Homeschool Geekness, er, uh, I mean, fun.

Before Joe and I had kids, we were known to sigh contentedly and say, "There is no hope for our kids.  They have little or no chance of avoiding geekdom."  Because, you see, we are both in our own ways, such geeky, nerdy, dorky people. 

Once the kids started coming, and we started to see their various personalities, our conviction was only reinforced. 

One of the ways this geekness exhibited itself throughout the years,  was that in the middle of some meal, Joe or I  would suddenly have an irresistible compulsion to look something up in the dictionary.  Some tidbit of conversation or some memory of something from earlier in the day would effect the sudden rush to the dictionary to look something up. 

Which new information would then likely effect more looking up of more things.  Kind of a stream of consciousness pursuit of knowledge.  Please note I say knowledge, not wisdom.  I make no claim to have gained anything in wisdom. 

But it's fun.  It suits us. 

These days we tend instead to run to the kitchen computer to google things.  But since we try to discourage computer use during meals, it kind of puts a damper on that sort of mealtime research. 

Not totally, however.  

When we homeschooled all of our kids, our noon meals often consisted of such learning opportunities.  We have a large world map and a large US map mounted on the wall behind our dining room table.  Sometimes our learning came out with some geographical study.  Other times we'd pull out the dictionary or a volume of the encyclopedia or whatever reference work suited our needs. 

Today at lunch/dinner/noon meal, we lapsed briefly into our former fun with Sophie and Clara.  It must have just been one of those days, where the planets all lined up just right or something (I'm joking, please, nobody take that last phrase seriously). 

Anyway, at least three things came up that tickled that little geek spot in my brain. 

First, Clara was once again giving me the Zoolander looks.  She easily remembers the names of two of the looks, Blue Steele and Magnum.  I thought one of the others was Tahiti, so I threw that in. 

"Tahiti?  I thought that was some sort of food Dad uses to make hummus."

"That would be tahini.  Sesame paste.  I said Tahiti.  It's a Pacific Island."

I saw Clara look toward the map and contemplate getting up to find it, but she somehow managed to curb her impulse.

I did check the Derek Zoolander faces and there is no Tahiti.  I think I must have stored Ferrari under the Tahiti bit in my brain.  Strange.
 

Anyway, it was fun to see Clara look at the map.  And although we've really been working on restricting the wandering around during meals that has become epidemic, I almost wanted her to get up and find Tahiti.

A little later, we got talking about the word decimate. 

As I learned recently, in the strictest sense, decimate means to reduce by 10%.  It comes from Roman times.  A punishment used by military leaders to deter insubordination was to divide the troops into groups of ten.  Each group drew lots and whoever drew the certain lot was executed by the other nine.  I had never known that meaning.  I was only familiar with its sense of meaning to wipe out or do severe damage to something.  Since then,  I've been wondering if the "wipe out" meaning of the word is wrong.  I mean, whether I was wrong in thinking that was the meaning.  But until today, I kept forgetting to check.

We were recently given a box of paper backs.  We're trying hard not to accumulate stuff, and books are seriously our weakness.  So before simply taking this box of hand-me-downs to the thrift store, I grabbed one to try out.  White Indian, by Donald Clay Porter.  Apparently it's the first of a series of 28 books depicting the settlement era of America from the point of view of Native American peoples. 

Anyway, near the beginning of this book, the author describes one of the tribes wiping out Fort Springfield, along the Connecticut River.  And in context, they destroyed the fort, burning it to the ground and killing all but one infant child.  Mr. Porter used the phrase, "literally decimated."  I found that an interesting use of the word literally.  Since with my newfound literacy with regard to the word decimate, a literal meaning would imply the Roman punishment.  I pictured the Native braves making the settlers draw lots and execute 1/10 of themselves. 

So I mentioned this conundrum to Joe at dinner today.  Sophie immediately ran to get a dictionary.  I was so happy!  A girl after my own heart.

As she was looking up the word decimate, Joe asked me if I'd ever heard the word ineluctable.  I had not.  But I couldn't resist a little bit of smart alek answer, "Well, the in- would mean not, and the -able would refer to one's ability to do something.  So, ... not being able to eluct, I guess."

Clara, though, Clara was thinking.  "What does the -luct- in reluctant meant?"


"Good girl, Clara!"  cheered I.

She looked a little perplexed. 

"You discovered a cognate.  A word that shares a similar root.  That's a great way to figure these things out.  Now it happens that neither Dad or I know -luct-, but it's still a great observation."


By this time Sophie had found decimate,

dec·i·mate

ˈdesəˌmāt/

verb

verb: decimate; 3rd person present: decimates; past tense: decimated; past participle: decimated; gerund or present participle: decimating

1. 1.

   kill, destroy, or remove a large percentage or part of.

   "the project would decimate the fragile wetland wilderness"

   • drastically reduce the strength or effectiveness of (something).

     "plant viruses that can decimate yields"
2. 2.

   historical

   kill one in every ten of (a group of soldiers or others) as a punishment for the whole group.

I had her look up ineluctable, too.

in·e·luc·ta·ble

ˌiniˈləktəbəl/

adjective

adjective: ineluctable

1. unable to be resisted or avoided; inescapable.

   "the ineluctable facts of history"

And so we learned two new words.  Or at least one new word and a bigger usage of a second word.  We learned more about the roots of the word reluctant.  And so will be able to notice the root in other words in which it might occur. 


Oh, and we learned that Tahiti is neither a food, nor one of the faces of Zoolander.

This meaning or that? aka, Demonstrative Adjective or Demonstrative Pronoun?

I'm a rules person.  I like my grammar nice and neat.  But I find myself frequently telling my girls, Sophie and Clara, during their homeschooling, that some aspects of grammar are open to interpretation.  For example, when to use less common punctuation such as an M-dash, a colon, parentheses, ellipses, etc. 

Yesterday we ran into one that was so clear to me, but the curriculum materials had explained it differently.  I asked Joe, and he agreed with the curriculum.  I looked it up in Writers Inc, and ... gues what!!  I won!!  I mean, I was right.

The dilemma:  Is the word that always a demonstrative pronoun?

When the girls do their grammar lessons, they are given an excerpt from their current reader, a paragraph or two, perhaps five to eight lines.  They are instructed to make certain grammatical observations and notations regarding the given paragraph.

In the example that caused the murkiness yesterday, they were to find and mark all the pronouns.  The hint they were given:  "The words that and which are pronouns."

I don't disagree that that and which can be pronouns.  But I don't think they are always pronouns.  Especially not that.  I still have to think a little bit more about which.

That can be a demonstrative pronoun.  Can you please bring that to me? 
That can also be a demonstrative adjective.  Can you please bring that pencil to me?

This explanation is clear as a bell to me.  It's so fundamental to how I "think grammar" that I absolutely wouldn't consider it even worthy of discussion.

But in Clara and Sophie's grammar lesson, there was that hint:  "The words that and which are pronouns."

The selection in which those thats occurred?

My story will tell much of that little strip of land called Canaan to the south, between us and the accursed land of Egypt, which was only a name to me when I was a child.  For all the wealth and all the armies and all the glories of the nations have passed through that little land and probably always will; and the story of the kings of Canaan is the story of the world.  (from Hittite Warrior, by Joanne Williamson)

I've shaded the two thats in that selection.   Both to me are quite obviously adjectives.  That strip.  That land. 

When I found myself once again in disagreement with the curriculum, I asked my husband, Mr. Languages.  "I've never heard of a demonstrative adjective.  Those are pronouns.  That is always a pronoun."

Hmmm.

But I was unwilling to let it go.  I pulled out Writers Inc, the recommended writing manual for use with our curriculum. 

According to Writers Inc,

504.3 Demonstrative Pronouns
A demonstrative pronoun points out people, places, or things without naming them.
This shouldn't be too hard.  That looks about right.
These are the best ones.  Those ought to be thrown out.

That would seem to imply that the uses in the paragraph above are not pronouns, since the definition specifies, "without naming them."  And none of the examples are of the same construction as the paragraph in the girls' school lesson.

"I'll just look up demonstrative adjectives, to check what they say there."

Writers Inc on adjectives,

from section 513.1 Types of Adjectives
NOTE: Some words can be either adjectives or pronouns (that, these, all, each, both, many, some, etc.).  These words are adjectives when they come before the nouns they modify; they are pronouns when they stand alone.

Yes, I'm a little competitive.  Just a little, really.  But I felt like spiking the football.

But there's still that which to deal with.  My gut reaction is that it's a subordinating conjunction, introducing the dependent clause.  I don't find which in any lists of possible subordinating conjunctions.  But there are so many possibilities, that the lists usually say something like, "and many other words," or, "etc."  So I can probably include it there if I want.  Count it as one of those mury places in the English language. 

But I have to admit that it might just be a pronoun. 

A Torrific New Word

I have always loved words. To the point of being quite geeky about it, in fact. But I have a recent acquisition in the facebook friend department, one Haleigh M., who overshadows me in every way in the word geekiness department.

Being a teacher at heart, as I myself tend to be, Haleigh posted the following this morning,

New Word of the Day: torrefaction (or the verb - torrefy) - something I am especially grateful for this morning.

She left the work of discovery to any readers who might be students at heart.

And I eagerly took the bait.

From the Free Dictionary,

torrefy [ˈtɒrɪˌfaɪ]
vb -fies, -fying, -fied (Medicine / Pharmacology) (tr) to dry (drugs, ores, etc.) by subjection to intense heat; roast
[from French torréfier, from Latin torrefacere, from torrēre to parch + facere to make] torrefaction [ˌtɒrɪˈfækʃən] n

Hmmm.  Interesting.

Going back to Haleigh's post, the part, "something I am especially grateful for this morning," piqued my interest.  If torrefaction is, "To dry by subjection to intense heat; or roast," Haleigh's description conjured up images of her sitting inside her woodstove after falling in the creek.  Or some other such nonsense. 

I asked Haliegh about this.  I was really curious as to what aspect of being dried "by subjection to intense heat," she was enjoying this fine morning.

Haleigh responded with these quotes from World Wide Words e-magazine.  The first segment is from 11/24,

I found my wife studying a big dictionary. She told me what she was looking for, but my ancient inadequate ears heard it as horrify, leading to one of those increasingly common moments of mutual incomprehension. The word was torrify, not one in either of our vocabularies. She had encountered it when reading the list of ingredients on the packaging of the sausages she was cooking, which announced that they contained Melton Red Ale made from “torrified wheat”. It was easy to work out that the word was a close relative of torrid, very hot and dry (they derive from Latin torrere, to dry with heat). It turns up often as torrefy, though our sausage spelling occurs by analogy with terrify (and horrify).

And a follow up from today's edition,

Many readers pointed out torrefy (or torrify), which I mentioned last time, has close relatives in other languages. In Canada, where French and English mingle, Wendy Magnall noted that “the excellent French term torréfaction can be found on one side of coffee containers in place of the overworked English roast. As I write, I am enjoying a cup of torréfaction traditionelle.” From Germany, Reinhard Fey tells us, “In many Italian cities you will find shop signs torrefazione propria. These are shops roasting and selling their own coffee.

Peter Rugg added another context: “This process is used to dry and slightly char biomass pellet fuels. It is called torrifaction or torrification. Like many technical words, in its many forms it confuses digital dictionaries. The one approving this note wants to change it to horrification.” Martin Spiller added a memory: “The lovely old Carwardines Tea and Coffee House in Corn Street, Bristol, had a sign painted on the side which fascinated me when I was young: ‘The Liquefaction of our Torrefaction Always Brings Satisfaction.’”

Well, these little quotes thrilled me in several ways.  Firstly, they solved the mystery of Haleigh's morning enjoyment of torrefaction.  She was enjoying her morning cup of coffee in the liquification of the torrefied and subsequently ground coffee beans.

But I also enjoyed imagining Louisa over in Italy, drinking her caffè that's been brewed from beans that have been freshly and locally torrefied, torrefazione propria.  Oh, that's right, Louisa doesn't like coffee.  Oh, well.  At any rate, it gave me reason to think of my dear daughter who is currently dwelling far across the sea.

And finally, I just plain like words.  I totally enjoy reading the mental ramblings and vocabulary gymnastics of someone else who finds similar pleasure in something as simple as words and definitions and word histories.  Is there not something innately fun in learning such arcanities?

That word, by the way, arcanities, is a ... a ... a ... Oh, shoot!  It's not found in a dictionary. 
 
What's that word for a made-up word that's created by following the normal rules for spelling and grammar, suffixes and prefixes, etc?  I know I've heard a word for that!  There's got to be a word for it, right?  If not, there definitely ought to be.

Haleigh!   Yoohooo, Haleigh!  Help me out here, will you, please?

Learn Something New Every Day

Today I am on top of things.  I woke up bright and early.  Matt had gotten the coffee ready last night, so I only had to press a button.  I set a 30 minute timer on my stove and stumbled back to bed.

When I next got up, I was ready to roll.  When I heard the oven timer beep, I quickly grabbed my glasses and my (newly found, second hand, paper) copy of Jane Eyre, and dashed out to turn off the timer before it could wake anyone else.  I filled my coffee cup and continued around the corner toward the living room.  When I got to the top of the stairs, I put down my book and coffee, and scooted down to the laundry room to put a quick load in.  While there, I sorted any of the stuff from the chute that had built up yesterday.

So here I sit, two jobs done and it's not even 6:00.  I read a paragraph from my book.

A little solace came at teatime, in the shape of a double ration of bread--a whole, instead of a half, slice--with the delicious addition of a thin scrape of butter.  It was the hebdomadal treat to which we all looked forward from Sabbath to Sabbath.  I generally contrived to reserve a moiety of the bounteous repast for myself; but the remainder I was invariably obliged to part with.  from Jane Eyre, by Charlotte Bronte, Jane describing her meager existence at Lowood School for Orphans.

In that one brief paragraph I found two words with which I was unfamiliar, and whose meanings I was to work out from roots and similar words.  Good thing for google, and online dictionaries.  I quickly did a search on each unfamiliar word, hebdomadal and moiety, and opened up a couple of pages for each one. 

But before I could even read the definitions, Matt stumbled up the stairs and said, "Sorry, Mom, I overslept.  Can you help me throw my lunch together, please?"  And so my definitions sat.  All those tabs open with those various meanings.  And they had to wait.  Tickling the back of my brain.  That curious corner of my consciousness that is sometimes so active I feel like a child.  Why?  What?  How?

I made Matt six sandwiches for his lunch, and I added a little something for supper, since he'll be going straight to football practice after work.  My fingers were going through the motions of spreading peanut butter and dispersing sandwich meat.  My mouth was conversing with Matt about his day and coming week. 

But all the while, in that little curious corner of my brain, I had two unfamiliar words bouncing around.  "Hebdomadal.  Moiety.  Moiety.  Hebdomadal.  What could they mean?" 

"I must know some other words that could give me a clue.  Especially," thought I, "Hebdomadal.  It sounds so Greek.  I think.  Is that Greek or Latin?" 

Having never studied either, I couldn't say for sure.  But it just had that sound as though I ought to be able to figure it out.  But all I could grasp was the dom part.  "Could that have something to do with dwelling or home, as in domicile?  Hmmm.  Contextually, it doesn't work.  Plus it feels Latin, and the word as a whole feels Greek." 

But now, after that brief pause, Matt is off to work.  I am again in my living room, sitting with my cup of coffee.  My wash machine is in its final spin, so soon I'll have to scurry back down there to start the next load.  Soon, too, I have to meet my neighbor ladies for our walk. 

But first,...FIRST..., I indulged in scanning the waiting definitions. 

I discovered that indeed I ought to have recognized part of hebdomadal.  And it was Greek not Latin.  The first syllable, heb, as in hepta-, as in heptadecagon, a seventeen sided polygon.  I still can't figure the dom or om part, but really, it feels as thought there must be something.  Maybe hebdom is the Greek for week, and we add the other letters as our adjectival ending?  Maybe?

hebdomadal:  weekly

Simple.  Fun.  A new word.  Heb: seven.  Awesome. 

I love words.

But moiety...moiety?...moiety.  There seems to be no pattern there.  No clue with this word.  No familiar roots from which to draw. 

Moiety:  Half or portion.

One drawback of the online dictionaries is that they seem to change their formats quite often.  That's why I always open several different ones.  Mirriam-Webster, Free Online Dictionary by Farlex, Dictionary.com.  Whichever.  I like to read several definitions, in the hopes of getting the most well-rounded idea of a given word.  But today none of them have included any roots.  Seems strange.  It's been awhile since I've engaged in this somewhat geeky activity.  But I think these online sources used to include roots.

The roots of moiety must remain a mystery.  I must be content with that.  I'll probably eventually check a paper dictionary if I happen to find one lying around in my heaps and piles of books that never seem to get put back where they belong. 

Until then, I must be content with having learned two new words first thing this morning.  It's a good start to a new week. 

Silly as it may be, it makes me happy.

Etch-A-Sketch Anyone?

Oh, my goodness!  Etch-A-Sketch?  Really, Mr. Fehrnstrom?

In an attempt to explain away GOP hopeful Mitt Romney's perceived conservatism, Romney's senior campaign advisor Eric Fehrnstrom offered these words of assurance, "I think you hit a reset button for the fall campaign. Everything changes. It's almost like an Etch-A-Sketch. You can kind of shake it up, and we start all over again."



So this is supposed to comfort and re-asssure us about Gov. Romney.

Ever hear the term Kinsley gaffe?  I hadn't until now, but I certainly think Mr. Fehrnstrom's statement could qualify.  A Kinsley gaffe is when a politician, in a moment of carelessness, accidentally tells the truth.  

Conservatives have been saying throughout the campaign that Gov. Romney is not a true conservative; and that he has shifted his alleged views too many times over the years to be trustworthy.  Now his campaign advisor has publicly agreed. 

The pundits are divided on whether or not it will make a difference.  Some say it will help, because Romney needs the moderate vote and will be more likely to get it after this statement.  If I was a moderate, I'd find that idea somewhat insulting.  It seems to imply that moderates have no opinions and are only swayed by the persuasive language of any given day.

Others have hoped it will crush him, and allow one of the more conservative candidates to ascend.

And still others have asserted that it will make no difference at all.  I tend to kind of agree.  Political and current event memory is often very short in this day of 24/7 news.  This is not to say that we are all wishy-washy and can only keep our mind on current things.  But it is more a result of the vast amount of news and information that is yet to come out  Many choice tidbits surrounding any candidate will continue to first trickle out and then eventually gush forth. This escalating flow of inflammatory soundbites and other derogatory information will effect all candidates (but especially, of course, the conservatives) between now and first, the Republican convention in Tampa Bay, in August; and later the eventual November election.

To see a time lapse Etch-A-Sketch of Candidate Romney, see artist, Bryan Lee Madden's cool Etch-A-Sketch blog.

Adrift in Etherland

There is, oh, so much information in the world.  So many things one could learn.  So many things that are most definitely not important, in which one could lose oneself.    Maybe someone with a tendency toward ADD is more susceptible to such wanderings than others?  It always amazes me, though, when I go on such a tour of google or wikipedia or even the World Book Encyclopedia, me how many things there are to be interested in.

This morning, for instance, I'm trying to write a post about my ambivalence toward the election process this year, how strange that is for me, and how Santorum's Minnesota straw-poll victory, combined with a similar caucus victory in Colorado and a non-binding primary victory in Missouri made me happy enough I'm feeling the stirrings of political excitement.  See, it only took four lines to say that, but somehow I got lost along the way.  Badly lost.

I was looking for a quote I've seen attributed to Edmond Burke.  "All that is necessary for the triumph of evil is for good men to do nothing."  Then I discovered that this particular quote is not even an actual documented quote.  It is considered a contested quote.  It, and many similar versions, is currently thought to be a conglomerate of Burke's views.

I also discovered that a version of this quote shows up in Tolstoy's War and Peace, "All that is necessary for evil to triumph is for good men to do nothing."  I've never read War and Peace.  It's been on my list.  But after taking about two months one winter to read The Brothers Karamazov I decided I didn't have time in my life for War and Peace.  There are only so many hours in a day.  And a busy mom has no business reading tomes.  Especially when the only reason she wants to read such a book is to be able to say, "I did it!"  Which truthfully, is pretty much the only reason I'd do it. To be able to slide it into conversation, to drop a line every now and then about the a certain character or philosophy or quote. To be able to look smart and well read and be admired for being an academically accomplished person.  (Yes, I have a little vanity thing which which I struggle.)

After reading a little while about Tolstoy, I went back to Burke and found this little nugget that pleased me.

Manners are of more importance than laws. The law can touch us here and there, now and then. Manners are what vex or soothe, corrupt or purify, exalt or debase, barbarize or refine us, by a constant, steady, uniform, insensible operation like that of the air we breathe in.  from Letter #1 of Letters on a Regicide Peace (1796)

That quote put me in mind of the reason Joe and I had originally decided to homeschool our children and my one big regret with sending them into public school.  The quote is not altogether similar, but it did remind me of one of my primary parenting philosophies.  Kids in school can learn school stuff, the rules or rudiments of reading, writing and arithmetic.  But, their little persons, their characters, are so much more important than those rules and basics of academics.  This shaping and building of character is simply not a teacher's job.  How can a parent accomplish such a monumental task in a few short evening hours?

Leaving aside parenting philosophies, the next stop on my morning wanderings through the world of information took me to Burke's Letters on a Regicide Peace.  Did you see that in the quote above?  What an interesting title!  Whatever does it mean?  It was irresistible to me.

Apparently Burke did not think much of Prime Minister William Pitt's attempts to make peace with the revolutionary government in France in the early years after her revolution.  France's governing body was officially called, in English, the French Directory, but Burke referred to it as the Regicide Directory, because of its renegade abolition of the Monarchy (or Regent).

But interestingly, the letters are written in the Juvenalian style.   Hmmm.  Does that mean written as through from the mouth of a youth?

As a matter of fact, no.  Decimus Iunius Iuvenalis, who is also known by the English form of his last name, Juvenal, was a Roman poet in the early centuries AD. 

Oh, and look, he wrote in dactylic hexameter.  Wow, that's so cool!  I remember learning about iambic pentameter, and I can guess that hexameter must mean that there are maybe six sets of beats...but what about the dactylic part?  Doesn't it just make you want to know more?

According to wikipedia,

Dactylic hexameter (also known as "heroic hexameter") is a form of meter in poetry or a rhythmic scheme. It is traditionally associated with the quantitative meter of classical epic poetry in both Greek and Latin, and was consequently considered to be the Grand Style of classical poetry. The premier examples of its use are Homer's Iliad and Odyssey and Virgil's Aeneid.

Oh, boy, more food for thought.  Where can I go from here?

Take a breath, Mary.  Your coffee is cold, your writing time is used up, and what have you to show for your time?  A few assorted bits of trivia rattling around your brain?  That's about it, and not very important to your primary vocations of child rearing and homemaking.  Also not very important to the secondary (or is it tertiary?) vocation of blogger. 

And in case you're wondering, as I was, what comes after tertiary, it's quaternary, quinary, senary, septenary, octonary, nonary, and denary.  Sadly, there is no similar number relating to the eleventh of something, but the twelfth, in case you ever need to use it, would be duodenary.   Just imagine,... it doesn't have quite the same ring, though,...Duodenary Night, by William Shakespeare...hmm.

Vvvvvvveeerrrrryyy bbbbiiiiggggg ssssiiiiiggggghhhhhh.


So in order to say I at least accomplished something, I quickly wrote this up so that you, my readers, can maybe smile a little.  Maybe you can pat yourself on the back, and say to yourself, "At least I am not as bad as theMom."  Or maybe even, you'll go on to some big and important earth shattering accomplishment because of the little seeds of curiosity planted by accompanying me on my little informational junket through the ether world.

A Raft of Children

I have a friend who likes to refer to our family as a raft, as in, "The Abrahamsons have a veritable raft of children."  I have always accepted this at face value, chuckling a little each time I hear it.  But this morning, just out of curiosity, I looked up this use of the word raft.  In what context, I was wondering, does the word raft mean many?

It turns out the context is a grouping of waterfowl.  As in a cluster of waterfowl, resting together, all bunched up, on the water...a raft.  Makes sense.  But not exactly applicable to a family.

But wait! Maybe it is!  Many are the illusions to life as a sea, waters, a river; the nice times are times of calm, the hard times are storms...So, yes, yes, yes!  I do have a raft of children.  God put us together to comfort and lift each other up, to provide protection and warmth.   We are bound together on the sea of life, through waters both calm and stormy.

Now particularly, the reason I was thinking of my raft of children today, in all their glorious variety and mystery, was because this morning I took the time to pray for each of my children.  It's not a new thing that I pray for my children.  My life, minute by minute, is one of prayerful surrender to God and His wisdom and grace.  I'd never survive otherwise.  But it's different to actually consciously pray for my children, both thanking God for the blessing each of them is, and asking God's grace and guidance for whatever particular struggles each child is dealing with.

Recently my friend, David, shamed me.  And it was a good thing.  A good kind of productive shame that brought me to a realization of something I have been neglecting in my life.  Dave mentioned his personal Bible study habits.  Check this out!  He has worked his way through the entire New Testament in the People's Bible series, and is as far as Isaiah in the Old Testament.  Amazing!

It dawned on me, though, through this conversation, that it has been a few years since I've been disciplined enough to spend any private time in God's Word.  Probably since I put my kids in public school.  I used to do my own Bible reading or study in the morning before everyone was up, but now I have to get them all up early.  What was formerly a time of peace and serenity has been replaced with a flurry of activity. 

We do try to have breakfast and bedtime devotions with the family, which might include any of the following:  memory work, Bible reading, singing a hymn, prayers.  So I am not totally "Wordless."  But just as sitting in church with a raft of children can make it difficult to focus on the message, so too, family devotions can be filled with many distractions.  I don't want to downplay the power of God's Word here.  I fully believe that God's Word can accomplish those things for which God sends It, even when we don't feel any particular concentration toward or uplifting feeling from It.  But it is also good for one to spend some time really studying and meditating upon God's Word.  I realized after my conversation with David that I had not done any of that lately.

One of my goals for this new year is to spend some time by myself, reading the Bible.  Really it was not so hard a change to make.  Generally my alarm goes off at 5:30 anyway, at which time I do any breakfast prep that needs to be done that early, and then crawl back in bed until I have to get the kids up and rolling at 6:15.   Now I stay up and have a cup of coffee and read my Bible. 

It helps that Matt found us a "new" coffee maker at the second-hand store.  We had been using a speckled blue enamel percolator on the stovetop.  That gets a little bit putzy, keeping half a brain on the stove, turning the heat down once it starts to perk, and setting a timer,...  But now we have a nice Mr. Coffee that even has a timer to start the coffee each morning before I get up.  Cool stuff.

Now each morning my coffee starts in all by itself at 5:15.  I stumble out of bed at 5:30.  I take care of any breakfasty things, such as getting a coffee cake in the oven or starting the oatmeal or rice.  I pour myself a cup of hot coffee and add my daily tablespoon of coconut oil.  Then I make my way into my favorite morning reading spot and pull out the Bible.

I've been trying to get through Romans, but sometimes I feel quite stupid in the early in the morning.  I've taken to reading two chapters each day, one I review from the previous day, and then I continue on to the next.  By the time I've read each chapter the second time through, usually I have a handle on it.  Some parts of Romans are still not easy, but whether I understand everything or not, it's still good.

Some mornings, I have extra time before I have to get everyone else up.  I've been using these extra minutes to pray for my family and friends, and for things of concern to me in the community and world.  Most times I tend to lump together all my family concerns.  I kind of metaphorically throw up my hands in one of those groanings and sighings that the Holy Spirit understands better than we ourselves.  There is so much to pray for, after all, where does one start?

But today, I took time to pray for each child individually.  I considered each child and thanked God for the good and wonderful parts of each personality.  I lay before Him the challenges and hurdles with which each of them struggle.  And I asked for wisdom in handling all that He has given me.  After thinking about each of my children, these many personalities, with their gifts and challenges, the various individual logs that compose our raft, I was humbled.  I am in awe that God would choose to entrust to such pitiful servants as Joe and I, the privilege and responsibility of raising such a raft of beautiful people.   Wow! 

God is gracious and good and full of compassion.  And He seems to have a higher confidence in us than do we ourselves.  But I pull out of the front pocket of my heart one of my favorite Bible passages (it's a good thing they don't wear out over time, isn't it?).  And trust what God told St. Paul after Paul asked three times for God to take away the thorn in his flesh, "My grace is sufficient for you.  My power is made perfect in your weakness."

Word Games

Because I was feeling a little bit snarky while writing my previous blog post, I asked Joe to preview it for me, specifically to temper any snarkiness that crossed the line of decency.

"Could you check to see if my facete is too cruel?" said I.

Joe got to chuckling and smiling to himself, so I assumed I had said something wrong.  Joe and I are both word geeks, so we kind of go around in circles, each trying to catch the other in some error.

"Why are you giggling?  It's facete, isn't it? I suppose it isn't a word?"

"Oh, I"m not saying it isn't a word.  I've just never heard it used that way."  Then he rambled a bit about word roots and the definition of other potentially related words, such as facet, facetious, etc.  But soon he got up from the table and rummaged around to find a dictionary.  He simply couldn't let it go.

After a few minutes of flipping pages, Joe asked, "And how might you spell facete, if it is a word, that is?"

Yikes!  I got to thinking maybe Joe was going to win this round.  But I spoke out more confidently than I felt, "F-A-C-E-T-E,"  and then a few minutes later, "or maybe it's ...E-E-T, " and then, a few minutes later still, when it became quite obvious Joe was finding no such word, "I don't know...how is facetious spelled?  Maybe it's F-E-C..."

Using the  Second College Edition of Webster's New World Dictionary, published in 1970, Joe did not find facete.  He found facet, facetiae, and then facetious, but no facete.  Interestingly, facetiae is a plural, a collection of witticisms.  But apparently there is no singular, or at least was not 1970.

But I was not inclined to be beaten so easily.  Today we have google.  We can find nearly anything we search for hard enough.

In the Merriam-Webster online dictionary I find, as did Joe, facet, facetiae, and facetious.  But hold everything!  I also find facete, although it is labeled, archaic.  And, oh snap!  It is also alleged to be an adjective.  What's up with that? 

I was all excited thinking I might get to call this round a draw.  But even in it's archaic form, that word did not mean what I though it meant. 

Inconceivable!

Words! Aren't They Fun?

stell 1( verb ) stell to place or fix firmly or permanently; 2( verb ) stell a prop; a support, as for the feet in standing or cilmbing; 3( verb ) stell a partial inclosure made by a wall or trees, to serve as a shelter for sheep or cattle

Finally, I found the definition at definition_of.net.

Thanks, Steve and Holly for finding this for me.  I'm going to remember this dictionary.  Sometimes there are words I know exist that I just can't find anywhere.

Sonnet XXIV
by William Shakespeare

Mine eye hath play'd the painter and hath stell'd
Thy beauty's form in table of my heart;
My body is the frame wherein 'tis held,
And perspective it is the painter's art.
For through the painter must you see his skill,
To find where your true image pictured lies;
Which in my bosom's shop is hanging still,
That hath his windows glazed with thine eyes.
Now see what good turns eyes for eyes have done:
Mine eyes have drawn thy shape, and thine for me
Are windows to my breast, where-through the sun
Delights to peep, to gaze therein on thee;
    Yet eyes this cunning want to grace their art;
    They draw but what they see, know not the heart.