Okay. I’m just finished watching the leak episode of The White Princess, which is somehow surprised me in many ways (except the witchcraft subplot bullshit).
The witchcraft bullshit is back at it again, but Lizzie is doing just fine being queen who does something in her husband’s absence.
And Henry’s becoming more and more stubborn child who believes and trusts his wife more than his annoying mother means the beginning of her end? Margaret’s obviously being possessive mother, and it feels like she and her daughter-in-law are fighting each other to win over him. What a soap opera!
However, the episode to me is absolutely Margaret-centric more than anyone else.
Henry’s clearly trying to be himself and break free from her by wiping away her power and separating her from Jasper by sending him to make peace envoy with Stanley. And she’s shocked by that decision!!
Oh yeah, you know what? He did that because he thought she spent too much time flirting with his uncle! I mean he really did SAY IT.
(what??? they just held hands, was that considered a flirtation to ya? do you know they’ve had kissed? and she referred to you when she was with your uncle ‘our boy’?)
Moreover, Thomas acts just like he’s happy torturing his mentally cheating wife and her lover as well! Like, you of all people, why do you look like a jealous husband when you’re the one who made a decision to never bedded her for the first place??? Come on! I watched the White Queen!
Plus, I don’t know but I always feel like there’s more than possessive between Margaret and Henry, it has some scent of an incestuous relationship and some of mother knows best-weak stupid son complex.
So, it’s canon now that older!Margaret and older!Jasper flirt a lot?? I told ya.
You can post it directly your drawing on your tumblr. (with @babymaxou or send me a message with the link of your post) so I can reblog it and put it on my post. You can send me your drawing directly in private.
Theme: Vanitas no Carte. Do not hesitate to share or participate. If there are many participants, there will be maybe a surprise ? (or not x’D)
Ok, here goes random headcanon time. Journalling and accidentally pajama party themed?
Josephine private and work journals are undistinguishable and have everything meticulously organized to last detail. Lots of bullet journalling. Also all are super aesthetically pleasing though not entirely minimalistic. Sometimes Leliana (or Sera) add little doodle here or there to make her happy. She enjoys the sole act of writing with quill and ink and likes to spoil herself a bit with good quality ones (it’s for work after all).
Leliana doesn’t write down anything important for safety reasons (her hood is full of secrets) but if Thedas had photography she would have dozens of cute fluffy journals full of nug photos. Her new pet project would be about ravens and adventures of Baron Plucky.
Cassandra isn’t much into writing itself so her journal is one small booklet she keeps always on herself and makes sure no one knows of it. She writes down things short and dry (practically tags) but likes to reread them and remember all the things they were referring to. On the very back she keeps her private ratings for all the books Varric wrote.
Cullen doesn’t keep journal per say (everything important is in usual paper work) but has compulsion to write down little notes on anything on hand so he won’t forget (so master of modern post-its would he be). That method works pretty well unless you live in drafty tower with no roof. With time and experience in catching flying paper, he accumulated nice rock collection to keep all that notes down.
For windy-times! I know it’s super super late for the exchange but I hope I could make it worth it.
I tried to go with the private school theme for SwissAus, but I also wanted to do snow so it’s kind of hard to see their uniforms. They seem like the type of people who would always pretend to hate each other but secretly enjoy the other’s company while waiting for the bus home or walking to class.
Here is an interesting article I came across in The Atlantic.
The story of a Teacher and how we portray our lives to others in the field. What are your thoughts?
I liked Devon. We were all first and second-year teachers in that seminar—peers, in theory—but my colleague Devon struck me as a cut above. I’d gripe about a classroom problem, and without judgment or rebuke, he’d outline a thoughtful, inventive solution, as if my blundering incompetence was perhaps a matter of personal taste, and he didn’t wish to impose his own sensibilities. When it fell upon us each to share a four-minute video of our teaching, I looked forward to Devon’s. I expected a model classroom, his students as pious and well-behaved as churchgoers.
Instead, the first half of Devon’s four-minute clip showed him fiddling with an overhead projector; in the second half, he was trotting blandly through homework corrections. The kids rocked side to side, listless. For all his genuine wisdom, Devon looked a little green, a little lost.
He looked, in short, like me.
Teachers self-promote. In that, we’re no different than everyone else: proudly framing our breakthroughs, hiding our blunders in locked drawers, forever perfecting our oral résumés. This isn’t all bad. My colleagues probably have more to learn from my good habits (like the way I use pair work) than my bad ones (like my sloppy system of homework corrections), so I might as well share what’s useful. In an often-frustrating profession, we’re nourished by tales of triumph. A little positivity is healthy.
But sometimes, the classrooms we describe bear little resemblance to the classrooms where we actually teach, and that gap serves no one.
Any honest discussion between teachers must begin with the understanding that each of us mingles the good with the bad. One student may experience the epiphany of a lifetime, while her neighbor drifts quietly off to sleep. In the classroom, it’s never pure gold or pure tin; we’re all muddled alloys.
I taught once alongside a first-year teacher, Lauren, who didn’t grasp this. As a result, she compared herself unfavorably to everyone else. Every Friday, when we adjourned to the bar down the street, she’d decry her own flaws, meticulously documenting her mistakes for us, castigating herself to no end. The kids liked her. The teachers liked her. From what I’d seen, she taught as well as any first-year could. But she saw her own shortcomings too vividly and couldn’t help reporting them to anyone who’d listen.
She was fired three months into the year. You talk enough dirt about yourself and people will start to believe it.
Omission is the nature of storytelling; describing a complex space—like a classroom—requires a certain amount of simplification. Most of us prefer to leave out the failures, the mishaps, the wrong turns. Some, perhaps as a defensive posture, do the opposite: Instead of overlooking their flaws and miscues, they dwell on them, as Lauren did. The result is that two classes, equally well taught, may come across like wine and vinegar, depending on how their stories are told.
Take the first year I taught psychology. I taught one section; my colleague Erin taught the other.
When I talked to Erin that semester, she’d glow about her class. Kids often approached her in the afternoons to follow up on questions, and to thank her for teaching their favorite course. Her students kept illustrated vocab journals totaling hundreds of words. They drew posters of neurons, crafted behaviorist training regimes, and designed imaginative “sixth senses” for the human body. Erin’s mentor teacher visited monthly and dubbed it an “amazing class” with “incredible teaching.”
Catch me in an honest mood, and I’ll admit that I bombed the semester. I lectured every day from text-filled overhead slides. Several of my strongest students told me that they hated the class and begged for alternative work. I wasted three weeks on a narrow, confining research assignment, demanding heavy work with little payoff. One student openly plagiarized another. I wound up failing several students who, in hindsight, I should have passed. Yet I know that this apparent train wreck of a class was, in truth, no worse than Erin’s.
That’s because I made Erin up. The two classes described above were the same class: mine. Each description is true, and neither, of course, is wholly honest.
I’m as guilty as anyone of distorting my teaching. When talking to other teachers, I often play up the progressive elements: Student-led discussions. Creative projects. Guided discovery activities. I mumble through the minor, inconvenient fact that my pedagogy is, at its core, deeply traditional. I let my walk and my talk drift apart. Not only does this thwart other teachers in their attempts to honestly evaluate my approach, but it blocks my own self-evaluation. I can’t grow properly unless I see my own work with eyes that are sympathetic, but clear and unyielding.
I had a private theme song my first year teaching: “Wear and Tear,” by Pete Yorn. It was my alarm in the mornings, my iPod jam on the commute home. The chorus ended with a simple line that spun through my head in idle moments and captured the essence of a year I spent making mistake after rookie mistake: Can I say what I do?
It’s no easy task for teachers. But I think we owe it, to ourselves if to no one else, to tell the most honest stories that we can. I’ll only advance as a teacher, and offer something of value to those around me, if I’m able to say what I do.
“Why didn’t you blindfold me this time?” You ask him, and he
looks up from his phone.
“Doesn’t matter if you see where I live. You don’t know
how to get here and you don’t know where you came from so it’s not a problem if
you can see out my window or whatever. Plus, there are no doors that you can
open without a key or card. Seokjin is the only one who holds a key to this
Mosaics decorated luxurious domestic and public buildings across the
broad expanse of the Roman Empire. Made between the 2nd through the 6th century AD, mosaics offer a vivid picture of ancient Roman life.
From dramatic athletic contests to tender portraits of local wildlife, mosaics provide a glimpse at who the Romans were, what they valued, and where they walked.
The spread of mosaics parallels the vast spread of Roman power, from France to Syria to Tunisia. And like the rest of Roman culture, mosaics in different places reveal a combination of local traditions and Roman influence.
Roman mosaics were meant to be walked on. Paintings covered the interior walls of Roman villas, but weren’t practical for decorating floors. Enter mosaics: a durable and lavish way to spruce up a room and support foot traffic at the same time.
Wealthy Romans chose mosaics for their private homes with themes that reflect their status: mythological stories would show off a man’s book learning, while scenes of wild animals being captured for fights in the arena might highlight his sponsorship of public games.
Many mosaics lay under the soil for thousands of years. Because they are built into the foundations of buildings, mosaics are among the best-preserved of all forms of Roman art and many still retain their original color as they were made from stone and glass.