29 June
I lay awake half the night in the thrall of a stunning thunderstorm coming in from the sea. Lightening flashed as often as it does in American movies, and I so knew it was fork lightening, a rarity here and a great fear of mine. Most people would have got up and watched the show - and I know Rose would have liked to were she not asleep - but I huddled under the blankets and counted between flash and crash, like the child I still am in my heart.
When I was younger and we lived on the island, a great storm came in one night. The sky was a fierce purple-black, torn through with fork lightening. My mother and brother sat between the curtains and glass door in the unlit lounge, watching the spectacle, but one look at the lightening searing down towards my house was enough to send me hurrying back to the dubious safety of bed. There was a single yacht in the bay that night, and my mother and brother were praying for him that lightening did not strike his mast. In the morning, we went out and stared at all the secrets and long stolen things thrown up from the sea onto our beach. The yacht was still there, hunkered down; we considered rowing out with hot homemade bread, but you know how people can be.
This morning in suburbia, the wind is still rushing about furiously, picking things up and shaking them, like a great wild dog. Rose is in bed reading over toast and tea, and I am arguing with myself as to the better use of this unexpected free time: get on with the housework or work on my new book? As you can see, I am frittering it instead on blogging. And I don't even have anything to say!
What I ought to be doing is preparing lessons for our day's homeschooling. I organised my box and books last night, and am feeling quite excited about getting back to something more structured (but hopefully still soulful). It's amazing the calm and confidence I have now that I've simply removed one time-consuming extra curricular activity from our schedule. We'll probably still go out that day, but we'll do the fun sorts of things we could not do before because gymnastics claimed the time.
(I read something from another homeschooler yesterday, who was busy judging everyone else in that old, I really don't care what you do but this is what I think is right, way, and she said she would never homeschool if she was a single parent or had an only child. Oh how difficult it must be! And too deviant even for her shabby hippy soul. It actually hurt my feelings, foolishly enough. This morning, as I face the new gap in our socialisation schedule, I worry ... but for too long education has submitted to socialisation, and I can see damage being done. I pray a better balance can be achieved soon. I'm working on it. But still I say gym has to go.)
I am especially pondering our science syllabus for the coming months. I have it dimly in my mind to focus on astronomy and botany - the kindred points of heaven and home. I think it may be a helpful structure for my ten year old student, who is dreaming of wonders but still needing to keep her feet on the ground.
I was going to write more, but all of a sudden my book is stamping its foot, and so I must go. Many blessings to you all today, I hope you get your favourite weather.
I lay awake half the night in the thrall of a stunning thunderstorm coming in from the sea. Lightening flashed as often as it does in American movies, and I so knew it was fork lightening, a rarity here and a great fear of mine. Most people would have got up and watched the show - and I know Rose would have liked to were she not asleep - but I huddled under the blankets and counted between flash and crash, like the child I still am in my heart.
When I was younger and we lived on the island, a great storm came in one night. The sky was a fierce purple-black, torn through with fork lightening. My mother and brother sat between the curtains and glass door in the unlit lounge, watching the spectacle, but one look at the lightening searing down towards my house was enough to send me hurrying back to the dubious safety of bed. There was a single yacht in the bay that night, and my mother and brother were praying for him that lightening did not strike his mast. In the morning, we went out and stared at all the secrets and long stolen things thrown up from the sea onto our beach. The yacht was still there, hunkered down; we considered rowing out with hot homemade bread, but you know how people can be.
This morning in suburbia, the wind is still rushing about furiously, picking things up and shaking them, like a great wild dog. Rose is in bed reading over toast and tea, and I am arguing with myself as to the better use of this unexpected free time: get on with the housework or work on my new book? As you can see, I am frittering it instead on blogging. And I don't even have anything to say!
What I ought to be doing is preparing lessons for our day's homeschooling. I organised my box and books last night, and am feeling quite excited about getting back to something more structured (but hopefully still soulful). It's amazing the calm and confidence I have now that I've simply removed one time-consuming extra curricular activity from our schedule. We'll probably still go out that day, but we'll do the fun sorts of things we could not do before because gymnastics claimed the time.
(I read something from another homeschooler yesterday, who was busy judging everyone else in that old, I really don't care what you do but this is what I think is right, way, and she said she would never homeschool if she was a single parent or had an only child. Oh how difficult it must be! And too deviant even for her shabby hippy soul. It actually hurt my feelings, foolishly enough. This morning, as I face the new gap in our socialisation schedule, I worry ... but for too long education has submitted to socialisation, and I can see damage being done. I pray a better balance can be achieved soon. I'm working on it. But still I say gym has to go.)
I am especially pondering our science syllabus for the coming months. I have it dimly in my mind to focus on astronomy and botany - the kindred points of heaven and home. I think it may be a helpful structure for my ten year old student, who is dreaming of wonders but still needing to keep her feet on the ground.
I was going to write more, but all of a sudden my book is stamping its foot, and so I must go. Many blessings to you all today, I hope you get your favourite weather.
6 comments:
Your thunderstorm does sound nice. We often watch the show on the porch... only driving rain with wind sends us in for cover.
Glad to hear the new book is under way.
Ah, if only it was truly under way. I am all tangled up in possibilities and do not have the confidence to untie them. What to write? Can I write? I go round and round ... A dozen first pages and small gatherings of poetry, but nothing that feels right yet ...
Sarah, I would love to hear more about "soulful education" as I am in the midst of planning for our upcoming year. You may email me if you'd prefer. :)
Wow what an interesting childhood memory. You would not do well with the storms that occur here in the summer.
School sounds like it is something to look forward to with the changes.
Yes, I wish there were another child it might be easier, but if I had had a second anything like my first, I really would be really having a difficult time. She does get lonely, but I was a terribly lonely child and I had ten siblings, the neighborhoods were filled with kids, and I went to school!
Ami is luckier than me, though she may not be able to appreciate it yet. Though not a lot of friends, she has a couple of kids she can connect with intellectually, a couple of local homeschool kids, her cousins, but some of her best friends are adults that share her interests and passions.
Mariposa, thank you so much for this. I was talking to Rose about it this afternoon, she insists she is not lonely, does not want other children's company. Mostly she misses being close to the land at this time :-) I think her loneliness comes more from not having anyone simpatico with whom to spend her time.
Your description of the storm sounds both exciting and a little scary...which I suppose is what makes it exciting. ;) When I lived in Texas, there were often big storms with forked lightening and loud thunder. I would hide under the blankets, as far away from the windows as I could get.
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