Math by Joe
Math is boring!!! I hate to start a report with so blunt a statement but it's true. For instance, why on earth would you need to know this: If there are four green marbles, three red marbles, and 6 yellow marbles in a sack what are the odds that you are going to pull out a red one? The question seems utterly pointless to me but our neighbor, Frank says that it would be helpful if you were a planter. Meanwhile, on the other side of the road (or world) I'm learning (or reading ) about percents, cubic measurement, decimals, and factions.
Music by Adam
Music, some say, is an irritable sound except if played so well it is flawless. I, on the other hand, prefer to hear the occasional mistake then the harmony lasting on and on with no brake until the player decides to end the song. It makes the player sound more human when the song has a mistake or two in it. I mean Beethoven was good but does get boring after a while. Wouldn't you say he was a little too good? I guess I say this because the only instrument I can play at all is the piano which still sounds like I am pounding with a hammer. But since I am not that at ease with the world right now I will leave this page here.
Thursday, February 26, 2009
Monday, February 23, 2009
Poetry Monday
The hobbits copy poetry in notebooks on Mondays instead of their handwriting workbooks. They have developed a real love for poetry over the year and I thought I would participate by blogging a poem here on Mondays. Here is today's offering which doesn't have a title that I know of. I found it in Wisdom and Innocence by Joseph Pearce. It was written by G.K. Chesterton for one of his beloved neighbors.
Rejoice all nations under the sun;
Their bishops dance, their aged statesmen run,
Paint the world red and think it frightful fun
That Barbara, Barbara is Twenty-One.
But the Crier is crying
In Lyme of the King
Lost, Stolen or Strayed
Is the Marvelous Thing.
I will ring for the sea-gulls
That dance in the spray
But the girls that go dancing
Go dancing away,
The girls that go dancing
Go dancing
go dancing,
The girls that go dancing
Go dancing away.
Rejoice all nations under the sun;
Their bishops dance, their aged statesmen run,
Paint the world red and think it frightful fun
That Barbara, Barbara is Twenty-One.
But the Crier is crying
In Lyme of the King
Lost, Stolen or Strayed
Is the Marvelous Thing.
I will ring for the sea-gulls
That dance in the spray
But the girls that go dancing
Go dancing away,
The girls that go dancing
Go dancing
go dancing,
The girls that go dancing
Go dancing away.
Friday, February 20, 2009
Thursday, February 19, 2009
Ocular Athletics
Snow by Joe
Snow, as you know but I'm going to bore you to death telling you anyway, is a crystal of ice that fell from the sky. We have 263" of the stuff and rising. I don't like snow because I have a driveway 1/12 of a mile long and likes to be shoveled. But that builds muscles. It also is appetite inspiring. Every snowflake is about this * big. Pretty odd how that can add up to 263 inches.
By Adam
Have you ever seen a bird fly by the window while you were reading a book? Have you ever wished you were a happy-go-lucky bird flying through the air, the roar of the wind in your ears whipping your hair about like it was bound and determined to rip it from your scalp? If you have we are of one mind. If you haven't then this paper means nothing to you. Every night I lay under the heavy covers thinking about flying, wishing I could do it and for someone who has never ridden a plane the image is in my mind of ant sized houses sailing under me and is so real it feels like a memory. I can collapse into myself and imagine I'm a bird with soft feathers and spindly legs clutching a branch with needle sharp claws. The one thing that doesn't sound appealing is hitting an ice cold window at 20 miles an hour. But again my flood of thoughts have stalled, hit a window just like a bird so
hasta la vista.
Snow, as you know but I'm going to bore you to death telling you anyway, is a crystal of ice that fell from the sky. We have 263" of the stuff and rising. I don't like snow because I have a driveway 1/12 of a mile long and likes to be shoveled. But that builds muscles. It also is appetite inspiring. Every snowflake is about this * big. Pretty odd how that can add up to 263 inches.
By Adam
Have you ever seen a bird fly by the window while you were reading a book? Have you ever wished you were a happy-go-lucky bird flying through the air, the roar of the wind in your ears whipping your hair about like it was bound and determined to rip it from your scalp? If you have we are of one mind. If you haven't then this paper means nothing to you. Every night I lay under the heavy covers thinking about flying, wishing I could do it and for someone who has never ridden a plane the image is in my mind of ant sized houses sailing under me and is so real it feels like a memory. I can collapse into myself and imagine I'm a bird with soft feathers and spindly legs clutching a branch with needle sharp claws. The one thing that doesn't sound appealing is hitting an ice cold window at 20 miles an hour. But again my flood of thoughts have stalled, hit a window just like a bird so
hasta la vista.
Tuesday, February 17, 2009
February Poll
I asked the hobbits what their two favorite subjects are so far. For Adam and Joe it was unanimous: Ocular Athletics and spelling. Ken preferred history and spelling (he doesn't do Ocular Athletics yet). That would be Seton's spelling workbooks-Spelling for Young Catholics.
Least Favorite: They all agreed on this--Narrations. I had been having them narrate a section of The Children's Homer by Padraic Collum every Friday. It being February and since they looooove spelling so much I dropped this!
Least Favorite: They all agreed on this--Narrations. I had been having them narrate a section of The Children's Homer by Padraic Collum every Friday. It being February and since they looooove spelling so much I dropped this!
Thursday, February 12, 2009
Ocular Athletics
Bloggers by JCM
I don't see the point of whiling away hours of unprofitable boredom by hours of unprofitable blogging. But then it might be the grownup equivalent of video gaming. Either way , I don't see the point. But if I started a blog it would be called "Bloggermort" (as in Voldemort). My older sister is urging Ken to start a blog called "Trickie's Musings." But my brain has encountered a block and is now wandering the unending possibilities of cheese. See you later.
Adam's offering:
You are probably thinking, "Oh,NO!" or "Why me?" but hello it's me again and what's more, on the same boring subject...how depressing. But, I hope you have the decency to read this page of boredom and complaint. But I am trying hard to tell if not show you what I think about. Like right now I just thought of another pointless title for a pointless book which as you could half guess is about me. Hey, maybe if I get enough of these I'll put them in a book, maybe several.(but it's okay if you do, you don't have to read it) So all I need is a lot of names for them. This one is "Brains I Never Had and Probably Never Will." Now we are out of that subject. Isn't it a relief? Look at the weather outside. Well, of course, you can't see what it's like. I will try to relay it to you, here goes. It's quite dreary outside, the left-over snow from the three feet we had is just the banks now. The grass that shows is covered in a white layer of frost. That about covers it, it was nice torturing you. See you later.
I don't see the point of whiling away hours of unprofitable boredom by hours of unprofitable blogging. But then it might be the grownup equivalent of video gaming. Either way , I don't see the point. But if I started a blog it would be called "Bloggermort" (as in Voldemort). My older sister is urging Ken to start a blog called "Trickie's Musings." But my brain has encountered a block and is now wandering the unending possibilities of cheese. See you later.
Adam's offering:
You are probably thinking, "Oh,NO!" or "Why me?" but hello it's me again and what's more, on the same boring subject...how depressing. But, I hope you have the decency to read this page of boredom and complaint. But I am trying hard to tell if not show you what I think about. Like right now I just thought of another pointless title for a pointless book which as you could half guess is about me. Hey, maybe if I get enough of these I'll put them in a book, maybe several.(but it's okay if you do, you don't have to read it) So all I need is a lot of names for them. This one is "Brains I Never Had and Probably Never Will." Now we are out of that subject. Isn't it a relief? Look at the weather outside. Well, of course, you can't see what it's like. I will try to relay it to you, here goes. It's quite dreary outside, the left-over snow from the three feet we had is just the banks now. The grass that shows is covered in a white layer of frost. That about covers it, it was nice torturing you. See you later.
Monday, February 9, 2009
Poetry
I found this poem by Cecily Hallack (author of Adventure of the Amethyst) and I thought I'd share.
The Divine Office of the Kitchen
Lord of the pots and pipkins, since
I have no time to be
A saint by doing lovely things and
Vigiling with Thee,
By watching in the twilight dawn,
And storming Heaven's gates,
Make me a saint by getting meals;
And washing up the plates!
Lord of the pots and pipkins, please,
I offer Thee for souls
The tiresomeness of tea-leaves
And the sticky porridge bowls!
Remind me of the things I need,
Not just to save the stairs,
But so that I may perfectly lay
Tables into prayers.
Accept my roughened hands
Because I made them so for Thee!
Pretend my dish mop is a bow,
Which heavenly harmony
Makes on a fiddle frying pan; it
Is so hard to clean,
And oh, so horrid! Hear, dear Lord,
The music that I mean!
Although I must have Martha hands,
I have a Mary mind,
And when I black the boots, I try
Thy sandals, Lord, to find.
I think of how they trod our earth,
What time I scrub the floor.
Accept this meditation when I
Haven't time for more!
Vespers and Compline come to pass
By washing supper things,
And mostly I am very tired, and
All the heart that sings
About the morning's work is gone
Before me into bed.
Lend me, dear Lord, Thy tireless
Heart, to work in me instead!
My Matins are said over night to
Praise and bless Thy name
Beforehand for to-morrow's work,
Which will be just the same;
So that it seems I go to bed still
In my working dress.
Lord, make Thy Cinderella, soon
A heavenly Princess.
Warm all the kitchen with Thy love,
And light it with Thy peace!
Forgive the worrying and make
The grumbling words to cease.
Lord, Who laid breakfast on the shore,
Forgive the world which saith,
"Can any good thing come to God
Out of poor Nazareth?"
The Divine Office of the Kitchen
Lord of the pots and pipkins, since
I have no time to be
A saint by doing lovely things and
Vigiling with Thee,
By watching in the twilight dawn,
And storming Heaven's gates,
Make me a saint by getting meals;
And washing up the plates!
Lord of the pots and pipkins, please,
I offer Thee for souls
The tiresomeness of tea-leaves
And the sticky porridge bowls!
Remind me of the things I need,
Not just to save the stairs,
But so that I may perfectly lay
Tables into prayers.
Accept my roughened hands
Because I made them so for Thee!
Pretend my dish mop is a bow,
Which heavenly harmony
Makes on a fiddle frying pan; it
Is so hard to clean,
And oh, so horrid! Hear, dear Lord,
The music that I mean!
Although I must have Martha hands,
I have a Mary mind,
And when I black the boots, I try
Thy sandals, Lord, to find.
I think of how they trod our earth,
What time I scrub the floor.
Accept this meditation when I
Haven't time for more!
Vespers and Compline come to pass
By washing supper things,
And mostly I am very tired, and
All the heart that sings
About the morning's work is gone
Before me into bed.
Lend me, dear Lord, Thy tireless
Heart, to work in me instead!
My Matins are said over night to
Praise and bless Thy name
Beforehand for to-morrow's work,
Which will be just the same;
So that it seems I go to bed still
In my working dress.
Lord, make Thy Cinderella, soon
A heavenly Princess.
Warm all the kitchen with Thy love,
And light it with Thy peace!
Forgive the worrying and make
The grumbling words to cease.
Lord, Who laid breakfast on the shore,
Forgive the world which saith,
"Can any good thing come to God
Out of poor Nazareth?"
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