Involved today in contextual Bible study of St Mark's gospel, I found myself contemplating the enormity of the crucifixion and my own inability to look directly at what was going on. In one way, the story is so familiar that we are almost protected from the brutality and suffering involved, and it was hard to express a response that was other than horrified silence.
Perhaps it takes a great poet to respond for us. In his poem "The Musician", R.S.Thomas uses his customarily powerful imagery to suggest the whole sweep of God's involvement in the suffering of Christ and the totality of Christ's commitment to our redemption. It has for many years been a favourite of mine; I was delighted when a mixed ability class of S4 boys responded to it with empathy and understanding.
As Holy Week approaches, I would like to share this powerful poem with any to whom it may be new.
THE MUSICIAN
A memory of Kreisler once:
At some recital in this same city,
The seats all taken, I found myself pushed
On to the stage with a few others,
So near that I could see the toil
Of his face muscles, a pulse like a moth
Fluttering under the fine skin,
And the indelible veins of his smooth brow.
I could see, too, the twitching of the fingers,
Caught temporarily in art’s neurosis,
As we sat there or warmly applauded
This player who so beautifully suffered
For each of us upon his instrument.
So it must have been on Calvary
In the fiercer light of the thorns’ halo:
The men standing by and that one figure,
The hands bleeding, the mind bruised but calm,
Making such music as lives still.
And no one daring to interrupt
Because it was himself that he played
And closer than all of them the God listened.
R.S.THOMAS
Thursday, April 06, 2006
Another suitcase in another hall...
More journeying - not as far as NZ, but epic in its own little way.
I've been in deepest Perthshire, staying at a wonderfully comfortable place, The Bield, for a meeting of the SEC Lay Learning group. If you click through to the rest of my pix, you will see that I couold have been swimming in the private pool or walking in the fields, but in fact I was talking and listening the whole time. And eating.
I travelled the whole way to Perth for nothing, thanks to the fact that my ferry pass is still accepted, and seems to have magically extended its range to Perth despite the non-arrival of my new bus pass. However - and this is where my journey home took on an epic quality - buses are subject to the same hold-ups as other road traffic. There was a great hold up near - I think - Denny, and we pulled into Buchanan Street bus station 20 minutes late. As I left the bus, the one next to it pulled out. It was the bus to Gourock. The last bus to Gourock - and I had missed it.
A man in a bus company uniform had only his sympathy to offer, and the advice that I should try a train. I took to my heels, not even pausing for the wee weep which I felt an appropriate response to the situation.
The happy ending? Yes. I caught an express train by the skin of my wheelie case and arrived home 10 minutes earlier than I would have if I'd come on the bus.
But I had to pay for the train.
I've been in deepest Perthshire, staying at a wonderfully comfortable place, The Bield, for a meeting of the SEC Lay Learning group. If you click through to the rest of my pix, you will see that I couold have been swimming in the private pool or walking in the fields, but in fact I was talking and listening the whole time. And eating.
I travelled the whole way to Perth for nothing, thanks to the fact that my ferry pass is still accepted, and seems to have magically extended its range to Perth despite the non-arrival of my new bus pass. However - and this is where my journey home took on an epic quality - buses are subject to the same hold-ups as other road traffic. There was a great hold up near - I think - Denny, and we pulled into Buchanan Street bus station 20 minutes late. As I left the bus, the one next to it pulled out. It was the bus to Gourock. The last bus to Gourock - and I had missed it.
A man in a bus company uniform had only his sympathy to offer, and the advice that I should try a train. I took to my heels, not even pausing for the wee weep which I felt an appropriate response to the situation.
The happy ending? Yes. I caught an express train by the skin of my wheelie case and arrived home 10 minutes earlier than I would have if I'd come on the bus.
But I had to pay for the train.
Sunday, April 02, 2006
Foray into Faure
Well. That was interesting. Let's come clean and say I now know for certain that I have missed nothing by singing more or less exclusively in small choral groups for all these years.
Yesterday I had the novel experience of singing in an alto section which sang flat. All the time. And here am I - always being told I've gone sharp. Well - I couldn't drag anyone up with me yesterday, and that's for sure. Mind you - compared with the demented shrieking I heard from the sopranos at a particularly testing moment ... I'm sure it's worse being a soprano.
I suppose it didn't help that everyone seemed to be so old. I didn't feel elderly at all - and this is bad.
Is it only people of my generation who do this kind of thing? Was it because it cost £16 to join in - and then pay to rent your music? Do people in their 20s run a mile at the thought - and do I blame them? (I don't mean the thought of Faure or Kodaly - I'm thinking of these ad hoc choirs of pensioners and fifty-somethings.)
Anyway. People who customarily sing in large choirs seem to (a) not look at the conductor (b) chat to their neighbour every time they stop singing (c) never know where we're starting from (d) sing like half-shut knives (women) or coalheavers (men) and (e) obviously feel no sense of responsibility for the final product. The maestro, by the time the "performance" came around, seemed to have withdrawn into his own thoughts.
I'm glad I don't read minds.
Yesterday I had the novel experience of singing in an alto section which sang flat. All the time. And here am I - always being told I've gone sharp. Well - I couldn't drag anyone up with me yesterday, and that's for sure. Mind you - compared with the demented shrieking I heard from the sopranos at a particularly testing moment ... I'm sure it's worse being a soprano.
I suppose it didn't help that everyone seemed to be so old. I didn't feel elderly at all - and this is bad.
Is it only people of my generation who do this kind of thing? Was it because it cost £16 to join in - and then pay to rent your music? Do people in their 20s run a mile at the thought - and do I blame them? (I don't mean the thought of Faure or Kodaly - I'm thinking of these ad hoc choirs of pensioners and fifty-somethings.)
Anyway. People who customarily sing in large choirs seem to (a) not look at the conductor (b) chat to their neighbour every time they stop singing (c) never know where we're starting from (d) sing like half-shut knives (women) or coalheavers (men) and (e) obviously feel no sense of responsibility for the final product. The maestro, by the time the "performance" came around, seemed to have withdrawn into his own thoughts.
I'm glad I don't read minds.
Friday, March 31, 2006
High jinks - too high for me
Brief blog this evening - must organise myself for tomorrow's activities in another persona as a singer. We're off to Stirling to spend an afternoon workshopping on Faure's Requiem and Kodaly's Missa Brevis under the direction of Stephen Cleobury of King's College Chapel Choir, Cambridge. I'll be interested to see/hear how we altos cope with the extreme range of the Kodaly - I may have to cop out of the top notes.
I have a sneaking suspicion that Mr Blethers and I - along with Mrs Heathbank - may well be the oldest singers there. As long as the voice holds out ....
I'll report on this musical junket when I've recovered.
I have a sneaking suspicion that Mr Blethers and I - along with Mrs Heathbank - may well be the oldest singers there. As long as the voice holds out ....
I'll report on this musical junket when I've recovered.
Thursday, March 30, 2006
So there you have it ...
Today I got an unexpected present in the post - a coaster defining what I'm doing. Now. This very minute. Blethering. My thanks to Mary, who sent it - an eye for a gift, that one! I especially like the example of the verb - "That wee yin o' yours is an awfy blether getting'" - and reflect that perhaps the possession of a blog has just such an effect. I must be worse - having done this I shall still go and write up the (paper) diary I have kept for the past 50 years or so. Just don't ask where I keep them all.
Today I also posted on another blog in anwer to its owner, who wondered why he was bothering. I suppose to some it appears a self-indulgent practice, perpetuating one's most banal thoughts for others to flick through. But I disagree. I don't think it's any more self-indulgent than chatting in company. Social intercourse, in fact.
And now I see from bloglines that Progress Report has two new posts - my students have been busy again. Time for me to stop blethering and do some work .....
Today I also posted on another blog in anwer to its owner, who wondered why he was bothering. I suppose to some it appears a self-indulgent practice, perpetuating one's most banal thoughts for others to flick through. But I disagree. I don't think it's any more self-indulgent than chatting in company. Social intercourse, in fact.
And now I see from bloglines that Progress Report has two new posts - my students have been busy again. Time for me to stop blethering and do some work .....
Wednesday, March 29, 2006
Escape!
Had a touristy sort of day today, involving a trip to Inveraray (pictured), a visit to an art gallery to buy prints, two visits to the excellent Brambles eatery (great home baking and superior coffee) and a stop off at loch Fyne Oysters to buy salmon and venison. We also managed a brisk trot round the castle between showers of hail.
Then it was home to the growing interest in the Process Blogging that my students are doing. I must say I can't see why it isn't glaringly obvious to anyone involved in teaching writing that the demands of a readership beyond the classroom will spark the interest of most embryonic writers; if *I* feel the need to keep posting now at my advanced age, how much more stimulating would I have found the medium in my teens?
A visit from Duffy rounded off the day. But there is a fly in the otherwise emollient ointment of my life at present:
My Ancient Person's Scotland-wide Bus pass has not yet arrived. From April 1st the highways of this realm will be flowing with liberated oldies, scooshing about gratis from Coldstream to Cromarty - but unless someone gets the finger out I, alas, will not be one of them. I have handed the form and the photo in to the taciturn man in the post office - but then silence. I have a trip to Perth coming up, and I rather fancied going on a bus with my iPod, even if it does take half a day. I fear this may not happen, though there are a couple of days left.
I'm holding my breath....
Then it was home to the growing interest in the Process Blogging that my students are doing. I must say I can't see why it isn't glaringly obvious to anyone involved in teaching writing that the demands of a readership beyond the classroom will spark the interest of most embryonic writers; if *I* feel the need to keep posting now at my advanced age, how much more stimulating would I have found the medium in my teens?
A visit from Duffy rounded off the day. But there is a fly in the otherwise emollient ointment of my life at present:
My Ancient Person's Scotland-wide Bus pass has not yet arrived. From April 1st the highways of this realm will be flowing with liberated oldies, scooshing about gratis from Coldstream to Cromarty - but unless someone gets the finger out I, alas, will not be one of them. I have handed the form and the photo in to the taciturn man in the post office - but then silence. I have a trip to Perth coming up, and I rather fancied going on a bus with my iPod, even if it does take half a day. I fear this may not happen, though there are a couple of days left.
I'm holding my breath....
Tuesday, March 28, 2006
Process blogging!
When I was still teaching, I found 'Process Writing' an excellent method of freeing up students' creativity. They worked for the first couple of sessions in pairs, each writing a paragraph - which need not necessarily be the opening of a story or other imaginative piece, but could be from the middle - and then submitting themselves to the questioning of their partner. By making sure that each subsequent paragraph held the answers to any of their partner's questions, they would produce writing that felt real and solid, based originally on some experience of their own, and left no dangling threads. When they had doen six Q/A sessions, they went on and wrote the whole piece - even if sometimes they scrapped what they'd started and began again. At the end, they conferenced, edited, tightened up their writing, and presented the finished piece to the whole group.
Now, working to that model, I'm delighted to say that the blog set up by my two private students, progress report is falling into that pattern. I'm grateful to fellow-edubloggers (or fellow writers!) for their helpful comments, not least because within the space of three days the students will have realised they have a bigger audience than just me - and an audience who are going to say more than "that's very good" - always a danger with unsupported peer assessment, especially if one partner is more proficient than the other.
I wish we could have done it this way in the classroom - all these wee bits of paper! To say nothing of the sheer noise of 30 pupils conferencing in a confined space - I used to have to send the trusties along the corridor, and even then if they became enthusiastic my colleagues would curse me as the voices rose in disputation. The efficiency of blogging the work means I can supervise, join in as required - and the stress levels for the classroom situation would have nosedived. No coming back after helping one pair along at the lift shaft only to find that wee Kevin, who was never one for writing, had refused to help his partner and had started a fight instead ....
So here I am, retired, relaxed (huh) and getting excited about edublogging. Maybe I need to get out more ....
Di? Dogs?
Now, working to that model, I'm delighted to say that the blog set up by my two private students, progress report is falling into that pattern. I'm grateful to fellow-edubloggers (or fellow writers!) for their helpful comments, not least because within the space of three days the students will have realised they have a bigger audience than just me - and an audience who are going to say more than "that's very good" - always a danger with unsupported peer assessment, especially if one partner is more proficient than the other.
I wish we could have done it this way in the classroom - all these wee bits of paper! To say nothing of the sheer noise of 30 pupils conferencing in a confined space - I used to have to send the trusties along the corridor, and even then if they became enthusiastic my colleagues would curse me as the voices rose in disputation. The efficiency of blogging the work means I can supervise, join in as required - and the stress levels for the classroom situation would have nosedived. No coming back after helping one pair along at the lift shaft only to find that wee Kevin, who was never one for writing, had refused to help his partner and had started a fight instead ....
So here I am, retired, relaxed (huh) and getting excited about edublogging. Maybe I need to get out more ....
Di? Dogs?
Monday, March 27, 2006
Mother's Day, continued
Had a trip to the big city today - well, to Leith. We only did two things, really - ate and spent money. Great.
The eating was in continuation of Mothers' Day - so I wasn't paying. The wine was an interesting and alcoholic white (whose name, sadly, I forget), and I had lightly smoked pan fried monkfish with hummous, rocket and basil oil. The accompanying plate of veg was delicious and perfectly cooked. I also had a wondrous sorbet - you'll find it on flickr. (No, not the sorbet - you know what I mean!) The two chefs work wonders in that tiny space you can see in the photo - I can't imagine doing all that in full view of the diners, but they do! If you're now drooling, I recommend this place - Fisher's, on The Shore, Leith.
After this we went shopping for a new kilt and brogues. Not for me, you understand - but it was an entertaining afternoon. As the rain thundered down - who said the East didn't have real rain? - we were treated to swatches of tartan and a selection of interesting shoes. The intricacies of tying these fancy items defeated me - I hope their new owner was paying attention!
All this self-indulgence has left me incapable of serious thought, although the conversation over lunch was very edublog-orientated: hardly surprising as edublogger was paying. I shall return to the edublogging front tomorrow.
Maybe.
The eating was in continuation of Mothers' Day - so I wasn't paying. The wine was an interesting and alcoholic white (whose name, sadly, I forget), and I had lightly smoked pan fried monkfish with hummous, rocket and basil oil. The accompanying plate of veg was delicious and perfectly cooked. I also had a wondrous sorbet - you'll find it on flickr. (No, not the sorbet - you know what I mean!) The two chefs work wonders in that tiny space you can see in the photo - I can't imagine doing all that in full view of the diners, but they do! If you're now drooling, I recommend this place - Fisher's, on The Shore, Leith.
After this we went shopping for a new kilt and brogues. Not for me, you understand - but it was an entertaining afternoon. As the rain thundered down - who said the East didn't have real rain? - we were treated to swatches of tartan and a selection of interesting shoes. The intricacies of tying these fancy items defeated me - I hope their new owner was paying attention!
All this self-indulgence has left me incapable of serious thought, although the conversation over lunch was very edublog-orientated: hardly surprising as edublogger was paying. I shall return to the edublogging front tomorrow.
Maybe.
Sunday, March 26, 2006
Can't see the wood ...
Well - that wasn't exactly the reaction the sermon provoked this morning - people were very responsive and entuhusiastic, if slightly deeved by the torrent of ideas I'd been assailed by while writing it. How easy it is, however, to become so entranced by each new thought that the overall shape seems to sprawl like the delightfully untamed wood I walked through yesterday. Am I closer to understanding the concept of Eternal Life? Perhaps. But my hearers ....?
Interesting, too, that there will always be someone there who seems, by his very lack of comment, to think that women should confine themselves to making the tea and arranging the flowers. I'm currently involved yet again in a discussion of women's ordination on a Yahoo group - there are people out there for whom this is still a problem. Meanwhile the church withers and perishes (more trees!) because the rest of the populace dismisses it as a haven for irrelevant navel-gazing.
But there. I've made it to the afternoon. I'm still hoping my new little bloggers will come up with some more writing before the day is out, but we remembered to change the clocks, the rain is dissuading me from going anywhere, and I have jeans to take up. And then I shall make the dinner.
Flowers for Mothers' Day have just arrived. And choccies. I shall give up on cerebral activity for the rest of the day. Flower arranging? Cooking? Seems I'm falling into line .....
Interesting, too, that there will always be someone there who seems, by his very lack of comment, to think that women should confine themselves to making the tea and arranging the flowers. I'm currently involved yet again in a discussion of women's ordination on a Yahoo group - there are people out there for whom this is still a problem. Meanwhile the church withers and perishes (more trees!) because the rest of the populace dismisses it as a haven for irrelevant navel-gazing.
But there. I've made it to the afternoon. I'm still hoping my new little bloggers will come up with some more writing before the day is out, but we remembered to change the clocks, the rain is dissuading me from going anywhere, and I have jeans to take up. And then I shall make the dinner.
Flowers for Mothers' Day have just arrived. And choccies. I shall give up on cerebral activity for the rest of the day. Flower arranging? Cooking? Seems I'm falling into line .....
Friday, March 24, 2006
Blog to the Prezz
Well, despite the rain and the biting east wind, that's been quite a good day, that has. For a start, the sermon's written. Highlighted bits and all. Now I have to think about it enough to be able to talk it - not read it. But I'm getting there.
And the teaching? Hard work - especially at teatime. Hard for the students and hard for me. I used Graham Greene to get us started - the masterly sketching in of a character, a place, an atmosphere. I noticed that one of my customers had been told to use more similes in her writing - really, a fatal injunction. Why do we do that? Any similes that turn up will be so heavy-handed and hackneyed as to drown any originality in the prose. We *must* teach the creative use of verbs, or of the unexpected, metaphorical adjective, if we are to help the students to grow. Anyway, they're away to try their hand at some writing for me. Where? On a blog. (Yay!) You can find it at progress report, where, if this works out, I hope to be keeping tags on the homework till I see them again. Of course. I'll be sad if it doesn't work - but if all were plain sailing I guess there wouldn't be a job for all the blogevangelists out there.
And a last, joyous discovery - George Dubya knows about blogs! Take a look at this If it's all too much for you to stomach - there's reams of the stuff - I've found the relevant snip for you:
" I just got to keep talking. And one of the -- there's word of mouth, there's blogs, there's Internet, there's all kinds of ways to communicate which is literally changing the way people are getting their information. And so if you're concerned, I would suggest that you reach out to some of the groups that are supporting the troops, that have got Internet sites, and just keep the word -- keep the word moving. And that's one way to deal with an issue without suppressing a free press. We will never do that in America. I mean, the minute we start trying to suppress our press, we look like the Taliban. The minute we start telling people how to worship, we look like the Taliban. And we're not interested in that in America. We're the opposite. We believe in freedom. And we believe in freedom in all its forms. And obviously, I know you're frustrated with what you're seeing, but there are ways in this new kind of age, being able to communicate, that you'll be able to spread the message that you want to spread."
There, then, you have it. Hot stuff, eh? We've really arrived.
Hurrah.
And the teaching? Hard work - especially at teatime. Hard for the students and hard for me. I used Graham Greene to get us started - the masterly sketching in of a character, a place, an atmosphere. I noticed that one of my customers had been told to use more similes in her writing - really, a fatal injunction. Why do we do that? Any similes that turn up will be so heavy-handed and hackneyed as to drown any originality in the prose. We *must* teach the creative use of verbs, or of the unexpected, metaphorical adjective, if we are to help the students to grow. Anyway, they're away to try their hand at some writing for me. Where? On a blog. (Yay!) You can find it at progress report, where, if this works out, I hope to be keeping tags on the homework till I see them again. Of course. I'll be sad if it doesn't work - but if all were plain sailing I guess there wouldn't be a job for all the blogevangelists out there.
And a last, joyous discovery - George Dubya knows about blogs! Take a look at this If it's all too much for you to stomach - there's reams of the stuff - I've found the relevant snip for you:
" I just got to keep talking. And one of the -- there's word of mouth, there's blogs, there's Internet, there's all kinds of ways to communicate which is literally changing the way people are getting their information. And so if you're concerned, I would suggest that you reach out to some of the groups that are supporting the troops, that have got Internet sites, and just keep the word -- keep the word moving. And that's one way to deal with an issue without suppressing a free press. We will never do that in America. I mean, the minute we start trying to suppress our press, we look like the Taliban. The minute we start telling people how to worship, we look like the Taliban. And we're not interested in that in America. We're the opposite. We believe in freedom. And we believe in freedom in all its forms. And obviously, I know you're frustrated with what you're seeing, but there are ways in this new kind of age, being able to communicate, that you'll be able to spread the message that you want to spread."
There, then, you have it. Hot stuff, eh? We've really arrived.
Hurrah.
Thursday, March 23, 2006
Learning and teaching
I never thought I'd find contextual Bible study as interesting as I have been these past weeks. I'm not sure that it doesn't tell us as much about each other as about the text under consideration - but it's a good way of making me think about passages of the gospel I had long regarded as familiar. When we begin to identify with this or that character it opens up a whole new landscape - though occasionally we go for such a ramble over this landscape that the surroundings become unrecognisable! It helps, of course, to have thoughtful and imaginative companions on this journey; it would be altogether a different matter with literal fundamentalists or even someone who simply didn't follow the path taken.
There. Does that last sentence smack of an intolerable arrogance? Maybe that's there - but I could never bear the kind of vague speculation that had no anchor in firm knowledge, and I'm very fortunate in that we rarely meet without someone there who actually knows the scholarly background to the passage. I suppose it's the recognition of my own hang-ups in this area that makes me cautious about this lay preaching lark. Not a lark, in fact. More of an eagle - or maybe an albatross.
Back in the world I have some expertise in, I will be teaching two new students tomorrow. The teaching of Writing - the sort which gets you a good grade in Standard Grade English - is quite a thought too, actually. It's one thing correcting grammatical errors and making suggestions about the effective use of tenses; quite another to start afresh on shaping style and stimulating the imaginations of people whose reading stopped when the homework became burdensome. And I've only a few weeks before they have to be able to write with flair and confidence under exam conditions - a ridiculous idea, when you think of it.
Now, I wonder if they'd like to start a wee blog?
There. Does that last sentence smack of an intolerable arrogance? Maybe that's there - but I could never bear the kind of vague speculation that had no anchor in firm knowledge, and I'm very fortunate in that we rarely meet without someone there who actually knows the scholarly background to the passage. I suppose it's the recognition of my own hang-ups in this area that makes me cautious about this lay preaching lark. Not a lark, in fact. More of an eagle - or maybe an albatross.
Back in the world I have some expertise in, I will be teaching two new students tomorrow. The teaching of Writing - the sort which gets you a good grade in Standard Grade English - is quite a thought too, actually. It's one thing correcting grammatical errors and making suggestions about the effective use of tenses; quite another to start afresh on shaping style and stimulating the imaginations of people whose reading stopped when the homework became burdensome. And I've only a few weeks before they have to be able to write with flair and confidence under exam conditions - a ridiculous idea, when you think of it.
Now, I wonder if they'd like to start a wee blog?
Judgement?
I've just noticed an odd thing: as the screen for posting blogs comes up, the time-setting boxes appear briefly and then vanish - so it looks as if I've been posting at very odd times because I can't set the times at all. Anyone any ideas as to why this is happening? [Actually I've had to save all this - blogger had a wee cardiac arrest an hour or so ago and had to be resuscitated by these clever gnomes who do such things ....]
Navel-gazing apart - though there are those who say bloggers do little else - I must admit that my springish feelings were short-lived. In fact, out walking this afternoon I realised that the ungloved hand holding my walking pole had become like one large chilblain - blue and sore, then red, blotchy and itchy as the circulation returned. Two hours after thawing it was still visibly redder than the hand which had been safely in my pocket. And it snowed in a sort of idle, teasing way for a couple of hours.
During that time I was well out of my comfort zone previewing with my supervising group the sermon I shall give on Sunday. Quite apart from the challenge of getting to grips with the concepts of judgement and eternal life, there is the challenge of conveying all the thoughts I've put together without sending my listeners to sleep. Now this was never a problem in my teaching days - I knew my stuff inside out and mixed entertainment with education and interaction without a thought. I could engage with any of the audiences who trundled into my classroom on a daily basis, and I rarely used teaching notes - just the text under consideration. Why can't I do that on Sunday?
It's not the audience, for a start. They may be adults, but this doesn't bother me. No, it's the feeling of responsibility, the need to get it right - combined with the fact that the ideas I'm presenting, though I've arrived at them in such a way as to feel I *own* them, are relatively new to me. They're also at once complex and simple. So now I have to beat my notes into some form which will let me be the teacher I enjoyed being, rather than the lecturer whose delivery I scorned.
And I guess there's a lesson in that too.
Navel-gazing apart - though there are those who say bloggers do little else - I must admit that my springish feelings were short-lived. In fact, out walking this afternoon I realised that the ungloved hand holding my walking pole had become like one large chilblain - blue and sore, then red, blotchy and itchy as the circulation returned. Two hours after thawing it was still visibly redder than the hand which had been safely in my pocket. And it snowed in a sort of idle, teasing way for a couple of hours.
During that time I was well out of my comfort zone previewing with my supervising group the sermon I shall give on Sunday. Quite apart from the challenge of getting to grips with the concepts of judgement and eternal life, there is the challenge of conveying all the thoughts I've put together without sending my listeners to sleep. Now this was never a problem in my teaching days - I knew my stuff inside out and mixed entertainment with education and interaction without a thought. I could engage with any of the audiences who trundled into my classroom on a daily basis, and I rarely used teaching notes - just the text under consideration. Why can't I do that on Sunday?
It's not the audience, for a start. They may be adults, but this doesn't bother me. No, it's the feeling of responsibility, the need to get it right - combined with the fact that the ideas I'm presenting, though I've arrived at them in such a way as to feel I *own* them, are relatively new to me. They're also at once complex and simple. So now I have to beat my notes into some form which will let me be the teacher I enjoyed being, rather than the lecturer whose delivery I scorned.
And I guess there's a lesson in that too.
Tuesday, March 21, 2006
Spring - yay!
Now *is* that how I should spell that particular euphoric utterance? Perhaps for one of my literary tastes it should be "yea" - that's certainly the sound I want to replicate .....
But to my theme. The scene of charming domesticity illustrating today's post was in fact taken today as we had our lunch in the garden for the first time ... in three weeks. Doesn't sound particularly momentous, but considering that it's (a) not New Zealand but Dunoon and (b) the temperature outside is now -1ºC I think it was amazing to be able to sit in a T-shirt and bare feet and feel warm in my garden 10 hours ago. Instant feelings of well-being and at-one-ness with the world, feelings I've missed in the chilly weather since we came home.
If any of my NZ friends are reading this - as we arrive at the equinox, I'd love to know what time it's getting dark over there; we felt it was still summer 3 weeks ago. Here there was just a suggestion of light in the sky at 7.30pm tonight. Now the stars are shining, and Orion is back the right way up, with his sword pointing safely downwards - it's hard to believe he's visible on the other side of the world.
And I nearly forgot: there was a bee in the garden today!
But to my theme. The scene of charming domesticity illustrating today's post was in fact taken today as we had our lunch in the garden for the first time ... in three weeks. Doesn't sound particularly momentous, but considering that it's (a) not New Zealand but Dunoon and (b) the temperature outside is now -1ºC I think it was amazing to be able to sit in a T-shirt and bare feet and feel warm in my garden 10 hours ago. Instant feelings of well-being and at-one-ness with the world, feelings I've missed in the chilly weather since we came home.
If any of my NZ friends are reading this - as we arrive at the equinox, I'd love to know what time it's getting dark over there; we felt it was still summer 3 weeks ago. Here there was just a suggestion of light in the sky at 7.30pm tonight. Now the stars are shining, and Orion is back the right way up, with his sword pointing safely downwards - it's hard to believe he's visible on the other side of the world.
And I nearly forgot: there was a bee in the garden today!
Monday, March 20, 2006
Torpid thoughts
On my way home from an interesting and satisfying day in Glasgow, I decided I might blog this evening on the subject of transactional analysis, but have had to abandon such ambitions as being beyond my addled brain at the moment. Instead, I shall merely remark on the sad truth that a stimulating day seems to lead, with crashing inevitability, to an evening of stupefied torpor. Even sitting on the floor (in an attempt to stay awake for long enough to drink a cup of tea) failed - I kept finding myself keeling over in the direction of the cup, as though attempting to dive in.
I know that TA is hardly a new concept, but today was the first time I've made any attempt to use it for my own purposes. Perhaps that's what has so drained my brain - the combined effects of thought and the big city. I need to rest said brain, obviously, as further thought will be necessary tomorrow when I attempt to write a sermon for this Sunday. It's amazingly challenging to step out of one's own comfort zone and do a job for which one is only minimally qualified.
One last thing: I'm always amazed to realise that people read blog posts - especially when they leave long and thoughtful replies to them. Is the blogosphere perhaps like one of these smoky coffee-houses of the past, where the essayists of the day would gather to share ideas? Great!
I know that TA is hardly a new concept, but today was the first time I've made any attempt to use it for my own purposes. Perhaps that's what has so drained my brain - the combined effects of thought and the big city. I need to rest said brain, obviously, as further thought will be necessary tomorrow when I attempt to write a sermon for this Sunday. It's amazingly challenging to step out of one's own comfort zone and do a job for which one is only minimally qualified.
One last thing: I'm always amazed to realise that people read blog posts - especially when they leave long and thoughtful replies to them. Is the blogosphere perhaps like one of these smoky coffee-houses of the past, where the essayists of the day would gather to share ideas? Great!
Friday, March 17, 2006
Sacred facts
Couldn't resist using these neat Guardian goodies to illustrate today's maunderings: Comment is free....but facts are sacred. I've been looking at St Mark's gospel with a few mates, and yesterdays' session set me thinking - not just about the events leading up to that last passover meal, but also about the truthiness of the gospel story. (This is a new word for me - worth making the link to Wikipedia to find out).
When we began discussing, for example, the woman with the alabaster jar of precious ointment, we found in her various symbols. There was the undoubted truth of a woman's emotional reaction to the person of Jesus - and the women present related to that. But when we considered that the cost of the ointment probably amounted to the basic stipend for a year, it raised immediate questions of what we were doing paying a priest instead of "giving to the poor". And as for Judas - after realising that Judas was probably us, we began to wonder if he was a real person in the factual sense of the word, and was instead a purely symbolic - and enormously important - figure.
So: comment is free - and that, I suppose, it what we were doing. But facts? I suppose I've always felt, in adult thought at least, that the incredibly familiar bible stories were not facts quite as the Guardian would report them - because the Guardian's reporters file their stories immediately after - or even during - an event, not decades later. They would confirm their facts, even in a feature covering, say, the Second World War. By modern journalistic standards, the gospel stories would qualify as ancient morality case studies.
But golly, do they inspire comment! In recent weeks I've been reading the Psalms, and had reached the notion that they were a bit like blogs, reflecting the moods and the hopes of the blogger/psalmist. The gospels, once we get away from the "yeah, yeah, I know this bit" approach, can produce a torrent of comment to match those on the new Guardian super-blog
People are still wary of blogs, especially church people. And too many people - inside and outwith the church - are wary of actually commenting on the Bible. But is ignorance ever a good excuse?
Time for coffee!
Old haunts
We walked in Glen Massan today, and I was aware that I was looking at my surroundings as if I were new to them - the effect, I suppose, of having walked a new wilderness for a month. The colours were not unlike those of Central Otago - the grass is dead and yellow after the winter, and the snow was very white on the hilltops.
It was cold, and the road was very muddy - because someone has bought the glen and is creating a pond in front of the house, which in turn will be replaced by something bigger. There was a big, big lorry moving the soil from the pond hole and creating a mountain of earth across the track. Much mud indeed.
We await further development with interest. Meanwhile, my other pics can be seen, as usual, on flickr - just click on the nice one I chose for today.
It was cold, and the road was very muddy - because someone has bought the glen and is creating a pond in front of the house, which in turn will be replaced by something bigger. There was a big, big lorry moving the soil from the pond hole and creating a mountain of earth across the track. Much mud indeed.
We await further development with interest. Meanwhile, my other pics can be seen, as usual, on flickr - just click on the nice one I chose for today.
Wednesday, March 15, 2006
Ferry chilly ...
I really must give up puns. But I feel compelled to strive to show some wit - even after a day spent driving round chilly Cowal. This trip was to Rothesay, in the interesting journey to acquire a new priest for our linked charges in Bute and Cowal. Even on a bitter evening, with wind-chill surely bringing the temperature below zero, there was beauty in the white-streaked hills contrasting with the red stripes on the Cal Mac ferry and the lowering dark sky. I don't know how it looked to our visitor, but I was glad I had my camera.
I usually post pictures of places online. Some people have a horror of the idea of their photo appearing on such a potentially public situation. But why? Is there a link to the primitive fear that somehow a photograph steals the soul? No such thought seemed to enter the mind of the man who demanded I take his picture - he was so insistent that I did take it, and you can see it on my flickr account. I doubt the subject will see it - and I wonder if he'd be pleased to know it was there. Would people who resent the invasion of their privacy represented by online publishing feel the same if their photo appeared randomly in a newspaper? Perhaps as background to a public figure, or in a random street shot? Or is it just the idea they don't like?
But now these ramblings much cease - partly because I have had a tot of a spectacularly good honey and brandy drink brought back from his travels by Edublogger and my fingers are no longer working in harmony with my thoughts. But I cannot leave without congratulating Walter and Duffy for their witty and erudite comments on yesterday's blog title. Where would a boring old blogger be without them?
I usually post pictures of places online. Some people have a horror of the idea of their photo appearing on such a potentially public situation. But why? Is there a link to the primitive fear that somehow a photograph steals the soul? No such thought seemed to enter the mind of the man who demanded I take his picture - he was so insistent that I did take it, and you can see it on my flickr account. I doubt the subject will see it - and I wonder if he'd be pleased to know it was there. Would people who resent the invasion of their privacy represented by online publishing feel the same if their photo appeared randomly in a newspaper? Perhaps as background to a public figure, or in a random street shot? Or is it just the idea they don't like?
But now these ramblings much cease - partly because I have had a tot of a spectacularly good honey and brandy drink brought back from his travels by Edublogger and my fingers are no longer working in harmony with my thoughts. But I cannot leave without congratulating Walter and Duffy for their witty and erudite comments on yesterday's blog title. Where would a boring old blogger be without them?
Tuesday, March 14, 2006
Some craven scruple
Yesterday I paid a brief visit to my former place of employment (delicately put - no?). After some jolly staffroom socialising I went down to disturb a member of my own department at his marking, sitting in his mercifully empty classroom. We talked of how things were going, and I remembered the awful accumulation of marking that English teachers especially have to cope with at this time of year. No sooner have you finished one lot than you have to do reports for a quite different year group - and that's when you realise that you haven't had time to look at their work in months, because they're not sitting SQA exams and have had to be prioritised some way down the pile. So you pull out their folders and wade in desperation through perhaps three finished essays, all on different topics, and try to note down their progress as you go. Then you do the reports.
And by the time that's done you have - let's say - the Standard Grade prelim it's been decided to resit. Thirty assorted essays, some a page of pencil scrawl, some carefully-crafted and three pages long, some merely .... long. And totally unpunctuated.
If you actually paused to think about this, you'd lose the will to live. The only way to cope is to take each task as it comes, and view the completion of each as a small triumph. You must *never* think of the next bundle of work. Never. And that's what I've done for the past 23 years. Now that I don't have to do it any more, and, more importantly, have stepped far enough back to see what the job entails, I'm amazed. All that important work being done by intelligent people who have to work like automatons.
Notice that I haven't mentioned teaching here. Compared with the paperwork, teaching is fun. But I know that today there were only two demands on my time, one of which was the ironing mountain . The rest of the day I've pleased myself. And I've remembered how, from the age of 5, I've been aware of the pressures on people who were not allowed to stay at home with Mummy any more. Do you think if we thought about life at the age of 5 we'd never make it?
The snow is very wet underfoot today, but in the woods it is still beautiful. The trees, however, are like war-wounded, their limbs ripped from their trunks by the weight of Sunday's fall. Some of our usual paths are shut, with terse little notices saying "dangerous trees". Now there's a concept I did enjoy thinking about!
Oh - and the title is part of another quotation. In the absence of my dear friend Edgar, who *always* recognised my quotes, I'm looking for someone else to win the virtual Mars Bar. Clue: it's an important one!
And by the time that's done you have - let's say - the Standard Grade prelim it's been decided to resit. Thirty assorted essays, some a page of pencil scrawl, some carefully-crafted and three pages long, some merely .... long. And totally unpunctuated.
If you actually paused to think about this, you'd lose the will to live. The only way to cope is to take each task as it comes, and view the completion of each as a small triumph. You must *never* think of the next bundle of work. Never. And that's what I've done for the past 23 years. Now that I don't have to do it any more, and, more importantly, have stepped far enough back to see what the job entails, I'm amazed. All that important work being done by intelligent people who have to work like automatons.
Notice that I haven't mentioned teaching here. Compared with the paperwork, teaching is fun. But I know that today there were only two demands on my time, one of which was the ironing mountain . The rest of the day I've pleased myself. And I've remembered how, from the age of 5, I've been aware of the pressures on people who were not allowed to stay at home with Mummy any more. Do you think if we thought about life at the age of 5 we'd never make it?
The snow is very wet underfoot today, but in the woods it is still beautiful. The trees, however, are like war-wounded, their limbs ripped from their trunks by the weight of Sunday's fall. Some of our usual paths are shut, with terse little notices saying "dangerous trees". Now there's a concept I did enjoy thinking about!
Oh - and the title is part of another quotation. In the absence of my dear friend Edgar, who *always* recognised my quotes, I'm looking for someone else to win the virtual Mars Bar. Clue: it's an important one!
Monday, March 13, 2006
Shrinking world
The world seemed a wee bit smaller today with a phonecall from one of our new friends in New Zealand. As I remarked at the time, it was possible to hear the Kiwi voice without even being the one holding the phone. At the same time, I'm growing aware of how many people from the most unexpected quarters have been following my travel blog - and really pleased that several of them have been getting in touch.
A fellow-blogger wonders today if blogging is becoming too fashionable for serious Christian communication, because he belives that "Christian faith is at its prophetic best when it is both unfashionable and counter-cultural." But my recent experience has persuaded me that this kind of communication, allowing anyone to formulate ideas or simply to reflect on their life as they live it, is too valuable for anyone with an important message to ignore. There has been such a sense of sharing and appreciation expressed via this blog and the comments I've had over the past month that I feel I want everyone to be able to benefit from such a forum.
Today the snow has nearly all gone from the coastal areas, though the hills and glens are still white. I forgot my camera this afternoon or you would have seen a wonderfully bovril-coloured burn, hugely swollen by melting snow, thundering down the Bishop's Glen. Once more, as in Bendigo, I am thrown back on words.
Bovril. Gallons of it.
A fellow-blogger wonders today if blogging is becoming too fashionable for serious Christian communication, because he belives that "Christian faith is at its prophetic best when it is both unfashionable and counter-cultural." But my recent experience has persuaded me that this kind of communication, allowing anyone to formulate ideas or simply to reflect on their life as they live it, is too valuable for anyone with an important message to ignore. There has been such a sense of sharing and appreciation expressed via this blog and the comments I've had over the past month that I feel I want everyone to be able to benefit from such a forum.
Today the snow has nearly all gone from the coastal areas, though the hills and glens are still white. I forgot my camera this afternoon or you would have seen a wonderfully bovril-coloured burn, hugely swollen by melting snow, thundering down the Bishop's Glen. Once more, as in Bendigo, I am thrown back on words.
Bovril. Gallons of it.
Sunday, March 12, 2006
Spring, huh?
I reckon we came home too soon. I mean - my wee daffies are all bent under a mound of snow and half of Scotland seems to have shut down: no papers in the shop by lunchtime, roads blocked by skidded lorries and bigger mounds of snow - I ask you.
Anyway, for my new friends in New Zealand, this is the view from our wee church after the Eucharist this morning. There were only five in the congregation, and we'd all had to walk varying distances to get there. Quite apart from the perilous steepness of the driveway, the church site is at the back of the town, up a hill and away from the sea. And to cap it all, the weight of snow brought down a tree right across the driveway, demolishing the phone line on the way. So from sitting in church in a thin dress a fortnight ago -and having tea on the grass outside afterwards - I found myself shivering in the choir stalls ( we abandoned the nave) in wet trousers and fur-lined boots, and having tea in the Rectory while resolutely hugging a radiator. We remembered New Zealand, however, in our prayers, and all the friends we've made there.
Update on the jet-lag: thanks to the aforementioned affliction, I was able to take some interesting shots of the snowfall at 5am. It is very cold hanging out of the window under such circumstances, but one must suffer for one's art. You can see them on flickr
And now we wait to see if the snow will clear sufficiently for us to enjoy the dinner-date we have planned. Otherwise I'll be cooking.
Again.
Anyway, for my new friends in New Zealand, this is the view from our wee church after the Eucharist this morning. There were only five in the congregation, and we'd all had to walk varying distances to get there. Quite apart from the perilous steepness of the driveway, the church site is at the back of the town, up a hill and away from the sea. And to cap it all, the weight of snow brought down a tree right across the driveway, demolishing the phone line on the way. So from sitting in church in a thin dress a fortnight ago -and having tea on the grass outside afterwards - I found myself shivering in the choir stalls ( we abandoned the nave) in wet trousers and fur-lined boots, and having tea in the Rectory while resolutely hugging a radiator. We remembered New Zealand, however, in our prayers, and all the friends we've made there.
Update on the jet-lag: thanks to the aforementioned affliction, I was able to take some interesting shots of the snowfall at 5am. It is very cold hanging out of the window under such circumstances, but one must suffer for one's art. You can see them on flickr
And now we wait to see if the snow will clear sufficiently for us to enjoy the dinner-date we have planned. Otherwise I'll be cooking.
Again.
Saturday, March 11, 2006
Jet-lagged!
Ok, purists - I know this isn't a jet plane; it was some wee turbo-prop job with about four steps down to the ground and the wings obligingly above the fuselage so's we could see the view - but it's a lovely view and worth sharing. And I want to talk about the interesting effects of long-haul flying. If anyone out there has any explanation of the phenomenon, I'd be glad to hear from them ....
First off - it wasn't nearly so bad going out. We landed for the last time at teatime in NZ, and though we didn't really feel like tea, we had some and went to bed at quite a normal time. next afternoon, for about an hour, I felt very peculiar, but it passed and I put the slightly broken nights down to the heat and the unfamiliar bed.
But now ... well, much, much more pronounced symptoms. Apart from the stupor of my first night at home, I haven't had an unbroken night. I waken at 2am thinking it must be time to get up. I sleep shallowly, with silly dreams (last night a plane crashed on the coal pier, for instance, and the debris destroyed my roof). This morning I got up before 7am because it felt absurd to pretend to sleep when I could be doing something else. But come 3pm, I feel dizzy with exhaustion - as if, in fact, it was 4am. So far I haven't really given in to this - a trip to the supermarket was today's antidote. Hmmm.
It also interests me how after a month I'm unfamiliar with my own kitchen. I reach for things where they were in Edgar's instead of the places I've had them for years. And in the supermarket I was looking for the fabby orange juice that seemed stuffed with actual oranges. It wasn't there.
And I miss the sun. In fact, it's damned cold and miserable. I'm not used to it any more.
And it gets dark too early.
First off - it wasn't nearly so bad going out. We landed for the last time at teatime in NZ, and though we didn't really feel like tea, we had some and went to bed at quite a normal time. next afternoon, for about an hour, I felt very peculiar, but it passed and I put the slightly broken nights down to the heat and the unfamiliar bed.
But now ... well, much, much more pronounced symptoms. Apart from the stupor of my first night at home, I haven't had an unbroken night. I waken at 2am thinking it must be time to get up. I sleep shallowly, with silly dreams (last night a plane crashed on the coal pier, for instance, and the debris destroyed my roof). This morning I got up before 7am because it felt absurd to pretend to sleep when I could be doing something else. But come 3pm, I feel dizzy with exhaustion - as if, in fact, it was 4am. So far I haven't really given in to this - a trip to the supermarket was today's antidote. Hmmm.
It also interests me how after a month I'm unfamiliar with my own kitchen. I reach for things where they were in Edgar's instead of the places I've had them for years. And in the supermarket I was looking for the fabby orange juice that seemed stuffed with actual oranges. It wasn't there.
And I miss the sun. In fact, it's damned cold and miserable. I'm not used to it any more.
And it gets dark too early.
Friday, March 10, 2006
Furthermore ....
Since we came home, people have asked us what we remember most vividly about our visit to NZ. I'd have to say that for me it was the space. For a start, there are only 4.1 million people in the country, 1.5 million of whom apparently live in Auckland. New Zealand has a land area slightly greater than the UK. Most of the walks we took, we met no-one. We saw few cars away from the main roads - and even they were peaceful. (They also made the Argyll roads feel like a test bed for rugged suspensions). There were a few busier areas - our hike to the glacier had us meet people on the path and at the top, and Queenstown was much busier than we'd become used to - but if we stayed in Central Otago it was possible to imagine that this was indeed the desert parts of it resembled.
With that came the space to think. After a week, I no longer felt the need to read "holiday fiction", and was able instead to finish the more demanding and inspirational book I had taken with me. I was able to reflect at length on what was happening around me, and to put it in context. Any demands being made on me were short-term and practical; there was no juggling of commitments and no feeling that I ought to be doing something else.
So: resolution from that? To try to do what needs doing and can be done, and to leave the rest. To take time to consider my surroundings and avoid being where I don't want to be. To avoid cluttering up my mind and my life with inessentials and rubbish. And above all, to appreciate the people whom life has given me, and to make sure they know it.
And maybe I'll get back to New Zealand some day!
With that came the space to think. After a week, I no longer felt the need to read "holiday fiction", and was able instead to finish the more demanding and inspirational book I had taken with me. I was able to reflect at length on what was happening around me, and to put it in context. Any demands being made on me were short-term and practical; there was no juggling of commitments and no feeling that I ought to be doing something else.
So: resolution from that? To try to do what needs doing and can be done, and to leave the rest. To take time to consider my surroundings and avoid being where I don't want to be. To avoid cluttering up my mind and my life with inessentials and rubbish. And above all, to appreciate the people whom life has given me, and to make sure they know it.
And maybe I'll get back to New Zealand some day!
Thursday, March 09, 2006
Edgar
Just after I posted my last entry, I had a phone call from New Zealand to tell me that our friend Edgar, with whom we had been staying, had died peacefully, surrounded by his family. Although he was ill throughout the period of our stay with him, it was his prime concern that we should have a good holiday, and my blog reflects the excellence of our stay there. As his health declined, he seemed even more determined that this should not impinge on our activities, and so it was not until our return from the trip to Rob Roy glacier that he went to hospital for the last time.
Edgar Pacey was a priest in the Scottish Episcopal Church, serving in the dioceses of Glasgow and Galloway and Argyll and The Isles. He was a man of immense learning and down to earth realism. For many years he was a full-time teacher in Glasgow schools, and talked often of his time in Penilee. His last work in Scotland was to hold together the congregation of his own Holy Trinity Church in Dunoon during a long vacancy. When he emigrated to New Zealand to be with his family, his church family missed him sorely.
He came home from hospital last Friday. On Saturday evening his family held a party. A wonderful party where the teenage grandchildren laughed and joked and everyone had a dram – including Edgar. When we left, it was with the sense of a man serene and confident in the love that surrounded him and the God to whom he was going. It was an exemplary and inspiring end. He died fifteen hours after we arrived home.
I count myself fortunate beyond words that he was my friend. May he rest in peace and rise in glory.
Edgar Pacey was a priest in the Scottish Episcopal Church, serving in the dioceses of Glasgow and Galloway and Argyll and The Isles. He was a man of immense learning and down to earth realism. For many years he was a full-time teacher in Glasgow schools, and talked often of his time in Penilee. His last work in Scotland was to hold together the congregation of his own Holy Trinity Church in Dunoon during a long vacancy. When he emigrated to New Zealand to be with his family, his church family missed him sorely.
He came home from hospital last Friday. On Saturday evening his family held a party. A wonderful party where the teenage grandchildren laughed and joked and everyone had a dram – including Edgar. When we left, it was with the sense of a man serene and confident in the love that surrounded him and the God to whom he was going. It was an exemplary and inspiring end. He died fifteen hours after we arrived home.
I count myself fortunate beyond words that he was my friend. May he rest in peace and rise in glory.
Tuesday, March 07, 2006
Home again, home again..
...hippity hop. Well, no - not much hopping after 37 hours of air travel. Much bouncing around the sky after taking off from Frankton - all these mountains make for interesting updraughts - but collected myself sufficiently to take a few pix.
And the rest of the journey? Well. The Indian Ocean is very big. So is Australia. And it was dark all the way across both - we landed in Sydney in a spectacular orange sunset and didn't see daylight again till we were leaving Dubai. That's about 16 hours of darkness, and they didn't fly past. There was a strange niff in the plane too - we fear one of our fellow-travellers either had travelled too far already or had unpleasant feet. Anyway, there was no escape. I'll not go into the details of the effect of this - except to say that much of the food they kept giving us went untouched.
The flight from Dubai to Glasgow was a joy. Bigger plane, less crowded, bright sunshine. In between bouts of drooling sleep, we were able to look down on Iran (big, dun-coloured, ridgey, lots of snow in the north), bits of the Caspian sea, the Crimea (yes - that's the Black Sea), Poland (still snowy) and a wee bit of Denmark (also snowy). Northern Europe strikes me as such a busy place after New Zealand - and after the deserted appearance of much of Iran too. The airport at Christchurch even seemed busy after the peace we've enjoyed.
Today it is raining in Dunoon. It feels cold. But there is much going on and in two hours we leave for Oban. Don't ask why. Just let's hope we don't fall into drooling sleep before we arrive.
And the rest of the journey? Well. The Indian Ocean is very big. So is Australia. And it was dark all the way across both - we landed in Sydney in a spectacular orange sunset and didn't see daylight again till we were leaving Dubai. That's about 16 hours of darkness, and they didn't fly past. There was a strange niff in the plane too - we fear one of our fellow-travellers either had travelled too far already or had unpleasant feet. Anyway, there was no escape. I'll not go into the details of the effect of this - except to say that much of the food they kept giving us went untouched.
The flight from Dubai to Glasgow was a joy. Bigger plane, less crowded, bright sunshine. In between bouts of drooling sleep, we were able to look down on Iran (big, dun-coloured, ridgey, lots of snow in the north), bits of the Caspian sea, the Crimea (yes - that's the Black Sea), Poland (still snowy) and a wee bit of Denmark (also snowy). Northern Europe strikes me as such a busy place after New Zealand - and after the deserted appearance of much of Iran too. The airport at Christchurch even seemed busy after the peace we've enjoyed.
Today it is raining in Dunoon. It feels cold. But there is much going on and in two hours we leave for Oban. Don't ask why. Just let's hope we don't fall into drooling sleep before we arrive.
Saturday, March 04, 2006
Goodbye.
It's time to shut down Edgar's PC - time to finish packing - time to sleep before the 36 hour journey home (no overnight stops on this trip). We've had a very full day, which we began with a visit to a gathering of Cursillistas from the Dunedin diocese and ended with a wonderful family party.
We've made friends here - one aspect which makes me think life could be good in this part of the world. We've had a wonderful holiday - our kind of holiday, where we could walk for hours and see no-one and where no-one stared if we were dressed like tramps - or at least a pair of eccentrics. People have been unfailingly kind and welcoming, generous with invitations and absurd things like a car for the duration. In fact, so enamoured am I of the Bighorn that I fear I shall never again want to drive around in an ordinary car.
And now we've made our farewells and are about to head back to the snow. Tonight the stars are amazing - and I think I've at last seen the Southern Cross. The Milky way is right over the garden, and Orion is still upside-down.
And the water runs down the plughole anti-clockwise. What way does it go at home?
I've never checked.
We've made friends here - one aspect which makes me think life could be good in this part of the world. We've had a wonderful holiday - our kind of holiday, where we could walk for hours and see no-one and where no-one stared if we were dressed like tramps - or at least a pair of eccentrics. People have been unfailingly kind and welcoming, generous with invitations and absurd things like a car for the duration. In fact, so enamoured am I of the Bighorn that I fear I shall never again want to drive around in an ordinary car.
And now we've made our farewells and are about to head back to the snow. Tonight the stars are amazing - and I think I've at last seen the Southern Cross. The Milky way is right over the garden, and Orion is still upside-down.
And the water runs down the plughole anti-clockwise. What way does it go at home?
I've never checked.
Friday, March 03, 2006
Distant Ophir
There were no quinquiremes, of Nineveh or anywhere else, come to that, but today we were in Ophir, once the most populous mining town in the area but today .... well, shut. People obviously live there, and the post office, still in the original building, is open for business in the mornings, but we saw not a soul. Two dogs, happily behind a wire fence, went demented with excitement at the sight of us walking down the middle of the main street - we felt once more like characters in a Western.
The eerie quality was enhanced by the howling (literally) gale, which had us shivering despite the bright sunshine. The south-east wind comes straight from the Antarctic with nothing to deflect or warm it up, and it was giving it laldy this afternoon. Even in the morning it was pretty dramatic - there's a pic over on flickr showing what it did to Lake Dunstan. We had a walk later - a couple or so miles on the Otago rail trail near Ophir, where it winds through country that seemed positively biblical. There was snow on the Pisa range, though the nearest hills, the aptly named Raggedy Range, were the more usual dust colour.
Another first today: I saw a field full of alpacas. My cup is full.
The eerie quality was enhanced by the howling (literally) gale, which had us shivering despite the bright sunshine. The south-east wind comes straight from the Antarctic with nothing to deflect or warm it up, and it was giving it laldy this afternoon. Even in the morning it was pretty dramatic - there's a pic over on flickr showing what it did to Lake Dunstan. We had a walk later - a couple or so miles on the Otago rail trail near Ophir, where it winds through country that seemed positively biblical. There was snow on the Pisa range, though the nearest hills, the aptly named Raggedy Range, were the more usual dust colour.
Another first today: I saw a field full of alpacas. My cup is full.
Thursday, March 02, 2006
Blast from the past
At Wanaka, the area which provided the backdrop for several LotR scenes, there is a museum of fighting aircraft, the Wanaka Warbirds. Today was so grey and chilly we decided to spend the morning in a draughty aircraft hangar, and ended up standing riveted for an age on an even draughtier airfield watching this wonderful plane.
And listening to it - for one of the well-documented features of the WW2 Spitfire was the amazing growl of its Rolls Royce Merlin engine (I know - you never realised I had this laddish background knowledge, born of years of reading boys' books). I spotted a bloke heading out of the hangar towards the Spitfire with a flying helmet in his hands, and we followed him. He was strapped in - the same solicitude you see in old war movies - by the mechanic; a fire truck appeared and hovered encouragingly; there was much slow-mo turning of the engine - someone shouted "dead as the dodo" - and then suddenly a great roar and puffs of smoke and that was it. Off he taxied, belted down the runway - we'd all run like four asterisks over the carpark to be in the right place - and took off, circling around against the backdrop of the incredible mountains. Later he landed - and we were the only spectators. I even recorded the sound on my phone (I can't believe I was carrying on like this). It was rerr.
Later we thawed out in a great "Soul Food Cafe" in Wanaka, and went for what turned out to be an idyllic walk along the lakeshore. Now we've come home and lit the woodburning stove in the house - we never thought we'd get doing that! It heats the whole house on a big log - we're on our third now. Outside, it smells like incense.
But I can't see how we could fit either a woodburning stove or a Spitfire into our usual existence - or even the 4x4 Isuzu with thermonuclear protection. Life *will* seem dull!
And listening to it - for one of the well-documented features of the WW2 Spitfire was the amazing growl of its Rolls Royce Merlin engine (I know - you never realised I had this laddish background knowledge, born of years of reading boys' books). I spotted a bloke heading out of the hangar towards the Spitfire with a flying helmet in his hands, and we followed him. He was strapped in - the same solicitude you see in old war movies - by the mechanic; a fire truck appeared and hovered encouragingly; there was much slow-mo turning of the engine - someone shouted "dead as the dodo" - and then suddenly a great roar and puffs of smoke and that was it. Off he taxied, belted down the runway - we'd all run like four asterisks over the carpark to be in the right place - and took off, circling around against the backdrop of the incredible mountains. Later he landed - and we were the only spectators. I even recorded the sound on my phone (I can't believe I was carrying on like this). It was rerr.
Later we thawed out in a great "Soul Food Cafe" in Wanaka, and went for what turned out to be an idyllic walk along the lakeshore. Now we've come home and lit the woodburning stove in the house - we never thought we'd get doing that! It heats the whole house on a big log - we're on our third now. Outside, it smells like incense.
But I can't see how we could fit either a woodburning stove or a Spitfire into our usual existence - or even the 4x4 Isuzu with thermonuclear protection. Life *will* seem dull!
Wednesday, March 01, 2006
Ash Wednesday - early!
Today being Ash Wednesday, it seems appropriate to begin with a pic of the inside of St Andrew's (Anglican) church, where we were this morning, observing the day about 20 hours ahead of our home congregation, who tend to do this in the evening! We were able to thank Roy, who told us about the hike we did yesterday - not in this pic as he's sitting in a corner talking about it to John.
Today, we felt, was quite like a slightly changeable summer's day at home - sudden showers kept the temperature down, and we had fleeces on (with shorts!) for part of our walk along the Clutha River this afternoon. We needed my pal Di with us today to look at the wee birds - they looked like female chaffinches until they suddenly stuck their tails up in a wonderful fan. This gave them a gliding, dipping flight, and they cavorted among the willows in pairs, cheeping in an excited manner. Actually I think they were discussing us - they seemed interested, and not at all timid.
As I write, the smell of curry is gradually filling the house - a suitable dinner for a cooler evening! Perhaps autumn is on the way here - the trees are turning and the rowans heavy in the garden. Time for us wee birds to head north again.
Today, we felt, was quite like a slightly changeable summer's day at home - sudden showers kept the temperature down, and we had fleeces on (with shorts!) for part of our walk along the Clutha River this afternoon. We needed my pal Di with us today to look at the wee birds - they looked like female chaffinches until they suddenly stuck their tails up in a wonderful fan. This gave them a gliding, dipping flight, and they cavorted among the willows in pairs, cheeping in an excited manner. Actually I think they were discussing us - they seemed interested, and not at all timid.
As I write, the smell of curry is gradually filling the house - a suitable dinner for a cooler evening! Perhaps autumn is on the way here - the trees are turning and the rowans heavy in the garden. Time for us wee birds to head north again.
Tuesday, February 28, 2006
Wow.
What a day! The pic tells it all, I think - a cloudless, brilliant day spent in the Alpine surroundings of the Mount Aspiring National Park. From the moment we drove past the sign warning that this was a back country road of variable conditions it was a terrific adventure - the six fords on the road, the suspension bridge over the West Matukituki river, the 3oo metre climb through dense birch forest with the glacier-green river pounding below ... and then we came out into a clear alpine meadow and saw this!
We had just taken off our packs when a great thundering sound from above us announced an avalanche, which we were able to watch as it gathered momentum and swept down the face opposite us in the bright sun. All the time the roar of the tens of waterfalls from the ice was like a bizarre traffic sound in the wilderness, overlaid by the raucus squawks of the skeas flying overhead. It was hypnotic, sitting staring at the ice above, the tumbled seracs a sort of greenish colour with grey moraine material at their base - and hard to stop taking photos, despite the sun's position above the mountain. This was Rob Roy Peak (2606m) and the glacier is Rob Roy Glacier.
As we drove home - harrying car and caravan drivers as we bashed along in the 4x4 - there was still not a cloud. The forecast is for much colder weather, but today was perfect. If we do nothing else on this holiday, I'll be content.
And my feet are killing me!
We had just taken off our packs when a great thundering sound from above us announced an avalanche, which we were able to watch as it gathered momentum and swept down the face opposite us in the bright sun. All the time the roar of the tens of waterfalls from the ice was like a bizarre traffic sound in the wilderness, overlaid by the raucus squawks of the skeas flying overhead. It was hypnotic, sitting staring at the ice above, the tumbled seracs a sort of greenish colour with grey moraine material at their base - and hard to stop taking photos, despite the sun's position above the mountain. This was Rob Roy Peak (2606m) and the glacier is Rob Roy Glacier.
As we drove home - harrying car and caravan drivers as we bashed along in the 4x4 - there was still not a cloud. The forecast is for much colder weather, but today was perfect. If we do nothing else on this holiday, I'll be content.
And my feet are killing me!
Monday, February 27, 2006
The Gathering Storm ...
There. Isn't that a dramatic title for a day which took us to the site of the Tower of Orthanc? And for all my gentle readers who have been consumed with envy at the thought of us walking through sunlit desert, the news that today we were well and truly soaked, in the middle of a huge beech wood near the place which was Lothlorien. As I write, the rain is pelting down outside, and a short time ago we had lightening and loud thunder - and I have to tell you that Cromwell on a dreich evening looks much like Dunoon!
And as for feeling at home - the site of Orthanc (see my flickr photos for a shot)is near a town called Glenorchy, where we had the best sandwiches ever and where the streets have names like Mull Road, Oban Road and - yes - Argyll Street. Miles from anywhere too.
In the course of the day we crossed another very swingy suspension bridge - the ground bounced about for some time after that - herded sheep with our car, and saw helicopters fighting a large bush fire in the Kawaru gorge. I've learned, by the way, that the Kawaru River - see Friday's blog - was the River Anduin in the first LotR movie.
One last thing. The roadkill here is quite upsetting. Possums are quite large and fat and very furry looking. They make a mess on the road. I wish they'd learn some road sense. That's all.
And as for feeling at home - the site of Orthanc (see my flickr photos for a shot)is near a town called Glenorchy, where we had the best sandwiches ever and where the streets have names like Mull Road, Oban Road and - yes - Argyll Street. Miles from anywhere too.
In the course of the day we crossed another very swingy suspension bridge - the ground bounced about for some time after that - herded sheep with our car, and saw helicopters fighting a large bush fire in the Kawaru gorge. I've learned, by the way, that the Kawaru River - see Friday's blog - was the River Anduin in the first LotR movie.
One last thing. The roadkill here is quite upsetting. Possums are quite large and fat and very furry looking. They make a mess on the road. I wish they'd learn some road sense. That's all.
Sunday, February 26, 2006
Dam spectacular
Caught this view of the Clyde dam this evening after a great meal out at the Post Office in Clyde - pic on Flickr. It's such a brilliantly clear evening - and growing deliciously cool - that the sky was still quite light when I took this (no flash) After blogging this, I'm going outside with a southern hemisphere star chart to identify a few constellations - I've been marvelling at the Milky Way ever since the moon diminished and stopped lighting up the whole sky. I've never seen so many stars - the sky looks somehow jagged with them.
Interesting sermon in St Andrew's this morning - the priest talked about epiphanies such as when you suddenly hear a Bell Bird - and of course we heard our fist Bell bird on Friday and so her point was well made for us. I think the chance of epiphany is considerable here - though it could just be that such a change from our normality would tend to create a certain receptivity in us. Certainly I feel a great deal more alive than I did a month ago!
There seemed to be a conspiracy this morning to persuade us to return - among the farewells after our last Sunday service were several suggestions that we should make this a regular visit. It's very tempting: this is a wonderful place to spend our winter and we already feel very much at home.
They'd need to do something about the telly, though!
Interesting sermon in St Andrew's this morning - the priest talked about epiphanies such as when you suddenly hear a Bell Bird - and of course we heard our fist Bell bird on Friday and so her point was well made for us. I think the chance of epiphany is considerable here - though it could just be that such a change from our normality would tend to create a certain receptivity in us. Certainly I feel a great deal more alive than I did a month ago!
There seemed to be a conspiracy this morning to persuade us to return - among the farewells after our last Sunday service were several suggestions that we should make this a regular visit. It's very tempting: this is a wonderful place to spend our winter and we already feel very much at home.
They'd need to do something about the telly, though!
Saturday, February 25, 2006
Wandered
Today we got a bit lost. Well no - the trail got lost. We're using a wee book of local walks by someone who reputedly has lived here for 30 years, but we have a sneaking suspicion that he is now living out his twilight years in a rest home far away and has concocted the walks from memory. (He does say in his intro "the publisher and author hold no responsibility for any accident or misfortune that may occur during [the book's] use".)
Ok - we didn't have an accident or even a misfortune. The trail simply vanished in a sea of dust where apparently the local yoof go to wreck their (or someone else's) old cars. But we did see some lovely sights along the way - not the least this old rail bridge, now the start of a rail trail for walkers and cyclists. There was another wonderful bridge over the Manuherikia River - made me feel a bit Harrison Fordish as I swayed my way over it. We crossed a bit of open ground called "Linger and Die" - apparently and aborted deep lead mining venture which filled with water at a depth of 10 metres. We never made it up to the clock on the hill above Alexandra, but took some pix of the town as we staggered back to the car.
Actually it was in Alex that we suddenly felt very far from home. It's about 33k from Cromwell, where we now feel quite settled. But this silent town under the bright sun .. the signs were creaking in the breeze like a Western, so that we expected some gunslinger to step out into the street at any moment. You'll see the pix on Flickr, and I may post some more tomorrow.
Today was a day of startling brilliance. The sky had barely a cloud throughout and the sun was fierce. Any movement along the trail raised a puff of dust. I find it hard to thing that in just over a week we'll be in the green-ness of home.
To say nothing of the rain.....
Ok - we didn't have an accident or even a misfortune. The trail simply vanished in a sea of dust where apparently the local yoof go to wreck their (or someone else's) old cars. But we did see some lovely sights along the way - not the least this old rail bridge, now the start of a rail trail for walkers and cyclists. There was another wonderful bridge over the Manuherikia River - made me feel a bit Harrison Fordish as I swayed my way over it. We crossed a bit of open ground called "Linger and Die" - apparently and aborted deep lead mining venture which filled with water at a depth of 10 metres. We never made it up to the clock on the hill above Alexandra, but took some pix of the town as we staggered back to the car.
Actually it was in Alex that we suddenly felt very far from home. It's about 33k from Cromwell, where we now feel quite settled. But this silent town under the bright sun .. the signs were creaking in the breeze like a Western, so that we expected some gunslinger to step out into the street at any moment. You'll see the pix on Flickr, and I may post some more tomorrow.
Today was a day of startling brilliance. The sky had barely a cloud throughout and the sun was fierce. Any movement along the trail raised a puff of dust. I find it hard to thing that in just over a week we'll be in the green-ness of home.
To say nothing of the rain.....
Friday, February 24, 2006
Roaring Meg
According to legend, Roaring Meg was named after a red-haired barmaid who kept a hotel on the creek at this point, but it's more likely just the turbulent water flow which inspired the name of this torrent in the Kawarau River. We climbed up into the hills on the right of the gorge today - if you live in Dunoon, think Holy Trinity drive for almost two hours. This took us to a height of about 3,000', through forest and then above the treeline among thorn bushes and tiny briar roses, which were apparently introduced by the miners for a bit of colour and then spread wildly, rather like the rabbits they brought in for cheap food!
There are more pix of the dramatic road on Flickr, but what we couldn't reproduce was the wonderful birdsong we heard as we approached the upper limit of the trees. Friends later identified what we described as the Bell bird. Whatever it was, it had a glorious alto voice and sang a sixth, a third and then a perfect fourth - a bit Mahlerian, we thought. It was accompanied by a chorus of more ordinary, higher birdsong, and was sheer joy. We stood listening for ages till growing hunger pushed us on to find a good place to sit.
We finished the day welcomed once more into a New Zealand home for a meal and wide-ranging conversation with two local Cursillistas. It makes the difference between being a tourist and being a visitor, and we love it.
There are more pix of the dramatic road on Flickr, but what we couldn't reproduce was the wonderful birdsong we heard as we approached the upper limit of the trees. Friends later identified what we described as the Bell bird. Whatever it was, it had a glorious alto voice and sang a sixth, a third and then a perfect fourth - a bit Mahlerian, we thought. It was accompanied by a chorus of more ordinary, higher birdsong, and was sheer joy. We stood listening for ages till growing hunger pushed us on to find a good place to sit.
We finished the day welcomed once more into a New Zealand home for a meal and wide-ranging conversation with two local Cursillistas. It makes the difference between being a tourist and being a visitor, and we love it.
Thursday, February 23, 2006
Arrowtown
Visited Arrowtown today - a deliberately preserved mining town which still manages to look old despite the proliferation of tourist shops and tearooms (both kinda nice, actually). The town is noteworthy for the remains of the buildings used by the Chinese miners who were encouraged to come to New Zealand to work the goldmines and who tended to keep themselves apart from the other miners for reasons which today became very apparent.
On one of the information boards in the Chinese quarter we saw a facsimile of a local newspaper from the 1870s which referred to the Chinese in terms which (a)I cannot bring myself to reproduce here and (b)showed that at the time the Chinese were regarded as being a subhuman species whose habits were a source of disgust and fear. I don't know what habits the writer referred to, but I was interested in the shock I felt reading this in the bright sunlight beneath the trees. I couldn't help wondering what the group of Chinese tourists just behind of us thought of it - if indeed they could read it. I hoped they couldn't.
In fairness to 21st century Kiwis, I have to point out that the New Zealand Government has in recent years apologised for the treatment of Chinese migrant workers, many of whom had faced incredible hardship to make the journey here - hardship made bearable only by the hardship of the lives they were already living as peasant farmers in China.
Clicking on this photo will take you to other pics of the tiny huts they lived in - one of them seemed to have been wallpapered in old copies of newspapers. Now THERE'S an idea for all the old copies of TheGuardian piled up at The Blethers .....
On one of the information boards in the Chinese quarter we saw a facsimile of a local newspaper from the 1870s which referred to the Chinese in terms which (a)I cannot bring myself to reproduce here and (b)showed that at the time the Chinese were regarded as being a subhuman species whose habits were a source of disgust and fear. I don't know what habits the writer referred to, but I was interested in the shock I felt reading this in the bright sunlight beneath the trees. I couldn't help wondering what the group of Chinese tourists just behind of us thought of it - if indeed they could read it. I hoped they couldn't.
In fairness to 21st century Kiwis, I have to point out that the New Zealand Government has in recent years apologised for the treatment of Chinese migrant workers, many of whom had faced incredible hardship to make the journey here - hardship made bearable only by the hardship of the lives they were already living as peasant farmers in China.
Clicking on this photo will take you to other pics of the tiny huts they lived in - one of them seemed to have been wallpapered in old copies of newspapers. Now THERE'S an idea for all the old copies of TheGuardian piled up at The Blethers .....
Wednesday, February 22, 2006
Looking on the grape ...
...and they were indeed red: Pinot Noir grapes growing in the Red Tractor vineyard on the road between Cromwell and Wanaka. Grant took us for a wander down the rows of vines, pruning, removing burned fruit which looked like raisins - what happens when the temperatures hit 40 degrees - and reconnecting an irrigation hose which had come adrift.
Viniculture is relatively new to this area - the last ten years have seen a huge growth in the number of vineyards. The process is more or less hydroponic, using water pumped from boreholes to a water table which rose when Lake Dunstan was created. Sometimes nutrients are added to the water by a pump, and we saw how important the supply of water is - where a trickle hole had become blocked, there would be a withered vine with shrivelled fruit. We learned that some growers will give fruit which has dried out "the JC treatment" which involves soaking the fruit overnight in water till it regains its size. You can work out the "JC" connection.
This afternoon I returned to the mineworkings at Bendigo - with my camera. You can see the results by clicking through to Flickr on today's pic. We walked from Welshtown to Logantown via the Aurora battery site - a wonderful walk through Manuka shrubs and thorn bushes, several of which were concealing lethal mineshafts. Rabbits were everywhere, skittering over the dry earth as we approached. The wind was strong enough to be cooling and the views were to die for. A great hike.
Tonight it is chilly - the wind has moved to the South and the forecast is for showers - and temperatures tonight of 5 degrees. Just like summer hols in Scotland!
Viniculture is relatively new to this area - the last ten years have seen a huge growth in the number of vineyards. The process is more or less hydroponic, using water pumped from boreholes to a water table which rose when Lake Dunstan was created. Sometimes nutrients are added to the water by a pump, and we saw how important the supply of water is - where a trickle hole had become blocked, there would be a withered vine with shrivelled fruit. We learned that some growers will give fruit which has dried out "the JC treatment" which involves soaking the fruit overnight in water till it regains its size. You can work out the "JC" connection.
This afternoon I returned to the mineworkings at Bendigo - with my camera. You can see the results by clicking through to Flickr on today's pic. We walked from Welshtown to Logantown via the Aurora battery site - a wonderful walk through Manuka shrubs and thorn bushes, several of which were concealing lethal mineshafts. Rabbits were everywhere, skittering over the dry earth as we approached. The wind was strong enough to be cooling and the views were to die for. A great hike.
Tonight it is chilly - the wind has moved to the South and the forecast is for showers - and temperatures tonight of 5 degrees. Just like summer hols in Scotland!
Tuesday, February 21, 2006
Crown of Thorns
I've deliberately chosen this striking picture to illustrate what occurred to me today. When I came upon it in the hills yesterday it took me a long moment to realise that what I saw as a life-size crown of thorns was in fact the stem of the flower, dead and curled round on itself. But the fact that I saw it as I did perhaps reflects some of the wilderness experience which has set me thinking properly again.
Since I retired in June I've read nothing at all serious, and have been so busy-busy that I feel I've neglected thought and meditation in favour of action. Here, I've rediscovered space - mental space and physical space. The TV is so poor and so broken by advertising that I have not the slightest desire to watch it. There is time to go to bed early - and there is time to read. I've been reading Ivan Mann's thoughtful book "A Double Thirst" on our response to suffering, and I've been allowing the silence to soak into me and still all surface thought. The results are exciting and challenging.
However, at the same time I'm aware of the woman in the next-door house. She plays loud pop music all the time she's at home. The endless repetition of the pounding beat is maddening. Her dog barks a lot. It's as if the silent hills and the noise of crickets in the long dead grass beyond the garden are perhaps too much for her. I'm very aware of this essentially northern European culture sitting in the middle of this sparsely-populated land, where the buzzards swoop over the empty hills and the thorn bushes tear at the intruder. This neighbour shuts out the silence with electronic rhythm.
We've lost much of this silence. True, you can walk all afternoon in Argyll and see no-one, just as you can here. But the sense of being alone in the desert takes me back to a time and a place I never knew - and yet a place which is familiar and necessary.
There are more usual photos on Flickr - you can see them be clicking on the one shown here. But this one is special.
Since I retired in June I've read nothing at all serious, and have been so busy-busy that I feel I've neglected thought and meditation in favour of action. Here, I've rediscovered space - mental space and physical space. The TV is so poor and so broken by advertising that I have not the slightest desire to watch it. There is time to go to bed early - and there is time to read. I've been reading Ivan Mann's thoughtful book "A Double Thirst" on our response to suffering, and I've been allowing the silence to soak into me and still all surface thought. The results are exciting and challenging.
However, at the same time I'm aware of the woman in the next-door house. She plays loud pop music all the time she's at home. The endless repetition of the pounding beat is maddening. Her dog barks a lot. It's as if the silent hills and the noise of crickets in the long dead grass beyond the garden are perhaps too much for her. I'm very aware of this essentially northern European culture sitting in the middle of this sparsely-populated land, where the buzzards swoop over the empty hills and the thorn bushes tear at the intruder. This neighbour shuts out the silence with electronic rhythm.
We've lost much of this silence. True, you can walk all afternoon in Argyll and see no-one, just as you can here. But the sense of being alone in the desert takes me back to a time and a place I never knew - and yet a place which is familiar and necessary.
There are more usual photos on Flickr - you can see them be clicking on the one shown here. But this one is special.
Monday, February 20, 2006
A wilderness walk
Today we were all too aware of why a 4x4 is a good idea here. We drove up the Nevis Road - a grit road, one of the highest vehicle roads in NZ at 3,000' - and then walked through the high wilderness of the hills behind Bannockburn to a place called Duffer's Saddle, where the Carrick Race begins its downward journey to the fields far below.
The first thing we noticed was the drop in temperature. At 10.30am it was already warm in Cromwell, but at 3,000' a chill wind had us in our cagoules as soon as we left the vehicle. But the landscape was immense - literally and figuratively speaking. The grit road and the dusty tracks were lonely ribbons over featureless scrub for mile after folded mile, punctuated erratically by massive tors any of which could have stood in for Weathertop in the LotR movie. We scrambled up to one and found our legs bleeding from the attentions of the lethal jaggy plants I've already photographed - they were ubiquitous.
The views all around were tremendous; I've chosen to blog this one of a distant view of Mount Difficulty (1285m) because it sounds like something out of Pilgrim's Progress. We were the pilgrims today - and we made it home just ahead of the rain!
The first thing we noticed was the drop in temperature. At 10.30am it was already warm in Cromwell, but at 3,000' a chill wind had us in our cagoules as soon as we left the vehicle. But the landscape was immense - literally and figuratively speaking. The grit road and the dusty tracks were lonely ribbons over featureless scrub for mile after folded mile, punctuated erratically by massive tors any of which could have stood in for Weathertop in the LotR movie. We scrambled up to one and found our legs bleeding from the attentions of the lethal jaggy plants I've already photographed - they were ubiquitous.
The views all around were tremendous; I've chosen to blog this one of a distant view of Mount Difficulty (1285m) because it sounds like something out of Pilgrim's Progress. We were the pilgrims today - and we made it home just ahead of the rain!
Sunday, February 19, 2006
Lazy summer Sunday
No pounding round goldmines today, but a very peaceful, civilised day which began with church at 9am (actually that's not really civilised: why do we need to be at church quite so early?) We met a lady who had actually visited Dunoon - her antecedents were in Greenock.
Later - and you can see the pix by clicking on this one and going to Flickr - we visited the fantastic house which Hilary and Alan are building nearby - concrete blocks and huge logs of wood holding up the roof instead of the more usual squared-off joists. As John said, a bungalow - but now as we know it! This huge one-level house is curved in such a way as to present interesting vistas from one room to the next - I'm looking forward to seeing the photos of the finished article.
Thence to a BBQ nearby - if you can call two whole spit-roasted chickens along with sausages, burgers and venison a BBQ. If I had a patio like that - complete with the new bamboo blinds to diffuse the sinking sun - I'd never cook inside the whole summer. Life here seems so much simpler than when you have to take your blackened sausages indoors when the heavens open - a climate made for outdoor eating.
Apparently the evening wind is known locally as "The Dunstan Doctor". It makes the nights bearable - and the early mornings are deliciously cool and fragrant.
Must get up early tomorrow!
Later - and you can see the pix by clicking on this one and going to Flickr - we visited the fantastic house which Hilary and Alan are building nearby - concrete blocks and huge logs of wood holding up the roof instead of the more usual squared-off joists. As John said, a bungalow - but now as we know it! This huge one-level house is curved in such a way as to present interesting vistas from one room to the next - I'm looking forward to seeing the photos of the finished article.
Thence to a BBQ nearby - if you can call two whole spit-roasted chickens along with sausages, burgers and venison a BBQ. If I had a patio like that - complete with the new bamboo blinds to diffuse the sinking sun - I'd never cook inside the whole summer. Life here seems so much simpler than when you have to take your blackened sausages indoors when the heavens open - a climate made for outdoor eating.
Apparently the evening wind is known locally as "The Dunstan Doctor". It makes the nights bearable - and the early mornings are deliciously cool and fragrant.
Must get up early tomorrow!
Saturday, February 18, 2006
Ostriches!
I may have seen an ostrich before - in a zoo, perhaps - but to see a whole herd (flock? I shall call them a peck till someone informs me of the correct collective noun) pecking away beside the state highway was something else! Today I also encountered the closest thing to midges outside Scotland - I think they were sandflies, and they were black instead of grey and stripey, but the effect was very similar and we left!
Today became very warm indeed, so I was glad when the six o'clock gusts of wind began. Apparently this is why they grow such excellent Pinot Noir here - the hot days and chilly nights. We walked past a vineyard today and were deeved by the noise coming from - we discovered - small speakers hidden among the vines: the most dreadful cacophony of chirrups, screams and the noise my dial-up modem used to make when trying to connect to the Internet!
We assumed that this was to scare off birds; it certainly drove us away. Think of this over your next glass!
And another thing: Cromwell on a Saturday afternoon makes Dunoon seem like the hub of the universe. Everything closes except for the supermarket. The streets are empty. You can't get a coffee after 4pm. I suppose what I'm comparing it with is a resort somewhere warm like Crete or Spain, where they'd have a siesta and then open up again. Here it's as if the Sabbath descends early. And there are adverts every 7 minutes on the TV -all three channels.
I'm enjoying my book!
Today became very warm indeed, so I was glad when the six o'clock gusts of wind began. Apparently this is why they grow such excellent Pinot Noir here - the hot days and chilly nights. We walked past a vineyard today and were deeved by the noise coming from - we discovered - small speakers hidden among the vines: the most dreadful cacophony of chirrups, screams and the noise my dial-up modem used to make when trying to connect to the Internet!
We assumed that this was to scare off birds; it certainly drove us away. Think of this over your next glass!
And another thing: Cromwell on a Saturday afternoon makes Dunoon seem like the hub of the universe. Everything closes except for the supermarket. The streets are empty. You can't get a coffee after 4pm. I suppose what I'm comparing it with is a resort somewhere warm like Crete or Spain, where they'd have a siesta and then open up again. Here it's as if the Sabbath descends early. And there are adverts every 7 minutes on the TV -all three channels.
I'm enjoying my book!
Friday, February 17, 2006
The sea, the sea ...
...the Pacific Ocean, to be precise. We were in Dunedin today, and this beach is on the outskirts of this city in which the street names seem all to come from Edinburgh - there's even a Spottiswoode Street! By the time we reached the beach, there was quite a breeze blowing from the South-West, which actually made it feel more like a summer day in Dunbar, and the sea itself was c-o-l-d. The surfers were all in full wetsuits and kept disappearing worryingly from view.
The journey to Dunedin took about two and a half hours and took us through an amazing variety of scenery - including Roxburgh, a township in an area which looked much more familiar than the barren, baked hills of Cromwell. We saw fields which had actually been improved by having open-cast gold mining carried out in them; by the time the mining was over and the land restored the old boggy fields were fertile and green.
I learned the other day that Cromwell is the furthest from the sea of any town in New Zealand. It was good to smell the salt today - but I'm glad we're here in this hot, dry corner. Chilly sea air can wait another two weeks, thanks!
The journey to Dunedin took about two and a half hours and took us through an amazing variety of scenery - including Roxburgh, a township in an area which looked much more familiar than the barren, baked hills of Cromwell. We saw fields which had actually been improved by having open-cast gold mining carried out in them; by the time the mining was over and the land restored the old boggy fields were fertile and green.
I learned the other day that Cromwell is the furthest from the sea of any town in New Zealand. It was good to smell the salt today - but I'm glad we're here in this hot, dry corner. Chilly sea air can wait another two weeks, thanks!
Thursday, February 16, 2006
Woe, thrice woe and Bendigo
Good title, eh? The Woe arises because today I went out without my
camera - we had the steam camera with us, but that doesn't let me show where we went. I took this one of the house when we returned.
We visited another gold-mining site, Bendigo, above Lake Dunstan. You might wonder what the attraction is - wandering through arid hills and avoiding falling down mineshafts under a baking sun - and lacking pictorial evidence I feel a thousand-word blog isn't really on. I'll try to convey what we saw.
The hillside is like a desert at this time of year. The only vegetation is Manuka shrub - think a thyme bush, with the same size of leaves and flowers (white), only up to 12 feet tall. Full of bees. There are a few thorn bushes as well. And there's dust, and there are stones, and cushions of dry, pale lichen. And more stones - heaped where the miners stashed them when they dug them from the ground, or built into the walls of their tiny cottages and around their claims. All around this hill are unfenced mineshafts, giving an impression of desperate activity to reach gold at any cost. Some of the shafts are tiny - just wide enough to take a man. The gold was there, right enough - good deposits in some places, just enough to make some money in others. Several mines closed after a few years, leaving the remains of stampers - the buildings where the rock was pulverised before the gold could be retrieved.
But the most extraordinary thing for us was the silence. At times it seemed total - and then a single bird would call and we would realise how alone we were. Among the manuka which still flowered there were hundreds of bees, but where it was dried out, nothing. And we saw not a soul - in this place where a hundred years ago 500 men, women and children lived and toiled.
And that's why we enjoyed it so much. When I was a child, if we saw another family within a hundred yards of us on the beach, we said "it's seething", and that attitude must have stuck. Can't bear being a tourist with other tourists. Here in Cromwell we feel we're the only visitors in miles. Great!
We visited another gold-mining site, Bendigo, above Lake Dunstan. You might wonder what the attraction is - wandering through arid hills and avoiding falling down mineshafts under a baking sun - and lacking pictorial evidence I feel a thousand-word blog isn't really on. I'll try to convey what we saw.
The hillside is like a desert at this time of year. The only vegetation is Manuka shrub - think a thyme bush, with the same size of leaves and flowers (white), only up to 12 feet tall. Full of bees. There are a few thorn bushes as well. And there's dust, and there are stones, and cushions of dry, pale lichen. And more stones - heaped where the miners stashed them when they dug them from the ground, or built into the walls of their tiny cottages and around their claims. All around this hill are unfenced mineshafts, giving an impression of desperate activity to reach gold at any cost. Some of the shafts are tiny - just wide enough to take a man. The gold was there, right enough - good deposits in some places, just enough to make some money in others. Several mines closed after a few years, leaving the remains of stampers - the buildings where the rock was pulverised before the gold could be retrieved.
But the most extraordinary thing for us was the silence. At times it seemed total - and then a single bird would call and we would realise how alone we were. Among the manuka which still flowered there were hundreds of bees, but where it was dried out, nothing. And we saw not a soul - in this place where a hundred years ago 500 men, women and children lived and toiled.
And that's why we enjoyed it so much. When I was a child, if we saw another family within a hundred yards of us on the beach, we said "it's seething", and that attitude must have stuck. Can't bear being a tourist with other tourists. Here in Cromwell we feel we're the only visitors in miles. Great!
Wednesday, February 15, 2006
Tea and ginger
A wee domestic moment. At home, we often end a walk with a cup of tea and some crystallised ginger - they go really well together. We managed to buy the ginger yesterday at the fruit stall, so we ended today with tea on the patio, in perfect temperatures. I even wrote postcards for the unblogged - if you're reading this you'll not be getting one!
If you click on this pic, you'll get to see what we did today, visiting Wanaka, an hour's drive away. We climbed a hill (of course) that was actually a roche moutonnee, left a strange shape by the movement of ice. From there we could see the snow-topped mountains of Mount Aspiring National Park - and look down on the growing town of Wanaka. All the houses are *so* different from what we're used to - tin roofs an' that - but everyone seems to have so much space, and houses appear to have everything needed for the life here.
And I've discovered what they call the infamous Cillit Bang here. It's called "Easy-off Bam". Isn't that wonderful? With the usual connotations (in the West of Scotland anyway) of the word "bam" it takes on a wealth of meaninglessness. In fact there are several things where you think you're looking at a familiar label and find it's different - like Marmite, which is My Mate here cos there's already a Marmite with a different label and meat in it.
And that's it for today - except that I drove the Bighorn home from Wanaka today at 100 kph (the speed limit). And we got here.
If you click on this pic, you'll get to see what we did today, visiting Wanaka, an hour's drive away. We climbed a hill (of course) that was actually a roche moutonnee, left a strange shape by the movement of ice. From there we could see the snow-topped mountains of Mount Aspiring National Park - and look down on the growing town of Wanaka. All the houses are *so* different from what we're used to - tin roofs an' that - but everyone seems to have so much space, and houses appear to have everything needed for the life here.
And I've discovered what they call the infamous Cillit Bang here. It's called "Easy-off Bam". Isn't that wonderful? With the usual connotations (in the West of Scotland anyway) of the word "bam" it takes on a wealth of meaninglessness. In fact there are several things where you think you're looking at a familiar label and find it's different - like Marmite, which is My Mate here cos there's already a Marmite with a different label and meat in it.
And that's it for today - except that I drove the Bighorn home from Wanaka today at 100 kph (the speed limit). And we got here.
Tuesday, February 14, 2006
After the rain ...
It rained today. Real rain, which made you wet if you stood under it. As a result, we decided to go shopping for fruit. Cromwell is THE fruit-growing area in NZ, and there are many roadside fruit stalls selling the products of the orchards around them. This one was amazing - and the cherries I've just eaten were the biggest I've ever seen. The plums were pretty spectacular too - we had a couple to round off dinner. Dinner, incidentally, was Elephant fish. I fried it in a mix of butter and olive oil, with a little garlic. The nice lady in The New World (your LOCAL store - no overseas interests) told me it was "a bit like shark". So there you are. It was jolly good anyway.
And after the rain? Well, we saw this bit of blue sky beyond Bannockburn and pointed our Bighorn in that direction. The road ended in a grit track, so we parked and walked into the sunshine. I don't think anyone ever walks on that road. The cows all stopped what they were doing (ruminating, I suppose)and came to look at us. Some of them commented, quite loudly, on our passing. John said he felt like Jack Nicholson at the Oscars. The strange sheep had a bit of a gander too (they're strange because they are greyish, with stripey-looking fleece, long legs and quite round heads). It grew warm again; there were no cars, it was silent apart from the sound of water in narrow channels running through these amazingly green fields which changed abruptly to brown scrubby desert on the hills above. (I think the water must be doing the limestone thing of draining through the hill ground and emerging at the ends of the rock strata - or something)
As we did this, I reflected how this is my idea of visiting a new country. People will ask if we toured, if we saw the big sights, if we visited North Island. Fancy going all that way just to walk up a country road at the end of a wet day. But to me, this *is* the country. I feel I know the smells, the vegetation, the amazing trees, the dry hills. The birds sound exotic. This is how people live here. It's like going back to '50s Britain in some ways - the friendly girls serving in the shop, the passing farmer waving from his 4x4, the old-fashioned clothes shop in Alexandria - and to me that's strangely reassuring.
And now I feel a nectarine moment coming on ....
And after the rain? Well, we saw this bit of blue sky beyond Bannockburn and pointed our Bighorn in that direction. The road ended in a grit track, so we parked and walked into the sunshine. I don't think anyone ever walks on that road. The cows all stopped what they were doing (ruminating, I suppose)and came to look at us. Some of them commented, quite loudly, on our passing. John said he felt like Jack Nicholson at the Oscars. The strange sheep had a bit of a gander too (they're strange because they are greyish, with stripey-looking fleece, long legs and quite round heads). It grew warm again; there were no cars, it was silent apart from the sound of water in narrow channels running through these amazingly green fields which changed abruptly to brown scrubby desert on the hills above. (I think the water must be doing the limestone thing of draining through the hill ground and emerging at the ends of the rock strata - or something)
As we did this, I reflected how this is my idea of visiting a new country. People will ask if we toured, if we saw the big sights, if we visited North Island. Fancy going all that way just to walk up a country road at the end of a wet day. But to me, this *is* the country. I feel I know the smells, the vegetation, the amazing trees, the dry hills. The birds sound exotic. This is how people live here. It's like going back to '50s Britain in some ways - the friendly girls serving in the shop, the passing farmer waving from his 4x4, the old-fashioned clothes shop in Alexandria - and to me that's strangely reassuring.
And now I feel a nectarine moment coming on ....
Monday, February 13, 2006
Not just round the block!
The photo here shows the kind of terrain we visited today - high above Lake Wakatipu. The mountain is Ben Lomond - 1748m - set back from the lakeside town of Queenstown. I didn't take to the town - far too busy with tourists (like us!) in a way that Cromwell is not. However, once we left the gondola which scooshed us up the first part of the hillside, we found ourselves in just our kind of country - a wee path, wonderful golden grasses, grasshoppers making guiro noises and jumping on our hats, and this mountain. The mountains look so young compared to ours in Scotland - none of the jaggy bits have been weathered off yet: just look at the outlines of these gullies.
Another thing I've noticed: the moon last night was brighter than I've ever seen before - almost enough to dazzle. Presumably something to do with the clarity of the air here - the stars are pretty spectacular too, and the sun is seriously fierce.
And I've just been terrified by a strange insect on the floor of the study ... this is not like blogging in Dunoon!
Another thing I've noticed: the moon last night was brighter than I've ever seen before - almost enough to dazzle. Presumably something to do with the clarity of the air here - the stars are pretty spectacular too, and the sun is seriously fierce.
And I've just been terrified by a strange insect on the floor of the study ... this is not like blogging in Dunoon!
Sunday, February 12, 2006
Gold in them thar hills ...
Visited my first gold digging today, under a very Lord of the Rings sky (see pic). Bannockburn Sluicings is an extraordinary place where hydraulic sluicing to extract the gold from gravel has left a gorge of fantastic cliffs and gullies. The various races down which the water poured apparently defined the limits of the miners' claims.
We saw a cave where a rabbiter had lived, in among the debris from the sluicing, and the ruined cottage where one David Stewart (no relation!) had lived when he controlled the reservoir which supplied the precious water used in washing out the gold. Apparently a row broke out when it was proposed to recycle the water - the men paying for it thought they paid for the water itself, rather than merely the use of it.
We also walked among the pear trees of a deserted orchard, in the shade of three huge Scots pines. And all the time the warm wind blew the golden, dusty grass in tussocks and dried the sweat on our skin as soon as it formed. The rain, when it came, lasted ten seconds, as if someone had flicked water at us as we passed. A shower, Jim, but not as we know it!
We saw a cave where a rabbiter had lived, in among the debris from the sluicing, and the ruined cottage where one David Stewart (no relation!) had lived when he controlled the reservoir which supplied the precious water used in washing out the gold. Apparently a row broke out when it was proposed to recycle the water - the men paying for it thought they paid for the water itself, rather than merely the use of it.
We also walked among the pear trees of a deserted orchard, in the shade of three huge Scots pines. And all the time the warm wind blew the golden, dusty grass in tussocks and dried the sweat on our skin as soon as it formed. The rain, when it came, lasted ten seconds, as if someone had flicked water at us as we passed. A shower, Jim, but not as we know it!
Friday, February 10, 2006
It's a hard life ...
These buildings came from the old town of Cromwell, resited when the new dam flooded the town and created Lake Dunstan. Great coffee, by the way! As you can see in the photo, we've made the transition to summer with remarkable ease (even if it is 28 degrees). I've even made the transition to using a PC (thanks, Edgar!) instead of my beloved Mac, and you can blame any typos (I've spotted a few already) on the fact that I don't yet know how to edit them on it.
And for the culturally savvy among you - I keep thinking about R.S.Thomas when I look at Lake Dunstan...
And for the culturally savvy among you - I keep thinking about R.S.Thomas when I look at Lake Dunstan...
Dubai stopover....
Dubai, from the little we saw of it, is an extraordinary place. We arrived at midnight - all these Glasgow voices, wee Glasgow types, in among the tall Arabs in white with the red and white headgear, or more ornately-draped affairs looking as if they might be held in place by hair gel. We had about 4 hours' sleep there, in the Millenium Hotel, before being wheeched back to the airport. The photo shows the main concourse past the duty-free shops, quite the biggest I've seen. There are tall palm trees with lights woudn round them, and people from everywhere you could imagine.
Thirteen hours after leaving Dubai, we were in Sydney. We'd had darkness from about 5pm Dubai time, and 6 hours later it was dawn over Eastern Australia.In Sydney I had my hand luggage searched and a nailfile removed - though I'd already flown halfway round the globe with it and hadn't aroused a flicker of interest. In Christchurch, New Zealand - three hours and another Bruce Willis movie later - I had to remove my hiking boots from my case for inspection in case there was any deadly Scottish mud on them. (There wasn't - we'd scrubbed them to such an extent that I was actually complimented on them)Everyone in the whole laborious process of entering NZ was incredibly friendly, however, which made it bearable. Just.
Thirteen hours after leaving Dubai, we were in Sydney. We'd had darkness from about 5pm Dubai time, and 6 hours later it was dawn over Eastern Australia.In Sydney I had my hand luggage searched and a nailfile removed - though I'd already flown halfway round the globe with it and hadn't aroused a flicker of interest. In Christchurch, New Zealand - three hours and another Bruce Willis movie later - I had to remove my hiking boots from my case for inspection in case there was any deadly Scottish mud on them. (There wasn't - we'd scrubbed them to such an extent that I was actually complimented on them)Everyone in the whole laborious process of entering NZ was incredibly friendly, however, which made it bearable. Just.
Engine & snowfields
This was the first pic I took on our New Zealand trip. The engine of this Boeing 777 is as big as the fuselage of the planes we usually go on hols in. Below us stretched miles and miles of frozen Poland/Ukraine/other inhospitable-looking places. Amazing!I've just been Skyped by Ewan, just off to work as I prepare to eat curry - another disorientating incident.
Thursday, February 09, 2006
Blogging upside-down
Well that's what I feel like - though it could just be the jet lag! What a lo-o-o-ng flight to get here (here is New Zealand) - over the miles of snow in Poland and Ukraine (I think!), then the incredible sight of Dubai from the air; the almost more incredible sight of Dubai airport the next morning; the enormity of the Indian Ocean and the eternity of Austalia (I was getting tired by then); the strange meal served between Sydney (where I was relieved of a nail file which no-one in Glasgow or Dubai seemed to care about)and Christchurch; the last bouncy flight in a turbo-prop down to Queenstown ....
They are mega fussy in NZ about what you bring with you. Food, seeds, nuts - and mud. Yes, mud. I had to unpack my hiking boots and show the nice man how clean they were. (They were too - John scrubbed the soles for me) He *was* a nice man; I was simply stressed about not missing the connection.
And now we're here. I've seen the sun move across the sky in the wrong direction, and I've just seen Orion upside down. That's why I feel upside down too. But if I manage something with my photos and my host's laptop I'll blog a pic or two. Right now I'm for my bed - and it's lunchtime in the UK. Wow.
They are mega fussy in NZ about what you bring with you. Food, seeds, nuts - and mud. Yes, mud. I had to unpack my hiking boots and show the nice man how clean they were. (They were too - John scrubbed the soles for me) He *was* a nice man; I was simply stressed about not missing the connection.
And now we're here. I've seen the sun move across the sky in the wrong direction, and I've just seen Orion upside down. That's why I feel upside down too. But if I manage something with my photos and my host's laptop I'll blog a pic or two. Right now I'm for my bed - and it's lunchtime in the UK. Wow.
Saturday, February 04, 2006
High-flying herons
I think Spring might happen - what a great day! At the moment the sky is the most wonderful pink colour behind our house, though the North-eastern view from the front is grey and misty once more. It's been sunny all afternoon, and for the first time I discovered the heronry in Kilmun Arboretum. Usually we drive past the enormously tall trees, but today the car park area was closed off and we had to leave the car in the road below and walk up.
I thought at first there was a dog yelping on the hillside above us, but a quick phonecall to the more bird-savvy Di established that this raucous noise came from a heron, somewhere high above us among the trees. Sure enough, one appeared, circled lazily, and returned to cover. But later, as we came down again, there was the most hellish din from another stand of conifers as a visiting heron from the left of the path was chased off a treetop by a resident of the right-hand side. It was amazing to see these two huge birds flapping about in such an unlikely fashion - and just as extraodinary to watch the victor return to perch triumphant on the swaying top branches of the disputed tree.
I didn't have my camera - it's sitting with the other NZ-bound gubbins in case I forget it. Damn.
I thought at first there was a dog yelping on the hillside above us, but a quick phonecall to the more bird-savvy Di established that this raucous noise came from a heron, somewhere high above us among the trees. Sure enough, one appeared, circled lazily, and returned to cover. But later, as we came down again, there was the most hellish din from another stand of conifers as a visiting heron from the left of the path was chased off a treetop by a resident of the right-hand side. It was amazing to see these two huge birds flapping about in such an unlikely fashion - and just as extraodinary to watch the victor return to perch triumphant on the swaying top branches of the disputed tree.
I didn't have my camera - it's sitting with the other NZ-bound gubbins in case I forget it. Damn.
Friday, February 03, 2006
New Blog on the Block
I'm delighted to find that I still have some effect on my former pupils, and to announce the arrival on the blogging scene of Duffy, who put up with me for - I think - 4 years of English classes plus the surpervision of an out-of-school Higher English course. He wasn't exactly one of the disaffected, but you'll see from his response to the previous post that he learned how to stop worrying and love textual analysis! I'm linking here because I ran into trouble trying to add any more links to my sidebar - is there a limit on Blogger to the number of items you can list?
I was also thinking how good it would be - in an anarchic sort of a way - if there was an ongoing open blog by the class I abandoned halfway through Standard Grade (that's what it feels like). I could add my tuppenceworth - and express scepticism, perhaps, at some of the policies currently in favour? Maybe not. After all, we all like to be able to close the door and be Superteacher, don't we?
I was also thinking how good it would be - in an anarchic sort of a way - if there was an ongoing open blog by the class I abandoned halfway through Standard Grade (that's what it feels like). I could add my tuppenceworth - and express scepticism, perhaps, at some of the policies currently in favour? Maybe not. After all, we all like to be able to close the door and be Superteacher, don't we?
Thursday, February 02, 2006
The Teaching of Literature
Been teaching this afternoon - not in school, but my private pupil who comes in at 4pm for tuition. I was reflecting on how easy it is for me still to slip back into Standard Grade Critical Essay mode - and also what a long time it took me to arrive at this stage, where everything seems clear, when I know just what to look for in a piece of literature and - just as important - how to communicate that effectively to a tired adolescent.
I had been teaching for several years before I knew, for example, what to do with a short story. Poems were a bit different, because you could spend more time simply decoding them. But what could you do with a story other than read it? Actually, it was my increasing interest in poetry, brought about, I think, by the introduction of Critical Analysis into the Higher Exam, that sharpened my skills in the study of prose. Certainly over the last 15 years of my career I came to believe that if I could show my pupils how a poem worked, so that they could "do it for themselves" with any poem, then they would be better able to tackle any part of the English syllabus at any level. Even Higher Interp. papers became less mysterious when the pupils saw that all these questions were just another facet of the same process. It was one of the most rewarding aspects of the job to see a class wrangling over what the writer was *actually* meaning when he/she wrote something - especially when the class consisted of mixed ability S3 boys with a reputation for trouble-making.
And of course I can now see that blogging would fit into this sort of activity very well, as I proposed in an earlier post. But part of me would miss the buzz of overhearing the voices and the unmistakable and authentic note of enthusiasm for a subject that too often produces groans or indifference.
And a last thought: when I returned to teaching after 8 years of being a full-time Earth Mother, I found the English Department full of brightly-covered paperback anthologies, and far too many poems and extracts that frankly were not worth spending time on - let along the weeks proposed by the new rage for "units". I still think there is a tendency in some quarters to teach pap instead of "real" literature, especially to younger pupils. I don't know how teachers can be bothered - because I don't see how anyone can work up any enthusiasm for second-rate writing. And if the teacher ain't enthusiastic, there's little hope for the weans!
And now - back to the packing .......
I had been teaching for several years before I knew, for example, what to do with a short story. Poems were a bit different, because you could spend more time simply decoding them. But what could you do with a story other than read it? Actually, it was my increasing interest in poetry, brought about, I think, by the introduction of Critical Analysis into the Higher Exam, that sharpened my skills in the study of prose. Certainly over the last 15 years of my career I came to believe that if I could show my pupils how a poem worked, so that they could "do it for themselves" with any poem, then they would be better able to tackle any part of the English syllabus at any level. Even Higher Interp. papers became less mysterious when the pupils saw that all these questions were just another facet of the same process. It was one of the most rewarding aspects of the job to see a class wrangling over what the writer was *actually* meaning when he/she wrote something - especially when the class consisted of mixed ability S3 boys with a reputation for trouble-making.
And of course I can now see that blogging would fit into this sort of activity very well, as I proposed in an earlier post. But part of me would miss the buzz of overhearing the voices and the unmistakable and authentic note of enthusiasm for a subject that too often produces groans or indifference.
And a last thought: when I returned to teaching after 8 years of being a full-time Earth Mother, I found the English Department full of brightly-covered paperback anthologies, and far too many poems and extracts that frankly were not worth spending time on - let along the weeks proposed by the new rage for "units". I still think there is a tendency in some quarters to teach pap instead of "real" literature, especially to younger pupils. I don't know how teachers can be bothered - because I don't see how anyone can work up any enthusiasm for second-rate writing. And if the teacher ain't enthusiastic, there's little hope for the weans!
And now - back to the packing .......
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