Week 10 ; Enlisting the reader.

The power of words/retake

Most of the time I don’t pay much attention to TV and radio advertisements as they buzz by my ears but every once in awhile one of them will catch my attention and snap me out of my apathy. This message I heard recently while driving and listening to my favorite music channel did just that. While my citing of it might not be completely accurate here is the essence of it.

“If you owe money to the IRS, or your credit card company, don’t sweat it, we will show you how to get them off your back so they will not bother you again. “

When I listen to this message a new realization hits me on the head.  I become conscious of the fact that all the time that I paid these monthly payments and declared my income I really did not have to do it. I was just too slow to catch on and understand how other people do it. The game of life was too quick or sophisticated for me and so I was left behind, on the side of the road, an easy prey.

This epiphany that I am sensing while sitting in my car is growing inside me like a snow ball. I now realize that while I am dutifully paying my debts and working hard on the task of spending only what I can pay back, someone, quick and more resourceful (or daring) is getting away not only with irresponsible spending but with not paying . I was a good student and I know it goes against the most basic law in the book, the one drilled into us all, the one we were taught by our parents and several teachers on right and wrong. You do the crime and so you need to be able to stand up like a man (maybe women) and be accountable.

This message is being broadcasted day after day on the main channels creeping in between innocent songs and other enlightening but essentially harmless advertisements and this makes it sound okay. Yes you overspent; yes you were irresponsible, a moocher and a parasite, a sleek trickster but there is no cause for alarm, help is on the way. We declare this over the airwaves for everyone to share in our great scheme.

I listen to this message time and time again, each time making a great effort to read between the spoken lines, seeking an honest tone something that will suggest a candid intent. There is nothing there but waving a smooth invitation to join in on a far from honest plot. It is a double edged well crafted web where the predators while making sure to get their share will not hesitate to con both sides.

The possible insinuations and repercussions of this mind set are staggering; it can easily affect more and more people, leak into other walks of life and contaminate them. As motel owners we already see the start of it. We encounter more and more incidents when guests are trying to pull a fast one and walk away from paying by either lying or becoming aggressive and abusive. They are using the famous and often harmful slogan, the customer is always right even when he is wrong but underneath it I can detect that hidden message. Only the stupid, timid or slow; concedes to his mistakes and when caught in action resign do the “right thing”.

So let’s keep in mind that even if words are just that, words, seemingly harmless, in the wrong hands they can become a weapon. We should always remember how easy it is to be blinded and fooled by skilful rhetoric and walk into the web willingly, only to wake up helplessly tangled and unable to free one-self. This awareness and  the recognition of  how easy it is to use words to create a certain frame of mind will help us stay watchful and maybe even prevent this mind set from spreading and taking over.

Week 10 ; Enlisting the reader.

The power of words.

Most of the time I don’t pay much attention to TV and radio advertisements as they buzz by my ears but every once in awhile one of them will catch my attention and snap me out of my apathy. This message I heard recently while driving and listening to my favorite music channel did just that. While my citing of it might not be completely accurate here is the essence of it.

“If you owe money to the IRS, or your credit card company, don’t sweat it, we will show you how to get them off your back so they will not bother you again. “

 Now don’t get me wrong, I don’t receive dividends from the credit card companies and the IRS might be the villains in this story. I am not naïve or righteous either, I also like to wiggle out of my obligations every once in awhile and score a free ride.

So when I listen to this message a new realization hits me on the head.  I become conscious of the fact that all the time that I paid these monthly payments and declared my income I really did not have to do it. I was just too slow to catch on and understand how other people do it. The game of life was too quick or sophisticated for me and so I was left behind, on the side of the road, an easy prey.

This epiphany that I am sensing while sitting in my car is growing inside me like a snow ball. I now realize that while I am dutifully paying my debts and working hard on the task of spending only what I can pay back, someone, quick and more resourceful (or daring) is getting away not only with irresponsible spending but with not paying . I was a good student and I know it goes against the most basic law in the book, the one drilled into us all, the one we were taught by our parents and several teachers on right and wrong. You do the crime and so you need to be able to stand up like a man (maybe women) and be accountable.

This message is being broadcasted day after day on the main channels creeping in between innocent songs and other enlightening but essentially harmless advertisements and this makes it sound okay. Yes you overspent; yes you were irresponsible, a moocher and a parasite, a sleek trickster but there is no cause for alarm, help is on the way. We declare this over the airwaves for everyone to share in our great scheme.

The possible insinuations and repercussions of this mind set are staggering; it can easily affect more and more people, leak into other walks of life and contaminate them. As motel owners we already see the start of it. We encounter more and more incidents when guests are trying to pull a fast one and walk away from paying by either lying or becoming aggressive and abusive. They are using the famous and often harmful slogan, the customer is always right even when he is wrong but underneath it I can detect that hidden message. Only the stupid, timid or slow; concedes to his mistakes and when caught in action resign do the “right thing”.

True, cheating or tricking your way through life and then wriggle through loopholes to avoid the penalties was always a weapon people used. There are whole cultures that live by the belief that cutting corners is not only an option it’s actually a way of life and by conning, at times to the extreme, you only exercise your right to survive on a hostile ground. When caught in the act people around will nod and hide a smile as if you are a clever witty child. It might be frown upon on but not condemned.

Could it be that the people behind this message are actually good doers and the people who ask for their help are just honest folks who fell into hard times. Together they will work on a reasonable solution, devise a resolution fit for the case at hand. This is a tempting course to take and maintain our belief in the innate seed of honesty in all people but regretfully I will have to crush this bud while still not in full bloom. I listened and re listened to this message time and time again, each time making a great effort to read between the spoken lines, seeking an honest tone something that will suggest a candid resolution. There is nothing there but waving a polished promise to join in on a far from honest plot. It is probably a double edged well crafted web where the predators while making sure to get their share will not hesitate to con both sides.

So let’s keep in mind that even if words are just that, words, seemingly harmless, in the wrong hands they can become a weapon. We should always remember how easy it is to be blinded and fooled by skilful rhetoric and walk into the web willingly, only to wake up helplessly tangled and unable to free one-self. This awareness and  the recognition of  how easy it is to use words to create a certain frame of mind will help us stay watchful and maybe even prevent this mind set from spreading and taking over.

Week 9: fiction and fact: speculative piece/3

One life to live

Much like my astrological sign, Pisces, showing two fish swimming in different directions I am locked between two, entirely contradictory, ways of seeing my life. At times I am the eternal traveler the one whose motto is “it is all about the journey”, an escapist lost in visions of faraway places. Other times I am utterly satisfied to spend hours on my couch, with a good book, across from the wood fire.

No matter where we are, or for how long, there is always that moment when I look around and with no prior warning there it is again, that old tug.“Time to go” it would whisper in my ear. “You stayed here long enough” it would smile at me from behind the mirror in the early morning hours. “Time is running out” a cold fist grabbing my heart in the middle of the night.  From that moment on there is no turning back. The wheels are set in motion and I know it is just a matter of time before we get up one day, pack and leave.

 The constant yearning for something or somewhere is forever at odds with my utter fascination by old houses and family traditions. I can get completely immersed in the fantasy of living in one place for generations. I can imagine maintaining the old homestead, while kids, grandkids and grand grandkids come every holiday, to rekindle the family ties.  I am well aware of the irony and how these two, completely different outlooks of my life, our life, don’t match up.

So when I look into the future I ask myself, is it going to be the old homestead, the big white house with white columns decorating the formal entrance, overlooking rolling acres of green pasture. Big rooms faced with dark wood where pictures of dead relatives hang all over. A house filled with stillness interrupted only on weekend and holidays or an occasional phone, whose distant ring shatters the brittle quiet into million small pieces. I smile to myself as I pull these images from across the years. Images I had as a kid lying awake at night in my bedroom, in my parent’s small third floor apartment, wondering how people can live in these boxed in living quarters. I would close my eyes and envision the day I will have a house on the ground level, just mine. With a front door that opens directly into the yard where I will be able to feel the ground under my feet. I know I can have it now; this vision is within reach if I really want it.

But what about all the places awaiting me, the journeys not yet taken, how long will I be able to stay put in one place before the unrest will take over and the need to move on will make me feel imprisoned to my own dream house. It’s been over ten years since we left Israel on September 10^th of 2001, we were heading to Alaska. For as long as I remember I wanted to go there, the final frontier, the aurora borealis, days that linger into the night and long nights that take over whatever little day light there is. A world that enchanted me by being so utterly different than anything I ever knew, I can do it now.

I often wondered if our choice, five years ago, to run a motel stemmed from this dichotomy. This way while entertaining other people travel stories and adventures we can keep the home fire going. I hoped that the transient aspect of this business will be ample to silence my inside qualms and keep me happy.

Only lately it started again. The constant nudge, the unrest, the gripping questions, what’s next is once again laying heavily on my mind. So torn between the forces that pull me back and hold me tight in place and the draw of the likely and may be, at times just as powerful, I keep probing and digging looking for the magical answer that will satisfy both needs.

I don’t know if past plus present equal future or maybe it is present minus past. Mathematics was never my strong attribute but since I’ve yet to posses the powers of prophesy I will have to satisfy myself with the diluted alternative; speculation. If past choices are any indicator of the future then submerging in them and reexamining what was, over and over again, might not be an entirely fruitless waste of time.  The only thing that stops me dead in my tracks is the terrifying thought that it might be already too late.

Week 9: fiction and fact: speculative piece/2

Hypochondriac

One of the ongoing stories that run in my family is that in fear of going bold in his old age my father shaved his head when he was a young men in a way to prevent the inevitable. This is just a small example of this trait that seems to be widespread in my family to always be prepared for the worst. It manifested itself in many varied ways but the one I remember most vividly is being a devoted hypochondriac.

My grandmother was one, always gravely sick with different ailments; she made it to the respectable age of ninety years old. My father, I remember clearly, always pondering his coming death with every health issue that came up. He lived to be ninety three in a fairly good physical state and a completely sound mind till the day he died.

So maybe this is an effective tactic, like whistling in the dark or painting your entrance door and windows in blue against evil eye. It is my birthday this week, and I am thinking that just because I made it all the way here there are no guarantees for a smooth sail in the coming years. This is as good a time as any to start adopting some tactics that seemed to work just fine for other family members.

While my physician recommends certain physical activities and a diet change I am thinking why bother, my father did not walk a day in his life and health food was rather far from his frame of reference. Sitting in his room worrying about his coming demise and getting upset with certain political issues worked fine for him, why not for me.

Many years ago when the kids were still young we planned a long trip to Canada. We studied the maps, looked at pictures, and made detailed schedules of what to see and where to stop. Knowing we need to be well prepared we devised detailed tactics how to entertain the kids on the long and boring, to them, periods on the road.  In the end, we were exhausted from all the planning, even before we took the actual trip and felt we knew the area so well there was no need to actually be troubled with the trip itself. The kids were just as happy to play in the back yard

In this electronic new world this hold even truer. There is no reason to physically move when the world can come to me. It is possible to see with complete clarity through areal maps almost every corner of the globe down to the smallest detail. I can communicate with all my relatives and friends, even virtual, imaginary, and lost ones, over the social network. I can converse with people while actually watching them on the computer screen. I can do my shopping online using every store on the face of the earth that has a secure store front. I can choose the movie I like to watch and get it to come to my door, heck I can stream it to my TV.  

So sitting in my room and contemplating the nearing end seems like a justifiable course of action. Actually in a bizarre way based on my family history even an effective way to insure long and unhappy life.

Week 9: fiction and fact: speculative piece

Parallel universes

It is my birthday this week, quiet negligible date in the bigger scheme of things yet of grave importance to me. Another line imprinted  in the sand to mark the passage of time, another reminder of dreams that were abandoned and decisions that were not acted upon. At this point of my life when the equilibrium between the past and the future is starting to slant heavily and the past is acquiring force, the road ahead seems unclear and hazy. I can’t see beyond the next curve in the road or perhaps I am just too tired to play mind games and try to guess it out. Tired of all the what’s ifs, maybes, if only, how about…

Instead I am imagining a world that takes into account parallel universes, a world in which the concept of series of planes of existence where the laws of nature differ from one another is prevalent. In a world like that I should be able to choose my path and perhaps an alternative path and so on and so on until the end of time. I will be able to walk down the road in each one of them and see how they play out, while holding on to the same cards I was given at birth.

Returning back from each of these fictional journeys I will be brimming with new knowledge and able to make wiser decisions.  Unless, of course if this is not how it works and the wisdom gained in one journey won’t be transferrable into my bank of knowledge ready to be used on the next one. Than I can only hope that as I am floating through one universe I can track myself in the parallel one, wave franticly to get my own attention and scream at the top of my lungs “Hey, wrong way, stop! Turn around”. Only knowing my usual tendency towards distractedness, I can foresee how my parallel self will just smile, wave and keep on going towards its unavoidable destruction.

As far as I know going back in time will not do the trick either. Even in a world with no rules this one always holds true, even if you can transport yourself back to the precise point in time, you can never change the past to affect the future.

The situation then seems rather hopeless and as I go over it bit by bit I still cannot find a true loophole. There seems to be no way to change the past or control the future even with the knowledge of where it is heading and a keen sense of premonition.

And so I give up and once again roll the old film in my head. Like an over watched screenplay observed many times before, I know it all too well and still I am hoping to discover a new angle. Life has definitely been rich in surprises and unexpected turns and so as a last resort I try what I tried many times before to pin down the exact points in time, where I veered away from one path unto another. Maybe if I succeed it would assist me in knowing how the next step is going to evolve?

In the parallel universes scenario I will make a list of all the things I did not do and still wish to carry out and then head on to try each one of them. This vision, like a shiny birthday gift, makes me feel lighter and somewhat freed from the weight of the years.

Week 8:authorial presence: problem/situation/question/explanation piece

Mother tongue

 When I mention that writing in English, which is not my mother tongue, is a special challenge for me, people keep refuting it. When I insist even though it makes me sound like a whining baby trying to gain extra attention, they still don’t get it.

“Oh, what are you talking about your English is just fine” Is the normal reaction. The other one will be “Why, the way you make a use of the words and phrases is so unique and interesting”. It makes me feel like some strange bird admired for its colorful feathers. These same people will get all excited over my accent too. “Oh, and where are you from, I love your accent” I smile politely as I shrink inside.

So yes, sure, my command of the language is just fine but when it comes to writing this by far is not enough and the challenge is huge. Nuances and expressions, slang and idioms, sayings that are rooted deep in the culture, subtle shades of meaning, those are all part of the writers’ language; part of the huge pool from which he can draw just the right word or phrase.

All the while I am hobbling, limping and stumbling along the road. Every sentence typed needs to be reviewed, reread and corrected. Every word needs to be spell checked and verified for its right spelling and meaning. I often look exasperated at the words that come to my mind, words I am not even sure are real words and other times I have remarkable ideas but for the life of me cannot find the right vocabulary to articulate them. I constantly move back and force between the thesaurus, the spell checker, the internet, and the varied dictionaries and still never completely sure that what I write makes sense to anyone but me.

The only explanation I can offer for this torment I put myself through day after day is that I love writing. Writing to me is nothing short of magic, almost like pulling a white rabbit out of my sleeve it’s about creating something out of nothing. I can’t stop marveling at how just few simple words put together in the right way can posses so much beauty and power. While the same words in someone else’s’ hands are nothing but words.

When I read I am forever looking for the secret spell that the writer used to achieve this beauty, this power, this lure. I try to keep at it while paying close attention but always at the end I get drown into the story, only to pick my head up pages and pages into the book and realize that I've missed it again. Sometimes in an extreme effort to find it I will leaf back running my eyes along the pages to no avail. Like true magic you cannot bring it to its knees by tearing it apart and examining the pieces.

I don't know what makes me believe that once I’ll find it, the secret, I can do it too. I am aware of the possible ineptness of my efforts not only to produce good writing but to do it by using a language that is not truly my own. And still I keep at it.

Sometimes I wonder if hiding behind the unfamiliarity of another language makes it easier to say things that are otherwise hard to deal with. Perhaps writing in a foreign language besides being a stimulating challenge is also sort of a refuge, a place of safety.  I found an echo to my thoughts in these lines I took from a poem written by someone who like me feels the duality of writing in a foreign language.

“I write in the Hebrew language which is not my mother tongue,
  to lose myself in the world. He, who does not get lost, will never find the whole.” Salman Masalha

And so I continue to write in the English language which is not my mother tongue stumbling and falling and picking myself up. Perhaps if I will get lost enough I will find the whole.

Week 7: Structure; Profile; Lecture /2

The Loneliness of the Long Distance Walker

“Walking (also known as ambulation) is one of the main gaits of locomotion among legged animals, and is typically slower than running and other gaits. Walking is defined by an 'inverted pendulum' gait in which the body vaults over the stiff limb or limbs with each step. This applies regardless of the number of limbs - even arthropods with six, eight or more limbs.”Wikipedia

***

“So we saunter toward the Holy Land, till one day the sun shall shine more brightly than ever he has done, shall perchance shine into our minds and hearts, and light up our whole lives with a great awakening light, as warm and serene and golden as on a bank side in autumn.” Henry David Thoreau

***

People walk. It’s the natural way to reach from one point to another. We have legs, we move them and so we create a movement. This is very different though from walking with a goal in mind, walking with determination, walking for long distances. This kind of walking is nestled in a much deeper place. It has to do with the mind more than it has to do with the body. Some people walk for health reasons, or so they’ll tell us. Others for the challenge and the ability to say “look, see what I did, look where I was”. But I am talking about walking as a spiritual act when the body serves the soul.

***

I don’t know her very well or for any length of time. And I will not use her name, not only because I never got her permission for that, but mainly because I believe it is not really important. What is important here and I find fascinating is the process in which a person changes over a lifetime and can be so many different things to himself and others.  What is significant here is how with the years we learn to listen to our inner self and focus on things we did not value earlier.  How we move so fast when we are young but learn how to extract meaning from the slower pace of walking, maybe even limping, when we get older.

***

She is a long distance walker, she started being one only three years ago when she turned fifty seven and her marriage and professional life crumbled.  Then she tackled her first long distance walk, the Appalachian Trail, one third of the Triple Crown of long distance hiking in the United States. Walking gave her her piece of mind back, she told me, and since then she is a dedicated walker. Always walking by herself she is carrying the necessary gear on her back, covering the miles until she reaches her planned destination.

***

Is it lonely, I was wondering, spending days on the road with only oneself as a company, only the sound of your footsteps tapping the ground and the rhythm of your breath in and out. No external distractions to surround you and help you bar the flow of thoughts in your head and protect you from your own fears.

She just smiled at me and invited me to join her on her next walk.

***

When she was getting ready for her last three walking expeditions I was there to observe. Amazed how while all of them were long distance walks they differ so much from each other. One was following a well known pilgrimage trail, the other tracking an almost unknown urban trail and the last one climbing up a mountain in a foreign country. I was watching how she zealously practiced every day, studied the maps and purchased the necessary gear, being so particular about the quality of every item  and  even more so  of the weight. Amazed at how the practical bit of getting ready while interesting, did not even came close to the mental aspect.

Each walk presented a whole array of mental challenges ranging from the spiritual ones to the physical ones. While some of them required her to confront the limitations of age others demanded standing up to the primal fears of walking through the inner city streets being completely exposed.

***

I did not join her by walking but I followed her on her walks through her online blog that I helped posting. I was there when she returned from each one of her walks, sharing the experience comparing the before and after. Telling me about new friendships that sprouted on the trails and new insights revealed while facing the varied challenges of the road.

The Loneliness of the Long Distance Walker is but a myth she told in one of these occasions. There is nothing more lonesome then being unhappy in the midst of the crowed, comparing yourself to others, forever competing in the race that cannot be won. I listened to her and thought about the similarities to writing. While not physical in nature it can be just as demanding and complex. The loneliness of the long distance writer, I should adopt it as my new motto. 

Week 7: Structure; Profile; Lecture

Carved in stone/ a pioneer profile

The small cemetery on top of the hill is where all the members of this agriculture community are buried. Standing there the whole valley can be seen, green and dotted with small settlements. In the background the Gliboa mountain range, cursed by King David for being the dying grounds of King Saul and his sons. A curse removed with sweat and blood by the people who settle the valley against all odds.

***

 The grave is a simple plaque of white marble with a short inscription. Leah Brakin, born 1920 died 2002, place of birth, Vienna Austria, place of death Kfar Yehezkeal, Israel. The ample space at the bottom should have included two more words to do her justice, a pioneer…

***

In the small outdated living room less than a mile away, he pulls out some of his picture albums. He leafs through them and looks at the many pictures of her shaking hands with prime ministers, social activists and other dignitaries. “Funny” he says “since I was always too busy to travel with her, she brought the world to me”. And then as an afterthought he adds “From the first moment I saw her; with her strange European clothes, I knew she will change my life forever, I knew I chose a special women to live by her side for the rest of my life”.

***

In the black and white pictures the road leading to the *moshav entrance looks long and steep. It must have shrunk or the new houses built along it over the years, to accommodate the new generation, make it look different.  But then when she came home at the end of the week she had to wait at the bottom for someone to give her a ride. In a horse drawn wagon and later on in a tractor, with her suitcase, she would descent in front of the house every Friday, walk straight into the kitchen and immediately resumes her older role.

 In those years she could be seen almost every weekend walking with at least one guest but often a whole group presenting the unique agriculture endeavor with great detail and knowledge.  Explaining the inner make up of a cooperative agriculture community constitute of individual farms with an emphasis on community labor, the pride in her voice pronounced and obvious. The tour always ended with her walking her guests around the family farm telling them her own personal story.

***

At age sixteen she decided to leave her family, in Vienna and go by herself to Israel. The year was 1938 and the winds of war were already blowing over Europe. She joined a group called “youth immigration” that brought young adults to Israel and arranged for them to stay with families in agriculture settlements. That is how she made it to the moshav and met her future husband. He, being a third generation, Israeli born, *Sabra, belonged to the new aristocracy; someone who grew up on the land, not a new immigrant like her.  And so the pure blood Sabra and the new girl from Vienna fell in love and got married. By then Europe was at war and she lost all contact with the family she left behind.

***

Was it really a love at first sight like in a fairy tale?  Or maybe the truth lies in the slightly different version where she married him so she can get “a certificate” a document the British officials who had the mandate over, then Palestine, agreed to give family members in Europe to allow them to reunite.

This forever will remain a mystery.

***

What is apparent to everyone who ever met her is that she was a pioneer all her life. Always few steps ahead she curved her own path. When she thought her role as a mother and a farm hand was fulfilled, she turned to public service and for the next forty years spent every week in her office in Tel-Aviv, promoting public relations and communication, mainly between Germany and the growing agriculture community in Israel.  With that she went against the stream on so many levels. She left her husband at the farm with two kids returning home only on the weekends from her rented apartment in Tel –Aviv. Equally remarkable was her choice to promote relationships with the country that in those days was viewed as just one short step away from the devil itself. Years later many German youth came to Israel to work and in a way make amends but when she started she was definitely ahead of her time.

***

Every Sunday morning she took the bus going to her office in Tel-Aviv, on the second floor of the headquarters of the “Moshav movement” and on the same bus she returned on Friday. She did not have a car, or a driver. She did it for almost forty years even when she was diagnosed with cancer and had to go through long and painful treatments. Her apartment in Tel-Aviv was a tiny, ground floor, two bedrooms in a quiet side street. She belonged to a dying breed of pioneers, those who led the way by doing what they thought was needed and in their personal life remained modest.

***

She was my aunt,

***

*Moshav, A type of cooperative agricultural community of individual farms with an emphasis on community labor.

* Sabra, a Jewish person born in Israeli territory; the term is also usually inclusive of Jews born during the period of the establishment of the state of Israel. "tzabar", related to the Arabic word sabr which means "aloe" or "cactus" or "patience". The allusion is to a tenacious, thorny desert plant with a thick hide that conceals a sweet, softer interior, suggesting that even though the Israeli Sabra are rough and masculine on the outside, they are delicate and sensitive on the inside.

Week 6, autobiographical 'slice' & imagination/2

Home school diary.

Sep 1^st 2001

One of the most difficult things is to watch what seems as “non doing” and refrain from intervention. I try it every day with different levels of success. I try to do it in small dosages. I try for one day then a week. What helps is seeing how happy and relaxed she is. She does not seem bored (in spite of all the non-doing)

My home school diary – our first year.

March 3^rd 2002

Yesterday we decided to leave school, again. Even two hours a day seems too much. Every day we have the same discussion whether to go or not. Its’ not that it is a bad school it is just, a school, same as the one we left originally. Amazing how all schools essentially are the same. The school here appears nicer and more organized. Everyone is very polite and helpful but the fundamental nature is the same. The kids jab each other trying to be subtle about it, the teachers offer the same learning menu to everyone. There is no real growth. Somehow the contact with the system had for awhile a relaxing effect, there will be someone to look after us, it was just an illusion.

My home school diary –the first year, Idaho.

March 22^nd 2002

Waited 2 weeks to see if anyone from the school will call to ask where we are, no one did. So, I thought, freedom can work both ways. We have the freedom to be a part of and the freedom to leave. And why would anyone interfere. I took the responsibility and told them (the school) that we are taking “a break”

They said “Great! Come back when you feel like it”

So we are back home .Keren says she likes it better and I am trying to fight panic attacks concerning “we have done nothing today”

My home school diary – the first year, Idaho.

March 4^th 2002

What will happen if we will not study history?

Maybe nothing…

My home school diary – the first year, Idaho.

April 23^rd 2002

It is almost springtime and we are starting a garden. Planning a garden turned out to be a complex project concerning choosing the right spot, getting the area ready, picking the plants and the right time to plant. I believe all these activities constitute learning…

In our prior life time was a very substantial part and dictated what we did, a tyrant of sorts. Now that I have time to think about time I can see the different rhythm each one has. I tend to get up early in the morning to do my things. Keren on the other hand likes to stay up very late and read. She usually gets up around noon.  Watching her I wonder, how anyone can assume that a group of kids can be interested in the same thing, at the same time.

My home school diary – the first year, Idaho.

July 2^nd 2002

Summer Idaho style, not too hot and rainy, School vacation does not mean much to us, we continue with our daily routine. We adopted an abandoned duck, Raisin, who refuses to go back to nature and looks satisfied living in the garage. We take him to the lake everyday so he can meet other ducks but he is afraid of the water and follows Kerens’ feet very closely.   We were disappointed to find out that what we thought was gold is some worthless material. So the gold rush will not start again …Our lake went back to its regular size and left behind dried patches of earth with dead fish. We tried to save them with no success. Keren is playing baseball with a local group, riding horses and reading.

Every time I worry about her education she will say something that will prove to me, again, that she is absorbing knowledge all the time.

My home school diary –the first year, Idaho.

Jan 28^th 2003

We are moving in a month to the East coast, Maine. We are experienced in moving by now and know how to find, quickly, who is who. Still each move is a challenge. As homeschoolers we need to learn all the rules, find the people who can supply the information and create a social network. The first year had taught us a lot and we are not as lost as we were when we got here. When I remember how worried I was that we will not be able to fill our day, I look at the list Keren compiled lately, of all her occupations and laugh. I realize how much confusion and how many questions I had and see what a long way we did. Yet not being sure and constantly asking questions is an essential part of home schooling.

My home school diary – the second year, Idaho.

March 3^rd 2003

We are in Maine. Having to start all over even though we are more experienced, is not easy. We need to learn the rules and form new contacts. I think the hardest thing with homeschooling and maybe the biggest challenge is to create your own support net. People warned us, when we moved to Maine, that it will be hard to shake the “being from away” feeling and it will take a lot of work to find the way in.

They never told us about the other famous Maine saying.  “You can’t get there from here” it is hard to get from one place to another because there is always a mountain or a lake in the way and there are no easy shortcuts. This seems to be true for human connections too.

My home school diary – the second year, Maine.

May 17^th 2003

We found a virtual school. You enroll the same way as in a regular school. Get all the information regarding subject matter, books etc’. From that point on you are free to build your own plan of studies. You’re assigned a contact teacher and report twice a year. By the end of the 4 years or when she is done with all the requirements, Keren will receive a high school diploma.

I was captured by the idea of freedom within a frame work, being part of the system yet out.

My home school diary – Maine, end of the second year.

 March 3^rd 2004

Keren was featured in the local newspaper. It documented her daily life as a homeschooler and especially her volunteer work at the local cat shelter. We did it!!! I can see the cracks in the ice. We worked hard, invested many hours in volunteer work and reaching out to the community.

When I read the article my first thought was “what a full and interesting life this kid has”.

I am not always sure what we are doing but from a distance, looking at the whole picture, I can see that what we are doing is good. More than that, we feel good with what we are doing and that is the main thing.

My home school diary – the third year, Maine.

2004 – Third year

As Keren grows up a strange development is taking place. She is more independent and spends more time outside the house in volunteer activities or girl scouts. I am home alone. I consider that a success. She is spending time with other kids but what about me. I can’t commit to anything since I need to drive her and bring her back and I am still responsible for her school work. Am I in the stage where I will have to home-school myself?

My home school diary – the third year, Maine.

2005 - Fourth year.

Now that we are in our fourth year things seem to have their own flow. Keren is taking classes in adult Ed. She adjusted to the change easily. I watch her studying in a formal classroom setting and succeed. I give myself an A; we did a good job.

This is my answer to the skeptics who kept telling me of the difficulties she will have fitting into society. I see no difficulties at all. I watch her with her friends acting like any other teenager.

Now that we are in a formal setting there are also grades. Hers are excellent. I smile to myself. Beforehand, when I graded her, everyone said that I am biased being her mom.

My home school diary – the fourth year, Maine.

2005 – Fourth year.

 “Is it difficult?” is a question I am often asked.  It is difficult, sure, but also not at all. Not more difficult then living with the knowledge that other people determine day after day what’s important for your child. And yes it is difficult because of the need to determine time and time again what’s important.

But with time a new clarity is growing inside me and with it strength and confidence. My actions are going through this new filter. Not everything is simple or clear but it is impossible to ignore this “something” that have no name and was not there before.

My home school diary – the fourth year, Maine.

2006 – Fifth year.

Our time together is becoming lesser and lesser. Keren is taking classes in the community college. She is working part time, driving and in the midst of completing a big project for the girl scouts. We meet once a week to plan the week ahead and the rest is her responsibility.

My home school diary – the fifth year, Maine.

2007- Sixth and final year.

High school is over Keren is enrolled in the university for the coming fall...this is so exciting.

I am watching with anticipation to see how she is going to take to the world.

We started when she was 12 and she is eighteen now.

We tried to open the world for her and show her that all is possible; it is for her now to make it happen.

My school years are finally over.

My home school diary – the sixth year, Maine.