tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-83537676514838542882024-03-05T00:49:47.558-08:00Unschooled LearningA blog about learning happening naturally and spontaneously.Cathy Koetsierhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05490602811230934114noreply@blogger.comBlogger11125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8353767651483854288.post-18489677936714891192012-06-27T21:35:00.001-07:002012-06-27T21:35:41.232-07:00Sugata Mitra's Experiments in Self-Teaching<iframe allowfullscreen="" frameborder="0" height="360" src="http://www.youtube.com/embed/dk60sYrU2RU?rel=0" width="640"></iframe><br />
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<br />Cathy Koetsierhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05490602811230934114noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8353767651483854288.post-55998466994386538552011-10-20T21:37:00.000-07:002012-06-27T21:38:01.628-07:00Interview with David Belle, Founder of Modern Parkour<iframe allowfullscreen="" frameborder="0" height="360" src="http://www.youtube.com/embed/0qUSRC-i200?rel=0" width="480"></iframe><br />
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<br />Cathy Koetsierhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05490602811230934114noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8353767651483854288.post-8440240838772367022011-03-18T11:30:00.000-07:002011-11-27T06:36:45.487-08:00In the Footsteps of Heroes<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjiPPe3WzYU_Q2MWotNacHlZQMH500d85aBX9dhN993h3psLk1szdlba9FvPQirolbA8HgqxQnHAeouBVEolZ9ObndLbmbSqEzxFWRQwK_qUEQwsCPtOT_JPsoGzikWx1zvKhehwssZw20/s1600/spires.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="392" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjiPPe3WzYU_Q2MWotNacHlZQMH500d85aBX9dhN993h3psLk1szdlba9FvPQirolbA8HgqxQnHAeouBVEolZ9ObndLbmbSqEzxFWRQwK_qUEQwsCPtOT_JPsoGzikWx1zvKhehwssZw20/s640/spires.jpg" width="640" /></a></div>On Saturday I went to Oxford. City of dreaming spires and bells....City of C.S Lewis, and of Sheldon and Davy Vanauken. Heroes. Mine anyway.<br />
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My love for Oxford is drawn exclusively from the writings of Lewis and Vanauken. Oxford of today is somewhat different. Fifty years on, I'm sure there is a lot more traffic... and a lot more people. But enough of their Oxford remains that one can recognise it.<br />
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I like doing this kind of thing; I'm not sure why. In some way it is deeply satisfying; connecting the threads of influence from then to now. They were here... and now I am. They saw this view... and now I see it. They ate here... and now I do. And so on. It becomes a way of paying tribute to heroes, acknowledging the debt, sharing my gratitude for who they were, and for what they have made of me because they took the time to record their discoveries and experiences and lessons learned as they made their way through their lives.<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEje6bdF-eELXTEBYuqVzFT9jbgssMFVabbUdTY7Zz4is6N_FXDfqHZ_0hOMF_sF5VBSi1BVMTL3EI23Fz5zBZvxhuBNHYGtaNJDPfLtPQiNGyfg-F_uTb0B-Nvar0UepwF1I6wZ6zs8cWg/s1600/plaque_lewis.jpg" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" height="200" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEje6bdF-eELXTEBYuqVzFT9jbgssMFVabbUdTY7Zz4is6N_FXDfqHZ_0hOMF_sF5VBSi1BVMTL3EI23Fz5zBZvxhuBNHYGtaNJDPfLtPQiNGyfg-F_uTb0B-Nvar0UepwF1I6wZ6zs8cWg/s200/plaque_lewis.jpg" width="194" /></a>My heart was very full, and completely at peace. As I wandered around there was a peculiar sense of time merging, then and now becoming one. I found myself wondering whether I was the ghost in their present, or whether they were the ghosts in mine. Either way, they seemed very much <i>with</i> me as I explored 'their' Oxford, their books and my camera close at hand.<br />
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In reality, I was born the year after C.S.Lewis died, and many years after Sheldon Vanauken, with Davy, his wife, had spent his three short years as a student at Oxford University. <br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhU8CjRh0iYqwz4Nla-31AOTGthwMwbkCCDcthEj6hz0Pb_iUv_Vk6RxwyL_NRW4DHogsKkfeF_NOg-K5TSQ4uKGrwDg6fcWPihV22_mwLLh3ADwwf-OEoueCt_OjIKgx6djJdEVybHXLc/s1600/002.JPG" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="213" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhU8CjRh0iYqwz4Nla-31AOTGthwMwbkCCDcthEj6hz0Pb_iUv_Vk6RxwyL_NRW4DHogsKkfeF_NOg-K5TSQ4uKGrwDg6fcWPihV22_mwLLh3ADwwf-OEoueCt_OjIKgx6djJdEVybHXLc/s320/002.JPG" width="320" /></a><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhU8CjRh0iYqwz4Nla-31AOTGthwMwbkCCDcthEj6hz0Pb_iUv_Vk6RxwyL_NRW4DHogsKkfeF_NOg-K5TSQ4uKGrwDg6fcWPihV22_mwLLh3ADwwf-OEoueCt_OjIKgx6djJdEVybHXLc/s1600/002.JPG" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"></a><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhU8CjRh0iYqwz4Nla-31AOTGthwMwbkCCDcthEj6hz0Pb_iUv_Vk6RxwyL_NRW4DHogsKkfeF_NOg-K5TSQ4uKGrwDg6fcWPihV22_mwLLh3ADwwf-OEoueCt_OjIKgx6djJdEVybHXLc/s1600/002.JPG" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"> </a><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhU8CjRh0iYqwz4Nla-31AOTGthwMwbkCCDcthEj6hz0Pb_iUv_Vk6RxwyL_NRW4DHogsKkfeF_NOg-K5TSQ4uKGrwDg6fcWPihV22_mwLLh3ADwwf-OEoueCt_OjIKgx6djJdEVybHXLc/s1600/002.JPG" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"> </a><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhU8CjRh0iYqwz4Nla-31AOTGthwMwbkCCDcthEj6hz0Pb_iUv_Vk6RxwyL_NRW4DHogsKkfeF_NOg-K5TSQ4uKGrwDg6fcWPihV22_mwLLh3ADwwf-OEoueCt_OjIKgx6djJdEVybHXLc/s1600/002.JPG" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"></a>I started off at The Kilns, in Headingly, where C.S.Lewis had lived <a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhU8CjRh0iYqwz4Nla-31AOTGthwMwbkCCDcthEj6hz0Pb_iUv_Vk6RxwyL_NRW4DHogsKkfeF_NOg-K5TSQ4uKGrwDg6fcWPihV22_mwLLh3ADwwf-OEoueCt_OjIKgx6djJdEVybHXLc/s1600/002.JPG" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"></a>with his brother 'Warnie'.<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhU8CjRh0iYqwz4Nla-31AOTGthwMwbkCCDcthEj6hz0Pb_iUv_Vk6RxwyL_NRW4DHogsKkfeF_NOg-K5TSQ4uKGrwDg6fcWPihV22_mwLLh3ADwwf-OEoueCt_OjIKgx6djJdEVybHXLc/s1600/002.JPG" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"></a><br />
I stood outside, suddenly tearful - so <i>many</i> books. So many wonderful books. And Narnia. Who and what would I be without Narnia?<br />
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I first read a Narnia Chronicle when I was twelve. I had been ill, and my mother, always a keen and avid reader, had bought me a pile of second hand books to keep me occupied. 'The Horse and His Boy' was one of them. At that time I did not know that there were more Narnia books. But I read and reread the adventures of Shasta and Bree until I knew chunks of the text by heart. It is still my favourite of the Narnia stories.<br />
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Later, much later, married and with two little children, our good friend Sam bought us the collected Narnia Chronicles. What a feast! My children grew up on Narnia. Again, these books were read and reread, until at last Craig and I bought Radio Theatre's recorded versions of the stories so that the children could listen to them for themselves on CD. There are not many months that go by, even now, without some sound of Aslan, Peter, Edmund, Lucy or Susan. Aslan is huge, real, forever - exactly as He should be. He rights all wrongs and turns up to save when all is lost. He has done much to build a sense of security for my children in today's hazardous world.<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgIVDOGl65aJE0BlDAhoNqz3ATFtg3E8uxuqVpUNgRdXF-fQr27LkB5fOEly9WYM1oZ0jALPYWtaowfd3cBz_ne2-ohQXk52UnWv5Riw4XaIeLLsDcor6tf70DmiXnVGbCGlfMPNS2h1xY/s1600/035.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" height="200" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgIVDOGl65aJE0BlDAhoNqz3ATFtg3E8uxuqVpUNgRdXF-fQr27LkB5fOEly9WYM1oZ0jALPYWtaowfd3cBz_ne2-ohQXk52UnWv5Riw4XaIeLLsDcor6tf70DmiXnVGbCGlfMPNS2h1xY/s200/035.JPG" width="133" /></a>So I stood for a while, outside C.S. Lewis' home, looking at the windows and door of the small room in which he wrote these books. Thinking about writing - how it comes, birthed out of an idea, taking on life and form, changing and impacting people one may never get to meet in any other way. It is a big mystery this....<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEin3ggcDQPNkHs3keHzQKFmiU9CJ9r16m-ElC4A5SCIHy_fjVKpIXCBNEvKZKIvufz0aYUncKP89RZK5CUS7Jlob0U7RwEREU5dlOd2Ae65oy6qulsAcN1x7l_Ukj1ySJOfTKosGD_3Eow/s1600/040.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="226" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEin3ggcDQPNkHs3keHzQKFmiU9CJ9r16m-ElC4A5SCIHy_fjVKpIXCBNEvKZKIvufz0aYUncKP89RZK5CUS7Jlob0U7RwEREU5dlOd2Ae65oy6qulsAcN1x7l_Ukj1ySJOfTKosGD_3Eow/s320/040.JPG" width="320" /></a>Later, I drove to Holy Trinity, Headington- the church C.S. Lewis attended, and where he is buried. Another time of full heart and quiet reflection. Thinking about how it is that the ripples of our lives spread out to others.<br />
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We may think that our small lives are not terribly important, but they are. Lewis died in November 1963. I was born in February 1964. And yet he touched my life in such a way that today I went in search of his grave.... and it meant a lot to me to find it.<br />
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In my life, C.S. Lewis would possibly have remained the author of Narnia and nothing more, if it had not been for a gift received when I was in my early twenties. This gift was a small book with a yellow cover, a photograph of a girl, and a rather peculiar comment written above it - something about 'C.S. Lewis and a pagan love invaded by Christ, as told by one of the lovers.' That piqued my curiosity, although I thought it a rather stupid comment, and said so - but it was enough to make me read the book. Philip, our friend, said it was a very important book. I read it, dry eyed, and liked it and thought that was the end of the matter. But no, Philip was right. It was - and remains - a very important book. Because of Philip's disappointment that I seemed so little affected by 'A Severe Mercy', I went back and read it again, more reflectively - and now the tears came, and Sheldon became my friend and companion. And with him, C.S. Lewis.<br />
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Looking back over the life one has lived, there are things that stand out, 'moments made eternity', impressions that remain. At the time their importance may not have been noted; with hindsight you know that this was definitive, life changing, direction setting. This is what happened with 'A Severe Mercy'. This is why I love Oxford. This is why, I can't really think of Lewis without Vanauken and vice versa. Or about Oxford without the three of them... and Dom Julian Stead, whose beautiful book of poetry I was later to hunt down and purchase for a ridiculous price...<br />
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Sheldon Vanauken and his wife, Davy, had spent three happy years in Oxford. The chapter about this part of their lives is very beautiful. It is a glimpse of an Oxford, captured like a photograph and it allows the rest of us, who may never have enjoyed the privilege of being students at Oxford in the fifties, to feel what it was like. It was also during this time that first Davy, and then Sheldon, converted from atheism to Christianity.<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiKR3NbJpSXfUBfnWCw4x_K949CUhkB-4Cg5IvVk_76elC2bZ1D8VMWDPV0x9DalyciUkfFBvY7vHgj7VUvBnjPQp0gZcSJxOH6WGr6__KPvwAqLRMV8s4MSF2yGpHTbyEk3CBI-oYw1ew/s1600/135.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiKR3NbJpSXfUBfnWCw4x_K949CUhkB-4Cg5IvVk_76elC2bZ1D8VMWDPV0x9DalyciUkfFBvY7vHgj7VUvBnjPQp0gZcSJxOH6WGr6__KPvwAqLRMV8s4MSF2yGpHTbyEk3CBI-oYw1ew/s320/135.JPG" width="213" /></a>Vanauken relates how, the last time he saw C.S. Lewis, just a few months before his death, they had parted in the High Street. They parted, Lewis had crossed the road, and then he turned and shouted back in his loud voice "Christians never say 'goodbye'!" Walking up the High Street, I thought of it. Felt as if I could hear the echoes still in the noise of traffic. Christians never say 'Goodbye'! We don't need to. So even today, ghost among ghosts, I am not saying 'Goodbye' to my friends; I am saying 'Hello'. Sharing a moment in anticipation of a time when we, maybe, will sit together over a drink and laugh and chat about it. Do they know I am here? Perhaps they do. And so we will laugh together and they will affectionately point out my little errors in perception of events and we will all be so full of joy to be together at last in the presence of Aslan.... Fantasies, but who knows.<br />
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Because of 'A Severe Mercy', and the way it impacted my thinking, my life and my marriage, I followed obscure directions to a tiny village called Binsey. There, I stopped for a while at a pub frequented by both C.S. Lewis, and the Vanaukens, called The Perch. This is an interesting and historic place, full of atmosphere, right by the river. It was here that Lewis Carroll first gave public readings of 'Alice in Wonderland'.<br />
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<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhhubF_53GKgFZu7tIIcHGnwCnOf3jrlpxmMCeMY9zXkEvVfgIZCuEkZRiCFQ-PJBT6jWyHPwjns2kJj2Wva_3rKX0M9zFpJpwc_JNTTsuAojVe5-tUIRs-Y1364Y8aCn_Fy7liuM9cYyY/s1600/IMG_4258.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="150" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhhubF_53GKgFZu7tIIcHGnwCnOf3jrlpxmMCeMY9zXkEvVfgIZCuEkZRiCFQ-PJBT6jWyHPwjns2kJj2Wva_3rKX0M9zFpJpwc_JNTTsuAojVe5-tUIRs-Y1364Y8aCn_Fy7liuM9cYyY/s200/IMG_4258.JPG" width="200" /></a></div><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjmrxKL8HxJZUWzagz-nBb-MU-bdvR7Br5YcWjPnYaFy7KA7XkRzFSAw2aOX1qLykRRo1qr_4t2_EvFmbEmnaOpWYpoqgLz2lFKqmRlPquyCShQ87apqRPkLZVTgPgPM0Z09CN-8sB3KK8/s1600/IMG_4260.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" height="150" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjmrxKL8HxJZUWzagz-nBb-MU-bdvR7Br5YcWjPnYaFy7KA7XkRzFSAw2aOX1qLykRRo1qr_4t2_EvFmbEmnaOpWYpoqgLz2lFKqmRlPquyCShQ87apqRPkLZVTgPgPM0Z09CN-8sB3KK8/s200/IMG_4260.JPG" width="200" /></a><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjNehTTk0SMA3dkBsiqpMT1Mgok7x1n-7KWQYj6uXMdHMzciueuEYGMSHGKSLoO6DKBbzBFqEY3MbXNqYUmy5PN_7thhgkFYgLrxfes22fz3fjlS0gK0_Mp2X6N4UE_nsx0z0NJSdDgYOI/s1600/IMG_4264.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="150" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjNehTTk0SMA3dkBsiqpMT1Mgok7x1n-7KWQYj6uXMdHMzciueuEYGMSHGKSLoO6DKBbzBFqEY3MbXNqYUmy5PN_7thhgkFYgLrxfes22fz3fjlS0gK0_Mp2X6N4UE_nsx0z0NJSdDgYOI/s200/IMG_4264.JPG" width="200" /></a><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjQKmt7u6K8hmTRV4kBYKIitCll3OuJSaxXmnIou6nkewjmbVr7Gmjk0Du0BvGtbNfJOKN9nqQ_5A_gAyKBFFyZ64EuiNgLo7G10DHU2NPxw3RIARLSPTMPP7spVnoJaA5NfJwKKK4JYyE/s1600/IMG_4256.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" height="150" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjQKmt7u6K8hmTRV4kBYKIitCll3OuJSaxXmnIou6nkewjmbVr7Gmjk0Du0BvGtbNfJOKN9nqQ_5A_gAyKBFFyZ64EuiNgLo7G10DHU2NPxw3RIARLSPTMPP7spVnoJaA5NfJwKKK4JYyE/s200/IMG_4256.JPG" width="200" /></a>From here, I could see the meadows across which they would have walked from the University. Apparently, this pastureland was originally given to the Freemen of Oxford by King Alfred in return for fighting Danish invaders in the 10th century. And to this day the Freemen of Oxford exercise their ancient rights to graze cattle and horses on the land and to fish in the river!<br />
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So of course I photographed the cows, and then I drove out along the track towards the tiny church of Binsey - a place that Sheldon and Davy loved so much that some of their ashes are scattered in the churchyard.<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEinxViWYoEi6ZkC6obj-uIDbpaI5kNfOZ6uVKX2uTdjQoA6z2Hr3lHTvDQoXQ7eXg639-BOklgy_qsTPj6QBPNT5wZL6E4L3Hyxw0XjTv4WDwxRr1vyDHHuDVJeg-JEyMOsqGZuuCM5Wgg/s1600/098.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" height="200" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEinxViWYoEi6ZkC6obj-uIDbpaI5kNfOZ6uVKX2uTdjQoA6z2Hr3lHTvDQoXQ7eXg639-BOklgy_qsTPj6QBPNT5wZL6E4L3Hyxw0XjTv4WDwxRr1vyDHHuDVJeg-JEyMOsqGZuuCM5Wgg/s200/098.JPG" width="133" /></a>I was a little confused, because the book mentioned a track lined with Beech trees, but there were no trees here. I looked closely at the hedges... and there they were. Just stumps. On the corner, there was just one remaining tree. At some point the rest had all been cut down. Suddenly I was glad they were not here to see it. <br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi14dLLMQP4Zo_Uo7A5GiV4eC6s9qyeY_gA9D48BR4naFVYE908soKG5nA4E-2PMvSEu4V00kJtrl_AnBK6PvTkFBtqhKz9fxclrYWh0iDYNZ__D6OYH7wXqrFyYeaA-rGVLnJX6Th5eG8/s1600/079.JPG" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="213" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi14dLLMQP4Zo_Uo7A5GiV4eC6s9qyeY_gA9D48BR4naFVYE908soKG5nA4E-2PMvSEu4V00kJtrl_AnBK6PvTkFBtqhKz9fxclrYWh0iDYNZ__D6OYH7wXqrFyYeaA-rGVLnJX6Th5eG8/s320/079.JPG" width="320" /></a>But the church was the same, I think. It doesn't look like things change much here. Tucked away amongst trees, seemingly in the middle of nowhere, this place is a tranquil little oasis. It is strange to think that busy traffic is thundering past on the A34, just a field away. I could hear it.<br />
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<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhGQeWzLVtbhpWmzdt-hNn9xfk70pgvrmGAW1OCiW5S-3ONgkUv_BYeiHYO0v47rzxAj7FHYuVVNZwfE7gDUCeDAQGtMS3UEvaVGjJdWK3ZS9113IH3Re6u1fYuQTqlpBaOXDTZUSfPE0E/s1600/217.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" height="225" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhGQeWzLVtbhpWmzdt-hNn9xfk70pgvrmGAW1OCiW5S-3ONgkUv_BYeiHYO0v47rzxAj7FHYuVVNZwfE7gDUCeDAQGtMS3UEvaVGjJdWK3ZS9113IH3Re6u1fYuQTqlpBaOXDTZUSfPE0E/s320/217.JPG" width="320" /></a></div><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjB99HY744yK4dKMA83fWe8JFAaWa6tVNTpWIbqTQw743-nn6_c_R3Uq_0yT_dv9lRwe2AYBs9TSBMpXLe6BSLOHYT9bb5gLHdcoPUUpGPOZRo-9qzFUjkO8DuSdjyWvQ-YTyDYm7zCS5M/s1600/224.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="200" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjB99HY744yK4dKMA83fWe8JFAaWa6tVNTpWIbqTQw743-nn6_c_R3Uq_0yT_dv9lRwe2AYBs9TSBMpXLe6BSLOHYT9bb5gLHdcoPUUpGPOZRo-9qzFUjkO8DuSdjyWvQ-YTyDYm7zCS5M/s200/224.JPG" width="132" /></a><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiuhX3KXcUlMkstH63VCWK8GdMtv4jmcKBKx2GyAAqemoF_KHh14UW-Av6M_rqyJtBdxnF1VpSW0xs1BvcPRHSk-Nyzw_Zv5xqIz65m51dJsmuWaURZDfpGzewY9l5WZRc_8WoytfqagJE/s1600/221.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" height="213" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiuhX3KXcUlMkstH63VCWK8GdMtv4jmcKBKx2GyAAqemoF_KHh14UW-Av6M_rqyJtBdxnF1VpSW0xs1BvcPRHSk-Nyzw_Zv5xqIz65m51dJsmuWaURZDfpGzewY9l5WZRc_8WoytfqagJE/s320/221.JPG" width="320" /></a>Finally, I ended up at the Eagle and Child pub, where C.S.Lewis, J.J.R. Tolkein and the other<i> </i>Inklings met. They called it the 'Bird and Baby', and it was a favourite and regular meeting place. And across the road is the Lamb and Flag, a favourite pub of the Vanaukens. <br />
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiWBuOCXq2Fg86uI0st8q0iLTzNEakDZjKI9cK7pNoDqCLrlP8pNtuxi0PlE75KZ5g5FBNEPfsioVLinq-Kpm5EHKxkZuAoDyZrDQMNOIlhgyAOROMaGnnZQzkuD7FxyFkTEBEfyDuBtP4/s1600/225.JPG" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="200" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiWBuOCXq2Fg86uI0st8q0iLTzNEakDZjKI9cK7pNoDqCLrlP8pNtuxi0PlE75KZ5g5FBNEPfsioVLinq-Kpm5EHKxkZuAoDyZrDQMNOIlhgyAOROMaGnnZQzkuD7FxyFkTEBEfyDuBtP4/s200/225.JPG" width="175" /></a><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiWBuOCXq2Fg86uI0st8q0iLTzNEakDZjKI9cK7pNoDqCLrlP8pNtuxi0PlE75KZ5g5FBNEPfsioVLinq-Kpm5EHKxkZuAoDyZrDQMNOIlhgyAOROMaGnnZQzkuD7FxyFkTEBEfyDuBtP4/s1600/225.JPG" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><br />
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The pub is small and it was very crowded with students, but I was determined to stay for a while. I sat there drinking sparkling water, feeling very happy.<br />
<br />
It had been a very good day, a day of learning and discovery and - of course - remembrance. <br />
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<span style="font-size: large;"><i>Ah Studio! We'll meet again</i></span></div><div style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: large;"><i>It won't be gaslight in the lane,</i></span></div><div style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: large;"><i>But just as gentle, only brighter.</i></span></div><div style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: large;"><i>And Jack on Aslan's back.</i></span></div><div style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: large;"><i>We'll sing His glory</i></span></div><div style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: large;"><i>Around those two: One Love-truth</i></span></div><div style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: large;"><i>Old World will give one final 'crack!'</i></span></div><div style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: large;"><i>Our hearts could not be lighter.</i></span></div><div style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: large;">(Dom Julian Stead) </span></div><br />
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</a>Cathy Koetsierhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05490602811230934114noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8353767651483854288.post-51901571318782743892011-02-16T03:13:00.000-08:002011-03-17T15:25:06.020-07:00Unschooled Music<div style="color: white; margin: 0px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;">My son Jonathan is keen on drumming. Recently he showed me the website of a South African drummer named Cobus Potgieter.</span></div><div style="color: white;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;">Cobus is rapidly becoming one of the best known drummers in the world. To give an example, this clip</span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: white; font-family: Verdana; font-size: 11px;">, <span style="font-size: small;"><a href="http://www.youtube.com/user/deedlebag#p/u/44/a-FGP9hwARk">The Most Wonderful Time of the Year</a></span></span></div><div style="color: white;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;">455,080 views to date!</span></div><div style="color: white;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;">And Cobus Potgieter is completely self-taught. As his YouTube page comments, "he started learning even before picking up his first drum set. After returning from the 2001 outreach, he browsed the web in search of information about drumming. He ended up by downloading every free video and article he could get his hands on. All he has learned has been taken from free educational resources found on the internet, through YouTube videos, and from playing along and listening to a lot of music..."</span></div><div style="color: white;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif; line-height: 16px;">Interesting!</span></div><div style="color: white;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif; line-height: 16px;">John Holt dreamed of a world where people would be free to share knowledge and learn things that were of interest to them. He dreamed of schools becoming community resource centres. Sadly, that dream did not come true. But I think that Holt would have been thrilled about the internet and particularly about the freedom people are finding in sharing and discovering interesting things via YouTube and other social media.</span></div><div style="color: white;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif; line-height: 16px;">Cobus comments: "I am not a professional drummer of any kind. I've been playing since middle 2002 (almost 8 years). I've never had any lessons (other than listening to music and watching drumming videos), and I am just a guy who LOVES drumming and all things rhythm. I have an insane admiration and respect for the craft that is drumming, and I have a never-ending desire to be the best I can possibly be, I don't play drums or practise because I have to. I play because I can't help it..."</span></div><div style="color: white;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif; line-height: 16px;"><br />
</span></div><div style="color: white;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;">Viktor Emil Frankland wrote that: “…success, like happiness, cannot be pursued; it must ensue, and it only does so as the unintended side-effect of one’s dedication to a cause greater than oneself or as the by-product of one’s surrender to a person other than oneself. Happiness must happen, and the same holds for success: you have to let it happen by not caring about it. I want you to listen to what your conscience commands you to do and go on to carry it out to the best of your knowledge…“.</span></div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;"><br />
</span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;"><a href="http://www.youtube.com/user/deedlebag">Cobus Potgieter's YouTube page</a></span><br />
<a href="http://www.cobuspotgieter.com/"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;">Cobus Potgieter's website</span></a>Cathy Koetsierhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05490602811230934114noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8353767651483854288.post-86410366651567276142010-12-31T12:52:00.000-08:002010-12-31T12:52:57.686-08:00Unschooled Architecture<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjydG3hBDS-_wj9LWjQRgOB8KXNqJ0VN9RFypBi7vtXkzzXGefgfsyOt29CP4P3P7DjaNfvja6SXWbencW0ime4InemfpbWzF2IE3d3fh6Tad2S8xh-N8QlmP_4AVdCz7TELlYz4wj17qE/s1600/Picture1.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjydG3hBDS-_wj9LWjQRgOB8KXNqJ0VN9RFypBi7vtXkzzXGefgfsyOt29CP4P3P7DjaNfvja6SXWbencW0ime4InemfpbWzF2IE3d3fh6Tad2S8xh-N8QlmP_4AVdCz7TELlYz4wj17qE/s320/Picture1.jpg" width="212" /></a>I came across a BBC news clip about 85 year old Justo Gallego MartÃnez, who is building his very own Cathedral in Mejorada del Campo near Madrid, Spain. Is he eccentric, foolish or just plain crazy? After all, Don Justo has no building or architectural qualifications, no planning permission, no labour force and very little money.<br />
What he does have, however, is a powerful vision, a vibrant faith, an ocean of creativity and more courage than most. He shows us - we who are jaded and passive-made by all our rules and regulations and structures and health and safety policies, that anything is possible. He demonstrates unschooling in action. He takes us back to an era of artistic endeavour and enjoyment. In his Cathedral, for just a little while, we once again see through the eyes of children.<br />
I hear rumours that Don Justo's dream may be demolished after his death. I for one would hate to see this happen. No, let's rather celebrate it, preserve it, be inspired by it. Magic does not happen every day...<br />
<br />
<br />
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgIbz6E6rEy0r-Qnq3nrCtxh3qUVaFo9Q31DJxoaVoPuRXVtCCOaU985-ytK2xCpNDlyut3k7fJ0G17qWHzg2tpBcMsownA8bTPUmJrad79vCtEnWB83eAvm4JAKWxjWUw27zF5hCYc4sM/s1600/picture+2.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgIbz6E6rEy0r-Qnq3nrCtxh3qUVaFo9Q31DJxoaVoPuRXVtCCOaU985-ytK2xCpNDlyut3k7fJ0G17qWHzg2tpBcMsownA8bTPUmJrad79vCtEnWB83eAvm4JAKWxjWUw27zF5hCYc4sM/s320/picture+2.jpg" width="227" /></a>As 'Hasslehof' (writer on CityNoise) put it: "Justo's Cathedral is a Monument to the human spirit and its capacity to transcend ordinary constraints and limitations in the most improbable way. Its symbolism is that much greater because it is the act of a very ordinary hero -- whose genius lay in his persistence. The cathedral is above all a demonstration in how to implement a dream, however little wider support there is for doing so."<br />
<br />
More at:<br />
<br />
<a href="http://citynoise.org/article/732/by/hasslehoff">http://citynoise.org/article/732/by/hasslehoff</a><br />
<br />
and<br />
<br />
<br />
<a href="http://entertainment.timesonline.co.uk/tol/arts_and_entertainment/visual_arts/architecture_and_design/article7083402.ece">http://entertainment.timesonline.co.uk/tol/arts_and_entertainment/visual_arts/architecture_and_design/article7083402.ece</a>Cathy Koetsierhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05490602811230934114noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8353767651483854288.post-41241321687607330552010-12-31T12:39:00.000-08:002010-12-31T12:39:10.621-08:00Don Justo is Don Justo is Don Justo (versie Nederlands Online Filmfestiv...<iframe width="480" height="295" src="http://www.youtube.com/embed/4k8D9RqpMRU?fs=1" frameborder="0"></iframe>Cathy Koetsierhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05490602811230934114noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8353767651483854288.post-6744744381690226912010-06-10T10:09:00.000-07:002010-06-10T10:11:31.251-07:00A Typical DayPeople always ask what a typical unschooling day looks like! Of course, there is no such thing, because anything can happen, especially with so many people sharing a life...<br />
However... today would certainly qualify as a good unschooling day.<br />
This morning we all got up early and did chores in preparation for the property inspection. After that the children took a breather and did their own thing (whatever that was) while I caught up on some of my admin tasks. Julie Anne and Kate made a gift for Kerrin's birthday while Kerrin studied her Yachtmaster's course. Then while Julie Anne baked some cup cakes and Kate fed the dogs, I read them the first chapter of 'Birds, Beasts and Relatives' (Gerald Durrell's second book about Corfu). After that I returned to my admin and Kate disappeared upstairs. After a while she and Kerrin came down and said that they were going for a ride. Of course Julie Anne chose to go with them. They took Cloud, Tim and Teri, and I proudly took photos before they left (it was Cloud's first outing with Kate, and the first time Julie rode Tim on his own too).<br />
I have had peace and quiet to study my counselling course. Jonathan is upstairs, studying for his maths exam tomorrow. I haven't seen much of him today at all, apart from the chores session and a brief discussion about his latest photographs.<br />
Much later the girls returned, put the horses away and came inside. Julie made a second batch of cup cakes and Kate made popcorn. I continued studying.<br />
As I write the girls are preparing to leave again. They are meeting up with some girls in the village and they are all planning on walking the dogs.<br />
Tonight the intention is for Kerrin to show us the rest of the photos from her Tanzania trip while we eat the cupcakes Julie has made!<br />
Yeh, a good unschooling day indeed.Cathy Koetsierhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05490602811230934114noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8353767651483854288.post-77020680131197503292010-05-20T04:55:00.000-07:002010-12-31T14:06:27.887-08:00Parelli Play<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjkuaouqIRlbpUXJIVQtxqNIVuIccqTIrtvCqE90qjrdBLkmxoRJH9hdGdqSlstcErB7eQTtWXQnLQP9j5_j9ebfdJ8j0y58vZx-ed9yxzdztQKL811Blc8bCLP7YcMpMFPNuHat9DVRkY/s1600/01.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" height="213" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjkuaouqIRlbpUXJIVQtxqNIVuIccqTIrtvCqE90qjrdBLkmxoRJH9hdGdqSlstcErB7eQTtWXQnLQP9j5_j9ebfdJ8j0y58vZx-ed9yxzdztQKL811Blc8bCLP7YcMpMFPNuHat9DVRkY/s320/01.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>It was such a beautiful morning; I suggested to the girls that we go out and play with the ponies before we did our chores. Full of the joy of hearing that I have passed my first Parelli audition, I began level 2 Freestyle with Teri. It is amazing to see how the learning is sinking in; I knew exactly what I was doing and it was sooo easy. We did Direct Rein, Indirect Rein, Halt and Rein Back, not perfectly, but without the slightest bit of confusion or resistance. When you put your focus where it needs to be, the body moves as it should and the horse understands.<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhUXSjul4aHYE0nHzQbPxhBJLHLiYWzsrhV7s9fkdKSFyjIPyGGCnUhvPQuoohmibob06gR34N7UJBZFdoPuI4PD6Qc74lp_ZkRWKLP5mDwQtNfytjDawf8B1V_QNboWidgx8RkUkeJLNA/s1600/02.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="213" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhUXSjul4aHYE0nHzQbPxhBJLHLiYWzsrhV7s9fkdKSFyjIPyGGCnUhvPQuoohmibob06gR34N7UJBZFdoPuI4PD6Qc74lp_ZkRWKLP5mDwQtNfytjDawf8B1V_QNboWidgx8RkUkeJLNA/s320/02.jpg" width="320" /></a>Kate played with her new pony, Cloud, and Pippin (already a master at Liberty work), volunteered to join in. So there was Kate, new pony on one side, doing On Line work, and Pip on the other side, doing the same work at Liberty. It was beautiful to watch.<br />
<br />
Julie Anne put in an hour's concentrated work with right-brained Tim. She shares such wonderful insights about herself and the way she learns when she spends time with him. She tells me that Tim is her a few years back - lacking in confidence and full of fears, and just needing to find that safe place. Today Julie Anne is<br />
confident and outgoing, and she is full of faith that Tim<br />
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiwmJiE7eEFUBDckN1JxEHR1FadmWozDKTVIRQOCiIkXH8Nb1QQOQQK6ijPFH7pLwFxC-dl53JuywHJ6EDxDywRW3Tj8VW3n6bQpiExq2R8IYVGT6lZUgAbfkJpElQgt-N5NvaHLLI8NWc/s1600/03.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" height="212" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiwmJiE7eEFUBDckN1JxEHR1FadmWozDKTVIRQOCiIkXH8Nb1QQOQQK6ijPFH7pLwFxC-dl53JuywHJ6EDxDywRW3Tj8VW3n6bQpiExq2R8IYVGT6lZUgAbfkJpElQgt-N5NvaHLLI8NWc/s320/03.jpg" width="320" /></a> will be the same. She needs that faith, because he can be really silly! During her riding time today he decided he couldn't possibly move forward, and he threatened to buck when she asked him to. Up went the phases, and eventually he did move forward, and realised that he could! He tends to freeze, and he has learned to use this tendency to his advantage too - so it is not always fear. Julie Anne is so good at reading him and sensing the difference.Cathy Koetsierhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05490602811230934114noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8353767651483854288.post-42924589106390964482010-05-17T23:55:00.000-07:002010-05-18T00:41:12.486-07:00LifeBeautiful Spring morning. The skies filled with birdsong. A new pony in the home paddock. A quiet, peace-filled house. Coffee next to my laptop. The refrain from a song sung in church on Sunday whispers through my heart:<br /><br /><div style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-style: italic;">Jesus, Your love<br />is all that I'll ever need<br />All that I need to know<br />Jesus, Your Love<br />is taking control of me<br />Oh, how I need Your love....<br /><br /></span><div style="text-align: left;"><div style="text-align: left;">On days like this the love of God is a very tangible thing.<br /></div><span style="font-style: italic;"></span></div></div>Cathy Koetsierhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05490602811230934114noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8353767651483854288.post-29461571627560376152010-05-16T00:28:00.000-07:002010-05-18T01:23:06.943-07:00MultiplicationKate (8) has a drama class on Saturday. Driving home, she told me that they were talking about maths, and that some of the children in her class were very surprised to hear that she doesn't know her Times Tables.<br />
'What are they, and why should I know them?' she asked. I replied with a brief explanation of what they were and explained that most children learned them off by heart so that they didn't have to work them out each time they needed to do a calculation.<br />
'Oh. But I don't really understand what they are....'<br />
I explained that it is a way of working out the total number of groups of things.<br />
'Like, if we have 2 containers with 3 sweets in each one, how many sweets do we have?'<br />
Sounds of counting in the backseat....<br />
'6!' was the triumphant answer.<br />
'Yes, 2 times 3 is 6', said I. 'Now if I have 3 containers with 3 sweets in each one, how many sweets do I have?'<br />
We continued this little game the whole way home, using larger and larger numbers, and Kate answering correctly almost every time. And just before we got home I told her that a lot of people get caught by 0 in multiplication.<br />
'What do you mean?', she asked<br />
'Well, if I have no containers with 3 sweets in them, how many sweets do I have?'<br />
'3?'<br />
'Well, I would have 3 if I had a container with 3 sweets, but I have no container with 3 sweets!'<br />
'Oh. I get it', she cried, 'you have no sweets. You just wish you had some!'<br />
Now Kate understands what times tables <span style="font-style: italic;">are</span>. Will she learn them by heart? I am not sure about that. But at least she will be able to multiply if she needs to....<br />
Like many maths students in school, I could say my Times Tables off by heart - but it was years before I understood what they were. On the surface, people would have thought me more knowledgeable than my daughter at the same age. But I find myself wishing I could have had the same kind of understanding that she now has.Cathy Koetsierhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05490602811230934114noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8353767651483854288.post-78404047213323527472008-02-27T15:04:00.000-08:002012-06-27T21:38:45.879-07:00Unschooling in Florence<div class="MsoPlainText">
My husband and I have just celebrated our 20th wedding anniversary. I can’t quite believe so many years have rushed by; I certainly don’t feel 20 years older <span style="font-family: Wingdings;">J</span>... Anyway, we went to Florence, Italy, for a week, and immersed ourselves in art, culture and history. The ultimate art education experience!!!</div>
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It was wonderful, and the realisation of a dream that was born the first time we ever did anything together – we were just friends back in 1986 when we went to see that movie called ‘Room with a View’, set in Florence. On our anniversary we stayed in the beautiful hotel on the river Arno where the movie was filmed. So special, and a lovely way to celebrate so many years of love and friendship.</div>
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We had an AMAZING time. Florence is special. There are no proper words to describe the feast of art, culture, history. One drowns in it, comes up gasping for breath and dives down again for more. It was wonderful. (As you can see, I am still gasping...)</div>
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Craig and I spent about an hour sitting in front of the David. Nothing is like the reality. He has to be one of the most photographed sculptures in the whole world, but when you see him, you feel as if you have never seen him at all. What beauty, power, strength. He makes me believe the Bible story – that it was really just as described. Michelangelo’s David is so young, so vulnerable, but so sure of himself. At the beginning of his path – well prepared and able to do what is needed. Gauging the risk but confident in his God-given ability. Oh, I can’t put it in words yet. Maybe I will be able to later....</div>
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I felt that all my youthful championing of Michelangelo Buonarroti (he was my favourite artist from when I read ‘the Agony & the Ecstasy’ when I was 15) was validated. We saw every one of Michelangelo’s works in Florence; hunted them down as the days went by. It was such a special experience. Which is my favourite??? Sooo hard to say... Really, he was an absolutely outstanding artist. A career spanning 70 years, and so consistent. </div>
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One of my favourites was his ‘Battle of the Centaurs’ – completed when he was just 16 years old. So much for the idea that it is not possible to see what you are alive for from a young age!!! The hand of destiny must have been upon him from birth.</div>
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We enjoyed the ‘Bacchus’ – it is really a fun sculpture, but yet with a hint of a deeper message (warning?) if one is willing to look for it. </div>
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Photographs of his incomplete ‘Slaves’ had never interested me; in real life they moved me to tears. They sum up so much of what the struggles of life are about.</div>
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And his Pieta, incomplete, carved in his old age for his tomb (but not put there in the end), and reputedly with his self-portrait in the face of Nicodemus – I loved it.</div>
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I was surprised at the Doni Tondo in the Uffizi. It is so much bigger than I thought. And once again, photographs do nothing to prepare one for the reality, beyond helping one identify what one is looking at. He always said that he was not a painter. Hmmmn! No comment needed – just look at the work Outstandingly beautiful.</div>
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We did all the touristy things – climbed to the top of the Duomo to see the view, did the bus tour along the Piazzale Michelangelo, wandered along the Arno, shopped and ate until the purses were empty, and of course, rubbed the boar’s nose to ensure that we would return one day. I discovered another sculptor whose work I liked – Giambologna. Do you know him? How about ‘Rape of the Sabine Women’ to jog the memory? I knew the sculpture, but not that it was done by him. He did some lovely work. My favourite was one called ‘Victory’, about the victory of Florence over Pisa in some conflict that had occurred. Florence is depicted as a graceful woman; Pisa as the strong but beaten man. The grace and movement in the sculpture is lovely.</div>
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And of course Donatello. Craig loved his Mary Magdalene, carved in wood. Her humble, uncertain supplication; her longing for mercy but her knowledge that she did not deserve it. It all shows. But they have positioned the sculpture in front of a sculpture of Jesus on the cross – she seems to be looking into the eyes of Jesus and He, knowingly, back into hers. And her prayers are answered. Powerful stuff. </div>
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We also did a few less ‘usual’ things – eg we, not Italian, and not Catholic, went to mass at Santo Spirito (where Michelangelo’s wooden crucifix humbles one in its simplicity); we didn’t understand a word of the service, but it was a special experience. God’s presence supersedes language. We also searched for and found the English cemetery, where Elizabeth Barrettt Browning is buried (‘How do I love thee? Let me count the ways...’). We visited the first orphanage in Europe – where scenes from another favourite move ‘Tea with Mussolini’ were filmed. Found where Michelangelo carved the David and imagined him hard at work. Saw Ghirlandaio’s beautiful frescos in Santa Maria Novella, done at the time when Michelangelo was one of his many apprentices, and could easily visualise the excited and happy youngster he must have been at that time, finally getting parental approval to be involved with art. We wandered the streets at night, listening to an achingly beautiful flautist (we bought his CD later) play in the Piazzale Signora, practised our little bits of Italian with increasing confidence as the week went by. We were there at a good time – apparently it gets sooo busy as the years goes on. We were told that there are times that you literally can’t move in the streets. </div>
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On our anniversary we stayed at the very expensive Hotel Degli Orafi – on the banks of the Arno with a view of Ponte Vecchio. We stayed in the room in which scenes from one of our favourite movies ‘A Room with a View’ was filmed, and came home after an excursion to find a basket of fruit and a very expensive bottle of champagne laid in ice – complementary from the hotel for our special anniversary occasion!</div>
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Florentine food is excellent. We stuffed ourselves, particularly as the menu has so many courses - appetiser, prima (first course - normally pasta of some sort), main course (fish, meat or pizza), cheese, desert, coffee and all this finished off with limonchello, a rather potent lemon liquer, especially to me, who so seldom drinks alcohol of any sort!!!</div>
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We found Florence clean and safe; patrolled by friendly, handsome and very well dressed Carabinieri (police) – complete with beautiful black capes in the evenings! Sadly, there are lots of beggars (Eastern European and Roma (Gypsy)), and we were warned to watch out for pickpockets on the buses of all places! And we had a good giggle at the illegal itinerant streetsellers – selling art and other odds and ends, they set up their wares and keep an eye out for police. When they see them they pack up their stuff in seconds and join the meandering crowds. It seemed that the cops knew exactly what was going on and that it was a complicated game of cat and mouse, the rules of which were not terribly clear, but which remained lighthearted. I suspect that the cops just keep things under control so that tourists are not unduly harassed, but that it is not a main agenda item to stamp out. </div>
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Anyway, I am sounding horribly like a travel agent, so I will end this missive, get dressed and spend some time with my kids. Poor things – they were sick all week, and no Mom to take care of them. Still, they seem to have survived, and Kerrin seems rather pleased with the leather jacket we brought her as a thank you for all the extra childcare. We had friends come and stay in the house with the children, but Kerrin was the main caregiver for our family.</div>
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I thought I would tell you all of the above because my heart is full and overflowing, but also because it is such an illustration of unschooling. No one made us go to Florence and spend a week looking at art. There were no textbooks, no teachers, no tests or exams. There was only interest, affinity, curiosity, wonder.... We have come back enriched, enlightened, informed – in short, educated. Craig and I were saying that one should be allowed to collect one’s diploma at the airport – just being there opens up the world in new ways.</div>
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We know that unschooling works. It was great to see it in action in such a concentrated way in our own lives. As Charlotte Mason said: “There is no education but self-education”.</div>
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To conclude, a little story: At one of the museums, we were waiting in a queue behind some American tourists. There was a mother and daughter in front of us. Daughter was about 10 or 11. Mom jokingly said: “Remember, there will be a test after this” “Oh stop it Mom” said daughter. “Well, you must not think that just because you are not in school you can’t learn...” I thought of interrupting their conversation with a comment or two of my own, but my English blood won through – it would have been rude. So I contented myself with a look at Craig. In spite of her words, everything in the interaction conveyed this lady’s underlying belief that school IS where we learn....</div>
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<br /></div>Cathy Koetsierhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05490602811230934114noreply@blogger.com1