More on Education
I am the eldest child, the one who is supposed to honor and continue tradition and fit the model of "success" in society. Choosing to homeschool was a huge, hairy deal for me. It was not an easy nor a light-hearted decision. One day, after years of thinking about it, it seemed like the right thing to do, and we embarked on this crazy journey of thinking we might know what is best for our own children. How dare we? Lots of friends and support along the way.
I am still haunted by doubts and indecision, but it seems that just when things are starting to look their worst, an article appears to remind me that the decisions we have made so far about our children's education have been born of our love for them and in their best interest.
Here is the latest one, from a source for which I have the greatest respect:
http://www.homeedmag.com/editorial/807/doubts/
Have a look and regain confidence in your path, you know what is best for your child.
Posted by A Homeschool Story at 10:49 AM
Friday, June 11, 2010
Monday, June 7, 2010
Biarritz and Higher Education
We barely get back from Scotland when my dear friend, E.'s husband swoops in to pick us up and take us to their apartment in Biarritz. Have I mentioned that Pays Basque is about my favorite spot on earth? Biarritz is in the heart of the Pays Basque, situated on the ocean where the Pyrenees Mountains begin and the endless beaches of les Landes end, it stunning. My friend E. will tell you; "but there is no one but white people there," which is about the only criticism I would tolerate of Biarritz, the rest is bologna. The first time I saw Biarritz when I was eighteen, I realized that I would have a hard time returning to the Midwest after experiencing the breath-taking view of mountain and sea, the waves crashing up against the gigantic rocks out in the water, and the picturesque villages dotting the mountainside between flocks of snowy white sheep. A few months later I was applying for an exchange program with a university in San Sebastian, or Donostia, in Spanish Basque Country. My husband and I need regular gratitude sessions in order not to feel that our whole lives are a quest to return to live in Pays Basque. We are extremely happy with both the people and the region we live in and will not leave it, but gosh, the ocean is compelling.
Needless to say (or did I?), I was pretty happy about spending the weekend with my friend and her family, and in Biarritz to boot. E. and her daughter took the train and got there before we did, but our trip was uneventful and we were soon at their weekend residence, and almost as quickly, suited up and on the beach. My little water-bugs were all on boogie boards, into the wild waves and out of sight, except for the two youngest. I was a nervous wreck, having promised my absent husband not to lose sight of them and to bring them home again in one piece. These are kids who have seen nary a ripple on water in their lives. The first two grew to the ripe old ages of two and four on the ocean, but that was a long time ago, and the others were born on the banks of the Mississippi, hardly a reference for surfing the waves. Something primal and inherited seemed to take over (Daddy was practically born on a surfboard) and they acted like they'd been navigating ocean currents their whole lives. Biarritz is the surfing capital of Europe, and there were dozens and dozens of surfers to the right and left of the lifeguarded area. I spent a few hours keeping track of Puck and Arthur and making sure I could see live children every ten minutes or so for the others. It was not quite as warm as a hot summer day, so my friend and I bribed them into drying off and getting dressed by promising an ice-cream.
We talked and walked, and caught up on things as we have not done for four years. Of course, with the kids listening, we did not catch up on nearly everything, but they got to hear lots of interesting things as it was.
E. and her husband are both brilliant mathematicians and professors of mathematics, and two of my children, naturally, immediately confided to their daughter, within earshot of the adults, to hate math. Endless discussions about math and growing to love it and becoming proficient and confident in one's skills ensued. They were good discussions, but I fear not ones that showed homeschooling in its best light. My own confidence in our life and learning style remained unshaken, but all of those questions that normally haunt a new homeschooler came wafting back up to the surface. The "what-ifs" and "is there a better ways" that cause one to rethink and redefine what works and what is not working were abundant and will make for many hours of discussion this week with my better half.
Of note was a reminder of our original plan in homeschooling; give them a bilingual education and thus the choice of attending college in either country. Let's face it; school is free in France. When you have five children, this has its advantages. E. is a great proponent of the educational system here and had some convincing arguments about how this could work for us. Each child could spend the last year of high school here preparing for the great Baccalaureate, the exam that ends your high school years and allows you to proceed to college, for free.
She did not go through the system herself and I did, so we have differing views. On the other hand, she has been teaching here for twenty years and knows well the ins and outs as well as the ups and downs of higher education in both countries. While I much more enjoyed life on an American college campus, I will admit to having had a few excellent teachers in both Spain and France along the way. The relief of not having a constant and long-term financial burden to pay for my education was also great here. Did I learn more in one country than in the other? That is hard to say, and I think much of it depends on the student's attitude and willingness to work hard. When it comes down to what I want for my children...once more, I come to the conclusion that I will give them all I can and leave the choice up to them in the end.
After a long evening of great food, good wine and lots of laughter, we all went to bed too late and slept soundly.
The next day was stormy in the morning, but it cleared up enough for a walk out onto the rocky walkways surrounding the bay; the Rock of the Virgin and a trip to the lighthouse. No one wanted to leave, except for me. Even though I love Pays Basque, my husband was home, hard at work, and it was time to get back.
I forgot the camera, not that I would have had time to use it, making sure no one fell off the cliffs or drowned was a full-time occupation, and Lily's camera can't be plugged in until we get back home to her cable. Here, however, is a link to a website with 114 photos of Biarritz, the first one is my favorite, "A Storm in Biarritz," as I love the sea when it is wild and dangerous. There are also links to photos of places all over the globe, it is an amazing website. Enjoy!
http://www.trekearth.com/gallery/Europe/France/West/Aquitaine/Biarritz/photo380033.htm
Needless to say (or did I?), I was pretty happy about spending the weekend with my friend and her family, and in Biarritz to boot. E. and her daughter took the train and got there before we did, but our trip was uneventful and we were soon at their weekend residence, and almost as quickly, suited up and on the beach. My little water-bugs were all on boogie boards, into the wild waves and out of sight, except for the two youngest. I was a nervous wreck, having promised my absent husband not to lose sight of them and to bring them home again in one piece. These are kids who have seen nary a ripple on water in their lives. The first two grew to the ripe old ages of two and four on the ocean, but that was a long time ago, and the others were born on the banks of the Mississippi, hardly a reference for surfing the waves. Something primal and inherited seemed to take over (Daddy was practically born on a surfboard) and they acted like they'd been navigating ocean currents their whole lives. Biarritz is the surfing capital of Europe, and there were dozens and dozens of surfers to the right and left of the lifeguarded area. I spent a few hours keeping track of Puck and Arthur and making sure I could see live children every ten minutes or so for the others. It was not quite as warm as a hot summer day, so my friend and I bribed them into drying off and getting dressed by promising an ice-cream.
We talked and walked, and caught up on things as we have not done for four years. Of course, with the kids listening, we did not catch up on nearly everything, but they got to hear lots of interesting things as it was.
E. and her husband are both brilliant mathematicians and professors of mathematics, and two of my children, naturally, immediately confided to their daughter, within earshot of the adults, to hate math. Endless discussions about math and growing to love it and becoming proficient and confident in one's skills ensued. They were good discussions, but I fear not ones that showed homeschooling in its best light. My own confidence in our life and learning style remained unshaken, but all of those questions that normally haunt a new homeschooler came wafting back up to the surface. The "what-ifs" and "is there a better ways" that cause one to rethink and redefine what works and what is not working were abundant and will make for many hours of discussion this week with my better half.
Of note was a reminder of our original plan in homeschooling; give them a bilingual education and thus the choice of attending college in either country. Let's face it; school is free in France. When you have five children, this has its advantages. E. is a great proponent of the educational system here and had some convincing arguments about how this could work for us. Each child could spend the last year of high school here preparing for the great Baccalaureate, the exam that ends your high school years and allows you to proceed to college, for free.
She did not go through the system herself and I did, so we have differing views. On the other hand, she has been teaching here for twenty years and knows well the ins and outs as well as the ups and downs of higher education in both countries. While I much more enjoyed life on an American college campus, I will admit to having had a few excellent teachers in both Spain and France along the way. The relief of not having a constant and long-term financial burden to pay for my education was also great here. Did I learn more in one country than in the other? That is hard to say, and I think much of it depends on the student's attitude and willingness to work hard. When it comes down to what I want for my children...once more, I come to the conclusion that I will give them all I can and leave the choice up to them in the end.
After a long evening of great food, good wine and lots of laughter, we all went to bed too late and slept soundly.
The next day was stormy in the morning, but it cleared up enough for a walk out onto the rocky walkways surrounding the bay; the Rock of the Virgin and a trip to the lighthouse. No one wanted to leave, except for me. Even though I love Pays Basque, my husband was home, hard at work, and it was time to get back.
I forgot the camera, not that I would have had time to use it, making sure no one fell off the cliffs or drowned was a full-time occupation, and Lily's camera can't be plugged in until we get back home to her cable. Here, however, is a link to a website with 114 photos of Biarritz, the first one is my favorite, "A Storm in Biarritz," as I love the sea when it is wild and dangerous. There are also links to photos of places all over the globe, it is an amazing website. Enjoy!
http://www.trekearth.com/gallery/Europe/France/West/Aquitaine/Biarritz/photo380033.htm
Saturday, June 5, 2010
All of the Land of the Scots (not Scotch)
Our tour guide, on bus day, reminded the mostly foreign audience, that in Scotland, the people were known as Scots or Scottish, but not Scotch, that was a drink. But before bus day, here is what we did:
Day One: travel, leaving the house at 7:40am, driving to the airport in Bordeaux, first leg of journey to London, stop-over, then on to Edinburgh. We chose the bus option for the trip from airport to hotel (1.90 instead of 22.00, and darn, my keyboard will not do a pound sign, so US-centric of it), so it took a little while to get there. We arrived at the hotel, right in the center of Edinburgh, at 8:30 pm, which was 9:30pm in France.
With my love of different languages, I guess I always unconsciously chose destinations based on hearing a new language; first France, Germany, then Pays Basque in Spain (two languages!), Venice, and so on. Though I dreamed of visiting Ireland and Scotland, I think I felt they would be less exotic because, after all, they only speak English there. Too wrong! They speak Scottish English. When two Scots are speaking together, their secrets are safe from me! I love the language, enjoy the different expressions and ways of turning a phrase that is completely novel after nine years back in the US. Nothing is "small" or "little", it is all "wee". Nobody says "bonny" there anymore, but nobody says "watch out!" either; it is "mind your step" or leaving the train; "mind the gap." I heard one little boy say to his smaller brother (upon hitting the correct button for the elevator), "well done, William!" Ah, what a refreshing change from "good job" and in our family, arguments about who is going to push the button this time up!
So, after a snack in the hotel restaurant (Lily had mashed potatoes and hot chocolate, which the waiter thought was funny) we headed out to explore the neighborhood a wee bit. We went in the direction of the castle, but we seemed to hit a dead end, and everything looked like it might be a castle. There were bigger castles, smaller castles, fancy castles and massive castles. Not having found anything that definitely said "Edinburgh Castle", we thought we would go home and wait for daylight before trying again. We retired to our rooms and set to a little housekeeping.
First attempt to connect to civilization via my computer. After an hour or so of having paid for a connection that wasn't working and calling the help center, I was able to connect, but when I called home Pierre could not hear me, so I typed and he talked. The next day, when I hoped to send the first blog post, I was told all of my minutes had been used up, another $9 for more minutes? No, thank you. So, no posts from Scotland, even the library, when we finally found a minute to stop in, required a library card for wifi access and had a very limited space in which to use a laptop, besides which, the children's section was closed.
Day Two: Despite having finally gone to sleep around 11, we were both up and ready to go around 7:30 or so. Armed with our "stupid map" as it became known; just a very basic, free map of the city, we set out to locate Edinburgh Castle. We got directions, this time, and found it was necessary to go a ways around before an approach was possible. And it is simply massive. You can see it, if you look up, from just about anywhere in the city. We must have been very tired, indeed, to have missed it the night before.
We spotted our first men in kilts and heard our first bagpipes on the way to the castle. Of course, everyone wants to know if we had the occasion to find out what Scottish men wear under their kilts. To tell the truth, we met a number of dashing young Scots with charming accents and a glint in their eye, but none of them were wearing kilts, the other ones were.
It was a good thing we started out early; upon arriving, there was already a line, uh, sorry, a queue, formed, to get in. We queued with the rest of the people from all over the world and watched, amazed and grateful, as hundreds more lined up behind us before the castle even opened. Once it opened for the day, up the cobble-stoned paths we went to discover this famous landmark. The photos can do the rest of the talking.
Afternoon of Day Two: The Royal Botanical Gardens. A long walk across the city and worth every minute of it. Lily's choice, she loves botany and growing all things, the photos will show how spectacular it all was, and still not do it justice.
Day Three: We find our way to a palace we cannot pronounce the name of and that our concierge has never heard of, that does not appear on any train schedule, but Lily says we're to go. Linlithgow Palace, birthplace of Mary, Queen of Scots and of her father, James V.
Lily found out that one could take a train here and that it is only 15 miles away. We got directions and walked to the train station. Since there was a long line at the ticket booth and a self-serve machine without a line, we spent a moment trying to figure out how to buy tickets to Linlithgow by ourselves. We consulted every single train schedule there was, no Linlithgow. Did it really exist? We took a place in line and waited. Our patience was rewarded with a pleasant answer; there was a train every 10 minutes or so and children ride free, just as in London. I LIKE the UK! I knit on my socks as we watched the Scottish scenery roll past and listened to the teenage girls in front of us imitate American accents as they laughed uproariously.
We arrived in a tiny village, in the middle of nowhere, but along a loch. We asked for directions a couple of times and we were soon at the Palace. It is the ruin of a royal palace, built for pleasure as opposed to defense; hunting, fishing, dancing and eating is what would have happened at Linlithgow. The building is in good repair, it is a well-preserved ruin. This notion was explained to us by the guide on duty. Most ruins are almost naught but rubble, not because the elements have destroyed them over the years, but because the stones were stolen in order to build something else. After the departing British army "accidentally" set fire to the palace in the 1700s, a guard was placed on duty day and night to make sure the stones were not removed. Today one can walk the path along the loch below the castle and visit all of the nooks and crannies, both down three floors and up many flights of stairs to the towers, one of them is even open at the very top.
It was a very surreal experience, one could easily imagine oneself back many centuries. You would be near a raging fire to warm up after a long walk out on the shores of the loch in the rain and fog, as we were, or looking anxiously from the tower to see if the hunting party had returned or the ship carrying your husband. This was the most Scottish of days we had here, a close second to the Loch Ness for favorite.
Day Four: the bus tour. Spectacular scenery on our long drive through the Highlands, to Loch Ness and back again. It was really all one could wish for, except for maybe more time to explore everything, a couple of weeks, we were thinking. Time for hiking in the hills, climbing mountains, sailing the Loch, searching for Nessie...
Day Five: sadly and gladly, the return journey, good to be back, good to have gone.
Queen Mum's Memorial
This is a tiny memorial structure in the garden dedicated to the Queen Mum. The garden is fairly new, so the flowers are still growing there, but this memorial is marvelous; all shells and pine cones.
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