Well! That was FAST!!!

The email said to allow 60 days.  It took less than two hours.  I am official!  No tweaking.  No changes needed.  I'm really and truly done with the plans and ready to go for this year's co-op AP GoPo class!

I feel like celebrating!

News Flash

It's done.  AP US Government and Politics syllabus, hereafter known on this blog and everywhere else as AP GoPo. Finished.  Submitted.  And they didn't even ask for my first born son.  I know Kandyce is relieved.

Now, I wait to see if they like it.  Whether they give me final approval to officially label the class "AP" or tell me I have to tweak a bit, I am pretty pumped to have the year mapped out.  From now til the time we start in late August, I'll be reading ahead.

Starting with the Constitution...

Back at it

Well, I'm back at my book strewn table again, plugging away on this syllabus writing.  I am done (I hope) with one of them, my AP US Government and Politics (AP GoPo!) syllabus and am now trying to submit it online for approval.  Glitches seems to be the norm.

First I had to figure out my "association" in order to set up an account.  That's a little tricky if you're teaching in a non-traditional setting. Nothing on the site gave me a clue, but there was a phone number, thank goodness.  Only 4 minutes on hold and I got a very nice young man who gave me the number I needed.

Now, I'm trying to actually upload the syllabus so the AP gods can tell me if I'm worthy.  I click on the bar that says "Create or Upload Syllabus" and nothing happens.  Hmmmm???  I sent a message via the communication center on the site stating my problem and now, I'm hoping an email will come soon telling me what to do.  Maybe I'm supposed to sacrifice my first born son or something.

Well, while I wait on that email, there's a high school biology syllabus about half way done and lab supplies to order.

I know, I know ...

I'm on here blogging instead of working.

OK.  I'm stopping now and going back to the books ...

But first, one little picture.

My husband really knows how to relax.  This is what I found him doing on his afternoon off yesterday.  He rigged up noodles underneath to make the float that had a hole in it work for a snooze on the pool.  A back yard waterbed.  Not bad.

30th Monday

Still counting, with thanksgiving ...

2038.  My mom is home from the hospital and doing well

2039.  My son and dil have made a big decision!!!

2040.  My niece and nephew came for a few fun days.

2041. Matthew's new buddy who gave him the biggest hug when he saw him at church yesterday.

2042. Core seminar (what we call Adult Sunday School at church).  I love our discussions and always come away challenged and encouraged.

2043.   a handwritten letter.

2044.  a phone call from my oldest (meaning longest) best friend who always keeps up with what's going on and is the very best about remembering.

2045.  Joyful sounds from little people, including this little guy who knew ALL the words, too!

2046.  The team effort of VBS and the happiness of those days.

2047.  Our trip to Bolivia in August to visit these dear friends.

2048.  An exuberant African wedding!

2049.  People who reach out to refugees and invest in lives - Ed and Annette, Jonathan and Kandyce, Thomas, Sarah B., my sister.

2050.  Friends that drop by.

2051.  Impromptu game nights.

2052.  More days of quiet work.

2053.  Getting a long overdue household repair done this week!

2054.  Picking summer blueberries and buying fresh-picked-that-morning peaches.

Who you are ...

... really shows in the hospital.  My mom is a case in point.

She hadn't eaten or drunk anything for almost 48 hours, pre and post surgery, but she was mostly concerned about whether or not I was going to get any dinner that night at the hospital.

The morphine pump had been beeping for an interminably long time before the nurse came to reset it.  Though Mama was the one so badly in need of sleep in the middle of the night, she said, "I hope this beeping doesn't wake up anyone in the next room."

When the nurse came in this morning to ask how she was doing, Mama said, "Terrible!  This machine beeped all night and my daughter didn't get any sleep!"  Of course, she didn't get any sleep either, but she seemed more bothered about the fact that I spent a sleepless night than that she did.

I had the privilege of spending two nights in the hospital with Mama and got to watch time and again as she expressed her thanks to nurses, aids, doctors, technicians, the cleaning lady... whoever came in the room to serve her.

I also observed her tenacity.  When the doctor told her to use the inspirometer ten times an hour, she put it up to her mouth and started breathing. When the doctor told her she should try and walk sometime that day, she walked, early and often.

She went home from the hospital today.  I'm so glad, because while the hospital is a place where who you are really shows, it is certainly not a place to rest.  I'm happy that Mama's going to get a good night's sleep tonight without once having her blood pressure taken!

Brain-fried and stiff, but almost done!

I have had two almost completely uninterrupted days to lie on the hammock and read.  Dream on...

No, I've been glued to my desk chair with books and papers spread out all around me writing syllabi.  That's plural.

AP US Government and Politics and High School Biology.  What?  Am I crazy?  No, don't say anything.

On Sunday night, sensing the slippage of summer days and the enormity of the task at hand, I felt overwhelmed and a just a bit panicky.

At this moment, with one syllabus almost totally finished and the other well on the way, I am feeling brain-fried and stiff, but sort of  ... triumphant!  Do not, however, ask me to tell you anything about federalism, enumerated powers, or the exclusionary rule, nor mention phagocytosis, chromatids, or vascular bundles.  I would just stare at you blankly and ask for another glass of ice water.

 Really, though, isn't it funny how huge and daunting a task seems until you sit yourself down in the chair and just do it.


And now, I'm putting the books away and going down to spend a couple of days with my parents.  Then, on my way back, I'll stop at my favorite fabric store and buy the backing fabric for Thomas and Kay's quilt.  Then my niece and nephew will visit and there will be sewing and swimming and cooking and probably some movie making and definitely lots of fun!

29th Monday

Yesterday we sang these words from a hymn written by Joseph Addison in 1710:

When all Thy mercies, O my God,
My rising soul surveys,
Transported with the view, I'm lost
In wonder, love, and praise.

Unnumbered comforts to my soul
Thy tender care bestowed,
Before my infant heart conceived
From Whom those comforts flowed.

Ten thousand, thousand precious gifts
My daily thanks employ;
Nor is the least a cheerful heart
That tastes those gifts with joy.

Through all eternity to Thee a joyful song I'll raise.For oh, eternity's too short to utter all Thy praise.  

I stopped numbering back in May.  Why?  Inertia, I suppose.  A bit of malaise.  The crush of busy-ness.  These are not good reasons.  They were, like life often is, unintentional.  And the days continued and the gifts went not entirely unnoticed, but uncounted, and my heart was less cheerful.

This life is far too short for inertia, malaise, and busy-ness. So, I go back, thankful for new mornings and fresh starts, to counting and more intentional thanksgiving.  There are, as the hymn says, ten thousand, thousand precious gifts and I'm only at...

2025. music of the summer morning: cardinals, crows, cicadas...

2026. the play of morning light on oak leaves

2027. metaphorical language in Scripture (Isaiah 28:23-29)

2028.  helpful commentaries and new insights.

2029.  a couple of quiet days to be guarded from interruptions

2030.  morning smoothies to handed to one boy on his way back upstairs for his quiet time and to another on his way out the door to work.

2031.  good work for sons to do

2032.  starting fresh, knowing the pay-off of perseverance and that slacking off doesn't have to continue in a downward spiral.  Get up and keep walking - literally and figuratively.

2033.  librivox.org

2034.  After church lunch time conversation and reflection around the table.

2035.  a table full of books and papers to help in completing this day's task of syllabus writing.

2036.  energy and time for the job!

2037.  the promise of a walk and a swim

Roots in the South: We Visit Charleston

I married into a family with deep Charleston roots.  Woven into the history of that beautiful city is a much more recent family history tied to happy memories and cherished places.

In early July, we took a little trip to Charleston to revisit some of those places with Coty's parents.  Matthew took along his video camera and filmed both Grammie and Bapa telling stories of their growing up years on site at MacLaura Hall, Dunneman Avenue, Radcliffe Street, former movie theatres on King Street, and of course, 64 Rutledge.

First are scenes from MacLaura Hall, the beautiful home on the Ashley River, built by Coty's grandparents.  C has lots of memories of vacation visits there as a kid, sleeping on the porch, fishing in the lakes, visiting with cousins, drinking a cold Coke from Granddad's refrigerator in the little house...

This beautiful deck overlooking the marsh and river is an addition from the time Mamma lived there.  The new owner has made many changes to the house, but always with a view with connecting to the history and particular geography of this lovely old home.

Coty remembers fishing in this lake - and we heard stories from Grammie about the alligator found in it and the ducks her father would feed each day.

These gates were custom designed for the front entrance to the property.  Though they now stand on either side of the driveway to the house, they once stood along the highway and marked the entrance to the property.  Apparently, it was rather a jungle when Coty's grandparents moved there and they did most of the work themselves to transform it into a stunning place with azaleas reflecting in the black water of the lakes in the spring, paths through the woods which Coty's grandmother, Mamma, helped clear with a machete, and a big vegetable garden on the "island".

Mamma was an amazing woman with more energy in her 90's than most people have at much younger ages.  She could outwork most anyone.  One of my memories of her was walking the path through the woods to the garden and her, picking up sticks and branches that had fallen in the path and tossing them back into the woods.  She kept her paths clear for walking.  She stayed busy, working hard to make her home and property a place of lasting beauty.  That's probably why she lived so long.  The evening after we visited MacLaura Hall, we had dinner with the woman that cared for her in her last years.  Dear Mrs. Pierce is now living in an assisted living home, said of Mamma, "Oh, everyone just fell in love with Miz Canaday."

On King Street - one of the old movie theatres that Coty's folks remembered going to is now an Urban Outfitters.  The other theatres are still there, living on as other assorted shops.  I think only one of them is still a theatre.  They remember walking a few blocks and watching movies for a nickel.

64 Rutledge - the house where Grammie lived from the time she was 8 til she went away to college.  It is a beautiful old Charleston home with wide wrap-around porches on two floors, very high ceilings, and lovely old wood floors.  

Arrangements had been made with the current owner to visit the house.  Dan was so gracious and had lots of questions for Grammie about what the house was like when she lived there.

The living room chandelier was a gas chandelier, imported from Germany.  Grammie remembers her mother being very proud of it.  It's now been wired for electricity.

I love these fireplace inserts and tile surrounds.  These are the old coal burning fireplaces and Grammie says this is the tile she remembers.  There were different colors in other rooms.

Overlooking the neighborhood from the second floor porch and reminiscing with Dan about who lived where when.

What a beautiful old home it is.  It is actually for sale now.  I sure hope whoever buys it has a sense of history and will appreciate how much this place has been lived in and loved.

875 Rutledge (below) - the house where Grammie was born.  Yes, in that house, not a hospital.

And finally, not family history, but a fun little cafe where we ate lunch at the end of our filming in Charleston.

We ate the biggest BLT's I've ever seen and some really delicious corn crab soup.  A tasty way to end our Charleston visit.  Hungry boys were happy.

Roots in the South: A Cabarrus Connection

There is a beautiful old church on a country road about 6 miles from here.  Back in 2005, Erin and I visited Rocky River Presbyterian when we were looking for a venue for her wedding.  It is a simple brick building that sits back from the road in a grove of oak trees.  The tiny white clapboard Session House sits beside it and a very old and meticulously maintained cemetery behind.  Erin decided against getting married at Rocky River because it didn't have a center aisle.  At that time, we were unaware of the family connection to the church.  Knowing that her great-great-great-great grandfather had spearheaded the building of the church in 1860 would certainly have made it a more compelling spot for the wedding.

A year or so ago, my mom told me about our connection to Rocky River.  Her great-great grandfather on her mother's side was the minister there for 34 years.  His name was Daniel Allen Penick.  He and his wife, Agnes, are buried in the cemetery at Rocky River.  

This plaque is on the very spare front wall of the sanctuary.  A large wooden pulpit stands in front of it, fashioned long ago by a local carpenter.

Such a beautiful old cemetery.  Daniel Allen's gravestone is the one in the foreground. 

Back in June, my uncle and aunt from Texas and two of their grandchildren, cousins I'd never met, came with my mom to visit and see these places of family history.  My mom and Uncle Roy posed for a photo in the balcony of the church.  You can see the plaque (shown above) on the wall at the front of the church,  just beyond my uncle's shoulder under the light.

It was such an interesting day.  We had the privilege of meeting the church historian who shared so much information with us about the church, Daniel Allen and Agnes.

Thinking of this man, his family, his time in history - I wonder ...  What was their life like?  How did they spend their days?  This was a very rural, farming community.  How close knit was it and what role did the church play in the life of the community?  

The bricks for the building were made, we were told, right on site from the red clay so prevalent in our soil.  What was their brick making process like?  Was it similar to the brick making my children helped with when we lived in Cameroon?  

What was the relationship of the black slaves who sat in the balconies to their masters in the seats below?Were there people sitting in that congregation who agonized over the injustice of that arrangement?  Or were they simply content with the status quo? 

The church building was completed and dedicated in 1861 and 2 months later, the Civil War started.  How was the community affected by the war?  We were told by the church historian that 85 men (I think that was the number) from the church died in the war.  Can you imagine a loss so great in your own church or community?

After visiting Rocky River, we went to First Presbyterian Concord, where one of Daniel Allen's son's, Peter Tinsley Penick, was a minister.  His time in Concord was much shorter and then he went on to pastor a church in Virginia. While he served in Concord (mid 1800's), the church building was on the site of what is now one of my favorite places in the area, Memorial Garden.  Another special link to the past.

Do you sometimes wish you could go back in time and meet your ancestors?  I do.  When we moved here to NC in 2002,  I had no idea that I'd be living only a few miles from where my great-great and great-great-great grandfathers lived and served.  How I would love to go back and see this place as it was then, though during much of their time here - the mid 1860's - life was scarred by war and its aftermath.

I like knowing that I have some roots here.  I sometimes wonder if I would have felt less adrift after that move in 2002 if I had known of the long connection to this place.  It doesn't really matter.  Life takes us places and God weaves the tapestries of our past, present and future for His good purposes whether we live in the same community all our lives or travel far and wide.  Still, these days, this place feels more like home ... and I am mindful that it's a good thing.

Roots in the South

After picking blackberries at a friend's farm the other morning, the boys and I sat on a lovely old porch under the shade of pecan trees, and had a conversation about growing up "southern."  When my older children were young, we lived in New England.  Our daughter, Erin, never lived in the south, since she went off to college in Massachusetts before we moved to North Carolina.  Jonathan lived here in NC with us for a couple of years before leaving for the same college up north as Erin.  My four younger boys have spent more time down south and they've mostly shed any traces of their New England younger years in accent and leanings, except perhaps that a couple of them root for the Red Sox.

I'm one of those G.R.I.T.S - Girls Raised In The South.  Whatever stereotype comes to your mind when you read that, probably doesn't fit, except that I do know how to brew sweet tea and I love fried okra.  I grew up mostly in South Carolina with a few years in Georgia, then went to college in North Carolina.  After that, I left for parts far, far away...California, Kenya, a short bit in the northern Virginia/DC area (which doesn't count as the south), Massachusetts, and Cameroon.  Somehow, I never thought I'd live back down south.

Little did I know.  The move here in 2002 was very hard for me, leaving a tiny New England college town with no stoplight til the last couple of years we lived there.  We walked or rode bikes everywhere, saw people we knew all the time in the grocery store and post office, let the kids go just about anywhere they wanted in the woods and fields nearby.  We played in the river behind our house, ice skated in the back yard, helped friends boil maple syrup a time or two, wore LLBean mucky-muck boots a lot, and cross-country skiied out the back door.  Some of those things, you don't do in the south.

When I lived in New England, I loved it.  But, though I was very, very happy there, in some ways it never felt quite like home.  My mom supplied me with a Southern Living subscription every year.  My children, unlike their New England buddies, said "yes, ma'am" and "yes, sir" (well, some of the time) and apparently, according to them, whenever I talked on the phone to my sister, my southern accent was particularly pronounced.  They say they could always tell when it was Aunt Anne was on the phone by how I sounded.

So, though the move was a hard one and I left behind a very beloved place, I felt like I was coming home. Back to the comfort of people who call complete strangers "honey" and  say "bless your heart."  But it's more than that. I've learned since returning to the south, more than I knew before about those deep southern roots - French Huguenots, on my dad's side who emigrated to South Carolina in the 1700's, and Scotch Irish on my mom's side, going back a long way in the Carolinas, too.  My husband also has deep southern roots, too, and famous ancestors, to boot. Charles and Charles Cotesworth Pinckney, were signers of the Constitution.  I'm no genealogy buff like others in our families, but I appreciate those who have tracked these connections down.

This summer we've had two very special opportunities to explore those southern roots in a more tangible way.  Next post, I'll tell you about the Rocky River connection and how it seems, to me, rather amazing that I live so near to where my great, great, great grandfather on my mother's side served faithfully as a minister for 35 years and spearheaded the building of a beautiful country church.  Somehow, knowing this has made me feel more like I belong here... at least for now.

Oh, yeah!

They are...

my youngest two...

both awesome!

Turns out this little cafe was pretty great, too.  Really good corn crab soup.  Perfect spot for a post-Charleston-family-history-trip lunch before we headed back up the road to home.  But I'm getting ahead of myself.

Stay tuned...

Summer Reading #4

Last night I finished Letters of a Woman Homesteader by Elinore Pruitt Stewart.  Sort of ironic isn't it that the inaugural book on the Kindle was hand-written correspondence by a spunky pioneer woman?! Perhaps that's a little personal statement that I am not wholeheartedly in the digital age.  Some days, I'd very happily throw my Kindle, computer, and cell phone away and travel back in time to the frontier.  Some days, I think I was born in the wrong century.

I loved reading these letters, loved imagining the strong, brave, tenderhearted, practical woman who wrote them, loved the time and place, the beauty of the rugged country, the community of neighbors, the hard but fruitful labor of turning a wilderness into a garden.

Some of my favorite sections are descriptions of her travels, including this one:

"Soon we came to the pineries, where we traveled up deep gorges and canyons.  The sun shot arrows of gold through the pines down upon us and we gathered our arms full of columbines.  The little black squirrels barked and chattered saucily as we passed along, and we were all children together.  We forgot all about feuds and partings, death and hard times.  All we remembered was that God is good and the world is wide and beautiful."

and this one:

"Our improvised beds were the most comfortable things; I love the flicker of an open fire, the smell of the pines, the pure, sweet air, and I went to sleep thinking how blest I was to be able to enjoy the things I love most."

and descriptions of the work she did, like this lengthy section:

"I never did like to theorize, and so this year I set out to prove that a woman could ranch if she wanted to.  We like to grow potatoes on new ground, that is, newly cleared land on which no crop has been grown.

Few weeds grow on new land, so it makes less work. So I selected my potato-patch and the man ploughed it, although I could have done that if Clyde would have let me  I cut the potatoes, Jerrine helped, and we dropped them in the rows.  The man covered them, and that ends the man's part.  By that time the garden ground was ready, so I planted the garden.  I had almost an acre in vegetables.  I irrigated and I cultivated it myself.

We had all the vegetables we could possibly use, and now Jerrine and I have put in our cellar full, and this is what we have: one large bin of potatoes (more than two tons), half a ton of carrots, a large bin of beets, one of turnips, one of onions, one of parsnips, and on the other side of the cellar we have more than one hundred heads of cabbage.  I have experimented and found a kind of squash that can be raised here, and that the ripe ones keep well and make good pies; also that the young tender ones make splendid pickles...They told me when I came that I could not even raise common beans, but I tried and succeeded.  And also I raised lots of green tomatoes, and as we like them preserved, I made them all up that way....I milked ten cows twice a day all summer; have sold enough butter to pay for a years supply of flour and gasoline. We use a gasoline lamp.  I have raised enough chickens to completely renew my flock, and all we wanted to eat, and have some fryers to go into the winter with.  I have enough turkeys for all of our birthdays and holidays.

I raised a great many flowers...

I have tried every kind of work this ranch affords, and I can do any of it.  Of course, I am extra strong, but those who try, know that strength and knowledge come with doing.  I just love to experiment, to work, and to prove out things, so that ranch life and "roughing it" just suits me.

One tough lady.  Now I want to go out and pull weeds and move stumps.

Special little people

Our last two weeks have been full of time with some very special little people.  As I mentioned in last Sunday's post, the Snead's have been visiting from China.  We're so glad they come to Charlotte when they visit the states and glad that this trip we got to spend lots of time with some very special little people.

Vera

Eden

Tobey

and Kai...oh, that face!

 Michelle wanted the girls to have swimming lessons while in the states this summer and our friend, Karen, graciously offered to teach them here at our pool.  Vera and Eden are little fish and made so much progress in the two weeks they were here!  Thursday's final time in the pool ended with both of them jumping off the diving board and swimming all the way to the shallow end!  Pretty amazing for two little girls that just learned how to really propel themselves through the water.  They really are quite fearless and had lots of cheering from the poolside as they leaped and splashed and showed us what they had learned!

Special thanks to Karen, who teaches lessons at a local pool and an aquatic center, for giving so generously of her time for the girls.

When we weren't in the pool, there was time for legos on the porch, trains in the family room, homemade play dough, coloring, "soccer", and "music."

Though my kids are big, I still try to keep this house pretty kid friendly.  Two big bins of legos live under the lounge on the porch and when little people are over, they routinely get spread all over the porch.  After the Sneads left yesterday, Matthew wondered why it is that little kids like to dump all the legos on the floor when they play with them?"  Andrew reminded him that you have to dump them to find just the perfect little piece that is always at the bottom of the bin.  We also think that the sound of cascading legos is a favorite sound of small children so, of course, they must be dumped in order to hear that kind of music.

We had other music here, too.  The piano is always an attraction.  We also have an assortment of drums, an autoharp, a bowed psaltery, castanets, a guitar, and several recorders.  The kids usually made a beeline to the living room/music room when they arrived so we had quite a cacophony concert every time.

We got to celebrate Kai's third birthday yesterday...

complete with funfetti cake, of course... (haven't made one of those in a long time!)

 Happy birthday singing...

and candles for the birthday boy.

Fun time!

After the party, it was time for a haircut for Tobey.  Those eyes!

Then time to load up the car...

and take one last picture with "Miss Beth" and the recorders I found for the kids in their personal colors, pink for Vera, purple for Eden, "lellow" for Tobey, and blue for Kai.  Now they'll have music wherever they go, though I'm guessing those recorders won't be out of their cases on the long car rides they have ahead of them this week.

The kids climbed in the van and we stood by the open door and blew kisses and waved as they pulled away yesterday.  Sigh...it's going to be mighty quiet here next week.  I sure will miss those little ones and their amazing parents.

*But now, in the quiet,  I'm dreaming about how to get to see another very special little person and her amazing parents this summer!