c.a.i.t.u. & other castle news

CAITU: Coolest Author In The Universe.

[Be French.  Speak in Acronyms. It’s good for your brain.]

I’ve lately determined that the CAITU is John McNichols.  Who totally took care of my beleaguered boy after my complaining post the other week.  And that’s not the first time he’s proven his credentials, though I will not embarrass him with too many tales of his kindness to internet strangers.

(And FYI, no I’m not an old friend of his brother-in-law’s cousin’s law school roommate’s favorite veterinarian.  I have no stock in Sophia Press. I get no commission on the sales of Tripods Attack, which you should read, because it is fun and because it is what we need more of — enjoyable catholic fiction.)

So that’s how you become the CAITU.  AND you write a steampunk alternative history alien-attack G.K. Chesterton catholic thriller, AND you take care of the fans with Strom Thurmondesqe responsiveness.

Nominations for SCAITU are still open.  I think maybe the alien thing isn’t strictly required.  But it helps.

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Other Castle News:

Thinking of going with Kolbe next year. For the two big kids.  Am open to opinions if anyone wants to share.  (Have already mined the brains of a couple trusted internet friends who are long time happy Kolbe families.)  The reason is this:  My kids really like checklists.  Love ’em.  Mr. Boy just wants to get his assignments, get them done, and be free.  Aria likes forms so much she begged the SuperHusband to buy her a blank receipt book she saw at the hardware store.  (I consoled her by printing off a handful of 1040-EZ’s to play with.  She’s thrilled.)

We were planning to switch to a more formal curriculum with one of the major catholic curriculum providers come high school.  Mr. Boy will be hitting middle school, so time to make the transition and learn the expectations, so he isn’t blown out of the water in 9th grade.  Kolbe has a decent no-nonsense high school curriculum* of the kind that has gotten students into college for the past three generations or so.  AND, they issue checklists.  Which would free me up from writing my own.

So that’s what we’re thinking about.

Despite being a little out of rhythm this week, due to relatives visiting over the weekend, school is going pretty well this month. Which is noteworthy any time you combine “homeschooling” with “january”.  What we’ve been doing is after breakfast and a morning clean-up, kids work independently on checklist items.  (For the two littles, that’s just a box of activities they can choose from at will.)  Then I call each kid in for an individual class, youngest to oldest.  Then group class for penmanship, french and science.  Then big kids get work assignments for the afternoon, and littles are free.  When we stick to this, it runs pretty smoothly, and everyone is happy.

January is Science Fair Month. We took a break from Zoo Pass Science Class to work through A Drop of Water, and this week kids are now pausing that to conduct science experiments.  Mr. Boy wants to know if acorns pop like popcorn.  Aria asks whether hard boiled eggs truly are easier to peel if you plunge them into ice water after cooking.  And the Bun is attempting to freeze bubbles.  Results to be revealed to the admiring real-life public on the 29th.

Deskavation Sucessful. Found it.  Wood!  Then lost it again.  And I’ll have you know my miraculously-given organizational system is still working, even with intermittent clutter-flooding.  But here’s what, and sit down before you read this: The girls room is clean.  Consistently clean. Three girls ages 4, 6 & 8, in a 12×12 room that is also used for storage. As the SuperHusband said before we tackled the place, we have 1950’s living space, 1990’s lifestyle.  (And I would add: 1930’s personality.)

We cleared out the excess junk, designated and labled places for everything, including certain spots labeled “empty” so no one tries to pile stuff there. Then we developed  a successful inspection method.  We go through the room, and check each drawer and shelf, and toss anything that doesn’t belong there into the middle of the floor.  I look on the label to remember.  It is so much easier to ask “Are all the things in this space the ones on the label?” than it is to try to negotiate a generic sort of fuzzy standard of cleanliness.

The foot is great. Not exactly normal, but highly highly functional.  In the category of attending pro-life marches, visiting museums, grocery shopping, cleaning out the house, all that stuff.  It’ll do.

That’s the highlights of castle news.  Upcoming on the blog:

• Usury part 3, of course.

• I still owe you the official Catholic Company review for Why Enough is Never Enough. No change in the verdict — unqualified ‘buy’ recommend.  Excellent book.
• Recently read The Gargoyle Code, and wow that was good.  Fr. Longenecker needs to write more true-fiction.  He’s got a gift there.  So I need to give you a long explanation of why that probably belongs on your Lent-a-claus wish list.

And should I start a deskavation series? Because here’s the thing: Most organizational tips are written by people who are already organized.  So they say ridiculous things like “throw out your catalogs as soon as they arrive”, or “write all event dates in your calendar the moment you learn of them, then throw the original away”.  Ha!  You make it sound so easy.

But I’m thinking that just like there people who can’t magically keep their bank accounts balanced just by “spending less”, but need little tricks like cash envelopes to make it work, there are people like me who need painfully obvious baby-step methods to keep the house running smoothly.  And we’re discovering some of these things. So I thought maybe that might be helpful.  Or else entertaining, in a voyeuristic reality-show kind of way.

 

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*Yes, I know that this whole “classical” education label thing is about as accurate a historical replica as a Red Ryder wagon is to a horse and carriage.  That’s fine.  I’m not running a seminary here.  We are the trade-and-merchant class, our children are signed up for a nice practical education that will get them into engineering school.  And ask my pastor about roofs, sound boards, and programmable thermostats — you could do worse than a business or engineering degree if you have a calling to become a parish priest. But for those who really do want the same type of education as Thomas Aquinas (whose grandfather was not a plumber), this guy is doing his best to re-create just that.

MED-I-TATE, MED-I-TATE . . .

That was my 5th grade boys last night.  Whole table of them, begging to close class with meditative prayer.

Yes.  True story.

Loyola Press has been sending down a workshop leader to educate the local catechists for a few years now, and every year we’ve been put through the paces of meditative prayer.  Good stuff.  I would guess 2/3rds of the prayer exercises we learn are to my taste, and the other 1/3 are more appreciated by teachers of younger grades.

So anyhow, this was the year we finally got to experiment on the kids institute prayer sessions on a regular basis.

What we do is this: We open class with a short set of “normal” prayers.  We do the teaching stuff.  And then at the end we clean up the room, light candles, turn down the lights, put on reflective music if appropriate, and one of us leads the kids through some kind of prayerful reflection.  Each class is same set-up routine, different meditation.  We get them from our textbook and associated resources, or else we make something up.  (Something easy to lead, like slowly reading through a traditional prayer and letting the kids reflect on the meaning).

First couple rounds we had to work out some glitches, which required catechists to pretend we knew what we were doing.  Among other lessons, we learned to end the session before kids ended it themselves by getting all squirmy and goofy.  I think it helped that my brilliant co-teacher used the time after our first couple attempts to let the kids share what they thought.  When you’ve done something new, you want to talk about it.

And now they totally love it.  They ask for it.  They rush to clean-up. (Yes, with boys yelling at each other and pushing and shoving to put supplies away.)  They beg for real candles to be lit —  I have about ten zillion on our little prayer table, lighting up the crucifix and our paperboard icons.

And then they sit quietly and pray.

Lovely lovely.

Christians Caught in the Act

I’ve got a real weak spot for people who take the Gospel earnestly.  Joel & Rachel write here about “Why We Love the Mennonites”.  They share seven ways the Mennonites they have known act like actual Christians.  Point #7 gets to the heart of it*:

Jesus is the centre of everything they do. All the points mentioned above are because they are trying to take Jesus seriously as he is presented in the Bible. That following Jesus is about more than just saying a one-time prayer. But it is entering into a kingdom that is slowly permeating and overtaking this world. Not in violent, loud ways, but in subtle ways. In a powerful love that actually believes the love of Christ is the most powerful force in this world and God entrusted his people with that power to use it for his glory and for his kingdom. Sometimes in Christian circles that become very social justice driven, for some reason Jesus plays a less central role. I love the Mennonites because Jesus is the center and is the motivation for everything they do.

Other than a disagreement about the details of non-violence, and of course the necessary passion for good catechesis, this is all catholic teaching.  (It is not a huge surprise that protestants talking about protestants tend to prefer doctrinal minimalism. You just ignore that part.)

Take-away lesson is this:  Act like a Christian. If you managed to pull off all seven points, you could accidentally end up beatified.

And your hostess, Guilty Party #1, adds this: Don’t whine about church unity when you haven’t got your act together.  This is exactly why the church is all torn up right now.  Peace and unity are the product of holiness, not the other way around.

This ends our morning kick-in-the-pants.  Have a great Wednesday.

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*Apparently good German cooking is strictly optional.  Though didn’t Thomas Aquinas study in Cologne?  And see how well he turned out.  I wouldn’t toss the spaetzle too hastily.

Reading Goals?

I keep seeing posts about “reading goals” for the new year, here and there around the internet.  I saw one post on a writing site about setting goals, making yourself read _x_ number of books, etc etc.

I am very puzzled.  If I were to set a goal, it would be a limit.  Like “I will read no more than ____ novels this year”, or “I will not waste more than ____ hours a day sucked into a book that no lives depend on my reading”.   [See how I cleverly leave those blanks, so you don’t know exactly how bad the damage is?]

Now I suppose I could be like Darwin and have really lofty goals for reading great works of literature.  Except that a lot of times, when I start some famous book, I discover that it is really bad. I mean it.  Boring.  Annoying.  Proof that the author had serious psychological problems.  And I just don’t need that in my day.  There are enough classics that I do enjoy, that I have a hard time convincing myself I’d be better off if I also read the ones I didn’t.  If I wanted to make myself do something edifying, I’d clean my desk or something.

(That said — I’ve discovered the great utility in keeping a couple Insomnia Books lying around the living room.  Good stuff that.)

So that’ll be my goal for this year.  Not to read any more books than strictly necessary. Where “necessary” means “the amount of books required to keep me sane and prevent any childrens’ heads from being chewed off because I am going absolutely mad with boredom and no TV is not the solution would you please give me back my Economist right now I said right now I mean it RIGHT NOW.”

Also maybe not to yell at people too much.  That would be good reading goal too.

 

Online Catholic Writers’ Conference is March 21-27

This is an excellent event.  Free, no-obligation, and exceedingly helpful.  Highly recommended.  Open to any kind of writer, any skill level.

And FYI they are still accepting presenters.  Say, if you could totally write the book, so to speak, on how to build the perfect bad guy, or maintain suspense, or some other important writerly skill.  Ahem.

–> Classes BTW can be either a discussion-forum class led all week, or a on-hour, one-time chat session Q&A.  (Or both — some people combine.)  So you can pick the format that suits your needs and availability.

Here’s a little info from the conference website: 

The annual Catholic Writers’ Conference Online is scheduled for March 21-27. Why join this conference?

* It’s Free!
* It’s Online! All classes are held via live scheduled chats or week-long forums. Work it around your busy schedule. Take as many or as few classes as you wish.
* It’s Opportunity! Meet writers, editors, publishers and marketers from around the world! Pitch Sessions with publishers (Catholic and non-Catholic) are available on a limited basis.
* It’s a Blessing!

Calendar of Events for Presenters and Attendees:

REGISTRATION: September 16-March 1
Feb 28: Deadline for Presenter sign-up with bio, description of course (please use survey link)
Feb 28: Deadline for Presenters who will hear pitch sessions to send guidelines or link to guidelines (please use survey link)
Feb 28: Deadline for presenter Amazon links for the Conference Kiosk
Feb 28: Deadline for presenter Banner ads
March 1: Deadline for participant sign-up
March 10: Presenters wishing to have us post handouts should send them
March 1-15 (or until full): Registration for presenting book pitches to publishers
March 15-21: Presenters post handouts and forum lessons

Learn more at www.catholicwritersconference.com.

Hide Me in Your Wounds CD

Hathaway posts his fan mail, and also mentions the lives changed by listeners to his own homegrown prayer CD.

I do not actually get to listen to my copy.  There’s no CD player in my truck, and very little quiet around the house*.   But here’s what my copy is super useful for: CCD.

Because after a while, I’m 98% sure the kids are sick of listening to my voice.  So at the end of class (or the beginning, or the middle), I can pick out a lesson-appropriate prayer off the CD, and the kids can quietly meditate to the sound of somebody else.

FYI John has a very neutral accent and clear voice (he is a trained singer), and no weird dramatic stuff.  Just prayers.  From a guy who has a for-real prayer life, which I know because I have caught him at it.  Prayers include about everything you could want a student to know:

Byzantine Opening Prayers
Come Holy Spirit
Breathe in Me O Holy Spirit
Lorica of St. Patrick
Morning Offering
Acts of Faith, Hope and Love
Short Aspirations
Prayers for Priests,
Vocations,
and the Holy Souls
Morning Prayer of J.H. Newman
St. Michael Prayer
Litany of the Saints
St. Bridget Prayers
St. Therese Prayer
Prayers of St. Ignatius
Franciscan Peace Prayer
St. Anselm Daily Prayer
St. Michael Chaplet
Prayers for Spiritual Growth
Litany of Humility
Prayer to the Infant of Prague
Flos Carmeli

Or at least enough to keep you quite busy.

FYI I am in the middle of trying to persuade the man to record a music CD for use in religious ed, too.  Let him know if you have a hymn request for that.  Something you want to be able to teach your students in class (or children at home), but maybe you want some help leading, because you aren’t  a brilliant musician.  Or maybe you are a brilliant musician, but you still like to play a CD for the kids when they sing.

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*Yes, I know I listen to audio books while exercising or folding laundry.  I guess I should listen to prayer CD’s while doing that.  Hathaway nods.  But you don’t understand, John, I’ve got this great lecture series on Byzantine history — I didn’t even know I *liked* Byzantine history.  Hathaway says, maybe you’ll like praying, too.  You could be surprised.

whether to give to panhandlers

Julie at Happy Catholic answers the question.  Need to replenish my snack box.

Fr. Longenecker on Decluttering

Just what I needed as I took a quick lunch break before tackling the house:

As for renunciation and detachment, the Christian understanding is not a rejection of material things because they are bad, or even because we want to ascend to the more spiritual realm, or even because attachment to the material things causes suffering. This is Buddhist. Instead Christian detachment is ‘attachment’ to all things in the rightful priority. We love all things. We love all created things. Its just that we must love them according to their intrinsic worth. This is where Thomas Traherne’s thought is so beautiful: “Can a man be just unless he loves all things according to their value.” We renounce not the things or the people, but our inordinate or distorted love of them. By putting God first the rest of our world falls in line with everything in its proper value and place. “Seek first the kingdom of God and everything else will be added to you.”

And now, the desk.  Always the desk.  Girls’ room after that.

more self-bookmarking: grading student papers

http://educationnorthwest.org/resource/464

Internet friend pointed me here – guidelines for how to evaluate a student paper.  (Thank you Sue.)  Apparently “re-write until it is publishable or I get sick of it, whichever comes first” is not the best way to run a homeschool.  Haven’t looked through the whole site, so don’t have an opinion.  But figured if I stuck it here, I wouldn’t lose it.  And could be of interest to others.

Book Review: Disorientation

Disorientation, John Zmirak, ed.  (Ascension Press, 2010)

The first universities were schools of theology.  Eight hundred years later, they still are — it is only the the theology that  has changed. At my State U (circa 1990), our catechism was the New York Times. In English 102, I learned how the Bible was one of many ancient works of literature testifying to the truths of modern liberal morality. In philosophy I learned that free will does not exist – our every action is predetermined at the molecular level. In geology I learned that population control was the solution to all the earth’s problems. (How I was supposed to do anything about it, what with my molecules telling me to have so many children, no one ever explained. But no doubt the Invisible Hand would guide me, per Saint A. Smith.)

It was a hodge-podge of errors, spread all over the ideological map.   No wonder, what with the fundamental moral dictate being Nobody Really Knows, But We’re Sure It Isn’t All That Old Fashioned Stuff.

Meanwhile, I had finished high school as my parish’s “Catholic Student of the Year”, armed with a faith as enthusiastic as it was flimsy. I was not at all prepared for the collegiate onslaught that was coming. No surprise that by the time I earned my BA I had long since left the Church.

What I had hoped, therefore, when I first picked out Disorientation for my Tiber River review book, was that it would be something more like Amy Welborn’s Prove It! books. I wanted to be able to hand my eighteen-year-old niece a readable collection of explanations about how to wade through the intellectual mire. Something gently persuasive – she might not be all that strong in her faith, so she might need to be convinced herself.

And I know I’m demanding, but there is something else I wanted: I was looking for a book that would be comfortable even to the non-catholic. A catholic book, sure, but dealing with wide principles, more the realm of natural law than of doctrine. Nearly all the topics in the book, after all, are of interest to readers of any faith, not just Catholics or even just Christians.

Unfortunately, this is not that book. So I was disappointed there. [Let this be my plea: Dear Catholic Publishers, Please issue a companion volume that is my dream book. Thank you. Jennifer.] But that doesn’t make it a bad book, just a different book. And I think some of my readers, and many fans of the famous bloggers who co-authored Disorientation, are going to really like this one.

Here’s the low-down to help you decide if this book is a good fit for you:

The essays assume you are already on board with the book’s theses. For the most part, there is very little effort to win over the doubtful – this is much more in the preaching-to-the-converted category. There are acknowledgments of the grains of truth to be found in each of the errors discussed, but mostly the essays are offering ammunition for your next debate. Invigorating reading, and a lovely antidote if you’ve accidentally read too much National Geographic lately. But not something you can hand to your on-the-fence, mildly-catholic friend, unless you’re trying to start a fight. Er, enlightened discussion.

The authors speak for themselves. If you like what Elizabeth Scalia has to say about relativism, you’re going to like her essay. If you like Father Z’s take on modernism, you’ll be a happy camper. But just because, say, you’re a total Mark Shea or Jimmy Akin groupie, does not mean that Father Z’s essay is going to fall in line with how one of those two would have handled Father Z’s assigned subject, or vice versa. And let me tell you in advance: the essay on feminism is going to raise a few hackles. Just will. Don’t say I didn’t warn you.

[Note to Tiber River readers on my orthodoxy rating: I didn’t find anything in the book that was contrary to the Catholic faith. But you could be a solid catholic and disagree with some of the opinions presented.]

Keep in mind these are essays. Sounds obvious, I know. But you know how when you a read a blog – even one you really like – there are usually certain types of posts you skip? If you happen to usually skip the long, rousing essays written by your otherwise favorite author, well, here’s a collection of what you were skipping. On the other hand, if you always gloss over the pet-blogging waiting for the big guns, here they are.

The Verdict: A bunch of your are going to really like this book. It’s a compendium of superstar catholic bloggers at their most curmudgeonly, laying into all the weird modern ideologies devoted fans love to hate. Strong appeal potential for anyone who loves a great debating society.