There and Back Again - Homeschool Blogger

We Wish To Make An Announcement�

Sun, 15 Jul 2007 14:45:00 -0500

Alas, eleventy-one months is far too short a time to spend among such excellent, such admirable hobbits. We don’t know half of you half as well as we should like and we like less than half of you half as well as you deserve. We…have things to do. We regret to announce — this is The End. We are going now. We bid you all a very fond farewell. GOODBYE.

-Frodo And Legolas

Land of Marvels

Sun, 15 Jul 2007 09:07:00 -0500

Iguazu Falls

A little more than half a century ago, there lived a man called Richard Halliburton, a man who lived his dreams. When he was a child he promised himself that one day he would travel the world, and when he became a man, he did.

He went to see awesome waterfalls, mountains, rivers, statues, castles, cathedrals, temples, cities, and other amazing sights around the world. His life was one of adventure. He climbed the Matterhorn, the beautiful volcanic Mt. Popo in Mexico, the rock of Gibraltar, and the dome of St. Peter’s Cathedral. He swam the Panama Canal, witnessed the building of the Golden Gate Bridge, and went to the ‘ornament and honor of France,’ Reims Cathedral, the place in which Joan of Arc witnessed the crowning of Charles VII.

He not only dived 70 feet into the Well of Death in Mexico to see what it was like to be a sacrifice, but he dived into it twice! He went to Christophe’s Castle in Haiti, the Grand Canyon, Iguazu Falls, (see picture above) and Carcassone, the French city of romance. He crossed the Alps on an elephant to see how Hannibal must have felt on his way to attack Rome, and he went to see the ancient Parthenon in Greece. He visited the ruins of Pompeii, under the shadow of Mt. Vesuvius, and he explored the unearthly fairy caverns of the Blue Grotto. He traveled to many other places also that I do not have the time to mention, but the places I have mentioned are only a few.

In 1937, he published his adventures in a book called the Occident, or the Book of Marvels. Occident means west, because the places he spoke of in the book were the places he had been to on the western side of the world. I read it this year, and his glowing description of the world’s wonders was truly breath-taking.

But he did more than that. The Occident was only half of his travels. He wrote another book called the Orient. Orient means east, because this book covered his adventures on the other side of the world, the oriental side. Unfortunately, I have not had the chance to read it, but I am sure it is worth reading! I recommend both of them!

- Legolas

Live Your Dreams...

Wed, 11 Jul 2007 06:29:00 -0500

BEND, Ore. (AP) -- Last weekend, Bend gas station owner Kent Couch settled down in his lawn chair with some drinks and snacks - and a parachute.

Attached to the lawn chair were 105 balloons of various colors, each 4 feet around. Bundled together, the balloons rise three stories high.

Couch carried a global positioning system device, a two-way radio, a digital camcorder and a cell phone. He also had instruments to measure his altitude and speed and about four plastic bags holding five gallons of water each to act as a ballast - he could turn a spigot, release water and rise.

Destination: Idaho.

Nearly nine hours later, Couch was short of Idaho. But he was 193 miles from home, in a farmer's field near Union, having crossed much of Oregon at 11,000 feet and higher...

...Why would Couch try such a flight?

"When you're a little kid and you're holding a helium balloon, it has to cross your mind," he told the Bend Bulletin.

We Want You!

Wed, 4 Jul 2007 09:34:00 -0500

Thanks to THE BACKYARD for featuring our blog this week. If you haven't visited there yet, or not in a while please take a trip over. They have neat contests and entries. You can contribute too and have your work published. You'll be famous! ;- )

Now, WE WANT YOU! to please send us any poetry that you have written since we are the poetry moderators. We will post it at The Backyard on Wednesdays. Every week we post a new poem, so please don't be shy. Pull out those poems that you are keeping to yourself and share them with the world. By the way, you must login in order to see The Backyard weblog to keep it safe for youth.

Oh, and HAPPY INDEPENDENCE DAY to those who are Americans! Nobody celebrates it over here so feel sorry for us while you are watching fireworks.

Frodo and Legolas

Are You Missing Out On Life?

Tue, 3 Jul 2007 09:58:00 -0500

You haven’t really lived until you’ve read The Ballad of the White Horse.

The Ballad of the White Horse is Chesterton’s magnificent retelling of King Alfred’s heroic stand against the Danish pirates. But it’s more than that. In beautiful rhythmic verse, this writing master presents us with profound ideas about mankind, life and eternity. Chesterton weaves truths into old legends and creates an unforgettable tale out of the two. He uses a powerful rhyming scheme that makes his readers think deeply about the words they read and not just gloss over them.

The book starts by introducing the White Horse (England):

“Before the gods that made the gods

Had seen their sunrise pass,

The White Horse of the White Horse Vale

Was cut out of the grass.”

It then goes on to introduce the raiding Danes:

“The Northmen came about our land,

A Christless chivalry:

Who knew not of the arch or pen

Great, beautiful, half-witted men

From the sunrise and the sea.”

Alfred struggles against them but to no avail and the chiefs of his country are no longer interested in fighting the pirates. It is then that he sees a vision and sets out to rouse his warriors.

Alfred goes into the Danes camp with his harp as a stranger minstrel and listens to the conversation of the Danish King Guthrum and his chief. First Ogier, a soured, pessimistic old warrior delivers a speech of gloom and desolation and finishes by saying:

“ ‘And you that sit by the fire are young,

And true loves wait for you

But the king and I grow old, grow old,

And hate alone is true.’

And Guthrum shook his head and smiled,

For he was a mighty clerk,

And he had read lines in the Latin books

When all the north was dark.

He said, ‘I am older than you, Ogier;

Not all things would I rend,

For whether life be bad or good,

It is best to abide the end.’…

…‘It is good to sit where the good tales go,

To sit as our fathers sat;

But the hour shall come after his youth,

When a man shall know not tales but truth,

And his heart fail thereat…

…And a man hopes, being ignorant,

Till in white woods apart

He finds at last the lost bird dead:

And a man may still lift up his head

But never more his heart.’…

…And slowly his hands and thoughtfully

Fell from the lifted lyre

And the owls moaned from the mighty trees

Till Alfred caught it to his knees

And smote it as in ire…

…‘When God put man in a garden

He girt him with a sword,

And sent him forth a free knight

That might betray his lord;

He brake Him and betrayed Him,

And fast and far he fell,

Till you and I may stretch our necks

And burn our beards in hell.

But though I lie on the floor of the world,

With the seven sins for rods,

I’d rather fall with Adam

Than rise with all your gods.

What have the strong gods given?

Where have the glad gods led?

Till Guthrum sits on a hero’s throne

And asks if he is dead?…

…On you is fallen the shadow,

And not upon the Name;

That though we scatter and though we fly

And you hang over us like the sky,

You are more tired of victory,

Than we are tired of shame.

That though you hunt the Christian man

Like a hare on the hill-side,

The hare has still more heart to run

Than you have heart to ride.’”

My favorite part of the book is towards the end. Alfred’s army has been defeated, his chiefs have been killed and their men have fled. Alfred sees them running and calls them back, blowing his horn and saying:

“ ‘Brothers at arms,’ said Alfred,

‘On this side lies the foe;

Are slavery and starvation flowers,

That you should pluck them so?…

…Before the red cock crows

All we, a thousand strong,

Go down the dark road to God’s house,

Singing a Wessex song.

To sweat a slave to a race of slaves,

To drink up infamy?

No, brothers, by your leave,I think

Death is a better ale to drink,

And by all the stars of Christ that sink,

The Danes shall drink with me…

…And now I blow the hunting sign,

Charge some by rule and rod;

But when I blow the battle sign,

Charge all and go to God!’”

I cannot summarize any more of the story for fear I should give into the temptation to copy out the entire thing! I must close with this warning- you will miss out on life if you continue to live another day without reading this classic.

-Frodo

Mythology

Tue, 26 Jun 2007 09:33:00 -0500

Greek, Roman and Norse Mythology

Recently I have been reading about Norse mythology and the parallels between the gods of the Vikings and the gods of the Greeks and Romans struck me as quite interesting. The parallels between the Greek and Roman gods alone are quite well known, as the Romans adopted their religion from the Greeks, but the Vikings also have similar deities. They are all very similar, so much so that I have been able to compare them individually, as follows.

Greek               Roman               Viking
Zeus                Jupiter                 Odin
Aphrodite        Venus                  Freya
Heracles         Hercules            Thor
Apollo              Apollo                  Frey/Bragi
Ares                 Mars                    Tyr
Hermes          Mercury               Thialfi
Dis                   Pluto                    Loki/Hela

I think that the Viking goddess Iduna could have been Artemis (Diana) or Minerva (Athene) but I am not sure. I also noted other resemblances between these mythologies. For example, in Greece, the Olympians fought constantly against the Titans. There seems to be a similarity in Norse mythology. The gods of Valhalla are also continuously waging war against the giants.

It seems that they all originated from the same source. So what was that source? Ancient documents from Herodotus, Plato and others show that the Greeks borrowed their gods from the Egyptians, and the Romans borrowed their gods from the Greeks. Perhaps Egypt was the founder of these religions. And where did Egyptian gods come from? It is believed that, possibly, the Egyptian gods were all really different traits of one god, and the priests characterized each demi-god. And who was the one main god? It seems to have been the sun. And who was the sun? Well, you can read more about this here.

Anyway, I thought that was interesting.

-Legolas

The Decline of Humanity

Fri, 15 Jun 2007 03:51:00 -0500

First of all, let us apologize for neglecting the blogosphere so disgracefully for such a long time! We went on vacation last week and our internet has been down for a long time. Everyone who has commented during this time is appreciated and thanked and we must beg forgiveness for not being able to respond to all of you.

Stop by the Backyard to see the first poetry post there! (Remember that all you poets under 18 are welcome to send in your contributions to be posted at the Backyard. The address you should send the poetry to is ankaraacaademyATyahoo.com .

We would like to share a very interesting video with you all this week. The video shows women's faces in art throughout the ages. Starting with Byzantine art, it moves through history all the way up to modern art in rapid progression. It is sadly beautiful.

Upon observing the video, I noticed that the faces of the girls change as time passes. In the beginning all the faces are gentle and sweet. Gradually they began to look haughty and arrogant, sometimes condescending. The pictures start to lose their clarity. Time passes and girls start looking flirtatious, although I find it interesting to note that behind their beckoning glances and inviting smiles, they somehow look sad too.

As more time passes the art becomes more and more blotchy and impressionistic. It's now a little difficult to see the faces clearly. The blotchiness slowly begins to fade and give way to cubes and squares. The pictures are losing their beauty. The girls' faces all look unreal and they are painted with fake and unnatural smiles.

Somehow I get the impression that they are the faces we make out of shadows on the wall when we're really bored. The last drawing looks like a child's scribbles and the woman's face has lost all emotions except for a pitiful, languid look of dissatisfaction. Although the video depicts a decline in art, this, I believe, is a grand illustration of the decline of humanity.

Frodo

How to fold a shirt- Wow!

Wed, 30 May 2007 04:11:00 -0500

Do you hate to fold clothes? Are your drawers a mess? Then this video is for you. Are you a neat freak? Every thing must be perfect? Then this video is for you! Amazing!

The Grammar Of Poetry

Mon, 14 May 2007 11:56:00 -0500

Legolas and I have recently taken the position of Poetry Moderators for Poet's Treehouse over at the HSB Backyard. The rules will soon be posted up at the Backyard and you can learn the details about submitting your poetry to us there. In honor of this event, I have decided to post a little "tutorial" on how to write poetry. Hopefully this will be helpful to some of you!

Poetry, like every other kind of art, has a form. It has rules and reasons and a particular routine. Today, many people are forgetting this. They think poetry is just some genius quality that a few people have and the rest of us must live without. It is true that some people are naturally gifted at writing poetry but all of us can be good at it if we really want to.

I am reading a book this year called “The Grammar Of Poetry” written by Matt Whitling. It speaks of the different forms of poetry and covers the basic rules that apply to all poetry. Knowing these rules has really helped me to write better poetry and even to enjoy other people’s poetry better. The book actually goes into quite a bit of detail but the points that have been the most helpful to me are these:

For different types of poetry, different orders of stresses are used. In poetry scanning (going over a poetical work to determine what meter and rhyme scheme was used) each accented syllable is marked with a stress symbol, a little slash above the accented syllable. An unaccented syllable is marked with a breve, a mark shaped like an upside-down half moon and placed above the unaccented syllable. The three forms of poetry that I have read about so far are iambic, trochaic and anapestic.

In iambic poetry, the second syllable is accented but not the first. An example of a piece of iambic poetry is Tennyson’s “The Eagle,” which begins like this: (I have put the accented syllables in bold type so that you can see where the stresses are)

“He clasps the crag with crooked hands

Close to the sun in lonely lands…”

Trochaic meter is the exact opposite of iambic meter- in trochaic meter the stress is on the first syllable, and the second syllable is unaccented. An example of trochaic poetry is this line from Chesterton’s dedication in the Ballad Of The White Horse.

“…Carrying the firelight on your face,

Beyond the loneliest star.”

Anapestic meter is formed with two unaccented syllables and then one accented one. An example of anapestic poetry is Lord Byron’s “The Destruction Of Sennacharib” which begins like this:

“The Assyrian came down like a wolf on the fold

And his cohorts were gleaming in purple and gold…”

Dactylic meter is the exact opposite of Anapestic meter. It is a combination of of three syllables- the first is accented and the second and third are not. An example of dactylic poetry is this

“Hail to the chief who in triumph advances,

Honored and blest be the evergreen pine!

The best way to write good poetry, though, is not to memorize a bunch a grammar rules but to READ poetry. Although learning about poetical grammar and forms is helpful, the most important thing is to read the works of other poets. This is crucial for providing the vision and inspiration necessary for writing good poetry. (Some of my personal favorites are Alfred Lord Tennyson, Emily Dickinson, and Gilbert Keith Chesterton.) When you read a poet, concentrate on their style and what subjects they generally focus on. Try to get a feel for what the poet is like- their worldview and life. A good way to write poetry is to first read a poem written by another poet and then, with the meter still in your mind, to try and write your own poem about a different subject but using the same meter. Maybe you could try to identify the meter too.

However you decide to study poetry, remember that it is meant to be enjoyed!

-Frodo

The Spirit of Fire

Fri, 11 May 2007 07:06:00 -0500

This is a poem that I wrote recently and I decided I would share it with you on my blog.

THE SPIRIT OF FIRE Dedicated To Alatariel

Of Feanor
In the golden days of Tirion,
The Elven-city of the sea
In the golden days of the Blessed Light
The Trees still shone and the stars were white
And all of the world was fair and free.

There was born of Miriel
Upon the hill of Valinor
Curufinwe, the Spirit of Fire
And he was the son of her heart’s desire
And she called him Feanor.

But the strength and life of Miriel
Passed to her beloved son
Her spirit was silently borne away
And great was the sorrow of Curufinwe
And he wept alone in Tirion.

Then Feanor sought solitude
And he labored and learned alone,
He gained the knowledge of many things
And the understanding that wisdom brings
And he was the heir of the Elven-throne

Of Nerdanel
The years passed on in Valinor
And Feanor wandered in the evening
On the shores of the sea his eyes beheld
The beautiful image of Nerdanel
And a song of Valinor was she singing.

And he watched her dance in the pale star-light,
Her tresses swirled in the rushing winds
And she was fair beyond all words
But on that night doom fell on her
And silently she came to him.

And as the dawn of Laurelin shone,
Feanor rose and clasped her hand,
Before her knelt and kissed her brow
And he set upon it a silver crown;
But later that crown was lost in the sand.

Of The Silmarils
Upon Valmar was Telperion
The Elder Tree of divine light,
The first of the works of Kementari
That shone with light of the silver sea
And covered the land in radiance white.

Also was there Laurelin
And she was blessed by Elbereth

Fair was her golden crown of light
And fair were her beams that pierced the Night
Before her beauty was marred by Death.

But ever was the heart of Feanor
Troubled with a sense of great unrest
A thought that in ages yet to come
The work of Yavanna should be undone
And the Light of the Trees forever be lost.

In secret he forged three glorious gems
Unsurpassed, three wonderful vessels
In them imprisoned the Light of the Trees
More fair than the stars on the western seas
And he called them Silmarils.

He placed them high upon his brow
And bore them in pride in Valinor
And he showed them forth that all might see
And they were hallowed by Elentari
And he cherished them the more.

Of The Unchaining Of Melkor
Now it came to pass in Valinor
That Three Ages of Doom came to a close
The Three Ages of the doom of Bauglir Melkor
And he was released from Angainor;
Came forth from the Judgment Halls of Mandos.

And in Valmar, before Taniquetil
Came Melkor from the Halls of Doom
And sued for pardon before Manwe’s throne
And feigned sorrow for the evil done
And for Middle-earth, laid in ruin.

And Nienna aided his deceitful prayer
Unaware of the purpose of his thought
And Manwe hearkened to his words
And his promises to heal the world
And thus his freedom Melkor bought.

Then Melkor went free in Valinor
And wove dark evil into his speech
And Curufinwe, in all his might
Fell prey to Melkor’s hidden lies
And in him woke a yearning to be free.

Thus Feanor hearkened to Melkor’s words
And his heart grew bitter and proud
And he forged for himself a deadly sword
First of the weapons in Valinor
And he fell into shadow.

And Curufinwe spoke of rebellion
And battle against the Powers
He spoke of the freedom of the Northern Night
Of the dark wild lands beyond the Light;
Of cities and strongholds and towers.

Of The Death Of The Trees
Then Melkor lusted for the Silmarils
And coveted them from afar
But Feanor perceived his mind
And closed his doors on the Lord of Night

And Melkor went from Valinor.

Hidden deep in the northern cliffs
Ungoliant the Great dwelt in the dark
To her Melkor came in the dead of night
Wove about them an evil Unlight
And in secret they came unto Valmar.

Then Melkor drew forth his black spear
And pierced the Trees of Valinor
And their blood flowed onto the Ring of Doom
And their light was quenched and laid in ruin.
And Melkor fled to Middle-earth.

But his Darkness went first to Formenos
And he slew there Finwe, Elven-lord
And the Silmarils he took for his own
But in his dark hand the Light yet shone
And he set them in his Iron Crown
And Feanor cursed him and named him Morgoth.

Thus Night came upon the Blessed Realm
And Tirion fell into Darkness
And Valmar sank in a sea of fear
And Nienna washed the ground with her tears
And the Shadow entered the West.

Of The Fall Of Feanor
Then anger overcame Curufinwe
And he went in wrath to Tirion
And the Seven Sons of Feanor
Swore an oath of eternal war
Against Man and Elf and immortal Valar
Who withheld from them the Silmarils.

They summoned to witness Illuvatar
And Mandos and Manwe both
And Elbereth, Queen of Stars
And called on themselves Everlasting Dark
If they failed to fulfill their Oath.

Thus in the madness of their wrath
And the folly of their anger
They set to pursue Morgoth Bauglir
And wrest from his grasp the Silmarils
Defying Valar and Valier.

And so it was the Noldor came,
Through the vastness of the waters
Came to the land of Middle-earth
Immersed in Darkness since its day of birth
The Darkness of the Great Lord.

And they hoisted their banners in the wind
And sounded their silver horns,
And Lammoth echoed their battle cry
And their spears shone like stars against the sky
As they marched into the North.

Then driven by the fire of his wrath
Curufinwe passed o’er the plain
Passed over the plain like the Jaws of Death
Swift as the winds of Manwe’s breath,
And his foes fled before his name.

He came to the Gates of Angband
And struck the iron doors
And forth from the gates came a spirit of flame
Gothmog the Great, Curufinwe’s bane
Went forth to do battle with the Elven-lord.

Long they fought before Angband
And Curufinwe fought as one that is fey
And he strove against fire and shadow
Driven by his anger and his sorrow
And many fell beneath his blade.

But on that night doom fell on him
And at the last he was stricken down
Curufinwe, Feanor
Fell before the Shadow Lord
And he was cast upon the ground.

And there he ended, lost in darkness,
Far from the Hill of Valinor
Curufinwe, Spirit of Fire
And he was the slave of his heart’s desire,
Thrice accursed, Feanor.

And lost are the days of Tirion,
Elven-city of the sea,
Lost are the days of the Blessed Light
When the Trees still shone and the stars were white
And all of the world was fair and free.

- Legolas