"Amazing Peace"

Merry Christmas!

Matt and I are off to Colorado this afternoon to spend time with our families who live there, as well as a few others who are traveling from Minnesota. We'll be back in about a week. Until then, enjoy this season with your own friends and family, as well as this beautiful holiday message from Maya Angelou...

"Amazing Peace"
A Christmas Poem by Maya Angelou

Thunder rumbles in the mountain passes
And lightning rattles the eaves of our houses.
Flood waters await us in our avenues.

Snow falls upon snow, falls upon snow to avalanche
Over unprotected villages.
The sky slips low and grey and threatening.

We question ourselves.
What have we done to so affront nature?
We worry God.
Are you there? Are you there really?
Does the covenant you made with us still hold?

Into this climate of fear and apprehension, Christmas enters,
Streaming lights of joy, ringing bells of hope
And singing carols of forgiveness high up in the bright air.
The world is encouraged to come away from rancor,
Come the way of friendship.

It is the Glad Season.
Thunder ebbs to silence and lightning sleeps quietly in the corner.
Flood waters recede into memory.
Snow becomes a yielding cushion to aid us
As we make our way to higher ground.

Hope is born again in the faces of children
It rides on the shoulders of our aged as they walk into their sunsets.
Hope spreads around the earth. Brightening all things,
Even hate which crouches breeding in dark corridors.

In our joy, we think we hear a whisper.
At first it is too soft. Then only half heard.
We listen carefully as it gathers strength.
We hear a sweetness.
The word is Peace.
It is loud now. It is louder.
Louder than the explosion of bombs.

We tremble at the sound. We are thrilled by its presence.
It is what we have hungered for.
Not just the absence of war. But, true Peace.
A harmony of spirit, a comfort of courtesies.
Security for our beloveds and their beloveds.

We clap hands and welcome the Peace of Christmas.
We beckon this good season to wait a while with us.
We, Baptist and Buddhist, Methodist and Muslim, say come.
Peace.

Come and fill us and our world with your majesty.
We, the Jew and the Jainist, the Catholic and the Confucian,
implore you to stay awhile with us
so we may learn by your shimmering light
how to look beyond complexion and see community.

It is Christmas time, a halting of hate time.
On this platform of peace, we can create a language
to translate ourselves to ourselves and to each other.
At this Holy Instant, we celebrate the Birth of Jesus Christ

Into the great religions of the world.
We jubilate the precious advent of trust.
We shout with glorious tongues the coming of hope.
All the earth’s tribes loosen their voices to celebrate the promise of
Peace.

We, Angels and Mortals, Believers and Nonbelievers,
Look heavenward and speak the word aloud.
Peace.

We look at our world and speak the word aloud.
Peace.

We look at each other, then into ourselves,
And we say without shyness or apology or hesitation:

Peace, My Brother.
Peace, My Sister.
Peace, My Soul.

Yay for Christmas!

Happy Christmas Eve! I love, love, love Christmas. I love everything about it. I love the lights; I love the music; I love the goodies....

I love the shopping; I love the TV specials; I love giving presents. I even loved the Secret Santa exchange I did at school yesterday with people I've known for six days. I love, love, love Christmas.

I think a love of Christmas is in my blood. Every year, my dad decorates my parents' entire house and yard with an explosion of Christmas lights. I grew up with red and green flood lights shining in my bedroom window and limos and tour buses driving slowly down our street. My dad was even featured in an article in the local paper a couple years ago. Here he is in just part of this year's crowning glory:

We don't have nearly as much yard or house as my parents do, but we still do our best to have a miniature Christmas explosion on the front of our house:

And we decorate inside the house, too. From the tree...
to the front door (thanks, Rebecca and Andrew!)...
to the stairs...
and even to the bathroom...

There is very little in our house that isn't decorated for Christmas.

Still, as much as I love Christmas and love to immerse myself in this season of love, hope and peace, I do have a grasp on how much is too much. I have to give a big shout-out to Austin for sending me this video, and, in the process, for reminding me that while I may be a huge fan of the Christmas season, I'm not a crazy lady. Not yet, anyway.



Merry Christmas!

Worst Puppy Guilt Ever

On our way home from our weekend in Pennsylvania, we stopped by Happy Tails Pet Resort to pick up Barley from his little vacation. I've dealt with puppy guilt not once, not twice, but now three times in just a few months.

When we pulled into the Happy Tails parking lot last week, we saw a line of dogs in their outdoor runs. Most started barking and jumping when they saw our car pull up, but one lone soul remained calm in the midst of all the chaos. One dog just stood. One dog just stared. One dog just cursed those who had left him and warned of what would happen if he was ever left there again.

"Life is a Battlefield," part III

We rounded out our trip to Pennsylvania last weekend with a visit to one more Civil War Battlefield. This time, we visited the battlefield mother lode: Gettysburg. Over 50,000 people were killed over the three-day battle in July of 1863, making Gettysburg the bloodiest battle of the Civil War (not to be confused with the bloodiest single day of the war, the Battle of Antietam).

One of the first parts of the battlefield we visited was McPherson Ridge, pictured in the photos below. The battle began here when the Confederate army pushed against the Union forces all day on July 1st. The Union held their ground for much of the day, but were ultimately pushed out.
80 years later, President Franklin D. Roosevelt dedicated an eternal flame peace memorial on McPherson Ridge. The memorial can be seen to the far right of the photo above and in detail in the photo below.

The battle continued on July 2nd with some of the bloodiest few hours ever fought on American soil. We were parked right in the middle of "The Wheatfield," where soldiers were fighting mere feet from each other. The field was so littered with bodies that the wheat was completely hidden from view. After the battle ended, neither side wanted to venture back to collect the bodies. So the few survivors hid themselves under fallen soldiers to keep from being eaten by the pigs who had escaped from the neighboring farm.

On July 2nd, the armies were nearly a mile apart on two parallel ridges. The Confederate armies fought all day to push through the Union strongholds, but they were unable to successfully do so. The view of the Union's view of this part of the battlefield was breathtaking, but sobering.

On July 3rd, the Confederates made one more valiant attempt to overtake the Union forces. Major General George E. Pickett led a mile-long line of 12,000 Confederate troops across the open field below to the waiting Union forces. The effort ended in disaster for the Confederates, but "Pickett's Charge" is still one of the most memorable moments of the Civil War.

My favorite part of our battlefield visits has been learning the individual stories that are such an important part of real history. At Gettysburg, for example, the 1st Minnesota, a relatively small group of untested men, performed one of the most critical actions of the battle during a Confederate assault on July 2nd. The Union line had been dangerously thinned, and the commanding Union General ordered the 1st Minnesota, the only organized Union troops at hand, directly into the fire of the advancing Confederates. Their sacrificial charge against overwhelming odds halted the Confederate advance and bought time for the Union line to reform, forcing General Lee into one last desperate gamble with Pickett's Charge the next day. A memorial to the fallen soldiers of the 1st Minnesota stands at the site of the assault:

Not far from the memorial to the 1st Minnesota stands a memorial statue to Rev. Father William Corby, C.S.C. Legend says that Rev. Corby prayed with Catholic and Protestant soldiers alike shortly before they headed for The Wheatfield. He offered absolution to the whole brigade, reminding them of their duties and warning them not to waver. A copy of this same memorial statue stands outside Corby Hall at the University of Notre Dame, where Rev. Corby was president from 1866-72 and 1877-81.

"Country Kitschin"

Matt and I spent an absurd amount of time during our trip to Amish country at a complex called Kitchen Kettle Village. I visited this place when my parents and I went to Amish country earlier this year, and I have no idea why we went back. Truly, it's kitsch personified.

The saddest part about our trip to Kitsch-en Kettle Village is that we went there not once, not twice, but three times. The first time, we wandered in and out of the stores, sampling meat sticks, fudge and other usual Amish-food suspects. We made ourselves feel better about being sucked into a tourist trap by pointing at and mocking the other tourists around us. The highlight of the trip was the horseradish cheese we sampled, which really says something.

But later that day, while eating at Lancaster Brewing Company (what vacation with Matt would be complete without a trip to the local brewery?), we read that Kitchen Kettle Village held a holiday party every Friday night. "Maybe that's why no one was there earlier today," we said. So, like the wayward tourists we mocked mere hours earlier, we returned to the scene of the kitsch. Unfortunately, the advertised "carolers" were from a choir that looked and sounded like they just stumbled off the bus from the local senior center; the "cookie decorating" was actually s'mores assembly over a modified hotplate; the "family fun" was the presence of the Village's mascot, a 7-foot gingerbread man named "Yummie." The less said about Yummie, the better. He's the stuff nightmares are made of.

The next morning, while driving by Kitchen Kettle Village once again, we decided that we needed to take a picture, since it had become such an infamous part of our trip. When we pulled into the parking lot, we got distracted by shiny objects in store near the Kitchen Kettle Village, so we stopped...again.

Through our Kitchen Kettle escapades, we did realize that we'll never be able to commit to that "country charm" look that Matt's mom does so well. "This country stuff is an all or nothing proposition," Matt observed during our third trip to the tourist trap. Nothing, it is.

Check in again soon for photos and a little history lesson from our trip to Gettysburg.

A night with the Amish

Matt and I went to Amish country last weekend as an early Christmas present to each other. We stayed at a wonderful bed and breakfast, we did some shopping for home furnishings (and, in the process, realized that we can't ever commit to the "country look"), and spent a day at yet another Civil War battlefield.

When we first got off the highway and started seeing farms, we saw house after house with black clothes hanging outside on the clothes lines. "What's with all the black clothes?" I asked Matt. "Hmm," he thought. "They must have a teenager. You know...angst." I'm embarrassed to admit how long it took us to realize that, duh, the Amish wear a lot of black and don't use dryers. It's tough to see in this picture, but one of the infamous clotheslines is in front of this Amish farmhouse:

Matt had never stayed at a B&B before, and I think this one was a good ice breaker. The home was gorgeous! From the living room and dining room...
to the "Master's Chamber" where we stayed...
we were right at home at the Fassitt Mansion:

The fact that the innkeepers have an adorable, energetic yellow lab also helped us feel at home. Tracker tore through the house all weekend, and we were grateful for the company.

By far, though, the highlight of the place was the rich history that lived there. The mansion was a stop on the Underground Railroad, and we learned that it helped nearly 40 slaves find their way to freedom. One of the rooms (located to Tracker's left in the photo above), still has a door in the floor of the closet that leads to the room where the slaves hid:

We'll have more to come soon on our pathetic attempts at the country look, as well as our trip to Gettysburg.

Following in Matt's footsteps

I think Barley has the potential to be the next computer scientist in our family:
He's just a fan of surfing the Web for now, but I have high hopes. As you can see, he's a big fan of Anna's blog. I guess he's taking after both of us!

Getting rid of the gifted students. It's about time.

I was in gifted education programs throughotu elementary and middle school. The theory was (and largely still is) that students who are labeled "gifted" aren't challenged in the standard classroom, and therefore require additional, more rigorous, classes.

By the time I got to high school, however, it became obvious that the "gifted" program was more of a status division than one designed to challenge the students who needed challenging. Moreover, many students who would have benefited from such a program couldn't participate because they didn't pass the arbitrary "are you gifted or aren't you" test.

By telling one group of children that they're gifted, the message to the rest of the student body is that they're somehow inferior. The education and personal lives of those other students ("the great unwashed," as a teacher mentor used to say) become a self-fulfilling prophecy. "I'm not gifted? Fine. I'll show you what a 'not gifted' student looks like." For this and other reasons, Montgomery County, a Washington, D.C. suburb is doing away with the gifted label.

Montgomery County is one of the most lucrative in the country (if not the most lucrative), and it's home to bankers, Senators and all sorts of other muckety-mucks. Not surprisingly, these people--people who base their self-worth on how gifted others perceive them to be--are less than happy that their children are no longer "gifted." For the sake of "the great unwashed" in Montgomery Country and the rest of the country, it's about time.

When a good deed goes bad

Matt and I were heading into our local organic market on Sunday when a homeless man approached us, asking for some money. I told him I didn't have any cash on me, but I'd be happy to buy him a sandwich. It's Christmas, after all. He jumped at the chance and followed us inside.

As soon as we walked in the door, the man turned to me and said, "Wow. I've never been in here. They sure have a lot of vegetable things. Do they have real food, too?" This is about the time I should have realized that this plan would not go as smoothly as planned.

While Matt grabbed the items on our list, I took the man to the packaged sandwich case in the back of the store. "Let's see," I said as we looked at the selection. "We have vegetarian 'chicken,' vegetarian 'tuna,' grilled tofu..." "Tofu?!" he shouted. "And what's vegetarian chicken? I didn't think vegetarians ate chickens." I started to explain that it was soy and would taste just like chicken, but I decided against it. I suggested the bean burrito, something with avocado...he wasn't interested. He spent a good five minutes inspecting all the sandwiches, grabbing each one, inspecting it and putting it back. "Are you all making any other stops today?" he finally asked me. "You know, I could get a double cheeseburger and fries for $2 at McDonald's." I told him this was our only stop and suggested that the "chicken" salad would taste just like the real thing. If I was going to buy this man a meal, I was going to get him something more nutritious than a dollar-menu special. He sighed and agreed.

I asked if he would like some dessert, too. I reached for some gluten-free brownies, and he asked me "Are these real brownies? Do vegetarians eat brownies?" I figured gluten or no gluten, they'd taste like the real thing. "They're real," I said.

Figuring the guy probably would need some vitamins or would like a snack for later, I suggested that he grab a milk to drink. "Get the chocolate one," I said. "Yeah, I'll cheat," he replied. I also suggested that he get some snack chips or pretzels. He told me that his teeth are falling out, so he couldn't eat pretzels. He accepted a bag of chips, but only after telling me that they were "funny chips."

When we left the store, the man thanked us, and he headed back up the road with his "My Organic Market" grocery bag filled with vegetarian, gluten-free, organic goodies. Matt surmised that, even though the man was ravenously hungry, he'd take a bite of the "chicken" salad sandwich and throw it out. He also guessed that the man's homeless friends would make fun of him because of his fancy schmance lunch. I figured he'd probably cover by saying something like, "Yeah, some guilty white lady insisted that I get this stuff. I just wanted $2 for a cheeseburger."

The first day of school

Today is my first day of teaching. For the last few weeks, I've vacillated between being petrified to being ecstatic. Let's hope I move more toward the latter in the days and weeks to come! Let's also hope I still use words like "vacillated" and "latter" after talking to teenagers all day.

One of the texts I'm teaching this week is Oedipus...wonderful, delightful, sordid Oedipus. In honor of that, here's a poem that one of my fellow teachers sent me last week while I was doing my planning:

"Myth"
By Muriel Rukeyser

Long afterward, Oedipus, old and blinded, walked the
roads. He smelled a familiar smell. It was
the Sphinx. Oedipus said, "I want to ask one question.
Why didn't I recognize my mother?" "You gave the
wrong answer," said the Sphinx. "But that was what
made everything possible," said Oedipus. "No," she said.
"When I asked, What walks on four legs in the morning,
two at noon, and three in the evening, you answered,
Man. You didn't say anything about woman."
"When you say Man," said Oedipus, "you include women
too. Everyone knows that." She said, "That's what
you think."

Congratulations, Ben and Tracy!

Two of our very favorite people got married the weekend before Thanksgiving. Ben was Matt's roommate in college (really, for the better part of a decade), and Tracy is his perfect match. To give an idea of how awesome these two are (and how wonderful they are for each other), this was their wedding invitation:

It should also be noted that Tracy has two daughters. I would say that they helped pick out the invitation, but we know Ben too well. This is what he wore at the reception:
And this was the topper on their cake:

I had class the weekend of their wedding, so I had to stay at home, but it looks like it was a great celebration:

And even though this one is blurry, I have to throw it in, because it's so classic Matt and Ben. Matt is dancing like a white guy (probably saying "AOOO") and Ben is pretending to pick his nose. So juvenile, so ridiculous, so sorry I missed it:

We wish you many happy years, Bennie and Tracy!

Bad dog...worse Rachel

Barley may act out to get attention, but I just act stupidly.

We were playing with one of his favorite toys last night--a tennis ball with a squirrel-like tail on the end. I was trying to flip it down a hall, and I hurled it into a clock instead:

Let's blame this little mishap on my recent stress and forget about my lack of coordination.

Bad dog, II

Barley is a very jealous dog. In many ways, he's much like a toddler who isn't getting the attention he thinks he deserves...but he's a toddler with killer teeth.

Last week, while Matt was working on his homework in the office, Barley became upset that Matt wasn't paying enough attention to him. So Barley grabbed the bag of shredded paper that was bound for the recycling bin and ran with it out of the office...

Around the corner...

And down the hall.

Then, like any good, spoiled child, he tried his best to look sorry while Matt and I cleaned it all up.

Bad, bad dog.

Dinner for two?

I've been reunited with my camera charger (many thanks, Jessica!), and I have a little downtime in my lesson-planning cRaZinESs, so it's time to get caught up on the gratuitous self-indulgence that is blogging. Ahh...

Matt and I had one of our best Thanksgivings this year. It was so relaxing. We had a ton of good food, some average football (does Detroit have to play on Thanksgiving? I say, let's make good football the new holiday tradition), and I heard my dad's annual reading of the Turkey of the Year. Someday, I'll hear it in person again.

Even though it was just the two of us for dinner this year, we still cooked like we were having an army to the house:

And a hungry army, at that. We're still eating leftovers. Fortunately, we did have eating reinforcements, though the triptophan and wine (What? Wine? Who gave the dog wine?) were a bit too much for him:

Later that day, we continued the Scherer family tradition of bowling on Thanksgiving Day. Since moving to Maryland, we've also incorporated a good old Fargo tradition of betting a can of corn on the outcome. Though I was cheering against him for one very obvious reason, Matt won and the traveling corn trophy came home with us this year:

Yes, that's a six-pound can of corn. No, I won't be surprised if Matt's bowling hand is mysteriously broken next Thanksgiving.