Catholics Acting Catholic: It shouldn’t make the news — except that yes, it is news.

The US Bishop’s campaign for religious freedom, and the Vatican’s pending reform of the LCWR, have been met with skepticism by much of the mainstream media, and by a good chunk of the Catholic population as well.   Why?  Would we hear this same outcry against another religious group, however weird and wacky, that sought to assert its beliefs and practices?

We could guess at any number of nefarious reasons for all this alarm at Catholics acting Catholic, but I propose one common thread:  No one thinks Catholics really believe this stuff.

(For the record: Yes, we do.)

The American church has spent I’m not sure how many decades wallowing in a lukewarm faith — my entire life, at the very least.  Do an exit poll after Mass this Sunday:  How many parishioners really believe all that the Church holds to be true? In many quarters, the simple act of asserting that the Church holds some things to be true incites an outcry of protest about rights of conscience, and personal discernment, and accusations of judging other souls*.

And we’re still wallowing.

On one hand I get it: Patience.  Pastoral Care.  I appreciate all that.  I’m certainly glad the CDF inquires thoroughly and charitably before taking action.

But what’s the reality we’re living with, here in the US and elsewhere?  Do I have any confidence that my local Catholic hospital (where, incidentally, I first learned NFP) will stick to Catholic teaching in its medical care?  No I don’t.  I have no idea.  I could ask around and get the lowdown, but until I check, I don’t know.  Are my local Catholic schools really Catholic?  I think they might be, because I’ve known a few good folks associated with them . . . but I don’t know.  I don’t know.  The brand name is no guarantee.  You have to check every institution one by one. Some are excellent.  Some are positively shining beacons of the Faith.  But you really can’t know until you check for yourself.

My new pastor?  Great guy.  Fabulously Catholic sermons, right to the point — every reason to believe he’s spot-on in his faithfulness to Church teachings.  (And a decent person besides.  Wish he had more free time to hang around and have a beer or something.)  But there was a tense time wondering — now who have we got?  The fact that someone is an ordained priest, or professed religious sister or brother, or DRE, or catechist . . . is no guarantee they actually believe and teach what the Church believes and teaches.  You have watch and see.

I don’t mean, here, that you have to watch and see in the normal sense of prudence and discernment about the weaknesses and failings of all men.  We all sin.  We all struggle with our faith.  We all grow in our understanding and practice of our faith over time.   What I mean is something more insidious: The Catholic faith as taught in, say, the Catechism, is not something everyone in the Church assumes is the standard. 

And those who take the Catechism-optional approach are, in a sense, correct to do so.  They are only guilty of believing what the Church practices.  The practice of Catholic institutions not following Church teaching is so widespread that those religious orders who do stick with the magisterium make sure they mention the fact in their advertisements for vocations.  It is so rare for a homily to explain Catholic teaching on contraception that if it should happen, Catholic bloggers talk about it for days.

This isn’t about pant suits or folk guitars**.   The investigation into the LCWR isn’t about legitimate theological or practical disagreements on the innumerable topics about which Catholics are free to disagree.  It isn’t about emphasis of ministry — there are topics that might never come up at the food bank, but that matter very much at the hospital, and vice versa. No one expects the ladies sorting boxes of pasta to explain to you the details of licit and illicit fertility treatments.  (Also: Don’t necessarily ask your doctor to cook for you.)

This about the fact that a lot of Americans, including a lot of American Catholics, think the bishops are making this stuff up.  That noise about birth control and sterilization?  Well, that’s not really Catholic teaching, it’s just this optional extra, like saying the Rosary or wearing a hair shirt, that we can do if we feel called, but we don’t really have to, right?  This business of Jesus and the Church being the only way, and myriad new age practices being in fact demonic?  Oh come on.  Yes, Catholicism is a Jesus-Brand spiritual path, but don’t we each have to find our own path? And anyway, who believes in Satan? So 12th Century.

That’s the faith Americans have been practicing.  That’s what people really think the Church teaches.  The average American has a better idea of what the Amish or the Muslims believe and practice than what comprises the Catholic faith.  That is, at the very least they’d be willing to consider the possibility that the Amish have religious objections to birth control, or that Muslims think their faith is in fact the one true faith. Catholics? That birth control and catechism-stuff is just one extremist current in our multi-faceted approach to the spiritual life, right?

I read too much history to worry much.  Heresy happens. Jesus wins.  We each try to be faithful and do our best.  It’s all pretty simple, other than the details.  But for goodness sakes, let’s quit acting shocked at the outcry when we suddenly care about this stuff so publicly after so many years of stealth witness.

***

Also while we’re at it: Politicians are creepy.  Professional hazard.  Quit acting like you think one side or the other is going to suddenly get all Catholic on you, just because of what they said at that speech.  There’s a reason we’re told to be wise as serpents, eh?

 

*The Church does not judge souls.  FYI.

**Full disclosure: I like pants suits.  And folk guitar.  Also long skirts and Gregorian chant.  I like everybody.

New post up at AmazingCatechists.com – Meditative Prayer in the Classroom

The plague waxes and wanes, but the power of scheduling causes the illusion of productivity. . . .  That which  I wrote about in spurts here last year, turned into one concise post for AmazingCatechists.com this year:  MED-I-TATE, MED-I-TATE . . . Reflective Prayer in the Classroom.  Enjoy.

3.5 Time Outs: Plague Journal

Thanks once again to our host Larry D. at Acts of the Apostasy, who’s got a time machine of his own going on this week.

One day is like 30 years, 30 years is like one day.

1.

I finished reading Eric Sammons’ new book, and hey, it’s pretty good. A lot good, in fact, and a review is forthcoming.  But today let me caution you: There’s a humility component to this holiness business.

Exhibit A:

Why do my renewed efforts at holiness always coincide with the arrival of a nasty evil throat-lung-stomach virus in our home?  Doesn’t our Lord know I have important holiness work to do?

Exhibit B:

Why does a resolution to be more Therese-like and offer up little annoyances for some general heavenly purpose get transformed into:

1.  A multiplication of petty annoyances, and a sudden intolerance for them?

2. A friend suddenly coming down with a horrid affliction (probable bone cancer — femur — please pray for Mrs. P) for which to offer all these things?

3. Thus destroying any sense of virtue I might have otherwise relished, and instead leaving me with a crotchety personality and the knowledge of just how petty it is?

 

So don’t say I didn’t warn you.  Good book otherwise, though.  Great book.

 

2.

I’m going to Dallas!!!!!!!  Yes, all those exclamation points truly are needed.  Because look, it’s like a giant crack convention:

A.  The Catholic Writer’s Conference, which means meeting in person all the people I get to work with on the CWG blog, which really is that exciting because when you get to know these people . . . you want to get to know these people.

B. The Catholic Marketing Network Conference, which is code for “Catholic Bookstores”.  Enough said.

C. And then in case I just wanted to be near the superstars of Catholic internet, there’s the Catholic New Media Conference right there as well.

Quadruple bonus:  I double-checked the back cover of my copy of Happy Catholic, and sure enough, Julie Davis lives in Dallas.  It says so right there.  (I knew it was some place in Texas, but I can never keep Dallas and Houston straight, except to know that confusing the two means wow, a lot of driving time.)  So maybe, just maybe, I’ll get to live out my dream of one day buying the woman a cup of coffee.  Or something.

3.

So here’s the thing: What’s the etiquette on bringing books to be signed at these events?  Because I don’t think I can carry that many books to Texas, and yet it would pain me, just pain me, to miss my chance to get some autographs.  I’m so conflicted.

3.5

Because I met the guy — that’s why.  Neat person.

***

PS: Link day.  Help yourself if you are so inclined.  Post as many as you want, but only one per comment or the spam dragon will eat you up and I’ll never even know.

PPS: Thus far I myself appear to be spared the evil thing — I thought I was coming down with it last night, but this morning I’m good.  So here’s your mission:  Imagine you’ve already finished praying for Mrs. P and your other serious concerns . . . Would you consider offering up a little prayer for our family, that my other dream of seeing the Bethune Catholic homestead is not thwarted by more plague later in the week?  I so want to go.  I pass the place every non-plague  year on the way to the family reunion, and I totally want to get a child to bake some brownies, and a different child to pack some airsoft guns, and stop in for an hour or two.  Goodness I might even mix up the brownies myself.

I was about to ask that we’d also be miraculously able to attend religious ed tonight (last night of the year), but #2 came staggering into the study with glazed eyes and feverish misery, so I don’t think the virtue of prudence will let us get away with that, even if there were miraculous recoveries in the next six hours.

 

A day for all the best gifts.

The Bun, #3, comes home from First Holy Communion, sits on the couch, and unwraps her gift from the parish.  “I know what it is,” she says even before the paper is off.  It’s a small box, about the size of one of those little hardback children’s missals or mini-Bibles, but she knows better.

#4 leans close to watch.

After some struggle with the tape, our first communicant pulls out a metal-work cross, charming and elegant even seen through the bubble wrap.

Her little sister gasps.  “Bubble wrap!”

And is smartly corrected: “That’s my bubble wrap.”

But as I write, no one is playing with the bubble wrap, carefully set aside for just the right occasion.  Instead they’re doing music-theater with the florist’s water tubes salvaged from the bottom of the carnation stems.

 

 

 

7 Quick Takes: BunnyLand

Nine out of ten bunnies surveyed agree: You should look at the other quick takes.

1.

I know the SuperHusband loves me, because he built BunnyLand.  (As if the bookshelves hadn’t clinched it.)

#3, suitably nicknamed “The Bun” since before ever we met her, wanted bunnies.  #1 has a dog, and #2 her cat, and #3 longed for bunnies.  Sweet, soft, fuzzy little bunnies.

As an Easter surprise we worked out a timeshare arrangement with our bunny-owning friends: We could have guardianship of Bun-Bun and Jennie-Bun as long as we liked, and still be confident of bunny-sitting and bunny-sabbaticals as needed.  The perfect solution, especially after we calculated that there was more venison in the freezer than we could eat in a year, so acquiring a breeding pair of bunnies was not strictly neccessary.

2.

And though #3 does all the daily bunny-feeding and watering, we discovered the two most ardent bunny-lovers (I am loathe to admit this) are the two most curmudgeonly, un-cuddly residents of the castle — Mr. Boy and I.

The porch was fine for temporary lodgings, but for a longterm stay, the bunnies needed room to roam and a place to relieve themselves at will.  After several false starts, we prevailed upon the SuperHusband to create BunnyLand, a sheltered, predator-resistant enclave under the apple tree.  It’s big and leafy, and the bunnies have space to hop around in giant zig-zags, and hide under the virginia creeper, and loll in the dirt pile left from setting a post for the bunny-gate.

In the morning I can sit out in the garden with a cup of coffee and a missal, and watch bunnies until I remember to pray, and then watch more after.  And usually in-between.  Somewhere about the psalm I end up taking a bunny-watching break.  Maybe not the best thing for my prayer life, I admit.

3.

Last Friday evening we were sitting out in the garden watching the bunnies, and Mr. Boy hopped the fence.  He desperately, desperately wants to pet the bunnies, and sometimes they let him.  Other times, no.  “You need to sit quietly and peacefully, and let the bunnies come to you,” I told him.

So he held up his hands, two fingers in the air: Peace signs.

4.

I can’t remember the exact sequence, but this being the four of us, late in the evening . . . soon two children and I were making some comment about the sixty-something ladies at Mass who finish their handshakes during the Sign of Peace, and for good measure bless the remainder of the parish with peace-signed hands.

SuperHusband had failed to ever notice this practice, mark of the Business-Casual Parish.  We filled him in on what he’d been missing in his devoted attention to the Agnus Dei*.  And then chuckled.

5.

But you know what?  I know it’s popular among a certain kind of neo-Cath blogger to mock the aging hippies with their groovy worship habits, and I’m here to tell you this: Lay Off.

Have you ever spent a day with these ladies?

Do you not know that they held your parish together when all the rest of our culture was trying every possible social experiment in the name of freedom unbridled license?  Do you not know that they who wield the folk guitar and bless children shamelessly during Holy Communion, they are the ones feeding the poor at St. Vincent de Paul, and making meals for the funeral supper, while you sit at home reading imprimatured titles from Ignatius Press?

Do you not know how much they love your children?  The hours they spend — the decades they have spent — teaching religious ed, with no more support than a love of Jesus and a desire to share that love with whomever He sends them?

Do you not understand that whatever their shortcomings, they have prayed into this Church — at the cost of night after night, year after year, of tears for a wayward generation they did not know how to teach, but tried their best anyway — you and I?  Who now sit at our computers, bickering and griping over what this law means and how this rubric applies?

Lay off the old ladies.  They belong to St. Therese.  If you have no sense in you at all, at the very least you know not to mess with the Little Flower.  You mind your manners, and she’ll get them straightened out.

By all means make good arguments for good art and good liturgy.  But gently, if you can manage it.  I stink at gentle.  You have my sympathy.  And too often, my company.

6.

I can’t wait until the next time Allie Hathaway’s in town, and we can show her the bunnies.  Please pray for her and all her family.

7.

But I give you permission to make funny faces when the choir sings those heartfelt but, shall we say . . . not my favorite? . . . Okay nevermind.  We’re not supposed to make funny faces at Mass.  The Little Flower thanks you for just offering it up.

*Yes, I always end up in confession mentioning my inability to pay attention during Mass.  I’m working on it.

3.5 Time Outs: Glocks.

Thanks once again to our host Larry D. at Acts of the Apostasy, who is nothing if not capable of punching a man-card.

Click and be amazed.

1.

Darwin reminded me I needed to write a Glock post.  No blog is complete until you’ve done that.  And look what I brought home from the library the other month, when I needed something completely different to get my mind off life for the weekend:

The boy took one look, and asked, “Why would Barrett write a book about Glocks??”  He recognized the name of the CEO of a competitor, because um, because he did.  Y chromosome on that child, confirmed.

I pointed him to the inside back cover.  “I think it’s a different Barrett.”  It is.

2.

Anyway, I enjoyed the book even more than I’d expected.  Glock: The Rise of America’s Gun tells the story of Glock Inc. from the time Mr. Glock decided to try his hand at designing the weapon, through it’s rise as a market leader in the US, and into the human resources nightmare that ensued when radical success met original sin.  Well told — Paul Barrett is a great story teller, and he explains the technical bits with the detail you need in order to understand the story, but without losing the non-technical audience.

As a business book, it is top-notch.  Great look at the talent and plain old good fortune that made the company so successful — including some surprising twists in the gun control movement that helped spur sales and raise margins.  Ideologically, Barrett is pretty firmly in the middle of the road on gun topics, and he keeps his politics out of all but a few annoying paragraphs of opinion* near the conclusion — you can just skim and move on.

Language caution:  Don’t let the Amazon preview fool you, Barrett’s sources get quoted saying all kinds of words not allowed around my house.  It isn’t overdone and I did not find it bothersome as an adult reader, but it’s not a g-rated book by a long shot.

As a morality tale, Glock is a brilliant study in human weakness, and the way that vice unchecked leads to perdition**.  Barrett is Mr. Neutral through all of this — neither disturbed nor impressed by Glock’s sales tactics, other than to observe that they worked and they were legal.  Turns out men are fairly predictable in certain realms.

–> For this reason, the book makes a great parent-teen book study . . . but only once your boy is already aware of the various perils men need negotiate.  I held off on letting Mr. Boy read the book just yet.

3.

Why is it that it only takes 2 seconds to accidentally upload a profile pic on Twitter that, taken out of context, will totally horrify 98% of the people who have often suspected as much . . . but it takes about an hour to get Twitter to accept some innocuous substitute hiding in the same file folder?  I suspect a plot to trap the careless.

3.5

Speaking of talented Catholic young men who like guns abridged anime – if you share the same interest, check out this guy: Mattroks 101’s You Tube channel.  And with that you know more than I do, for I am utterly out of my depth on all things anime, except maybe you are wondering how I ended up linking such a thing . . .

***

PS: Link day.  Help yourself if you are so inclined.  Post as many as you want, but only one per comment or the spam dragon will eat you up and I’ll never even know.

*It is possible that if you read here, you secretly enjoy reading annoying opinions.  Good for you.   There’s three or four paragraphs you’ll just love.

**Not just eternal souls, though of course those are not to be neglected.  But also small things teens can appreciate, like your colleagues trying to kill you, stuff like that.

7 Quick Takes: Paragraphs

All the paragraphs a person could need. Click to see.

If you clicked on this page from Jen F.’s blogfest because you saw the Kolbe Reviews picture, click here to see the whole series.  It was the most interesting picture I had, and plus I’m so excited about my new page where you can find them all in one place.

You regular readers who are completely, utterly sick of hearing about Kolbe by now, here are 7 Takes with never a mention of the K-word:

 

1.

When I got to page 24 of Holiness for Everyone, I e-mailed Eric Sammons.  “If this hasn’t gone to print yet . . . there’ s a typo.”  I figured he or some other person had already caught it, but if it were my book, I’d appreciate someone telling me, just to be sure.  What I saw was this:

1) A long quote, indented.

The author’s words, introducing next long, indented quote.

2) The second quote.

So that in-between prose shouldn’t be indented, since it isn’t part of the quotes.  Right?

Um, no.  But he very graciously answered me, “Oh yes, we had the same question, but OSV assures us it is correct.”  I did not hear a single snicker in that e-mail.  I feel sure the man’s been practicing his holiness.

And I replied, using my super-special idiot powers, “Okay.  That’s a really strange convention.”  Ha.  Those weird publishers.  What are they thinking??

But at 5 in the morning, I woke up to my crazy-busy brain back to work in crazy-busy mode,  and suddenly I knew the answer.   Everything made sense.  I was no longer mystified.

2.

Remember long, long ago, when you used the “Tab” key to start a new paragraph?  And then you didn’t have to put a blank line between every paragraph?

They were thinking that.

A world utterly, utterly removed from the reality of blogging software.  Never even occurred to me to check and confirm that I was reading a book with indented paragraphs.

3.

Consider that your little pre-review for today.  I hope it isn’t too much of a spoiler.

4.

I just looked real quick, and the first five books I pulled off my shelf all had them too.  Apparently it’s the big thing in Catholic Publishing.

Okay, so no it isn’t really a surprise, because at 5:05 I found myself marveling at the genius of it all. And longing, deeply longing, to know how much money they saved by not having to print all those blank lines.  What a way to save paper!

5.

Lately I’ve taken to spelling “paragraph” with only one p, and typing “gh” instead of “ph” at the end.  And then I have to fix it.  I do not like this new typo.  But I’m very grateful for the red squiggly line that catches it every time.

6.

I bet  Allie Hathaway knows how to spell “paragraph”. Thanks for praying for her today.

7.

That upstart Larry D. is picking a fight with Patheos again, and for my part I just don’t care, other than to wonder who are these people who don’t like Mark Shea* and what is wrong with them?

But you know what I do care about? It relates to Patheos because this happens to people when they move to Patheos, but Mark Shea and Elizabeth Scalia are both proof that reform is possible.  Now I can’t just e-mail every famous Catholic blogger to complain, because look I already have this reputation over the Indenting Fiasco, so I’m just going to say it here:

Fix your settings so your whole post gets sent to the feed reader.

Thank you Darwin, Bearing, Julie D., and every other sensible blogger whom I read faithfully, due in part to this one kind act.

Also:  Make that little “subscribe to comments” check box show up in the combox.

***

Thank you.  Have a great weekend.

*Mark Shea writes books with indented paragraphs.  Two P’s.

2011 Tax Round-Up

We’re overdue for a Tax Post.

UPDATED – DARWIN CORRECTS MY CALCULATION:  After reducing the tax-table amount by our tax credits ( Child Tax Credit in our case) the amount we actually owed was only 5%.  Much better.  Matches last year’s number, something of a relief after seeing that big jump in the first try.  Thanks Darwin!

To calculate, take line 55, which is your tax less regular tax credits, divided by line 22, gross income.  At least, that’s the way I do it when Darwin reminds me that’s the way I do it.  Also when I remember that thanks to those PDF’s mentioned below, I don’t have to dig through files to check line number, I can just pull up the PDF in about ten seconds.  Yay.

1.  Our real federal tax rate was 8.5%.  That’s taking our tax from the tax table  cacluation as a portion of gross income. (Line 22 or thereabouts? I already put my forms away.  It was line 22 last year.)  I think it’s a useful calculation, since talk about taxes tends to revolve around theoretical tax rates, when the actual amount you pay may be something quite different.

[FYI for those of you haven’t done the real tax rate check-in before, please don’t post any income information or long explanations.  Just the percentage.  Privacy, modesty, all that.]

2.  I was pleased to see that behind that flashy opening page, IRS.gov remains it’s same sensible self.  If I could only have one website, that would have to be the one.  Since everything else, in theory, I could do without.  But the days of riding downtown and searching through the shelves at the tax office for the forms I need?  I do not miss those days.

3. I love fillable forms.

4. Not the ones provided by third-party businesses I’ve never heard of and wouldn’t dream of using unless I had some time to research it, which I don’t.  But those lovely, lovely IRS-issued PDF’s.  Oh how I love them.

5.  I wish South Carolina would take a hint and follow suit.  Hand-writing is so 2009.

6. But give me that ol’ newsprint 1040 instruction manual.  Thankfully my library stocks them.  I see that last year I made do with printing out and secretly sorta liked it.  I take that back.  I hope there’s some law requiring them forever and ever amen.  I can do PDF instructions for everything else, but for the 1040, I wanna flip pages.  I highlight stuff.  I make notes in the margins.  I write numbers in the grainy gray worksheets.  It is my friend.

7.  Curse you, SC, for not printing SC Long Form booklets anymore.  You, too, should give me a booklet.  I want a booklet.  I never bought into the accusations that SC is a “backward” state, but now I see it is true. Fillable PDF’s, newsprint booklets.  It is The Way.

8.  The IRS really does have good writers.

(Okay, after a certain point, I think they assume nobody is reading the instructions anymore, because if you dig into the more arcane forms, yes, incomprehensible.  But a good ol’ 1040, and schedule A and those guys — yes. Well done.  And thank you generous employers for not giving everybody $7 in foreign-source dividend income as an employee perk, the way you did that other time.  I feel an HR person was burned in effigy over that little incident.)

9.  Thank you kind person who forgot to pay me until January 2012.  I owe you one.  Saved me a ton of headache I didn’t need this year.

10.  Geek humor:  The SuperHusband was talking about income and work and raises.  I told him to tell his boss about our big financial goal: We want to pay Alternative Minimum Tax*.

*It’s a JOKE.   I’m KIDDING.  Neither Powers nor Principalities need to get a laugh at my expense by making it actually happen.  Thank you P&P for your self-restraint.

Kolbe Reviews: National Catholic Reader

The Kolbe Reviews - National Catholic Reader
Click the picture to see the whole series.

The National Catholic Reader is a series of graded readers originally published in the late 1800’s.   They are similar to the McGuffey readers which were popular in the same era; both series are used among homeschoolers today.  Like a modern reading book, the goal is to create a collection of texts which challenge the reader academically, and which impart the values of their time.  Like a modern reading book, the collected reading texts vary in quality from trite to sublime.

I was using McGuffy prior to enrolling with Kolbe, and was happy to switch over to an explicitly-Catholic series.  But the fact that I unschooled with historical readers tells you a bit about my tastes.

First let it be said: I’m not it in for the saccharine chicken-soup-for-farmhand’s-soul poems and morality tales.  They are the bane of any reading book, and inescapable, for the obvious reason that some people love the stuff.  But for all these might induce a coughing fit in the born-curmudgeon, there are three reasons I like using historical text books:

1.  Students learn to read an older style of language.  The classics are less intimidating if you are already familiar with the usage of previous eras.

2. They shed light on their period.  As historical documents, they are an invaluable insight into late 19th century American life.

3. They call into question the values of our present time.  Very specifically, I like that my kids are presented with a whole world whose priorities and values are utterly opposite much of what we accept as commonplace today.  Not because I think the 19th century was the pinnacle of human achievement, but because it is important not to think that 2012 is Only Way It’s Ever Been.  Here’s an example:

In the second-grade reader, there’s a just-so story about kindness and Providence.  It opens by telling us about two girls, ages five and seven, who have just been orphaned.  They have no relations, except an uncle in a distant village whom no one has heard from in years — he may or may not be alive.   A kindly farmer has an errand in the general direction of the village.  He drives the girls until their ways part, and then drops them off to walk the rest of the way alone.

Think about that.  Last year my 5th grade son was brought home to me by the police because he was out wandering our neighborhood.  (Taking down Lost Cat signs, as it happens).  The officer was polite, and clear that we had done nothing wrong.  All the same, he felt obliged to drive the child home.

This is why I like to use these books.

***

Kolbe sells a study booklet (separate from the course plans) which has reading comprehension questions for the student about each lesson.  The corresponding teacher’s manual has the answers.  The Course Plans assign sixth-graders one or two selections to be read each day, Monday through Thursday.  In 4th Grade, students do lessons from the NCR two days a week, and do outside reading (student’s choice) the other two days.   In 4th Grade the vocabulary course plans include additional words from the NCR, though not necessarily from that week’s lesson.   For those not enrolled with Kolbe, I’d save the money and just type up your own set of assignments.

The course plans often call for memorizing poems.  I know it’s good for the growing brain, and all that.  But I can only bring myself to make my kids memorize things I’d want stuck in my own head.  (See “chicken soup”, above.)  So we frequently skip the memorization thing.

The quarterly exams in the course plans consist of a reading selection from McGuffey’s Reader, with comprehension questions similar to the ones the student has been answering throughout the quarter.  If you are enrolled with Kolbe but your student is using McGuffey for a reading book instead of the NCR, Kolbe recommends you contact them for an alternate set of exams.

Because the exams do not depend on having completed any particular set of readings, it is very easy to skip or substitute selected readings in order to lighten the course load or concentrate on some other interest.

***

The reading level in the later grades is fairly elevated.   One of the sixth grade assignments (and a fun one!) was to act out Shakespeare’s farewell from Wolsey to Cromwell.  In earlier years the texts are more garden-variety stories for children, but by Book Six the selections move firmly into history and spiritual memoir, including meditations on great moments in the history of civilization from ancient times forward.  Great moments you the product of our nation’s public schools may never have known happened.

Because the later books are very mature, there’d be nothing wrong with spreading out Book Six to be used through seventh and eighth grade.  (You could use them into high school, but by then the literature course is itself quite demanding.  The National Catholic Reader is an excellent preparation for the type of reading that will be required throughout high school with Kolbe,  Mother of Divine Grace, or the like.)

One caution:  There is ample room for cultural misunderstandings.   Make sure your sixth grader knows the meaning of the word “niggardly”   lest he mistakenly believe the book is written by bigots.

***

That’s all I know to say.  What questions do you have?