Free online courses

I've just discovered this site, which collects free online courses.  It looks very useful, and I'll probably sign up to some of the courses.

Typical day

On the National Council of Home Educators New Zealand website there is a page of a variety of New Zealand homeschoolers' "typical days".

I was asked to send them my "typical day" story for their website, which I did.  But I was probably too wordy (!), since they haven't added mine up there.  So, here is what I wrote:

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On a typical day in our family, we have a mix of strictly timetabled events, important/necessary events that should be fitted into the day at some time, and optional extras that would be nice to do.

The strictly timetabled events take two forms.  Firstly, my wife and I both work from home as teachers, with my wife the primary income earner (my wife teaches Chinese and I teach critical thinking).  We have a classroom set up in our home, with paying students coming and going at various times of the day for classes or individual lessons.  Our children are sometimes involved in the classes as either teaching assistants or learners.  The second type of strict timetabling is that the children have outside organised activities (currently swimming, ballet, music, netball, basketball, athletics, tennis, sewing, gymnastics) most days, which I take them to.

The important daily events (besides, of course, our usual household duties, which everyone helps out with) include the core academic subjects.  At some point during the day (seven days a week, all year round), I work with the children on their maths and English.  The children need their free play time each day, and this involves both imaginative/creative play and outdoor physical play (we live next door to a school, so in addition to our own backyard, we also make use of the school's fields and playgrounds).  Throughout the day, I am also always on the lookout for those teachable moments, where something will inspire us to have an impromptu lesson on any subject; many hours are spent in our family observing and discussing anything and everything in the world around us.

Most days the children practice their musical instruments, and they also spend time learning touch typing.  Perhaps every second day my wife works with the children on their Chinese (our children are bilingual English/Chinese).  I frequently use P4C (Philosophy for Children) inspired lessons to teach the children critical thinking.

The optional extras typically include day-trip outings, including nature walks, the beach and playgrounds.  We often have overseas visitors staying with us, who we might show around our local area.

We probably spend about six weeks away from our home each year, with three main travel events.  We spend a few weeks each year in China (we lived in China up until the end of 2014), we have a one-week campervan road trip, and we have a couple of weeks camping over summer.

Do I believe in God?

In the past few days, I have been revisiting some thoughts I thought I had already thought about before.

Every once in a while I am asked the question, "do you believe in God?"  And I always have a hard time answering it.  It seems like such a simple yes/no question, but neither answer seems to do justice to what I really believe.

While re-reading more properly Robert Paul Wolff's small book Moneybags Must Be So Lucky (which I highly recommend), I came across a side-point example, being used to explain his main point.

Wolff writes:

Imagine, for example, that I have been raised in the Catholic faith, and have arrived at my present atheistical condition through a lengthy and painful process of questioning and selfcriticism.  The symbols, the myths, the liturgy, the language of Catholicism retain for me, as for many lapsed Catholics, a residual power that I cannot wholly subdue, and whose direct and indirect effects in part define who and how I am. If I am asked, “Do you believe in God?” how can I answer in such a way as to communicate this complex state of affairs, with the weights and resonances of the several portions of my religious condition given their proper magnitude? 

Simply to answer, “No, I do not” would be, strictly speaking, to lie. It would be to lie by omission, but to lie nonetheless. Such an answer in no way distinguishes me from one who has had no religious upbringing and who has never believed. To say, “I once did, but I no longer do” comes closer, but still misrepresents the true situation by treating the remnants of Catholicism as no longer present in me, as having been externalised and destroyed.

We might think that a true, though tedious, answer to the question would be a thorough unpacking of the situation in flat, declarative prose, more or less as I have been doing in these past few paragraphs. But that really will not do. To speak that way is to invent a voice that is neither the voice of the victorious portion of myself, nor the voice of the subdued portion, but is the voice of an external observer, a scientific reporter, a neutral party not implicated either in the original Catholic faith nor in its rejection. It is the voice of the cultural anthropologist describing native customs, of the social theorist denying complicity in the popular culture of his own society by his very manner of reporting it. Insofar as I purport to be voicing my religious condition in that voice, I am lying. In all likelihood, I would be deceiving myself at least as much as my audience. What is more, the declarative unpacking of the complexities of my loss of faith would entirely miss the sensuous immediacy of feeling that is an essential part of my present rejection of, and residual clinging to, Catholicism. 

Consider now what might be accomplished by means of the adoption of an ironic voice. Asked whether I believe in God, I might reply – employing, ever so faintly exaggeratedly, the singsong tone of the Apostle’s Creed – “I believe in God the Father Almighty Creator of Heaven and Earth and in Jesus Christ…” These few words, uttered thus, would capture, for an audience capable of understanding what I was saying, the entire state of affairs: that I once was an unreflective communicant of the Roman Catholic faith, that I no longer am, that I view my former beliefs with amusement, rather than with superstitious fear, but that those beliefs, and the associated rituals, still have some power for me, so that what I now am and believe can only be understood as a development out of that earlier, credulous state. To a naive audience, it would of course appear that I was simply answering the question in the affirmative. 

Since this point is, in fact, the pivot on which my entire argument turns, I shall belabour it a bit at the risk of growing tiresome. The literary complexity of an ironic reply to the question, “Do you believe in God?” is required by the complexity of the speaking subject who gives the reply. If the self were substantively simple, so that either it believed or did not, asserted or did not, and so on, then simple declarative discourse would suffice. Even if this simple self had emerged from a complex process of development, in the course of which first one belief, then another, first one passion, then another, had held sway, even then, so long as the product of the developmental process were simple, unambiguous discourse would suffice to express its present state. The complexity of the historical development of the self would require no special complexity of expression, so long as that complexity were fully represented in the unified nature of the present ego. But if the speaking self is complex, many-layered, capable of reflection, self-deception, ambivalence, of unconscious thought processes, of projections, introjections, displacements, transferences, and all manner of ambiguities – in short, if the history of the self is directly present as part of its current nature – then only a language containing within itself the literary resources corresponding to these complexities will suffice to speak the truth. [my emphasis]

In the example we have been discussing, the immediately experienced tension between the antireligious conviction to which I have won my way by an inner struggle and the old, defeated but not banished faith that still asserts its claim upon my allegiance is a part of what I actually believe. It is false to suggest that I believe the proposition “There is no God” neutrally, unambivalently, purely assertorically, but also that, as an added and separable fact of my consciousness, I am experiencing certain inner feelings that can be characterised, phenomenologically, as feelings of tension or conflict. The tension is a tension in the belief, in such a manner that my belief differs in its nature from that of a complacent atheist who has never known God. It would be strictly false to say that we two believe the same proposition, and it would be manifestly obvious that we might fail to communicate with one another if each of us were to say to the other, in turn, “I do not believe in God “

This rings true for me.  I was raised in a Christian faith, and have arrived at my present atheistical condition through a (now distant, and occasionally painful) lengthy process of questioning and self-criticism.  And not only is my current state a development out of that earlier state, but I am also sure that a lot of those early beliefs and attitudes remain.

However, I wasn't raised in the Catholic tradition, meaning that all those fancy ceremonies and traditions are alien to me.  The version of Christianity that I was raised in was ceremonially simple, and the Apostle's Creed is not a part of me.

Moreover, I don't now view my former beliefs with amusement, so that singsong irony doesn't sit comfortably with me.

And there is family to consider, too.

So, Wolff's example ironic response would not work for me.

And I am struggling to think up any alternative.

The best I can think up is to say that I was born into Christ's house, and when I left home Christ came with me.

Not perfect, but I think I sort of get the right ironic tone of voice with that.

Flute update

Sometimes the Chinese friend network doesn't work.

You might remember I wrote here about how we bought a flute for Mulan in China.  We got it from a friend of Laolao's friend, who used to make flutes.  At the time we chose to trust him completely with what would be best for Mulan, as we don't know enough about flutes to trust ourselves.

When Mulan tried the flute out before we bought it, she commented that it was hard to play the low notes.  The friend's response at the time was that Mulan has been used to playing a Yamaha, which has larger keys, and it will just take a bit of time for her to get used to this other one.  Fair enough we thought, so we bought it.

When we got back to New Zealand, Gugu, who has played the flute for many years and teaches it part time, had a look at the new flute.  She immediately spotted three problems with it:

• The low notes are hard to play because a key isn't sealing properly, as it is not properly aligned.
• A pad is cracked, and will need replacing soon.
• Another pad is sticky and loose, and will also need replacing soon.

The clear message is that this is an old flute that at the very least needs a good servicing.  And that would cost about half again what we paid for it.  Either the friend should service it or give us a refund.  The friend chose to give a refund.

So, with no one else to trust to help us get a good cheap flute, in the end we went with the tried and trusted and bought a Yamaha.

Mama bought a YFL-212DR online for 2468 Yuan.  It also came with a music stand, which the girls are delighted with.  Hopefully we will have many years of trouble-free playing with this flute.

Maths update

Here's another update to what I wrote four months ago on Mulan and Miya's maths learning.

Both Mulan and Miya are still using Khan Academy, logging in and doing a few problems every day, seven days a week.  Some days this might just be a few minutes each, while other days it may be 30 minutes or so.  But the important thing is that they do something every day.

I sit alongside the girls 90% of the time while they are doing their work.  Even though Khan Academy is theoretically a self-teaching resource, with video lessons, etc, I am still there alongside as the primary teacher.

Both girls have now got to their right level with their learning, both completing all the way from the beginning at US Grade K.  What they are each doing is challenging for them, but still doable.  As of today, Mulan is 92% through US 6th Grade, while Miya is 52% through US 3rd Grade (making them both, as far as I can see, about two years or so above their age level).

Now that the girls are at their right level, we have slowed down with introducing and mastering new skills.  What we now do for both girls is this:

1. We look through the skills at their grade level that they have not yet started, and choose one that looks good.
2. On one day, they complete the "Practice" problems for that skill.  Sometimes they may need me to explain things a bit, possibly working through some problems together before they can do it for themselves.  Occasionally we may watch the video lesson together, to give another perspective on how to do it.
3. For the next two or three days, they then complete "Mastery" problems, one per day.  They level up that skill until it is mastered, while at the same time review other skills that have previously been mastered.
4. When that skill has been mastered, we return to step 1, choosing another skill to work on.

At the rate we are now going, my rough guess is that the girls might complete a grade every eight to ten months.

Mental health

This short and clearly written article explains why mental health is necessarily a moral issue.  Quoting from the article:

The positive conception of mental health is dangerous, because it takes the concept of health, which we usually treat as objective and scientific, and applies it to the questions of how we should think and how we should live. It hides moral and political ideals beneath a veneer of medical inevitability.

Beijing again

Mulan, Miya and I have just got back home from a two and a half week trip to Beijing, China.

We left Mama up there, as once again she is looking after Laolao for a bit.  I'm solo-dadding again until Mama returns home at the end of the month.

While I have been to Beijing many times over the past ten years (eg here and here), usually staying for weeks at a time, this was the first time that I (and the girls) had been there in winter.  The girls and I had been hopeful of even getting to have a first white Christmas, but sadly it wasn't to be.  We just had to content ourselves with a cold, grey Christmas.

But even though the ground was never white during our time there, twice it did snow for a bit, with little flutters of whiteness that melted the moment they touched the ground.

(Yep, those white dots are snowflakes.)

We were up in Beijing for two reasons:

Firstly, it was our yearly back-to-China holiday, to let the girls stay connected with their Chinese side.

Secondly, it was to help out Laolao, who has been having chemo treatment for her cancer, which returned a few months ago.  So far, Laolao is doing okay, though she is very weak with it all.

Pollution:
This time in Beijing, the big thing is pollution:

(From my bedroom window.  That's the morning sun trying to break through the pollution on New Year's Day.)

To fight the PM2.5s in the home, we bought Laolao a machine that supposedly filters out the bad stuff and purifies the air.  The machine lit up with a red PM2.5 light when the pollution at home was bad, and orange when it was just moderate.  We pushed the machine from room to room, clearing each zone in turn, and watching the light eventually changing from red to orange.

Here in New Zealand, before we go out we check the weather for rain.  In Beijing, before we go out we check the pollution.  On really bad days, we stayed inside with the windows sealed shut and our PM2.5-clearing machine busily working.  On moderately bad days, if we had to go out we would wear face masks that (hopefully) filtered out the pollution.  On a few days that we were there, the wind had blown the pollution away temporarily, and there was blue sky; on those days we raced out to the playgrounds and parks.

From my perspective, we went to two notable places during our time there.

Olympic Park:
Firstly, like I always do when I am in Beijing these days, I wandered around the Olympic Park area.  It is a great place to get away from it all, and I went three times:

Once with Mama, when we had a date-walk.

Once with the family, with the girls enjoying seeing the frozen lakes, ice and snow.

(That is snow-machine made snow, spilt over from a children's amusement park.)

And once on my own, when I did an 11 km round-trip walk from home, up the dragon's body, around the dragon's head and back home again.  I ate lunch overlooking the dragon's frozen body, and sat near the dragon's head reading.

(For those who don't know, the dragon is the Olympic Park lake, which starts with the tail at the Bird's Nest Stadium and travels about 3 or 4 km past several Olympic buildings and into the forest park area.)

There were skaters in action on the dragon's body, next to one of the many "no skating" signs:

But sadly for this businessperson, the security guards drove up a few minutes later and (slowly) shut his business down, confiscating some of his seat-sleds and herding everyone up onto land.  This was probably wise, as the temperature there at that time was 15 degrees and the ice must have been melting.

National Museum:
The second notable place we visited was the National Museum of China, and it was the first time I had been inside. But sadly I don't have any photos of it, as I discovered when I got there that the camera had no memory card -- Mama had been looking at our photos and the card was still in her computer!

One of Laolao's friends used to work at the National Museum before she retired.  (In her day there were 83 staff, now there are over 1000.)  It is all about who you know in China, and so by going with her we were able to enter via the staff entrance and bypass the long queues of people waiting to go in.  We were also able to eat lunch in the staff buffet-style canteen.  (Apparently, staff pay 1 Yuan for their meals there, which cost the museum 25 Yuan per meal.)

In my opinion, based on a brief half-day visit, the museum is an impressive and fairly awe-inspiring building, but the contents didn't jump out at me and the information signs were unhelpful.  As far as museums go, it was one of the worst I have been to in recent years for displaying its contents in an inspiring and educational way.

The children's section of the museum was closed, as we were there on a Sunday.  But it did not look very interesting anyway -- mostly just classroomish-looking seating facing screens for showing videos.

The most interesting and fun section for us was the display of hundreds of gifts that international politicians have given Chinese politicians over the years.  The display setup itself wasn't that interesting, but we played a fun game of guess-the-country-of-the-gift.  There were lots of elephants from Thailand, wooden animal carvings from various African nations, maple leaves from Canada, a Taj Mahal from India and a picture of Nixon from the USA.  We spotted two Maori-influenced gifts from New Zealand.

Another section we visited was a brightly lit room (all the other areas were quite dimly lit) with pictures commemorating the Liberation of 1949.  Last-supper-style, directly opposite the entrance doorway there was a big picture of Mao and several dozen leaders of the day.  And hung around the other walls there were lots of other inspiring pictures of people struggling and dying under attack from bullets and bombs.

Mama had wanted to see the furniture section, and I had wanted to see the oracle bones section, but Miya had had enough of it all after about five hours so we skipped them.

Music instruments:
Finally, the other noteworthy thing we did while in Beijing was buy Miya a violin and Mulan a flute.

Miya's violin was bought unseen online.  For Miya, we just needed a fairly cheap 1/4 size instrument to start her off in her first year of learning.  At 520 Yuan, it was cheaper to buy than to hire one for 10 months from the music centre.  In our non-expert opinion, it sounds okay, and hopefully it will last her a couple of years until she grows into the next size.

Mulan's flute needed to be something that will last her for at least several years.  We were tossing up whether to go for one of the reliable Yamaha ones (at over 3000 Yuan) or risk it with a no-name brand version for less than half the price.

Fortunately, again, our Chinese social network helped out.  A friend of a friend of Laolao's used to own a wind-instrument manufacturing company, before he retired.  He is also a flute player.  His non-branded instruments got sold to several overseas companies to stamp their brands on and sell to their own local markets.  We bought one of his remaining non-branded flutes for 1500 Yuan.  Being a friend of a friend we are pretty sure we can trust him when he says it will last.

Our musician friend/expert has also got into violins in his retirement, and he showed off his collection of a dozen or so pieces, including some over 400 years old.  Very beautiful, both in look and sound.  Miya was very interested in it all, and said she would like to do that when she is older.