LAzy Dayz

There's something about having a bunch of time off that makes doing the little jobs a little easier. Since we have been back home from our trip I have diligently watered my hanging baskets, sorted through all the magazines, made a bunch of phone calls, and cleaned out several drawers. To Heidi's amusement, I also organized the sea glass.

Even though when I look it at in terms of what's on the calendar it seems like summer will be over in a hop, skip, and a jump, when I take things day-by-day?

The days have it.

Home Movie

I was looking forward to seeing Free State of Jones for several reasons: I like a good historical drama; I have long been fascinated by the American Civil War, and the main character happens to be a distant relation (my great great grandfather's first cousin). Unfortunately, I was disappointed when I saw the film today.

To begin with, it was very graphic in terms of violence, which is not always a bad thing, especially when trying to convey the horrors of history. Still, the carnage in this movie did not add anything to my understanding of the events of that time period, and since the story was merely based on true events, the imagined atrocities seemed a bit gratuitous.

Secondly, there was no moral center to the movie-- everyone was either entirely virtuous or completely reprehensible, which made the plot flat. I happen to know from my own research of our family, that Newt Knight had many relatives living in the area at the time, many of them who held enslaved people.

Exploring such moral ambiguity may have made for a more dynamic story. For example it was not just some evil planter, but rather Knight's own grandfather, Jackie Knight, one of the largest slaveholders in the county, who enslaved Rachel, the African American woman who became Newt Knight's common-law wife.

To me, that fact alone introduces the complexity of race relations in the antebellum south, and makes for a much more interesting exploration of the time that could ultimately lead to a deeper understanding. A better movie might have addressed such concerns rather than glossing over them with stereotypes.

Good Soil

After two weeks away from my garden I was eager to see how it was doing, and so I headed up there first thing this morning. The good news: everything is growing well!

The not-as-good-news: including the weeds.

2x2 Sight

Homemade ratatouille in the freezer and cold beer in the fridge? That's what I call advance planning!

So happy to be home after two awesome weeks away!

Direct Object

Part of my vacation so far has been spent encouraging my high school-aged nephew to do his "modules," two online courses that take the place of brick and mortar summer school down in his Florida district. Consisting of standards-based pretests, subsequently tailored instructional activities, and post test, it is every teacher's nightmare of education of the future: sterile, unengaging, and yet "individualized" and oh-so-measurable, brought to you by who else? Pearson.

He has muddled through compliantly, if apathetically, scoring 70s and 80s, and to be honest, I have approached the task with little more than a check-the-box attitude myself. That is until today, when he got a 60 on an English module. Wait a minute! I thought. I'm an English teacher! Maybe I have more of a role to play here!

And so it was that this evening he read the questions out loud and we worked through them together, I clarifying any questions he had or didn't even know he had, and he choosing the best answers. Thanks to Pearson's trusty algorithm, the concepts and standards make appearances in more than one place, and so it's easy to gauge if he is actually "learning" them or not. As for true mastery or real-world application?

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Gotta Catch 'em All

So this is how viral happens.

First you read a cryptic reference to some sort of game your nephews played back in the 90s. Then you see an article from some tech blog that a friend shared on facebook. Next your nephew tells you that his other 50-something aunt has been playing the game. In addition, he seems unusually excited about going down to the city waterfront for lunch and shopping, mentioning something about water Pokemon.

On the way there, your mother-in-law shares an anecdote she heard on the Today Show about some hackers who used the app to lure a guy to a vacant parking lot to beat him up and rob him. "Ha, ha!" you quip, "he was Pokemugged!"

But, not long after that, frustrated by your nephew's inability to figure out how to find and catch a Pokemon that he insists is, "right here, somewhere!" and his misguided attempt to save battery by refusing to brighten his phone screen, you download the app yourself, and suddenly you notice all these people staring at their phones, randomly flicking their index fingers, because you are doing it, too.

On the way back to the car a young man stops across the street from you, pointing and laughing in delight. You look up from your screen just in time to hear him shout, "Are you playing Pokemon Go? For realzzz!!?"

Later that evening, both your local news website and NPR have lengthy pieces about the phenomenon, but you just skim them, because you need to level up to five so you can get to the gym. Whatever that means,

Personal History

Ten minutes north of Pittsfield is the tiny town of Lanesborough, Massachusetts. When we were searching for places to stay last night, that name rang a bell, and a quick search of our online family tree reminded me that my four times great-grandfather Lewis moved his family there from Adams, MA. in 1831. His grandson, Charles, was actually the first of our line to make his way to Little Falls, NY, the town where my dad, his seven siblings, and myriad cousins all grew up.

I have seen pictures of the small cemetery where Lewis, his son Marshall, and Charles are all buried, and being so close, I wanted to visit the site myself. The Berkshires were foggy this morning as we headed up Route 7, and I examined the houses along the way, wondering which may have been standing 150 years ago.

Lanesborough is built on the shores of Pontoosuc Lake at the foot of Mount Rockwell, the highest peak in the state. Despite its lovely setting, there are really only a few businesses and houses lining Route 7, which is Main Street through the town. The cemetery was small, and unmarked, with no parking to speak of. Since it was Sunday, we pulled into the lot of the closed realtors next door and cut across the damp lawn into the burial ground.

Built on a hill, the grass was freshly cut, but there was nothing else to indicate that anyone head visited recently. Many stones were too old to read, some were sunken, and others tipped this way and that at crazy angles. There was no directory, but I had a picture of our family marker. It still took some time to find the tall obelisk about half-way up the hill. Just as I reached it, the gray skies opened and rain poured down on me so hard that I was worried my phone would be damaged as I snapped a few quick pictures and dashed back to the car.

It was time to go, but I felt like I had some unfinished business in Lanesborough. That sense only grew when the sun came out for the first time in days not 5 minutes later. Our route took us east and up through the hills past some little farms that I imagined might resemble the farm my ancestors had. It was awfully beautiful, and I had the feeling that I would be back.