And it's goodnight from him

David's blog recently commented "Ewan's brain is positively fizzing with stuff at the moment" - and now it's fizzing away chez moi .... I shall never think again! This is the moment when I revert to being a domestic goddess instead of an embryonic geek, and my thoughts turn to recipes for red cabbage and plum pudding. (No, not together).
Actually right now it's a bit like Walton's Mountain at The Blethers - remember all these voices calling "goodnight" at the end of each unbelievably twee show?

Goodnight, John-boy ...goodnight.....

Out of Hours

I managed to watch a bit of "Teacher, Teacher" last night. I was surprised by the strength of my reaction - that there was no way I could think of going back to all that: the kids with their MP3 player earphones in while they were supposed to be listening to the teacher, the comments from the puils about what made a good teacher ... not that they were wrong. No, they were absolutely right, but it was the same old record I'd heard so often before and suddenly I knew I'd had enough.
And then I was reminded about the other side of the job. The stuff that actually I remember with a sense of involvement. Not the work with a good class, rewarding though that could be. Not the hilarity in the staffroom, entertaining and life-enhancing though it was at the time. Not the staff/department meetings - oh no. Not the meetings. No, I'm talking about an extra-curricular activity. I don't intend to be too specific here, but a chance meeting with a senior pupil whom I recruited five years ago made me think.
Any teacher who invests time and energy in an extra-curricular activity is going to be disappointed, exhausted ( especially at 9.30pm when you feel you've been in your classroom forever) and frustrated. But they are also going to enjoy a terrific rapport with the pupils involved, a relationship which is entirely different from that possible in the class situation, the loyalty and support of the pupils and the satisfaction of seeing many of them take on new challenges and grow personally as a result. Personally, I had the best laughs, the biggest adrenaline rushes and the greatest job satisfaction from my years running a rather anarchic magazine - and that is the one thing I regret leaving behind.
Teachers who are "too busy" to take on extra-curricular work miss out, I'd say - and so do their pupils.

Advent Song

An alternative song for this time of the year -

ADVENT SONG

Look, God, look
in the vastness of your dark
hear this song
in the chorus of the world
where I sing
for the glory of your coming
held by love
as the music pours from me
a flame within
as the night falls around me
hear my prayer
and come through the darkness
hold me waiting
as you wait to be born.

© C.M.M

Waiting time

A couple of weeks ago I posted about the mass illuminations going up all over Dunoon. I dare say I sounded very curmudgeonly. But I’ve just been listening to a recording of carols played by the wonderful Philip Jones Brass ensemble, and one of them in particular, “Wassail Wassail”, captured all that our garishly-lit preparations miss out on. I can’t explain how it happens; it’s one of the great mysteries of music – but these high, precise trumpets and that traditional tune, not associated with particularly religious words, suddenly created a complete vision of stars, and icy darkness, and complete anticipation.

And that’s it. Advent is a time of waiting – and here, on the north-western fringes of Europe, it is a time of long darkness and firelight. I’m not naïve – there’s no way I’d swap my comfortable home for a Dark Ages hovel – but the sense of expectation is precious, and still to be found – and hideously lacking in the public manifestations of the season.

So no, I’m not Scrooge. But I am sorry that more people can’t experience the quiet waiting time as just that – because waiting is never disappointing

Widening circles

I've been very interested in Peter Ford's response to my question about self-conscious blogging. Quite apart from the philosophical approach to the subject, there came the realisation of a growing circle of acquaintance, the chance to share ideas with strangers who only know me from what I write. So perhaps it is only right that I should think carefully before posting - not every time, perhaps, but regularly enough to remind myself of the responsibility of the writer to his/her audience.
Philip Larkin, a wonderful poet but a pretty miserable man by my standards, apparently wrote the famous line "what will remain of us is love" (at the end of An Arundel Tomb) *because* he was by that time famous; on the manuscript he scribbled words to the effect that love doesn't last for ever just because a couple of statues are holding hands. So the poem, brilliantly crafted and memorable though it may be, is not actually true to his own feelings.
In my own writing, I have found that it often comes about that a poem on a subject I *really* wanted to write about gets stuck - and the line/image/idea which unsticks it and which sounds much better than the laboriously crafted section which was what I actually *meant* is not true - gives a false impression, misleads the reader, means that the authorial voice is not my voice, but one put on for the occasion.
So: does this matter? Is it better to be truthful or to succumb to temptation? to be unable to agree with the meaning which my reader may take from what I write?
Incidentally, I also have problems over reading literature in translation. At the moment this plays havoc with my participation in Bible study - the text, and my ignorance about source material, keep getting in the way.
But that's another story .....

They're back!

So glad to see all my friends at TypePad restored to their up-to-date selves - how bereft one feels when things go wrong. It's like having a powercut when you're about to watch "Rome" or whatever. I do remember, however, that when I was small I loved powercuts - all that candle-lighting seemed very romantic, helped by the fact that we had a range in the kitchen and a coal fire in the sitting room - so we didn't freeze - and there was no frozen food to be paranoid about as it melted and refroze, with all the microbes multiplying happily. I think what cured me of this romantic attitude was the time in the early 70s when the early years of my married life (in an all-electric flat, which cooled down amazingly quickly) were blighted by rota power-cuts and bread strikes. I remember that the shops ran out of candles and I was reduced to using wax granules in a meat paste (yuck) jar which exploded after about an hour when it overheated. after that, we used to visit friends who lived in another area and had their cuts at different times. And we used to rush home to cook dinner before the 6pm -9pm cut.

Oh dear. I'll be on about cleaning t'road with tongue if I don't stop. And to think that what I was really worrying about was my inability to understand how to use an RSS feed (or whatever). I may have one, but understanding eludes me. And that despite Claire's valiant efforts to enlighten me.

But now I've been Skyped and I'm stopping. At last.

Cheshire cat blogs?

I was startled to notice this morning that an entry I posted last night on the Cursillo blog had vanished overnight. Further investigation during the day found Ewan's edublogs gradually reverting to entries published last week, shrinking in a rather worrying fashion. Apparently Typepad is down - and technicians are "working diligently" to fix the problem.
Question: where does all the data go? Is it sitting helplessly but intact somewhere, or is it dematerialised like Star Trek personnel after Scotty has failed to beam them up?

Self-conscious bloggers?

A meeting yesterday to discuss communication in the diocese of Argyll & The Isles gave me pause for thought. I see blogging as a fantastic resource for people who may be physically isolated from centres of higher learning and from other people like themselves - all wanting to participate in a learning experience but unwilling/unable to travel miles to do so. I see papers being published on a blog and commented on by peers - and by experts - leading to learning and pre-empting the re-invention of the wheel at every turn. (No pun)
But the apparent resistance to this made me wonder: how self-conscious are we when we blog? Do we each feel we have an image to maintain? In the knowledge that X might read this, do I make sure I don't write anything of which X might disapprove - or, worse, ridicule? So do I stick to being lighthearted? cynical? amusing? omniscient? (hard to keep that up) Or am I forgetting what it was like to write an essay, say, when I was in statu pupillari? When I was bound to be affected by what would go down well with the teacher/examiner?
Perhaps some edublogger with more experience (in blogging - you'd have to be dead old, or simply dead, to have more teaching experience than I) would like to comment on this, and could tell me if a closed blog, with limited access/posting, makes life easier for the inhibited. I've seen some of Ewan's contacts have password-protected areas on their blogs and would welcome feedback.
Meanwhile .. I have a pupil arriving for some face-to-face tuition: no more time for all this virtual stuff !

Obese weans

Just been listening to radio comment about the obesity "epidemic" among children. I was eating breakfast at the time (All Bran, Muesli, linseeds in minute proportions with soya milk & a dollop of yogurt), brown seeded toast & Vegemite, delicious oatcake- made in Dunoon - and home-made marmalade, tea, orange juice). I never used to enjoy breakfast until I realised that it was dehydration which made me feel sick in the morning! I don't intend to go on about the delights of my own diet (though the soup I made yesterday will be great for lunch...) and I know that not having to go out to work means I can make soup midweek and be around to eat it. But that's not the point.
It seems to me that it's an education thing. If your own children grow up eating food which tastes and looks good, which they know was prepared so that they and you can sit down to give it due attention, they will not be so attracted by instant food. The few microwave meals I've eaten remind me of aeroplane food - or maybe hospital food - and frankly I'd rather eat my fingernails than one of these. Is it the fact that on the packaging they look like "real" meals such as Granny might have made? Granny would birl in her grave.
It's also a matter of perception. "I haven't the time to cook. I work too hard. I come home late and can't be bothered." Presumably these worker bees eat *something*? Will and prioritising come in here. If such a person were to consider the cumulative effect of the additives and the salt they are about to consume, would they still persist in thinking that it was a waste of their precious time to assemble 30 minutes' worth of real food? Nigel Slater is my great guru when it comes to real fast food, and at least one of his recipes has become what might coyly be called "my signature dish".(OK - the spicy lentils, if you must know)
I feel I'm ranting. But having never been one of life's Marthas, and having worked full time while bringing up a family (who are still relatively slender ...and have all their own teeth ...) and having observed the misery of fat children lumbering round the games field in the wake of their skinny pals (and yes, there are still some around) I become incensed when I see parents indulging in this kind of ...what? Abuse? Neglect? Choose how you would define it. Bring a child into the world, stick a bottle in its face because "it involves its father" (bah!), teach it to prefer highly salted/sugared food - and in what seems like the twinkle of an eye you have a couch potato who lives on fizzies and those wildly moreish round crisps. Or the wee square ones.
Last thing: it makes a huge difference to eating habits if you sit at a table and give the act of eating some importance. As Shakespeare's Lady Macbeth said : "The sauce to meat is ceremony." Right enough, her old man was briefing a blood-smeared murderer at the time when he should have been sitting down to his dinner. But you get my drift.

All this and Heaven too!

All this and Heaven too!
Originally uploaded by goforchris.

At the risk of gloating, I have to point out that this is the kind of thing teachers can do when they're sufficiently superannuated to stop teaching! This was taken above Loch Eck this morning - frost in the shadows, warm sun.
But before that, I had a good discussion with Ewan about the possible use of blogs to link together the scattered diocese of Argyll & The Isles, where the Episcopal church has so few stipendiary clergy that education of the laity is a must and where distances and geography conspire to make life difficult.
I'm convinced that the kind of community of which I'm becoming aware in blogdom is the future for us: just as we no longer have strong communities of churchgoers each relying on their own resident expert, so we cannot expect to meet each other in the flesh every time we have a problem to resolve or a learning situation to work through.
I'd welcome any more thoughts on this from edubloggers: think adult education with essays to be looked at and ideas and info to be disseminated, along with good practice and useful experiences. I'm thinking multi-user blogging, the odd encouraging/inspirational podcast, some Skype and video linking - and a big job on the conversion phase!

Snappers snapped

Ewan, Neil, Ben
Originally uploaded by Peter Kaminski.

Came across this pic via Ewan's blog and had to have it - if only for the matching jumpers! Honest - I haven't done this to them in the last 20 years, so it's pure coincidence. Glad to see them having fun ...

A Neolithic afternoon

I always wonder if I'll ever write another poem. Every time one is on the page, I doubt if there'll be more. At the moment I'm waiting for the proof copy of my new collection to come from the printers - the first lot got lost in the post, losing considerable time and a great deal of my work. However, the following is my response to a walk at Ardnadam, where there is a Neolithic settlement, in the gloom of this afternoon. Download MP3 file here

NEOLITHIC

Walking in the early dark
Of afternoon at year’s end
I see your face transfigured by
Unearthly light, a golden glow,
Smiling at a shared recall
Of something that we never knew.
The trees crowd dark and skeletal
As if sprung from that ancient wood
Where huntsman with their dogs had gone,
Their feet soft in the golden road -
And still the bright dusk clothes us round
And time seems thin and whispers grow -
The blood sings: and shall I stay?
But darkness falls and life is now
And home elsewhere and not among
The grey stone walls beneath the trees
Where hearths lie cold and silence grows.

C.M.M. 12/05 ©

Pinter lecture

Just read Harold Pinter's Nobel lecture here - wow! Sums up all the things I've always wondered about and hadn't strung together. When there's a writer saying this stuff so powerfully I can't help wondering why we are still living through this absurd relationship. Makes me want to man a barricade somewhere - or at least lie down in the road, as I did in a past incarnation.
Maybe protest has grown up - or maybe it takes all kinds. Always.

Podcasting en Francais

Suffering from a bout of nepotism, I feel moved to point my linguistically-gifted friends at a Belgian site where Ewan, described as "tres chaleureux et enthousiaste" by his interviewer, is waxing enthusiastic for eternity in rather rapid French.
Having only recently been bitten by the blogging bug, I share his evangelical fervour as keenly as any new convert - and am convinced of the genre's beneficial effect on, among other pursuits, writing skills. It is so different from casual emails, where missing caps and glitches don't seem to matter; I will go back to edit anything I notice once it goes on site. I have always advocated the keeping of a journal as a way to enhance fluency in writing, but this is a journal with a potential audience - more journalism than journal - and as such encourages care and thought.
In fact - and here I go sticking my neck out - I notice a difference in the writing (in English) of one blogging relative since he started blogging. That's six months of time (so you know who you are ;-)) and would represent a triumph for any English teacher. Pupils often realise that they have to *pass* English to "get on" - but apart from that often express the opinion that they will never need to use it after school (a bit like my own Higher Maths?). I would suggest that in a world of rapid job-change and insecurity, a journalistic ability might well turn out to be a useful asset.

Besides - it's addictive.

Minor triumph ...

Thoroughly enjoyed visit to Edinburgh (not least because of the gluhwein at the German Christmas Market in Princes Street Gardens!) - where I managed to introduce the idea of blogging to the people involved in encouraging lay education in the Scottish Episcopal Church. It was interesting to hear the same arguments I've read in Ewan's blog against open-ness and lack of control over who reads what surfacing in yet another educational situation, but happily there were more nibblers at the idea than there were doubters, so I've fixed them a blog and we'll see how it goes.
It's also great to realise I have friends overseas reading this - please post in the comments!

Lighting-up Time

Came down half an hour ago from the darkness of the Bishop's Glen back into the town. Amazing. We noted one garden ablaze with tree-lights; next door a silent figure was wrestling with a bush - no doubt in emulation of his better-prepared neighbour. Further down the road, we could see wildly flashing lights moving erratically at some height above the ground. This turned out not to be anything more sinister than a National Lampoon-type attempt to wrap a largish Victorian semi-detached villa of two storeys in illuminations - but at what cost to the nerves, as the house-owner swayed precariously on the top rung of an extending ladder as he hammered nails into his roof.
Now in these parts we *need* our roofs. They need strong slates, good ridging - and no more wee holes than are strictly necessary to hold them together. It's one thing to deck a low-rise ranch-style dwelling in some place where crisp dry winters - or maybe some picturesque snow - are the norm, but here we do RAIN. And strong westerly winds to drive it into crannies. Any wee holes and you soon have a wee drip to go with them.
Meanwhile, as the darkness grows out there, I hope that man has got on to the lights which were draped - all on, all flashing - on the ground round the back of the house. I may go back for a look some evening. But now, should I maybe find the Christmas cards I bought last summer ....?

Sofa, so bad.

Just been listening to a tale of woe about a sofa. Righteous indignation on behalf of my friends impells me to convey the gist of the tale. Here goes.
In July - July 7th, to be precise, two householders decide to buy a sofa - locally, to support the local small-town economy. Heart of Home seems to promise what they want, so they place an order and pay £1,000. "Six weeks", they are told. Six weeks pass. When they ring to ask where their sofa is, they are told it will be in a few days. But no: a few days later they hear that the sofa doesn't actually exist yet as the manufacturers have run out of materials.
A few comings and goings later, my friends think they'd like their money back. All this time, they have been sitting on picnic chairs. They have sore backs and painful bottoms.
No money can be returned. "Try Trading Standards", they are advised. No joy.
It is now December. Solicitors are involved. They cost money. So does court action. The local paper doesn't publish their letter - can't go upsetting local business, now, can we? They even stage a mini-demo outside the shop, but apparently have to desist. Now the shop has "banned" them from entering.
So if you find yourself in a small seaside town considering a purchase in a shop called "Heart of Home" ?

'Nuff said.

But how is it not theft to hang onto someone's money for six months in this fashion?

Boring Old Bloggers

Well, I've heard it all. "Blogger" as a term of derision - nay, abuse. Dropped in on past colleagues at coffee time today - to give a fellow-blogger some backup - to find that little had changed. Glad it's not my job to evangelise - not like Ewan and David ;-)
Never mind - Ewan at least should find himself in loads of like-minded company at Les Blogs in Paris next week. Meanwhile, I'll go on living the life of a sad geekess in the misty penumbra of Europe ... but at least I've got my photo fixed!

Wee techy moan - plus

I've been trying to put my photo in my profile. It's on my flickr photostream, which I use happily to blog other photos elsewhere on this blog. But when I try to give the relevant photo URL - quite a long one - Blogger tells me the photo has not got an "acceptable extension" - like "jpg", for example. Now this long URL I put in the box does in fact end ...jpg, it's just that it vanishes out of the end of the box. But it's there, all right. What am I doing wrong? Help, one of you savants out there!

Meanwhile, I'll write briefly about what I *am* competent with : words. It strikes me that there are times when facility with language, whether it be poetic or devastatingly direct, can land you in a problematic place. I know I can come out with lines which actually affect people - that's the poetry; I can also demolish with a brisk sentence or two. In both cases, I stand back from the creation and think "Good stuff!" Then I either wonder if I'm a charletan - manipulating emotions - or feel guilty because I've thumped someone, metaphorically speaking.

Ah well. An English teacher in my youth, now no longer with us, once snarled at me that I was "so sharp I'd fall and cut myself". Maybe she was right - but goodness, how I disliked her!

Edublogging

I started this blog for fun, really - somewhere to ramble. But after a series of posts today, I've been struck forcibly by the sense of community and sheer usefulness of blogging as an educational tool. After reading David's comments to previous posts, I checked out his blog and from there visited the blog of one of his students - and suddenly realised I could probably offer some useful input here.

After all - who tells you how to be a teacher? You have methods lectures in college (and yes, I think the whole college bit is a lot more high-powered than it was in my day) and you visit schools, where you may or may not observe good practice. You watch, listen - and then are left in front of a class to do it yourself. You might have helpful comment from the teacher present - or they might take the chance to get on with their marking and not really give you their whole attention. Schools are really pressured places - because there are all these people waiting to create mayhem, given half a chance. The only way to avoid this is to keep on top. It's a miracle any of us learn anything.

But here in the blogsphere (do I really like that expression?) we have a place where problems, advice, solutions, experiences - all can be parked here for scrutiny, disagreement, or simply to be ignored. At the moment I'm not doing this for any reason other than enjoyment - and because I really enjoyed teaching, and dealing with boys' classes, and all the nonsense as well as the fulfilment, for over 30 years. And I was good at it. So if I can help anyone reading this - fine. And if not - I don't care. And that's fine too.