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| The Ant Farm |
Tuesday, August 31, 2010
Reading Aloud
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Lucy reading The Magician's Nephew to an under-the-weather Snowy. She and Arwen are taking it in turns to further his Narnian education, dismayed as they are by my refusal to do so. And yes, he is listening...
Workers I Love
Bakers, orchardists, general practitioners, writers of thoughtful essays, folk singers, hospital workers, mothers, historians, botanists, beekeepers, classical musicians, embroiderers, the people at HBO, astronomers, librarians, costume designers, aged care nurses, archaeologists, ABC radio presenters/producers/researchers, spinners, astrophysicists, writers of text books, creators of beautiful blogs, medical researchers, owners of independent bookshops, watercolourists, glass makers, preschool teachers, tea plantation workers, reading group helpers, elderly Red Cross ladies, children's book writers, illustrators, James May. Yes, I know he's not a category.
Who would you add ?
Who would you add ?
Monday, August 30, 2010
Scary
Arwen changing her political allegiances upon finding out that one particular leader is a fan of The Lord of the Rings. Let's hope it's not true, because otherwise she's lost to The Other Side for all time. Can't work out if she's loyal ( devotion to J. R.R Tolkien ) or fickle ( abandoning the family culture on a whim ). Lucky she doesn't get the vote for another 7 years...
Does My Head Look Big in This ?
This first novel by Randa Abdel-Fattah is the story of Amal, a Melbourne teen of Palestinian heritage, and her decision to wear the hijab full time. As a novel, it's a great polemic. Worked well with a gaggle of girls at book club, though...plenty to discuss.
My gripe with this book is that it endows migrants with a certain dignity and wisdom - and why not ? - at the same time as it caricatures the Anglo characters. Not a good look when you are writing a novel of (supposed) tolerance. Anglo characters are either rigid and prejudiced ( Amal's headmistress ), sneered at for their political correctness ( the teacher who helps Amal find a room to pray in at school ), shallow (the diet-obsessed friend) or ultimately unable to bridge the cultural divide (the love interest). Migrants who 'integrate' are a source of comedy and fun. 'Authentic' migrants, like Amal and her parents, or the Greek lady next door or those with an relation to the 'other', like a Jewish friend with Orthodox relations are portrayed with much more complexity and sympathy.
I think it's a fault of a first time novelist, writing well about what she knows and far less convincingly about what she must imagine. I've read Abdel-Fattah's second book, Where the Streets have No Name, and it is much better written...at least until she introduces the peace-loving, returned from America, liberal Israelis. Sigh.
There are some lovely things about this book, despite my misgivings. One is the relationship between Amal and her parents. Her Mum and Dad have their faults ( her mother is an obsessive when it comes to home hygiene ) but they are loving, present, reliable, tolerant, sensible and fun, and Amal know it. What a welcome change from the gloom of many of the relationships with parents present in young adult fiction.
The other is the relationship between between Amal and her elderly Greek neighbour. What begins as hostility ends in vulnerability and affection.
The book club girls had a lot to say about Amal and about whether she should wear the hijab, from girls who felt she should follow the promptings of her conscience and wear it full-time to those who though she should be more pragmatic. Many of them made the distinction of the hijab being a cultural choice, rather than a religious one. Several girls thought it was a shame she had to hide her hair as 'because of her ethnic background, it was probably long and thick and glossy'. Hmmm. It prompted an interesting discussion about the wearing of religious symbols - one girl shared that when she attended her Orthodox church, she was required to cover her head, others felt they would be uncomfortable advertising their family faith. We talked about how we felt around girls and women wearing the hijab or the burqua, how some of us felt their modesty made us appear immodest by default.
We were once at the local pool when a mother arrived to swim with her three children in what's called a burkini - a full length swimming costume complete with headscarf. At first I felt happy for her because she could swim instead of watching from the side. I tried to catch her eye, to make a wry remark about splashing, joyful children. She avoided my eye and I could understand why. It must take courage to swim in a burkini, with no guarantees about the comments you'll provoke. She must have loved her water-loving kids a lot, or maybe she didn't see why she should lose the freedom of weightlessness in water because of her choice of clothing or because of the ignorant Australians who might mutter or give her the 'look'.
And suddenly I felt exposed, in my tankini, whereas a moment before I'd felt no more uncovered, no more conscious of my flesh than a fish in water. I felt her coveredness as a critique of my uncoveredness. I wondered if she thought me immodest and that was why she wouldn't meet my eye.
It's a complicated issue. And I guess Does My Head Look Big in This, partisan and clumsy as it sometimes is, at least provoked a discussion, made us question and think, even if our own opinions are still cloudy.
My gripe with this book is that it endows migrants with a certain dignity and wisdom - and why not ? - at the same time as it caricatures the Anglo characters. Not a good look when you are writing a novel of (supposed) tolerance. Anglo characters are either rigid and prejudiced ( Amal's headmistress ), sneered at for their political correctness ( the teacher who helps Amal find a room to pray in at school ), shallow (the diet-obsessed friend) or ultimately unable to bridge the cultural divide (the love interest). Migrants who 'integrate' are a source of comedy and fun. 'Authentic' migrants, like Amal and her parents, or the Greek lady next door or those with an relation to the 'other', like a Jewish friend with Orthodox relations are portrayed with much more complexity and sympathy.
I think it's a fault of a first time novelist, writing well about what she knows and far less convincingly about what she must imagine. I've read Abdel-Fattah's second book, Where the Streets have No Name, and it is much better written...at least until she introduces the peace-loving, returned from America, liberal Israelis. Sigh.
There are some lovely things about this book, despite my misgivings. One is the relationship between Amal and her parents. Her Mum and Dad have their faults ( her mother is an obsessive when it comes to home hygiene ) but they are loving, present, reliable, tolerant, sensible and fun, and Amal know it. What a welcome change from the gloom of many of the relationships with parents present in young adult fiction.
The other is the relationship between between Amal and her elderly Greek neighbour. What begins as hostility ends in vulnerability and affection.
The book club girls had a lot to say about Amal and about whether she should wear the hijab, from girls who felt she should follow the promptings of her conscience and wear it full-time to those who though she should be more pragmatic. Many of them made the distinction of the hijab being a cultural choice, rather than a religious one. Several girls thought it was a shame she had to hide her hair as 'because of her ethnic background, it was probably long and thick and glossy'. Hmmm. It prompted an interesting discussion about the wearing of religious symbols - one girl shared that when she attended her Orthodox church, she was required to cover her head, others felt they would be uncomfortable advertising their family faith. We talked about how we felt around girls and women wearing the hijab or the burqua, how some of us felt their modesty made us appear immodest by default.
We were once at the local pool when a mother arrived to swim with her three children in what's called a burkini - a full length swimming costume complete with headscarf. At first I felt happy for her because she could swim instead of watching from the side. I tried to catch her eye, to make a wry remark about splashing, joyful children. She avoided my eye and I could understand why. It must take courage to swim in a burkini, with no guarantees about the comments you'll provoke. She must have loved her water-loving kids a lot, or maybe she didn't see why she should lose the freedom of weightlessness in water because of her choice of clothing or because of the ignorant Australians who might mutter or give her the 'look'.
And suddenly I felt exposed, in my tankini, whereas a moment before I'd felt no more uncovered, no more conscious of my flesh than a fish in water. I felt her coveredness as a critique of my uncoveredness. I wondered if she thought me immodest and that was why she wouldn't meet my eye.
It's a complicated issue. And I guess Does My Head Look Big in This, partisan and clumsy as it sometimes is, at least provoked a discussion, made us question and think, even if our own opinions are still cloudy.
Sunday, August 29, 2010
Saturday, August 28, 2010
Family Rules
Snowy and I took our lunch round to the oval today, to get a bit of sunshine and to have a change of scenery. Saturday afternoon soccer was in full swing.
Now, I have recently commented on someone else's blog that it is a good idea to confine your comments to what works for your own family and not run around the net making uniformed comments about others, be they homeschoolers, schoolers, religious, atheist....or soccer people.
So in that spirit, I'd like to say that:
1. In our family, it's considered rude to take one's vuvuzela to a soccer match and toot on the stupid thing every three minutes.
2. In our family, it's considered rude to shout at your children whilst they are trying to concentrate on a task. It's also considered rude to put one's head in hands when child fails to respond to shouting.
3. In our family, we like to watch our children take part in an activity, rather than film it to watch later.
4. In our family, it's considered rude to leave your filthy Fanta cans and chip packets at the oval for the council workers to clean up on Monday.
But just to show you we're not complete killjoys, in our family it is absolutely appropriate to cheer wildly when a child scores a goal!
Now, I have recently commented on someone else's blog that it is a good idea to confine your comments to what works for your own family and not run around the net making uniformed comments about others, be they homeschoolers, schoolers, religious, atheist....or soccer people.
So in that spirit, I'd like to say that:
1. In our family, it's considered rude to take one's vuvuzela to a soccer match and toot on the stupid thing every three minutes.
2. In our family, it's considered rude to shout at your children whilst they are trying to concentrate on a task. It's also considered rude to put one's head in hands when child fails to respond to shouting.
3. In our family, we like to watch our children take part in an activity, rather than film it to watch later.
4. In our family, it's considered rude to leave your filthy Fanta cans and chip packets at the oval for the council workers to clean up on Monday.
But just to show you we're not complete killjoys, in our family it is absolutely appropriate to cheer wildly when a child scores a goal!
How to Make your Mother Mad
Whilst your mother is out, snack on handfuls of Rice Bubbles taken straight from the packet, leaving Hansel and Gretel type trails all over the carpets and floors that were newly vacuumed and mopped by your parents only hours before. Run to your bedroom to sulk when told off by your mother, crushing all the little Rice Bubbles underfoot as you go.
How to Make your Mother Happy
Snuggle up in bed with her and volunteer to read aloud all 12 of your Magic School bus readers. Read them, breaking off occasionally to exclaim "I love reading!" When done, offer to read her favourite one again.
Your prize ? Devoted mother- love and a weekend trip to the bookshop! I love teaching my kids to read.
Your prize ? Devoted mother- love and a weekend trip to the bookshop! I love teaching my kids to read.
Wednesday, August 25, 2010
A Morning's Work
Lucy and I are teaching ourselves to quilt, and this pincushion-to-be was the smallest quilting project I could find! Normally I enjoy talking to the other mums when we go to Wednesday dance and choir class - today I found a quiet corner to hide in so I could start stitching my hexagons together. Painstaking work, but satisfying.
Monday, August 23, 2010
Meatless Monday
Yellow Rice
1 onion, sliced
1 tsp tumeric
1 cup rice
3.5 cups stock
1 tin chickpeas
1/3 cup currants
Fry onion till soft. Add tumeric and cook 1 min. Add rice and stir to coat. Add stock, bring to the boil. Cover, turn the heat down and simmer 15 min. Add drained chickpeas and currants, simmer 10 min. Turn off heat. Stand, covered, for a further 10 min. Serve with toasted pinenuts if liked.
My Dad cooked this for lunch the day we brought Lucy home from hospital and I've loved it ever since.
1 onion, sliced
1 tsp tumeric
1 cup rice
3.5 cups stock
1 tin chickpeas
1/3 cup currants
Fry onion till soft. Add tumeric and cook 1 min. Add rice and stir to coat. Add stock, bring to the boil. Cover, turn the heat down and simmer 15 min. Add drained chickpeas and currants, simmer 10 min. Turn off heat. Stand, covered, for a further 10 min. Serve with toasted pinenuts if liked.
My Dad cooked this for lunch the day we brought Lucy home from hospital and I've loved it ever since.
Friday, August 20, 2010
Night Poem 1
I must explain
what I can only
come at
obliquely,
like a child
with her fingers
over her eyes
so as not to let
the world
see her.
The bowl of limes
from our stunted tree
holds its sharpness
inside but bleeds
colour into
the winter air.
I am writing
myself a lullaby -
song of the old times -
one arm resting
beside the bowl of limes.
In this house
I make the lullabies,
soothe fearful
children to their sleep,
lie awake to the radio -
noise from the island -
music that mocks
with its drone
underneath the melody,
drags me right into
its heart,
its earth, its black
earth, its night,
its contagion.
Yet here I prosper.
Be not afeard,
the Isle is full of noises.
what I can only
come at
obliquely,
like a child
with her fingers
over her eyes
so as not to let
the world
see her.
The bowl of limes
from our stunted tree
holds its sharpness
inside but bleeds
colour into
the winter air.
I am writing
myself a lullaby -
song of the old times -
one arm resting
beside the bowl of limes.
In this house
I make the lullabies,
soothe fearful
children to their sleep,
lie awake to the radio -
noise from the island -
music that mocks
with its drone
underneath the melody,
drags me right into
its heart,
its earth, its black
earth, its night,
its contagion.
Yet here I prosper.
Be not afeard,
the Isle is full of noises.
Poetry Friday
Some say cavalry and others claim
infantry or a fleet of long oars
is the supreme sight on the black earth.
I say it is
the one you love. And easily proved.
Did not Helen who far surpassed all
mortals in beauty desert the best
of men, her kin,
and sail off to Troy and forget
her daughter and dear kinsmen ? Merely
the Kyprian's gaze made her bend and led
her from her path;
these things remind me now
of Anaktoria who is far
and I
for one
would rather see her warm supple step
and the sparkle of her face than watch
all the dazzling chariots and armoured
hoplites of Lydia.
By Sappho.
infantry or a fleet of long oars
is the supreme sight on the black earth.
I say it is
the one you love. And easily proved.
Did not Helen who far surpassed all
mortals in beauty desert the best
of men, her kin,
and sail off to Troy and forget
her daughter and dear kinsmen ? Merely
the Kyprian's gaze made her bend and led
her from her path;
these things remind me now
of Anaktoria who is far
and I
for one
would rather see her warm supple step
and the sparkle of her face than watch
all the dazzling chariots and armoured
hoplites of Lydia.
By Sappho.
Wednesday, August 18, 2010
If Words Fall Into Disrepair
"If words fall into disrepair, what will substitute ? Words are all we have."
Tony Judt
http://www.nybooks.com/blogs/nyrblog/2010/jun/17/words/
Tony Judt
http://www.nybooks.com/blogs/nyrblog/2010/jun/17/words/
Tuesday, August 17, 2010
What is Eclectic Homeschooling ?
Eclectic - in ancient use, epithet of a class of philosophers who 'selected such doctrines as pleased them in every school'
Here's how it works in our house. After breakfast and morning jobs were done today, Lucy and Arwen sat down with their maths books. Just like school, only in the kitchen. That's us in school-at-home mode.
By the time they were done it was close to 10 and so we all sat in the lounge room, ate biscuits and watched 'Behind The News' on the ABC. I guess I'd call that relaxed school-at-home!
Time for a walk down to the shops to buy cardboard. The girls are working on posters, badges and flyers for their Teen Study group's mock election on Thursday. They've had a term of sewing, a term of geography and now are mid-way through a term of civics. Snowy joins in too, because I often run a related activity with all the younger brothers. Next week we're decorating a cake as the Australian flag, and that's called an excuse to eat cake....no, actually that's called our co-op learning.
When we got home, Snowy found his book bag but baulked at yet another reading lesson! So we compromised on some reading practice at Starfall (computer aided learning ?? ) followed by a couple of pages of mental maths and a handwriting page - back to school except comfier - yes, we were in the loungeroom again.
Then I put on my Charlotte Mason hat for a spot of narration. I read Snowy a page or two from our nature read-aloud 'Ellen the Echidna' He told the story back to me and I typed his narration. When it's finished I'll print it out and he can illustrate it.
Played a Lego game with Snowy as a reward for his hard work, brushed the guinea pigs, ate lunch, drank tea. Definitely the delight-driven part of our program!
Back to Charlotte for some living, twaddle free books - 'The Lion, The Witch and The Wardrobe' for Snowy, a chapter of 'Eagle of the Ninth ' for the girls. It's a tale of Roman Britain and Snowy listened in. In the chapter I read today the hero, Marcus, entered an old, holy Place of Life - a barrow - to recover the Ninth's lost Eagle, captured by the tribe of the Epidaii.
Now Snowy is building a Lego game of his own based on the chapter complete with passage and cave and standards to be won, and if that isn't natural learning at play! I don't know what is.
Free time now for everyone, because tomorrow is busy with dance and choir and more dance rehearsals, taught not by me but by tutors...
Most days see a hint of Classical education in there as well, with chapters from 'Story of the World' being read and Latin lessons being done together. In the lounge room. ( I don't know why we bothered fussing about the children having desks. They are never used for study - too schooly - but I digress..)
Lucy is reading 'A Brief History of Montmaray' for teen book club in a few weeks time, and Arwen is nursing her aching limbs, bequeathed to her by a too-vigorous gym lesson yesterday.
Yes, I "choose what pleases me from every school". Nothing seems to me a perfect doctrine; so many things seem to offer something of worth.
Here's how it works in our house. After breakfast and morning jobs were done today, Lucy and Arwen sat down with their maths books. Just like school, only in the kitchen. That's us in school-at-home mode.
By the time they were done it was close to 10 and so we all sat in the lounge room, ate biscuits and watched 'Behind The News' on the ABC. I guess I'd call that relaxed school-at-home!
Time for a walk down to the shops to buy cardboard. The girls are working on posters, badges and flyers for their Teen Study group's mock election on Thursday. They've had a term of sewing, a term of geography and now are mid-way through a term of civics. Snowy joins in too, because I often run a related activity with all the younger brothers. Next week we're decorating a cake as the Australian flag, and that's called an excuse to eat cake....no, actually that's called our co-op learning.
When we got home, Snowy found his book bag but baulked at yet another reading lesson! So we compromised on some reading practice at Starfall (computer aided learning ?? ) followed by a couple of pages of mental maths and a handwriting page - back to school except comfier - yes, we were in the loungeroom again.
Then I put on my Charlotte Mason hat for a spot of narration. I read Snowy a page or two from our nature read-aloud 'Ellen the Echidna' He told the story back to me and I typed his narration. When it's finished I'll print it out and he can illustrate it.
Played a Lego game with Snowy as a reward for his hard work, brushed the guinea pigs, ate lunch, drank tea. Definitely the delight-driven part of our program!
Back to Charlotte for some living, twaddle free books - 'The Lion, The Witch and The Wardrobe' for Snowy, a chapter of 'Eagle of the Ninth ' for the girls. It's a tale of Roman Britain and Snowy listened in. In the chapter I read today the hero, Marcus, entered an old, holy Place of Life - a barrow - to recover the Ninth's lost Eagle, captured by the tribe of the Epidaii.
Now Snowy is building a Lego game of his own based on the chapter complete with passage and cave and standards to be won, and if that isn't natural learning at play! I don't know what is.
Free time now for everyone, because tomorrow is busy with dance and choir and more dance rehearsals, taught not by me but by tutors...
Most days see a hint of Classical education in there as well, with chapters from 'Story of the World' being read and Latin lessons being done together. In the lounge room. ( I don't know why we bothered fussing about the children having desks. They are never used for study - too schooly - but I digress..)
Lucy is reading 'A Brief History of Montmaray' for teen book club in a few weeks time, and Arwen is nursing her aching limbs, bequeathed to her by a too-vigorous gym lesson yesterday.
Yes, I "choose what pleases me from every school". Nothing seems to me a perfect doctrine; so many things seem to offer something of worth.
Meatless Monday
Ok, so it's Tuesday. Let's not get all technical...these gozleme are delicious any day of the week!
Gozleme - adapted from the recipe on Belinda Moore's website - she also runs the lovely Spiral Garden at www.spiralgarden.com.au
500g wholemeal flour
400g plain yoghurt
pinch of salt
500g cottage cheese
handful of other grated cheese of your choice
200g chopped baby spinach leaves
Make a dough with the flour, yoghurt and salt. Cover and leave to stand for 30 min.
Cut into 8 portions and roll out into largish, thin circle. Mix cheeses and spinach together. Put some filling onto each dough circle, fold over and seal. Fry in frying pan on med-high till both sides cooked. Serve with lemon wedges for squeezing over.
Seriously delish.
Gozleme - adapted from the recipe on Belinda Moore's website - she also runs the lovely Spiral Garden at www.spiralgarden.com.au
500g wholemeal flour
400g plain yoghurt
pinch of salt
500g cottage cheese
handful of other grated cheese of your choice
200g chopped baby spinach leaves
Make a dough with the flour, yoghurt and salt. Cover and leave to stand for 30 min.
Cut into 8 portions and roll out into largish, thin circle. Mix cheeses and spinach together. Put some filling onto each dough circle, fold over and seal. Fry in frying pan on med-high till both sides cooked. Serve with lemon wedges for squeezing over.
Seriously delish.
Saturday, August 14, 2010
If You Go Down To The Woods Today
you'll see a Teddy Bear's picnic, hosted by Lucy and Arwen for some of their littler friends. There were lots of marvellous things to eat and wonderful games to play!
Friday, August 13, 2010
Poetry Friday - selected by Lucy
The Moon and a Cloud by W.H.Davies
Sometimes I watch the moon at night,
No matter be she near or far;
Up high, or in a leafy tree
Caught laughing like a bigger star.
Tonight the west if full of clouds;
The east is full of stars that fly
Into the cloud's dark foliage,
And the moon will follow by and by.
I see a dark brown shabby cloud -
The moon has gone behind its back;
I looked to see her turn it white-
She turned it to a lovely black.
A lovely cloud, a jet-black cloud;
It shines with such a glorious light,
That I am glad with all my heart
She turned it black instead of white.
Sometimes I watch the moon at night,
No matter be she near or far;
Up high, or in a leafy tree
Caught laughing like a bigger star.
Tonight the west if full of clouds;
The east is full of stars that fly
Into the cloud's dark foliage,
And the moon will follow by and by.
I see a dark brown shabby cloud -
The moon has gone behind its back;
I looked to see her turn it white-
She turned it to a lovely black.
A lovely cloud, a jet-black cloud;
It shines with such a glorious light,
That I am glad with all my heart
She turned it black instead of white.
Tuesday, August 10, 2010
Moshi World
Last week Snowy was Bored. Not the whiny kind of lazy-bored though. It was a bit too existential for that. He was bored of being in his own skin, living his own life, with its own duties and pleasures.
Now, if I was a very good mama, I might have helped him deal with this unsettling feeling by talking about it, drawing it, living it with him. Last week I wasn't a good mama, I was the kind of fed up woman who, upon hearing the 'B' word for the nth time, got straight to googling free online games for children.
And that is the inglorious story of how we stumbled upon 'Moshi Monsters, a virtual world that Snowy and I have spent far too much time in, creating our monsters, dressing them, feeding them, decorating their rooms. You can visit us if you like! Just go to www.MoshiMe.com/boydetective
It's a long way from my vision of screen free, Steiner influenced, crafty, rainbow parenting, of what I aimed for with the girls. It's true, Snowy is no longer bored. 'Moshi' broke the spell somehow; suddenly everything is interesting again. That's not where the comfort lies.
The comfort lies in realising that I met my boy where he was, stuck in his Boredom, and that I treated it not as a moral failure ( here, you're bored, do some work, that'll teach you to be bored! ) but as a problem to help him solve. Yes, bush walking or gardening or building something together would have done the same thing and been better for us, but you work with what you have, with the energy and resources available to you at the time.
Parenting philosophies mean little to Snowy. All that matters to him is that that I helped him out of the quicksand... and that I was prepared to parent a Monster alongside him!
Now, if I was a very good mama, I might have helped him deal with this unsettling feeling by talking about it, drawing it, living it with him. Last week I wasn't a good mama, I was the kind of fed up woman who, upon hearing the 'B' word for the nth time, got straight to googling free online games for children.
And that is the inglorious story of how we stumbled upon 'Moshi Monsters, a virtual world that Snowy and I have spent far too much time in, creating our monsters, dressing them, feeding them, decorating their rooms. You can visit us if you like! Just go to www.MoshiMe.com/boydetective
It's a long way from my vision of screen free, Steiner influenced, crafty, rainbow parenting, of what I aimed for with the girls. It's true, Snowy is no longer bored. 'Moshi' broke the spell somehow; suddenly everything is interesting again. That's not where the comfort lies.
The comfort lies in realising that I met my boy where he was, stuck in his Boredom, and that I treated it not as a moral failure ( here, you're bored, do some work, that'll teach you to be bored! ) but as a problem to help him solve. Yes, bush walking or gardening or building something together would have done the same thing and been better for us, but you work with what you have, with the energy and resources available to you at the time.
Parenting philosophies mean little to Snowy. All that matters to him is that that I helped him out of the quicksand... and that I was prepared to parent a Monster alongside him!
Monday, August 9, 2010
Meatless Monday
Adapted from Delicious magazine
Orecchiette with cauliflower and pangrattato
I cooked this last week and loved it because 1. it was delish and 2. I like saying 'pangrattato' - sounds much more elegant than 'breadcrumbs'. It says in the mag it serves 4 but this made enough to feed us and the neighbours!
1/2 cauliflower
sliced onion
sliced garlic cloves
2 bay leaves
600ml light evaporated milk
pinch nutmeg
100g sourdough bread, crusts removed and torn
4oog orecchiette
1/4 cup flat leaf parsley chopped
1 cup grated parmesan.
Heat oven to 180 degrees, drizzle bread with oil and bake for 10 min till crisp and golden, then crumble. Chop cauliflower and reserve 1 cup of florets. Cook onion and garlic for 2 min, add bay leaves, cauliflower and evaporated milk. Bring to just below boiling point, then simmer for 20 min. Cool, remove bay leaves and blend. Add nutmeg.
Cook pasta, adding reserved cauliflower for the last 3 min of cooking. Drain, then add cauliflower puree, stir until warmed through. Add parsley and cheese and stir. Season. Serve topped with pangrattato ( I even like typing it! )
Orecchiette with cauliflower and pangrattato
I cooked this last week and loved it because 1. it was delish and 2. I like saying 'pangrattato' - sounds much more elegant than 'breadcrumbs'. It says in the mag it serves 4 but this made enough to feed us and the neighbours!
1/2 cauliflower
sliced onion
sliced garlic cloves
2 bay leaves
600ml light evaporated milk
pinch nutmeg
100g sourdough bread, crusts removed and torn
4oog orecchiette
1/4 cup flat leaf parsley chopped
1 cup grated parmesan.
Heat oven to 180 degrees, drizzle bread with oil and bake for 10 min till crisp and golden, then crumble. Chop cauliflower and reserve 1 cup of florets. Cook onion and garlic for 2 min, add bay leaves, cauliflower and evaporated milk. Bring to just below boiling point, then simmer for 20 min. Cool, remove bay leaves and blend. Add nutmeg.
Cook pasta, adding reserved cauliflower for the last 3 min of cooking. Drain, then add cauliflower puree, stir until warmed through. Add parsley and cheese and stir. Season. Serve topped with pangrattato ( I even like typing it! )
Sunday, August 8, 2010
Pegging - Homeschool Helps No.1
I can't claim credit for the idea of 'pegging' as a homeschool technique - it's one of those ideas being bounced from blog to blog - but it is one of the more useful ideas I've come across for getting things done.
Instead of having a timetable for certain subjects (as students and teachers would do at school), the idea of 'pegging' is to create a reliable rhythm to learning that fits in with your life.
For example - it's important to me to read aloud to my kids. One way of making sure it happens (almost daily) is to 'peg' reading aloud to just after lunch. It doesn't really matter what time we actually have lunch; what's important is that lunch triggers off the idea that it is almost time to settle down on the sofa and read together. If we miss a day here or there, we don't get out of the habit of read alouds because it is pegged to a reliable event.
Maths work in our house is 'pegged' as well, this time to after - breakfast chores.
Everyone needs to get dressed each day - ok, nearly every day! - breakfast needs to be eaten, the kitchen tidied, the clothes put out on the line, teeth and hair brushed. Getting out your maths book is just 'pegged' onto that - no need to discuss or negotiate - and it makes no difference if we're larks that day or no.
'Pegging' works beautifully with subjects you'd love to get around to but never seem to find the time for. When I was in my very Charlotte Masonish phase I wanted to do regular music study but every day it seemed to be nudged down the list and swamped by the multitude of other things - both work and play - that filled our days. So I 'pegged' it to breakfast, choosing and setting up a music CD the night before. In the morning, all I had to do was press
'play ', a side benefit being that my porridge - eating kidlets were something of a captive audience! We listened to, and enjoyed, a lot of music that way.
It's rubbed off on the kids too. I've noticed over the last few months that Lucy and Arwen have 'pegged' giving their room a tidy to Saturday morning before ballet. And if it's working for the kids, it's certainly working for me...
Instead of having a timetable for certain subjects (as students and teachers would do at school), the idea of 'pegging' is to create a reliable rhythm to learning that fits in with your life.
For example - it's important to me to read aloud to my kids. One way of making sure it happens (almost daily) is to 'peg' reading aloud to just after lunch. It doesn't really matter what time we actually have lunch; what's important is that lunch triggers off the idea that it is almost time to settle down on the sofa and read together. If we miss a day here or there, we don't get out of the habit of read alouds because it is pegged to a reliable event.
Maths work in our house is 'pegged' as well, this time to after - breakfast chores.
Everyone needs to get dressed each day - ok, nearly every day! - breakfast needs to be eaten, the kitchen tidied, the clothes put out on the line, teeth and hair brushed. Getting out your maths book is just 'pegged' onto that - no need to discuss or negotiate - and it makes no difference if we're larks that day or no.
'Pegging' works beautifully with subjects you'd love to get around to but never seem to find the time for. When I was in my very Charlotte Masonish phase I wanted to do regular music study but every day it seemed to be nudged down the list and swamped by the multitude of other things - both work and play - that filled our days. So I 'pegged' it to breakfast, choosing and setting up a music CD the night before. In the morning, all I had to do was press
'play ', a side benefit being that my porridge - eating kidlets were something of a captive audience! We listened to, and enjoyed, a lot of music that way.
It's rubbed off on the kids too. I've noticed over the last few months that Lucy and Arwen have 'pegged' giving their room a tidy to Saturday morning before ballet. And if it's working for the kids, it's certainly working for me...
Saturday, August 7, 2010
Poetry Saturday
The Second Coming by W.B.Yeats
Turning and turning in the widening gyre
The falcon cannot hear the falconer;
Things fall apart; the centre cannot hold;
Mere anarchy is loosed upon the world,
The blood-dimmed tide is loosed, and everywhere
The ceremony of innocence is drowned;
The best lack all conviction, while the worst
Are full of passionate intensity.
Surely some revelation is at hand;
Surely the Second Coming is at hand:
The Second Coming! hardly are those words out
When a vast image out of Spiritus Mundi
Troubles my sight: somewhere in the sands of the desert
A shape with lion body and the head of a man,
A gaze blank and pitiless as the sun,
Is moving its slow thighs, while all about it
Reel shadows of the indignant desert birds.
The darkness drops again; but now I know
That twenty centuries of stony sleep
Were vexed to nightmare by a rocking cradle,
And what rough beast, its hour come round at last,
Slouches towards Bethlehem to be born ?
Hmmm...hard to type this without hearing Joni Mitchell...and I never knew Yeats was so fond of the semi-colon.
Turning and turning in the widening gyre
The falcon cannot hear the falconer;
Things fall apart; the centre cannot hold;
Mere anarchy is loosed upon the world,
The blood-dimmed tide is loosed, and everywhere
The ceremony of innocence is drowned;
The best lack all conviction, while the worst
Are full of passionate intensity.
Surely some revelation is at hand;
Surely the Second Coming is at hand:
The Second Coming! hardly are those words out
When a vast image out of Spiritus Mundi
Troubles my sight: somewhere in the sands of the desert
A shape with lion body and the head of a man,
A gaze blank and pitiless as the sun,
Is moving its slow thighs, while all about it
Reel shadows of the indignant desert birds.
The darkness drops again; but now I know
That twenty centuries of stony sleep
Were vexed to nightmare by a rocking cradle,
And what rough beast, its hour come round at last,
Slouches towards Bethlehem to be born ?
Hmmm...hard to type this without hearing Joni Mitchell...and I never knew Yeats was so fond of the semi-colon.
Meat-Free - Suggestions ??
Living with one child who doesn't like meat, two who can take it or leave it, and feeling increasingly bothered by the idea of eating factory-farmed animals (though not, I have to confess, the idea of eating animals themselves ), I'm thinking that it might be time to up the number of vegetarian meals we consume in a week. Any suggestions for recipe books, websites or blogs that have yummy, kid-friendly, non egg-planty, vegetarian meals ? Leave me a comment or email me if you do. I'd be most grateful.
When You Love a Book
as much as Snowy loves Mr Popper's Penguins, you read up to the last chapter and then stop, no matter how much or how often your mother coaxes you to finish it, because that way the book will never, ever end. Highly recommended.
Tuesday, August 3, 2010
On Silence
Sometimes I get the feeling that friends and family think I'm being a little perverse by not writing poetry anymore. We live in an odd time, when Using One's Talents is an imperative, not a choice.
I have plenty of excuses for not writing poetry. First there were the demands of work, then of raising two small children under two. Then another child, years of no sleep, homeschooling, an illness. It's true these things have a way of using all your available strength and ingenuity at the same time as they reduce the time you have to daydream, to let the words and the images simmer.
It's true that after Lucy's birth I found myself without word or image, found myself unable to shape language to describe either the terror or the transformation. Instead I could 'see' a poem as blocks of colour and shape that, lacking an artist's skills, remained untranslated.
It's true that in the exhaustion of motherhood I lost all my nouns ( though mysteriously, adjectives and verbs remain ). Lucy has often heard me tell of the time I asked her, still a toddler, what the silvery, round thing she ate breakfast with was called. Just yesterday I described a book to Arwen as 'that rectangular thing you read.'
It was hard at first. I felt in mourning for it. Less for the writing and more for the idea of being a poet. I was no-one special without it. I dreamt about it and woke up grieving. That I should write, tattooed itself on the inside of my brain.
Then, like most things, it slowly got easier. Life became more spacious without that 'should'. In my own silence there was time to read and when I read, I saw that much of what I might possibly wish to say myself in poetry had been said - beautifully, deeply, with care and great technique by others - and silence became a form of homage and of humility.
With silence came a feeling of being comfortable with being ordinary, of not having to claim for oneself a title. ( 'Mother' is different to 'Poet', its success lies in its eventual redundancy; fate can terminate it. It's nothing to cling to. )
And now silence gives me another gift - being able to make the distinction between wanting to be a good poet, and wanting to write good poetry. I was lazy when I was a girl, back when I was a poet. My teacher warned me of it. He said I would need to learn to work at the work.
And I am learning it, but I had to learn it through this other life first. I had to be quiet year upon year. And I had to choose it.
I have plenty of excuses for not writing poetry. First there were the demands of work, then of raising two small children under two. Then another child, years of no sleep, homeschooling, an illness. It's true these things have a way of using all your available strength and ingenuity at the same time as they reduce the time you have to daydream, to let the words and the images simmer.
It's true that after Lucy's birth I found myself without word or image, found myself unable to shape language to describe either the terror or the transformation. Instead I could 'see' a poem as blocks of colour and shape that, lacking an artist's skills, remained untranslated.
It's true that in the exhaustion of motherhood I lost all my nouns ( though mysteriously, adjectives and verbs remain ). Lucy has often heard me tell of the time I asked her, still a toddler, what the silvery, round thing she ate breakfast with was called. Just yesterday I described a book to Arwen as 'that rectangular thing you read.'
It was hard at first. I felt in mourning for it. Less for the writing and more for the idea of being a poet. I was no-one special without it. I dreamt about it and woke up grieving. That I should write, tattooed itself on the inside of my brain.
Then, like most things, it slowly got easier. Life became more spacious without that 'should'. In my own silence there was time to read and when I read, I saw that much of what I might possibly wish to say myself in poetry had been said - beautifully, deeply, with care and great technique by others - and silence became a form of homage and of humility.
With silence came a feeling of being comfortable with being ordinary, of not having to claim for oneself a title. ( 'Mother' is different to 'Poet', its success lies in its eventual redundancy; fate can terminate it. It's nothing to cling to. )
And now silence gives me another gift - being able to make the distinction between wanting to be a good poet, and wanting to write good poetry. I was lazy when I was a girl, back when I was a poet. My teacher warned me of it. He said I would need to learn to work at the work.
And I am learning it, but I had to learn it through this other life first. I had to be quiet year upon year. And I had to choose it.
Sunday, August 1, 2010
Poetry - Oops! - Sunday
On Friday I was too busy hosting book club. On Saturday I was too busy reading and making apple pie, today I was too busy drinking coffee and playing Moshi Monsters with Snowy ( don't ask, but if you want to see our Moshi Monster rooms online, ask for boydetective and boydetectivemum ).
Tonight, though, with permission of the poet.....
Black & light by Kathleen Bleakley
I dream of
a white dog
running across
paddocks
spiked with
morning frost
of stroking
soft fur
holding
a small dog
when I wake
you are still
gone
little black
& tan dog
I remember cradling
your body
beautiful black fur
not a spot of red
yet inside bleeding
to death
I've dreamt
so many replays
times of reaching
you before the car
in the eighth year
the white dog
comes to my dream
but breath
stabs my chest
I see you lying
a statue on
the grass
I called your name
not dead
you could
just raise your head
I held your body
fragile
bones, fur
and breath
prayed
for your spirit
to stay
maybe that
white dog
is your light ?
Tonight, though, with permission of the poet.....
Black & light by Kathleen Bleakley
I dream of
a white dog
running across
paddocks
spiked with
morning frost
of stroking
soft fur
holding
a small dog
when I wake
you are still
gone
little black
& tan dog
I remember cradling
your body
beautiful black fur
not a spot of red
yet inside bleeding
to death
I've dreamt
so many replays
times of reaching
you before the car
in the eighth year
the white dog
comes to my dream
but breath
stabs my chest
I see you lying
a statue on
the grass
I called your name
not dead
you could
just raise your head
I held your body
fragile
bones, fur
and breath
prayed
for your spirit
to stay
maybe that
white dog
is your light ?
Meatless Monday
This one's early, to make up for the poetry being late!
Red Lentil Soup
1 onion, chopped
2 cloves garlic, chopped
1 tin tomatoes
1 1/2 cups red lentils
4 cups stock
1 tsp cumin
1 tsp ground coriander
Cook onion in a large saucepan until soft. Add garlic and spices, cook until fragrant.
Add lentils, tomatoes, stock. Bring to the boil, reduce heat and simmer, stirring occasionally, until lentils are tender. serve with a spoonful of natural yoghurt or chopped coriander or both!
Red Lentil Soup
1 onion, chopped
2 cloves garlic, chopped
1 tin tomatoes
1 1/2 cups red lentils
4 cups stock
1 tsp cumin
1 tsp ground coriander
Cook onion in a large saucepan until soft. Add garlic and spices, cook until fragrant.
Add lentils, tomatoes, stock. Bring to the boil, reduce heat and simmer, stirring occasionally, until lentils are tender. serve with a spoonful of natural yoghurt or chopped coriander or both!
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