Art Saves?

"The assassin is one who bombards the existing people with molecular populations that are forever closing all of the assemblages, hurling them into an ever wider and deeper black hole. The poet, on the other hand, is one who lets loose molecular populations in hopes that this will sow the seeds of, or even engender, the people to come, that these populations will pass into a people to come, open a cosmos.....it may be that the sound molecules of pop music are at this very moment implanting here and there a people of a new type, singularly indifferent to the orders of the radio, to computer safeguards, to the threat of the atomic bomb."

From A Thousand Plateaus: Capitalism and Schizophrenia. Giles Deleuze and Felix Guattari: 345-346.

We discussed this quote briefly in my reading group last Wednesday, and I can't seem to shake it. I've laid awake at night and thought about. As I read through various comic books, it kept poping up. When I listen to music, it's turning about in my mind with the lyrics.

At first, I bristled at it a bit. The same bristling that comes when I read Walter Benjamin. It's not that I don't like Benjamin because I do. It's just this idea of authentic. The idea that mass production somehow reduces something. Does my Picasso print mean less because it is a print? Does some kind of inherent value lie in authenicity? And I was suprized to read this in Deleuze. The man who calls animals artist. His idea of the assassin seems to hint at this. The bombardment of the masses with cheaply made mass produced things.

And then American Idol made it all clear. Yes American Idol. I'm not going to lie and say that I don't watch it. I do. I always get disgusted midway through and just stop watching. And while I am not one to malign popular culture (I think it is an important part of how we form identity and far be it for me to put myself on some pedestal in terms of culture), I can see what Deleuze means. AI bombards us. It purposefully creates people in the image of the popular. It smooths out all originality even as it pretends to demand it. And pop music does this as a whole. It's mindless bubble gum that does not open us to new worlds but rather closes off worlds. Someone I meet a few weeks ago, gave me his facebook address, and he said this about music "I like all music that I have to listen to. I like to listen engaged." What a wonderful way to see it. Because that's what good music does. It engages you. This is why I have such a hard time listening to music when I write. It distracts me.

And Deleuze goes on to talk about this. He talks about how "pop music" (remember this guy was writing in the 60s) plants seeds. And it's not just music that does it. Good comic books do this. Sci-Fi does this. All the genres we've tend to regulate to the lower realms of culture have the potential to open the cosmos. This idea challenges how we see things. I think of a show like Battlestar Galatica (which we're hopelessly addicted to) that raises important questions, and makes you think about things like government and what it means to be human. Or the Sandman comics which challenge how we see reality. Are these things entertaining? Yes but they also push our minds into new assemblages, new ideas, new ways of becoming.

And from the peanut gallery...

The picture is of Joseph Smith, prophet and founder of the Chruch of Jesus Christ of the Latter Day Saints. Handsome guy, yes? Supposedly he did make quite an impression on the ladies. H says he looks very intense. I agree. The photo in my book shows this intensity more clearly. One would imagine, of course, that it took some intenstity to found a religion....

The peanut gallery: As I'm reading this particular book on Mormon history called originally enough Mormonism, Umberto looks over to see what I'm reading.

Umberto: "Who's that guy?" Pointing to the above mentioned picture.

Me: "Joseph Smith. He was the founder of the Mormons."
Umberto: "He's a funny guy."

Me: "Why do you say this?" Puzzled.

Umberto: "Look at his hair. It's funny."

Me: "You know he had something 33 wives."

Umberto: "Did he have kids with all those wives?" Amazed.
Me: "Well maybe but he did have a lot of kids."

Umberto: "Whoa, did they destroy the house?"

Gotta love the perspective of a 7 year old.

Generic Updates

Nothing spectacular to write about...just the humdrum of everyday life which in our house can be speculator...both in a good and bad way.

Umberto actually asked to do some school work yesterday. I was reading to them (Bobb Fett chapter book and Go Dogs Go), and Umberto asked to play on the computer. I suggested starfall.com and he agreed. He had a good time, and the girls joined him. Then we practiced writing which he really loves. He asked to start a word notebook, and for his words picked: Umberto, apple, action figures, paper, boat, toad and frog. I drew a little picture next to each word, and encouraged him to practice writing them out.

And I'm going to bribe him to read. I know bad mom but I think it will work well for him. It's not that Umberto doesn't like books. He loves books, and he loves us to read to him. He's not however so great about trying to read on his own. I know it's because he's afraid of failure. I'm the same way. But I also know that he is going to have to take risks his whole life, and this is a safe place to fall flat on your face. So I made a deal with him last night. For every book he reads, he gets a star. At the end of the summer, we'll add up all the stars and he gets a dollar for each star. I'm going to see if my mom will match us so he can get double the money. I think this will jump start him into something he already likes to do.

Public Accountability

Or humiliation...it all depends upon on how you want to look at it. If you read my below post (shameless plugging of myself), you will note in the comment areas my dear friend Ros. Ros, who is working on her Ph.D and only, yes only, needs to finish her thesis. Inspired by my inertia, she proposed a challenge: 30 minutes a day doing something even if it's just staring at a pile of books.

I, being an unable to resist a challenge, accepted...no doubt much to her chagrin. Now to further push it, I'm going to have a little side bar where I RECORD what I did each day. And if Ros's got the "ovaries" so to speak, I'll provide a space for her, and she can email her results of the day... What'cha say Ros?

And after day one, all I can say is "Can I see the X-rated pictures?"

Ginger's Amazingly Ambiguous Feelings Toward Her Thesis

It is June, and I have done nothing, and this not merely an exaggeration, towards researching my thesis. It is only my Master's thesis but still I need to have my notes down, and be ready to write by September. I am rapidly running out of loan money, and need to start a Ph.D program by Fall '08. One would think this urgency would compel me into reading the many books on Mormon history that are now residing on my kitchen table. But no....as evident in my current state of blogging instead of reading.

H just asked why I was feeling so bad about my thesis, and I pointed out that ambiguous does not mean bad....it's just a middle ground, a neutral kind of feeling. I don't feel bad about my thesis, nor do I think it's particularly boring, etc. But I am not jumping with joy over the thought of starting it either. I find it very hard to drudge up any kind of emotion for it period. Even the theory part just feels blah to me. Normally the theory stuff leaves in a state of near giddiness.

A lot has to do with the circumstances of last semester. By the end of last December, it was apparent that my original thesis project on Hispanic Pentecostals was not going to work. First, the church I was observing was kind of funky. Whenever you study charismatics, there is the whole issue that they are going to try to convert you. And while they wanted to convert me, they wanted to convert H even more. I guess they figured they'd get my soul along with his? I felt ethically in a very strange place. I knew that they weren't going to convert either of us and felt slightly dishonest going to their church allowing them to continue to think that our souls were going to be "God's" soon enough.

Second, after doing a bunch of reading on ethnography, I started to have doubts concerning my role as ethnographer. Here I was a white woman in a Hispanic church in the South. I had creditability due solely to my marriage to a Hispanic man (and because I grew up in a Pentecostal Chruch of God), and that made me feel like a fraud. No I know I'm not Hispanic, and sure there was a time when I thought that I could somehow become "Mexican" due to my marriage but those romantic notions are long gone. I started to feel uncomfortably like a colonizer, sitting there taking my notes. Needless to say I had to stop this research. I don't know how I feel about ethnography (more ambiguousness). What role does the gaze play in such situations? Is there a way to gaze and not be a part of oppression? I just don't know.

All of that side rant lead to my having to change my thesis project two years into my MA. I had another side project I was working on: Mormon Fundamentalists. It was a piece I did on religion and media concerning Jon Krakhauer's book Under the Banner of Heaven, and it was about how media has an investment in drawing pictures of extremes. This lead to an interest in the stories of women leaving Mormon Fundamentalist groups, and the tropes of violence in these stories. After a semester working on Judith Butler, I thought I had some ideas about how to approach this topic from a more philosophical standpoint. This however lead to the very traumatic experience of leaving one advisor (who I really do like) and moving to another adviser (whom I also really like) who seem to hate each other. It was horrible, and I felt like I was going through a break up. Argh.

Top this off with preparing for my comps, applying for a TA and then learning that my mispronunciation of words was so bad I was being not considered (I did end up with the TA), and well it just all left a bad taste in my mouth. Couple this with some pretty negative impressions of academia in general built up over the last 7 years, and well, I just feel "ugh" about it all. It's hard for me to get excited knowing that so much of the work I do also rests on very superficial impressions of me. And then a lot of it has to do with the ego (super huge egos) of those who are supposed to be guiding us. It just seems very petty, and that makes me sad.

There was a time when I thought being an academic was so important to the world. I remember one of my English professors saying that we were the guardians of culture. And my religion professor said we were priests in the temple of the academy. Those ideas are grand. And really it's anything but grand. Professors act like they're gods because they're self-important not because they really care about knowledge. Everything is a blow to them. I watched friends get dropped by professors because they said the wrong thing. One wrong thing, and bam their whole academic career was flushed down the toilet. I have watched professors sacrifice their health and personal lives in their relentless pursuit of glory. There might have been something noble about this loss had it been in the name of knowledge but I'm not convinced this was/is the case. And it just really makes me ill.

Now that I've purged all that here, perhaps, I can get on my with thesis. I do love knowledge, and if I have to work this is the only work that I want to do. On to Mormon history....

Things to Do Besides Eat

I took my walk late today...around nine. We were doing things all day and by the time, I was done, it was late. The good headphones needed batteries, and the old phones were nowhere to be found. I was looking forward to listening to music after the lists on Ernesto's blog but I also felt like I needed some quiet. Normally a walk through Matthews is not quiet. Despite being a town onto itself, Matthews is really a suburb of Charlotte, and thus has the traffic of a suburb of a semi-major city. But it was late, and Sunday. It was amazingly quiet and peaceful.

The walk I normally take to the downtown is a bit dark, and isolated so I choose to walk down a busier route to the grocery store. It was a perfect night. We finally had some rain so the air was crisp and cool--a respite from the hot, hot days we have been having. There is some mysterious smell that prevades the Southern nights. You can not smell it during the day...only at night which adds to its sensual flair. It is very sweet, almost unbearably sweet. Whenever I smell it, it makes me feel the night is made of velvet. It's an amazing scent and I hope no one has tried to turn it into a perfume. My fantasy is to smell this scent while sitting on an old front porch in a rocking chair, drinking mint juleps (Horacio thinks they talk about the scent in the movie "Midnight in the Garden of Evil").

By the time I was only a block from my house, I felt relaxed. The stress which settles between my shoulder blades disappeared. And it was quiet...very quiet considering I was walking alongside a major route. I was glad I didn't have the music. I need to hear silence for awhile. And it opened me up for thinking about things. And one of the things was my obessiion with weight and food.

I realized that my horrible out of control eating was coming from my constant anxiety over food. I was eating because I was stressed about eating. It's ridicilious. And I also just had to really push into the forefront that I should be doing these things for my health not to be thin. And when I focus on my health instead of how I'm going to look in a pair of jeans, I do eat better. I also have to accept that I eat in reponse to anger, boredom and stress. And yeah I know it's insane that I feel bored but I often do. So while I walked, I came up with a list of things to do besides eating. Of course I'll eat when I'm hungry but I need to learn to listen to my body.

So when I first feel hungry, I'm going to drink a glass of water, and if I'm still hungry I'll eat. But if I"m not some things to do:

1. BLOG...naturally!

2. Listen to two songs while dancing wildly with the beasties.

3. Do some quick yoga moves.

4. Breathing exercises via Dr. Weil.

5. Do the dishes or put the dishes from the dishwasher away.

6. Fold clothes (something I actually enjoy doing).

7. Walk around the green outside our apartment.

8. Take the kids to the pool or the playground.

9. Actually start working on my collage ideas.

10. Work on my thesis.

Europe

Speaking of desire...I've wanted to go to Europe since I was ten. And I realize this year I'm going to be 35 and I have not yet gone to Europe. It is time to do something about it. Horacio and I are going to live lean over the next semester, and try to save enough to come over during our winter break. We won't be doing "Europe" per se. Just Paris and London. So any tips of getting cheap plane tickets and any recommendations for cheap sleeping places (we have three kids!) would be appricated!

Black Swan Farm

On Thursday we went on a field trip to Black Swan Farm

in Waxhaw. It was a wonderful visit. The owners were experienced guides who knew how to joke with and keep children's interest. There was lots of hands on activities, and we got a ride in the wagon behind the tractor. The kids also got to watch a goat milking, pull fur from an Angora rabbit, and feed the sheep (we also got a neat sample of wool). Camille was in heaven. She loved the goats and while she listened more than she normally would, she kept running back to this pen to pet this goat. At the end of the tour, the woman let a bunch of goats run with the kids in a corral. Camille had a grand time carrying the kids around. Umberto said "It's an animal party."

Camille and Piper petting some more goats. The goats were very friendly, and they smelled nice. The girls loved it when one goat escaped and I chased it down.

The boys after getting squirted with goat milk. They were quite excited about this. Also a big hit was Farmer Gary's seat. It was like a metal bike seat with a spring on the bottom that attached around your waist with a belt. I thought it was something all mothers could use.

Piper petting one of her favorite animals, chickens. This particular chicken laid green eggs!

There's more pictures here.

Dreams

Piper woke me up at five to nurse for an hour before we both fell back into exhausted sleep. It is usually during these times that I have my most vividly remembered dreams. This morning I had an American Idol dream. I dreamt that I was in a contest writing short stories. There were three judges and one of them was Simon Cowell. He was his usual assholey self. Somehow I had made it to the final three. My story was science fiction, and involved a captive woman, aliens and the man who captured her. He raped her at the end of the story. I had to read the story to the judges over speaker phone, and my house was in total chaos. When I began to read, I could see that it was a very rough draft, hand written, with lots of arrows to show where paragraphs should be moved. I stumpled over my reading, and knew that I was going to lose. I ran to the bathroom in the middle of my reading, and came up with a paragraph about how the woman dyed her hair blonde, and got manicures. In my dream, it was a brilliant paragraph but I can't recapture it here. I continued to read, and at the end Cowell told me "It's shit. At this stage in the competition you should be writing genius."

Desire For the Other

Horacio is writing a paper using Lacan via Bruce Fink. In fact, he's looking up a quote for me as I type. Really we do have such a collaborative marriage (when we're not debating the finer points of theory).

"'Le desir de l'homme, c'est le desir de l' Autre,' Lacan reiterates again and again. Taking the second de as a subjective genitive for the moment, the following translations are possible here: 'Man's desire is the Other's desire,' 'Man's desire is the same as the Other's desire,' and 'Man desires what the Other desires,' all of which convey part of the meaning. For man not only desires what the Other desires, but he desires it in the other; in other words, his desire is structured exactly like the Other's. Man learns to desire as an other, as if he were some other person"(Bruce Fink, The Lacanian Subject: Between Language and Jouissance, 54).

Despite an annoying tendency to use Man to represent human (H and I just had a heated debated over this), this is an interesting quote. And it perfectly describes what occurred this afternoon--an afternoon with the mommies. Today we had a homeschooling field trip. It was not only with my friends but with a group of women that particularly set me on edge about my life style. They've never said anything but I always imagined this sort of silent disapproval being directed at me. One of them inspires in me a horrible case of house envy. The other just has a husband who makes a lot of money so she pretty much gets to have and do what she wants. So I was not overly looking forward to an afternoon spent with them.

We drove out into the middle of nowhere to a really neat place called Black Swan Farm. The owners basically keep the farm afloat by offering really great educational tours (see Umberto's site for pictures and more details). The only downside is that it was hot...really hot....like hell hot. And it was a bad air quality day so just breathing was difficult. I had to keep moving to the shade because the girls were overheating, and Piper wanted to nurse. Of course all the scary mommies were there. I geared myself up and determined to not feel insecure about our lifestyle. I remembered all the kind of words shared on this site.

Some how the conversation turned to Florida. A woman mentioned loving it there. So I asked if she had been to Gainesville as we were thinking of applying to school there. Another woman told me her cousin went to school there, and loved it. But it was really hot...hotter than here (I'm thinking "NO!!!!!!"). Then they asked me where else I was applying. I mentioned Madison, WI, Chapel Hill, and Princeton. And then I said "If we don't get accepted we were thinking of putting everything in storage and trying to get jobs teaching English in Eastern Europe. " I was waiting for that moment of silent disapproval. Instead I get "You know I have some friends who are traveling all over Central America, and they just love it. I always feel envious when they tell me about their moves," "Wow, I just admire how much you guys live life, and how you just pick up and move," "Sometimes I feel like home ownership is a trap, and I think let's sell the house and move around." I was stunned. These women I have been envying, whom I thought thought we were freaks, actually desire what we have. I guess that in someways desire does work towards/in relation to the Other. Here we all are probably imagining that most people are happy, content with their lives only because we want those lives. Really they too have imaginings and yearnings towards difference.

I'm trying to work something out about desire. Horacio and I are at odds so I'll keep you all updated as we work this on through. I argue that this kind of thinking about desires is always about loss and want. What you desire you never really have. Really it creates a desire machine. Deleuze claims that capitalism has exploited this....

White Boards and Self-Promotion

Okay so I totally stole this link from Neil Gaiman's site. It's great what writers will do to sell their book. Seriously this rules, and it's hilarious.

http://noonebelongsheremorethanyou.com/

Melancholy

She knew that all she had to say was "No, you're right. This is crazy. It's silly. Let's be happy." If she said these things everything would be okay. But she couldn't. It would be a lie, and she did not want to lie. No, what she really wanted was to lie on the bed, and feel miserable. She mourned the loss of possility and he could not understand that mourning. He mourned the concrete while she mourned the phantsom of the future. And beneath her sadness, she knew that the only lie in his desired sentence was the happy part. He was right. It was crazy to mourn nothing....but still, all she desired was to lie here drowning in the sounds of something depressing like "Human Drama."

Later they went out. She was fine. Her anger, her mourning, gone.

Sister Love

The Bike

We almost went out to buy another umbrella stroller. Then I realized that for Piper's birthday we had bought her a tricycle with a stroller handle. Duh. Of course it was in pieces in the box which is why I had "forgotten" about it. So today I dragged it all out for two reasons. First, I wanted to get the huge box of my bedroom, and second, I wanted to go for a walk with the kids in the evening.






So I opened it all up. The instructions were of course cryptic. I'm not a pictorial learner so the lack of words drove me insane. And add to this three utterly fascinated children....it was nuts. Horacio and I started snapping at each other of course....this always happens we deal with putting things together. Oh, and the instructions put the bell on before the bike is completely finished. Yeah, the kids kept coming over and dinging the bell.



But the final result was pretty cool. And Piper loved it. She was annoying as hell trying to get everyone to push her around the house, and dinging that damn bell. Camille was a bit jealous but she's really ready for a two wheel bike. And Umberto was so thrilled by this contraception that he decided he wanted a bike for his birthday. I'm pretty excited as he's never been interested before. He's giddy about riding downtown with us as we walk the girls. Of course he'll have to practice more before he's there but it's great that he has a goal.





And we got our evening walk. It was a lot of fun. Umberto had a grand time pushing Piper. We walked to downtown Matthews to the library. We're going to try to do this every night.

Signs of the South

"A railroad is like a lie--you have to keep building to it to make it stand. A railroad is a ravenous destroyer of towns, unless those towns are put at te end of it and a sea beyond, so that you can't go further, and find another terminus. And it is shaky trusting them, even then, for there is no telling what may be done with trestle-work."Letter to the San Francisco Alta California, printed May 26, 1867.

"I complimented this police force in a letter some time ago, and felt like a guilty, degraded wretch when I was doing it, and now I am glad I got into the Station House, because it will teach me never to so far forget all moral principle as to compliment a police force again."-Letter to San Francisco Alta California, dated May 18, 1867. Letter to San Francisco Alta California, dated May 18, 1867; published June 23, 1867

A Southern Gentleman

"When I was younger, I could remember anything, whether it had happened or not; but my faculties are decaying now and soon I shall be so I cannot remember any but the things that never happened."- Mark Twain's Autobiography

A Perfect Homesick

H came home, happy, smelling of the sun, read my post, and played me the most perfect song.

Mundane Matters

Memorial Day weekend (how stupid a phrase is that?) is half way over. Only one more day to be the only people not doing anything. I slept very late this morning and a grumpy H just brought the kids to the pool. I am still finishing my morning coffee, and trying to gear myself up to eat breakfast (vanilla yogurt with Fiber One). There is a hornet trying to break through the window back to the outside. He must have flown in while the girls played on the patio earlier this morning.

I started cleaning yesterday. More like mucking out really. I do this about four times a year, and still have mounds of things to toss or give away. I suspect it is not much that we keep getting more things but that it's hard for us to let go of things so we have to do it slowly. Yesterday I put away about five loads of laundry that have been sitting on our bedroom floor. I did new laundry, and started the first of many loads of dishes in the dishwasher. I also took all my photos of albums and threw out the albums (we're switching to photo boxes). Of course I had to look at all the photos.

Looking back over photos is a surreal experience. I recognize my face but it is an awkward reunion. I am not longer that person. It is a bit like experiencing a little death. You look, and you know that this young girl with the shaved head no longer exists anywhere. She is gone forever. With her, I felt a flush of shame and embarrassment of what used to be. I did not wish her back to life. But the pictures of Mexico filled me with an intense longing. There was Umberto so little even at over a year. He was our only child, pampered and loved and adored. There was Mexico so beautiful and old. There were the coffee shops, the lovely parks, the friends we made. I wanted to go back to that life. I want to go back to Mexico.

And how true that you can never go back to the past. Even if we could move back to Mexico right now, we do not want to raise the children in the D. F. Nor would it be the same with three instead of one. We would not likely be able to recapture those relaxing moment in cafes with our three little monsters. But I looked over those pictures, and realized how much I love Mexico, and how much I feel as if it is my real home. I am homesick for a place that is really not mine to call home.

And who knows what else lays in store for me as I start the odious project of cleaning out our apartment. What other longings lay in wait for me?

Let's Get to Know Each Other...

From my friend Jessica, a bit of fun:

Please copy, paste and fill this out in comments for getting-to-know-you good times! And then take it to your blog!

1. Your Middle Name:

2. Age:

3. Single or Taken:

4. Favorite Movie:

5. Favorite Song or Album:

6. Favorite Band/Artist:

7. Dirty or Clean:

8. Tattoos and/or Piercings:

9. Do we know each other outside of the cyber-world?

10. What's your philosophy on life?

11. Is the bottle half-full or half-empty?

12. Would you keep a secret from me if you thought it was in my best interest?

13. What is your favorite memory of us?

14. What is your favorite guilty pleasure?

15. Tell me one odd/interesting fact about you:

16. You can have three wishes (for yourself, so forget all the 'world peace etc' malarky) - what are they?

17. Can we get together and make a cake?

18. Which country is your spiritual home?

19. What is your big weakness?

20. Do you think I'm a good person?

21. What was your best/favorite subject at school?

22. Describe your accent:

23. If you could change anything about me, would you?

24. What do you wear to sleep?

25. Trousers or skirts?

26. Cigarettes or alcohol?

27. If I only had one day to live, what would we do together?

28. Will you repost this so i can fill it out for you?

Some Dog Piss Music

A song to accompany the last post.

Dog Piss, Or a Meditation on Territory

"Can this becoming, this emergence, be called Art? That would make the territory a result of art. The artist: the first person to set out a boundary stone, or to make a mark. Property, collective or individual, is derived from that even when it is in the service of war and oppression. Property is fundamentally artistic because art is fundamentally poster, placard. As Lorenz says. coral fish are posters. The expressive is primary in relation to the possessive; expressive qualities, or matters of expression, are necessarily appropriative and constitute a having more profound than being. Not in the sense that these qualities belong to a subject, but in the sense that they delineate a territory that will belong to a subject, but in the sense that they delineate a territory that will belong to the subject that carries or produces them."(Deleuze and Guattari, a thousand plateaus: capitalism and schizophrenia, 316).

For Deleuze this marking, this territorialization as art, finds ultimate expression in birds. Their songs, their nests, their movements, their turnings of leaves on the ground. But as I sat, this morning, drinking my coffee on the patio, I watched dogs. There are a phenomenal amount of dogs in the apartment complex in which I live. Every morning and every evening (when I drink red wine as opposed to coffee), dogs, dogs, and more dogs prance around the green pissing on everything. I never stopped to think about their markings as art. What a concept. How can piss be art? Well, you could stick a crucifix in a vial of it...but the act of pissing? The act of dog pissing? Art? It is easy to see in the songs of birds, their movements, their nests, an act of art. Dog piss is not so easy.

And yet I think "If we can see art in dog piss, we can see art in property." Property that ultimate value in Marx encounters in Deleuze something of a higher value. Art is primary not property. And how can this be for a Marxist like Deleuze? He does this by transforming art as first, beyond human, and second, as expression. Property is thus not what belongs to humans but rather it is what belongs to actions of various sorts. As an act, as a becoming, property becomes expression as opposed to that which gives expression. And really, if we can see the art in a dog pissing to mark his place, then art becomes something much different than the paintings at the museum. Just as property ceases to be a belonging. It is not the signature that makes a subject. A signature never denotes ownership. A signature merely holds a place. This is what Deleuze claims for art And a dog pissing is all about the constant becoming of territory.

When you live in a small place filled with dogs, you can see how territory is always about marking and remarking. There is no ownership; no alpha dog to assert his authority. The dogs do not mix enough to sort out this hierarchy (although such a show down might be interesting). Instead, the dogs continually piss all over other dogs' marks. They mark their territory only to have to remark later in the day. There is a virtual grid on the green in front of my patio. A grid of dog piss that makes that green belong to no one dog but to all the dogs. It is a grid also overlaid with the scent of cats, the markings they make of their fur against the small trees. The mockingbirds constantly patrol, alert to invaders, ready to defend their piece of property. And human children, my own included, run about this piece of land, terrorizing and territorializaingwith their laughs, toys and dances. It is the ultimate communal property, and it is created through multiple acts of expression....emergences of art.

One last quote from Paul Park's A Princess of Roumania. In this novel, one of the main characters has become a dog. The following is a bit of narrative written from her dog mind."As she left the clearing and moved away through the thin woods, she felt she was pushing through a net, each cord of which was the circle of urine marks that each dog had drawn around the fire. Her instinct was to stop often, restrained by the net, but she pushed through. On the far side she filled her lungs with cleaner air, which was nevertheless scented with a myriad of small traces of animals and men. They seemed to draw glowing lines in front of her on the snow"(242).

A Bit of Shamless Bragging

I passed my comps with an accumulative grade of high pass. Now on to rock my thesis.

Seeds

Umberto actually dictated a journal to me! This is an exciting development as before, he really just played along with me. This time he was excited, and actually composed something interesting and lovely.

Translation: May14, 2007I had fun. Camille found a snake skin and it was cool. Daddy found a dead baby snake. We saw three turtles and we saw their faces poking out of the water.

He's become more interested in language in the last few weeks. And I'm trying to jump on that. In addition to getting him reading, I'm hoping to start both of us on learning Spanish.



In addition to word seeds, we also planted some plant seeds. Umberto choose the biggest seeds he could find: Monmouth Sunflowers and pumpkins. They sprouted in their Jiffy pots within a day, and quickly grew roots systems to the other Jiffy pots. We are now awaiting my friend's return from the beach so that we replant them in her garden. Next we have basil and cilantro which should be a bit more manageable. Umberto is now totally into plants. He fusses over the seedlings like they're babies. He also has a great knowledge of plants, and can rattle off lots of arcane facts. I see a greenhouse visit in our near future.

Wine.

"We have a huge barrel of wine, but no cups.
That's fine with us. Every morning
we glow and in the evening we glow again.

They say there's no future for us. They're right.

Which is fine with us."

Rumi "Who Says Words With My Mouth?"

My friend Kristin's comment reminded that I needed to pull out my Rumi. And when I did, look what I found. With a glass of red wine in hand, I smiled as I read this poem. How wonderful that we, at least, have cups even if we don't have a barrel, only a really big bottle. But what made me smile the most were the last two lines. Sometimes both Horacio and I worry that we're not doing what we should be doing. We should own a house, have nicer cars, staple careers, etc. And I know that many people look at our lives and do think that we are failures, or at least see us as a bit odd maybe even irresponsible. So when I read that line, it makes me pause a moment to look over our life. I read snuggled against Horacio, with Camille on the couch besides him, Piper snoozing on the carpet, Umberto in his room watching "Garfield." We were sipping red wine, reading bits of poetry to each other. It was one of those beautiful, quiet nights that just make me feel at peace. And I thought "We are fine. We are happy." On nights like these, it is fine that we have no future. The present is too beautiful to wish away.

A Poem for Next Week

Next week

I am only

going to

eat

soup, and

fruit.

For Jessica

This post is for my friend Jessica but anyone who wants may read it.

I promised my throwing things story and it should make you feel much better about the mug. When I am pregnant, I am an unpleasant woman ( a mild understatement). Horacio and I got into a fight. I can't remember what about. Something totally ridiculous I'm sure. End result was that I started to sob, yelled, slammed the door shut, and when Horacio kept arguing with me, I hurled a lamp at the door. Amazingly the lamp didn't break but the bulb did. I cleaned it up, sobbing, while Umberto sat on the other side of the door crying as well. Later that month, he wrote a story in preschool. Luckily his teacher translated it wrong: "A lamp broke, and I cried." The story came illustrated. I was mortified when the teacher said "I'm not sure what he's talking about." I did not enlighten her.

And if that wasn't bad enough, we had a hole in the wall at our last apartment where I threw the cordless phone at the wall. I could go on but I'll cease to embarrass myself further.

Okay so ten things that make me happy:

1. The smell of Piper right out of the tub.
2. Camille's huge, crazy smile.
3. Umberto running around like a mad man with his light saber.
4. Horacio...most of the time.
5. Bic fine point pens preferably in black.
6. Rainy days with a good book.
7. the pool.
8. Outside cafes.
9. Strawberries.
10. My Cuisinart.

Camille is Four

Camille is four. No longer a baby, she became a child so quickly. Of all the children, she is the most like me. She's quirky, independent, and a bit bad tempered. She's also amazingly creative, and smart. She loves dinosaurs. She loves the human body. Mostly she loves her daddy but she'll grace the rest of us with a bit of love now and then.

Camille the dinosaur with the help of Piper's shoes.

Camille's Stats:

Favorite Toy(s): Her hundreds of plastic dinosaurs

Favorite Music: None...it's all too loud

Favorite Movie: Land Before Time (1-12).

Favorite Quote: "Be careful of my human body."

A Roomful of Children

"In bad weather, home was a bedlam. Children dashed in and out of the rain, to the puddles under the dismal yew-trees across the wet flagstones of the kitchen, whilst the cleaning-woman grumbled and scolded; children were swarming on the sofa, children were kicking the piano in the parlour, to make it sound like a bee-hive, children were rolling on the hearthrug, legs in air, pulling a book in two between them, children, fiendish, ubiquitous, were stealing upstairs to find out where our Ursula was, whispering at bedroom doors, hanging on the latch, calling mysteriously 'Ursula!' 'Ursula!' to the girl who had locked herself into read And it was hopeless. The locked door excited their sense of mystery, she had to open to dispel the lure. Then children hung on to her with round-eyed, excited questions"(The Rainbow, D. H. Lawrence, 247).

And so Lawrence describes my house! My house is always bedlam though, rain or no rain. The children do not have one room which is theirs. They mark their territory with toys. The tub toy storage thing is in the living room. My room boasts various plastic dinosaurs and Little People farm animals as well as numerous board books. The dining room holds not just the dining room table but all of Umberto's home school material (textbooks, craft supplies, crayons, etc). Sometimes I feel like poor Ursula--hiding out in the bathroom. Yes the bathroom. For some reason I can close the door on the bathroom without hysterical sobbing (which is what happens when I go into my bedroom). Yes, they knock and stick little fingers but at least they don't sound like they're dying.

Having two children was rough. I mean, I felt a bit overwhelmed at first. But it worked out after a few weeks. Granted, Camille was just a dream of a baby. Really sweet and mellow. Umberto was a big boy. I used to go the pool alone with them all the time! Things were in control We could take naps together. Things could be quiet. Then we just had to go with three. My dentist when I was pregnant told me "Man, three will kill you." And he was right. I was calling my mom in tears within a week. And now my house is just crazed. Loud, messy, and chaotic. I clean, and they literally follow around me sprinkling toys like seeds. Yes, three definitely sent us over the edge. Once they outnumber the adults, things go down fast. Of course we wouldn't return any of them but we would like a night out once in awhile....

Ginger Is Free

I am free! I took my last comp test Friday morning. All papers are handed it, grades received, and now the long blissful summer ahead of me. Okay so not really. I have a ton of reading to do for my thesis as I must start writing in the fall. But I have at least a couple of weeks in which to read what I choose. Plus I realized that even during the semester I have to make sure I'm reading something fiction just to keep me grounded. There is definitely something more concrete about fiction. Theory often works on such abstraction that it is easy to forget the world of flesh. So new commitment to myself: read at least one fiction book a month during the school year.

Why I get like that I don't know. I really love theory, and it's not as if good fiction doesn't involve huge amounts of brain power. But I really just feel so deprived if I can't read fiction. Okay so some of it in all honesty is that most theory is just deathly dull to read. I mean, it's interesting to think about but the actually reading can often be tedious. Fiction does seem to coat these same ideas in beauty...much easier to swallow. Of course this does not apply to all fiction...Tom Jones ,for example ,was NOT a pleasure to read.

In other news beyond books, I got drunk Friday night with the "Mommies." I got drunk on FIVE beers. Is that just sad or what? And I was also hung over for the whole day. Gross. I volunteered to be our driver on the next night out. But it was fun to go out all dressed up. I looked like a plus size model but hey I was dressed up. We even got checked out a bit, and our waiter at the Thomas Street Tavern flirted with us (likely for a tip but we all appreciated it).

Currently reading: On Beauty by Zaddie Smith, a trilogy by Paul Park, and hopefully soon Ian Rankin's newest book and Neil Gaiman's Fragile Things. Any recommendations are welcomed and encouraged!

Summer School

In yet another attempt to pull ourselves together, I declared that we were having summer school. Umberto, I am pleased to say, did not run away screaming in terror. We both agreed that learning to read was a priority this time around. He's read most of his Brand New Reader books but I'd like to see him able to decode and read new easy readers not just the one he's familiar with. He's actually been playing on starfall.com (the girls love it too, and practice their letter sounds right along with him) so he's taking some action. A good sign I think as this is becoming more of something he wants as well.

Since he told us that he wants to be a scientist (I can see his Tio Ivan nodding in solemn approval), we are focusing quite heavily on science this summer. Officially, I'm creating a unit on plants. We have pumpkin and sunflower seeds we're going to start in Jiffy pots, and then move to my friend's garden. Umberto will keep a science journal to record the growth stages. I also hope to do some investigation in the woods identifying plants, etc. Horacio is going to handle insects (another request). Unofficially we have a bunch of books on the human body. This new interest can be classified as a family interest. Camille will stand in the position shown in the anatomy books, and say "Look at my human body!" And Piper now walks about telling everyone where her brain is. Very silly stuff. I am considering taking at least Umberto to see Body Worlds, the Gunther Von Hagens exhibit with real human bodies. I find it totally disturbing yet strangely compelling. Umberto is a bit freaked but said that as long as they didn't move, he'd go. I do think it would be an awesome chance to see this exhibit. It certainly won't be shown anywhere else in the South.

In addition to all the science, we'll be starting on Mexican and U. S. history. I'm not sure of the how and what but I'll write more as we develop the curriculum. Basically we need to get a schedule going so that we don't' let things fall apart when school restarts for Horacio and I.

Current Interests: The Clever Cat, Bobba Fett, Dinosaurs, puppies, The Human Body, swimming.

Happy Birthday Piper

Happy birthday to you Piper Blue. Sounds like a Dr. Seuss book.

Well yes my baby is now two. She looks three but she's only two:) What a year it has been. She is so sweet, loving, and cuddly but also stubborn and demanding. A true Taurus, she really is like Horacio. It is so amazing to watch them grow into these personalities. You have this little mewing thing that you get to watch become a person. How neat is that? Pretty freakin' neat!

Quickly her "stats":

Favorite quote: "'Mille hit me!

Favorite food: broccoli and hot dogs

Favorite toy: her little dog figurine and what ever Camille is playing with

Favorite book: "Big Fat Hen"

Favorite kind of music: hardcore (she takes after her mama)

Why I married...

Horacio...I mean really how sexy can one man be? Jeez....

Memory

"What was memory after all, but the recording of a number of possibilities which had never been fulfilled?" D. H. Lawrence, The Rainbow, 91.

Ah...when you need real answers turn to literature. How beautiful is this quote? Sometimes, I forget why I studied literature initially, and then I read something like this. Of course it's a bittersweet moment....a loss so to speak. Literature has become a balm for me. I look forward at the end of the spring semester to reading literature throughout the summer. I feel safe wrapped in those kind of words. Of course it is an odd safety. Literature with its rich words, and jeweled stories does not keep one safe from hurt, loss, but it opens those doors in such a gorgeous way.

So I'm reading The Rainbow, and right after I wrote my post about gaps, I find this quote. How fateful? I love how all of Lawrence's novel are so present. There is an immediacy to the events and to the characters. Those who live in the embrace of the past are dead to life. In order to be alive, really alive, one must be constantly in the now. And this idea that memories are but the regrets of the past. Why live in such a dead place? Lawrence asks this is each novel. Passion, life, and love destroy us but they destroy us in ways that make us more alive.

Ahh...Lawrence....

Our Funny Children

Englightended Piper....

Followed by Englightened Umberto

Umberto the Poet

My mom took Umberto to the ocean on Friday. He told my mom upon seeing the ocean for the first time since he was a baby, "She is big and she is angry." A poet? Perhaps.

Poet or football hoodlum? Place your votes today.

Post Gaps

I was looking at journal I kept in Farmington, and there is I swear a year gap between some of the posts. One minute I'm fantasizing about some guy I meet over the Internet (remember D. C. anyone? In my defense, I was not looking to date over the Internet, and he ended up being totally hot, and we meet in NYC) and the next I'm knocked up by some sexy Mexican. But in some ways life does feel like that....gappy you know?

Whenever I try to make this post about the things we do (actually?), I end up feel this odd detachment which I don't like. I think it arises due to these huge gaps of time between when things happen and when I get around to actually writing about them. Things happen, and then you look back but you look back from a different place each day that passes. What seemed so interesting, annoying, heart breaking, two months ago can seem rather mundane. Plus the events pass from immediacy into a more structured memory. I believe that we culturally condition certain memories to fit into an accepted narrative.

Take childbirth....during the moment, it's really unpleasant. I'm sorry about the pain is so intense and awful that I doubt many actually feel empowered in the moment. Since none of us going through childbirth are likely to be blogging as we're pushing out little Jr. I think it's safe to assume that child birth narratives come after the fact. Looking back, the experience was empowering, transcendent, etc. But was it really all those things in the moment or was it those things because it's supposed to be those things? I remember just thinking "Hell someone kill me now cause I can't take much more" during my labor with Piper. I was not fully aware of the dim lights, Glen Gould playing in the background, Horacio supporting me. All I could think about was getting her out of me...fast.

This musing all came as I tried to write about Nashville. I presented a paper there over a month ago, and it seems like ages have passed. I left both disillusioned and excited, and now I just feel the disillusionment (more because of something happened then because of the conference). I can't even write about it. It's okay though cause what I tried to write was much more boring than this post.

Why we don't take long trips...

Need I say more?

Horacio and Ginger Go Intellectual

Deep in thought....

Shocking revelations....

Loss

Lately I've been reading Judith Butler. I have to say that she is one of the most difficult theorists I have grappled with in a long time. It is so exciting. I feel that high again...the high that comes from wrestling with some amazingly difficult passages, and feeling like a light turns on when you finally get it. Suddenly you just don't see the world in the same way. Everything changes. And you lose something which is what I am reading about with Butler right now.

In The Psychic Life of Power, Butler writes about about subjection. She wishes to examine the ambiguity that lies at subject formation. But that is for another entry. What I find so interesting right now, this evening, is Butler's reading of Lacan and Freud. She argues that internalization is formed through loss. She writes

"Significantly, Freud identifies heightened conscience and self-bereavement as one sign of melancholia, the condition of uncompleted grief. The foreclosure of certain forms of love suggests that the melancholia that grounds the subject signals an incomplete and irresolvable grief. Unowned and incomplete, melancholia is the limit to the subject's sense of pourvoir, its sense of what it can accomplish and, in that sense, its power"(23).

Last week, with a certain professor, we talked a lot about Lacan and how he sees subject formation built through loss. And then I read this. This idea that love, desire, etc, functions through a loss of something makes a lot of sense. Especially when one thinks of this lost as homosexual. Being bisexual is an interesting position from which to look at this loss. I think perhaps for me this loss is somewhat known.

I have never identified my sexuality as merely about sex but rather about the possibilities of love and desire. Calling myself bisexual opened up many possibilities for me but it also entailed losses. The gay/lesbian community often wants nothing to do with bisexual people. Despite the rumors it is not easier to get a date! I was accused often of just wanting sex, and of not being willing to fully commit to lesbianism. In other words, I was a coward. I loss an opportunity to fully explore dating, loving, women, and I also lost an opportunity to be a part of a community.

And then what happens when the bisexual goes monogamous? I love my partner (a man), and I love the family we created but there is underlying all this a loss. By choosing to be monogamous (and yes I understand this a normalized function probably of heterosexuality), I have closed off a part of my sexuality. And while we could be open, could invite someone into our family, that too would entail a certain set of losses.

It's a bit tragic to think of all these losses. I see how so much of who we are is built upon losses that we often can not speak or bring forth. As Butler points out, sometimes they are so repressed we can not even grieve them.

Darth Umberto

Preparing for a life of crime!

Don't eat my pear!!!!

The girls doing a very Maine thing...log rolling!

Maybe not such a failure

A few weeks later, and I'm chilled although I may have freaked out every other adult in Umberto's life. I have to keep reminding myself that I learned to read at 7.5, and look, I'm a genius:) Okay so not that smart but smart enough to make it through grad. school. There is a part of me that knows deep down that Umberto is better off from not having the pressure to do everything quick. And I know that he's capable and that things will click for him when they're supposed to click. But there is also that panicky part of me that knows he has to back to school when we start our Ph.Ds. I guess I need some faith that things will click by the time he's 8!

A few days ago I was reading Cat Wings by Jane Yolen to the kids. I came across a great line that changed how I thought about Umberto. The book is about a litter of flying kittens whose mother sends them away from the city for a better life. Once in the woods, the birds freak out because the cats are on equal footing. Here's the line about Owl and the concern over flying cats: "It took a while for the Owl to understand this. Owl is not a quick thinker. She is a long thinker"(20). See that's Umberto. He takes his time and in the end has a full understanding...maybe a fuller understanding then someone who thinks quick. It's not about how fast you master something but rather that you master it.

Failure?

My almost seven year old is still not reading. Is this me? Have I failed him? Am I doing him a disservice by keeping him home? Should I just force him to go to school? Would he adjust?

These feelings are coming from a lot of guilt. I drifted from unschooling about half a year in. I just don't have enough belief in any kind of organic anything to think it works like that. I mean what does organic learning mean? Do we really think that there is some kind of natural something inside of us that just makes us embrace learning styles? I don't think unschooling works for people who believe in social constructionism! I f0und myself just watching Umberto play Star Wars over and over and wondering if becoming a Jedi really was a possible future.

And here we are: $200 worth of curriculum just not being used because I'm lucky if I pull out school work twice a week. I'm so not good at teaching elementary school. I try to come up with creative ideas, and fail miserably. So we end up just not doing much while Umberto plays, and I waste huge amounts of time on the computer because I"m too lazy to install any kind of routine.

Umberto seems totally unbothered by all this. All he really wants to do is play anyway. He's happy if we read to him each day, haul out the art supplies once in awhile, bring him out to play with his friends. But can he really learn anything just playing all the time? And isn't this really all about my lazy ass just not getting it together?

So now I'm wondering if I just need to establish a routine. Argh. Can I even do that? Stay tuned.

Hooked on What?

My lovely, creative son decided he really wanted the Hooked On Phonics set (this one has reading, math, and writing). It's mind numbingly boring for me but he loves it. I wonder if it is because he just wants to read and this seems like a nice logical set of steps for him. I don't know if it is doing any good but he's having a good time.

We are still doing other things. My friend Kerri gave me an idea in which your child picks a word for the day, and then you write it on an index card for the child. This builds up a personalized vocabulary for the child. And we're doing lots of things like gluing beans on to letter templates, and playing with our letter paint sponges. We're doing lots of number games, and activities which he enjoys more than he used to. I'm trying to do fun things in terms of social studies connected the months. We read a great book called "So You Want to Be President" which Umberto loved. It had quirky pictures and fun little facts about the past presidents. We also have a book on Socrates called "Wise Guy."

In addition to all this, we rejoined a homeschooling coop. So now Umberto does an environmental group called "Roots and Shoots," chorus, violin lessons, and a book club. Add to this a future 4H group, and an art class with the aforementioned friend Kerri, and we're booked. But he's happy and learning.

Funny story for the post:
Umberto told Horacio that Camille taught him how to read! Umberto showed Horacio how Camille pointed to each page in a particular book and told him what it said. I guess during this conversation Camille kept saying "Yes Daddy Umberto reads."

Okay another funny story:
Umberto shows me his comic and says "Look Mom, the troop is saying 'Morons."" I look, and yes, indeed, the troop is saying "moron." One of Umberto's first words to read is moron. Just figures.

New Year's Resolutions

Every year, I say, "No I'm not going to do resolutions this year." I get pissy when people (i.e., my mother mostly) nag at me about what my resolutions are going to be. Hell, I never keep them, and they end up hanging over my head like Coleridge's albatross. At some midpoint, like July, just when you're having fun, enjoying the pool, drinking frozen alcoholic somethings, it hits. "Shit," you say as you inhale another cigarette, gulp a big alcoholic cool wonderfulness, and then chase it with like a bag of potato chips, "I swore to quit smoking, quit drinking, and lose 20 lbs." And bam, the whole bloody summer suddenly becomes gloomy with guilt. No thank you! I want to enjoy my summer.

Okay so I caved, just as I cave every year. I don't usually tell anyone. I just kind of quietly make them in my head. Then I announce them once I've quit. This saves me the guilt but lets people say "Oh you're so wonderful." And who doesn't love to hear that?

This year I vowed to quit smoking (again) and to lose the 20lbs I gained since leaving WW plus another 10. And already, week three into January have accomplished one...I quit smoking. Hurray. Okay party over. It sucks, and I still miss smoking but I promised not just myself but my kids I'd stop.

And I'm working on number 2. I rejoined WW. So far the same slow but steady loss. Of course if I could stay really within the plan it might be more. I have to admit though that I'm not as giddy about the program. I still like the concepts behind it, and I think that it works. Its more that rigidness about thinking about things in any other way that always annoys me. The emphasis is totally on weight which yeah duh but I mean about a number on the scale. There is no other way to in the program to show weight loss such as measurements. And I know this is practical but you see these women are so obsessed with that number. Who if they don't see a big loss are devastated. They do not focus on being healthy but on that number. So this is where WW is not punk.

For me, I have to admit to a certain amount of wanting to look thin. Hell yeah it would be nice to wear a bikini to the pool and not look like an encased sausage. But a big part is to counter the effects of smoking by having a strong heart. And none of this necessarily has to do with a weight on the scale. It has to do with my waist measurement.

Ginger is Alive but not well

The semester is finally over. It has not been my best semester. My brain felt a step behind every reading. And I was not as enthusiastic as I was the first year. Not sure why...actually the old passion I had as an undergrad is gone. I am not sure if that passion was really healthy anyway. My whole life revolved around school, fantasies of the intellectual life, etc. I was in love with being a student. There was a sense that the stuff we were working on was the most important stuff in the world. I definitely don't feel like that anymore.

I still love to learn but I feel vaguely uncomfortable about this lifestyle. It feels so hedonistic. I am going to graduate school because I love to learn. I love to read theory, etc. But deep down I know that teaching at Midwood was definitely doing better things for the world. And really the most important thing in my world are my children. All these things have combined to create a rather ambiguous fog in which I moved about this semester.

There were days when I really longed to be able to just be with my kids without worrying about the next paper or reading. And I got major house envy a few times. I started to really want my own home with a backyard...a minivan...hell, the whole suburban package. Of course I came to my senses quickly, and knew deep inside that I'd be bored with that lifestyle. But there is a part of me that longs to be able to want to like those things. It seems like life might be less complicated which is probably not true.

Sometimes, I think this all comes from hanging out mostly with moms who do stay at home. They do have their problems, and I acknowledge that but I often feel like the odd mom out. My life consists of two different worlds. One in which I am a homeschooling mom, and the other in which I am a graduate student. It's not easy to reconcile these two lives; in fact I am not sure if they are reconcilable.

Doing Nothing In NC

Time for my semester end update. For all those dying to know...No, Umberto is not reading. He can read a few of this Brand New Readers books but hasn't made much process on phonics. "Sounding out" words has become a tortuous event for all involved.

Me: Okay the b sound is baaa.
Umberto: Baaa?
Me: And then ahhhh sound.
Umberto: ahhh?
Me: The last sound is "daaa."
Umberto: daaaa?
Me" Let's put them all together.
Umberto: ?

He did pick out a couple of workbooks which he likes to do but it takes a lot of help from me. He has listened to me read a couple of chapter books which he wouldn't do last year at this time. We've read all the Spiderwick books, and Charlotte's Web. We're at the beginning of Clive Barker's "The Thief of Always" which is tough for him as it NO pictures at all. He also love his Star Wars Comics and wants to be able to read them on his own.

What keeps me from totally freaking out is his great love of knowledge. I mean, really this is what Horacio and I wanted to instill in our children. Umberto loves to go the library and get books out on a variety of subjects. He asks lots of questions, and is observant of what is happening around him. I see these things as a sign that yes indeed there is life in there! And while I do worry when I am with the "geniuses" of the homeschooling world, I try to remember that Umberto is his own person with his own timetable.

Household's current obsessions: Dinosaurs, Star Wars (still), lizards, doggies (there's nothing like watching Camille scratch her ear with her foot).

Umberto, the crafty one...

Here's a few pictures of Umberto's paintings over the fall:

This is the behive, he and I made after reading Gail Gibbon's book on bees.

Here's the spaceship collage. This one was a lot of fun.