Book Review: The Eyes of the Amaryllis by Natalie Babbitt

I beg your indulgence as I set up this review a little, so you can understand the frame of mind I came to The Eyes of the Amaryllis with. My family moved to The Gambia the summer after I turned nine, and there for the first time I met the mystery and power of the sea. It was such a new experience that we glutted ourselves with beach-going several times a week. When my parents wouldn't take us, my older brother and I would cycle to the beach off of the Sunwing Hotel to hunt in tide pools and estuaries at low tide. I loved the ocean - the moods, the sounds, the smells; but I learned to fear it too.  A few months after we moved to The Gambia, our next door neighbor's son, a big, strapping, friendly lad of fourteen, drowned in the ocean. It was shocking and horrifying, the suddenness and manner of his death.

In July after I turned eleven I had my own near-drowning experience. I went swimming off the beach at the American Ambassador's residence during a Fourth of July community picnic, and got caught in the undertow. I got carried a long way out, and couldn't get back in because of the force of the undertow. There were some young Peace Corps Volunteers swimming nearby, but I didn't even have the energy to call to them for help. I faced the terrifying reality that I was probably going to die because there was no way I could muster the energy to try swimming again. I alternated treading water and floating on my back, contemplating death and thinking that I didn't want to die like my poor neighbor friend. I hated the thought of what it would do to my family. Fortunately for me, one of those Peace Corps volunteers could apparently tell I was in trouble, even though I hadn't spoken. "Getting tired?" he asked quietly as he swam up to me. I nodded my head and he put his hand under my armpit. "The undertow's bad today. I'm going to show you how to beat it. Let's swim this way." Swimming by my side, we swam parallel with the beach for a little way, and then he lead us in at an angle. That man saved my life. I was too tired to do more than whisper a thank you when we made the beach. He went off with a little wave and a "You'll be alright now", as I lay heaving on the sand, and I didn't see him again that day, even though I looked for him. I never even learned his name, but I'm alive today because he came along. (I didn't tell my parents of my near-death for years, out of fear that they'd ban me from ocean-swimming. In college I became a lifeguard, and then a life guard instructor and first aid and CPR instructor in an attempt to "pass it on.")

It was a year or so later, when I was twelve I think, that I first encountered The Eyes of the Amaryllis by Natalie Babbitt in the Banjul American Embassy School's library. Written in 1977, it was the first book I read by Natalie Babbitt. There were a couple of her other books on the shelf, but this one sounded the most intriguing, so I read it first. I was instantly captivated by the atmospheric, mysterious story that seemed to capture the hypnotic pull of the sea. It struck me powerfully at the time, I think because of my cumulative experiences with the ocean, and because I, like Jenny in the story, had grandmothers I didn't know very well.

The story takes place in 1880, when eleven year old Jenny (whose real name is Geneva) is being taken to stay with her paternal grandmother, the first Geneva, who has broken her foot and needs help until it mends. Jenny's Gran lives on a bluff in a bay on the Atlantic coast, in the same house she came to fifty years before as a bride.

"To be away from home--to stay with Gran and help her while her ankle mended--this seemed a very grownup thing to do, and Jenny had boasted about it to her friends. But in truth she was a little alarmed about that part, though her grandmother, whom she had seen before only for two weeks of the yearly Christmas season, had long been a figure of romance to her. Gran was not like other grandmothers, smelling of starch or mothballs, depending on the time of the year, and spending their time watering their plants. Gran stood straight and proud. Her face and arms were sunburned. And though she talked and listened, there always seemed to be something else on her mind, something far more absorbing than Christmas conversation.
But Jenny did not care for household chores, and was not at all sure that somewhere in her lay hidden the makings of a bedside nurse. So it wasn't that part of her adventure that excited her. No, the real enticement was the ocean. But this she could not admit. She was the only one of her friends who had never been to the shore. Preposterous, when it was only thirty miles from Springfield! But her father had never let her come, had always refused to discuss it."

Jenny quickly bonds with her unusual Gran, and learns that Gran has been waiting for years for a gift from the sea, a gift from her dead husband. (Thirty years before, Gran's sea captain husband drowned when his ship, the Amaryllis, sank just off the coast of home in a storm, as his wife and child watched from the bluff in helpless horror.) Ever since, Gran has searched the beaches every day at high tide, no matter the time or weather for some memento. (That is, in fact, how she broke her foot.) Now Gran needs Jenny to be her eyes and legs on the beach, and continue the search. But there is another searcher, a mysterious man named Seward, who could not let such a gift be taken from the sea.

I won't tell you anymore. It's the perfect book to read this time of year, if you want a little spookiness.

Twelve year old me loved this book, and because I loved it, I went on to read Tuck Everlasting, which I also loved. I was loath to re-read it as an adult, lest it lose the magic. I'm happy to report, however, that it holds up to adult reading very well, and I caught nuances of the relationship between Gran and her son (Jenny's father) that I didn't fully understand at the time of my first reading, and understand Gran's obsession a little better now, too.


Published in 1977 by Farrar, Straus and Girouux.

Day-to-Day Homeschooling: What I Don't Do

Let me say this straight up so there can be no confusion: I am not a homeschooling expert or domestic goddess. I would probably be thrown out of blogdom's homeschooling club, or at least pointed to as an example of what NOT to do. I'm kidding. Those of us in the homeschooling trenches know that home education looks different for every family, as it should, since we're dealing with individuals, not paper dolls.

• I can't/won't label the method of our homeschooling. I have never found a good one-size-fits-all method to homeschooling my girls. Every year that we do this -and we're in our third- looks slightly different, based on their growing needs and knowledge, and the reality of my strengths and weaknesses. Heck, every day looks slightly different. I identify with lots of methods (unschooling, Charlotte Mason, Montessori, Classical, etc.) but I refuse to stick to just one, because I think that would be doing my girls an injustice and besides, it's too boring. We pluck the pieces of any method that fit our situation on a day-by-day, sometimes hour-by-hour, basis. Does that sound like it would get confusing? It doesn't. It's just a natural extension of parenting. For example, this year I had decided to use Calvert School* with them. I'm not sure why, now. But once we got going, we hated it so much (because it felt like school and I hate teaching from textbooks) that we scrapped most of it. (I love the read-alouds that came with it, and Olivia loves the history book Famous Americans, that came with her course. She reads it all the time.) I do better when I set the curriculum, which really just means that I buy some workbooks for the areas I feel we need them, and use real books and real life for the rest.
• We do not homeschool for religious reasons. God had nothing to do with my decision to pull my girls out of public school. We homeschool because it's the best fit and option for our family, and a natural extension of life. (I only say this because of an emailed comment/question I received after my last post, and I want to make sure our motivations for homeschooling are clear.)
• Routine? What routine? Okay, we have a vague one: get up, get breakfast, do math, free time for the rest of the day interspersed with reading aloud, chores here and there, and eating here and there. Maybe an outing to the zoo or what not. I don't make lesson plans. Tried it early on in our homeschool adventure, didn't like it. I don't roll like that, and to me life can't be scripted; and that's what we're engaged in here: life. The free time the girls have allows them to indulge in areas of their own interest. And believe me, they do.
• I don't have a dedicated schoolroom. There is just Todd's and my office which I facetiously call "Homeschool Central" because that's where I keep most of the schoolish stuff we use. The girls do their work wherever they please: if it's math, they stretch out on the office floor for quick access to me when they're having problems, or they'll sit at the kitchen table if I'm in there putting together our crockpot supper. We have lap desks that get used occasionally.
• I don't push academics before they're ready. I'm mostly talking pre-school years here. I cringe whenever I hear someone say they're homeschooling their three or four year old. I firmly believe that the business of young children is play. Some children are ready for academics at younger ages, some are not. My girls have always given cues as to their readiness for certain subjects. As long as I pay attention, things flow smoothly, and real learning happens. (For an excellent post about the business of pre-schoolers, read this wonderful response by Professor Tim of Fanny Harville's Unschool Academy.)
• I don't feel the need to enroll them in every activity/class under the sun, out of fear that they'll miss out on something or fear of the dreaded "S" word. (That's "Socialization" for you homeschooling newbies -something non-homeschoolers squawk about as being a BIG PROBLEM, but veteran homeschoolers laugh at.) I have noticed a tendency in homeschooling circles to use one's busy-ness as as a badge of...what, I don't know. For me, this is definitely an area where less is better, especially when children are young. This may be because I'm an older mom who's not a Type A personality; I just don't see the point in all the bustle of constant activity. I think we humans need plenty of quiet and space to process life experiences, plan and dream. (Also, our weekends are spent as a family. We see so little of Todd during the week due to his job, that weekends are all about low key time with Daddy.) I also don't feel the need to indulge every interest they express. Sometimes I have to tell them, "That's something we'll explore when you're older."
• I don't do arts and crafts. That is to say, I love the idea, but hate the execution. Beyond providing art supplies, I don't do art with them, except things like demonstrating a technique (maybe), teaching them the basics of crocheting, or refilling Susanna's water bowl when she's painting, etc. My kids, being kids, love art and have learned to carry on despite my relative non-involvement. Art station? Hah!! I can't even keep colored pencils or crayons in one container. My kids drag art supplies from one end of the house to the other (yelling because so-and-so took their glue stick) because heaven forbid they should do art in the same space as each other. They feel the need for their own creative space, which consists of their bed, the bedroom floor, the closets, etc. which also means there are art supplies and scraps of paper/cardboard/yarn EVERYWHERE! We dispose of a full 30 gallon trash bag of art trash every week, some of it finished products because they create something, drop it somewhere and forget all about it. I have no problem, not one twinge of guilt with the liberal use of the round file. (On a side note: I'll bet I get the meanest mom award for not even allowing markers or glue sticks in my house until I felt sure that all desire for writing on walls, furniture, etc. was firmly squashed, which means only in this last year have my children discovered the "joys" of markers and glue sticks. And I don't do glitter. Ever. Or sequins.)
• I don't "play" with my children, except playing games (board games, card games, etc.), and the occasional tag and hide-and-seek, and reading aloud. I feel that inserting myself into their imaginary play is intrusive, and doesn't teach them how to be comfortable doing their own thing.
• I don't allow them much computer time: a half hour twice a week at the most. I think too much computer time hinders their attention spans. I laugh when people insist that children need to familiarize themselves with computers early, like it's so hard to learn. Hello, those of us who were adults when the WWW came into being managed to learn pretty quickly. I'm not a Luddite, I like technology; I just feel that technology has its place and time.
• I can't think of anything else at the moment. If you have any questions, feel free to ask them.

*Calvert uses a boxed, fully set, secular curriculum. They are the original makers of a complete boxed curriculum. Originally created for State Department kids overseas, they expanded into the U.S. homeschooling market, too.

Our Homeschooling Goals

Our family became homeschoolers in fits and starts. After a traumatic and disastrous time spent in public school, we knew we had to bring our girls home for good. But I knew I had to deal with the reality of homeschooling. Despite my teacher training in college, the reality of being my children's primary academic educator was a wee bit daunting, no matter how natural the idea felt. What should it look like, really?

Todd and I both felt strongly that we didn't want it to look like the public school system we had pulled them out of. I read everything I could get my hands on regarding alternative educational philosophies, e.g. John Holt, Charlotte Mason, Maria Montessori, Waldorf, etc. I read books of real parents in the homeschooling trenches.

I shared my findings with Todd and we had many long discussions, trying to wrap our minds around a completely different, but more natural, idea of what being educated means. More importantly, what should it look like for us?

We realized we needed to begin with the end in mind: in imagining our children grown, what was it we TRULY wanted them to be able to do, that we could give them REALISTICALLY? Thus our homeschooling "mission statement" was born.

• We wanted them to be comfortable with math and math concepts.
• We wanted them to be able to read and to (hopefully) enjoy reading. (If they learn to read, then the world of knowledge opens up for them.)
• We wanted them to have the skills necessary to find things out for themselves.
• We wanted them to have the life skills (balance a check book, read a map, follow a recipe, clean a toilet, etc.) that they’d need to negotiate life.

Then I gave myself permission to let the rest go. Their life is not going to be ruined if we cannot/will not provide them with every possible learning experience. My job is to teach them how to learn; they have the rest of their life to experience many, many things, (including arts and crafts and science projects.) The whole of life is a learning journey.

So right now we focus on real books (as opposed to textbooks,) life skills, and math, and plenty of time for them to pursue their own interests.

When Did I Become a Book Lover?

I silently pondered that question, driving home from the library this afternoon.

I think I always knew books were important. I saw my mother reading constantly. It was her leisure activity of choice. And I loved it when she read aloud to us. She is very good at it. I loved the cozy feeling of snuggling up next to her after my bath/shower and listening to her take me to other lands and lives. My little girl thoughts, however, were taken up with exploring and adventure --acting out any book adventures, and making up my own adventures. I grew up spending more time outside than inside. When the sub-Saharan rainy season hit, it was necessary to spend more time indoors, and that's when I explored our bookshelves. (We didn't have TV.)

Don't get me wrong; I loved to read any time of the year, and my parents provided plenty of variety in the way of picture books, children's literature, encyclopedias, reference books, maps, etc. Reading was something I just did, without conscious thought, as common as breathing air. But being outside was living life to the fullest, as far as I was concerned.

The concept of reading changed for me the year I was twelve and the Banjul American Embassy School (B.A.E.S.) was formed in The Gambia, West Africa. (We'd already been living in The Gambia for three years when the school opened. My mom was one of the people responsible for that happening.) In that newly formed school was a small room that had been dedicated as the library. As soon as I stepped across the threshold of the library that first school day, and saw the shelves filled with books, something snapped alive inside. I had never before been given access to so many books. I tingled with unknown anticipation. It occurred to me that on these shelves were book adventures for me alone to discover, that my reading life could be a whole new private realm of adventure; something of my very own that no one could/would share. It seemed like a powerful concept to my twelve-year-old mind.

I spent a lot of time in there over the next two years, and read many of the books on those shelves. The library shelf discoveries led me back to our bookshelves at home, too. I became aware of the many wonderful books that were on our shelves that I had ignored up to that point. I have read voraciously ever since.

Do I think it was the library that created that deep love of reading? No. I think the foundation had been laid for years from being read to aloud by my dedicated mother, and from the home library my parents provided. I give my mother the credit. She wisely never pushed me regarding books; never told me what to read (although she gave me occasional suggestions) and showed me by example how important a reading life was.

What that library at B.A.E.S. (poor and meager by U.S. standards) did was awaken a powerful hunger in my mind I'd never felt before. To this day, I get tingles when I walk into a library.

When you're the father of daughters...

...you find yourself reading books you never dreamed you would.

Vacation highlights, coming home, and more audio book listening

We are finally home from our month-long vacation out west. We had fun visiting family, catching up on all the happenings in their lives. My girls thought they died and went to Heaven when we stayed with my sister and they got to play with their girl cousins all day long. I loved the time I got to spend with my best friend (my sister) despite the many interruptions from various quarters of life. And I'm grateful to my bro-in-law for putting up with the added estrogen factor. We stayed at my sister's house for the first half of our visit, and then went to my parent's house for the last half.
I took my computer along with every intention of blogging during that time, but it was never really convenient.
My parents recently emptied their storage unit that they had had during their decades in Africa, moving the contents to their new-ish home. It was fun unearthing some of the treasures that haven't seen the light of day in 30 plus years, and hearing the stories behind some of the items I didn't recognize. And the books! So many old friends that I wanted to browse through, but couldn't due to a too-full house. (Next time I'm staying in the guestroom with the bookshelves, Mom!) I spent hours going through old school papers they'd kept for me, tossing out most of them. It was a fun walk down memory lane.
My older brother and his family came from Louisiana for the reunion, and we got to spend quality time with them as well.
And I got to meet my new little nephew, and nominally help my younger brother and his family move to their new house.
So, all in all, fun times were had, but in the end I was very ready to come home. It's hard to be away from home and Todd for so long (his work load wouldn't permit a vacation at this time), and my girls, despite all the bontemps, were chomping at the bit to come home to Daddy.
The drive back was sooo not fun; my girls were fractious and antsy and not behaving well, despite the following audio books:

1. What Katy Did At School, written by Susan Coolidge, read by Laurel Lefkow, produced by Naxos AudioBooks. My girls were anxious to hear the next installment of the Katy series. This story follows the adventures of Katy and her next sister Clover as they navigate the world of boarding school.

2. Best Loved Stories in Song and Dance, told by Jim Weiss, produced by Greathall Productions. The stories on this disc are The Twelve Dancing Princesses, The Sleeping Beauty, and Snow White and Rose Red.

3. The Mysterious Benedict Society, written by Trenton Lee Stewart, read by Del Roy, produced by Listening Library. I haven't read these books or heard much about them, other than one friend's recent recommendation, and so didn't know what to expect. I was hooked from the start. I loved this clever story and listened avidly. My girls, not so much. I'm not sure why, but they didn't follow the story very well, or listen very well. I think it was the anticipation of going home rather than the story itself. Now I'm dying to read the rest of the books, and see what other adventures the Mysterious Benedict Society has. Poor Grandma (my mom) was left hanging near the end, since we hadn't finished by the time we dropped her off in Nashville, and still had two hours left of the story. But we promised to buy her the books so she can find out what happens.
(I forgot to mention that the highlight of our drive, going and coming, was that my mom came with us. She flew to Nashville, where we picked her up, and she drove west with us. Then we did the same thing in reverse on the return trip. It was so wonderful having that time with her, since she had to work for most of our visit and wasn't able to spend a lot of time with us. It was fun listening to books with her.)

A Book Lover's Survey: Caution, Strong Passions Ahead!

Rachel Held Evans featured four intriguing questions on a blog post that I'm going to steal for my own post (Thanks, Rachel!), because as soon as I read them, I could immediately answer the questions. That doesn't happen to me very often.


Can you name...

1. A book you threw across the room in anger?
2. A book in which you underlined nearly every sentence?
3. A book you were surprised to love?
4. A book you're looking forward to reading?

1. A book I threw across the room in anger:
 On Becoming Baby Wise by Gary Ezzo

Not only did I throw this book across the room several times during the reading of it, when I was finished I threw it in the trash. I have only done that (the throwing and the throwing away) once in my life: with this book.

This book was recommended to me by another mother when my first daughter, Olivia, was a couple months old. I'd never heard of the book or the man before. I read the book, my mouth dropping open more and more in horror and disbelief.

I cannot say anything good about this vile book. It is the worst parenting book I have ever come across. And dangerous to the psychological and physical safety of children. Ezzo presents pseudo-scientific "facts" all throughout his book, (e.g. there is no such thing as a mother's intuition; wearing your baby in a sling puts you on a social scale with animals; don't demand-feed your newborn, make her know who's boss and stick strictly to a feeding schedule; infants should bend around your schedule not you around theirs; from the time they're born you babies and children should learn that your husband is your TOP priority, and your time together takes precedence over them, etc.) that fly in the face of commonsense and recommendations by the AAP. If you are a breastfeeding mother, and follow Ezzo's advice and schedule for feeding your baby, I guarantee you will very quickly lose your milk supply, and your baby will always be hungry. But the worst thing is his completely callous, completely detached parenting style he pushes. His attitude toward babies and young children is appalling. Following his advice could be dangerous, and could lead to a baby who suffers Attachment Disorder, resulting from emotional neglect.
The overall impression I got from reading this book -and yes, I read the vile thing all the way through- is that this man hates children and hates women. I can't believe this man has a following...well, yes I can, because he advocates parental selfishness, which obviously is very appealing to certain people. (If you don't want to take on the care of helpless little beings that depend on you for their every need, DON'T HAVE CHILDREN!!! 'Cause once you have them, it's not all about you anymore.)
Awful, awful book.

*Robert Bucknam's name is apparently just on there to throw his M.D. weight behind the claptrap that Ezzo espouses, giving the book "credibility." And shame on him for doing so.

2. A book in which I underlined nearly every sentence:

 A Circle of Quiet by Madeleine L'Engle

First written in 1971, this book is the first of L'Engle's Crosswicks Journals (there are four). I read it the first time as a Junior at university. (On my own, not as a class required reading.) I am not an underliner of books, but I did take copious notes in my journal as I read it. In the pages of this book, L'Engle ponders deeply on many subjects: art, writing, good and evil, spirituality, the whole creative process, one's sense of self, etc. I loved the way she worded her thoughts. And it resonated with that youthful me in many ways. By turns sure and questioning, the philosophical and religious self-examination was appealing to the young woman trying-to-find-her-way-in-life that I was then. It made me think of my concept of "self" in a new way, something my philosophy classes had not succeeded in doing.

I have since left religion and religious belief behind me, and don't know if I'd feel the same way about this book today as I once did. But once upon a time it touched me deeply enough to overcome my scruples and write in the book.

3. A book I was surprised to love:
 The Count of Monte Cristo by Alexandre Dumas

I read this for the first time when I was 17 years old, at my mom's suggestion. It didn't sound like it would appeal to me at all AND it was freaking LONG, so I only started reading it out of respect for my mom, telling myself that I could stop if it was too boring. But I very quickly got swallowed up in the story of Edmond Dantes, a young man in love who is betrayed by his best friend and sent to the Chateau d'If, an impregnable island prison, for treason. Years later, he finally manages a daring escape and returns to France after amassing a fortune and travelling abroad, to meticulously exact his revenge on the man who was once his best friend and everyone responsible for sending him to prison.

I haven't read this book since then, and I need to, just to see if I'll feel the same way about it.


4. A book I can't wait to read:

Oh my, how do I choose? For right now, I'll say all the ones from my recent library trip. 
I also have an Excel spreadsheet with over 400 entries and growing everyday, of books waiting to be read.