Happy New Year

I am a creature of habit, and as I move into my second year of blogging I regularly discover that the things we are doing this year closely mirror those of the last.

This New Year's Eve is no different. It is hot, so we will spend much of the day inside my parents' well airconditioned home. This evening we will eat out at a favourite bayside restaurant with my sister and brother-in-law while my long-suffering Mum and Dad mind the various grandchildren. Same as last year. Same as the year before that. We love it! Most years my brother and sister-in-law come too. We will raise a toast to them tonight as the clocks tick over onto midnight...if we last that long. This is only a new tradition for us, but it is rapidly becoming ingrained.

Like blogging. It's becoming ingrained too.

I didn't have many readers in December 2008, and yet I still think that my early posts are among my best. So for this New Year's Eve I am going to do my first repost. It is appropriately titled 'Same procedure as every year', and it was written on the last day of 2008. I hope you enjoy it:
-------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------31/12/08

We don't have many traditions for New Year's Eve. Sometimes we go out for dinner with family and friends; other years will find us in front of the Edinburgh Military Tattoo on the television, but there's one thing that we never miss - the crazy Dinner for One.

How an obscure British skit, written in the 1920's, could become a New Year's tradition over much of Europe is a mystery, but I have watched it every year since I spent Christmas in Norway 23 years ago. Now, thanks to You Tube, you can watch it too...



So here's the plot...such as it is:

Elderly Miss Sophie loves to celebrate her birthday every year with a dinner party. She sets the table for her closest friends - Sir Toby, Mr. Pommeroy, Mr. Winterbottom, and Admiral von Schneider- and wines them and dines them in style. The only problem is, the last of the men died 25 years ago...

Enter loyal butler, James...

Every year since, James has manfully saved the occasion by playacting each missing guest in turn. He serves both drinks and food while quaffing toasts on behalf of each guest - three soused British noblemen and the German von Schneider, who toasts Miss Sophie with a heel-click and a throaty "Skål!" You can imagine what happens with all that alcohol... James sways to and fro, has an ongoing argument with the tiger-pelt rug, spray-fires the table with mispoured drinks, and downs a little water from a flower vase.

Each course begins with James asking: "The same procedure as last year, madam?" Each time Miss Sophie replies: "The same procedure as every year, James." The sketch ends with James' final "procedure" - you can only guess what that might be...

The film is not politically correct. James and Miss Sophie are well and truly sozzled - and end up rather immoral as well, but my family will be watching it this New Year's Eve - along with half of the population of Germany and viewers in Sweden, Denmark, Finland, Faroe Islands, Austria, South Africa and Australia. (In Norway where I first saw it it views on Little Christmas Eve - 23rd December.) It is the most repeated television programme in history...

Why? Because Dinner for One is very funny.

The 10 minute You Tube video is in English - the introduction is in German.

Have a look. It really is funny - I promise!!

Oh and a "Glückliches Neujahr!" from me and my family to you and yours!!

Avatar - my opinion...

...for what that's worth...



When was the last time you went to the pictures and the whole theatre clapped when the final credits started to roll? Never? It happened to us at the end of the amazing new James Cameron film, Avatar in 3D last night. I guess that gives you an idea of the audience's reaction to this extraordinary film. It was my opinion too. This is truly the most spectacularly crafted film I have ever seen, and my beloved and I both enjoyed it very much indeed.

It seems that in Christian circles there are those that disagree.

We googled the Christian reviews of the film on our return home last night to find this:

Christian reviews slam AVATAR - why?

If you check out the article and follow the links you'll get a good idea what gets the Christian reviewers up in arms. I am now going to go out on a limb though and give you my review. So here is is - a review of James Cameron's new blockbuster, Avatar, by an unapologetically Christian, Fundamentalist, Calvinist, Reformed Presbyterian, Bible-believing, Evangelical Australian Mum:

First, the plot. Set in the year 2154, the story involves a mission by U. S. Armed Forces to a new world, Pandora, in search of a mineral called Unobtainium. The military are required to attack and conquer the local indigenous people, the peaceloving Na'vi, a blue-skinned, golden-eyed race of slender giants, perhaps 12 feet tall. Since humans are unable to breathe in Pandora's atmosphere, Earth's scientists have grown Na'vi lookalikes which are mind-controlled by humans who remain wired up in a trance-like state on the ship - reminiscent of the Matrix. The lookalikes are called avatars.

Our hero is an ex-marine named Jake Sully, who is a paraplegic. In his avatar body he can walk again, and Jake is encouraged to report to the aggressive Colonel Miles Quaritch by a promise of financing for the very expensive operation which will restore movement to his legs. In theory there is little risk because if his avatar in killed, his human body will remain untouched on the ship.

Jake is taken in by the Na'vi, who want to understand more about the warriors of the 'sky people' as the aliens from Earth are known. The beautiful Neyteri, daughter of the tribe's leader is to be his guide.

The Na'vi live in harmony with nature, and by respecting the creatures that share their forest home. They believe that there is a deep spiritual connection among all creatures, and the earth goddess they call Eywa.

The problems arise when Jakes falls in love with Neyteri and must fight the aggressive humans who want the Unobtanium no matter what the cost to the Na'vi...

So first, the bad bits. The film is rated M. It is not a movie for young kids. The Na'vi wear scanty pieces of clothing that leave little to the imagination. There is no actual nudity however. There is a lot of profane language, and many obscenities, lots of bloody violence and ugly alien creatures. There is a non-explicit sex scene. There is an over-riding tree-hugger theme. It is Green and anti-war. There is the pantheistic earth goddess Eywa. Some of the film's dialogue is weak and shallow, and the storyline is predicable.

All this is true. This is what the Christian reviewers are up in arms about. I'm not. I agree that this is a film for adults, but for grown-ups it is wonderful. It is a work of science fiction - more than that, it is science fantasy. It is an implausible world. There is no Eywa. There is no chance that people will want to convert to Eywa worship. She is a work of fiction too. The film does not challenge any existing theology any more than Narnia does with its parallel worlds and fantastic creatures. Avatar redefines the standards of visual art with cinematic superlatives. What it does not do is challenge core Christian beliefs. Hey, remember, Pandora exists solely in James Cameron's imagination! As a Christian should I feel threatened by somebody's imagination? Because I don't. Avatar is purely entertainment. There is no ulterior intention to promulgate a new belief structure. It is not there to start a cult movement of tree-huggers. It is not designed to threaten Chritian values. Is our faith so fragile that a mere fantasy story can shake it? I don't think so. But you know, the reason you need to see Avatar is not for the story anyhow.

You need to see Avatar for the special effects.

I can't do them justice. The film took 10 years to make and cost $250 million. It shows. The 3D is perfect. Pandora is simply stunningly beautiful. Those floating islands; the drifting jellyfish creatures, the luminous Soul Tree...just incredible.

Do you remember how you felt when you first saw Star Wars in 1977 and you knew that movies were never going to be the same again? Avatar does the same in 2009. This is simply a sensational film.

So there it is. Avatar just has to be seen to be believed. Do go.

Living to Eat

Image from here

I always fail to understand those people who cite food and cooking as a hobby. Philately is a hobby. Lapidary is a hobby. Blogging and scrapbooking are hobbies - well until they become legitimate home businesses they're hobbies. Food is not a hobby - food is what keeps you alive.

A hobby is an activity or interest that is undertaken for pleasure or relaxation during your spare time. Which is why stamp collecting is a hobby. If you don't put your stamps into their album this week then it's probably not the end of the world. Similarly knitting - if you no longer have time to knit then you may feel guilty at the half finished dove grey mohair cardigan that sits accusingly in the hall cupboard, remembering the exorbitant cost of the yarn, but your store bought jacket will warm you just as well, and in my case a darn sight more fashionably to boot.

If cooking is a hobby, then I wonder what happens when people no longer have time to cook. Do they resort to take-away toast and Vegemite with a coffee chaser at the local cafe, or do their families merely fade away becoming shadows of their former robust selves? Perhaps they keep cooking, but their repertoire of dishes never changes, and dinner at the Joneses in the noughties is a time capsule of dinner at the Joneses in the 70s - prawn cocktail, roast chicken with greying beans and potatoes followed by Black Forest Gateau, cheese and Jatz bikkies and Afterdinner mints with Nescafe. Mmmmmm Mmm!

Now I understand that for some people cooking is not a pleasure but an incessant, never-ending chore, but that does not give you the freedom to stop doing it. You may not live to eat; but like it or not, you and your family do need to eat to live. Sorry, but that's just the way it is.

So given that you'll be cooking for a very long time to come, why not get excited about food? You know, even if you don't like cooking all that much, it can actually be fun. You just need to put it back in its proper place as a necessity and remove it from its wrong placement as a hobby, and something you can just give up for Lent.

I'm much too busy to have a hobby except blogging, which for me is more a necessary release from the worries of raising small people and caring for home and husband and other important day-to-day concerns than a hobby anyhow, but I will admit to wasting an awful lots of valuable time in and around the preparation of food.

For me food time wasting includes the serious study of cookery books. For a girl who tells herself and others that she has no time for scrapbooking, genealogy and other niceties of life, I find myself spending an inordinate amount of time that I profess not to have reading about food. Ethnic recipe books exert their strongest grip upon me, which in turn leads to more food time wasting in the aisles of Japanese Supermarkets, Middle-Eastern pastry shops and Asian markets as I learn more about new and deliciously exciting ingredients and culinary techniques.

The best time to indulge a cookery book binge is the summer holidays - long days of nothing to do. The book publishers know this of course, and all the best cookery books are released in November just in time for stuffing into the stocking of a loved one on Christmas Eve.

My family know me very well too. They also know the importance of food and cooking as a necessity, and we indulge each other equally. This year my gifts included David Thompson's Thai Street Food and Luke Nguyen's The Songs of Sapa. My brother received Lulu Grimes' The Cook's Book of Everything, my sister-in-law Donna Hay's Seasons. We all received subscriptions to her eponymously named cooking magazine.There were not one, not two, but three KitchenAid Mixers courtesy of my incredibly generous parents - one for each couple. There were the ingredients for sushi making for my mother, and herb keepers for everyone.

For my family, clearly, food is more than a necessity. I could even go as far as to admit that for us it's an...um..er...hobby! In fact, I cannot lie to myself any longer. I do have time for collecting stamps, pigs and coins. I can scrapbook. I might even have time to knit. You know, I really do have a mohair cardy lying half finished in the hall cupboard. I just need to put it back as priority and get on with it. Or maybe not...

Clearly I do have time for a hobby after all. It is just that with cooking we all get to eat the results, and a lovely crab wonton and barbeque pork soup tastes an awful lot better than mohair stuck between the teeth I can promise you. Perhaps on second thoughts I should embrace my new life as a girl with a hobby and let you get on with the quilting and sewing and felting and painting and all the other things that I have always told myself I don't have time for. After all, if I did all of that, then we'd be eating to live too, and I'd much rather live to eat.

Christmas Greetings

Christmas is nie. The presents are wrapped and the bags are packed. There's even tinsel on the car. We'll be off on holidays in just a few more hours, and there is a palpable frisson of excitement in the air.

We're like big kids at Christmas. All of us. Even mature grown-up Daddy has been known to sport an elf's hat during some days in December. It's great.

The wonder for us begins the moment the 1st December arrives and the wreath resumes its place on our front door. The tree comes next. Finally it is time for the books. Always the books in Our Peaceful Home.

Our Basket of Delights.

You can see many of them in my sidebar. Just over there to your left, see? I've reviewed some of them as well. I hope you've enjoyed your peek into our Christmas reading. There are so many beautiful books out there.

Tomorrow we'll read Clement Clarke Moore's A Visit from St. Nicholas. It will be The Night Before Christmas after all. At night when Jemimah is all tucked up in bed we'll sing I'll Telephone and Tell Old Mr Santa Claus. Anybody remember that song from Primary School days? Its singing remains a necessary part of Christmas Eve tradition in the our Peaceful Home, and in my siblings' as well.

Christmas Day we eat. All day. We do not read, we do not sing. We do laugh though, and we eat, and we talk, and we eat, and we watch the kids - of all ages - open their presents and we eat and we have fun. It is a great day. Too great to interrupt by reading.

Until the evening of course. Then we read. We always read at night. Every night. Even Christmas night. Besides, by night time on Christmas night we generally have stomach aches. From all that eating. Or maybe from not reading. I don't know which, but one of the two doesn't agree with us. Probably the lack of books, but the eating may have a bit of an effect.

Then we go to bed.

To sleep off the stomach ache.

After a final read of Wenceslas by Geraldine McCaughrean on Boxing Day, our Christmas reading is over and our Basket of Delights will go back into storage for another 11 months. So many wonderful Living Books, made all the more special by their once a year seasonality.

I love Christmas. I love Books. Can you tell?

I can't help but think that it is this excitement that makes Christmas such a precious, wonderful, magical time in our lives. Jemimah can't help to feel the excitement building.

Reading books is like that too. I am excited about books. I want Jemimah to feel that excitement about them too. And you know, I think she does.

The love of reading is such a precious thing to pass on to our children, a lifelong legacy of so much pleasure and delight. As this old year passes into the new, won't you make this your new Year's resolution - if it's not already - to read more to your children? Your kids are never too old to be read to.

Make sure they have access to loads of Living Books to read to themselves as well. Books that will touch their hearts and their minds and their imaginations. A love of reading will give them pleasure for their whole lives. Future success too, if you believe the literacy experts.

Don't you want that for your children? I know I want it for mine.

I hope you've enjoyed the beautiful Australian Christmas themed pictures accompanying this post. They're by Marg Towt, and illustrate the book Bush Christmas by Jo Monie. Look out for it!

A Merry Christmas and a Blessed, Happy, Healthy and Joyful New Year to all of you, my dear friends. I'll see you again soon.

French songs for AO3 Term I

1, 2, 3 nous irons au bois
1, 2, 3
Nous irons au bois
4, 5, 6
Cueillir des cerises
7, 8, 9
Dansmon panier neuf
10, 11, 12
Elles seront toutes rouges.

Three traditional French comptines for Term I. It is hard to belive AO3 is just around the corner!

Pauvre Père Noël

PS Don't let a lack of French stop you from watching this video - there are no words! It's funny, not French!

Don't throw out the baby...

We wandered into the City to do a spot of shopping on Saturday and entered into the madness that is the weekend before Christmas. Bedlam. There were shoppers everywhere, bags bulging, voices raised. Most of them looked happy; some looked harassed; a few looked downright annoyed. There was noise. It seems that many people now shop by telephone, describing the gift they are considering in agonising detail to the disembodied voice at the other end of the line, "It looks really fantastic...Yes... It is on the New York Review Book List so it must be pretty good...uh ha... It's only nineteen ninety five...yep, yep...okay then...bye." Layered over the top of the cacophony were the Christmas Carols, Joy to the World; Oh Come, Oh Come Immanuel; Rudolf the Red Nosed Reindeer. There were a number of Santas. There were gaily wrapped presents, and there were the Myer Windows. Olivia helps with Christmas. Fun, and true to the book, but not as good as The Wind on the Willows back in 2001 or 2004's The Polar Express in my opinion - which is generally the opinion I offer. There were Christmas trees in abundance - lots of them.

There were even a few nativity scenes. There was Mary, dressed in blue, of course, tenderly watching over the baby lying in the manger, Joseph looking proudly on. There were shepherds, cows and sheep and three wise men bearing gifts. The cliché stable scene.

Certainly from the looks of things, most people in Melbourne celebrate Christmas. Most of them know that it is Jesus' birth that they're celebrating too, despite the media's best attempts to keep it under wraps in this age of political super-inclusive correctness. It sneaks in though. In the midst of the super-secular commercial Christmas special in this week's M Magazine that comes in The Sunday Age you'll read this for example:

"It's a tiny bit uncomfortable watching "Christmas" stories that resolutely ignore the birth of baby Jesus."

It's a review of Super Why! Christmas Special, 4 pm 23rd December Nick Jnr, if you're interested. Don't know who said it though.

My point is this: Whether you celebrate Christmas or chose not to, whether you embrace the Christian only and reject Santa or whether you do the opposite and celebrate the secular only and leave off the religious, Christmas is an opportunity for Christians to speak about Jesus.

My friend, Andrew, realised this last week. Andrew single handedly runs a street ministry in the mall in Geelong - the outside square where the youth hang out. He is there many days a week, handing our good quality religious tracts (I would say that - our Church wrote them!) and speaking to people about Christ. It is demoralising and lonely work much of the time, but Andrew sees fruit in what he does and he perseveres. I admire what he does very much, but I couldn't do it. I would find it too hard to be rejected and ridiculed and threatened. Andrew doesn't. He is truly inspiring.

This week though, for the first time all year, Andrew was busy. Really busy. For the first time ever Andrew realised that he was going to run out of tracts. People wanted to talk too! They wanted to talk about Christmas, and they wanted to talk about Jesus. They wanted to know why Christians celebrate the birth of a little baby in a stable 2000 years ago.

See, despite the fact that most Australians know the Christmas story, most of them know about the journey to Bethlehem on the back of a donkey, most of them know about shepherds and wise men (but there were only three - weren't there?), and most of them know about the little baby lying in the manger on that morning long ago, most of them don't know why it is important.

Why do Christians celebrate the birth of Jesus? You see, to most people, the grown Jesus was a good man - or a prophet - or a great teacher - or a great leader. He taught great things, like kindness - or love. But is that enough reason for Christians all over the world to celebrate?

In The Christmas Mystery by Jostein Garrder, the pilgrims of the story travel back in time to the days of the meeting of the Council of Chalcedon in AD451:

"What are they talking about?" Elisabet wanted to know.

The angel laughed. "They're trying to reach agreement about correct Christian doctrine."

"And are they going to agree?"

"After long discussions they'll finally make a declaration that says that Jesus is both God and man. But they're discussing a great deal else as well. Some of them are so eager to find out what is the correct belief that in their haste they forget what is most important."

"And what's that?" asked Elisabet?

"That Jesus came into the world to teach people to be kind to one another. No other lesson is more difficult for a human being to learn, or more important..."

He's not right, is he? That's not the most important thing at all. Jesus didn't come to teach us to be kind. Jesus came into the world to be a Saviour.

The angel of the Lord who appeared to the shepherds said this:

"Do not be afraid. I bring you good news of great joy that will be for all the people. Today in the town of David a Savior has been born to you; he is Christ the Lord." Luke 2:10-11 NIV

Notice what he says - a Saviour has been born. Not a good man; not a prophet; not a teacher. A Saviour.

I am not going to tell you whether to celebrate religious Christmas. I don't; many of my good Christian friends do. I'm not going to tell you whether or not you should have a tree. I do; many of my Christian friends don't. I'm not even going to mention Santa, or presents, Christmas church services, pagan origins, honouring Jesus birth, or any of the other pros and cons of Christmas.

What I am going to ask you do do is this:

Don't throw the baby out with the bath water.

Remember that most people still celebrate Christmas. Most of those people know that they're celebrating the birth of a baby. Please take this opportunity to tell them why. Please tell them what the shepherds were told so long ago.

Jesus came as a Saviour.

Tell them that we are sinners by nature, sinners by choice. Tell them that all have sinned. That we are separated from God. That sin offends God. Tell them that the wages of sin is death. Then tell them that Jesus is the Saviour that they need.

Jesus is the Saviour that we all need.

That's what Christians celebrate at Christmas. The birth of a Saviour.

For that I am glad.

(Some of these thoughts came from Rev. Graeme Hart. Some didn't. The wrong things are mine, not his though. Thanks, Graeme.)

Our Work Garden Party

I wish I was more organised with my photography on Friday night instead of being concerned with the food and the drink and the weather and the music and the guests, but alas I wasn't - which is probably a good thing, because despite being the multitasker extraordinaire that I am, one of the juggling balls was sure to drop, and if it had to be one of them, then I guess I am glad that photographs of the occasion was the one. At least it didn't drop on my foot.

The task of hosting the Christmas Party for my work colleagues and their families fell to me a number of years ago, just after we had moved to town. I must have done an okay job, because I've been doing it ever since. Generally we hold the party on the back deck - near to the kitchen, barbeque and pool, but since this year the weather was forecast to be coolish (well too cold to contemplate swimming by anyone over 10), and the garden was looking nicer than usual because of the easing of the water restrictions, we decided on a Garden Party. "Best party ever!" was the guests' consensus, so I guess my idea was a good one!

Since I didn't think to photograph the food, because I was too busy cooking it, here's the menu:

Appetisers
Spiced Nuts
Cream Cheese Dip with Sundried Tomato and Caper Jam Topping
Spinach and Cheese Dip

Entrée
Prawn Skewers with Garlic and Chilli Butter

Main Course
Beef Steaks with a Festive Ginger Balsamic Marinade
Jacket Potatoes with Sour Cream
Guacamole
Pumpkin and Walnut Gratin
Asparagus with a Hollandaise Dipping Sauce
Greek Salad

Dessert
Pavlova served with lashings of Whipped Cream, a pile of Fresh Raspberries and Raspberry Coulis

Afters
Homemade Shortbread, Mince Pies, Christmas Cake,
Dutch Ginger Shortbread and Fresh Cherries
Coffee and Tea

We listened to nice music, we drank fine champagne (or beers - this was an Aussie Barbeque, right!), we talked, and we laughed, and we had a ball.

And now I'm glad it is over for another year.

PS I need to boast, because I made all that food, and because everyone thought our garden looked good, and everyone had fun and wouldn't go home until the small hours, and that, after all, is one of the signs of a good party, when the guests won't leave at the end. Right?

Okay. Finished showing off now.

Bye.

10 French Read-Alouds

For Butter Fly

1. Petit Ours Brun est grognon by Danièle Bour





2. Madeline by Ludwig Bemelmans
3. La chenille qui fait des trous by Eric Carle
4. La grenouille à grande bouche by Francine Vidal
5. Ernest et Célestine ont perdu Siméon by Gabrielle Vincent
6. Histoire de Babar, le petit éléphant by Jean de Brunhoff





7. Bon appétit, Monsieur Lapin! by Claude Boujonli
8. Les Contraires de Francesco Pittau and Bernadette Gervais
9. La petite poule rousse by Byron Barton
10. Siméon le Papillon by Antoon Krings

I also love Un Deux Trois by Opal Dunn. I blogged about that one here. My copy came from Borders.

Anyhow, hope you like my list. These books are classics - great in French and English! My faves are ones with lots of repetition. Monsieur Lapin, La chenile qui fait des trous, La grenouille à grande bouche and La petite poule rousse were all selected with this in mind.

Bonne lecture!

A letter for Father Christmas

Dear Father Christmas,

I know you've probably already made all of your decisions regarding Christmas presents for this year - given that it's so close and all, but I've just found something that I really like, and I don't know anybody else who'll be able to get it for me, so I thought of you, that's all.


It's this be-oo-tiful 'Tea Garden' tea-set, illustrated by Kat Macleod for the Heide Musuem of Modern Art. It's just been released in a limited edition of only 250 sets, signed by Kat, and individually numbered (in gold, of course,) and I only found out about it this morning on The Design Files, which is why I didn't ask you for it earlier. Sorry.

Anyhow, if you decide I've been good enough, the 'Tea Garden' set is $149.95 and you can get one from the Heide gift shop. They don't yet have an online store, but Heide will happily process credit card transactions over the phone and post anywhere within Australia. That should help you a lot, coz I guess you don't have many of these little beauties stashed up at the North Pole, do you?

I thank you for your consideration. This is the first time I've asked you for something for lots and lots of years, but I have never been disappointed in you in the past.

Yours faithfully,

Jeanne

PS We'll be in Geelong for Christmas this year. There is a chimney into the dining room in case you've forgotten.

Books that changed things

Have you ever had a realisation that the book that you're reading is going to change something in your life forever? I don't mean the Bible, because that changes us with each fresh reading, but other books.

I have. I my case, I have found that the books concurred with my husband's and my extant views on the topic, and the book really served to flesh out the bones of our existing idea, serving as an instruction book for how we were going to get ourselves to where we already knew we wanted to go.

These are mine. Would you like to see them?

The Ezzo's philosophies on child-rearing are controversial, I know that, but when my dear sister gave me this book when I was pregnant with Jemimah I realised that we were speaking the same language. To my husband and me, a child is valuable member of a loving family, not the centre of it. So often we had seen children whose parents' whole lives revolved around them and who grew up self-centred and shallow. With Preparation for Parenting we found a way to ensure that the same thing didn't happen with us.

With the help of this book, Jemimah, who was not an easy baby, slept through the night at 8 1/2 weeks of age, and was doing so every night by 12 weeks. That's no mean effort!

The beauty of a book, you know, is that you can pick and choose what parts of it you want to use. If you don't agree with everything written, you have every right to just ignore it. Some of you won't like this book. For us the book fitted what we already believed like a glove, and we loved it!

I suppose that it comes as no surprise to you to find Susan Schaeffer Macaulay's For the Children's Sake on this list, but at the time it was given to me by my friend Kaylene I had had no plans at all for educating my then three year old daughter at home. We had a great State school just down the road, I was working full time and loving it, and life was good.

Then whoosh! Along came Charlotte Mason and life as I knew it was changed forever. This Victorian educator was offering exactly what I wanted for my child's education, and I was hooked from almost the first page. Here I found a Christian liberal education full of music, art, languages, geography, nature, walks in the country and books!! Lots and lots of books!

Later I found the Ambleside Online website offering a Charlotte Mason online. A little bit of Australianising and our homeschooling adventure began. This is the book that started it all.

My husband and I have always had fairly fixed ideas about what we wanted our home to look and feel like. We used to call our style 'earthy minimalism' because we didn't know how else to describe it.

We discovered Wabi Sabi Style in Keibunsya in Kyoto - my absolute favourite bookshop anywhere, by the way, and this book has done more to influence our home and the way our environment looks than any other.

Wabi sabi has become trendy since this book was published in 2001, and with its new found fashion has come a considerable layer of Zen Buddhist overtones that play no part in our Christian life. This original book had none of this, just lots of tips to help us make our home into the Peaceful Home that it is today, a home embodying the essence of Japanese design in country Australia.

Sorry the pic is smaller than the rest, but I don't own this book, so I can't scan it for you. What the previous book did for the inside of our home, Susan Irvine's Garden of a Thousand Roses did for the outside. This story of how Susan established her beautiful garden in Malmsbury, just an hour or so from where we live, inspired much of the garden that I see outside my window as I write. Copiously illustrated, I still turn to Irvine's books for inspiration, names, ideas and advice.

I am interested to see that Garden of a Thousand Roses is back in print. It's now on my wishlist!!! The local library will be glad to have their copy back, I am sure!

I have never felt so humbled, so inadequate as a parent, as when I read this book for the first time. Written from a uniquely Reformed and Biblical perspective, Bringing the Gospel to Covenant Children in Dependency on the Spirit by Joel Beeke is about caring for the souls of our children and the benefits that result from doing so.

More than any other, this book encouraged me to evangelise my children and to plead for their salvation, never giving God rest until they are brought safely into his fold. It taught me to teach my covenant children to plead with God on the basis of his promises to baptise them with the Spirit of grace and to grant them regeneration, repentance, and faith.

This wonderful book is available as a free e-book here if you would like to be inspired as I am. I think I'd best reread my copy today as well!

So that's it then - a potpourri of my old friends. These books have gone a considerable way to defining who we are as a family. I hope you've enjoyed your journey through the bookshelves of our life.

Do you have any life changing books of your own?

Care to share?

Bad Books

Image from here I'm still here, but I'm having a crisis of confidence in my opinion. I've been thinking about books containing witches, vampires and werewolves. I've been thinking about bad books. I've been thinking about twaddle.

I'm having a problem because although I know what I believe about children (and adults) reading these books, I'm having trouble putting my opinion into words. I'm having trouble justifying what I know I think.

So often you hear parents and educators saying that is doesn't matter what kids are reading as long as they are reading. Of course it matters! It is like saying that it doesn't matter what they're eating as long as they're eating! A child filling up on chips and dips and artificially coloured Twisties will not have a healthy body. A child filling up on a diet of dumbed down twaddle will not have a healthy mind.

The question then is what is a bad book? Is there any such thing?

I think there is.

We need not ask what the girl or boy likes. She very often likes the twaddle of goody-goody story books, he likes condiments, highly-spiced tales of adventure. We are all capable of liking mental food of a poor quality and a titillating nature; and possibly such food is good for us when our minds are in need of an elbow-chair; but our spiritual life is sustained on other stuff, whether we be boys or girls, men or women.

Charlotte Mason, School Education p 168

To me, a bad book is one that is talks down to a child, that undervalues his intelligence. Books that appear cast in a mould are bad books - series books all lined up on a shelf looking like little houses made of ticky-tacky - looking all the same. If you open these books you'll find the same story recast with different characters and a different location. Sometimes they don't even have an author -the Nancy Drew mysteries, The Hardy Boys, Tom Swift, Trixie Belden, and the Bobbsey Twins are examples, as are the later Boxcar Children books, the ones not written by Gertrude Chandler Warner and the Charlie and Lola books not written by Lauren Child. This is not a recent phenomenon. Miss Mason mentions two bad genres above - highly spiced boys tales of adventure and girls goody-goody stories. The old fashioned romantic novel is another, as were the countless ballads of Robin Hood.

So is there a role for bad books? I think there probably is. How many of us were introduced to bad books first, but then made the leap into good literature? I know I was. I read my way through Enid Blyton (who probably gets a guernsey above too), Trixie Belden and Nancy Drew - all fifty-six of them -and I loved them. I thought they were fantastic.

I often wonder whether I ever would have become a reader if my mother had stopped me reading 'bad books', I really do. On the other hand I wonder what she would have done if I hadn't stopped reading them. Would she have continued to allow me to read this stuff for ever, not caring that it was vacuous instant gratification? My sister's adventure into reading began with Mills and Boon novels - one a night for years. I read them with her, reading a whole book in less than an hour. Now they are definitely bad literature. I am sure of that, but they played a major role in my sister's ongoing love of great books.

I suppose people who never move on from bad series books read them as adults as well - one Agatha Christie novel a week for ever and ever; a Mills and Boon book a night for eternity.

Does it matter? Who am I to judge their reading matter anyhow? I would be rightly angry if the literature police marched into my home and told me I was not able to have my choice of books on my bookshelves. Why should I stop others reading what they like, then? Why should I stop Jemimah?

I suppose for me, to continue my dietary analogy from earlier, bad novels, like bad food, have a place in a healthy diet. We don't have good and bad food in our home - we have 'everyday food' and 'treat food'. Perhaps we should look at books the same way. Perhaps a healthy childhood can have a mixture of everyday books and treat books - living books and twaddle, good books and bad. Just as it is my role as Jemimah's Mummy to ensure that treats are eaten once a week or so and not every day, so it is my role as her Mummy/teacher to ensure that good books predominate in her reading matter. As an emerging reader Jemimah has read Enid Blyton's The Secret Seven. She has read Bobby Brewster and Angelina Ballerina as well. What she hasn't done is read the sequels. She hasn't ever asked about them and we don't own them. Jemimah has read The Little House on the Prairie Books too, and can't wait to read the rest of the series. They sit there on her bookshelf taunting her. She is the same with Christine Harris' Audrey Barlow series, The Muddle-headed Wombat books and Kate DiCamillio's magical stories. These are the good books. These are the books where the characters come alive. These are Charlotte Mason's Living Books. I think Jemimah's Charlotte Mason education full of the finest books that literature has to offer, with the richest of language and ideas on every page, has served her well. I don't think I need to remove the treat books completely from Jemimah's diet because I think she will restrict them herself. That, after all, is the best outcome of all - education not prohibition.

Back in 1945 George Orwell the author of Animal Farm and 1984 wrote an essay called Good Bad Books. He used the term to refer to low-brow books - books with no literary pretensions that were, nevertheless, great fun to read. He used as examples the Sherlock Holmes books, Edith Nesbit's The Treasure Seekers, Dracula, Uncle Tom's Cabin, and a whole heap of others which we now reverently call 'classics'. Orwell made the point then that often these books long outlast the real classics, passing from pulp fiction into the revered realm of fine literature. In his essay Orwell writes:

In each of these books the author has been able to identify himself with his imagined characters, to feel with them and invite sympathy on their behalf. with a kind of abandonment that cleverer people would find it difficult to achieve. They bring out the fact that intellectual refinement can be a disadvantage to a story-teller, as it would be to a music-hall comedian.

The existence of good bad literature - the fact that one can be amused or excited or even moved by a book that one's intellect simply refuses to take seriously - is a reminder that art is not the same thing as cerebration.

So what do we regard as good bad children's books today? What are your guilty secrets? Which twaddly books will you now admit to not only owning but enjoying? Which books will you hide if the Charlotte Mason police come a-knocking only to bring them out again with relief the minute they've gone?

Do tell. I promise not to judge you unfairly if you do!

PS Thoughts about books and the occult another day.

Chevaux dans le cheveux

For the Book Chook, who once told her French teacher she had horses on her head instead of hair!


Incroyable, n'est ce pas!

See more of the photography of Christophe Gilbert here, but be warned that they are not all for small eyes.

Visits to Father Christmas

Yep, we've done it every year since she was two. Same tee shirt too, only we forgot to remove the windcheater in 2005. She should get one more year out of it, we reckon.

By then she might be too big for the shirt and much too big for a visit to the jolly man in red.

Ho Hum...

Hope 2005's Santa has had his rosacea treated...

How sweet!

Natalie Lete paints a mural for Usagi pour toi in Tokyo.

(I first saw it on Pia Jane Bijkerk's lovely blog.) I like it!

Christmas Day in the Morning

Image from here

He woke suddenly and completely. It was four o'clock, the hour at which his father had always called him to get up and help with the milking. Strange how the habits of his youth clung to him still! Fifty years ago, and his father had been dead for thirty years, and yet he waked at four o'clock in the morning. He had trained himself to turn over and go to sleep, but this morning it was Christmas, he did not try to sleep.

Why did he feel so awake tonight? He slipped back in time, as he did so easily nowadays. He was fifteen years old and still on his father's farm. He loved his father. He had not known it until one day a few days before Christmas, when he had overheard what his father was saying to his mother.

"Mary, I hate to call Rob in the mornings. He's growing so fast and he needs his sleep. If you could see how he sleeps when I go in to wake him up! I wish I could manage alone."

"Well, you can't Adam." His mother's voice as brisk, "Besides, he isn't a child anymore. It's time he took his turn."

"Yes," his father said slowly. "But I sure do hate to wake him."

When he heard these words, something in him spoke: his father loved him! He had never thought of that before, taking for granted the tie of their blood. Neither his father nor his mother talked about loving their children--they had no time for such things. There was always so much to do on the farm.

Now that he knew his father loved him, there would be no loitering in the mornings and having to be called again. He got up after that, stumbling blindly in his sleep, and pulled on his clothes, his eyes shut, but he got up.

And then on the night before Christmas, that year when he was fifteen, he lay for a few minutes thinking about the next day. They were poor, and most of the excitement was in the turkey they had raised themselves and mince pies his mother made. His sisters sewed presents and his mother and father always bought something he needed, not only a warm jacket, maybe, but something more, such as a book. And he saved and bought them each something, too.

He wished, that Christmas when he was fifteen, he had a better present for his father. As usual he had gone to the ten-cent store and bought a tie. It had seemed nice enough until he lay thinking the night before Christmas. He looked out of his attic window, the stars were bright.

"Dad," he had once asked when he was a little boy, "What is a stable?"

"It's just a barn," his father had replied, "like ours."

Then Jesus had been born in a barn, and to a barn the shepherds had come...

The thought struck him like a silver dagger. Why should he not give his father a special gift too, out there in the barn? He could get up early, earlier than four o'clock, and he could creep into the barn and get all the milking done. He'd do it alone, milk and clean up, and then when his father went in to start the milking he'd see it all done. And he would know who had done it. He laughed to himself as he gazed at the stars. It was what he would do, and he mustn't sleep too sound.

He must have waked twenty times, scratching a match each time to look at his old watch-midnight, and half past one, and then two o'clock.

At a quarter to three he got up and put on his clothes. He crept downstairs, careful of the creaky boards, and let himself out. The cows looked at him, sleepy and surprised. It was early for them too.

He had never milked all alone before, but it seemed almost easy. He kept thinking about his father's surprise. His father would come in and get him, saying that he would get things started while Rob was getting dressed. He'd go to the barn, open the door, and then he'd go get the two big empty milk cans. But they wouldn't be waiting or empty, they'd be standing in the milk-house, filled.

"What the--," he could hear his father exclaiming.

He smiled and milked steadily, two strong streams rushing into the pail, frothing and fragrant.

The task went more easily than he had ever known it to go before. Milking for once was not a chore. It was something else, a gift to his father who loved him. He finished, the two milk cans were full, and he covered them and closed the milk-house door carefully, making sure of the latch.

Back in his room he had only a minute to pull off his clothes in the darkness and jump into bed, for he heard his father up. He put the covers over his head to silence his quick breathing. The door opened.

"Rob!" His father called. "We have to get up, son, even if it is Christmas."

"Aw-right," he said sleepily.

The door closed and he lay still, laughing to himself. In just a few minutes his father would know. His dancing heart was ready to jump from his body.

The minutes were endless--ten, fifteen, he did not know how many--and he heard his father's footsteps again. The door opened and he lay still.

"Rob!"

"Yes, Dad--"

His father was laughing, a queer sobbing sort of laugh.

"Thought you'd fool me, did you?" His father was standing by his bed, feeling for him, pulling away the cover.

"It's for Christmas, Dad!"

He found his father and clutched him in a great hug. He felt his father's arms go around him. It was dark and they could not see each other's faces.

"Son, I thank you. Nobody ever did a nicer thing--"

"Oh, Dad, I want you to know--I do want to be good!" The words broke from him of their own will. He did not know what to say. His heart was bursting with love.

He got up and pulled on his clothes again and they went down to the Christmas tree. Oh what a Christmas, and how his heart had nearly burst again with shyness and pride as his father told his mother and made the younger children listen about how he, Rob, had got up all by himself.

"The best Christmas gift I ever had, and I'll remember it, son every year on Christmas morning, so long as I live."

They had both remembered it, and now that his father was dead, he remembered it alone: that blessed Christmas dawn when, alone with the cows in the barn, he had made his first gift of true love.

This Christmas he wanted to write a card to his wife and tell her how much he loved her, it had been a long time since he had really told her, although he loved her in a very special way, much more than he ever had when they were young. He had been fortunate that she had loved him. Ah, that was the true joy of life, the ability to love. Love was still alive in him, it still was.

It occurred to him suddenly that it was alive because long ago it had been born in him when he knew his father loved him. That was it: Love alone could awaken love. And he could give the gift again and again. This morning, this blessed Christmas morning, he would give it to his beloved wife. He I could write it down in a letter for her to read and keep forever. He went to his desk and began his love letter to his wife: My dearest love...

Such a happy, happy, Christmas!

Pearl Buck 1955

Life on Holidays

So we're on holidays. Weeks and weeks of nothing to do.

Of course, being creatures of habit, our holidays have formed a routine all of their own, and as I thought about that this morning, I realised that our holiday day is very similar to our school day. Funny that. School with a Christmas ring to it.

I though that maybe you might be interested in what we've been up to since the school bell signalled an end to term three:

Morning Devotions

We're using a wonderful advent publication by the Barnabus Fund for our devotions throughout December. Entitled Praying for the Persecuted Church in Advent 2009, it devotes a day each to a particular country where Christians are oppressed. It should be available on their website, but the link was broken when I tried it.

Writing from prison to the Philippians, Paul expressed his confidence that through their prayers and the help of God even his sufferings would turn out for his salvation. (Philippians 1:19). Our prayers for our persecuted brothers and sisters are the best Christmas gift that we can offer them. thank you for joining in this vital work.

Dr Patrick Sookhdeo Internal Director, Barnabus Fund

We've found this publication good for geography too, as we follow the countries around the world on the accompanying map and then on our globe.

Australian Literature

We're reading Christmas at Longtime by Hesba Brinsmead as a read aloud. This beautiful story is of a family Christmas at Longtime in the Blue Mountains at a time when lives were simpler. It is truly a much loved Australian classic in our Peaceful Home.


Christmas at Longtime means family time to nine year old Teddy. It means Dad always forgetting to buy Christmas presents; puddings to prepare, almonds to skin, carols to sing, and no more lessons until next year.

On Christmas morning, the year that Teddy was going on ten, the sun shone pumpkin-yellow, furze-yellow, eggs-and-bacon-yellow. Teddy and Jenny had been warned not to get up too early. But the question was, how early is early, on any Christmas morning? It was all very well for Mother to say presents were not what Christmas was all about. It was all very well for her to say - "It is more blessed to give, than to receive". True enough, giving was pleasant. But it was still blessed, thought Teddy, to receive. To receive was very nice indeed.

Christmas the year Teddy turned ten was a picnic in the park on a white damask tablecloth:

To begin with there was pumped lamb. Mother had cooked it the night before. She had kept the stove burning brightly for hours and hours, while it simmered. She had added to it herbs from her garden. There was thyme and sage, and a sprig of rosemary and some marjoram, and also an onion. So now, safe in the muslin bag that had originally contained flour, the leg of lamb reposed in the tucker box. Then there was a washed lettuce, and a jar of beetroot, and a whole pound of bought tomatoes. There was a bowl of salad made with new potatoes cooked with plenty of mint. There was a big loaf of bread that Mother had baked with artistry. There was homemade butter. And last but not least, there was the spicy-smelling pudding. All this went into the tucker-box, to be covered with a clean towel and safely stowed in the truck.

Don't you wish you were there to eat it with them?

Other literature

Every day we read a chapter from this year's family read aloud, The Christmas Mystery by Jostein Gaarder. It is delightful and we're loving it. I blogged about it last year, here.

We also read one or two Christmas books daily from our Basket of Delights, but you know that already, because I've been reviewing many of them as we go.

You'll find them all in the sidebar.

French

We've been playing Uno in French - our latest holiday craze. We're also reading Babar et le Père Noël about that elephant and Father Christmas. I'll review it when we finish!

Depuis qu'ils ont écrit au Père Noël, Arthur, Pom, Flore et Alexandre surveillent attentivement la boîte aux lettres, mais en vain. Trouvant excellente leur idée de vouloir faire venir le Père Noël chez eux, Babar entreprend alors un long voyage pour le retrouver et le convaincre d'inclure le pays des éléphants dans sa tournée...

Reading

Jemimah is reading Kate DiCamillo's book The Tiger Rising. She has loved all of the books that she has read from this Newbery Honor author, but is finding this hard going. it is certainly much darker than DiCamillo's other books, and I wonder whether the themes might be too old for her although she is not finding the writing style difficult. I shall have another look at this one later on today and decide whether we might put it away for a couple of years and try again.

Copywork

We're handwriting notes on our Christmas letters! Lots of writing practice happening here, even though we're not copying fine literature!

Poetry

Lots of classic Christmas poems to read in that Basket of Delights...

Kitchen Garden

The Kitchen Garden is looking good. We're eating delicious ripe strawberries by the handful. The wild rocket is ready for salads, but we're still awaiting the first of the tomatoes. Lettuce, basil and Thai basil in abundance. The corn is ripening well. We're calling it the 'Wall of Ailing Corn' from The Kite Runner, but it's not ailing at all!

Heaps of Christmas baking happening as well: mince pies, shortbread, Christmas cakes, Dutch shortbread full of ginger and almonds, and White Christmas slice. Delish!

Yoyos today.

Do all little girls like baking, I wonder?

Handwork

We're making handmade cards for Christmas presents. Shhhh, don't tell.

Sport

Jemimah has been loving her nightly bike ride with Daddy after work. We love the long balmy summer evenings, and make the most of them with lots of meals outside (not that that has much to do with sport, but who cares?)

Little Aths and Tennis continue as normal until the schools finish, and Jemimah loves catching up with her girlfriends at both these events.

I suppose I could go on, but I think what I have written serves to illustrate the fact that learning happens year round in our Peaceful Home. None of this stuff is scheduled - this is just real life. I think this is why we love homeschooling the CM way so much. If something is articificial or contrived it has no place in our day. Maths might still be a drag as far as Jemimah is concerned, but we do no busy work, no pages of repitition. We aim for 20 mins a day for maths, and most times we get done in this time.

Most of the time school and life are the same thing, and I, for one, like that very much indeed.

As they say in Bali:

Education and Life: Same, Same; Different Name.

A good book for Pauline

Pauline needs a book to read because she's just finished David Copperfield. She wants an Aussie classic, and I really want to help her because she thinks I'm the GURU, and I really like people who say nice things about me.

See how shallow I am?

Anyhow, here's my list of 10 Must Read Australian Classics, just for you Pauline:

1. Seven Little Australians by Ethel Turner
2. The Getting of Wisdom by Henry Handel Richardson
3. Robbery Under Arms by Rolf Boldrewood
4. We of the Never Never by Jeannie Gunn
5. My Brilliant Career by Miles Franklin
6. A Fortunate Life by A B Facey
7. Picnic at Hanging Rock by Joan Lindsay
8. Voss by Patrick White
9. The Chant of Jimmie Blacksmith by Thomas Keneally
10. True History of the Kelly Gang by Peter Carey
11. Cloudstreet by Tim Winton

(The links take you to Amazon America. If the price there is exorbitant then I've linked to Abebooks USA. Aussies should find these books easily!)

As you can see, I can't count. Actually I can, but I can't decide what title to leave out and I don't think that Pauline is going to mind having an extra book to choose from. Besides, it's my list and I'm feeling arrogant and guru-like today.

She wants to read The Fatal Shore by Robert Hughes. I haven't included this on my list because I haven't read it, although I'd like to. Maybe I should ask Santa for a copy for Christmas. It would certainly rank as a modern Aussie classic, I'm sure.

Of course, I'm not really the guru of anything really, but I do like Australian literature. Do you? What would you put on your list for Pauline? Would you add anything because you love it, or leave anything out because it is the worst thing you've ever read? Do tell.

Don't forget my rule with these sort of lists though - if you add a title, you have to remove one. She already has eleven choices, and that's enough for anyone.

Even Pauline, and I'm feeling very kindly toward her today.

The Rare Book Room

...of the Reformed Presbyterian Theological Seminary in Pittsburgh.

Where two of my great loves collide magnificently. Oh my! I, too, want to spend a night in this room! Anyone interested?

Our Victorian Wild Things

I'd pretty much decided that I wouldn't take Jemimah to see Spike Jonze’s movie adaptation of Where the Wild Things Are. The film looks much darker than Sendak's iconic book, and I wondered whether it might be a bit scary. I also have reservations about the scene in the trailer with mum's new boyfriend, but that's a different matter...

Anyhow, today I learn that maybe those Wild Things are closer than I originally thought...

...I am probably the only one of you who didn't already know this, but apparently the movie was filmed in Victoria! Max's middle American house is actually in Melbourne; the sand dunes are in Portland; the mountains are Mt Arapiles near Horsham, and the forest looks just like it could be in the Dandenongs, though I could be wrong there. Then there's that Aussie beach...

Now that I know that the film is Australian, it is quite obvious - look at those gum trees above Max's head; the leaves on the ground! Way too cool!

So what to do? I've had so much fun this morning playing and replaying the trailer that I am now desperate to see the whole film. Should I take Jemimah though? What do you think? Are you going to take your kids to see Victoria's Wild Things or not? If you're in America, have you already seen the film? Have your kids? Do give me your opinion.

Either way, have a look at the trailer and see what parts of Australia you can see in it. It's fun.

On a related note, Russell Boyd, Location Manager for Wild Things, in an interview with Lindy Burns on ABC Melbourne Radio last week, said this:

Maurice Sendak always maintains that he wrote a book about children; not a book for children to read.

Do you think that Sendak's original book was ever thought of as a book for adults, not kids? Who loved the book more in your family - you or your children? Do you think Spike Jonze is right to follow this philosophy through into his film adaptation of a book beloved by so many...um...er...little adults, or do you, as I do, feel that regardless of his intended audience, Maurice Sendak wrote a classic children's book and that therefore a significant percentage, if not the majority, of the people, who go to see Jonzes' film will be children.

There is a book of the film, called The Wild Things by Dave Eggers. It is certainly not being promoted as a children's book, although I notice that Borders include it in their Young Adult section. This is what the publishers had to say about it:

The Wild Things is about the confusions of a boy, Max, making his way in a world he can’t control. His father is gone, his mother is spending time with a younger boyfriend, his sister is becoming a teenager and no longer has interest in him. At the same time, Max finds himself capable of startling acts of wildness: he wears a wolf suit, bites his mom, and can’t always control his outbursts. During a fight at home, Max flees and runs away into the woods. He finds a boat there, jumps in, and ends up on the open sea, destination unknown. He lands on the island of the Wild Things, and soon he becomes their king. But things get complicated when Max realizes that the Wild Things want as much from him as he wants from them. Funny, dark, and alive, The Wild Things is a timeless and time-tested tale for all ages.

Hmmm, the publishers might say it is a time-tested tale for all ages, but this does not sound like the classic children's tale to me.

I'm going now before I get too controversial.

Oh! There is one part of the film that I do like unreservedly - Karen O and The Kids singing Where is Love.

This is a great song - Enjoy!