Rummaging in the cyber past

I retired over 11 years ago. After all these years of teaching English I found I was missing the discipline of writing - for when I set essays, particularly to senior classes, I tended to write one myself. It was something I liked to do, to contribute to the discussion, as well as believing you shouldn't ask people to do something you weren't prepared to do yourself. At the time, blogging was pretty new - and it was really the only shared form of communication, the first step in what we learned to call Social Media. My sons were already blogging. I was seduced.

And it was in that first year of blogging that I began to meet people outwith my own circle (there - Blogger doesn't like "outwith" any more than it ever did), several of whom were (another new word at the time) edubloggers. Some of them were Scots, so that I met them physically in Glasgow ("You're Blethers, aren't you?"); some were much further away. And one of the more distant edubloggers I also met, and it's a good story.

I can't remember the exact sequence of events, but it was in November 2006 that I blogged about my input into the classroom work of Anne Davis - allowing her to use my photos as a classroom resource for creative writing, commenting on some of the pupils' work, thoroughly enjoying that little bit of teaching again. Three months later, we met - in San Francisco - thanks to Ewan's social engineering. We were on a month's tour of our American friends, one of whom had just dropped us off at our SF hotel. The cases had just appeared, when the phone rang. You don't expect anyone to phone you in a strange city - but it was Anne, also in town for a conference. Could we meet for dinner?  And we did, and you can read a short blog post about it, though it doesn't mention my recording a podcast for her pupils.

But I must tear myself away from this nostalgic wandering among the archives. The reason I'm doing it appears in the photo at the top: Anne sent me this book that she and a colleague, Ewa McGrail,  have written (and it costs a fortune to send a book from the USA) and it has the most lovely dedication on the front page and several references to me, all wonderfully flattering, scattered throughout the text. I'm delighted to get it, and to relive that time - which in many ways feels like another life. Even this blog post, full of links that take ages to find because I keep reading what I'm rummaging among, reminds me of that era.

Now, of course, it's all short-form communications. Social media rules, and the most unlikely people turn up on Facebook. Blogging is much less of a thing. And yet ... I find myself returning to blethers when I want to say something longer than a sentence, or something that I haven't got a proper photo for (because Blipfoto seems to have turned into my regular blog spot, in a strange way - maybe because of the interest of photographers). And when I was reading the book this morning, and reflecting on how I'd celebrate its arrival, I thought about children's writing and the joy of having it read by more than just the classroom teacher - to say nothing about having comments added by outsiders.

Children - and we've been talking primary school pupils throughout this - still love to have their best work displayed on the classroom wall. There is a place for this sort of controlled online interaction - on the much bigger wall, as it were, of the internet. This book, Student Blogs, seems to me to cover so many of the areas that might worry the cautious teacher - everything from accessing photos to Creative Commons and beyond - as to encourage any teacher to have a go.

Unless, of course, no-one can write more than 140 characters at a time these days. Just like The President ...

Planning or living?

This blog post is an act of conscience, brought on by Kelvin's reminder of how much I've been neglecting my blog. So here's a wee blether for today ...

A couple of hours ago I was phoned by a pleasant-sounding woman - youngish, I'd say, West of Scotland accent - offering to help me plan for my old age. Just a few questions would do it. And I'm afraid I laughed. No, no, she said - it's for anyone over 35; 35 to 80 year-olds can do this thing, whatever it was.

She was clearly not happy with me. I told her I was probably past planning for my old age, and that rather than think about it I really needed to get out to the shops as my bare larder might result in our not needing to plan further. And she let me go.

Thing is, I can't accept that I'm old. And if I think about planning for when I'm utterly ancient I become depressed. Which makes me wonder if in fact that only people who should be planning for their old age are my children's generation, because then it still seems unlikely that it's ever going to happen to you, this old age malarkey.

But take heed. It does happen - but people like me, we stick our heads in the sand and sing "la la, I can't hear you". We continue to wear jeans and turn our hair improbable colours. We walk and we sing and we go on holidays. We play on social media and we watch rubbish on the telly when our absurd lifestyle wears us out and we need a wee sit down.

We often laugh a lot. Sometimes we weep. People fall off their perches around us, and we become sober for a while. We talk about what the future might hold, and agree not to think about it. So don't ask me to plan for my old age. I'm too busy living. Right now.

Progress Report, anyone?

This pic shows the end of a fascinating exchange on Twitter last night, one which sums up much of what I love about social media - but which in a way saddens me, in that the very praise that gave me genuine pleasure showed how slowly things move in educational circles.

The work that @digitalmaverick is referring to and commending to @janeyk419 is a blog, Progress Report", maintained through 2006 and 2007 by first a couple of S4 students and then by one of them. It began when the two girls came to me for private tuition; following an excellent Standard Grade result one of them returned to the blog for further mentoring as she worked for her Higher English. It became more widely known when I spoke about it at an early TeachMeet at the invitation of Ewan, aka no. 2 son.

So far, so satisfying. But note how long ago that was: four years have elapsed since that blog was being used to improve the writing skills of the students involved, four years since I realised my ambition to use technology to disseminate advice which in the normal classroom I might have had to repeat over and over again to different individuals and groups. The blog itself is as old-fashioned in blogging terms as the one I'm writing now, and the formative assessment given in the comments is what I've built up over a career in the classroom - no change there. After my talk at the TeachMeet, I expected a huge growth in the use of such basic technology to further all kinds of learning - including the fairly traditional model practised by me.

And that's why I was so surprised last night, to find that someone actually recalled this event vivdly enough to consider it outstanding, and that it was not in fact so old hat now as to be past mention. I suppose I thought there would be examples of outstanding practice all over the social networks, an explosion of exemplars that would render this now inactive blog redundant, a curiosity at best.

I left the classroom just as the possibilities of this medium were opening up. There was at the time one classroom's worth of laptops on two trolleys, and you booked them weeks in advance. Any one class was lucky to get them for a period a week, and the labour of tracking them down and finding that someone hadn't plugged them in to recharge put you off the notion as often as not. I don't know how much better provision is now, but I do know that more and more pupils have their own technology. I gather from some former colleagues that they find it a drag to use computers more than is absolutely necessary, but it's been 6 years since I was in school and I'm limited in my local contact now.

I do, however, have one question: how much detailed formative assessment takes place online these days? (unless it's one of these things that are not done any more) It seems to me an obvious area for widespread sharing, for teachers to be of use way beyond the walls of their classroom. Maybe there's loads, and I'm just showing my lack of current experience; in which case, dear readers, I wait for your correction - and your links!

Offblog

I'm heading off for a few days - think a bit of sun, about 10º increase in temperature, a few friends - so won't be moderating any comments till I get back. If I find time/energy/a signal I may post the odd thing, but my phone's been acting strangely. I shall, however, be able to read any comment you care to leave ...

Blogging off

I've been neglecting this blog for the past fortnight - away walking in Lanzarote for a week, of which more anon, and now off to Iona for a couple of days. Normal service will be resumed as soon as possible, but in the meantime there are a few Lanzarote pics on flickr

Repeating itself

The Gas Man cometh. Well not tonight - at least I hope not tonight - but this week. And tomorrow his minions will deliver all the bits necessary for the heating system I've succumbed to, after all these years of heroic resistance. Apparently you can't get the really good boilers without a few radiators, and we need a better boiler because the current one, all of five years old, keeps dying with a nasty burny smell. Apparently a circuit board overheats - a design issue.

So we've spent quite some time today wrecking bits of our house, so that The Gas Man doesn't have to. It is now, depending on where you are, echoing and bleak or crammed and untidy. But the thing that interests me most this evening is to look back to this post from the very start of my blogging career almost four years ago, and reflect that then too I was thinking about Gas Men. I can hardly believe I've been blogging for so long, and wonder to see what I talked about in those days before anyone was reading it. But I seem to have suffered from gas (as you might say, and titter slightly if you were That Kind of Person) for the whole time. Maybe bloggers are by nature simply gasbags?

Been thinking some more about the Twittering Teacher. The Oban Times piece is so hysterical that the first reaction is still to laugh, to damn Argyll and Bute Council, and to carry on Twittering like mad. But if you read what this hapless teacher has twittered, you see why there was a stushie. Only thing is, it’s nothing to do with wasting time, indulging in nefarious online practices or anything else of that nature. No, it’s to do with her being just a bit silly.

Once upon a time I spoke to the Synod of the Scottish Episcopal Church about blogging as a means of keeping people connected – you know the sort of thing. And the reigning comms supremo buttonholed me afterwards to pooh-pooh the whole blog thing because of its association, in his mind, with hapless American adolescents who dumped their every thought online and left it there. This was obviously not what sensible adults did.

Sadly, this teacher – who seems to be a PT – is really doing the American adolescent thing on the even speedier forum of Twitter. And instead of someone pointing out, quietly, that really she ought to be able to differentiate between what is suitable to share, and what is in fact hurtful or a matter for professional discretion, the council representatives go nuts and say

‘Social network sites are blocked in all schools as policy. Any member of staff found to have breached council policy will face appropriate disciplinary action.’

And so other professionals are told they can’t tweet for ideas, assistance or professional input, all because one teacher lost it. But she didn’t lose it as badly as the Oban Times suggests here:

There is also a shameful admission of a lack of interest in teaching.

‘Hello…where I am stuck in a maths cover lesson, at least the sun is shining.’ 10.01am May 11.

The teacher concerned would not be teaching at this point, but would be stuck in the classroom of an absent colleague, supervising a class in a subject not her own. There is little to do under these circumstances but watch the time pass and keep order – you don’t teach. It’s boring. And all the time you think of the work you’re not able to do because you’ve lost a precious non-contact period. People perhaps don’t know this – and maybe they should. Maybe it’s a good thing for the general public to know how a teacher’s day is really spent – so why not twitter this?

Back to blogs. There are still people who put unwise comments on their blogs, remarks thrown out carelessly which have the power to wound and offend. But blogs exist, and social networking sites exist, and there is no point in damning the technology because people are just as silly as they ever were. The Scottish Episcopal Church embraced blogging a couple of years ago, and this year the Synod will take a tentative look at Twitter – again, a couple of years after I first suggested it’d be a good way to keep track of one’s Bishop. And nothing Argyll and Bute council can say will make any difference.

Not waving but drowning

Regular visitors to this blog must be wondering if I've gone off. You may very well be correct in that supposition, but the truth is that since the Cursillo weekend I've been too exhausted/busy/preoccupied to do anything but do all the things I have to and stagger to bed. Today, for instance, I've been assisting in a flitting - all these boxes! - and earlier in the week I was too busy dealing with the fallout from a bit of thoughtlessness to be writing about it.

But I shall return - and there's surely a post from all this experience. Meanwhile bed seems very inviting ....

To blog or not to blog?

Every now and then, I'm surprised to learn that someone is a regular reader of this blog. Sometimes they leave a comment; at others they say something which shows a knowledge of what I've been thinking about. However it comes about, each one adds to the experience of blogging, because when you know you have a readership it's bound to have an effect on what you write. I've said this before, in a post about self-conscious bloggers, but it's weighing on me right now, and for reasons not unconnected with yesterday's post.

Suppose in the next year we end up with a bishop of whom I heartily disapprove, whose whole life is lived contrary to what I think is right. (OK - it might be less extreme than that, but let's go the whole hog). Let's imagine a homophobic bishop. Am I going to blog about how distasteful, how plain wrong, I think he is (for such a bishop would surely be male)? After all, I'm not employed by the church, and am under no constraints other than the usual ones of libel.

The last time I was particularly ruffled by a situation in the local church, it proved quite difficult to make my voice heard. Now I have this powerful tool, and I have a readership. And I'm inviting that readership to say what they think, now. Before the situation arises. Speak!

The Mills of God?

Ok, I admit it. I'm feeling just a little smug. Let me explain. I was taking a quick look at the site of the Scottish Episcopal Church" - just to see if there was any news of interest before I head off to our diocesan Synod tomorrow. And there I found the main item of news to be the re-appearance of the Lent Blog to which I referred the other day. Quite apart from the fact that it's good to see a blog to which I contribute being highlighted, there's the whole business of blogging within the church.

It seems only yesterday, though it's more like three years, since I was being patronised at General Synod for my enthusiastic (and public) endorsement of blogging as a means of communication and ministry. It is exactly a year since I addressed the Diocesan Synod on communications, and in particular Web 2.0-type communications, and was variously laughed at, quietly, ignored and berated by people who seemed to have no intention of ever taking up any of my suggestions. But I shall obviously just have to wait. The more far-flung parts of this diocese - the ones with most to gain from internet use - obviously have a long journey to make before they catch up, but today's news story gives me hope.

It's these Mills of God, isn't it - they grind kinda slowly, even now.

Toothless blog post

I've been exercised over the past couple of days by the idea that a blog that is anything other than anodyne could prevent someone from getting a job - even a blog which is written pseudonymously (is that a word?) I know that theoretically I have all the freedom in the world to write exactly what I please, as I have nothing to lose by it - no job, no prospects, nothing. But how free am I?

Every blogger knows that if they are at all successful someone will read their stuff. So I visualise a readership and write with them in mind. Sometimes I might write specifically so that someone will read what I say and be affected by it in some way; other times I realise I'm avoiding a topic because it'd open a can of worms which I can't be bothered putting back. I wouldn't be lying or exaggerating either - just writing about something which is on my mind. (Like intercessory public prayer, f'rinstance. Really.)

But am I guilty of moral cowardice when I keep quiet? Has living in a smallish community sapped my will? (I feel a bit like Hamlet here: who calls me coward? breaks my pate across?) There was a time when I demonstrated at the Holy Loch, lay down in the road, sang at policemen, went to court as a witness, appeared on telly and radio and spoke my mind - and then suffered the consequences. Golly. I could have had such a good time with my blog then. Back then our most sophisticated form of communication was a telephone tree. But then I didn't stop to think about it - the sight of the Poseidon subs in our loch was enough.

That might be it. Some craven scruple of thinking too precisely on th'event. Shakespeare knew a thing or two. But I'd like to put the question to the bloggers (and lurkers) who read this: if you knew that what you wrote was likely to inflame prejudice in your employers, would you desist? Do you restrain yourself for that reason? Should we always think twice before we hit 'publish'?

And yes: I've just written yet another toothless post when really I might want to bite. Grr.

Synod - taking it personally

Whew. Free at last! And managed, despite an hour's traffic halt on the M8, to have some time in the sun after being closeted in Synod. As others have commented live and reflectively on the proceedings, and the official website* does an excellent job of knowing what actually transpired, I'm going to stick to the personal: how was it for me?

Well, quietly satisfying, actually. This time last year I posted this about what I wanted to see happening, including training for people who need modern communications technology, and this year I learned that there will indeed be training. And two years ago, after my first Synod, I wrote this about my plea to think about blogging as a tool for ministry and sharing. I was despairing and dispirited. But this year? We had a lunchtime session on The Blogging Church, and the whole process of blogging commended to Synod - officially, rather than by a pink-haired newcomer. So things are happening, and I'm happy to be a small part of the process.

And for the rest? Well, I have a confession. I agree with the statement in the Synod papers about the importance of the shared Morning and Evening Prayer which framed each day of Synod. But on Friday my participation in prayer was marred. Overcome with the unpleasantness of the harmonies for the Antiphon to Psalm 4, I was completely distracted from asking for the light of the Lord's countenance as I realised that the source of my discomfort was nasty parallel fifths. And a further confession: I was delighted that, forty years after my last formal music education at university, I was able both to hear and see parallel fifths.

Pedantry can take many forms. Usually it's the split infinitive. I'm diversifying ...

*If you listen to the first audio report from Thursday, you'll hear me, sounding ... anything but profound. Ah well.

Randomly, on All Saints'.

One of the questions in a recent survey to discover the degree of one's addiction to blogging was this: do you look at life in terms of bloggability? (Actually I made that last word up - the original question, lacking it, was much more long-winded). And I had to admit to the second top indicator in that area. But sometimes the blog comes as an afterthought, a sort of coda to a series of events, as it were, and that's today. The astute reader may have noted a lack of blog fervour on my part over the last week; this was due to a horrific bout of what has now been identified as Campylobacter infection - big on Google if you really want the details. But what bothered me a bit was the length of time it took to identify the cause - from my submitting the required specimen on the Wednesday morning to the phone call from the surgery on the following Tuesday. Mercifully, I've had this before and knew that starvation and rehydration lessened the impact - but it did affect the treatment and it'd have been good to have known for sure by the end of the week. I'm better now, and the 4 lbs I lost in as many days have, sadly, re-established themselves.

And yesterday served as a sad reminder of what we do to ourselves. A fatal pile-up on the M8, closing the road for 7 hours, a diversion via Grangemouth, the sudden malfunction of our own car's engine somewhere near Moodiesburn (horror) and the effect of her first injections on a smiley, tranquil baby all made me want to hide in a corner rather than blog, actually. And we have the decorators in the hall and all life is covered in dust.

And if you want to find out more about what drives a blogger, have a look here - a link for which I am indebted to Neil, whose revamped blog is happily enticing him to post on it more frequently. And with that little bit of nepotism, I shall leave it for today.

Mingling Granny with bloggy

75%How Addicted to Blogging Are You?

I have Ewan to thank for this bit of nonsense - if I'm insufficiently mature for trad grannying, he's not altogether the trad new dad, though I must add that he's doing this job with the same swift efficiency that he displays in other areas of life. But addicted to blogging? I'd say rather that I'm addicted to communication and self-expression, and blogging still does the trick as far as that's concerned. Actually, I had to force myself to publish this post - or any other - because it means pushing Catriona down the page; I must be shifting allegiance!

On the same tack, I felt compelled to submit an entry for the Sunday Herald competition for blog entries on the subject of modern Scotland. I didn't really think the exemplars they gave came across as either blog posts or brilliant, and the topic title was uninspiring and truly uncatchy, but there you are. I was seduced - and that just before my Cursillo weekend.

Writing this has, bizarrely, reminded me that I have a bill to pay - because my competition entry began in the local print shop. I owe them thirty quid. Forget further addiction and get on with it.

And yes: if you do as my heading suggests you get ... groggy.

Purging dead blogs

The sharp-eyed will notice I've at last got round to updating my blogroll. There are other blogs I read sporadically, but at least I've covered the most active of my bloglines. I've purged a couple of blogs which have gone cold, though I still look on my feed reader to see if there are any signs of life. I am always absurdly pleased when I discover that someone has blogrolled blethers - something you tend to find from your stats, if you look into them.

That's something I shall be checking tonight; Statcounter seemed to throw a wobbler yesterday. I hope it recovers soon. And, still in Cyberia: I'm amazed by the people who turn up on Facebook. Do we all sign on because we're desperate for company - or merely to see what everyone else has been talking about? Anyway, I rather like the quick overview of what my friends (in the online sense, as two of them are my children) have been up to.

And finally I have to say that I can't believe the weather the rest of Britain seems to have been having. All that rain! We're supposed to be the wet place - and we weren't.

But it's raining now...

Was that it?

You didn't really think you were going to get rid of me so easily, did you? Here I am in Edinburgh, waiting with bated breath for the opening of the General Synod of the Scottish Episcopal Church. Oh, all right - I'm exaggerating, if not actually being economical with the truth.
I shan't be lugging the laptop up to Palmerston Place tomorrow - wifi-less, I believe. Like a bachelor pad. Sorry. I'm looking forward to meeting up with some folk I don't see often, but really I hate meetings. Must be having to sit quietly.

I've been reading ab's thoughts about what blogging does, and when he'll stop doing it. I took the chance to unload in a comment some of the thoughts I've been having the last couple of days, occasioned by the veritable stushie that sprang up on my own comment column. I suppose it comes back to how we regard comment, and how we feel about saying (writing) things so publicly. And there is the additional question of what constitutes rudeness and what is merely a robust exchange. Often, of course, it is possible to disguise criticism and hostility by using, say, the impersonal third person to make your point rather than the second person, which always comes across as more direct. But most readers are perfectly capable of sussing the hostility/jibes/criticism anyway - so is it more honest just to say what you think? And then there are people who make a game of that sort of thing - just listen to Prime Minister's Questions and hear what I mean.

I dunno. I'm always aware of potential readers when I write, and try not let the side down stylistically or in any other way. I won't be shutting away the laptop any day soon - I've kept a diary for 50 years, dammit, and it's still on the go too. In a way, there's a frustrated journo lurking in me, and I'm sure blogging's as good as Dr Kawashima for stimulating the brain cells.

Maybe I'll try a wee moblog tomorrow ....