TulipGirl

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Now that we’re living in the States again, I often find myself losing track of what’s going on in other parts of the world. The only reason I was even aware of the Iranian election was due to a good friend who is from Iran, and his updates on the hopes for a fair election and the potential to have a level-headed, reformist president.

However, when there were outcries about a fraudulent election, I became immediately and emotionally involved. The first reports sounded too familiar, eerily like the Orange Revolution after Ukraine’s 2004 election. We were there. We saw how people peacefully poured into the streets, protesting, uniting, banding together.

It’s different for me with Iran. . . I’m not there. I don’t know what news sources to trust. I’m not intimately familiar with the people on the streets. But, I know my Iranian friends (in the US, in Ukraine) and I know they are connected with people involved in the protests and understand the nuances of the situation that I do not.

The tent city in Ukraine, the peaceful protests lasted weeks, months. There were threats of violence, but thank God that nothing happened beyond threats. No violence from the protesters. No violence from the militzia. No troops from Russia.

Sadly, the same is not the case in Iran. Already there has been a violent crackdown on the protesters. Global Voices, a trusted citizen-based news source for worldwide reporting, has gathered links and videos.

In Iran, green is the color of hope, of a spring time of change, of reform. Already this Green Revolution has been stained by the violence against the reformers. Praying for peace, for freedom, for hope. . . for the people in Iran.

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A grandmother in Iran, 2009
(photo courtesy the Atlantic)

A grandmother in Ukraine, 2004

After talking with boys about Van Gogh, I often find myself humming a song from the mid-90s.– I don’t remember whether I heard this song in concert with VoL, or whether I just remember it from the cd. This vid of Bill Mallonee playing Skin is worth watching the full 9:21 run time.

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“Hey, Look! It’s Van Gogh!”

That’s what C8 said, as he brought me a sadly neglected Christmas leftover, a snowman pencil topper missing one of its pom-pom ear muffs. I guess the books we’ve been reading and pictures we’ve been observing have been making an impression.

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We’ve been using Ambleside Online Yr. 5 as the framework for our homeschooling since January. It’s been a good fit, the right balance between structure and flexibility, keeping the boys studying similar things but on their own levels. AO encourages the exposure to and study of an artist each term.

Our local museum doesn’t have a Van Gogh in its permanent collection, and unfortunately not in its special exhibitions either right now. My favorite Van Gogh is at my favorite museum, The Church in Auvers-sur-Oise at Musée d’Orsay.

The screensaver on the kids’ computer rotate Van Gogh works and the boys know them better than I do now, and these are some of their favorites. . .

C8 was making me coffee the other night. Yes, my youngest is quite often tasked with making me coffee–and is quite skilled in the complexities of our stove-top moka pot. He knows just how much sugar and milk to add to each Mommy’s and Daddy’s mugs; our own budding barista.

He burst into my room upset, “Ugh. The coffee tastes disgusting! Why did you put the salt into the round container?!” I was puzzled until he brought in the old coffee tin we use as a sugar bowl. Sure enough, it was filled with sea salt.

“Boys! Come here!”

I knew, I just knew. . . but I wasn’t sure. “T11, did you put salt in the sugar tin?”

“No, Mom.”

Hmmm. . . All of the boys seemed unaware of what was going on.

“Look at my eyes, T11, and say, ‘I promise I didn’t put salt in the sugar tin.’” I wasn’t singling him out. Well, I was. He’s the one mischievous enough to try something like this; and he’s the one who feels so strongly about his honor that he will not promise anything unless he knows he can follow through on it.

“Mom, I can’t say that. . .”

He grinned.

I started cracking up. “Boys, you totally pulled a Fred-and-George!”

J13 started laughing, R10 started jumping up and down, and T10 said, “Yeah! I’m Fred, he’s George. . .” R10 piped in, “And I’m Lee Jordan!” C8 glowered a bit.

And so, this was our first family practical joke.