Seasons, days and moments

Most things are temporary. Appreciate beauty, artistry, whimsy, and the seasons.

Things and people and memories will age and fade. Enjoy your seasons, and days, and moments.

SandraDodd.com/impermanence
photo by Holly Dodd

Light art (and spooky)

For young children, costumes and decorations can make them feel powerful, or beautiful, and a little afraid—in a fun way, if the adults and older kids help keep that fairly balanced.

I have candy to hand out when the time comes. We have some decorations. I have a lifetime of memories of trick-or-treating when I was little, seeing or being a little way into houses I might never be in again, getting candy and treats from strangers—some of them dressed up, too, and smiling at me.

I have memories of taking my own young children door-to-door, and of driving them to a special place or two beyond walking distance some years.

Young families will be welcome here this year, and older kids and teens, too.

Airy and bright
photo by Janine Davies

Gently untangling "kind and gentle"

Part of something longer (linked below):

If your childhood abuse and neglect have left a lot of closed-off areas inside you, it would help to get therapy—even light help, to get you started on looking, a bit at a time, at what happened, and looking with a compassionate eye—compassion for the child you were, compassion for the adults who might have done better if they could have, if they knew more, if they had support for being kind and gentle. Then that would help you spread "kind and gentle" into the present, while you were gently untangling the snarls of your childhood memories.

The clearer your mind is of trauma and fear, the more easily your thoughts can flow, and connections can be made.

SandraDodd.com/awareness
photo by Sandra Dodd

Experiences flowing over

Me, a few hours ago, to a longtime unschooling mom, and friend, across the world:

When people say I don't know anything about unschooling except my own kids and my own family, a flood of families flow over my memories, of people who have shared with me and (often) the whole world how things were unfolding, in small moments and over years. 🙂

Without the internet, we couldn't have zoomed along on that flow of encouraging information.

—Sandra Dodd

SandraDodd.com/learning
photo by Jihong Tang

Purely learning

Facebook Memories showed me that someone on another continent had quoted me, years ago:

Learning does not teach us, but from learning we learn.

I still haven't found her source, but in looking I found its "wordier" cousin posted here in 2011:

Mastering ideas about learning

As some of my articles are being translated (now into Japanese, French and Italian) I see how much of my writing and thinking is about language itself, and so some of these ideas won't translate. But sometimes, that fact is very good. Some of our confusion about teaching and students and study and learning, in English, has to do with the words we use, and if the problems don't exist in other languages, that's wonderful for them.

In Romance language (Italian, French, Spanish and so on) our "teacher" translates to something along the lines of "maestro," a word we have too in regards to music direction. And we have the English cognate "master" which is more currently left in "master of arts" and other college-degree titles. Once that meant a person was qualified to teach at the university level. That meaning is gone in the U.S., pretty much.

Considering the word family from which "maestro" comes (and not knowing all its connotations in other languages), the English verb "to master" means to learn. It means to become accomplished in the doing of something. Whether mastering horseback riding or blacksmithing or knowing and controlling one's own emotions, it's not something someone else does to you or for you.

So for any translators or bilinguals reading here, have sympathy for English speakers who can't get to natural learning without disentangling all the graspy words and ideas about teaching and education and their implications that learning is passive and teaching must be done to a person.

SandraDodd.com/wordswordsother
photo by Sandra Dodd
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False positives

Cynicism feels like intelligence.
Pessimism can feel like energy conservation. Eeyore never jumps up and runs. Eeyore never bothers to plan ahead.

When people are very cynical, they seem to think that if all the things they think are stupid are eliminated, what's left will be non-stupid. Smartness. Cleverness. Art. Good music. But once so many things are eliminated, what's left is a cynical person who has rejected half the world, and has the memories of all the details of that negativity.

SandraDodd.com/cynicism
photo by Brie Jontry

Longterm love

Young love was fun. Longterm love is different—different things are fun. Familiarity. Having a good woodpile. Memories. Projects. Grandchildren.
. . . . Sometimes we start to recite one of our repeat arguments, but we remember it's a re-run, and jump to the end, or trail off. They're about feeding cats (how to), or putting tools up (one of us is too short sometimes, and figures "on the bench" is close enough), how to do laundry (mostly we do our own now, and it pisses me off that his isn't totally ruined for his not following my instructions).

I guess the trick is to know it's about cats, tools, and laundry, and not about the soul of the other person.

—Sandra Dodd, 2018

Originally on facebook, now at the bottom of SandraDodd.com/spouses (slightly longer there)
photo by Rachael Rodgers

Building an unschooling nest

"Building an unschooling nest" is a phrase that has come to mean maintaining a safe, rich, happy environment in which learning cannot help but happen.

What will help to create an environment in which unschooling can flourish? For children to learn from the world around them, the world around them should be merrily available, musically and colorfully accessible, it should feel good and taste good. They should have safety and choices and smiles and laughter.

There is some physicality to the "nest," but much of it is constructed and held together by love, attitudes and relationships. Shared memories and plans, family jokes, songs and stories shared and discussed, all those strengthen the nest.

Quote from The Big Book of Unschooling, page 125 (or 137)
photo by Sandra Dodd, out the front window, last year this time
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Hobbit age of majority

Yesterday our youngest turned 33 years old. As I write this, her brothers are at her birthday party. Kirby is providing karaoke.

They are all in their thirties. Kirby will be in his 30s until late summer of 2026. He has been married for eight years, and Marty for nearly a decade.

In 2007, I wrote this:

Our family is experiencing a sort of magic window. As of November 2, our children (who are no longer children) have attained a set of momentous ages: 21, 18 and 16. This alignment ends on January 14, when Marty turns 19, but for a couple of months we have the only and last set of landmark years we'll ever have.

Our two boys are at the traditional ages of majority in different ways, in different places and times. Kirby is a man. Marty is a junior man. Our baby and only girl is "sweet sixteen."

The memories of them at all their ages are like sweet ghosts around me.

SandraDodd.com/magicwindow
photo by Sandra Dodd

Photos by, or art by, or mentions of Holly Dodd in other posts

Exploring, playing, remembering

Exploring different media and tools, playing with art and ideas, and making nice memories.

Life as Show-and-Tell
photo by Sandra; scratch-art by younger Devyn Dodd

A kindness and a gift

Rather than tell a child in advance what's about to be seen, it can be wonderful to let them feel they've discovered something on their own. A surprise can be so stimulating that the memories will be more vivid. And the discovery becomes a personal accomplishment.

If the parent is surprised too, that's a bonus, but if you can allow for someone else to be surprised, it can be a kindness and a gift.

SandraDodd.com/surprise/
photo by Lydia Koltai

Climbing

Karen James wrote, in part:

A few weeks ago my husband, son and myself went for a bit of a hike. My son wanted to climb a big, steep hill that overlooked the ocean and had rocks at the top that he could climb and sit on. I looked up that hill and thought "Oh crikey! That's a steep hill." (I'm not in as good a shape I used to be.) But I could see that Ethan really wanted to climb it, and he really wanted us to join him, so I smiled and said "Let's go!" He's thirteen. I don't know how many more years I'll be invited (or have) to join him on his adventures. I choose to relish them now, while I still have the health and the opportunity to do so.

Ethan ran ahead, excited. My husband followed closer behind him. I took a deep breath and began walking too. Instead of looking all the way up the top of the hill, I looked at the ground as I climbed. I looked right and left and relished in the little details I found. Seeing the ground move steadily beneath my feet was encouraging, and made the climb seem not so steep. ....

It might not seem like it now, but those early years pass fast. I love all the happy memories I've made with Ethan these past 13 years. As he's growing more and more into his own interests, I can see the little boy he once was twirling on a trampoline for the twentieth or more time saying "Watch me now!" landing with pride every time. ...

Read the rest here:
Mindfulness in Unschooling
photo by Cátia Maciel

Artifacts

I have seen toys, in museums, just like things I played with as a child in the 1950s and 60s, and that my children played with in the 1980s and 90s.

History is happening all around and through us.


Seeing things from the past can trigger stories that might never have been told without the presence of those artifacts. I missed the days of radio dramas and serials. By the time I was listening to radio, it was all music. The stories had moved to the TV. All of my older relatives had radio stories—of war news, comedy routines, inspiring speeches and of mystery stories presented in several voices, and with sound effects.

We still want stories, news, humor and inspiration, but the sources change, and will change some more.

Antiques elsewhere here
photo by Sandra Dodd

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I wrote this four days ago (what's above). Three days ago, I started listening to So, Anyway...: A Memoir by John Cleese (read by the author, who is best known as a member of Monty Python). He has talked about radio shows four times in eight chapters, telling stories of his childhood memories, and of radio producers who seemed to think, when television was new, that TV would not supplant radio programs.

Knowing this post was ready to go made those stories seem like magical coincidence to me. Jung called those coincidences "synchronicity."

Breathing and safety

Deep breaths change everything, for a few moments.

From Tiny Monsters, which deals with my firstborn being four, and one of my own early memories:

I have something of a monster antidote: breathing. Breathe deeply and calmly. Get oxygen into that part of you that fears the tiny monsters. Once you master calming your hurts and fears (or at least calming the adrenaline that would make you lash out), you'll have time to think about how to deal with them rationally and sweetly and compassionately.

Breathing
photo by Sandra Dodd

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There were two sweet comments in 2010 when this was first published.

Attention as an investment

Karen James wrote:

It might not seem like it now, but those early years pass fast. I love all the happy memories I've made with Ethan these past 13 years. As he's growing more and more into his own interests, I can see the little boy he once was twirling on a trampoline for the twentieth or more time saying "Watch me now!" landing with pride every time. I can hear the breathless laughs of a child who rooted for the hundredth time for Tom the cat to catch that too-clever mouse Jerry. I know the brave spirit of that little person exploring the dark night and caves of Minecraft. I was there for all of it and more. Thousands of hours of dedicated focus. I don't regret a single moment. If anything, I wish I'd given more. I still have time, thankfully.

It did take a lot of my time, attention and energy, and there were times when I was really, really tired at the end of the day, and mornings when I was slow to want to embrace the day. But I see all that time and energy and attention as an investment—in my son, and in my own future. If I get to grow old, I hope these are some of the moments that bring colour to my winters.

—Karen James

SandraDodd.com/mindfulness
photo by Denaire Nixon

Whole people, with lives unfolding

I see my children as whole people whose lives are unfolding now. They may have memories as vivid as mine. What I do and say now will be part of their lives after I’m dead. And do I want to be the wicked witch? Do I want to be a stupid character that they grow up and live in reaction to and avoidance of? And so if I see them as whole, then I see that as they grow bigger, I grow smaller in their universe.

Improving Unschooling (transcript, and recorded interview)
photo by Elise Lauterbach
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Wonderful and unexpected

"It's wonderful how parenting this way heals parts of our own past unexpectedly."

—Jen Keefe

The quote is from a story of memories affecting parenting, and vice versa, here: SandraDodd.com/sleep/memories
photo by Jo Isaac

Nuturance

"To nourish" someone goes above and beyond food. "Good food" served with shame or pressure loses all its goodness, to a child. A loving relationship can last forevermore. Ice lollies and popsicles are gone in no time.

Let their memories of treats, and of meals, of childhood, and of parents, be warm and comforting.

Advantages of Eating in Peace
photo by Elaine Santana
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Viewpoint

The camper from which this photo was taken has been moving around Europe extensively, so the view changes, but the doorway stays about the same. This day, they were in Turkey.

What we perceive is seen through our own eyes. Even looking at a photo, we see what WE see, of what the photographer saw. Our thoughts can't be theirs. What it smelled like can't be conveyed, or how it sounded.

Some scenes and places and stories, dishes, houses, I have shared with my husband and children, but still their perceptions and memories can only be their own. This is a good thing, and good to remember.

Center of the Universe
photo by Ester Siroky

Hearts renewed

I wrote this verse for a Christmas card we made when my children were eight, five, and three years old.

Abundant joy,    a special toy,       warmth and firelight,          carols at twilight; Memories of old,    children to hold,       comforting food,          and hearts renewed.

More about that, written in 2014
art by Kirby Dodd, in 1994,
with printing and finish work by relatives and friends
Warm, glowing traditions