Now, if there were high stakes for homeschool planning, beyond the obvious people's-lives-in-my-inept-hands thing, that would be another story.
I've posted booklists here already (and then gone back and thought, "No, that's not what I want to do. Yes, it is. No, it isn't," &c), and have finally set up a couple of separate planning blogs for the youngers and for Mr. Eighth Grade Wonder. His is more of an interactive deal between us, while the youngers' blog is really just for me to try to keep all my ducks swimming in the right direction. Anyway, if you're interested in our homeschool planning, and who wouldn't be, I've moved most of that to those places to keep from cluttering things up here. Comments are deactivated on both those blogs; if you want to comment on our plans, feel free to do it here.
Meanwhile, there's also the high-school humanities site.
Not to mention real life, in which children are coming and going and spending the night and packing for college. Re the last, people keep asking me sympathetically how I'm doing, and I think the answer is fine, though the thought of driving back from Texas without her does leave my happiness for her not unmingled with a sort of pit-of-the-stomach regret for the years which have slipped through my hands when I wasn't looking. Then again, though, how would I have held onto them? Could I really have burdened every second of those years with my full and conscious attention? Would I have wanted to? At what point would I have wanted to stop the clock, and how all right would I have been with not living past that point? Like I need more questions to ask myself at three in the morning.
All of that leaves this blog pretty quiet. Oh, well.
2 comments:
I just spent a week with my sisters, sorting out the last of our grandmother's effects, so I've been thinking about memory and holding on to the past, too. We kept picking up items we didn't recognize and wondering what made them precious enough to keep for 10, 30, even 70 years. We felt almost disloyal, being incapable of honoring the memory that they represented. And yet, to finite beings, forgetting is a grace that makes it possible for us to receive new experiences.
Beautifully said. Yes, you have to let go . . . because otherwise, how can you let new things in?
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