When I was teaching teenagers in Sunday School regularly, a friend gave me a copy of Boom’s Taxonomy which explained that to best teach,  a student would RECEIVE information, USE the info. involving eyes, hands, body, brain, and CREATE SOMETHING NEW. Perhaps a piece of art.

The roads in the Outsider Art picture below, remind me of a John new driver story in which he and the teacher used a version of Bloom’s Taxonomy without a saying a single word. This is a variation I’ve never tried, possibly because I’m not a guy.

John’s Dad decided to give John a driving lesson. They both got in the family car, John behind the wheel; no word spoken. John ignited the engine, twisted in his seat to look behind him; no word spoken. No, “Take it easy,” or “Take it slow,” or such like was verbally instructed. So John floored it, took out a panel of fence, slammed on the brake, got out of the car, slammed its door, and John went in the house. No word spoken.

John’s Dad never said anything either. No, “Now you did it,” or “What you you thinking?” or such like, he just fixed the fence. And John’s Dad never tried to teach John to drive again. So much was learned: how not to teach driving, how not to back out the driveway, how exhilarating driving should not be, and how much John’s Dad loved him. And John CREATED SOMETHING, nothing I’d call art, but it was something, and to confirm John’s Dad did love John, Dad put the fence back to rights.  nancymauerman.com

Inside the Dumpling Inside Ralph’s Mouth – Framed

My mom always said, “Opposites attract,”  as John and I compared new driver stories, his waking nightmares were numerous, mine- of just one type.  Once John was in the driver’s seat, the back was full, and beside him sat the instructor, the road in front of John was curved: John drove straight.  Straight off the road, plunged down a steep hill and luckily found another road below. John smoothly attached himself to it. He pulled over to the side, as it he’d planned the whole thing, stopped the car and he said, “It’s someone elses turn!”

I did not want to drive. My life had always been out of control, I’d do or say something in my family to which I could expect a logical response but got; occasionally that, but more often illogical and strange results. So, the last month of High School, I got in the car, kids in back, and beside me an instructor, behind a twin set of car controls, and I WENT SLOW.  My instructor, unlike John unfortunate one, never had cause to USE his controls. (John’s instructor, of course, wasn’t quick enough to use his.) Well, I INTENDED to go slow.  But sometimes the car sped UP ON ITS OWN. I’d apply the brake AND THE CAR WENT EVEN FASTER! At other times the brake worked logically, and I thought, “What else is new.”  At the end of the month the instructor said I’d was fine except that I was the only one he’d had to use his controls on; I drove too slow. eesh, that explained everything, but he said, now with time behind the wheel , experience, I was ready to hit the road on my own. The picture of the person stepping in a chocolate cake below, to me says, control problem.”  nancymauerman.com

Choc. Cake W Raisins Donut Bag And Gun – Framed

Black houses on chicken legs dance around this frame, these are the type of houses the three Baba Yaga sister inhabit. In folk lore the Baba Yagas  help adults on their life quests but they EAT children. The two stone children in the picture are still alive but are severely damaged unlike those who fly through the sky above.  The stone children are hoping their mommas will save them.

Yesterday John  remembered the knife throwing games of his childhood. Again I cringed. I criged because I thought his game was the same as the knife throwing by little Nebraska kids on my block; but no. The goal of John’s game was to take turns throwing a knife to an exact twelve inches from the outside of his opponents foot. The opponent then scooted his foot to touch the knife before he pulled it from the ground, and all is repeated over and over until one of the kids spit his legs so far apart, he could no longer reach the knife.. Not in Nebraska. We faced each other and threw a knife AT the feet. There were two goals here. The thrower’s; to watch the opponent panic as he wondered whether the knife throwing kid had somehow improved his aim. ‘Somehow’ because moms, always, magically, found out the game was in progress and put a stop to the “fun” before said skills could develop. Would the target kid trust the knife holding kid or does the target kid choose.., weeell we never called it ‘good judgement’ more like, ‘to be afraidy cat.’

The goal for the target was to HOPE HIS MOM WOULD PUT A STOP TO THE FUN .nancymauerman.com

Stone Children – Framed

I’m almost a year older and a bit taller than John, my husband, and when we were younger this is what he had often told me, “Almost all the girls are taller than me; I don’t mind at all because, at my eye level all I can see are breasts.”

The warrior has aged and I find that, this a time of accumulated wisdom in both of us.  But it is also a time full of sublime surprises.  A time when content of speech is mellow, even saturated with sweetness, but the content of said speech is often dubious. John’s mantra today is often something like this, “I don’t know what I was looking for, or I’d get it for you.” Sublime, don’t you think? Much like his wearing a swimming cap around the house half the day as shown below.  nancymauerman.com

Almost All The Girls Are Taller Than Me All I Can See Are Breasts – Framed