New / Old / Beautiful SP

Welcome, Carlos! One late summer day, Carlos sat at the kitchen table. He wanted to begin his poster. He had found paper, glue, and colored markers. He had a box of family photoS. But what should I put on it? he thought. Soon, Carlos would start school in a new town, in a new country. He had just met his new school principal. "You can bring this poster on the first day of school, Carlos," his principal had said. "This will help the kids get to know you." Carlos picked photos of his family. He added one of their old home in Monterrey, Mexico. He wrote about the books, sports, and foods he liked. He carried his poster across the hall of his apartment building. He knocked on the door, and a smiling girl opened it. "Hola, Carlos!" said Maria. "Hola, Maria," said Carlos. "Do you want to see my poster? It's for the first day of school." "Oh, yes!" said Maria. Carlos spread out the poster. "This is a photo of my parents," Carlos explained. "This is our house. These are the mountains in Monterrey." "My padre works for a big solar energy company from Monterrey. They moved us to the United States to open a new factory here." "Monterrey looks beautiful, Carlos," said Maria. "It was sunny and a great place to do things outdoors," Carlos said. "Was it hard to leave your relatives?" Maria asked. "Yes, but we'll go back during the holidays to visit them," said Carlos. Maria looked at another photo. "That's my older brother, Mateo. This is my little sister, Selena," Carlos said. "My abuela will come to live with us soon, too." Maria read that Carlos liked to play baseball. "You could join our baseball team!" said Maria. "That would be fun," said Carlos. He showed Maria his best batting swing. "That's a good hit, for sure!" laughed Maria. Then Maria brought out crayons and markers. Together they colored the rest of the poster. "There's something I want to add," said Carlos. Carlos drew a picture of a smiling girl. She had long, soft hair. "Is that your friend in Monterrey?" asked Maria. "No, it's my first friend in America!" said Carlos.

The Pleiades, also known as the Seven Sisters, is a famous star cluster located in the constellation of Taurus. It is made up of a group of seven bright stars that are visible to the naked eye in the night sky. The stars in the Pleiades cluster are relatively young, being only about 100 million years old, which is young in astronomical terms. The Pleiades cluster has been observed and admired by cultures all around the world for thousands of years. In Greek mythology, the Pleiades were seven sisters who were pursued by the hunter Orion. To protect them, Zeus transformed them into stars, forming the star cluster we see today. Different cultures have their own stories and legends associated with the Pleiades, making it a fascinating object of study for astronomers and a source of inspiration for artists and storytellers. The Pleiades cluster is often used as a test of eyesight, as people are challenged to count how many stars they can see with the naked eye. Most people can see six or seven stars, but those with particularly sharp vision may be able to see more. The Pleiades is also a popular target for amateur astronomers with telescopes, as the cluster reveals even more stars and details when viewed through a telescope. In addition to being a beautiful sight in the night sky, the Pleiades cluster also serves a practical purpose for astronomers. By studying the stars in the Pleiades, scientists can learn more about how stars form and evolve, as well as gain insights into the structure and composition of the Milky Way galaxy. The Pleiades cluster continues to be an important object of study for astronomers, both amateur and professional, and its beauty and significance will continue to capture the imaginations of people for generations to come. Matariki is the Maori name for the Pleiades star cluster. The Pleiades is a group of stars that can be seen in the night sky, and Matariki is a special time of year when the star cluster is visible in the sky. In Maori culture, Matariki is seen as the beginning of the Maori New Year, and it is a time to celebrate and give thanks for the past year and look forward to the year ahead. So basically, Matariki is related to the Pleiades because it is a special time of year when those stars are visible in the sky and it has cultural significance for the Maori people. The Pleiades star cluster is known by different names in various cultures around the world. Here are some of the names by which the Pleiades are referred to in different countries: 1. Maori culture in New Zealand and Polynesia: Matariki 2. Greek mythology: The Seven Sisters 3. Japan: Subaru 4. Native American tribes: The Dancers or The Little Eyes 5. Inca civilization: Collca 6. Ancient Persia: Parvin 7. India: Krittika 8. Aboriginal Australians: The Seven Sisters or Djulpan These different names reflect the diverse cultural significance and interpretations of the Pleiades cluster in various societies throughout history.

Feliz Navidad, Carlos! School was out for winter break. Carlos and his family packed to go to Monterrey, Mexico. "It's our first trip back since we moved to America," said Carlos. "I can't wait to see everyone!" Carlos sat by the window on the airplane. He saw clouds and blue sky. Then he saw the mountains around Monterrey. "We're almost there!" he said. Carlos's aunt, uncle, and cousins met them at the airport. "Feliz Navidad!" said his uncle. "You are home! This will be a wonderful celebration, now!" They had arrived in time to join in Las Posadas. Candles in paper bags lined the sidewalks. Neighborhood children acted out Mary and Joseph's journey to Bethlehem. Carlos, Selena, and Mateo walked the Posada with their cousins. They knocked on the first door. They sang a song and asked, "May we stay?" They were told "No." They knocked on the second door. They were told "No" again. They knocked on the third door. "Come in!" the neighbors said. A fiesta was inside! There were sweets and hot chocolate for everyone. There was even a piñata! "May I try to break the piñata?" Carlos asked. "I play baseball at my school. I can swing hard." Carlos was blindfolded. He hit the piñata and it split open! Treats and toys spilled out everywhere. They heard a boom and pop pop. "Fireworks!" Mateo yelled. Red, green, and blue lights filled the night sky. "It's so beautiful!" said his cousin. At midnight, the family walked to the old church. Inside, the dark church glowed from the light of candles. It was very quiet. Carlos watched the candles flicker all around him. Back at their uncle's home, they found more food and treats waiting for them. "This Navidad has been the best!" said Carlos. "We are lucky." "We can celebrate with our new friends in America and our family here in Mexico." Carlos, Selena, and Mateo were ready for sleep. But Selena remembered something. "Papa, when will we open our presents?" she asked. "We will each open one tomorrow, and the rest on January 6, Three Kings Day," Papa said. "I hope I get a calendar," Carlos said to Mama. "I'll put a star in December," said Carlos. "So I know when we'll come back for Navidad, again!"

The following days are a jumble of gunfire, digging, gobbled food, soldiers running in and out of the forest in small groups, distant explosions, stray shells, bandaged heads and unexpected lulls. On the very first day, before dawn, I am ordered into one of the newly dug trenches. I huddle there, squeezing my magic buttons and singing songs to the dog. When the fighting stops, the dog disappears, but a new companion takes his place. A strange little soldier crawls along the trench toward me. ‘Private Sasha!’ he cries. ‘I’ve been looking for you all day long!’ He’s old, like a grandfather, a dedushka. He has a black patch over one eye, a tape measure around his neck and a row of pins threaded into his sleeve. Hanging from his belt is the most enormous pair of scissors I have ever seen and I wonder if he uses them as a weapon. He doesn’t tell me his name, so in my head he becomes Dedushka. Dedushka squats, cups his hand to his ear, peers over the top of the trench and smiles. ‘It’s safe to be upright . . . for now.’ He helps me to my feet, dusts me off and commands me to stand as tall and straight as I can. Then he measures me. Everything from head to toe – even my toes! He writes numbers in a little notebook, strings his tape measure back around his neck, salutes and hurries away. It’s all very strange, and I wonder if Dedushka has been bumped on the head during the battle and is now a little bit muddled. I should have given him a hug before he left. I chase after him but stop when I’m hit by a shovelful of flying dirt. Sleepy Bear is digging a cave! ‘Are you going to hibernate?’ I ask. Sleepy Bear chuckles. ‘No, although that would be wonderful! I could do with a lo-o-o-ong sleep.’ He sighs and closes his eyes. He doesn’t open them again and I realise that he has gone to sleep. Standing up! I shake his arm, and he opens his eyes and keeps talking. ‘No, I’m not hibernating. I’m digging a little nook where I can sleep and eat. I’ll hang up my raincape as a door that can open and close so it feels just like a real home . . . except for the lice . . . and the bad smells . . . and the bombs that make the walls shake and crumble.’ He points further along the trench to where other soldiers are digging. ‘We’re all making little houses in the ground.’ ‘Like rabbits and moles,’ I say. Sleepy Bear chuckles. ‘Yes! And soldiers who need to hide from German bullets and bombs.’ He stops digging to roll a cigarette. ‘Should I be making a house?’ I ask. ‘I want to hide from German bullets and bombs, too.’ Sleepy Bear flops to the ground, lights his cigarette, closes his eyes and takes a deep puff. I wait for him to answer, but, instead, he begins to snore! I poke him in the side. He snorts and he murmurs, ‘I think someone has already built you a house, Sasha. Keep going along this beautiful village street and you are sure to find it.’ He falls asleep once more. I kiss his dusty cheek and whisper, ‘Thank you, Sleepy Bear.’ A little way along, I see Cook in a cloud of smoke. He has lit a fire, right here in the middle of the trench, and is stirring a cauldron full of kasha. He squats as he stirs. ‘What are you doing?’ I ask. ‘Cooking supper, of course!’ he cries. ‘But why are you doing it here?’ Cook points his spoon at the ground above the trenches. ‘Because if I do it up there, my pot will be filled with holes from German bullets and all of the kasha will leak out onto the ground. It’s bad enough that our supplies can’t get through German lines and there’s nothing to cook but buckwheat for kasha. But if we lost the kasha, too . . .’ ‘Hungry soldiers,’ I say. Cook nods. ‘And grumpy!’ ‘Like Boris!’ I gasp. ‘Even worse,’ warns Cook. I picture the kasha pot full of bullet holes. And then I realise that if the kasha pot were full of holes, then Cook would be, too. I wrap my arms around Cook’s neck and say, ‘I think this is a very good place for cooking our supper.’ I kiss his smoky cheek and run along. At the end of the trench, I find the biggest hole of all. It’s wide and deep and as busy as a beehive in a blossom tree. Above, a group of soldiers is rolling logs into place for a roof, while below, typewriters rattle and pencils scratch and papers flutter and voices crackle out of five different radios. Their words tangle together to tell a strange wartime fairy tale about German guns and a loving father called Stalin and a Red Army regiment that is lost in the deep, dark forest and a wicked beast called Hitler and a delivery of vegetables that was hit by a bomb and blown into a million tiny pieces too small even to make soup. In the middle of it all, wrestling with a rumpled map, his rifle still slung over his shoulder, is Major Scruff. ‘Major Scruff!’ I run and jump into his arms. ‘Is this our new home?’ ‘Yes, Sasha. I suppose it is.’ ‘Is it safe from German bullets and bombs?’ I ask. He stares at me. ‘Were you scared in the trenches today, Sasha?’ ‘No,’ I reply. ‘I had magic buttons and a dog and some songs to sing. Were you scared in the forest, Major Scruff?’ ‘Yes,’ he says. ‘Poor Major Scruff!’ I press my hand against his cheek. The dark, rough stubble is grubby with grit and his eyelids are taking a long time to open after every blink. ‘You need a shave and a nap!’ I scold. He chuckles. ‘I am too tired to shave and too busy to nap.’ I scrunch my nose while I consider his problem. ‘I know!’ I cry. ‘You nap and I will shave your whiskers. That will be two jobs tumbled into one!’ And so that’s what we do. Major Scruff slumps into a chair and snoozes while I lather his face with soapy water and shave his whiskers. The soap suds travel from his face, up into his hair and down the front of his uniform, and I have to shave his jaw and chin three times because I keep missing bits, but I finally get it all done. I am just wiping his cheeks dry when the dog appears. He licks my hand, then stretches up and licks soap suds from Major Scruff’s ear. Major Scruff wakes with a start. He feels his newly shaved face and cries, ‘Wonderful, Sasha! I feel smooth, clean, rested and ready for action.’ He ruffles my hair. ‘We must do this again tomorrow. Although next time, you might wake me with a gentle shake of the shoulder instead of licking my ear.’

NEW AND OLD ✨

Short long big small tall old new ugly

Old and New

Old World - New World - United States History

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