Mr. Lincoln, I've been thinkin'....

Where do you go when you need a break, but not too much of a break? When the well of creativity is dry and you just want to get out of town--but you still want to be able to count it as school time? What do we have to study that we have sadly neglected? Local History of course. State History, to be specific. So where did we go on our last field trip? You can guess. We went further afield than we have in awhile...

Springfield Illinois! The Land of Lincoln--literally. The site of the only National Park managed property in Illinois--the Abraham Lincoln Home National Historical Site (and yes, I got a stamp in my National Parks Passport.) It's a nice little town, but as two days wore on we noted a theme amongst the places we visited. Springfield is not only home to the Lincoln Home, but also the Lincoln Presidential Library and Museum, the Lincoln Depot, the Lincoln Law Office, the Old Capitol Building (where Lincoln delivered the "House Divided" speech), the Lincoln Pew (in the Presbyterian church), the Lincoln Ledger in the archives, and of course the Lincoln Tomb. Just outside of town is New Salem where Abraham Lincoln lived as a young man, and if you want to complete the list there's even a town named Lincoln just a few miles past it all.
We had great weather and the kids earned their third Junior Park Ranger badge while visiting the Lincoln Home NHS. They now have badges from Sequoia NP, Acadia NP and the Lincoln Home NHS. At this rate, they will be able to earn enough badges to trade in for a National Park pony or bison or something. At the very least they should be fully fledged rangers by the time they're fifteen or so.

George, Abe, Mary, Hannah, Willie and Caleb

There were memorials to Lincoln all over the town. The kids really liked the life-sized Lincoln family statues. I was more impressed that we managed to park all day for less than ten dollars. Sweet!

Trying on Tad's Hat

Hannah found a friend

We even took a ghost tour of Springfield on our second night in town. It was really more of a historic tour with some ghosts thrown in for color...Caleb kept asking the tour guide when he would get to the "spooky stories." I'm afraid Caleb was destined to be disappointed.

Notice that I didn't mention visiting the Capitol? We didn't. I had considered going--contacting our state senator or legislator, but I didn't. This was on purpose. I had considered it, but when I mentioned it, Hannah demanded of me, "The state capitol? Isn't that were all the thieves work?"

I suppose that I have to take a more definite line in distinguishing my editorial commentary from our school lessons. I don't want to think that the only thing I've taught my kids in the past year is how to be cynical. So in the interest of keeping the tour guides at the state capitol free of my daughter's demands ("I'd like a list of everyone who is currently under indictment, and the crimes that they are accused of") we took a pass on the present and concentrated on the past.

On our way out of town we stopped at Oak Ridge Cemetery to visit the Lincoln Tomb. Oak Ridge is a beautiful setting, and the weather couldn't have been more perfect. There were several buses at the tomb when we arrived, so we passed on an immediate tour and looked around some other places in the cemetery first. We saw a lot of really neat memorials--much of them very traditional (weeping angels!) but there are quite a few modern burials in Oak Ridge also. This memorial was puzzling for us. The man buried here was a dentist. What was this? A set of forceps? Elephant tusks? Teeth spreaders? We were stumped.

Then we noticed the shadows. It was obvious what these were; they were angel wings.

Hannah Angel

Caleb Angel

Rock on, Angel.

When we returned to the Lincoln Tomb, the school groups were gone and we had the building to ourselves...mostly. There was the Peru Illinois Ladies Auxiliary of the Grand Army of the Union* on their annual Lincoln pilgrimage, but I didn't think they would be poorly behaved in the tomb. Caleb, however, was not quite so forgiving as I was. "They're as loud as kids," he informed me. (To be fair, it's difficult to be quiet when you are surrounded by as much marble and granite as is inside the tomb.)

To anyone who hasn't been at the tomb, it's an impressive edifice. The outside is stunning, but the inside is really quite something. When you step through the public entrance you are in a small rotunda of marble and palladium with ironwork grilles with a corn motif (symbolizing Illinois, of course) and with columns and stars representing the states that were part of the Union when Lincoln was President. The hallway curves around with niches that have small statutes representing various aspects and stages of Lincoln's life. There are plaques with parts of his Second Inaugural Address ("With malice towards none; charity towards all...") and the Gettysburg Address. 

And then there is the burial chamber. There are niches where Mary Todd Lincoln, Willie, Tad and Eddie are interred--they really were a tragic family--and across from them is Lincoln's resting place. There is a large (very large) monument above his grave. I'm assuming it's his final resting place. The poor man was disinterred at least six times because of problems with the tomb, grave robbers, and doubt that he was actually dead. 

The Peru Illinois Ladies Auxiliary of the Grand Army of the Union* was behind us on our first pass through the burial chamber. Caleb asked if we could return. "I just want a little bit of silence," he informed me. "I can't read when everyone is talking. I can't think." So we waited until the ladies had left and we returned to the burial chamber.

"Do you have more questions?" the very nice docent asked us. 

"No," I explained. "My son just wants a few moments of silence back here."

The lady smiled softly at Caleb. "Sometimes I come here early in the morning so that I can have a few moments of peace with Mr. Lincoln, myself," she confessed.

So Hannah knelt before the tomb respectfully. Caleb bowed his head and closed his eyes. We spent a quiet moment in front of the memorial to the man who was arguably our greatest President--definitely one of this country's greatest men. After a few moments, I nudged Caleb. "Is this enough?"

He looked curiously let down. "Yes. Thank you," he told the docent as we left. I'm sure that she went home that night with fond thoughts of the respectful children who stopped by to pay their respects to her Mr. Lincoln...but I had my doubts.

"Caleb," I asked him as we exited into the sunlight. "Were you listening for a ghost?

"Yes," he admitted. "I'm not sure, but I might have heard footsteps. It's hard because everyone is so loud!"

With or without ghosts, we had a wonderful trip into our nation's past, and our state's history which, per the State of Illinois Board of Education Leaning Standards, is something that they have to study. Funny, but it didn't feel much like studying.

(*Peru Illinois Ladies Auxiliary of the Grand Army of the Union--I made this up. I have no idea who they were, or where they were from. They were very nice.)

What are you writing for?

I spent nearly five years getting a master's degree in education (reading education specifically--but writing and curriculum development played a huge role in the program) and one thing that stuck with me from the courses in how to teach writing is that you must keep your audience in mind when writing. Who is your intended audience? Who do you want to reach? What purpose does this paper/story/report serve? Do you want to entertain? enlighten? persuade?

Sometimes I think that I just need to write. I don't know if there is any purpose served by my writing, or if it's just something that I do automatically, like buying the candy-bar from the vending machine. (I don't even think about it any more. That Twix bar just winds up in my hand. And then I can't waste it for pity's sake...ugh. No wonder I can't lose weight.)

Looking back over my blog entries I realize that all of these stories are things that I would have told Mom if she were still here. These are the things I would have called her to share. These are the things that we would have laughed about together, or she would have been present to witness, or that she would have yelled at me about (sorry for the 'Loads' entry...although it is kind of funny in a gross way.)

Ultimately, I guess I'm writing for myself...but I'm writing for her too. I'm writing all of the things that I can't tell her any more. You guys are the surrogate audience for my stories, and I really want to say thanks. Maybe through your eyes, through your reading it she can know that I'm thinking of her.

Membership Has its Privileges

First, let me say that I am happy to report that my children fear nothing. By nothing I mean dead animals and live bugs (unless said bugs are arthropods that begin with a 'centi'- and end with a 'pede.' They also fear tornadoes, but that's another blog.) 

Cadaver beetles eating a dead bird.

Caleb and a dead bird.

We went to the Field Museum member night this past weekend. The member nights alone are worth the price of membership, and whenever we are members we try to stop in for one of the nights that they open the back rooms to we curious and intrepid explorers who want to know more and see more than there is room to display in the museum. So Friday night we headed downtown.

Hannah and a dead bird.

I learned a lot in our hours exploring the museum. I learned that Hannah's shoes don't fit any more. She complained about it quite a bit. This is important because we just bought her new shoes and I am not pleased. Her feet hurt by the end of the night, and so did mine, but my shoes fit just fine.

I also learned that Caleb's hair is long enough to put into a ponytail. This coupled with his purple shirt had several people address him as "little girl." He got a kick out of it. "Little, eh. Maybe," he told me. "Girl, no way!"
"Get used to it," George griped.

The back of Caleb's head. Note the ponytail.

The kids got to hold a live tarantula and a hissing cockroach. I was busy in the anthropology department learning about X-ray spectrography and Girl's Day in Japan. I'd rather look at dead people than hold a tarantula. However because of this hangup, I didn't get any photos. There are some on George's phone because he likes bugs a lot more than I do.

Because one of the big draws right now is the Genghis Khan exhibit, they had Mongolian dancers. It was very cool, but Hannah and Caleb were not as entranced by the music as wereGeorge and myself. It was a great moment to talk about different tonal scales and how different cultures have more limited musical tonality than western cultures. I think they got it. In any case, George and I liked the music. We all liked the dancers.

Three dancers (not yet performing)and curious onlookers

Mongolian dancer. Skulls on her head and three eyes. Very cool.

I didn't discover this, but I was reminded that this is a pretty cool place to live.

Wallaby no. 1

This is Caleb in my very first Wonderful Wallaby! It may look like a hooded sweatshirt, (it is) but I knit it. I knit the whole thing. Isn't it great? He picked the colors and the yarn he wanted. Some people say "He must be a Cubs fan." But he isn't really. George patted Caleb on the head and said. "Norwegian flag--cool." But Caleb really doesn't recognize the Norwegian flag yet, in spite of his father's Scandinavian pride.
In the yarn store Caleb had gravitated to the dark blues over and over again. "How about green?" I suggested.
"No." Caleb picked up the shade of blue that you see in the picture. "I like this."
I looked at it. Hand-wash only. "Really? How about this blue?" I suggested another one that is easier to care for.
"No." Caleb insisted. "This is the one I want."
"Why?"
"Because it reminds me of the color of the water in the Bay of Fundy, Mom. Remember that? When it was raining, and we were walking on the bottom of the ocean when the tide was low?"

Of course I remember. I remember quite well.
So, Caleb has a Wonderful Wallaby that must be hand washed, but I don't care (much.) He remembers the Bay of Fundy when he wears it, and our adventures walking around on the bottom of the ocean. How many kids can say that? How many Moms?

Happy Easter!

The plain, old fashioned food coloring with vinegar in hot water served to decorate our eggs this year. There was nothing fancy about it. Nothing except for the colors when I gave Hannah and Caleb a free rein in deciding what colors to make their eggs. Each could pick six.

"What would happen if we put some blue and red--like fifteen drops of blue and five of red?"
"How about fifteen red and five blue?"
"Red and yellow make orange...but what if we put more yellow in. Lots more yellow!"
"Great!"
Said I: "Don't you just want to make a blue egg? How about red?"
This was met with looks of disappointment in my lack of imagination. Blue? Who makes a blue egg when you can mix and match to your hearts content?
"That's kind of boring," Caleb said semi-tactfully.
"Really boring," Hannah noted with no tact at all.

So, I cleaned out four ceramic mugs several times to create the twelve colors they came up with. There are no two colors that are alike. Several are similar, but none are exactly alike. The children were content. I was cowed into acknowledging their superiority in deciding colors. "Maybe adults just don't see the same amount of colors kids do," Hannah theorized with a gentle pat on my arm. Condescended to by a ten year old. My Easter egg coloring experience was complete. I see the same colors they do, I just had laundry waiting in the basement. I didn't think I had time to create twelve different colors. I was wrong. The satisfaction of my children at the successful completion of the job well done told me that I was dead wrong.

 

Now we will eat the egss for lunch, I suggest the day after Easter.

 

 "Ew." Wrinkled noses and frowny faces regarded the suggestion doubtfully. "Eggs are okay as long as you don't have to eat the yellow middles," I was informed.

I have a dozen hard-boiled eggs to eat at home. Yum.