It was actually kind of hard to come up with an idea for the last day of the scheme/school. For a while we considered going to the Queens County Farm Museum, as that was where we went on the first day... But that didn't seem quite right. While there is something lovely about creating a circle, I wanted something that broke some new ground to symbolize forward momentum. Besides, it's been too hot, not just to wander a farm, but also to schlep to a farm.
The Dad came up with an idea after reading a review of the NYPL's new exhibit in the NYT. A library day. Yes, that was just the thing for our last official day of the scheme... properly academic, properly New York-y; a proper demonstration of "school" being everywhere.
The first written statement of the exhibit posits a simple truth: "Our first books stir and shape us as few books ever can again..." Items and books were selected from the library's enormous collection to explore the roots of children's literature and highlight themes and ideas. We all would have been wound up into tight mummy-ness if all the connective threads offered were tangible. Aside from teaching historical and thematic connections between texts, there was also an emphasis on the explorer to make personal connections -- children and adults alike. As we learned today, W. H. Auden wrote: "There are no good books which are only for children."
Visually, the exhibit is charming.
And Judd the Red Chicken was convinced that the curator was a chicken appreciator.
We learned so much...
We learned interesting things about Nathaniel Hawthorne. As the great-great-grandson of the presiding judge at the Salem Witch trials he felt "forever haunted by his Puritan past." He thought that writing fiction (something that he started to do in earnest when his job as a government employee ended) was a way to shun that puritanism. I know him for The Scarlet Letter, and The House of the Seven Gables, and didn't know that the work that he was most happy with was that which he did for children, A Wonder-Book for Boys and Girls. Regarding his children's book, he told his friend, Washington Irving (did not know that they were friends... that Melville dedicated Moby Dick to him, that Emerson was his neighbor, etc.), "Being meant for children, it seemed to reach a higher point, in its own way, than anything I had written for grown people."
There was this gem:
It was in a section that discussed the different books available to the different classes of children. While this book that had actual mini-clothes between the pages looked like it would be for upper class children, it was actually for working children -- the Lilliputian clothes were not meant to charm, but to teach a useful skill. It was a book on needle-work and knitting referenced by girls in a religious charity school in London (National Society for Promoting the Education of the Poor in the Principles of the Established Church, 1847).
We learned about Pura Belpre. First, I found a quote by her:
"... He leaves the room richer than when he entered it."
I looked around me, wanting to know more about her, and sure enough there was more knowledge to be found. Ms. Belpre was the New York Public Library's first Puerto Rican librarian.
She worked primarily at the branch on 115th Street and in order to attract local families she came up with creative ideas that celebrated Latino culture. She held puppet shows, parties, and bilingual story hours. That branch became a gathering place for the growing Puerto Rican community. She also created relationships between the library and local schools.
Eventually, frustrated at the lack of quality Latino literature for children, she started filling the void by writing books herself. Now, in her name, there is an award (and grants) presented to author(s) who make significant Latino-culture literary contributions.
While we were driving around England, I read the first Mary Poppins book to the kids. We were surprised and tickled with its quirkiness. The woman is an absolute sass (if you think the Mary in the movie or play is sassy, we-ell... she's got absolutely nothing on her progenitor). Here's what's charming: she's as uppity and self-centered and dismissive and manner-conscious as any parent on a bad day, AND YET she is magical. I love that. I love to think that I can be draggy human woman a lot of the time, and still somehow bring magic into my kids' lives. Aside from its optimistic message for those of us that are uppity, self-centered, dismissive and manner-conscious, it's also quite funny. Anywho. There's some information on MP, and her evolution once Disney discovered her, etc. My favorite part was the umbrella:
Here's what the information card reads: "P.L. Travers's umbrella: Umbrellas of this design, widely available during Travers's lifetime, had powerful childhood associations for the author. As a girl growing up in Australia, she had greatly admired a similar umbrella that a family maid considered her pride and joy, and had begun to save her pennies to purchase one of her own, only to hear her coolly sophisticated parents ridicule the servant's -- and by implication her own -- idea of finery." I like the fact that in the end, the idea that lived on was that of a servant -- with just such an umbrella -- who was not only heads and shoulders more awesome than those she served, but also used that "ridiculous" umbrella to fly away from it all... In books we can straighten out all the wrongs that life creates. And in so doing give us hope that wrongs can be straightened out.
Frances Hodgson Burnett tapped into this. She wrote, "With the best I have in me, I have tried to write more happiness into the world." The author of The Secret Garden was considered, "the late Victorian era's most popular female author." I didn't know that she was most famous for Little Lord Fauntleroy. I read it years and years ago, but did not know that when it was published it "sparked a craze for dressing schoolboys in black velvet and lace, and made Burnett rich." I also didn't know that it was after the death of a son that Burnett went on a "spiritual quest that culminated in The Secret Garden. 'When you have a garden,' she wrote, 'you have a future.' Her contemporaries were unsure what to make of the tough-minded tale about two damaged but ultimately resilient youngsters. Subsequent, more psychologically savvy generations, however, have judged it her masterpiece..."
It was that theme of: what is valuable and worthwhile to read -- especially for young people who have yet to fully grasp the nuances of life that permeated the exhibit. As well as the reality that retrospection quite often alters value.
There was a fascinating section called: "'Write' Off the Assembly Line," that explored the machine created by Writer-entrepreneur Edward Stratemeyer. He had two heroes: Horiatio Alger, Jr. and Henry Ford. He combined, "the fast-paced, character-driven storytelling... with the assembly-line production techniques," and for over twenty years cranked out the top-selling juvenile adventure series: the Rover Boys, Tom Swift, the Hardy Boys, the Bobbsey Twins, and Nancy Drew. He did this with an army of ghost-writers and other support staff. ("Mildred Wirt was among his younger staff writers... when Stratemeyer sent this letter offering her the chance to launch the Syndicate's next major series, about a girl detective whose original name had been Stella Strong... Writing as 'Carolyn Keene,' the gifted ghostwriter hammered out the first three Nancy Drews at four-week intervals for the flat fee of $125 each." The information in this area also read: "High-minded librarians shunned the Syndicate's standard-issue chapter books as subliterary and 'cheap,' but a 1926 American Library Association survey of 36,000 young people told a different story; fully 98% of respondents placed a Stratemeyer title at the top of their list of all-time favorites."
And we can't not have a Beatrix Potter reference. Just as those youngsters in 1926 thumbed their noses at the librarians, my kids rolled their eyes when we approached the Beatrix Potter section. They like to have their little jokes, and having to hold Beatrix Potter at bay so she doesn't consume us is a favorite since our trip (where she somehow popped up almost everywhere). The information about BP was cool. Anne Carroll Moore got the job of my dreams. In the early 1920's she was put in charge of pulling together/improving/growing the juvenile department at the NYPL. On a trip in 1921 she arranged to meet Beatrix Potter while she was visiting England. "Potter knew of Moore's pioneering efforts to promote children's literature and thanked her for championing it as an art form -- a case seldom argued in Britain. As a parting gesture that sealed their friendship, Potter opened her portfolio and invited her discerning guest to 'choose any one you think your children in New York would like.'" And what did Moore choose? A sweet picture of bunnies in the snow.
The Girl is on a campaign to get a rabbit (that's a story for another time), so she agreed that New York children like the picture. The Boy fancied another artifact in the case. Potter and Moore remained friends until Potter died. During WWII Potter wrote to Moore -- a letter that mentions the planes and bombings happening -- and attached at the top of the letter is a piece of tin. Apparently, during the war people were encouraged to send small pieces of metal in their letters in the hopes that all these random pieces skittering about would scramble the enemy's radar. Now, that's not something that you expect to learn at an exhibit on children's literature. But there you have it. That is how learning works -- you open yourself up and things just fall in.
There was a time when children's books were just starting to really become something. At that time, the covers became very beautiful, because giving books as gifts became the thing for middle-class and upper-class folks to do. The gift of books. I have to hang my head when I consider the painful progress that we made in math this year, but this I can say: we did a bang-up job when it came to reading. A bloody-brilliant bang-up job. The gift of books was given, received, enjoyed.
(That's not a picture of me during math-time, but rather an example of one of the richly crafted children's books that was considered worthy of gift-giving.)
Before heading out I went with The Boy up to the third floor to see the famous baseball card that was on display. Who knew that one of the most expensive (if it came up for sale it's estimated around $3 million) baseball cards is of a player named, Honus Wagner? He played shortstop for the Pittsburg Pirates during the late 1800's/early 1900's and was considered a great player -- but that's not the main reason for his card being legendary. Because he didn't like the idea of his card being dispersed via cigarette boxes (that's apparently how one collected early baseball cards) to kids, he demanded his card be pulled from circulation (some cynics say that it was pulled because he felt the tobacco company should pay him more). So it's a classic case of supply and demand.
(Honus's card is in the middle on the bottom row.)
After the library we stopped for a ride on the carousel before heading home.
This evening we had a "final" (presented as "festivities"). The Sister spent hours while we were gone creating a wall that highlights moments of the scheme. (Note: The Sister is brilliant. She has added more vibrancy and happiness to the scheme than I can articulate. She has kept me sane. She leaves in a couple of weeks, and I can't express ardently enough how grateful we are that we've had this opportunity to have her with us.)
And coordinating games.
"What Time Is It?"
"Minute to Win It -- Multiplication"
"Make a Caramel Apple" (Nana won with her pleating skills; The Dad got points for style -- his apple sported a beret.)
"Venn Diagram" (Each circle was their respective "scheme favorites." Most activities ended up in the overlap section, as one would mention something we did, and the other would say: "Oh, me, too!"
Note: I just removed the picture because I realized it had the kids' names on it... Not that it matters, but to have gone this far with my silly little game, only to botch it up in the last entry would have been too lame, even for my standards.)
"Shut the Box Championship"
"Arrays"
"Find the Alligators" (In a swamp of oatmeal.)
In addition to alligators, we found that we've had a beautiful and important year.
If you supported us -- gave us ideas, offered your talents, shared your chickens, said pleasant things, didn't say unpleasant things -- thank you. You have contributed to one of our great life accomplishments. It's not only what happened this year, but also other decisions that we might now have the courage to make in the future.
It needs to be said: the blog turned meta fast. I intended for it to be a place to document our curriculum, a way to pass along fun activities for other families, an opportunity to show that we were being productive. Point of fact: it just became a rambling mess of a family journal where I dumped random details and every possible sub-thought that might give context for my kids someday... An attempt to help them to understand why parents make the decisions that they do, and how this experience looked from the parent's angle... An exercise in working out for myself what it was I was trying to do with these small people... A reminder that if you pull the slenderest of threads hatboxes of memories, piles of unbalanced baggage, bowling balls of doubt, stacks of old news, bins of decorations, and a fluttering of love letters -- all of it -- can come cascading down around you. Some of it you dodge. Some of it you pull out of the clutter... It was harder than I thought it would be. For somebody that believes writing is a process that includes substantial revision, it was humbling to "publish" writing that I'm not proud of. For somebody who thinks most social media is narcissistic/voyeuristic, it was complicated and confusing. In the end, I suppose that raw, bumbling, poorly-executed, well-intentioned-("Harrison-Bergeron"!)-attempt is congruent with the scheme.
And however imperfect, I am elated to have this history, this recording of our days, and my thoughts as we went through our days. Had I not kept the blog, a goodly portion of the scheme would be lost. Theoretically, I could have kept a private journal... but I don't think that I would have. I was too tired every night, and I didn't know as it was going along what I would find worthwhile come the end. However, knowing that there were a few of you out there reading along was that extra bit of motivation that I needed each night. And so if you're still here: thank you. I'm going to have the blog printed out, put on the shelf. The Girl will see she's a heroine. Judd the Red Chicken/The Boy will read that he's a hero. Like we learned today at the library -- we read books to make sense of the world.
As has been mentioned, our family motto ("Timshel") comes from a book by John Steinbeck. John Steinbeck had his own motto: "Ad astra per alas porci." Latin. Translated it means: "To the stars on the wings of a pig."
"Name That Bone!"
"Shut the Box Championship"
"Arrays"
"Find the Alligators" (In a swamp of oatmeal.)
In addition to alligators, we found that we've had a beautiful and important year.
If you supported us -- gave us ideas, offered your talents, shared your chickens, said pleasant things, didn't say unpleasant things -- thank you. You have contributed to one of our great life accomplishments. It's not only what happened this year, but also other decisions that we might now have the courage to make in the future.
It needs to be said: the blog turned meta fast. I intended for it to be a place to document our curriculum, a way to pass along fun activities for other families, an opportunity to show that we were being productive. Point of fact: it just became a rambling mess of a family journal where I dumped random details and every possible sub-thought that might give context for my kids someday... An attempt to help them to understand why parents make the decisions that they do, and how this experience looked from the parent's angle... An exercise in working out for myself what it was I was trying to do with these small people... A reminder that if you pull the slenderest of threads hatboxes of memories, piles of unbalanced baggage, bowling balls of doubt, stacks of old news, bins of decorations, and a fluttering of love letters -- all of it -- can come cascading down around you. Some of it you dodge. Some of it you pull out of the clutter... It was harder than I thought it would be. For somebody that believes writing is a process that includes substantial revision, it was humbling to "publish" writing that I'm not proud of. For somebody who thinks most social media is narcissistic/voyeuristic, it was complicated and confusing. In the end, I suppose that raw, bumbling, poorly-executed, well-intentioned-("Harrison-Bergeron"!)-attempt is congruent with the scheme.
And however imperfect, I am elated to have this history, this recording of our days, and my thoughts as we went through our days. Had I not kept the blog, a goodly portion of the scheme would be lost. Theoretically, I could have kept a private journal... but I don't think that I would have. I was too tired every night, and I didn't know as it was going along what I would find worthwhile come the end. However, knowing that there were a few of you out there reading along was that extra bit of motivation that I needed each night. And so if you're still here: thank you. I'm going to have the blog printed out, put on the shelf. The Girl will see she's a heroine. Judd the Red Chicken/The Boy will read that he's a hero. Like we learned today at the library -- we read books to make sense of the world.
As has been mentioned, our family motto ("Timshel") comes from a book by John Steinbeck. John Steinbeck had his own motto: "Ad astra per alas porci." Latin. Translated it means: "To the stars on the wings of a pig."
