Learning about lift...

If I have learned one thing as a mother of an 'experimentalist', it is that all I can do is to minimize risk -- then step out of the way. To do otherwise is an exercise in futility and one paved with tears and suffering for all involved.

Take for example Xander's determination to create a faster mode of transport for 'Village' -- having traveled by plane, train, car, and foot, he knows from experience that air travel is the fast of the four. He therefore decided that he would create a 'Village' version of air travel. The gift of two large balloons

provided him with (he thought) the perfect vehicle: "I will create 'manned balloon flight'!!!" he announced grandly, tying the balloon around his waist as best he could.

His elder brother was very worried at this: "Xander, the balloon will get AWAY!" was his first thought. 

"No it won't," answered the erstwhile balloonist, "I am tying it around my waist!"

"You are NOT going to jump from the top of the stairs!' His brother announced at the top of his lungs.

I decided I should probably intervene. "No steps. No porch. No hard surfaces. But if you want to jump on the grass outside, okay. And if you want to try jumping from the little hill out front, you can try that too." 

Jason shot me an AGONIZED glance. Xander, however, was satisfied and started for the door. Jason jumped forward. "Here, Xander, if you HAVE to do this, let me fix the balloon through your belt loops..." he worked on the belt loops. "See, now the balloon won't get away."

It didn't. It didn't provide much lift off either.  I heard the door slam as they returned. "Boys?"

"Its okay, Mom" said young Orville and Wilber, "We just came back for the other balloon..."
_________________________

Afterward:  When my husband heard about their adventures and their lack of success, he suggested that I should suggest that Xander research weather balloons -- and tell him that if he wanted one, he would need to pay for it himself.What I didn't tell my husband, because it only occurred to me afterwards, was that knowing my son, he will probably try to MAKE one, he will convinced his older brother to assist him (Jason is the theorist)... and some day, knowing Xander and his older brother, well... they just might succeed...

Facing Death and Loss

Remember

Remember me when I am gone away,

Gone far away into the silent land;

When you can no more hold me by the hand,

Nor I half turn to go, yet turning stay.

Remember me when no more day by day

You tell me of our future that you plann’d:

Only remember me; you understand

It will be late to counsel then or pray.

Yet if you should forget me for a while

And afterwards remember, do not grieve:

For if the darkness and corruption leave

A vestige of the thoughts that once I had,

Better by far you should forget and smile

Than that you should remember and be sad.

From: Goblin Market, The Prince’s Progress and Other Poems. 

Christina Rosetti. London: Macmillan 1879.

      Today is a day of grief in our house -- last night Xander cried himself to sleep as indeed he did the night before. Halloween was a bust. He, his father and brother had gone out trick or treating and had been gone only the briefest time when suddenly he burst through the door, crying hysterically. I was startled, stunned, unable to understand what could have happened that could've set him off. Between sobs, he told me. 

            "They are putting Riley down on Friday. They are KILLING him!" and he burst into tears again, inconsolable.  

             Riley, an older dog, and one of the three dogs that make up the neighborhood 'Wolf Pack' as my sons call it, together with our doberman and Riley's sister, Sadie, had bone cancer. His people had tried everything to save him. They had looked into amputating the leg, into chemotherapy but were told that neither operation was feasible. They held onto him for months, unable and unwilling to surrender their sweetly smiling, amiable friend. It was clear that he was slowing down. He limped and slept a lot but his smiles never wavered and he was always delighted to be petted and talked to. But something happened... perhaps it became too difficult for him to get up. I do not know. But finally his people made the hard decision to let Riley go... and now his friends, among them my eight year old son, must come to the same place.

           How do you help someone through grief? I have no good answers. Every person's pain is his or her own, unique. How they express it, how they handle it depends entirely on them. For myself... I have lost many animal friends over the years as well as people whom I loved and I have never found it easier to handle. And the pain, it never actually goes away. There are times, moments when the pain will come back fresh and sharp as the first moment. So I cannot tell my child that it will be 'alright', that it will 'get better'. All I can do is hold him and cuddle him and tell him that I will miss Riley too. I can cry with him and tell him that it is okay to cry. And when he is ready, we can talk about what, if anything, he wants to do in honor of his friend.

________________________

Rest In Peace, Riley Sweet Face. You are missed.

Inspiration

"Imagination is more important than knowledge."

~Albert Einstein~

It began when Tom went to chop up a fallen tree in the backwoods. Grace and Xander decided to work on their 'Civilization'. Grace had conceived an idea about building houses while waiting for Xander during his Mandarin chinese class and wanted to test those out. Their original structures were built of short sticks of wood, placed at right angles to form -- in Grace's case -- squares or -- in Xander's case -- rectangles.  Looking at Grace's 'tee pee', Xander remarked, "I don't think it is quite big enough." 

"It is big enough to sit in." She replied firmly and that was that.

Tom had been chopping the tree into long lengths and the children spotted this. They asked if they could use some for their civilization. When they explained their project, he helped them create the skeleton of a Tee Pee.

The kids considered the Tee Pee and decided it needed something... FURNITURE! Xander built himself a table and came in to get 'supplies'. When he returned, he discovered that Grace had decided that his table needed a chair and she was building one for him.

Xander sat down to test the chair and was pleased with the result.

Meanwhile, the two older boys, who had been working on Minecraft, took a breather and noticed what was going on outside...

"Can we do this too?" they asked their sibs.

"Of course! We can build a village!"

Building the Tee Pees became a communal event as some of the originals collapsed. The reconstructed ones involved several children and new ideas about how to add stability to the structures -- including the idea of tying the three main sticks at the top.

Covering the Tee Pees became an occasion for trade: Xander discovered a stash of 'waste cloth' -- the other kids wanted to use some for their Tee Pees, so they began trading objects that they thought valuable. In some cases, a person had nothing to trade and it was decided that cloth could be donated.

There was a lot of laughter and comradeship in this impromptu project. And the children were still talking about their village (which by group consensus they decided to name 'Village') on their way to the Halloween Pony and Costume party.

This morning, first thing, the boys checked their Tee Pees. Despite a night of wind and rain, the Village is still standing.

Halloween Graveyards

                           The best laid schemes of mice and men

Go often awry,

And leave us nothing but grief and pain,

For promised joy!

-To a Mouse by Robert Burns-

         

                      I am very experienced in mislaid plans... perhaps because mine are always too big, too grand, too many for the time I actually have. Yesterday is a good example of mislaid plans which somehow -- thank heavens -- though they went a bit awry, still came out looking something like successful.

                 The plans began because my eldest son was invited to a birthday party. Knowing that my younger son, Xander, would feel left out, I suggested to James' mother that James' little sister,Grace,  and Xander's very best friend, should come to our house for their very own party.  In preparation for that visit, I began to plan. Halloween is just a few days off and the children all have been clamouring for Halloween preparations and I decided that this would be a wonderful opportunity to do just that. I had seen recipes for              Melting Witch Pudding Cups 

And Spooky Spider Cupcakes

              Since I was going to be collecting Grace at noon, I figured that we would start with lunch -- Mummy Hotdogs (A simple variation of 'Pigs in the blanket' with the hot dogs sliced into skeletons then wrapped in croissant rolls and baked) followed by our cooking adventures. In my idealized day, these domestic moments would be followed by a trip into the October sunshine where we would do a Scavenger hunt. When they had hunted to their hearts' content, I would leave them to continue building their civilization while I returned to clean up the mess I had no doubt we would have left behind.

      My plans went south as soon as I mentioned them to my youngest. I said 'We will make...' and he piped up "A CHOCOLATE GRAVEYARD!"

I blinked. "What?"

"A Chocolate Graveyard!"

          Being Xander, he already KNEW everything that was involved. Having lived with him for eight years, I knew enough to go with the flow. 

"Okay, we can make a Chocolate Graveyard too." I conceded.

         "One for us and One for them" he clarified. "Grace can make one to take home."

"Okay" The death-nell to best laid plans had sounded.

       We dropped Jason off and collected Grace then the three of us went shopping at the dollar store and Grocery store. We bought gummy skeletons, candy eyeballs, chocolate wrapped eyeballs (for rocks), black decorative icing, eight large bars of Hershey's chocolate (for the base of the graveyards), two disposable cookie tins, mini-marshmallows, gummy worms, oreo cookies in chocolate (dirt) and vanilla (sand), and plastic bags of crushing cookies.

     By the time we got home, both children were hungry -- "FOR CHOCOLATE!" Grace told me longingly. I was gently firm 'Real food first or your tummies will hurt.' She was as good as her name. "Yes, my tummy would probably hurt. What will we eat?' I was all ready for that. "Well, I was thinking... Mummy Hot dogs?' I waited eagerly for smiling faces... Instead they both looked at me solemnly, these two children who are so alike that they might be twins. No. Okay. So... Sigh. What do you want? Grace decided on a 'regular' hot dog while Xander opted for a Peanut Butter and Jelly sandwich. They had the same reason for their choices: the simpler their food choices, the sooner they could begin building their graveyards.

        I have my faults but I am extremely easy going about other peoples' creative endevours. The 'graveyards' were not 'graveyards' as I might have made them but the children had an absolutely wonderful time making them. I lost count of the number of times they jumped up to go wash off their hands (Hands, it seems, are the preferred tool for creating chocolate grave yards. They are most useful for 'ripping up skeletons', 'moulding' -- spelling deliberate -- chocolate and arranging eyeballs).

When the two of them emerged from their graveyard creations, they noticed the sunlight glinting in through the backyard window: 

         

and set off with the scavenger hunt sheets before I had even realized that they were done. With silence descended, I decided to begin the cleaning process. Periodically I would catch glimpses of golden brown heads as the two of them flitted past my windows then suddenly the front door slammed.

"What now?" they chimed.

They spotted the Melting Witch Cups and asked "Can we eat those?"

"Sure" I agreed, handing them each a cup and a spoon, "Why don't you take these out to the front porch?"

Off they went. Silence again. Then the door.

"Are you done already?"

"I've eaten my Witch." Xander announced. The pudding was untouched. 

"You don't like the pudding?"

"No."

"Well, I am eating the Witch's guts! I think they are DELICIOUS!"

           Xander went off to use the restroom and Grace explained that they had been discussing religion. She allowed as how she was rather puzzled by the idea that God was everywhere... but that she thought the idea of heaven was rather cool and that she was looking forward to getting her very own rainbow dog. I blinked. Rainbow do? 

'"Yes" she said, "In heaven, you have the things you like best. I like rainbows and dogs."

Ah.

    We talked a bit more when Xander returned and it was agreed by both children that they really were tired of people telling them that they shouldn't be sad when someone died.

"My friend Grace died and I still cry cause I miss her." Grace informed me. "I think it is stupid to tell someone not to cry."

I agreed but suggested that perhaps when people said things like that they were telling it to themselves as much as to other people -- "Adults do sometimes talk out loud to themselves, you know. Sometimes they tell you things as much to make themselves feel better as to help you feel better." The children considered that and decided that they could live with that. Off they went to continue their discussion on the nature of God, Heaven and the Universe at large.

    When witch guts were eaten and deep philosophical conversations had been concluded, Xander and Grace went off into the far beyond of the backyard to explore. What precisely they had gone to seek, I did not know. They returned in great excitement because they had heard 'A NOISE'! 

'A loud NOISE'

'A loud noise?'

'A loud NOISE'

'Show me.'

We walked out the door and up the driveway. As we walked they took turns demonstrating the nature of the 'NOISE'. Was it mechanical? No. Was it animal? Yes. Was it a dog barking? No. We headed down the road toward the wild space between yards. As we passed our next door neighbor's house, what did we spot but our neighbor, a neighbor's shepard dog, Sadie, our dog, Lincoln, and two rambunctious orange tabby kittens. The 'NOISE' was forgotten.

Children and kittens ran everywhere. Shrieks and rescues and dodging and petting and yelps later, the children decided to rename the kittens (who belong to a neighbor farther up the road but were being babysy Mr. Marion at  that time) Fangblade and Zorroette. The kittens, of course, were oblivious. When we walked back to the house (Grace's mother had called to let me know that the party was over) the kittens followed, evidently unwilling to surrender their new playmates. We returned them to Mr. Marion, our neighbor, and bundled into the car.

'I like Fangblade' Grace announced wistfully.

'Zorroette is really cute' Xander agreed at a tangent.

I waited.

'I really want a kitten.' Grace concluded.

'How many cats do we have, Mommy?' Xander asked.

'Four' I replied, knowing what was coming.

'I think if those people don't want to keep her, I am going to want Fangblade for my kitten.' Grace decided

'I think we need another kitten.' Xander agreed.

' They are in and out cats.' I noted. 'Maybe the neighbors will let you pet and share the kittens... so you can 'kind of ' have them.'

Neither child was satisfied, of course. But then, the best laid plans...

P.S. The 'NOISE' it turns out was probably a bear...

King Tut Hay Maze

                                                           Entrance to the King Tut Maze

     One of the joys of Autumn and childhood has got to be corn and hay mazes and this year, in honor of the King Tut Exhibit at the Pacific Science Center, the Schilter Family farm near Olympia, Washington has created a King Tut Corn Maze. The temptation of this maze was just too much... we had to go. I contacted friends who also homeschool and together, the boys and I and James(13), Grace(7) and Deena (Mom) traveled up.  The drive took about an hour but the kids, all of whom are good friends, were so busy chatting that I don't think they noticed. They tumbled out of the car when we arrived still in full voice.

 

The Hay Ride

After paying for our tickets -- a small 5$ fee per person which included not only the Maze but a hay jump, petting zoo, hay maze, hay pyramid, and play ground, we loaded up onto the tractor and enjoyed a ride around the farm to the corn maze entrance. The children got that extra frission when the Tractor driver told them handed them maps to the maze, pointed out the entrance and the exit and told them that he was sorry but he wasn't quite sure where the Mummy was... Keep in mind, all four kids are Minecraft crazy...

Entering the Maze

Like a Minecraft Zombie

As a part of the Adventure, the Schilter Family Farm provides each maze explorer with a puzzle map. Within the Maze are nine clues. The Map has nine Hieroglypic puzzles that the clues are designed to help the explorer solve. Upon completion of the Maze and the puzzle, the explorer turns in his/her sheet for a chance to win tickets to the P.C.C. King Tut exhibit. The Grand Prize includes overnight accommodations at a Downtown Seattle Hotel and transportation to the event...

Solving Hieroglyphs

Photo borrowed from: Submitted by Kiersten Throndsen, KOMO Communities Reporter

Saturday, September 22nd, 2012, 11:30am

Initially the older two read the map carefully and tried valiantly to decipher to what part of the large image (see above), the map referred. The younger two, though initially they followed, quickly became disenchanted with this methodical approach. Rebellion was brewing. Mothers stepped in. Peace was restored by allowing the youngers their chance at leadership... which devolved rapidly into a mad charge through the maze.

The Maze was HUGE. After an hour and a half wandering around, the children were hungry and thirsty. Granola bars solved the one but we had no water. Told that we could leave to go get water but that this meant we'd have to end the search for clues, the kids responded by charging off at a dead run. Remarkably, they found the exit almost immediately:

The Exit

But the exit was NOT where they wanted to be and they re-entered the maze: "More CLUES!!!"

Back and forth and around they ran, switching leadership randomly. The first set this time were the youngers and, much to the bemusement of the moms, this time THEY had the map and were busily reading it and orienting it. And, after another hour or so, they found....

The Mummy

And... A MOUSE!

There were nine clues total and after two and a half hours, the children had solved six of them:

Clue number six

They were finding the clues out of order and often finding the same clue more than once, a fact that, strangely enough, did not seem to discourage them. And when they finally solved all the clues, they could not find the exit! This was especially odd as they had found the exit repeatedly during their clues search... but although they tried NOT finding the exit, in an attempt to 'trick' it, they finally gave up and simply walked through the corn to the side of the maze.

We hiked back to the main portion of the farm through the Pumpkin fields to the place where we were going to eat lunch.

The Pumpkin Fields

The kids, of course, checked the pumpkins out and all of them, without exception, were determined to pick pumpkins larger than they were...

They discovered the Hay Pyramid:

And, despite claims of starvation, spent a good half hour playing king (and Queen) of the hill.

Finally, however, we made it to the long picnic tables where we ate lunch -- rapidly (smile) -- before the children headed off again in search of more adventure.

Kittens

Seven weeks old 

Piglets 

Goats 

Hay Jump

They learned, amongst other things, that Hay, though it can be soft, can also cut, that chickens -- though they look big -- can squeeze through the smallest spaces, that piglets can move very fast.  Watching them, I thought how wonderful it would be to have a large enough covered space to be able to provide a Hay Jump/Play area throughout the winter months. Strange to think, in these electronically driven times, how much joy hay can provide.

A wonderful day was had by all and Pumpkins too -- though smaller than initially desired...

The way of a Homeschooled child

This morning,Jason (11),metaphorical cap in hand, stood before me:  'Mom, I have something I would like to do -- all by myself. I know what to do. I have the recipe. It is really simple. We have all the ingredients. I will clean up after myself and it can count as Math AND Science.'

I waited for the other shoe. He waited. I waited. I finally broke. 'What?'

'Chocolate Chip Cookies.'

His little brother(8) jumped up and down. 'Can I help?'

'Of course!' he answered. '

And we should EAT some of the raw cookie dough, just to make sure that it is okay...' the younger added. Right now they are collecting ingredients.

The younger just commented, sotto voce, 'Vanilla smells great but it tastes awful by itself.'
_______________

Two cookies per boy later, I enter the kitchen to discover that of the five trays of twelve cookies each, only a handful are left. This is NOT because the boys have eaten them, however. Instead, as the slamming front door and loud discussion [ "NO! You will walk BESIDE me as we go to their front door!"] attest, it is because they are delivering cookies around the neighborhood.  It has become a favorite past time, to make something and share it throughout the neighborhood. Never are the boys happier than when they have something of their own to share.

_______________

Jason is totting up what lessons have been completed... and what still need to be done. Laugh. I should put him to work creating Unit studies. He is very creative in designing them.

Fair Play

Maple Valley Days -- our local fair: it happens once a year, the second weekend in June. The fair has food -- the type to give you a heart attack, both through the fat content and the cost; it has local companies touting their wares as well as Scout troops recruiting young boys... and it has rides. It is the rides (and the balloon animals) for which my sons come.

Their father brought them first. Saturday night while I went off to see 'Snow White and the Huntsman' with a friend, her teen-aged daughter and two of her daughter's friends, he and the boys walked a mile from our house. They rode on a ride on a ride that was destined to become the favorite, nicknamed by my youngest the 'Tilt-a-Hurl', on the 'Berry-go-round' (something similar to the Teacups at Disneyland) and then, while my eldest watched (he does not like heights), my husband and youngest son went on the 'Ferret Weasel'... have you guessed the rides yet? Ummm... yes. The 'Tilt-a-Whirl' and the 'Ferris Wheel'. Sad thing is, I now have to actually THINK to remember their 'real' names...

Anyway, on Sunday, my husband was committed to a 6 hour practice for his Black Belt Ascension Test which will be happening June 17th. My sons, eyes sad with missing daddy, begged me to PLEASE take them back to the fair so that they could drown their sorrows in another round of Tilt-a-Hurl... Oh, I should've known better.

Planning ahead, I offered them something light: Part of an apple and a granola bar each. I didn't want to find myself paying for over priced and artery clogging fair food. I also didn't want them getting sick from eating a heavy lunch right before riding the Tilt-a-hurl as I knew they would want to do. Carefully, I placed the apples and sliced granola bars in small bags for the boys then chased them around the house getting all the last minute busyness handled. It was only when we were cresting our small hill that my eldest suddenly noticed 'Mom, I left my snack at home!' His little brother blithely held out his bag, 'That's alright, bahbah. You can have half of mine.' Decision settled, we kept walking.

The roads to the fair were crowded with cars parked, as one would expect, on the pedestrian paths. People wormed their ways around the cars, trying to avoid being hit by cars squeezing past, in search of some other parking space closer to the actual fair grounds. Parking attendants, if that is what they were supposed to be, chatted amiably with drivers and each other, slowing traffic even more but the heat of the sun seemed to have a dulling effect on the need for speed and everyone moved at a snails pace. Women with strollers bumped painfully along the graveled and pitted path (And it is always women pushing strollers. Men wear babies in backpacks or carry kids on their shoulders. I always wondered how much real value strollers have. To me, they always seemed not worth the extra effort.) while inside, the youngster complained mightily. My own children were having a heated debate (which seemed appropriate given the weather) as to the right place to enter the fair grounds -- two different streams of people were entering/exiting from two different locations. One was going through a large entrance, the one that Jason thought looked to be the 'official' entrance. The other location was smaller and farther in through the parking lot. It was through that one we went and that one, it turned out, was actually the road along which the free shuttle traveled. Xander's interest in it, however, stemmed from the presence of two bright yellow vested security folks. He led us willy nilly over to them and, planting himself in front of them, said 'Hi!' The guards looked startled then smiled. 'Hi, yourself!' Satisfied that forms had been observed, Xander smiled up at them and said 'We are off to ride the Tilt-a-Hurl. Have a nice day! Bye!' He left the two, rather bemused looking guards and marched off purposefully toward the bright, spinning lights of the fair.

The first stop was, of course, the ticket booth. I reeled when I saw the cost of tickets -- 1$ a ticket and the rides were 4 tickets per ride. Wow. Prices have gone up since I was a kid. But, gulping, I bravely laid my money down and was rewarded by the glow in my sons' faces. 'To the Tilt-a-Hurl!' they yelled and off we went. Now, as a child, this had always been my favorite ride so, of course, I had to go with them... oh.. dear... now I understood the nickname. When the ride finally ended, my sons begged to go again. I nodded groggily and wobbling to the carnie, paid for them then wobbled off to stand and watch while they whirled away, shrieking and laughing. They rode one more time before Xander announced that it was time to go in search of an Elephant ear, that sugary confection of which he is so terribly enamored. (I plan to try making some at home this summer: http://allrecipes.com/Recipe/Elephant-Ears-2/Detail.aspx ) We found the booth that sells them... for a whopping 5$ per ear... and bought one ear to split and bottles of water. Taking our booty, we found a shaded spot near the Kickball field and there we watched the game and ate the ear.... or, in Xander's case, wallowed in it. When the ear was gone, Xander was silvered with sugar... and I was... horrified. My child, who had actually started the day in CLEAN clothes, now looked indescribable. He soothed me, telling me that the surest cure for sugared boy was 'another spin the the Tilt-a-Hurl'. That, he assured me 'will dispense with any excess sugar.' Sigh. I informed him that, yes, we did have sufficient tickets left for another spin but first we had to walk around a bit -- long enough for the EE to sink a bit closer to his feet. He argued a bit but his elder brother's willingness to walk won the day and so we walked. We looked at various goods, briefly considered getting henna tatoos -- though the prices were outrageous -- and admired the winning robot that had been built by the local robotics league of which our neighbor was a member. Xander gazed longingly at the balloon animals and the face painting booths but both had lines and as I was beginning to tire (having run earlier that morning) I allowed as how we could either stand in line for who knows how long or we could go back to the rides. The rides won the day. Once more to the Tilt-a-Hurl and then, with only a few tickets less, the boys decided to ride the Berries. This required that they purchase two more tickets but they were quite happy to do so. They whirled round and round and watching I realized that, not to be gender biased or anything, you can tell which berries had little boys in them and which ones had Moms. The ones being 'driven' by boys spun round and round; the ones with moms didn't. I watched and the moms were always pulling in the OPPOSITE direction from the way their kids were pulling... snicker.

It was a long day but the smiles on my sons' faces made the walk worth it -- and the weather obviously agreed as it stayed sunny the whole day through.

The challenge of poetic language

A friend recently offered a conundrum: If Haiku is supposed to be written in a 5-7-5 rhythm, then why do the examples one finds, like the following piece by Japanese poet, Basho, not fit the pattern?:


I like to wash,
the dust of this world
In the droplets of dew. 


My response, based on my experiences with Old Irish poetry, was that it was a problem of translation. Very often, translations for one language into another are flawed, either because the translator is not deeply fluent in both languages or because there is no truly GOOD way to translate something. Some translators, like Irish Poet Seamus Heany, acknowledge this and then translate for meaning rather than simply word for word. In the case of poetry, where meaning is fluid, this becomes especially difficult and, in the case of Haiku, the challenge is even greater because the natures of the English language and the Japanese Language are radically different.  This is something I only just had confirmed while researching a better answer to the above conundrum.


It turns out that the Japanese language does not use syllabification the way that the English language does. Instead, Japanese Haiku is measured in one of two ways -- by character (ji) or by sound (on). These two terms are not directly translatable as 'syllable' though people discussing Haiku for an English audience often act as if they are. (For a nice discussion of the issue, see the following article:  Stalking the Wild Onj .  The author of the article, Richard Gilbert,  makes reference to a personal communication from a poet, publisher and translator, Jane Reichold. In it she commented:


Did you know that haiku wars were waged in the 70s over this issue of onji and "syllable" counting? Friendships were permanently destroyed. Haiku groups split up. New ones formed. Persons were reviled. There was much sneering, jeering, and rejection. It was terrible. The problem remains and is just now entering the tanka scene. From Japan, one group is pushing that all our tanka be written in 5-7-5-7-7 but 5-7-5-7-7 what? How can we count our syllables and equate them with this unknown factor which the Japanese count and hold in such high esteem? (J. Reichhold, July 11, 1998. Personal communication.)  


Given the challenges that Haiku pose to professional poets, how then do we explain the form to our students? I suggest that we begin by discussing the challenges of translation -- and thereby the importance of learning more than one language.  Reading something in its original language teaches the student more about the power and variety of language and culture than all the lectures in the world ever could. With rare exceptions (as in the case of the time I tried to read a Linguistics text in German. My struggles came to the attention of a friend who was a native German speaker. When he discovered what I was attempting he said 'Why?! Even native speakers prefer to read the English translation. It makes more sense!") reading the original makes for a very different experience than reading translations. Translations, after all, are filtered through the lens of the translator. An example that one might offer to Elementary students would be the difference between a book one loves ("The Black Stallion", "How to train a Dragon") and the films made with the same titles.  Many times, the film maker draws on the original but produces something only vaguely, tangentially related to the book. Such is often the case with translations of poetry. 


Another example of the challenges posed by translating Poetic forms from one language to another can be seen in translations of Old Irish poetic forms into modern English. In the O.I. form, one takes the last word of the previous line and uses it to start the next. This works in Irish because Old Irish is an 'inflected' language .  Amongst other characteristics of this type of language is the use of  mutation: "whereby initial and final consonants may change to express nuances of grammatical relationship and meaning. Mutation affects verbs, nouns and adjectives. Certain consonants may be capable of changing in two ways, depending on the context."  Irish poets played with this, using the mutations to shape the meaning of the poem. No such tool truly exists in the English language making the poetic form difficult, if not entirely impossible, to use.

You can probably tell I am a language Geek -- this sort of thing delights and fascinates me -- and as a teacher, I find myself determined to share my excitement. My sons, both of whom are word mavins, are accustomed to hearing me explain that fluency in a language is best demonstrated by facile use of the language -- puns and jokes being a good indicator of fluency. At present they are working on mastering their 'native' English (and making some truly awful puns!) but slowly they are working to capture a full understanding of Latin, Greek, Korean, and Spanish. In a world that grows smaller by the day, being fluent in multiple languages seems, to me, to be the first step in becoming truly comfortable with other cultures. And comfort, it is to be hope, may lead to peace. Wouldn't that be a wonderful world? One where our children did not have any knowledge of war or hate but a place where one created poetry across a variety of languages... Am I Polly Anna or Alice, dreaming of Caterpillars and peace?