AmblesideOnline Folksongs 2019-2020 School Year

 FOLK SONGS 2019-2020 School Year:

  term 1: 

1. The Happy Wanderer.
We sang this at AM CM Camp 2019, and it was a huge hit, campers could be heard humming it in the lunch line, singing it absently mindedly while stirring their coffee, and basically just spontaneously singing it everywhere, albeit sometimes against their will.  Please note the number of times you say ha ha is a purely personal matter.  Some sing five, some squeeze in seven. It doesn't matter.  Do what works for you.  This muppet version seems to be quite popular!  This version is also on my playlist and will be easier to follow along with. (try this: https://youtu.be/2I7c6wMaFSw and/or this one: https://youtu.be/UPfGL0tDP30)

 The Happy Wanderer

1.    I love to go a-wandering

 Along the mountain track 

And as I go,

 I love to sing 

My knapsack on my back

 [Chorus] 

Val-deri, val-dera

 Val-deri, val-dera, Ha, ha, ha, ha, ha, ha 

Ha 

Val-deri, val-dera !

My knapsack on my back

2. I love to wander by the stream

 That dances in the sun 

So joyously it calls to me 

Come join my happy song 

[Chorus] 

Val-deri, val-dera

 Val-deri, val-dera, Ha, ha, ha, ha, ha, ha 

Ha 

Val-deri, val-dera !

Come join my happy song

2.    I wave my hat to all I meet 

And they wave back to me 

And blackbirds call so loud and sweet 

From ev'ry green wood tree

[Chorus] 

Val-deri, val-dera

 Val-deri, val-dera, Ha, ha, ha, ha, ha, ha  

Val-deri, val-dera !

From every green-wood tree.

4. High overhead the skylarks wing

They never rest at home

But just like me they love to sing

As o’er the world we roam.

[Chorus] 

Val-deri, val-dera

 Val-deri, val-dera, Ha, ha, ha, ha, ha, ha 

Ha 

Val-deri, val-dera !

As o’er the world we roam!

5. Oh, may I go a-wandering 

Until the day I die 

Oh, may I always laugh and sing 

Beneath God's clear blue sky

[Chorus] 

Val-deri, val-dera

 Val-deri, val-dera, Ha, ha, ha, ha, ha, ha 

Ha 

Val-deri, val-dera !

Beneath God's clear blue sky

2. Go Get the Ax-  This is a silly, jolly song that doesn't have to mean anything. It's just fun to be silly sometimes.   The same aged children who think it's funny to imagine nailing jello to a wall, or who laugh at jokes about how does the teflon stick to the pan when nothing sticks to teflon will probably most appreciate this song.  

To start your family off, you might have fun watching this Bugs Bunny clip.  
Another you-tube version

Peeping through the knot-hole
In Grandma's Wood Leg
Who will wind the clock
When I am gone?
Go get the ax

There's a flea in Lizzie's ear

And a boy's best friend is his mother.

I jumped out the window
A second story window

Why do they build the shore

So near the ocean?

Who cut the sleeves out of

Dear old daddy's vest?

And dug up Fido's bones to build the sewer?

A Horse stood around with its

Feet upon the ground

Oh, who will wind the clock

When I am gone?

Go get the ax

There's a fly on Lizzie's ear

And a boy's best friend is his mother.

3. The Foolish Boy, also known as the Swapping Song, Wing wing waddle, and there are a few other variations as wing wang waddle became something like wim wam wobble.

1. My father died and I cannot tell how, 
He left me six horses to follow the plough. 

 With a wing-wang-waddle, O! 
Jack sold his saddle O! 
 Blossy boys, bubble O ! 
under the broom. 

 2.   I sold my six horses and bought me a cow,
 I'd fain have a fortune, but didn't know how. 

 With a wing-wang-waddle, O! 
Jack sold his saddle O! 
 Blossy boys, bubble O ! 
under the broom. 

 3.   I sold my cow and bought me a calf, 
I'd fain have a fortune, but I lost a half.  

With a wing-wang-waddle, O! 
Jack sold his saddle O! 
 Blossy boys, bubble O ! 
under the broom.

 4.    I sold my calf and I bought me a cat ; 
The pretty thing by my chimney sat. 

 With a wing-wang-waddle, O! 
Jack sold his saddle O! 
 Blossy boys, bubble O ! 
under the broom. 

 5,   I sold my cat and I bought me a mouse ;
 He fired his tail and he burnt down my house. 

 With a wing-wang-waddle, O! 
Jack sold his saddle O! 
 Blossy boys, bubble O ! 
under the broom.

 6.  I have nothing to buy, and I've nothing to sell, 
And how I shall live, I am sure I cannot tell. 

 With a wing-wang-waddle, O! 
Jack sold his saddle O! 
 Blossy boys, bubble O ! 
under the broom.

The above lyrics are from the Sabine Baring Gould songbook recommended by some of Miss Mason's teachers, as seen in their magazine,  L'Umile Pianta.

Youtube:  I really don't like how this one sounds, but it has the right lyrics: https://amzn.to/2XJrRuh

This one is prettier, but the lyrics are a bit different.  This really should not matter, as you are not going be using the youtube video forever, but only as a temporary walking cane to help you learn the tune quickly, so you can sing it on your own with whatever lyrics you prefer.



Wim Wim Wobble-O is a similar version here done by preschool or kindergarten teacher Dany Rosevear.  Bookmark her, she is a wonderful resource for English folk songs.
Here are the lyrics she uses:

Strim-strim-strobble-O,
I sold the horses and bought me a cow,
So I sold the cow and bought me a calf, I sold my calf and bought me a pig,
The poor little thing it never grew big. I sold my pig and bought me a hen, I sold that hen and bought me a cat,
The pretty little creature by the chimney corner sat. I sold the cat and bought a mouse, I sold my mouse and bought me a mole, 


Term 2:


1. Tenting tonight on the old campground (an American Civil war song from Tennessee, where we held our camp this year):

https://youtu.be/hij-e1a3z_c

Tenting Tonight on the Old Campground lyrics

Many are the hearts that are weary tonight

Wishing for the war to cease

Many are the hearts that are looking for the right

To see the dawn of peace

Tenting tonight, tenting tonight, tenting on the old camp ground

verses:

We're tenting tonight on the old camp ground

Give us a song to cheer

Our weary hearts, a song of home

And friends we love so dear

(chorus)

We've been tenting tonight on the old camp ground

Thinking of days gone by

Of the loved ones at home that gave us the hand

And the tear that said "Goodbye"

(chorus)

We are tired of war on the old camp ground

Many are dead and gone

Of the brave and true who've left their homes

Others been wounded long

(chorus)

We've been fighting today on the old camp ground

Many are lying near

Some are dead and some are dying

Many are in tears

(chorus)

Or you might prefer Preaching on the Old Campground by the inimitable Mississippi John Hurt.  It has the same tune, but simplified, and with a simpler set of lyrics.  (also here)

We're preaching tonight on the old campground
Preaching on the old campground
Preaching tonight, preaching tonight, 
Preaching on the old campground.


Then substitute praying, singing, moaning (or mourning, I'm not sure), 


2. Shake Sugaree 

Have a little song
Won't take long
Sing it right
Once or twice

Oh, lordy me
Didn't I shake sugaree?
Everything I got is done and pawned
Everything I got is done and pawned

Pawn my watch
Pawn my chain
Pawn everything that was in my name

Oh, lordy me
Didn't I shake sugaree?
Everything I got is done and pawned
Everything I got is done and pawned

Pawn by buggy
Horse and cart
Pawn everything that was on my lot

Oh, lordy me
Didn't I shake sugaree?
Everything I got is done and pawned
Everything I got is done and pawned

Pawn my chair.

Pawn my bed

Ain't got nowhere to lay my head

Oh, lordy me
Didn't I shake sugaree?
Everything I got is done and pawned
Everything I got is done and pawned

Pawn my tobacco
Pawn my pipe
Pawned everything that was in my sight
Oh, lordy me
Didn't I shake sugaree?
Everything I got is done and pawned

Everything I got is done and pawned

Elizabeth Cotton, the creator of Freight Train, wrote this with her grandchildren, and her grand-daughter Brenda, age 12, is probably the voice we're hearing on the youtube version.  More about this song and other variations and versions here.
I first heard it over 20 years ago, on Taj Mahal's album for kids (Shake Sugaree, Taj Mahal sings and plays for children)  You can hear the single here.

While working on this list, I've been listening to the glorious voice of Rhiannan Giddens, possibly about a hundred times in the last 23 hours.  I cannot get enough of her gorgeous voice.

3.  Health to the Company.  Please bear with me on this one.  It's been a family favourite for over 20 years.  I realize that at first glance, it appears to be a drinking song, and for many of you, that will be fine.  However, it doesn't *have* to be. If you can't celebrate, feast, and be merry with your family over grapejuice and ginger-ale, you're doing it wrong.  Most of the years we sang this song the wee lass sitting on my knee with a smile on her countenance was my sixth daughter (and there's still none can excel for her style or her beauty).  

Have fun with it, dance a jig, spring a little joyful exuberance into your lives.  Or choose another song or repeat an old favourite. Your choice.  Here are the lyrics:

 Health to the Company

Kind Friend and Companions, '

Come join me in rhyme, 

Come lift up your voices, 

In chorus with mine, 

Come lift up your voices, 

all grief to refrain, 

For we may or might never, 

all meet here again 

Here's a health to the company 

and one to my lass, 

Let us drink and be merry,

 all out of one glass, 

Let us all drink and be merry, 

all grief to refrain For we may or might never,

 all meet here again 

Here's a health to the wee lass,

 that I love so well,

 For her style and her beauty, 

sure none can excel, 

There's a smile on her countenance, 

as she sits on my knee, 

There's no man in this wide world, 

as happy as me, 

Here's a health to the company, 

and one to my lass 

Let us drink and be merry, 

all out of one glass, 

Let us drink and be merry, 

all grief to refrain 

For we may or might never, 

all meet here again, 

Our ship lies at anchor, 

she's ready to dock, 

I wish her safe landing, 

without any shock,

 If ever I should meet you,

 by land or by sea,

 I will always remember, 

your kindness to me,

 Here's a health to the company 

and one to my lass,

 Let us drink and be merry,

 all out of one glass, 

Let us all drink and be merry, 

all grief to refrain 

For we may or might never, 

all meet here again

Health to the Company, Chieftains

        During your Christmas break, try a carol you may be less familiar with:
                    
                     Lo, How a Rose e'er Blooming and/or It Came Upon a Midnight Clear


term 3:

https://youtu.be/ND7W7Yxo7GU

Little Brown Dog

Oh once I had a little dog, his color it was brown

I taught him for to whistle, to sing and dance and run

His legs they were fourteen yards long, his ears so very wide

Around the world in half a day, upon him I could ride. 

Sing Tarry-O Day, Sing, Autumn to May. 

Oh once I had a little frog, he wore a vest of red

He'd lean upon his silver cane, a top hat on his head

He'd speak of far off places, of things to see and do,

Of all the Kings and Queens he'd met while sailing in a shoe. 

Sing Tarry-O Day, Sing, Autumn to May. 

Oh once I had a flock of sheep, they grazed upon a feather

I'd keep them in a music box from wind or rainy weather

And every day the sun would shine, they'd fly all through the town

To bring me back some golden rings, candy by the pound. 

Sing Tarry-O Day, Sing, Autumn to May. 

Oh once I had a downey swan, she was so very frail

She sat upon an oyster shell and hatched me out a snail

The snail had changed into a bird, the bird to butterfly

And he who tells a bigger tale would have to tell a lie. 

Sing Tarry-O Day, Sing, Autumn to May. 

2. https://youtu.be/3ICFzyW7Mh4 Arkansas Traveler * (Peter Pan Records version)

Once upon a time in Arkansas

An old man sat at his little cabin door

And he fiddled at a tune that he liked to hear

a jolly old tune that he played by hear

it was raining hard

by the fiddler didn't care

he sawed away at the popular air

and his roof tree leaked like a waterfall

but it didn't seem to bother the man at all.

a traveler was riding by that day

and he stopped to hear him a-practicin' away

the cabin was afloat and his feet were wet but still the old man didn't seem to fret

so the stranger said now the way  it seems to me

you'd better mend your roof, said he, 

but the old man said as he played away

I could'n't mend it now, it's a rainy day.

This is obviously the tune of bringing home a baby bumble bee.  You could sing that if you prefer. There are multiple versions of this using the same tune.  Don't fret too much about finding the perfect version.  This is true of all the folk songs.

3. How Many Miles to London Town (also sometimes How Many Miles to Babylon). It's a song, a game, and/or a simple dance.  I have played it in the living room with five grandchildren.  It would be a good choice for a co-op group to do together.  More here, including a score and a recording:

https://www.efdss.org/efdss-education/re...ondon-town

HEre's a youtube video showing a group of children performing the actions/steps to the song.

How many miles to Babylon (or London Town)
Three Score and Ten.
Can I get there by candlelight?
Yes and back again.

Open the gates to let me through
open the gates to let me through
Open the gates to let me through
So I can travel on.

Not without a beck and a boo (or bow)
Not without a beck and a boo
Not without a beck and a boo
Will I open the gate to let you through.

Here's your beck and here's your boo
Here's your beck and here's your boo
Here's your beck and here's your boo
Now open the gate and let me through.


Here is my youtube playlist for the year's folksongs.



Amazon Affiliate Links, however, if you have Amazon Prime or another streaming option, you can listen to most of these for free.  I could not find a satisfactory link to HOw Many Miles, but here are the others:

Happy Wanderer, sung by Bill Staines.  It has all the verses but changes 'beneath God's clear blue sky' to 'beneath the clear blue sky.'  A bit slower than the versions in my youtube play list.  Also has a hint of yodeling in a few of the choruses.  Or this version by Charlie Hope. She sings clearly and a bit faster than Staines, but leaves out the last verse.

Go Get the Axe

Wing-wang-waddle, The Foolish Boy, or the swapping song by Shirley Elizabeth Collins
This version has all the right lyrics, but I find the sound incredibly irritating.  You can also find it on youtube to see what you think.    Definitely try before you buy. 

 Shake Sugaree sung by Rhiannon Giddens   Read more about Rhiannon Giddens here.

Tenting Tonight, by Lightening in a Jar or Preaching Tonight by Mississippi John Hurt

The Little Brown Dog (or Autumn to May)

Chieftains, Health to the Company

Arkansas Traveller, by the Rocking Horse Players

Creatures in Exile

Creatures in Exile 

Caitlin Beauchamp

Winter was so long, friends. In its damp final days, we jostled against each other in small rooms, aching to be turned loose into sun and wind. At last came an afternoon mild and golden. I sent my children outdoors shoeless, feeling that all our trials were over. And yet even out in the open air the indoor squabbles persisted. Everyone wanted the tricycle; everyone wanted one specific bucket; one child wanted to be alone in the sandpit and the others wouldn’t oblige. Call it desperation or wisdom, but all I could think to do was go to the creek. 

Our creek forms a little greenbelt through the neighborhood. It is narrow and shallow and sometimes nearly runs dry, yet it has carved a quiet gully for itself, sheltered by a scrubby wood. We stepped through an opening in the trees behind the neighborhood playground and began the steep descent into the gully, working our way slowly under low branches and over exposed roots until the little path leveled out and joined the main trail through the woods. We followed this upstream along the bank of the quiet green creek.  Somewhere ahead of us, almost obscured by the undergrowth, a lighter flickered in the hands of a young teenage boy. Pot smoke lingered in his wake. He walked ahead out of sight, and we turned onto an ascending path that carried us to the crest of a little waterfall. Above the fall, the creek bed widens to a shelf of craggy shale; here we settled in. My children scrambled over rocks and roots and splashed in their rainboots through the low, puddling sheet of water, in a world of their own. Already, the peace of the place had descended on them.  

My three small children and I find too many ways to get at odds with each other at home. For one thing, there are so many objects lying around to be scattered and misused. Then there are the burdens created by my expectations and visions. We mothers dream of lovely days, orderly and meaningful, with an aesthetic imbibed, perhaps, from the curated lives of internet strangers. One of my children just recently joined our family through foster care; in the wake of such life change, it becomes clear how impossible these aspirational images truly are. We do not frolic along a pristine riverside, charmingly dressed in linen and accessorized with butterfly nets. We go to the creek in humility and desperate need, and one child is still wearing pajamas. 

But in the simplicity of the creek we find refuge and solace. We have nothing particular to do or see or accomplish. There are rocks and sticks for everyone, few expectations, and plenty of space. There is also plenty of trash; we live in the city, after all, and this creek bears many different kinds of use. Below the waterfall, a permanent island of litter stagnates against the creek bank—fast food packaging, cigarette butts, bottles, beer cans. Still, always at the creek we are ministered to by things plain and true—water, stone, juniper, moss, sun and wind and the quiet passage of time.

The more I learn about the land beneath my overgrown city, the more I ache for it—the felled woods, the golden-brown prairies embroidered with green, shady streams. First came settlers and farmers, then the postwar housing boom raised a crop of little houses, row after row after row. Thank goodness, this creek and bit of woods were left to us. Here, in nests and burrows and shallow pools, a remnant remains of the old wilderness—armadillos, tortoises, hawks, even a few coyotes, caught on home security cameras prowling the neighborhood at night. These are creatures in exile, huddled here along this graffitied creek bank because it’s the closest thing they can find to the wild land they were made for.

I think about the coyotes often. I lost a cat to them once; I wasn’t over-fond of the cat, truthfully, and meanwhile the lurking presence of coyotes in suburbia is invigorating. I wonder if somewhere in their cells they hold ancestral memories of the prairie. I wonder if they feel the burden of their exile. Perhaps this is simple projection of my own longing. It seems to me that some of the solace I find at the creek is in the suggestion of what it was once, when the land was wilder. The creek itself is in exile, in a way—cut off from its sources, polluted, siphoned through drainage pipes where it becomes an inconvenience.

Reader, this is all a parable. It seems to me that we too are creatures in exile, burdened with longing for something lost. We live in an era of change and uncertainty; we feel unmoored from cultural memory. This sense of disconnectedness is the hallmark of modernity, prominent in our culture since the upheaval of the Great War. As mothers and educators we sense it keenly. When we think of the education we wish to give our children, we feel inadequate. Who will show us the way? There is too much we never learned ourselves, too much our communities have forgotten. We feel isolated and uncertain and we grow restless, searching hungrily for resources to bolster us. We accumulate stuff: more philosophies, more curricula, more picturesque manipulatives, more podcasts, more mentors, more activities. Still, our uneasiness and longing remain.

But it’s too pat a conclusion to say that our sense of lostness dates back neatly to the turn of the 20th century. In truth, we have been in exile almost ever since the world began, since the garden gates closed behind our first parents. We were made for a place more whole than anything we’ve known; deep in our souls, we’re always longing for Eden, our first home. Perhaps beneath our restless parenting aspirations and our nagging discontent lies this homesickness, though we seldom think to call it by name. Perhaps in calling it by name, we might find liberty. So: let us confess together that we secretly hope to restore ourselves and our children to Eden by our own heroic efforts. Let us also confess together that this was never possible. 

We stayed at the creek for two hours that afternoon. As the light began to fade, we gathered ourselves up and retraced our path through the trees. “I wish I was a creature so I could sleep here all night,” my daughter said as I lifted her down off the rock ledge where she had been quietly playing. How I wished it too, for I’d begun thinking of what waited for me at home: lunch dishes still on the table, breakfast dishes in the sink unwashed, foster care paperwork to complete, scattered toys, a sofa piled with laundry, the same old behaviors to discipline. It had been the kind of day that makes a mockery of all our brightest aspirations as mothers, homemakers, educators. And yet, our time at the creek gave me fresh courage, because it reminded me that while our children’s needs are profound, they are also simple. They thrive on good stories, rich relationships, hours of water and stones and sunshine.  They do not need our restless quest for the just-right resource, the elaborate system. They need us to learn to abide, to sink roots into a life that is deep and plain and true. 

As I write this, our creek is the scene of an active police chase. A car theft gone wrong, or so says neighborhood gossip, and now the suspect is hiding in the greenbelt somewhere while squad cars and a helicopter circle. Somewhat irrationally, my immediate prayer is that the moss won’t be badly trampled. Our creek isn’t pure, idyllic, or without risk. And yet the wild creatures find refuge there, and the trees spread their trash-tangled roots out along the water, and my children are given exactly what they need. 

Even so, havens of refuge remain for us while we are in exile. There are still deep places to be found, where goodness, truth, and beauty pool like water. These springs are muddied and imperfect, and they will never fully satisfy our longing, but they are full of blessing just the same. Meanwhile, let us not wish away our longing. If it is a burden, it is also a gift, pointing us to the Savior who is Himself the living water. He is making all things new, and He will lead the exiles home. 

~ Caitlin Beauchamp was among the first AmblesideOnline graduates. She is the daughter of AO Advisory board member Lynn Bruce, and was entirely schooled at home with Charlotte Mason methods from K-12th grades. Caitlin holds a BA and an MA in Creative Writing from the University of Texas at Dallas. She lives in Texas with her husband (also homeschooled), their two children, and sometimes a foster child. Caitlin is a writer and poet, and a regular contributor to Afterthoughts blog. Instagram @caitlin.beauchamp.

~ Painting by Sheila Atchley- a momentary glimpse of a work-in-progress, as yet untitled; ink on primed wood, 2019. Used with permission. Discover more of Sheila's art and writing at sheilaatchley.art and on Instagram @sheilaatchleydesigns.

Reading Challenge!

Challenge and a Quiz: Consider this excerpt from a PR article:

 "So many mothers say, "I simply have no time for myself!" "I never read a book!" Or else, "I don't think it is right to think of myself!" They not only starve their minds, but they do it deliberately, and with a sense of self-sacrifice which seems to supply ample justification. There are, moreover, unfortunately, only too many people who think that sort of thing so lovely that public opinion appears to justify it. But does public opinion justify anything? Does it justify tight-lacing--or high heels--or bearing-reins for horses? It can never justify anything which leads to the "Oh, it's only mother" tone in any young person. That tone is not the right one. But can it be altered? Each mother must settle this for herself. She must weigh things in the balance. She must see which is the most important--the time spent in luxuriously gloating over the charms of her fascinating baby, or what she may do with that time to keep herself "growing" for the sake of that baby "some day," when it will want her even more than it does now. The only way to do it is to be so strongly impressed with the necessity for growing herself that she herself makes it a real object in life. She can only rarely be helped from the outside.

The resolute planting of Miss Three-years-old in her chair at one end of the table with her toys, of Master Five-years-old at the other with his occupations, and fascinating Master Baby on the rug on the floor with his ring and his ball--the decided announcement, "Now mother is going to be busy"--will do those young people a world of good! Though some of their charms will be missed, they will gain respect from mother's time, and some self-reliance into the bargain, while mother's tired back gets a rest, if only for a short time, either on the sofa or flat upon the floor. Then she can listen to her children, and perhaps do a little thinking--not about frocks and foods, but about characters, and how to deal with them; or she can take a book, and "grow" that way. This would do something, but not enough.

Mother must have time to herself. And we must not say "I cannot." Can any of us say till we have tried, not for one week, but for one whole year, day after day, that we "cannot" get one half-hour out of the twenty-four for "Mother Culture?"--one half-hour in which we can read, think, or "remember."

 The habit of reading is so easily lost; not so much, perhaps, the power of enjoying books as the actual power of reading at all. It is incredible how, after not being able to use the eyes for a time, the habit of reading fast has to be painfully regained. The power to read fast is much to be desired, and the people who read every word are left sadly behind by the people who read from full stop to full stop at a glance. This power is what our children are gaining at school, and this power is what we are losing when we refuse to give a little time out of our lives to "Mother Culture."

 It is worth anything to get and to keep even that; and to do it, it is not a bit necessary to read "stiff" books. The wisest woman I ever knew--the best wife, the best mother, the best mistress, the best friend--told me once, when I asked her how, with her weak health and many calls upon her time, she managed to read so much, "I always keep three books going--a stiff book, a moderately easy book, and a novel, and I always take up the one I feel fit for!" That is the secret; always have something "going" to grow by.

 If we mothers were all "growing" there would be less going astray among our boys, less separation in mind from our girls. It would seem as if we mothers often simply made for ourselves the difficulties we find in after life by shutting our minds up in the present. What we need is a habit of taking our minds out of what one is tempted to call "the domestic rag-bag" of perplexities, and giving it a good airing in something which keeps it "growing." A brisk walk will help. But, if we would do our best for our children, grow we must; and on our power of growth surely depends, not only our future happiness, but our future usefulness."

From this PR article: https://www.amblesideonline.org/PR/PR03p092MotherCulture.shtml 

 Quiz:

What, if anything, are you reading for yourself and your future usefulness? I was struck by the assumption that we are to be concerned with their future usefulness at least as much as happiness. Is your future usefulness even something you're keeping in mind as you plan your days and weeks? It certainly wasn't for me.

Are you reading each day, or each week? It seems that far too many of us are not.

As we could see in the article, this isn't a new problem, although we do have some new challenges contributing to the problem.

 Are you reading from a book more than from social media?

If you are finding time to read, share some of your tips for how to make sure this happens.

 Challenge:

 *Carve out some time each day to do a bit of reading, thinking, remembering. When my kids were young I sometimes read while they ate, or I listened to an audio book while I showered, or I kept a book or a few pages printed from an online book in the bathroom for quick snatches of reading when I was in the comfort room. Read while nursing, or while sitting outside while the children play. What are your hacks for squeezing in some reading time?

 *Choose 3 books - a stiff book, a moderately easy book, and a novel. One of them can be an audio book, but try really, really hard to make one of them a print book. Feel free to share your titles here, or in the forum (we have several book discussions in the forum) or on this Good Reads Group: https://www.goodreads.com/group/show/13589-charlotte-mason
Here are 3 of my current titles:
1. Stiff book: Inferno by Dante (this has been on my want to read or currently reading list for at least Twelve years.  I am determined to finally finish this year.
2. a moderately easy book: How to Read Water: Clues and Patterns from Puddles to the Sea
3. Barchester Towers, by Trollope

 * Check your computer time. Tony Reinke in Twelve Ways Your Phone is Changing You says that the average person checks their phone 81,500 times each year, or once every 4.3 minutes of our waking lives, https://jdgreear.com/askmeanything/christians-engage-social-media/
 Consider an app to limit or track social media time. If you already have a good one, let us know. Check here for other ideas: https://blogs.systweak.com/5-best-apps-that-track-social-media-usage-app-to-limit-social-media-use/ or here: https://www.inc.com/jeremy-goldman/6-apps-to-stop-your-smartphone-addiction.html

Do not be discouraged about wherever you are.  Everybody has to start every journey from the place where they are currently standing.  I am currently typing this in bed in my pajamas.  My first step to going anywhere when I finish this is to put my feet on the floor.  But I *DO* have to put my feet on the floor to move on with my day.  The choices I make today influence what and who I will be tomorrow.

  That's where some of you are.  It's okay.  Just put your feet on the floor and work on making a plan to start from where you are and move forward from there.  I hope you'll join us!


Previous Challenges:

Challenge 1 is here.

Challenge 2 is here.

Challenge 3 is here.

Challenge 4 is here.

Challenge 5 is here. 

Challenge 6 is here.

Challenge 7 is here