Of broom pods, technology, and speed

After a week of glorious sunshine and pleasing photos, why do I post this pic of black broom pods? Ok - it's because it suits my mood at the moment. The bush in question is in Ardentinny, on one of my favourite paths through the fields by the shore, leading to the beach. Today, there was a notice warning that the brambles (not yet ripe) should not be picked because chemical spraying was in progress. The path was lined with the dead remains of plants that had, admittedly, been encroaching on the narrow track, but surely they could have used a strimmer? It looked so miserable ...

And then we passed the sign that says "No Camping. No fires." We came to the beach. I expected people - it's Saturday, and the weather all week has been glorious. But there were tents - at least half a dozen of them - and at least two fires, and noisy groups already getting wellied into the sauce. A north-east wind was blowing, the clouds were hanging on the hills just thickly enough to dim the sunshine that I knew was shining hotly in my own garden. It was depressing and horrid and we came straight home again. Black broom pods ruled.

And then one of these delightful technology moments came just in time to lift my mood. I had a video chat with Jurij, a musician in St Petersburg - someone I've known for ten years or so, but have never Skyped until today. The ability to see someone while you talk to them makes communication so much more effective than either emails or voice chat - if you can speak a bit of a foreign language, ask yourself how well you write it - and we were able to clear up some difficulties in arranging a concert in Dunoon (Jurij directs Voskresenije, the vocal ensemble who will soon be back touring the UK) with great good humour.

That, and Mo Farah's Olympic triumph, banished the black pod mood. On the other hand, the two events meant that a blog post begun 5 hours ago is now being finished at midnight. And I'm aware it's a tad scrappy. But at least I'm not mad any more. Let not the sun go down on your black pod moments ...

Father knows best?

Yesterday culminated in a strange audio conference which left me feeling completely brain-dead - though rather by the means than the content. Picture it: a Skype conference which had to be abandoned because of background noise on one mic which interfered with the speech on all the others - because only one Skyper can speak at a time. I ended up with the phone to one ear, the lone Skyper in the Mitchell Library in the other, typing notes to the skyper with one hand while trying to contribute sensibly to the discussion.

But the content too was strangely wearing. In a church which is relying more and more on the education of lay people to maintain standards and even a presence in rural areas, it seems to me vital that the education provided is efficient, relevant and cotemporaneous with the activity which requires it. And when much of the training is being given to people who have already coped with a working life, a family - and simply life, Jim - it seems unrealistic to insist that there is only one road to follow: that of academic accreditation through seminars and essay-writing.

I had a late-night listen to a conversation between Ewan and some Canadian educators (I'm a glutton for punishment) and was struck by his insistence that over-control of teaching and the perceived need to be seen to be producing something were in fact stultifying and got in the way of real learning. As a classroom practitioner, I have known this for many years, and realised that my increasing seniority (years, not position!) let me away with doing my own thing - because in the end my pupils shone.

I'm afraid that this controlling of the process is going to put people like me off, if it's allowed to prevail. I am not ever going to demand ordination, so the system is actually quite safe, but I'm enjoying the informal group learning that we're doing here in Dunoon and don't want to lose what we have. But if many clergy are still stuck with the "teacher/father knows best" format of teaching/training, we'll remain a wee pocket of forward-looking learning in a haze of important-sounding acronyms and accreditation by universities we never knew existed.

And maybe that will be just fine.

Skype family McIntosh

Skype family
Originally uploaded by goforchris.

You've read about the family that blogs together? Well now you have the family that Skypes together. Thanks to the generous loan of an iSight from Mr Heathbank I was at last able to appear as more than an old photo for Catriona on Skype.

When I was small I was obsessed with the notion of travelling in Space - and the capital S is intentional. And I'm talking pretty small here - seven or so, if memory serves. But later came the kind of communications they had in the first series of Star Trek: I dreamed of face-to-face chats at the touch of a button. And here it is. Allowing for the slight time-lag when we waved to each other - as you can see, I'm doing just that - it was pretty impressive.

By the end of the call Catriona seemed to have become used to the idea that her grandparents were in the laptop. I can remember when I was convinced an entire symphony orchestra - complete with white ties and tails - fitted inside my parents' black bakelite radio. Some things don't change - they simply become more fun.

Late thoughts

Update: the gremlins are still there on Safari. I've submitted a bug report to Apple. I wonder if it'll have more effect than telling BA about the ineptitude of their lost property arrangements.

On the other hand, Skype is working beautifully - even if Neil in LA looked as if he was speaking about 2 seconds after I'd heard him. Skype has to be the best thing since sliced bread.

I've been tinkering with a poem I wrote six years ago. I realise how my lines have lengthened since then - and wonder what Larkin and Thomas felt about their early work. Did they ever want to rehash, or did they simply write another poem? Pity I can't ask them...

Skypeing off into the sunset

This crazy photo - not improved by the fact that the photographer had a fit of giggles at the time - is here to illustrate once more the benefits of a bit of technology in the everyday life of a grandmama. Ewan is off on his travels again, taking his family with him, and this was my chance to see them - and especially my granddaughter - before they left today. We were using Skype, with Ewan's built-in webcam; Catriona is by now used to talking to a still photo of me, but I'd love to get my hands on someone's redundant iSight so that we can communicate more actively. (I don't want to upgrade my G$ just yet - it ain't broke, and it works well for me.)

And my point? Simply to reiterate that I'm tired of people consigning computers and so on to the realms of 'toys for the boys' - which I have been assured is what some of my friends do. This is no more a toy than is the telephone - and it's much more fun.

BTW - there's another new poem on frankenstina

Skype babe

Skype babe 2
Originally uploaded by goforchris.

Now this is what all grandmothers need - especially if they live on the other side of the country from the object of their affections. As befits the daughter of Edublogger, Catriona has made an early foray into the world of VOIP, appearing on her father's webcam this weekend. Now I'll have to get one - can't have her staring at a blank screen - or was it the same pic that I was seeing? - while she talks to me!

But isn't Skype wonderful? And aren't computers just the bizz? So this post is for all the saddoes out there who think people don't interact if they're stuck in front of computers. I said I'd never quote the Blessed Margaret again, but I'm going to after all:

Only rejoice!