“Peter gave himself up for lost, and shed big tears; but his sobs were overheard by some friendly sparrows, who flew to him in great excitement, and implored him to exert himself.”
This is my favorite sentence in The Tale of Peter Rabbit, by Beatrix Potter! It was a sweet moment last night listening as Noah read it independently, this book that I’ve oft read to him.
I learned last week that Noah doesn’t read independently at school. It floored me at first, because my entire image of home-education centers around books. Readable books moreso than workbooks; filling his mind with stories: historical, classical, biblical, cultural. Love of reading begets love of learning, and love of learning is a life-long asset. But then I thought how tough it would be, rallying 25 kindergartners of differing levels to the cause of silent reading. I don’t know how one would hope to build a reader without giving opportunity to self-explore books — but I’ve never managed a classroom, and it sounds like no easy task.
It’s official. Just so ya know. My job this week is organizing the necessary appointments for enrollment withdrawal. Texas makes it easy. I could simply mail a letter, but I’d like to leave with some amiability and dignity.
Last week, my sweet friend Cindy passed away. In the few years I’ve known her, it’s always been in the context of illness, a battle with cancer. How enormous it feels, to know that mentally, spiritually, physically, none of that defines her now. She sees without the veil that my earthly eyes yet have. Still, death is always sad. It may be for us a vehicle into life abundant, but it will always be sad. I heard it said once that death is unnatural. This weekend I helped some of her friends in clearing out her residence. It’s so weighty and strange, so transient, yet, romantic… in that life is bigger than this tangible one, and in the solemn moments of clearing out, there’s a kind of fragrance Cindy left behind in the things she loved. Not a scent, but an effect. I miss her.
I am very sorry to hear about Cindy’s death. I believe I did meet her once.
You invoke a poem from Emily Dickenson that has always drawn me greatly:
In the BCP, the rubrics for Funerals says (from memory) that “… the Funeral Service is an Easter Liturgy. It derives all its meaning from the ressurection…’ ‘However, the presence of joy does not make human grief unchristian…”
All together, it is one of the wiser things I have read.
I think your hearing is right, that it is unnatural. But death, like all things, was either created by God, for His glory, or else it is “un-natural” in that perfect sense, and is redeemed by God, for His glory. May Cindy, too, dwell deeper and deeper into that eternal Glory, that is the natural purpose for which she was made.
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And by the way, of course I agree with you about the centrality of reading! Reading well (and reading good authors) is the key to writing, and the two together are the keys to understanding.
Maybe their curriculum saves this for later, or maybe it is considered obsolete now, but I remember my classrooms from about 5th grade (about 1966) to 7th grade having a chest that could have been straight Montessori. It contained reading materials on a variety of levels, plus exercises and worksheets relating to the material.
The student was free to pick at random a set (unrepeated) from his/her level, and work through it on his own. It seemed that this allowed considerable freedom to adjust the learning to the students pace, and even exert a little pressure on the advanced student who is hanging back with his peer group because it is easier.
I have thought this came to me so late because that is when it was introduced. But it may also be because it was judged (rightly or not) less useful for earlier students.
I wonder if it is still in use? do you remember something like that? The particular “Brand Name” was a set of three initials, like SRS.