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Eshow Men's Canvas Travel Drawstring Bag, Black

Brand : Eshow

Sales Rank : 613961

Color : Black

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Features Eshow Men's Canvas Travel Drawstring Bag, Black

Material: Premium quality cotton canvas
Surrounded by two additional pockets on both sides
Adjustable shoulder straps
Dimensions: 9.4" W x 18.9" H x 3.1" D
Style: Casual, Retro, Outdoor

Descriptions Eshow Men's Canvas Travel Drawstring Bag, Black

Men's Retro Canvas Hiking Rucksack by Eshow
Main compartment with string contains zipped pocket
Weight: 1.1 pounds
A spacious main compartment is surrounded by two additional pockets on both sides for top-quality organization
Feel free to enjoy a bike ride or weekend travel

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Algebra 10-12 assignment; Feb. 18

Yesterday was a holiday, so there was no school and no assignment.  We spent today continuing to work on linear inequalities as the students worked on getting the equations in the correct form before graphing them.


Assignment:  Graphing linear inequalities worksheet #2

Algebra 10-12 assignment; Feb. 21

We went over our homework today and did a final review before taking a quiz today on graphing linear inequalities.  After the quiz, the students then got a start on their homework assignment for the weekend.


Assignment:  Graphing Linear Systems worksheet

Algebra 10-12 assignment; April 14

We introduced another form of factoring today:  factoring by grouping.  This method allows the students to break down polynomials with 4 terms.  We went over 4 examples together in class before the students got started on their assignment.

Assignment:  Factoring by Grouping worksheet

Geometry assignment; 9/5

After going through a warm up problem and answering homework questions, we then went through our first exposure to the compass and how to construct various figures.  We practiced 5 different skills before the students then got started on their assignment.


Assignment:  Segments and Circles constructions assignment

Remembering Frederick Manfred--1912-1994 (ii)

The Secret Place was the novel that brought Manfred most dishonor among the good folks of Doon, Iowa, not only because of its graphic sexual content, but because local people winced when the story line came so close to mirroring a saga many of them remembered—how a local boy got two girls pregnant in too short a span, both out of wedlock. Local people felt what the subjects of literary work have felt for centuries—used. One of their own, Feik Feikema, had taken a story that belonged to them and spread it all over as if it was the world’s business.

Susan Cheever, in an interview about her famous father, John Cheever, says that being fictionalized, as she was in her father’s work, is “ten million times more painful” than being written about in non-fiction, “much more dangerous because much more painful for the people it may be based on.” I believe her. But, back then, I had no notion of the sensitivities of the Manfred’s neighbors, nor did I have any idea there existed some kind of prototype. I really had no idea how it was writers did what they did.

I read The Secret Place during Thanksgiving break, then returned to Dordt College and told my English instructor that I’d like to do a research paper on it, a novel she’d not read, even though she knew Frederick Manfred, at least by reputation. Not long before, President B.J. Haan had buckled under to a local church group who vowed to stop giving to the fledgling college down the road if Feikema’s books were right there in the stacks of the library, no one supervising. To Haan’s credit, he didn’t toss them, but he did put them behind the desk so students had to ask.

I don’t remember what grade I received on that research paper, but it’s still somewhere in my files I’m sure, because I studied The Secret Place in a way devoted freshman college students are still asked to study literature. I read that novel closely, outlining theme and motif, in a way I’d never read anything before. I read earnestly.

Sometimes I wonder if I wasn’t, even then, trying to save this man I’d never met, if not from the wrath of his villagers, then from the flames of hell others in the neighborhood were stoking. I admired his rebellion, his prophetic character. Somewhere in The Secret Place I wanted to find what people once called “socially redeeming value,” in spite of the racy cornfield passages that made my hormones pulse.

I may have wanted to baptize Feike Feikema, but it’s far more obvious, in retrospect, that with that novel Frederick Manfred baptized me. When I read certain passages—a couple of young fornicators meeting self-righteousness head-on in a smoke-filled consistory room, for instance—I felt a conflict that wasn’t at all new, but as familiar to my perceptions as church peppermints drawn discreetly from a black suit coat.

I date my own birth as a writer to that novel and that freshman English paper. Before reading The Secret Place, I had no idea my life, and the lives of those around me, was worth a story. Fred Manfred made it vividly clear to me—even though I’d never considered it before—that I didn’t have to be Jewish or urbane or sophisticated or snobbish or even particularly “literary” to write stories about real people in real time, in a landscape no more than a day’s hike away.

Fred Manfred made me want to write stories, and that may well be the most significant reason why I wanted to save him. The Secret Place, a novel also published as The Man Who Looked Like the Prince of Wales, may well be totally forgotten to everyone but me, but today that book sits in honor behind ancient glass on the Manfred shelf of our library.

_______________

Tomorrow:  Meeting Fred Manfred.

World Cup purity

I take no pride in telling you this. Think of it as confession of sin.  I have not watched a minute of the Team USA's play in the World Cup. Seriously, I wanted to, but not enough, I guess. Real desire changes lives, but my desire didn't even change my schedule. I told myself the U.S. was playing and I ought to watch, but I never did--I did other things. Which means, basically, that I didn't want to watch them as much as I thought I did.

Honestly, I wish I had. I would have liked be part of a national phenomenon, something wondrously sweet in this sharply divided nation of ours (I think red and blue states all tuned in, didn't they?). My son-n-law's shot at Ann Coulter, posted here last week, was on the mark. Of course, I thought she was nuts long before her daffy duck cheap shot at soccer.

She's not crazy. She makes a fortune at what she does, and got herself all over the news for the column. But she and Rush, O'Reilly and Hannity --and Jon Stewart and Steven Colbert--are all, first and foremost, entertainers.  If they weren't, they'd run for office and spread their gospel far-er and wide-r. They're in it for the cash or the applause, a little of both maybe--all of 'em. 

I'm not a bit-time soccer fan, really, but years ago I happened to be in the Netherlands at the time of the European Cup, when Spain beat someone (not Holland, as I remember) right there.  It was wild in Amsterdam, but I suppose that goes without saying. There is nothing like it in Orange City.  

That year, when I came back to the states, I watched the World Cup almost religiously. Whenever the Dutch team played, I wandered over to the college, where a big screen (one of few back then) was set up in a community room full of people dressed as if it were pheasant opener just across the river in South Dakota.  Loved it.

This year, I just didn't take the time.

No matter. I loved the vigor of the fans, loved it that Ann Coulter's stick-in-the-mud American exclusivism got sneers from Colorado Springs to San Fran.  Look at the picture up top--there have to be Republicans in that bunch, have to be Democrats too.

I loved it because none of Team USA's heroes are household names in this country, even though all of them are stars and some are even wealthy. Professional sports tire me (except the Packers, whose righteousness is proved by the fact that they are still owned by the community--shoot, even our banker has a team share framed on his wall). 

The NCAA is filthy rich, but it still flaunts the absurdity of there being a "student athlete." Colleges and universities are slaves to their Athletic Departments (upper case, you see) and the coaches who get all the best salaries.  An uncle of mine once spent a year as interim head of Indiana University. He told me it wouldn't have been a bad job if it hadn't have been for Bobby Knight. Once upon a time, bowl games were named after fruit or flowers or cotton on New Year's Day. Now it's Doritoes or Fed Ex or Chick-fil-a. 

I know what Romney thinks: "corporations are people too, man."  Remember that one? Well, bullshit. If corporations were "people, too, man," all our BMWs would have their own in-house elevators, and income disparity in America wouldn't be going through the roof. Give me a break.

I suppose now that the entire nation did a stadium wave at the World Cup, we'll make gods of the players too. Tim Howard's already on his way, I guess. Burger King or Home Depot will take over, and it won't be Team USA anymore but team Team Pampers or something. That's the way it goes in America, right? Where two or three are gathered, someone's going to make a buck.

I don't know. From the outside, from someone who saw the roaring crowds only on national news, I thought America's chapter in the World Cup story was somehow pure, and there's so little that's pure these days in the great U. S. of A.

What's more, we lost. Wish it weren't true, but we did. On a good day, American exclusivism, a top notch German coach, and a few good breaks will barely get us past Ghana. Most Americans don't have a clue where on earth Belgium is. Get this: on Saturday, the Netherlands, which fits between Sioux City, Iowa, and Wilmer, Minnesota, plays Costa Rica, which fits between Chamberlain, SD, and Des Moines, Iowa. 

Seriously? And we're out? That's just not American.

I like that. 

I'd have liked to win, quite frankly; but we didn't.

Nope. And that's fine too.