it,
only to forget some of what we learned.
Then we come back around
to the same point on the circle,
to the same lesson,
to relearn what we forgot.
Only it isn't really a circle,
which, in its own way, is static.
We see that what we've really come to
is the same point on a different plane,
a different depth.
The previous lesson is reinforced,
the lost remembered,
and new material introduced.
And we begin the process again,
going ever deeper
with each passing of the original point.
If we're paying attention,
our understanding and experience
bring us to much richer depths as well,
and the spiral has not been wasted on us.
Tuesday, February 21, 2012
Thursday, February 16, 2012
Girl Scout Cookies
Well, yesterday we picked them up. All 231 boxes of them. My industrious Junior Girl Scout immediately set to work, with the help of her six-year-old sister, putting together the individual orders in bags of all sizes. She carefully marked each bag with its future owner's name and the total amount due for the cookies since, of course, Girl Scouts don't collect any money until the boxes are being handed over.
All very well and good; I cannot fault her for being on top of things right away.
My house, however, groans a different tune. I realized when I looked round the corner from the kitchen where I was making dinner that my living and dining rooms have become The Cookie Depot. There is a motley assortment of bags and boxes all over the floor, as far as the eyes can see or the feet can trip. Now, this would not ordinarily be a problem, but it so happens that tomorrow evening we are having friends over for dinner, and the next day will see another friend coming to spend some time after having been away for quite a while. And the soonest we can really begin to distribute the cookies is, of course, the day after the second visit. Sigh.
What can I say? Nothing, really. My scout sold more than any other girl in her 20-girl troop. We applauded her for a successful cookie season. We want her to feel proud of the job she has done, and to complain about the spread of carbohydrate happiness at this point would only seem to negate a portion of all that praise. So, we'll step around cookies, help her collect and keep track of her funds, and say nothing much. It will mostly be over and done by Monday anyway.
But oh, the timing of it all. I'm sure our friends will understand.
All very well and good; I cannot fault her for being on top of things right away.
My house, however, groans a different tune. I realized when I looked round the corner from the kitchen where I was making dinner that my living and dining rooms have become The Cookie Depot. There is a motley assortment of bags and boxes all over the floor, as far as the eyes can see or the feet can trip. Now, this would not ordinarily be a problem, but it so happens that tomorrow evening we are having friends over for dinner, and the next day will see another friend coming to spend some time after having been away for quite a while. And the soonest we can really begin to distribute the cookies is, of course, the day after the second visit. Sigh.
What can I say? Nothing, really. My scout sold more than any other girl in her 20-girl troop. We applauded her for a successful cookie season. We want her to feel proud of the job she has done, and to complain about the spread of carbohydrate happiness at this point would only seem to negate a portion of all that praise. So, we'll step around cookies, help her collect and keep track of her funds, and say nothing much. It will mostly be over and done by Monday anyway.
But oh, the timing of it all. I'm sure our friends will understand.
Wednesday, February 15, 2012
Coffee, Antiques, and Homeschooling in Leesburg
Since August my two younger daughters and I have been coming to Leesburg for a weekly class that the older one is taking as part of her home school curriculum for this year. A 45-minute trek, one way, for us could have made the weekly trip a real ordeal were it not for the fact that we have found so much to do while we are there.
I usually try to get in some work with the K-1st grader while the other is in her class. In the beginning that meant going straight to the fantastic, truly state-of-the-art Rust Library in downtown Leesburg. But then we discovered King Street Coffee, a delightful little coffee shop right on King Street (of course), populated by antique furniture, works for purchase by local artists, and friendly regulars, people we feel as if we have come to know despite the fact that we really haven't.
My guilty secret here is that every week at King Street Coffee I buy a sugar cookie and whole milk at 10:00 a.m. every time for no other reason that that my six-year-old asks for "the usual" when we go there. I buy coffee in a mug for myself, and I even have my own little punch card that will entitle me to a freebie the next time I'm in there. The owner, Kimberly, is quite friendly and accommodating, and the six-year-old asks to go there every week, even though she is usually too "shy" to speak to anyone.
We take small puzzles, books to read, cards for games, and we just sit there. Right there, with the puzzles, books, and cards, you have some very important learning tools.
Through puzzles, we learn spacial relations and attention to detail; we learn about color, art, and composition; we learn patience and the satisfaction of a job well done. Last, but certainly not least, we have a chance to work together and enjoy one another's company doing something relaxing, which is no small feat in our busy schedule.
Books, of course, teach whatever you want them to teach. Reading and writing are the first items that come to mind. Beyond that, the sky truly is the limit. Today we learned about cheetahs, pandas, and how obnoxious a bossy, if fictional, sibling can be (and, hopefully, to avoid being one).
A good game of cards can teach a few things as well. Not to worry, we haven't pulled out any pennies or nickels, so gambling is not what we're learning here. Strategy, however, as well as facility with the basic digits, paying attention, a little bit of memory work (One does have to remember what cards have been played by one's opponent, after all, and to guess how many she might be holding.), and taking turns are on the agenda.
Who says that just living life is not an education?
As for history, we have recently begun taking delight in a local antiques shop on Route 50, not far from my older daughter's class. The owner is incredibly friendly and helpful, even setting aside for the girls any coveted American Girl Doll items that happen to pass through. I have always loved antiques, but at the moment, I am especially fond of them. They are a part of history, after all.
We have observed, up-close and first-hand, the peculiar "honey pot," the wooden box-like contraption that served as a personal, ensuite toilet (chamber pot) in the days before indoor plumbing and septic or sewer systems.
I saw a beautiful old hand drill last week that I had a feeling I should have bought then and there. I was right. It was gone this week when I was finally ready to buy it. I'd like the girls to get into old-fashioned wood working this summer, and I would like to do it without resorting to electricity, which can be dangerous in so many ways for young ones. I'll have to keep looking and be prepared to buy next time. Come to think of it, I didn't see the old school desks when I was last there, either. Sigh.
There are tea carts, dry sinks, buffets, mechanical playing-card shufflers, old glass ink and medicine bottles, old fashioned, outdoor water pump handles, and various and sundry old tools and cooking implements, books, and magazines. Old china sets, drink ware, and marble-topped tables just beckon for someone to claim and love them. I wish I could. Alas, my house is not big enough for people and antiques to reside side-by-side without someone or something ending up broken and kicked to the curb.
Old and not-so-old bedroom sets that I would love to purchase for one of my under-sized rooms claim that they have my name written all over them. I have yet to see my initials anywhere, I tell you, and it makes me want to cry. Not really. I do have more self-control than that. For now.
Recently, I bought a set of eight martini glasses that came from the estate, I am told, of a retired military man. He passed away early last year (Memory Eternal—the Orthodox Christian way of saying "God rest his soul."), and the antiques store found itself awash in rooms full of cherished items collected from around the world over the span of a long military career. He had retired 40 years earlier.
My husband's new old martini glasses were but a dent in the collection. We had been looking for something a little different from the bathtub-sized glasses that nearly fall off the shelves at us in the major chain and department stores, and these fit the bill nicely. They appear to be from at least as long ago as the 1950's, though I have not been able to find any information or photos online that could give me a clue as to their identifying features and age. I can tell that they are glass, not crystal, and we do like them, which, in the end, is all that really matters. I hope the gentleman who once owned them would be happy to know that they are being used and appreciated long after he intially purchased them.
That's one of the things I like about antiques. They connect us to people and places past. We'll never know them, but we have the connection all the same. That connection is one of the reasons I like Leesburg so much, too. And it seems that my children are learning their lessons after all, if their eagerness to return every week is any indication.
I usually try to get in some work with the K-1st grader while the other is in her class. In the beginning that meant going straight to the fantastic, truly state-of-the-art Rust Library in downtown Leesburg. But then we discovered King Street Coffee, a delightful little coffee shop right on King Street (of course), populated by antique furniture, works for purchase by local artists, and friendly regulars, people we feel as if we have come to know despite the fact that we really haven't.
My guilty secret here is that every week at King Street Coffee I buy a sugar cookie and whole milk at 10:00 a.m. every time for no other reason that that my six-year-old asks for "the usual" when we go there. I buy coffee in a mug for myself, and I even have my own little punch card that will entitle me to a freebie the next time I'm in there. The owner, Kimberly, is quite friendly and accommodating, and the six-year-old asks to go there every week, even though she is usually too "shy" to speak to anyone.
We take small puzzles, books to read, cards for games, and we just sit there. Right there, with the puzzles, books, and cards, you have some very important learning tools.
Through puzzles, we learn spacial relations and attention to detail; we learn about color, art, and composition; we learn patience and the satisfaction of a job well done. Last, but certainly not least, we have a chance to work together and enjoy one another's company doing something relaxing, which is no small feat in our busy schedule.
Books, of course, teach whatever you want them to teach. Reading and writing are the first items that come to mind. Beyond that, the sky truly is the limit. Today we learned about cheetahs, pandas, and how obnoxious a bossy, if fictional, sibling can be (and, hopefully, to avoid being one).
A good game of cards can teach a few things as well. Not to worry, we haven't pulled out any pennies or nickels, so gambling is not what we're learning here. Strategy, however, as well as facility with the basic digits, paying attention, a little bit of memory work (One does have to remember what cards have been played by one's opponent, after all, and to guess how many she might be holding.), and taking turns are on the agenda.
Who says that just living life is not an education?
As for history, we have recently begun taking delight in a local antiques shop on Route 50, not far from my older daughter's class. The owner is incredibly friendly and helpful, even setting aside for the girls any coveted American Girl Doll items that happen to pass through. I have always loved antiques, but at the moment, I am especially fond of them. They are a part of history, after all.
We have observed, up-close and first-hand, the peculiar "honey pot," the wooden box-like contraption that served as a personal, ensuite toilet (chamber pot) in the days before indoor plumbing and septic or sewer systems.
I saw a beautiful old hand drill last week that I had a feeling I should have bought then and there. I was right. It was gone this week when I was finally ready to buy it. I'd like the girls to get into old-fashioned wood working this summer, and I would like to do it without resorting to electricity, which can be dangerous in so many ways for young ones. I'll have to keep looking and be prepared to buy next time. Come to think of it, I didn't see the old school desks when I was last there, either. Sigh.
There are tea carts, dry sinks, buffets, mechanical playing-card shufflers, old glass ink and medicine bottles, old fashioned, outdoor water pump handles, and various and sundry old tools and cooking implements, books, and magazines. Old china sets, drink ware, and marble-topped tables just beckon for someone to claim and love them. I wish I could. Alas, my house is not big enough for people and antiques to reside side-by-side without someone or something ending up broken and kicked to the curb.
Old and not-so-old bedroom sets that I would love to purchase for one of my under-sized rooms claim that they have my name written all over them. I have yet to see my initials anywhere, I tell you, and it makes me want to cry. Not really. I do have more self-control than that. For now.
Recently, I bought a set of eight martini glasses that came from the estate, I am told, of a retired military man. He passed away early last year (Memory Eternal—the Orthodox Christian way of saying "God rest his soul."), and the antiques store found itself awash in rooms full of cherished items collected from around the world over the span of a long military career. He had retired 40 years earlier.
My husband's new old martini glasses were but a dent in the collection. We had been looking for something a little different from the bathtub-sized glasses that nearly fall off the shelves at us in the major chain and department stores, and these fit the bill nicely. They appear to be from at least as long ago as the 1950's, though I have not been able to find any information or photos online that could give me a clue as to their identifying features and age. I can tell that they are glass, not crystal, and we do like them, which, in the end, is all that really matters. I hope the gentleman who once owned them would be happy to know that they are being used and appreciated long after he intially purchased them.
That's one of the things I like about antiques. They connect us to people and places past. We'll never know them, but we have the connection all the same. That connection is one of the reasons I like Leesburg so much, too. And it seems that my children are learning their lessons after all, if their eagerness to return every week is any indication.
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