My seniors are reading Brave New World by Aldous Huxley. For those of you who remember the book, in Chapter 2 the Director of the Hatchery orders that the eight month old babies be brought into the room. Bowls of vibrant roses, as well as children's books with pictures, have been placed at one end of the room. The babies are set on the floor and permitted to crawl to the books and flowers, where within a few minutes loud sirens explode and an electrical shock is administered. They are conditioning the babies to dislike books and nature. My students are all horrified. The girls often physically react, crying out, objecting, declaring that they will not read this book, no matter what I say. Of course, a huge discussion ensues involving the use of satire and parody to educate people about their philosophy. Still, many of the girls demand to be given another book to read. I must make everyone promise to read at least the first three chapters and listen in class before they judge the book. It seems this is the first time that any of them have considered the possibilities involved with genetic engineering, cloning, asexual reproduction, etc.

I must say, that it is with relief that I witness this rebellion! What if they didn't rebel? What if they just accepted these words, as they do rap songs that denigrate women, and movies that promote violence as the order of the day? Still the question of their ability to see the connections in literature to life bothers me. It takes lots of leading, lots of pushing, to get them to see that Huxley foresaw free love, foresaw recreational drugs, foresaw a society of complete conformity, a world state. He shows them the consequences. I hope they see the connection. It frightens me to think that these same kids, next year, will be helping to choose a president, or senator, or mayor or councilman, and may not have read what the man or woman has said or written.

We say that teaching higher level thinking skills is one of the objectives of education. Yet we let the media educate our students with sound bites of their favorite candidates. The media is thus given enormous power to influence voters. Will my students remember Brave New World? Will they be able to read for themselves and analyze each candidates positions? Will they fight against becoming controlled masses manipulated by Washington lobbyists and the Fox news network. I certainly hope so. Feel good drugs (Soma in Brave New World) are already a part of our daily lives. I guess feel good politicians is just the next step.

Sunshine Rider

I've been considering the word, sister, and decided that it has so many meanings that perhaps if we consider, each meaning will bring a memory. Of course, there is the birth sister, the one who is your dear friend and your worst enemy. The one who sends you her last twenty dollars, but lies to your children, or husband, or parents. She is the one person your don't have to pretend for. If you feel generous, she knows, if you feel bitchy, she knows, and sometimes she is the recipient of these feelings. It is hard for me to think about my sisters. One I have not seen in five years, and the other is just barely returning to my world, cautiously testing the waters to see if she is ready to expose herself.

But there are other sisters. The first time I heard a hospital nurse referred to as a Sister, was in Adelaide South Australia where a dear friend had been bitten by an Australian brown snake. It is a very poisonous snake, so it was questionable for a while if he was going to make it. When the nurses came in he would always smile and call them sister, cooperate in every way, and seem to let down when they left the room. He was raised during war, and to him, the sisters were true Angels.

Then there are the Mormons, whose women refer to each other as Sister. Living on a ranch with a difficult husband and two small children, they were my nearest neighbors, and they reached out their hands to me when I needed friendship and comfort. I went to church with them, to "Women's Relief Society" on Wednesdays, and shared in their collective canning and preserving, sewing, or reading sessions. They were an important part of my survival in a place that was lonely. I never joined the church... couldn't accept Joseph Smith's various experiences and teachings, but I came to accept them as true believers, women for whom the word sister had real meaning, not just figurative meaning.

Of course, there are sister cities, sister hospitals, sister states, and you can fill in more here. One of my neighbors, defending another woman whose opinions were particularly abrasive to me, said, "Well, she is a sister and we need each other." My mind said, "Not me! I don't need her!" And hence another idea of sisterhood. But to me, girl friends are not sisters. They are partners with whom I participate in life's spectacles, good, bad, and indifferent. I need them.

Sherry reminded me of holiday's past and some of their joys and sorrows. The one I remember the best was when my youngest son was two and we lived near the border in South Texas. My husband had died of a heart attack, leaving me with a large mortgage, no money, and five children. Christmas was bleak. I managed to buy one gift for each child, small things like coloring books, or socks, or a record. Then two weeks before Christmas, at basketball practice, (I was the girl's bb coach), a ball inadvertently hit me in the face and broke my glasses. I am blind without them.

Two days later I got in to see the eye doctor, a young man who had only been in practice a few months, and he checked my eyes, prescribing new glasses. I cried right there in his chair. I did not have the money for glasses, and my own were totaled. He was so kind, reassuring me that if I talked to the girl up front they would arrange payments. He and I talked for about twenty minutes, and I poured out my heart and my problems, as he listened. Ten days later my glasses were ready and I went to pick them up. Just as promised they arranged for me to pay only a little at a time.

Christmas eve was sad at our house. A tiny tree left over from my h.s. hallway, no huge gifts under the tree, and no turkey getting ready for the oven in the morning. I read "The Night Before Christmas" to the kids and everyone went to bed. I sat downstairs reading a bit, feeling sorry for myself, and there was a tap on the front door. Standing on the porch was my eye doctor, with a huge bag filled with gifts for my children. It was Christmas! We put them all around the tree and he told me he too was from a big family, and they were grown now, and lived out of town. He wanted to shop for kids again and we turned up at just the right time!

He brought food to cook, and returned the next day to Christmas dinner. We have remained friends ever since. He still lives in Texas, and my youngest son still considers him the Dad he never had. "Surely goodness and mercy will follow me all the days of my life, and I shall dwell in the house of the Lord, forever." - Psalms

Sunshine

Well, I'm not in Capistrano, but every fall the swallows collect beside our canyon/wash and gather for over a week. They swoop down in front of my car and swirl around near the hills and cactus. Then one day, they'll all be gone. I don't know where they migrate to, but they are wonderful to watch as they congregate and fill the neighborhood. They consume all the bugs around and for a while at least we are bug free. We see bats now too, and of course, the lesser night hawks. I wish I was like you, crusty, and had skill with a camera, but my camera is in my head, which by now is overstuffed with a lifetime of seeing things. In the mountains now (where we went last week) the cormorants are migrating toward the coast and ducks are passing through, resting on the lakes overnight. In a few more months my husband and I and friends will head south to Wilcox where we watch the Sandhill Cranes that migrate to the playa. It seems the movement of the birds dictate the seasons of my life. Interesting thought.

Sunshine.

Today was the day of my enlightenment. The boys discovered yoyo’s. Seems oldest (seven) got one at school last year. He wanted to upgrade but mom said too much money. Little brother (4) has to do whatever big brother does. It turns out my husband had a stash of yoyo’s in the office. He had some cheap ones, and a MILLENIUM ADDITION Y-2K special. So it began. Oldest practiced on the cheap one while his little brother spent his whole time rolling his up. Then my husband demonstrated: walk the dog, rock the cradle, around the world, etc.. With eyes wide the oldest took the special edition in his hand and spent the next two hours walking around the house practicing. He can now walk the dog and do some minor tricks. My husband wouldn’t concede ownership of his special edition, which meant a trip to the mall.

Never in my life did I realize there were so many different kinds of yo yo’s. They came in different shapes, colors, with or without ball bearings, with or without noises, lights flashing, designer labels. They cost $8 – $45 . They were sleepers, they were automatic returners, they were tricksters. I had no idea what to buy, but the guy in the store loved my kind of customer. He spun, danced, walked, threw those yo yo’s all over the store. They whistled and flashed and we all stood wide eyed in awe and admiration. We went home with three, one for me, and one for each boy. I feel enlightened. My finger is now permanently indented with a string mark. The boys have already learned to use band aids.

In the course of all this I had to Google yoyo, and learned that the ancient Greeks had them in 2500 BC and that the kind we use now probably came from the Philippines. You can check it out yourself, but things haven’t really changed that much. A yo yo is a yo yo, right? Wrong! It is an eternal phenomenon that keeps kids quiet for HOURS! Go yo yo!

Sunshine