Yes, Oh, Yes.

Indeed.

We have replaced familial obligations with the obsession of the self. Individual ‘rights’ and needs have become more important than family and community. The phoney love of self and ensuing need for self gratification, trumps all else- family and community included. We do not need to imagine a world where parents believe their needs supersede those of their children. We are living in that world, right now. Parents no longer owe their devotion to their chidren- it is the children that must accept conditional parenting.

~From the blog Sigmund, Carl, and Alfred- you’ll want to read the whole post, really you will.

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Sometimes life can feel like this… Like when you’re sitting in a classroom discussing the Georgia v. Randolph case with your classmates.

It’s rather a fascinating case, really. A woman in Georgia called the police with a domestic disturbance complaint against her husband. When they arrived she told them that he’d been using cocaine, and that he had disappeared with their son. Actually, he hadn’t disappeared. He’d taken the child next door and was back home in just a few minutes.

The police requested permission to search the house without a search warrant; the wife agreed, the husband refused. The police decided the wife’s consent was good enough and searched the house, finding cocaine. So he went on to trial, except that he never consented to a house search so he sued. The Georgia Supreme Court upheld his suit and it’s now gone on to the National Supreme Court where it will be decided this term.

In government class we were supposed to discuss this case and hazard a guess as to what the decision will be. Instead I heard my classmates go off on a million and one different tangents: what if she was on cocaine, too? she must have been really mad. what if it was just spite on her part? do we really know the kid was at the neigbor’s house?

This is where a lot of our problems come from today, folks, I think. People do not know how to focus in on The Issue and get distracted by non-material things. The question is: Was the wife’s consent enough to over ride the husband’s right to refusal? I think there were less than five of us in the class who saw it that way. How depressing.

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Local Louisiana Official Helps Self to Katrina Donations

Cedric Floyd, chief administrative officer for the New Orleans suburb of Kenner, was in charge of distributing donations for hurricane victims to those who needed them. Apparently he believes that charity begins at home, because officers responding to complaints searched his home and found four large pickup loads of things like food, clothing, tools, and other items people sent to help Louisiana hurricane victims.

Four- 4- FOUR large pick-up loads.

“Philip Ramon, chief of staff to Kenner Mayor Philip Capitano, has said city officials were investigating the alleged pilfering but added that many employees were themselves hurricane victims.”

Right. That’s why he had a home to hide the stuff in. Probably, you know, he was just keeping it for President Bush. I am sure it was all his fault.

From this article, b/t Junkyard Blog, where there is another story even worse than this one.

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The Equuschick is Very Proud of Her Sister Sometimes.

The Headgirl was brilliant this evening.

Equuschick-”I don’t want to start the ravioli now, its not even five o’clock. If we eat supper now we’ll be starving at nine o’clock.”
Headgirl-”That’s when we eat ice cream.”

Wow.

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Saving Private Bookcases

Yes, it’s a drippy title (I just realized that’s a potential pun). I am feeling a bit drippy and droopy myself.

I got in the van this morning about 9-ish, and except for a brief hiatus in an airport to see off those family members going to Grandma’s 90th birthday party, and a longer interruption to do some major grocery shopping at a commisary normally too far away to shop at, I stayed in the van until about ten minutes ago.

I took a scenic detour on the way home. My scenic detours are legendary. They generally double the usual travel time from point a to point b, but in this case I think we trippled it. We had many adventures, met with construction, were cut off by a rude man who made rude gestures and then found himself stuck behind a cement truck for some fifty miles. There’s justice.

During the course of our tour of a portion of Indiana I never intended to see, I phoned those family members who remained at home to let them know not to worry. I called them again an hour or two later to let them know they still shouldn’t worry. And then I called them again to let them know that if they were waiting on supper for me they might as well call it a fast and go meditate somewhere, because I was going to be a long time coming.

I finally pulled in the driveway, stiff, sore, and feeling as though every inch of my body were encased in concrete. Except my back which is doing an Irish jig without my contrivance or agreement. IN spiked shoes. As I was flinging myself out of the van to the ground of our own dear homestead and kissing the dirt of our driveway in gratitude the very first thing my dear family (or what is left of it right now) said to me was…
Well guess.
Do you think it was, “WElcome home, mother dear?”
Or “Poor, dear Mother. We have prepared a dish of chocolate for you, please come in and rest your fevered brown upon the couch?”
How about “Mother! Might we give you a backrub and apply cold compresses to your fevered brow?”

No, it was even better. They said, “Mother, you must, must, must go in right now and read the Beehive Blog, the very latest post. You’ll love it. Hurry up. We’ll carry in the groceries.

I did, and you should too. Not only will you love it, but you might understand my silly title.

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Sometimes life can feel like this… Like when you’re sitting in a classroom discussing the Georgia v. Randolph case with your classmates.

It’s rather a fascinating case, really. A woman in Georgia called the police with a domestic disturbance complaint against her husband. When they arrived she told them that he’d been using cocaine, and that he had disappeared with their son. Actually, he hadn’t disappeared. He’d taken the child next door and was back home in just a few minutes.

The police requested permission to search the house without a search warrant; the wife agreed, the husband refused. The police decided the wife’s consent was good enough and searched the house, finding cocaine. So he went on to trial, except that he never consented to a house search so he sued. The Georgia Supreme Court upheld his suit and it’s now gone on to the National Supreme Court where it will be decided this term.

In government class we were supposed to discuss this case and hazard a guess as to what the decision will be. Instead I heard my classmates go off on a million and one different tangents: what if she was on cocaine, too? she must have been really mad. what if it was just spite on her part? do we really know the kid was at the neigbor’s house?

This is where a lot of our problems come from today, folks, I think. People do not know how to focus in on The Issue and get distracted by non-material things. The question is: Was the wife’s consent enough to over ride the husband’s right to refusal? I think there were less than five of us in the class who saw it that way. How depressing.

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Virtue, Friendship, and Love

The heart is an organ that can expand to hold the world. The more love it contains, the greater its capacity for containing extra supplies.
…there is something especially fetching about the comradeship between men and women geniuses. Ours is a carnal time, with every relationship suspect or explained away by psychiatry. It restores the spirit to learn that there can be friendships where nothing is asked and everything given; where innocence flourishes as if there had never been a Fall.

Saint-Watching, by Phyllis McGinley

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Virtue, Friendship, and Love

The heart is an organ that can expand to hold the world. The more love it contains, the greater its capacity for containing extra supplies.
…there is something especially fetching about the comradeship between men and women geniuses. Ours is a carnal time, with every relationship suspect or explained away by psychiatry. It restores the spirit to learn that there can be friendships where nothing is asked and everything given; where innocence flourishes as if there had never been a Fall.

Saint-Watching, by Phyllis McGinley

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Twaddle

All of us read what Charlotte Mason called twaddle. She also called it ‘reading made easy,’ and she was not a fan of lazy, desultory reading. Personally, I do not think I will successfully manage to ‘never’ make a place for reading made easy for my children or myself, as Charlotte advocates. That does not mean I don’t try to improve at all, though. My children do not need much help to develop an affinity for easy books or the other trappings of pop culture. These things are pop culture because they are already completely accessible.

I can do them the favor, as a friend put it once, of ‘introducing them early to the pleasures of reading things that are a little “hard”. Then they will not always be satisified by light reading, but will have that hunger awakened within them that seeks for real “mind food”.’

One of our goals in our home and homeschool is to so fill my children’s hearts and minds with a rich and wonderful variety of literature- the sort that sparks the moral imagination and sets it aflame with a bright and merry blaze- that the secondrate, damp and mouldy twaddle out there just won’t satisfy, or at the least, will quickly pall.

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Cheese Moons

Cheese Moons

1 3/4 cups grated cheddar cheese (I prefer sharp)
1 cup flour (I prefer freshly ground whole wheat)
five tablespoons margerine or butter (butter is better)
cinnamon

Preheat oven to 400 degrees F.
Grease and lightly dust with flour a cookie sheet.
Grate cheese. Slice the butter in several small pieces.

Food Processor directions: Put grated cheese, diced butter, and flour in a food processor that has blades down in the bowl of the processor. Process with the metal blade for about 30 seconds, until a fairly smooth dough is formed.

No Food Processor directions: Grate the cheese and allow it to sit at room temperature, getting somewhat soft. Put the flour and butter in a bowl. Cut the butter into the flour as for biscuits or pie crust (i.e. use a pastry cutter, or take the butter and flour up between your clean hands and rub it between your hands, allowing the butter coated flour particles to fall down into the bowl, scoop up a good sized handful of flour and butter and repeat until the fat is thoroughly mixed in with the flour. Add the cheese and mix will with a fork, then squeeze it into dough using your hands.

Dust your hands lightly with flour. For each cookie take about two tablespoons of dough and form into a patty about 1/8th inch thick. Cut with a crescent moon shaped cookie cutter (or cut into crecents with a knife, or use a round cookie cutter and then cut the round moon into a crescent- or have full moons).

Place each moon on the cookie sheet. Create many moons this way, using up all the dough. Dust each moon with cinnamon (or sprinkle with a cinnamon and sugar mixture) and bake for about 10 minutes, or until lightly brown at the tips of the crescent let cool on a sheet.

Serve these to your children with tea, pickled onions and poetry.

Lady Moon
by Richard Monckton Milnes

“Lady Moon, Lady Moon, where are you roving?”
“Over the sea.”
“Lady Moon, Lady Moon, whom are you loving?”
“All that love me.”

“Are you not tired with rolling and never
Resting to sleep?
Why look so pale and so sad, as for ever
Wishing to weep?”

“Ask me not this, little child, if you love me;
You are too bold.
I must obey my dear Father above me,
And do as I’m told.”

“Lady Moon, Lady Moon, where are you roving?”
“Over the sea.”
“Lady Moon, Lady Moon, whom are you loving?”
“All that love me.”

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

On Fields O’er Which the Reaper’s Hand has Passed
Henry David Thoreau

On fields o’er which the reaper’s hand has pass’d
Lit by the harvest moon and autumn sun,
My thoughts like stubble floating in the wind
And of such fineness as October airs,
There after harvest could I glean my life
A richer harvest reaping without toil,
And weaving gorgeous fancies at my will
In subtler webs than finest summer haze.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Silver

Slowly, silently, now the moon
Walks the night in her silver shoon;
This way, and that, she peers, and sees
Silver fruit upon silver trees;
One by one the casements catch
Her beams beneath the silvery thatch;
Couched in his kennel, like a log,
With paws of silver sleeps the dog;
From their shadowy coat the white breasts peep
Of doves in a silver-feathered sleep;
A harvest mouse goes scampering by,
With silver claws, and silver eye;
And moveless fish in the water gleam,
By silver reeds in a silver stream.

- Walter de la Mare

reposted in The Common Kitchen

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