Copied and pasted from the bottom of an email I received from someone just now; (he never reads this blog so he'll never find out I've filched it)
Sent from a small-screen device so email text
may be terse and typo-infested.
Actually, the email was perfectly typed, all spellings present and correct. The content was concise and to the point.
I might borrow this disclaimer for myself, with a few alterations;
Blog post created laet at might so content may be verbose, wondering, circumloquacious, ungrammatical and and typo-infested.
Saturday, 28 April 2012
Saturday 28th April - Marginalia - or lack of it.
Marginalia scribbles, comments, and illuminations in the margins of a book (illustration and definition copied and pasted from Wikipedia)
I follow Sr CatherineWyborne on twitter (@digitalnun), who posts on all sorts of issues - church matters, obviously - but also digital media, webhosting, and typography. This link that she shared set me thinking
http://ilovetypography.com/2012/04/28/make-the-margins-bigger/
I have several books that belonged to Oma, that is, my grandmother. She died way back in 1977, but lives on, vividly, in my memory. Every so often I happen across her notes scribbled in the margin of these books and her voice replays in my head, like listening to a recording. I like finding her notes and thoughts in the margins of these books. It's a very personal connection with her strong presence throughout the first twenty years of my life.
However, I loathe it, hate it, can't bear it, if I find other people have had the impertinence to write in a book, especially A Library Book. That is as bad as finding a hair in my meal at a restaurant; an unacceptable intrusion of another person; an invasion of my personal space. Ugh.
I guess it very much depends on the quality, intelligence and wisdom of the annotations; Oma's insights have always added to my enjoyment of the actual text.
Some books are designed to be written in. I have a copy of "The Ode Less Travelled" by Stephen Fry. It is a kind of informal textbook on poetry. I never studied poetry in any depth at all (apart from reluctantly in long, tedious O-level English literature classes, decades ago). I now want to understand about iambic pentameters (and I can now pronounce pentameter!) and sprung rhythm and inner rhymes and all those other structures hidden within the lines of verse.
Every so often Fry instructs, nay, encourages, even exhorts the reader to stop reading the text, and use the generous allowance of blank space in the book to have a go at a little exercise - "try and write five pairs of pentameters, first with stops, and then unstopped".
Unfortunately, my copy of "The Ode Less Travelled" has no margins - it's on my Kindle. I am going to have to go out and buy the "real" book.
Friday, 27 April 2012
Friday 27th April - Just one line
Classic FM Radio have just offered me the opportunity to win £250 if I do their on-line survey of classical music. Seems a good idea, and I've a few minutes before it is time to take the cat to the vet, so here goes.
So, I listened to thirty samples of music, and clicked the appropriate response; choosing from
"don't know this, love it, like it, don't care either way, hate it, bored with it" or something similar.
I was taken aback to realise how quickly I could identify most of the samples. Literally, just a few seconds and "oh, it's that". It would have taken me a further few seconds to dredge out the actual name of the work and the composer for some of them, but I would guess that there were only a couple of "don't knows", and in those cases I knew roughly when they might have been written and could have suggested a likely composer.
I'd love to "know" poetry and drama and Shakespeare like that, but I just don't remember words in the same way. I guess it is about about having been immersed in different cultural (including philosophical, or theological, or scientific, or whatever you can think of) worlds.
Do artists recognise a Gainsborough from a few brush strokes in a corner or the picture? And wordsmiths identify a poem from a couple of words, or a phrase? Can a mathematician look at part of an equation and say what it is?
Time to take the cat to the vet. Gotta go.
So, I listened to thirty samples of music, and clicked the appropriate response; choosing from
"don't know this, love it, like it, don't care either way, hate it, bored with it" or something similar.
I was taken aback to realise how quickly I could identify most of the samples. Literally, just a few seconds and "oh, it's that". It would have taken me a further few seconds to dredge out the actual name of the work and the composer for some of them, but I would guess that there were only a couple of "don't knows", and in those cases I knew roughly when they might have been written and could have suggested a likely composer.
I'd love to "know" poetry and drama and Shakespeare like that, but I just don't remember words in the same way. I guess it is about about having been immersed in different cultural (including philosophical, or theological, or scientific, or whatever you can think of) worlds.
Do artists recognise a Gainsborough from a few brush strokes in a corner or the picture? And wordsmiths identify a poem from a couple of words, or a phrase? Can a mathematician look at part of an equation and say what it is?
Time to take the cat to the vet. Gotta go.
Wednesday, 25 April 2012
Wednesday 25th April - Seeing, Looking, Knowing,
Seeing is not enough.
Reading a passage is only the first step.
If you don't see past the words and look attentively at the meaning, then there is no knowing.
If you don't know what it is you are looking at, then you can't learn it.
I know what it is I am trying to say, but don't quite know how to say it.
Teaching piano is an exercise in decoding a complex set of symbols, understanding the meanings hidden in each one and then learning all the implications of the symbols.
You can hack your way through a piece of music, roughly interpreting the blobs and squiggles as you wend your way along the lines, and at the end have no more knowledge of the piece that when you started.
Just letting the symbols pass before your eyes won't be enough to learn how to play the music.
It's a bit like reading a complicated bit of text, like a report, or a contract, or instructions, for example. If you don't take the time to stop and assimilate each paragraph, or sentence, or clause, you will be as ignorant of the content as when you started.
In our rush for progress, our target obsessed environment, our frenetic schedules, we risk losing the art of deep looking, seeing through to "the heart of the matter", gazing, peering, until we properly know grasp form, structure, pattern, rhythm, meaning, and are able to understand, and therefore learn it properly, deeply, thoroughly.
How about a bit of Gray's Elegy...
Thank you for taking the time to read this - I hope I have managed to communicate what it is I am trying to say....
Reading a passage is only the first step.
If you don't see past the words and look attentively at the meaning, then there is no knowing.
If you don't know what it is you are looking at, then you can't learn it.
I know what it is I am trying to say, but don't quite know how to say it.
Teaching piano is an exercise in decoding a complex set of symbols, understanding the meanings hidden in each one and then learning all the implications of the symbols.
Just letting the symbols pass before your eyes won't be enough to learn how to play the music.
It's a bit like reading a complicated bit of text, like a report, or a contract, or instructions, for example. If you don't take the time to stop and assimilate each paragraph, or sentence, or clause, you will be as ignorant of the content as when you started.
In our rush for progress, our target obsessed environment, our frenetic schedules, we risk losing the art of deep looking, seeing through to "the heart of the matter", gazing, peering, until we properly know grasp form, structure, pattern, rhythm, meaning, and are able to understand, and therefore learn it properly, deeply, thoroughly.
How about a bit of Gray's Elegy...
Thank you for taking the time to read this - I hope I have managed to communicate what it is I am trying to say....
Sunday, 22 April 2012
Sunday 22nd April - how green are my eyes now?
People who know me say me eyes are blue. Huh.I have just come back from visiting my parents, who have just come back from a trip to Holland. That's not what has caused this distressing episode of envy - although it sounds as though they had a great time. Canals and floating hotel and bulb fields and posh nosh and all that sort of thing.
No, no, my normally equable equilibrium has been totally overset by my father's account of his mini-adventure on a Segway. I am consumed with jealousy. I have SO wanted to have a go on one of these ever since I first saw them. He managed to persuade someone in the shop to let him have a go; within minutes he was steering it round and round the chairs and tables, apparently with ease.
(Picture from wikipedia)
I am now bound and determined to book a holiday in Amsterdam simply to get my chance. Never mind the museums, the art, the sights, the culture. All I want is to spend as long as possible zooming around like a - like a - like that woman in the poem who says she will wear purple and sit on the pavement. http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/warning/ I'll skip the purple, and even the red hat, and refrain from sitting on the kerb if I can only go on a Segway! The website says that the oldest person they have ever hired one out to was 86 - so that gives me a few years to save up. All pennies into the Segway jar from now on.
PS; the poem is called "Warning", and is by Jenny Joseph, and ends:
But maybe I ought to practice a little now?
So people who know me are not too shocked and surprised
When suddenly I am old, and start to wear purple.
Consider yourself warned.
Sunday 22nd April - Rendering unto Caesar
A Biblical kind of title seems appropriate as I have skived off church this morning - one of the rare Sundays when I am not down for any jobs on the rota (I hope! - sorry if I missed something) and so I stayed in bed...
After a more substantial breakfast this morning (cereal AND toast) I felt strong enough to start work on my tax return....
I'm not sure how well a toga would suit George Osborne. Perhaps they should issue them to all workers in HMRC; a badge of honour for they work they are doing to fill the country's coffers in our time of economic need. I'll suggest this to He-knows-who-he-is-if-he-is-reading-this. (As a responsible citizen, I'm not actually going to reveal his real name - it would only add to the drain on the exchequer in having to provide him with round-the-clock police protection, and it's not really his fault anyway - he doesn't Make the rules, he is just the Enforcer of the consequences of living in a democratic society where one lot of politicians spend all the country's money and get voted out, and the next lot have to claw it back somehow without upsetting the people who could afford to pay lots of taxes but have worked out how not to).
He-knows-who-he-is-if-he-is-reading-this could have a red border round his toga, to signify his expertise in all things VAT. I haven't asked him about hot and cold custard tarts and pasties because, as I said earlier, it's not his fault, and he is a really, really nice guy and I like him. Then the ones in charge of benefits could have blue stripes, and the ones who deal with tax relief for planting trees and eco-efficiencies and other suchlike could have green stripes. I've just about reached the end of my knowledge of the tax system. Oh, of course, purple for pensions. I was given the opportunity to read the reply from a tax official to a query about some pension thingy, and it was two sides of A4 of such eloquent, technical, dense, interwoven clauses and subclauses and adverbial phrases and tenses and pronouns and any other bits of grammar that could be incorporated into the long, convoluted sentences, that it should have been set a the main the entrance exam for all potential candidates for any vacancies in the Plain English Society.
"Explain what this letter is about, and rewrite it so the average well-educated adult with a first degree in Accountancy, a Masters in Semantics, and a Doctorate in Quantum Physics can understand it and act appropriately upon the information therein".
Where was I? Oh yes. Embarking upon the long, slow process of gathering together all the bits of information that will gradually coalesce into my tax return. I've now got the kind of brain-ache that only another cup of strong, fully-caffeinated coffee will resolve.
Thinking about it, I don't think togas would be such a good idea. I have a feeling that ther are made of pure wool, which would be a great benefit to the Chinese woolen industry (I can't believe for one minute that the government would do something so out-of-character as to place the order with a British farmers, spinners and weavers), so the dry-cleaning charges would probably bankrupt the nation within days.
After a more substantial breakfast this morning (cereal AND toast) I felt strong enough to start work on my tax return....
I'm not sure how well a toga would suit George Osborne. Perhaps they should issue them to all workers in HMRC; a badge of honour for they work they are doing to fill the country's coffers in our time of economic need. I'll suggest this to He-knows-who-he-is-if-he-is-reading-this. (As a responsible citizen, I'm not actually going to reveal his real name - it would only add to the drain on the exchequer in having to provide him with round-the-clock police protection, and it's not really his fault anyway - he doesn't Make the rules, he is just the Enforcer of the consequences of living in a democratic society where one lot of politicians spend all the country's money and get voted out, and the next lot have to claw it back somehow without upsetting the people who could afford to pay lots of taxes but have worked out how not to).
He-knows-who-he-is-if-he-is-reading-this could have a red border round his toga, to signify his expertise in all things VAT. I haven't asked him about hot and cold custard tarts and pasties because, as I said earlier, it's not his fault, and he is a really, really nice guy and I like him. Then the ones in charge of benefits could have blue stripes, and the ones who deal with tax relief for planting trees and eco-efficiencies and other suchlike could have green stripes. I've just about reached the end of my knowledge of the tax system. Oh, of course, purple for pensions. I was given the opportunity to read the reply from a tax official to a query about some pension thingy, and it was two sides of A4 of such eloquent, technical, dense, interwoven clauses and subclauses and adverbial phrases and tenses and pronouns and any other bits of grammar that could be incorporated into the long, convoluted sentences, that it should have been set a the main the entrance exam for all potential candidates for any vacancies in the Plain English Society.
"Explain what this letter is about, and rewrite it so the average well-educated adult with a first degree in Accountancy, a Masters in Semantics, and a Doctorate in Quantum Physics can understand it and act appropriately upon the information therein".
Where was I? Oh yes. Embarking upon the long, slow process of gathering together all the bits of information that will gradually coalesce into my tax return. I've now got the kind of brain-ache that only another cup of strong, fully-caffeinated coffee will resolve.
Thinking about it, I don't think togas would be such a good idea. I have a feeling that ther are made of pure wool, which would be a great benefit to the Chinese woolen industry (I can't believe for one minute that the government would do something so out-of-character as to place the order with a British farmers, spinners and weavers), so the dry-cleaning charges would probably bankrupt the nation within days.
Saturday, 21 April 2012
Saturday 21st April - Pay Claim Creation Day
Unfortunately, as an hourly-paid teacher, I don't get paid to create my pay claims.
Sigh.
So, I shall be spending the next hour collecting the petrol receipts and registers, working out the mileages and getting it all together.
Heigh ho. The bottom line is that I am very fortunate to have a job, and to have one that I enjoy so much. Well, that I enjoy a lot of the time.
These are some of the items that never make it onto the Pay Claims;
For searching through the internet and my selection of song books for new songs to teach - no charge.
For writing out sheets of music for the children to take home and practise - no charge.
For arranging extra recorder parts/keyboard parts for the songs - no charge.
For staying late to talk over some of the issues and work out strategies to deal with them - no charge.
For staying late so that Amelia/George/Ellie/Fred (names have been changed) could show me how well (or how badly!) they can play "London's Burning" or "Greensleeves" or "Fur Elise" - no charge.
I might moan about the amount of (unpaid) time I spend on that type of work. However, it is more than made up for by the privilege of seeing how music lessons can transform the lives of the children. Every week, I will see some, or even all, of the following types of events;
The child who has a reputation for being disruptive and aggressive, settling down with determination to master the horrid intricacies of "Jingle bells", and the look of pure pleasure when they achieve it.
The child who is usually too shy to speak, standing before the class while we all play the tune that they have composed.
The child who is so dyslexic that they have lost all confidence in reading and writing discovering that they can read and play music notation.
The child who has always been a "groaner" (I know we aren't supposed to use that word anymore!) finding their "singing voice" and singing in tune.
The child who is bottom of the class for reading, writing, number work, discovering that they are a "natural" for the clarinet and the best in class for a change.
Moan over. I am very fortunate indeed!
Sigh.
So, I shall be spending the next hour collecting the petrol receipts and registers, working out the mileages and getting it all together.
Heigh ho. The bottom line is that I am very fortunate to have a job, and to have one that I enjoy so much. Well, that I enjoy a lot of the time.
These are some of the items that never make it onto the Pay Claims;
For searching through the internet and my selection of song books for new songs to teach - no charge.
For writing out sheets of music for the children to take home and practise - no charge.
For arranging extra recorder parts/keyboard parts for the songs - no charge.
For staying late to talk over some of the issues and work out strategies to deal with them - no charge.
For staying late so that Amelia/George/Ellie/Fred (names have been changed) could show me how well (or how badly!) they can play "London's Burning" or "Greensleeves" or "Fur Elise" - no charge.
I might moan about the amount of (unpaid) time I spend on that type of work. However, it is more than made up for by the privilege of seeing how music lessons can transform the lives of the children. Every week, I will see some, or even all, of the following types of events;
The child who has a reputation for being disruptive and aggressive, settling down with determination to master the horrid intricacies of "Jingle bells", and the look of pure pleasure when they achieve it.
The child who is usually too shy to speak, standing before the class while we all play the tune that they have composed.
The child who is so dyslexic that they have lost all confidence in reading and writing discovering that they can read and play music notation.
The child who has always been a "groaner" (I know we aren't supposed to use that word anymore!) finding their "singing voice" and singing in tune.
The child who is bottom of the class for reading, writing, number work, discovering that they are a "natural" for the clarinet and the best in class for a change.
Moan over. I am very fortunate indeed!
Saturday 221st April - The Visible and Invisible qualities of money
It's like a kind of magic.
I could go through my life without ever actually seeing any money.
I email some paperwork off to some email address; someone I've never seen does something to it, and sends it off to someone else who is somewhere else, and then a letter appears on my door mat telling me how much I've got.
Sometimes it is even an email, rather than a letter.
Everything I buy is paid for by slotting a plastic card into a reader of some kind or other. Sometimes I don't even have to type in the magic number that makes it all work.
Eventually, Barclaycard will wake up and send me a letter telling me how much I owe, and a telelphone call and more pressing of buttons quickly resolves that problem without speaking to anyone at all.
I continually receive requests, invitations, exhortations, even thinly veiled threats, in the form of reduced interest rates or higher charges to encourage, persuade, or require me to switch to internet banking.
Meanwhile, my music pupils continually present me with notes, cheques and clanking coins. Not that I am complaining - I welcome the arrival of all children who come bearing suitable sums of money, whether or not they have practised. Perhaps the welcome may vary in warmth depending on whether or not they have practised, but the money is a considerable sweetener. "A soft answer turneth away wrath" - in my case £14 will have the same effect.
What I would really like, as the next invention, is a USB gadget that one can plug in to the computer, into which you can push the money and send it over the internet to the bank. Now, that's what I would call Proper Internet Banking and Real Magic.
I could go through my life without ever actually seeing any money.
I email some paperwork off to some email address; someone I've never seen does something to it, and sends it off to someone else who is somewhere else, and then a letter appears on my door mat telling me how much I've got.
Sometimes it is even an email, rather than a letter.
Everything I buy is paid for by slotting a plastic card into a reader of some kind or other. Sometimes I don't even have to type in the magic number that makes it all work.
Eventually, Barclaycard will wake up and send me a letter telling me how much I owe, and a telelphone call and more pressing of buttons quickly resolves that problem without speaking to anyone at all.
I continually receive requests, invitations, exhortations, even thinly veiled threats, in the form of reduced interest rates or higher charges to encourage, persuade, or require me to switch to internet banking.
Meanwhile, my music pupils continually present me with notes, cheques and clanking coins. Not that I am complaining - I welcome the arrival of all children who come bearing suitable sums of money, whether or not they have practised. Perhaps the welcome may vary in warmth depending on whether or not they have practised, but the money is a considerable sweetener. "A soft answer turneth away wrath" - in my case £14 will have the same effect.
What I would really like, as the next invention, is a USB gadget that one can plug in to the computer, into which you can push the money and send it over the internet to the bank. Now, that's what I would call Proper Internet Banking and Real Magic.
Friday, 20 April 2012
Friday 20th April - Simple Samba
Friday afternoons are one of several high spots in my week. That's when, amongst other lessons which I also enjoy, I teach five-week short course of samba. You'd think it would be tedious, starting a new group every five weeks - back to the basics again, and again, and again, with yet another fresh group of twenty children.
Not a bit of it!
How could I get bored when the children are having such fun! There is something greatly satisfying about making a huge amount of noise, all together, on purpose, with a purpose, for a purpose. It reminds me of how much I used to enjoy the sound of breaking glass when I used to chuck stones at the few remaining panes of glass in our greenhouse when I was about that age (of course, I stopped doing that when the greenhouse was repaired and put back into operation. Pity, that. Spoiled my fun, rather.)
Anyway, back to the present moment.
It is so easy to build something impressive from a simple start; take a catchy rhythm - this time we are using "Here comes a samba, here we are!" - and belt it out on a mixture of surdo drums, agogo bells, ganzas (shakers) and tamborins (a small hand drum that you whack with a stick). You can hear us at the other end of the school - how lucky all the other pupils and teachers are to be able to listen to us having such a great time.
Seriously, samba is A Very Good Thing. The children who lack confidence find that they can keep the rhythm and follow the breaks; the children who are over confident find that they do actually have to concentrate or it all goes pear-shaped, the children who tend to be a bit hyper and act as the class clowns manage to tone down their behaviour in order to get their chance on the Really Big Drum. Forty minutes of belting out the rhythm on various different instruments leaves them punch-drunk from the noise, energised and yet exhausted from the effort of staying focused for the whole session. I have no idea what happens when they rejoin their class, and how happy their class teacher is to receive them back again - I can hear them samba-ing all the way down the corridor so maybe they've got it out of their system by the time they get back to class?
Roll on next Friday. Here comes a samba - here we are!
Not a bit of it!
How could I get bored when the children are having such fun! There is something greatly satisfying about making a huge amount of noise, all together, on purpose, with a purpose, for a purpose. It reminds me of how much I used to enjoy the sound of breaking glass when I used to chuck stones at the few remaining panes of glass in our greenhouse when I was about that age (of course, I stopped doing that when the greenhouse was repaired and put back into operation. Pity, that. Spoiled my fun, rather.)
Anyway, back to the present moment.
It is so easy to build something impressive from a simple start; take a catchy rhythm - this time we are using "Here comes a samba, here we are!" - and belt it out on a mixture of surdo drums, agogo bells, ganzas (shakers) and tamborins (a small hand drum that you whack with a stick). You can hear us at the other end of the school - how lucky all the other pupils and teachers are to be able to listen to us having such a great time.
Seriously, samba is A Very Good Thing. The children who lack confidence find that they can keep the rhythm and follow the breaks; the children who are over confident find that they do actually have to concentrate or it all goes pear-shaped, the children who tend to be a bit hyper and act as the class clowns manage to tone down their behaviour in order to get their chance on the Really Big Drum. Forty minutes of belting out the rhythm on various different instruments leaves them punch-drunk from the noise, energised and yet exhausted from the effort of staying focused for the whole session. I have no idea what happens when they rejoin their class, and how happy their class teacher is to receive them back again - I can hear them samba-ing all the way down the corridor so maybe they've got it out of their system by the time they get back to class?
Roll on next Friday. Here comes a samba - here we are!
Sunday, 15 April 2012
Sunday 15th April - Easter Sunday - The theological truth inside every "Build-a-Bear"
Yesterday we mooched around Brighton for a bit, and had a look to see what went on in a "Build-a-Bear" shop. What a great idea! You choose the body, create some kind of birth certificate, and help stuff the bear (you press a foot pedal while some kind of reverse vacuum cleaner blows fluff into the bear). Oh, and you choose a heart to put into the bear.Today, I started work again - my turn to teach the 5-8 year-olds in Sunday School. We did the road to Emmaus story (same as last year), starting by watching this little animation http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=bwrX9Fm23w4 (same as last year). This time they had no problem recognising which of the characters is Jesus - obviously he is the blue elephant with glasses. That must mean that Cleopas and chum are the pink bear and and brown creature with antlers. I like it that the pink bear and the brown animal are eating spaghetti when they realise that the blue elephant is Jesus. Surreal or what?
The activity I planned was to create a little picture of Jesus, the two disciples and ourselves all walking along together, and that Jesus is with us wherever we go.
Back to the bear. One of the boys had brought a completed "Build-a-Bear" (called Charlie) with him; all the children know All About Build-a-Bear and they All seem to have been to the shop and they All seem to have one (with several changes of clothes). It was Charlie-bear's Boy who suggested that we all have Jesus in our hearts, and that's why he goes everywhere with us, just like the shiny red heart that they put inside their Build-a-Bears.
Nice one, Charlie-bear's Boy.
One day I shall succumb and get myself a
Build-a-Bear with a shiny red heart;
I'm not sure that I shall pay out for a complete designer wardrobe for it - Charlie-bear was wearing tiny Sketchers shoes on his
(all pictures copied and pasted from the Build a Bear website. Honestly, they haven't paid me a penny...)
Saturday, 14 April 2012
To do list for week commencing Monday 9th April
Monday 9th April - Second week of the holidays
This week's list and the lack of any progress is depressing that I have deleted it. There is absolutely no chance whatsoever of getting a week's worth of music practise done on Sunday, the charity shop will be closed so I can't get rid of the bags. I haven't done any gardening - no - wait - I repotted the lettuce seedlings! I did attack the laundry mountain and filled the wardrobe to over flowing, but now I have put two loads through the washing machine, so back to square one.
I don't "do" failure. So I have deleted the list. Hah!
Term starts on Monday and nothing gets done in term time except Work. There will be no rest, no play, until Bank holiday in May.
This week's list and the lack of any progress is depressing that I have deleted it. There is absolutely no chance whatsoever of getting a week's worth of music practise done on Sunday, the charity shop will be closed so I can't get rid of the bags. I haven't done any gardening - no - wait - I repotted the lettuce seedlings! I did attack the laundry mountain and filled the wardrobe to over flowing, but now I have put two loads through the washing machine, so back to square one.
I don't "do" failure. So I have deleted the list. Hah!
Term starts on Monday and nothing gets done in term time except Work. There will be no rest, no play, until Bank holiday in May.
Friday, 13 April 2012
Friday 13th April - Books -Tom Tiddler's Ground
Amazon one-click ordering will be the ruination of my bank account; see it, want it, click it, got it. that's exactly how it works on the Kindle. Less than a minute and you can start reading.
Even more joyful is the sound of a heavy parcel thunking onto the floor seconds after you hear the postman's (post woman's, actually) footsteps on the path.
My latest acquisition cost mere pence, plus rather a lot of postage; an out-of-print book of children's poetry called "Tom Tiddler's Ground", selected and annotated by Walter de la Mare. Furthermore, it comes almost guilt-free, as I bought it from a seller called "interserve" which turns out to be a Christian charity working to improve the lot of people all over the world.
Housework, gardening, all those things I am supposed to be doing are now falling by the wayside. I'm busy. Reading.
There was a monkey climbed up a tree, when he fell down, then down fell he.
There was a crow sat on a stone, when he was gone, then there was none.
There was an old wife did eat an apple, when she'd eat two, she'd eat a couple.
There was a horse a-going to the mill, when he went on, he stood not still.
There was a butcher cut his thumb, when it did bleed, the blood did come.
There was a lackey ran a race, when he ran fast, he ran apace.
There was a cobbler clouting shoon, when they were mended, they were done.
There was a chandler making candle, when he them strip, he did them handle.
There was a navy went into Spain, when it returned, it came again.
Brilliantly set as a song by Benjamin Britten in "Friday Afternoons"
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=VLlmb68MIuU
Even more joyful is the sound of a heavy parcel thunking onto the floor seconds after you hear the postman's (post woman's, actually) footsteps on the path.
My latest acquisition cost mere pence, plus rather a lot of postage; an out-of-print book of children's poetry called "Tom Tiddler's Ground", selected and annotated by Walter de la Mare. Furthermore, it comes almost guilt-free, as I bought it from a seller called "interserve" which turns out to be a Christian charity working to improve the lot of people all over the world.
Housework, gardening, all those things I am supposed to be doing are now falling by the wayside. I'm busy. Reading.
There was a monkey climbed up a tree, when he fell down, then down fell he.
There was a crow sat on a stone, when he was gone, then there was none.
There was an old wife did eat an apple, when she'd eat two, she'd eat a couple.
There was a horse a-going to the mill, when he went on, he stood not still.
There was a butcher cut his thumb, when it did bleed, the blood did come.
There was a lackey ran a race, when he ran fast, he ran apace.
There was a cobbler clouting shoon, when they were mended, they were done.
There was a chandler making candle, when he them strip, he did them handle.
There was a navy went into Spain, when it returned, it came again.
Brilliantly set as a song by Benjamin Britten in "Friday Afternoons"
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=VLlmb68MIuU
Thursday, 12 April 2012
Knitting Project Block 4 - here's one I made earlier
I managed to make two blocks in one day, and saved the post for a really bad knitting day. Is that cheating? Maybe..... who makes the rules round here anyway?
************************************************************
In the past I have tackled major knitting projects. I even knitted an all-over Icelandic patterned jumper for my husband in the early years of our marriage, and he even wore it. (True love, and all that?)
It is very tempting to leave them until later, and do all the ends of all the blocks in one go. My husband says "It's hard work being lazy". And he is often right.
I hid all the loose ends under the block when I took the picture. That feels a bit like sweeping the dust under the carpet. That's just storing up trouble for tomorrow. I think I'll darn them in now.
The Knitting Project Block 7, no, 9, no 15. 29?
Grrr!
Soddit!
Bad language and red rage.
Tight-lipped and determined patience.
Cold fury, gritted teeth and horrid, horrid thoughts.
Tried the block with a simple cable pattern but lost my way. hey - I don't give up easily, but after ripping it out four times .......
How about the slipstitch two-colour stripy thing? Somehow the slip stitches got themselves hopelessly intertwined with the knit stitches and the whole thing became a solid mass. Perseverance is a quality I aspire to, but clearly fall far short - three goes at getting this right were enough.
So, here goes - an easy peasy knit and purl pattern with just one colour. Unfortunately it depends on my being able to count to 33. Fail. I might have a degree in maths, but that just means I know the Greek alphabet (all that algebra and geometry). It doesn't teach you to count real numbers, only imaginary ones.
Finally, late at night, I cast on stitches, counted them three times, got him to confirm that there were really, truly, absolutely, definitely and without question, 33 stitches on the needle.
Then I went to bed.
Soddit!
Bad language and red rage.
Tight-lipped and determined patience.
Cold fury, gritted teeth and horrid, horrid thoughts.
Tried the block with a simple cable pattern but lost my way. hey - I don't give up easily, but after ripping it out four times .......
How about the slipstitch two-colour stripy thing? Somehow the slip stitches got themselves hopelessly intertwined with the knit stitches and the whole thing became a solid mass. Perseverance is a quality I aspire to, but clearly fall far short - three goes at getting this right were enough.
So, here goes - an easy peasy knit and purl pattern with just one colour. Unfortunately it depends on my being able to count to 33. Fail. I might have a degree in maths, but that just means I know the Greek alphabet (all that algebra and geometry). It doesn't teach you to count real numbers, only imaginary ones.
Finally, late at night, I cast on stitches, counted them three times, got him to confirm that there were really, truly, absolutely, definitely and without question, 33 stitches on the needle.
Then I went to bed.
Wednesday, 11 April 2012
April 11th - This Mad Springtime
So have bluebells, wood anenomes, aubretia, cherry blossom, crab apple blossom, and even wisteria. In the first half of April! It'll end in tears; one sharp frost or sudden hailstorm and all the blossom will be lying in the gutter. I even saw a few flowers on a horse chestnut tree.
The roads round here are full of advertisments for the "Spring Garden and Leisure Show" at Ardingly showground over the May bank holiday weekend. At this rate they'll have to change it to the "Summer Garden and Leisure Show". Bet they'll have to use plastic daffodils; there aren't that many real yellow ones left.
Knitting Project Block 3
This is my first ever piece of lace knitting. One of the reasons for choosing this project is to have the chance to have different little adventures and try new experiences, but in tiny "taster" amounts.I find the topology of knitting fascinating; how is it that a single piece of "string" can become a dense fabric through a process of looping and looping and looping itself into rows and colums? It is one of the processes which can "unmake" itself; just pull the unfastened end of the knitted fabric and, hey presto, string again!
Poor old Sr Patricia tried her best to teach me to knit and sew at the convent prep school I went to. It was a real trial of wills between us; I hated, hated, hated needlecraft lessons with a passion. I can still remember her reaction to my first knitted dishcloth; a misshapen thing of holes and knots and tangles, put to the back of the annual end of year display. She's got the last laugh; the legacy of her lessons is that I CAN sew and knit, and the unexpected bonus is that I actually enjoy needlecraft. How did that come about?
Now I can have holes in my knitting on purpose! I even understand the magical formula
* K4, K2tog, yfwd, K1, yfwd, S1, K1, psso, rep to end *K4
from this block I have learned to think of Sr Patricia with a little kindness and gratitude in my heart.
Wednesday 11th April - Who am I?
I've just finished reading a detective story by M C Beaton. The hero is Hamish MacBeth, the village policeman in a tiny village somewhere on the coast of Scotland, and life is just right for him (apart from the "love interest" side of things). He has no ambition for promotion, a larger house, more chickens, or even more money, as far as I can judge.
I've lived and worked in a world of incremental promotions, moving up, taking the next grade, holidaying in more exotic places, salary increases etc etc all my life.
Can it be possible to be "successful" without "progressing"? Is it ever possible to have "enough" and not want, or perhaps, more to the point, need, more? The last few years (job redundancies, financial uncertainties) have taught me to cling less tightly to what I have, and to refrain from reaching out towards what I know I can't have. This has been a tough process, and I have frequent relapses.
It seems to me that it is important for me to understand, and accept, and be happy with who I am, without reference to external comparisons. I've long understood the second part of the Summary of the Law "to love your neighbour as yourself" to mean that unless you love yourself, you are not going to make a great job of loving your neighbour.
But when God tells Moses "I AM", God is describing himself without any reference to anything else; not "I am the Lord your God" or "I am Creator of the Universe" or "I am your Father in Heaven".
So, is that how I should describe myself? Not, "I am a mother" or "I am a reasonable pianist" or "I am a music teacher" or "I am a sinner", but simply "I am"? Can it be that my existence is a sufficient explanation for who I am? That's a rather scary thought.
Wasn't it Popeye who used to announce "I am what I am"? That rather brings me back down to earth. Phew. http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=F8TRoMSG-5I
I've lived and worked in a world of incremental promotions, moving up, taking the next grade, holidaying in more exotic places, salary increases etc etc all my life.
Can it be possible to be "successful" without "progressing"? Is it ever possible to have "enough" and not want, or perhaps, more to the point, need, more? The last few years (job redundancies, financial uncertainties) have taught me to cling less tightly to what I have, and to refrain from reaching out towards what I know I can't have. This has been a tough process, and I have frequent relapses.
It seems to me that it is important for me to understand, and accept, and be happy with who I am, without reference to external comparisons. I've long understood the second part of the Summary of the Law "to love your neighbour as yourself" to mean that unless you love yourself, you are not going to make a great job of loving your neighbour.
But when God tells Moses "I AM", God is describing himself without any reference to anything else; not "I am the Lord your God" or "I am Creator of the Universe" or "I am your Father in Heaven".
So, is that how I should describe myself? Not, "I am a mother" or "I am a reasonable pianist" or "I am a music teacher" or "I am a sinner", but simply "I am"? Can it be that my existence is a sufficient explanation for who I am? That's a rather scary thought.
Wasn't it Popeye who used to announce "I am what I am"? That rather brings me back down to earth. Phew. http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=F8TRoMSG-5I
Tuesday, 10 April 2012
Tuesday 10th April - D-(for dentist) Day
Visiting the dentist has always been a major family outing, ever since I was a small child, so it came as quite a shock to realise that other people don't travel twenty-odd miles, and into the next county to get their teeth checked out. Apart from when I went to university at the other end of England, I have been going to the same dental practise since before I was born (a different dentist took over 28 years ago, but I've got used to him now).
The advantage of travelling so far, is that he will usually do any drilling and filling all at the same time. One is in a certain agony of apprehension in the run up to the appointment, but we know it will all be over, bar the final coronation, should a new crown is required, by the end of the visit. It came as quite a shock when I went to a different practise and discovered that one was supposed to have a checkup and then "come back next week" to have the job finished. I didn't care for that at all, and was very glad when we moved back south and I was able to resinstate the biannual all-in-one dental outings again.
So, we get together, all four of us, every six months, and spend quality time together reading back copies of Reader's Digest in the waiting room. We can judge by the length of time we spend in the "other room" and how long the drill makes its merry whining sound, how much sympathy and commiseration each one of us will need.
Perhaps when they retire, we might think about finding a dentist in the town where we live. It would be a huge wrench to break with such a longstanding tradition. We don't think that we are at all odd, travelling twenty-six miles each way. After all, my parents (who live a few streets away from us) travel the best part of three hundred miles to their dentist. We only take half a day - they schedule a week for their visits.
The advantage of travelling so far, is that he will usually do any drilling and filling all at the same time. One is in a certain agony of apprehension in the run up to the appointment, but we know it will all be over, bar the final coronation, should a new crown is required, by the end of the visit. It came as quite a shock when I went to a different practise and discovered that one was supposed to have a checkup and then "come back next week" to have the job finished. I didn't care for that at all, and was very glad when we moved back south and I was able to resinstate the biannual all-in-one dental outings again.
So, we get together, all four of us, every six months, and spend quality time together reading back copies of Reader's Digest in the waiting room. We can judge by the length of time we spend in the "other room" and how long the drill makes its merry whining sound, how much sympathy and commiseration each one of us will need.
Perhaps when they retire, we might think about finding a dentist in the town where we live. It would be a huge wrench to break with such a longstanding tradition. We don't think that we are at all odd, travelling twenty-six miles each way. After all, my parents (who live a few streets away from us) travel the best part of three hundred miles to their dentist. We only take half a day - they schedule a week for their visits.
Monday, 9 April 2012
Easter Monday - 9th April - Computers
You would never know that there are four people and two cats in this house. We are all in the different corners, probably all tapping away on our different computers.
Hang on a minute there. Four computers? In one house? That's amazing.
Count again; there is also "the old laptop" which is still functional, but, as is it over seven years old, can't be trusted from one day to the next. That makes five computers. There are a further two computers jostling for space which are in the process of being repaired or rebuilt for friends.
I remember my first job as a lowly minion in the computer department of a large water authority. A team of highly trained technicians, working round the clock, attended to the needs of a 1K mainframe housed in a climate-controlled space the size of a small chapel.
We bought an Amstrad quite early on. I don't suppose the "children" (both around a quarter of a century old now) remember a time without having a computer at home. They were playing "Maths Rescue" in the early 90s, and using a weird little word processor that we acquired somewhere along the line.
Computers have taken over huge areas of our lives; letters=emails; photocopies=scan and print; notebook and pencil=Word documents; family budgets= Excel; catalogues=online shopping; reference books=Google.
It is amazing to think that every day I move seamlessly between technologies that are hundreds, even thousands of years old (knitting, cooking, reading books, playing the piano) and ones that had never even been thought of until maybe a year ago.
(Can't wait to upgrade my smart phone for the next model as soon as my contract lets me!)
Hang on a minute there. Four computers? In one house? That's amazing.
Count again; there is also "the old laptop" which is still functional, but, as is it over seven years old, can't be trusted from one day to the next. That makes five computers. There are a further two computers jostling for space which are in the process of being repaired or rebuilt for friends.
I remember my first job as a lowly minion in the computer department of a large water authority. A team of highly trained technicians, working round the clock, attended to the needs of a 1K mainframe housed in a climate-controlled space the size of a small chapel.
We bought an Amstrad quite early on. I don't suppose the "children" (both around a quarter of a century old now) remember a time without having a computer at home. They were playing "Maths Rescue" in the early 90s, and using a weird little word processor that we acquired somewhere along the line.
Computers have taken over huge areas of our lives; letters=emails; photocopies=scan and print; notebook and pencil=Word documents; family budgets= Excel; catalogues=online shopping; reference books=Google.
It is amazing to think that every day I move seamlessly between technologies that are hundreds, even thousands of years old (knitting, cooking, reading books, playing the piano) and ones that had never even been thought of until maybe a year ago.
(Can't wait to upgrade my smart phone for the next model as soon as my contract lets me!)
Knitting Project Block 2
On the face of it, this block should have been even simpler than the previous one.
It uses just one stitch, "knit". You create enough stiches for two sides, and by decreasing in the middle of the row, cause the lines of knitting to contract along the diagonal, until you reach a point. What a nightmare that turned out to be - keeping count, losing track, getting lost.
I thought it would be so easy. I looked at the square from time to time, but thought that it could probably be worked into shape. I reached the end and cast off the last stitch.
I had to admit that the finished square was no good. There were too many mistakes along the way, and the finished piece of knitting wasn't even the right shape.
This became a test of character. I wondered about using it anyway, but hiding it in some less noticeable corner of the blanket when I came to sew all the bits together.
Then I gritted my teeth, unravelled it, and started again. I was really pleased that I managed to persuade myself to redo it.
From this block, I learned
how easy it is to underestimate a task
that I should have made the decision to start again much earlier.
the difference btween perfect, good enough, useable, and really not up to scratch. OK, so it is only small square of knitting; but a thought to carry forward into other tasks ahead.
It uses just one stitch, "knit". You create enough stiches for two sides, and by decreasing in the middle of the row, cause the lines of knitting to contract along the diagonal, until you reach a point. What a nightmare that turned out to be - keeping count, losing track, getting lost.I thought it would be so easy. I looked at the square from time to time, but thought that it could probably be worked into shape. I reached the end and cast off the last stitch.
I had to admit that the finished square was no good. There were too many mistakes along the way, and the finished piece of knitting wasn't even the right shape.
This became a test of character. I wondered about using it anyway, but hiding it in some less noticeable corner of the blanket when I came to sew all the bits together.
Then I gritted my teeth, unravelled it, and started again. I was really pleased that I managed to persuade myself to redo it.
From this block, I learned
how easy it is to underestimate a task
that I should have made the decision to start again much earlier.
the difference btween perfect, good enough, useable, and really not up to scratch. OK, so it is only small square of knitting; but a thought to carry forward into other tasks ahead.
Knitting Project Block 1
I began the project on Maundy Thursday, 5th April, so there will be a couple of posts in a hurry to catch up with where I've got to. Don't worry, I have no intention of turning this into a blog for crafters and knitters! If are interested in the details, there is a separate page. I realize that knitting blogs are desperately boring for anyone not interested in knitting.
And yet...
Knitting creates space to reflect. The repetition is like telling beads on a rosary, or singng the chants in a Taize service.
This first block was so simple - just a row of "plain" stitches and then a row of "purl", the very foundation of knitting, over and over, until completed. Every so often the pattern is interrupted by the introduction of a new colour, requiring a sharpening of focus and concentration, jolting one out of the routine. Somehow, the rhythm of the routine has to be maintained while absorbing the interloping threads, so that the overall pattern of stiches and shapes is not lost.
The last row was not the end of the work. This pattern, a simple 6 inch square piece of fabric, resulted in over twenty loose ends to be invisibly sewn in to the reverse side. This process took nearly as much time, and a good deal more patience that the actual knitting.
From this first square, I learned that
repeating an action, or words, is calming, an aid to meditation. It frees the mind to float beyond the words or actions and pursue other lines of thought.
this freedom of thought is a fragile thing; something will come along to burst the bubble and bring you back into the present moment.
finishing something completely usually means two stages; at the end of a piece of music there is often a coda, and at then end of the knitting comes the "making good".
And yet...
Knitting creates space to reflect. The repetition is like telling beads on a rosary, or singng the chants in a Taize service.
This first block was so simple - just a row of "plain" stitches and then a row of "purl", the very foundation of knitting, over and over, until completed. Every so often the pattern is interrupted by the introduction of a new colour, requiring a sharpening of focus and concentration, jolting one out of the routine. Somehow, the rhythm of the routine has to be maintained while absorbing the interloping threads, so that the overall pattern of stiches and shapes is not lost.
The last row was not the end of the work. This pattern, a simple 6 inch square piece of fabric, resulted in over twenty loose ends to be invisibly sewn in to the reverse side. This process took nearly as much time, and a good deal more patience that the actual knitting.
From this first square, I learned that
repeating an action, or words, is calming, an aid to meditation. It frees the mind to float beyond the words or actions and pursue other lines of thought.
this freedom of thought is a fragile thing; something will come along to burst the bubble and bring you back into the present moment.
finishing something completely usually means two stages; at the end of a piece of music there is often a coda, and at then end of the knitting comes the "making good".
To do list for week commencing 2nd April result; 45%
Summary
5 major tasks;
task 1 completed; (not sure if that wasn't cheating, though, as I had already done it before I created the list) 100%
task 2 four days out of seven - better than 50%
task 3 two days out of seven - better than 25%
task 4 added items four days out of seven - better than 50%
task 5 no change to laundry - table cleared once but now back to usual state. 0%
score; 225/500 making 45%
Monday 2nd April - First week of the holidays
Monday Tuesday Wednesday Maundy Thursday Good Fiday Holy Saturday Easter Sunday
1 Wash settee covers.
They are now at the stage when even I don't want to sit on them. The lost and found piece of chocolate was the last straw. Monday afternoon 2/4/12 Done. At least, they are on the line. I've got no-where comfortable to sit until they are back on the settee. Oh alright. I always put one completed task into a to do list so I can have the pleasure of ticking it off.
2 Holiday resolution number 1.
Half an hour's technical piano practise a day, every day, this week. Try practising (hahaha, a pun!) what you preach for once. This started to happen on Monday, but was derailed when I found that one note was sounding a bit muffled and another had a definite "twang". So I investigated the innards of the piano but culdn't find anything obvious, and called the piano tuner. He's coming on Wednesday. Tuesday; splinter in little finger has put paid to the piano practise today. That and and the twangy tuning. The piano tuner came this morning, so no excuse not to do the practise today. Finger is thankfully amazingly better. Managed a dollop of technical exercises today and got to the end of the book - Geoffrey Tankard (not doing everything - just the ones I liked the looked of). Rather bored with him now, so put book back on shelf. Out all day. Nothing got done. Started learning nice little Gerschwin Novelette After getting up at dawn for glorious Easter service, and then going to my parents for real Sunday Lunch and birthday Apple Pie with candles, and coming home to eat Easter eggs, piano didn't happen at all.
3 Gardening
Entirely weather dependant, but would be nice to get the potatoes in (traditionally a Good Friday task - they do be sayin' that them thar taties won't prosper if you plant them when the moon be waning).
Make an effort on the front border and wrest control from the couch grass
Make an effort on the back borders and reclaim the Earth from the goose grass (geese grasses - there is such a lot of it) Monday afternoon 2/4/12 Done some gardening - a bit at the front, and rassled some earth out of the bottom of the compost bin for the potatoes.Not happening today. Cold, rainy spells, and my finger hurts. It's still very cold. The sunshine is a total con. That unfinished front flowerbed is bugging me though. Guess I'll just have to go on being bugged by it. Went into town to get finger injury checked as requested by hospital - felt a bit of a cheat as I can hardly see it. The injury. Not the finger. The finger's all there OK. Weather too cold for anything. Out all day. Nothing got done. In this weather? hahaha. No way today. Weather in teasing mood; grey, cold, sunny, warm. Planted three lots of potato planters in window of Spring weather.
4 New Year's Resolution - Charity bags
The one about taking a bag per month to Oxfam isn't going well. January's got delayed to February's, and March's hasn't happened yet. Two bags needed to catch up. No progress today. Added one item to charity bag in the hall. Added a couple of old books of music and some other bits and pieces to the charity bag. Not lugging the bag in on foot - will wait until we are driving into town Added a ball that I found in a random bag of bits and pieces. Out all day. Nothing got done. Added another book
5 a and b Tidying Up
What has happened to the dining room table? Again! And it's getting worse. Relax. Loads of things have to get worse before they can get better. It's done! didn't take long at all once Igot started. How amazing is that!
And while we're on the subject of tidying, how about putting some clothes into the wardrobe? Would make it so much easier to climb into bed.Yup. Didn't happen though. Pile reduced by shirt, jumper, jeans and underwear that I am wearing today. Am inspired by success of dinig room clear-up to go and see what can be done. Resolve may be weakened by idea of afternoon snooze and finishing off my book. Resolve WAS weakened by snooze and book. Hill of clothes has become a mountain. Out all day. Nothing got done. If I don't look, I won't see it.
5 major tasks;
task 1 completed; (not sure if that wasn't cheating, though, as I had already done it before I created the list) 100%
task 2 four days out of seven - better than 50%
task 3 two days out of seven - better than 25%
task 4 added items four days out of seven - better than 50%
task 5 no change to laundry - table cleared once but now back to usual state. 0%
score; 225/500 making 45%
Monday 2nd April - First week of the holidays
Monday Tuesday Wednesday Maundy Thursday Good Fiday Holy Saturday Easter Sunday
1 Wash settee covers.
They are now at the stage when even I don't want to sit on them. The lost and found piece of chocolate was the last straw. Monday afternoon 2/4/12 Done. At least, they are on the line. I've got no-where comfortable to sit until they are back on the settee. Oh alright. I always put one completed task into a to do list so I can have the pleasure of ticking it off. 2 Holiday resolution number 1.
Half an hour's technical piano practise a day, every day, this week. Try practising (hahaha, a pun!) what you preach for once. This started to happen on Monday, but was derailed when I found that one note was sounding a bit muffled and another had a definite "twang". So I investigated the innards of the piano but culdn't find anything obvious, and called the piano tuner. He's coming on Wednesday. Tuesday; splinter in little finger has put paid to the piano practise today. That and and the twangy tuning. The piano tuner came this morning, so no excuse not to do the practise today. Finger is thankfully amazingly better. Managed a dollop of technical exercises today and got to the end of the book - Geoffrey Tankard (not doing everything - just the ones I liked the looked of). Rather bored with him now, so put book back on shelf. Out all day. Nothing got done. Started learning nice little Gerschwin Novelette After getting up at dawn for glorious Easter service, and then going to my parents for real Sunday Lunch and birthday Apple Pie with candles, and coming home to eat Easter eggs, piano didn't happen at all.
3 Gardening
Entirely weather dependant, but would be nice to get the potatoes in (traditionally a Good Friday task - they do be sayin' that them thar taties won't prosper if you plant them when the moon be waning).
Make an effort on the front border and wrest control from the couch grass
Make an effort on the back borders and reclaim the Earth from the goose grass (geese grasses - there is such a lot of it) Monday afternoon 2/4/12 Done some gardening - a bit at the front, and rassled some earth out of the bottom of the compost bin for the potatoes.Not happening today. Cold, rainy spells, and my finger hurts. It's still very cold. The sunshine is a total con. That unfinished front flowerbed is bugging me though. Guess I'll just have to go on being bugged by it. Went into town to get finger injury checked as requested by hospital - felt a bit of a cheat as I can hardly see it. The injury. Not the finger. The finger's all there OK. Weather too cold for anything. Out all day. Nothing got done. In this weather? hahaha. No way today. Weather in teasing mood; grey, cold, sunny, warm. Planted three lots of potato planters in window of Spring weather.
4 New Year's Resolution - Charity bags
The one about taking a bag per month to Oxfam isn't going well. January's got delayed to February's, and March's hasn't happened yet. Two bags needed to catch up. No progress today. Added one item to charity bag in the hall. Added a couple of old books of music and some other bits and pieces to the charity bag. Not lugging the bag in on foot - will wait until we are driving into town Added a ball that I found in a random bag of bits and pieces. Out all day. Nothing got done. Added another book
5 a and b Tidying Up
And while we're on the subject of tidying, how about putting some clothes into the wardrobe? Would make it so much easier to climb into bed.Yup. Didn't happen though. Pile reduced by shirt, jumper, jeans and underwear that I am wearing today. Am inspired by success of dinig room clear-up to go and see what can be done. Resolve may be weakened by idea of afternoon snooze and finishing off my book. Resolve WAS weakened by snooze and book. Hill of clothes has become a mountain. Out all day. Nothing got done. If I don't look, I won't see it.
Sunday, 8 April 2012
Easter Sunday - 8th April
We were up long before dawn this morning, to meet up for a sunrise Eucharist service at the top of a local hill. We drove through the darkness and drizzle, found the car park, fumbled our boots on, and set off down the lane - about thirty - forty of us?
Singing with the birds in the light drizzle under a grey sky may not be everybody's idea of heaven, but there we were, as a family, a church family (including a dog), sharing together.
Next year the fields at the bottom of the hill will be a sea of new houses, maybe shops, perhaps a school - who knows - even a new church.
Our challenge is to help them feel at home, to welcome them into our church family.
Singing with the birds in the light drizzle under a grey sky may not be everybody's idea of heaven, but there we were, as a family, a church family (including a dog), sharing together.
Next year the fields at the bottom of the hill will be a sea of new houses, maybe shops, perhaps a school - who knows - even a new church.
Our challenge is to help them feel at home, to welcome them into our church family.
 |
| Same place, Easter 2011 - when the sun did rise exactly on cue |
Good Friday - 6th April
We were out and about today, in more or less the same weather, and the same part of the South Downs as last year.
The day was bright and sunny, with a sharp breeze, and clear views across the downs. Whole families were enjoying the holiday, children laughing and rolling down a steep little slope as children have for generations, pushchairs, picnic rugs, chatter, easter egg hunting. It was such a lovely, carefree, happy atmosphere.
And why not?
After all, it all happened a long time ago, a long way away.
Last year, I saw this tiny little scene, in a churchyard up on the South Downs.
I'm glad the crosses were empty. Sometimes I have been accosted in the street by people thrusting pamphlets at me and telling me that the world is evil and getting worse. I won't agree. At least we don't do crucifixion as a punishment any more. Jesus was only one of thousands who must have been put to death that way - horrific, barbaric, uncivilised.
The day was bright and sunny, with a sharp breeze, and clear views across the downs. Whole families were enjoying the holiday, children laughing and rolling down a steep little slope as children have for generations, pushchairs, picnic rugs, chatter, easter egg hunting. It was such a lovely, carefree, happy atmosphere.
And why not?
After all, it all happened a long time ago, a long way away.
Last year, I saw this tiny little scene, in a churchyard up on the South Downs.
I'm glad the crosses were empty. Sometimes I have been accosted in the street by people thrusting pamphlets at me and telling me that the world is evil and getting worse. I won't agree. At least we don't do crucifixion as a punishment any more. Jesus was only one of thousands who must have been put to death that way - horrific, barbaric, uncivilised.
Thursday, 5 April 2012
Thursday April 5th - Willowfall
It was another world, enchanted, one step removed from the road, the pavement, the traffic, the people.
A green dome under an implacable grey sky.
I expect the people passing by thought I was mad.
Or maybe they never noticed me - drivers would have their eyes on the road ahead, walkers would have their focus turned inward to whatever is on their mind.
It was too cold to linger.
Just a few moments' thought, to connect with fragments of memory; bits of poetry, half-forgotten images
before the cold pierced through to my skin
and I turned to face the weather, and slowly pace myself up the hill
The tears in my eyes were from the cutting wind.
Wednesday, 4 April 2012
Tuesday 3rd February - Sausage Supper
This is what we had for supper last night; it's a way of making one packet of sausages feed 4 - 6 people.
Preheat the oven to 180C (fan)
So; you will need (quantities are variable)
an onion chopped smallish - or a leek if there's one lying around
a couple of sticks of celery, also chopped smallish
a clove of garlic (optional) crushed.
a carrot or two, chopped smallish
if you've some red or green or orange or yellow pepper, or a courgette, then chop it up and chuck it in
gently fry all that lot in a small amount of oil until the onion is transparent and it smells good.
Then tip it into a shallow oven-proof dish, along with a tin of chopped tomatoes. Half fill the empty tin to rinse out the tomatoes and add that as well. Some seasoning - a stock cube or stock powder or soy sauce or even a bit of salt, (remember, the sausages will probably be fairly salty so you won't need much), and maybe some herbs, a bay leaf, and a grind of pepper. A spot of pesto doesn't hurt, if you have some left in the jar.
Depending on your mood, either cut each sausage into four, (quick and theraputic) or slit each sausage, remove the skin and make each one into at least 4 meatballs (good if you need to feed a weird number of people like 5, or even 6 people from one packet of sausages. Just do a bit of arithmetic).
Lob the bits of sausage into the dish with the rest of the ingredients, and bake for round 40 mins. I usually take a look after 30 mins and maybe turn all the meatballs over, as the tops will have browned but underneath often looks a bit pale.
Serve with pasta, or baked potatoes, if you remembered to put them in before you started.
Preheat the oven to 180C (fan)
So; you will need (quantities are variable)
an onion chopped smallish - or a leek if there's one lying around
a couple of sticks of celery, also chopped smallish
a clove of garlic (optional) crushed.
a carrot or two, chopped smallish
if you've some red or green or orange or yellow pepper, or a courgette, then chop it up and chuck it in
gently fry all that lot in a small amount of oil until the onion is transparent and it smells good.
Then tip it into a shallow oven-proof dish, along with a tin of chopped tomatoes. Half fill the empty tin to rinse out the tomatoes and add that as well. Some seasoning - a stock cube or stock powder or soy sauce or even a bit of salt, (remember, the sausages will probably be fairly salty so you won't need much), and maybe some herbs, a bay leaf, and a grind of pepper. A spot of pesto doesn't hurt, if you have some left in the jar.
Depending on your mood, either cut each sausage into four, (quick and theraputic) or slit each sausage, remove the skin and make each one into at least 4 meatballs (good if you need to feed a weird number of people like 5, or even 6 people from one packet of sausages. Just do a bit of arithmetic).
Lob the bits of sausage into the dish with the rest of the ingredients, and bake for round 40 mins. I usually take a look after 30 mins and maybe turn all the meatballs over, as the tops will have browned but underneath often looks a bit pale.
Serve with pasta, or baked potatoes, if you remembered to put them in before you started.
Wednesday 4th April - Acquiring Power over Things
Dear Readers,
I have just discovered the a most powerful process in the endless war on clutter. I am so excited that I feel I must share it with you right away.
It is simply this;
To keep clutter under control, all you have to do is put things away.
Why has it taken me half a century to get to grips with this concept?
The idea is so simple, and effective. It is unbelievable. The transformation of the dining room table has been nothing short of miraculous.
I so inspired by this new-found skill, that I am off to Put Some More Things Away.
I shall try the same technique on the terrifying and awesome laundry mountain.
I may be some time.
I have just discovered the a most powerful process in the endless war on clutter. I am so excited that I feel I must share it with you right away.
It is simply this;
To keep clutter under control, all you have to do is put things away.
Why has it taken me half a century to get to grips with this concept?
The idea is so simple, and effective. It is unbelievable. The transformation of the dining room table has been nothing short of miraculous.
I so inspired by this new-found skill, that I am off to Put Some More Things Away.
I shall try the same technique on the terrifying and awesome laundry mountain.
I may be some time.
Tuesday, 3 April 2012
Tuesday 3rd April - The joy of google reader
I am so enjoying having my personal "magazine" of posts from my favourite blogs delivered to my laptop everyday. Several times a day, even!
I've said it before, but I'll say it again, "thank you, Archdruid Eileen, of the Beaker Folk, for your suggestion."
The only downsides of the google reader is that I miss all the comments, which are half the joy on some of the blogs, and sometimes the text overlays the photographs on my phone. These are small inconveniences, as I can sit here with my laptop and checkout the whole site when I have more time on my hands.
Aha, next instalment of A-roads is out, and someone has lit Michael Rosen's fuse again. Gotta go!
Tuesday 3rd April - Life and Death (in a very small way)
If I lived in a less wealthy country, my life might now be (slightly) in danger....
It's such a small thing.Yesterday, while I was gardening, I caught one of the joints of my little finger ("this little finger on my right") on a bamboo cane. Last night it began to swell and throb, so today I ambled round to the Minor Injuries clinic at my local hospital (half an hour on foot or by bus), and after a bit of a wait in a comfortable waiting room, I was called in to a clean, well-stocked treatment room. I'll gloss over the next half hour or so - that wasn't great - but I could be confident that the equipment was sterile and the nurse was very experienced.
No, there didn't appear to be a splinter, yes, it was looking infected, so I left feeling slightly worse for wear having been given antibiotics against the infection and a vaccination against tetanus (and also for polio and diphtheria - it comes as a three-in-one jab these days).
I will have to pay for the antibiotics and and vaccination in due course. I don't think it will be a huge amount of money - probably the equivalent of a couple of hour's music teaching at worst.
In another country, I would unable to get medical attention. Maybe there wouldn't be any facilities, or they would be too far away, or I wouldn't be able to afford it.
I could be facing blood poisoning, or maybe long-term damage to the finger, pain, even death. Maybe I'm being a bit melodramatic, but I remember how quickly a small cut could become a big problem when I lived in Indonesia.
I'll just sit here and count my blessings for a little while...
It's such a small thing.Yesterday, while I was gardening, I caught one of the joints of my little finger ("this little finger on my right") on a bamboo cane. Last night it began to swell and throb, so today I ambled round to the Minor Injuries clinic at my local hospital (half an hour on foot or by bus), and after a bit of a wait in a comfortable waiting room, I was called in to a clean, well-stocked treatment room. I'll gloss over the next half hour or so - that wasn't great - but I could be confident that the equipment was sterile and the nurse was very experienced.
I will have to pay for the antibiotics and and vaccination in due course. I don't think it will be a huge amount of money - probably the equivalent of a couple of hour's music teaching at worst.
In another country, I would unable to get medical attention. Maybe there wouldn't be any facilities, or they would be too far away, or I wouldn't be able to afford it.
I could be facing blood poisoning, or maybe long-term damage to the finger, pain, even death. Maybe I'm being a bit melodramatic, but I remember how quickly a small cut could become a big problem when I lived in Indonesia.
I'll just sit here and count my blessings for a little while...
Monday, 2 April 2012
Monday 2nd April - Silence
Of course it isn't really silent here in the garden. For one thing, my fingers are creating a tipperty-tapperty noise on the keyboard. Some kind of chain saw has started up nearby; further away I can hear the continuous drone of a sit-and-ride mower going round and round the big gardens of the big houses on the estate at the back of us, and the steady subdued roar or the traffic on the dual carriage way at the back of the big houses.
My neighbours are clanking around in their kitchen and garage; buckets and mopping and housework and gardening noises.
Over and above and between all these man-made sounds, the birds are adding to the general hubbub and clamour of a suburban garden.
For me, it counts as silence.
My day job (primary school class music teacher) is very noisy.
The gentlest sounds are when we are quietly listening to something peaceful - "Aquarium" from Carnival of the Animals, or "Intermezzo" from Bizet's Carmen are two of my favourites.
The best loud sounds are the samba band in full, focused flow; surdos and agogo bells belting out the rhythms, tamborims attacking the off-beats with mathematical precision; the mind-force of thirty-five individuals working as one, or maybe the djembe classes - three dozen seven-year olds performing Kuku and layering up the patterns as though their life depended on it.
There are many candidates for the most horrendous noise; beginner descant recorders and beginner clarinets are the ones that vie for first place, but the school hall with six groups of primary school children using the entire contents of the music cupboard to create their own interpretation of "War" is pretty cacophonous in the early stages.
My ears get no peace in the evening; sometimes, my pupils move me to tears by their sensitive, thoughtful, insightful performance - be it at beginner or advanced level. Other times I also feel like crying from frustration and even physical pain as they force their way like a chain saw through the jungle of notes and symbols that get in their way.
Today it is lunchtime, and I have not been required to listen to anything.
For me, this is silence.
Sunday, 1 April 2012
Palm Sunday - The First Cut
Everyone else round our way has already done several cuts. We nearly didn't move in, way back in 1984, as all the neighbour's gardens were meticulously tended marvels of knife-edge borders, finely-tilled flower beds filled with mathematically ordered ranks and files of bedding plants. I just knew we would lower the tone.
Still, petrol shortages notwithstanding, the lawn-mower was dragged out from the depths of the garage and set to work.
And work it did - sort of. The front and back look a lot tidier now. The only long grass left is the couch grass growing in the flower beds, but then, ornamental grasses are so very on-trend, don't you think? We have also decided that the plantains add an artistic, sculpural, quality to the texture of the lawn, so will be allowing them to remain.
I observed all this activity from the comfort of the sitting room, cocooned from the drone of the mower by four walls.
After a bit he came in (mowing is a man's job, in my view), rather hot and bothered, and sat down at the computer. A few moments passed in peace and quiet. Then, without warning, the computer started to make lawn-mower noises. This got my attention; I hadn't noticed any lawn mowers indoors before.
It appears that you can listen to recordings of sick and sad lawn mowers on your computer to try and work out what they need to make them better;
http://www.briggsandstratton.com/support/frequently-asked-questions/Why%20is%20my%20new%20engine%20hunting%20and%20surging/
Here's a thought; we could do that with on the NHS direct website; recordings of different types of coughs, or clicky knees, or gurgling stomachs, as an aid to diagnosis....
Still, petrol shortages notwithstanding, the lawn-mower was dragged out from the depths of the garage and set to work.
And work it did - sort of. The front and back look a lot tidier now. The only long grass left is the couch grass growing in the flower beds, but then, ornamental grasses are so very on-trend, don't you think? We have also decided that the plantains add an artistic, sculpural, quality to the texture of the lawn, so will be allowing them to remain.
I observed all this activity from the comfort of the sitting room, cocooned from the drone of the mower by four walls.
After a bit he came in (mowing is a man's job, in my view), rather hot and bothered, and sat down at the computer. A few moments passed in peace and quiet. Then, without warning, the computer started to make lawn-mower noises. This got my attention; I hadn't noticed any lawn mowers indoors before.
It appears that you can listen to recordings of sick and sad lawn mowers on your computer to try and work out what they need to make them better;
http://www.briggsandstratton.com/support/frequently-asked-questions/Why%20is%20my%20new%20engine%20hunting%20and%20surging/
Here's a thought; we could do that with on the NHS direct website; recordings of different types of coughs, or clicky knees, or gurgling stomachs, as an aid to diagnosis....
Sunday 1st April - Palm Sunday
This April day, warm with unseasonable sun,
Will fill your heart with joy; this Sunday is just starting.
Bright blue sky, pales leaves, fresh flowers. Don’t be taken
in.
The clue is in the bitter wind that's slicing through your skin.
His journey’s going nowhere. He might be riding now,
Over sacrifice of palms and cloaks thrown down along his road.
They’re all singing songs of welcome , waving, running by
his side.
But very soon they’ll change their tune and call for him to
die.
Then he’ll have to walk, Trailing through the dirt
and grime,
Weighed down with pain and fear, sweat pouring off his face.
Those arms, once opened wide for healing and for blessing
Are now wrenched and nailed in place, paying for our trangressing.
How will it end? We know the answer. They did not.
We know the sun will rise again. For them the sky goes black.
Sunday 1st April - Ask, and it shall be given unto you
Oh Frabjous Day, Calloo Callay!
Only a few hours ago I was wittering on about wanting my own personally selected magazine! It's done! It's created! I've got it!
My first answer to prayer came from Archdruid Eileen (may you have a peaceful and blessed day of rest, free from fools and fooling) who uttered the mysterious and powerful incantation "Google Reader".
I repeated these portentious words to my minister-for-all-things-computational, and zipped off to church. While I was away collecting my palm cross, sharing the peace, and making my contribution to "World Peace" or, "Thy Kingdom Come on Earth", my next answer to prayer was in progress. He-who-knows-all-about-computers was doing his own form of liturgy contributing to "Peace at Home".
The upshot is that he has fathomed the depths of "Google Reader" and installed it on my mobile phone for me. And on his mobile phone for him. And on the computer for us. Actually, the depths are quite shallow; I have been able to paddle through the menus without getting drowned in tech-stuff.
Pride of place in my magazine would go to Archdruid Eileen as a memorial to her prompt response to a fellow-human in distress, but it works in alphabetical order, so she is unfairly relegated to second place. Sorry. I know it's wrong, but bringing fairness and a proper order to the whole world is beyond even his skill.
"Peace at Home" is now a real reality - we sit together, in our separate chairs, reading our separate magazines and occasionally sighing, gasping, or laughing out loud. I'm afraid "Peace on Earth" will not be so easy to solve. This coming week is the annual bitter reminder of the price to be paid for that.
Only a few hours ago I was wittering on about wanting my own personally selected magazine! It's done! It's created! I've got it!
My first answer to prayer came from Archdruid Eileen (may you have a peaceful and blessed day of rest, free from fools and fooling) who uttered the mysterious and powerful incantation "Google Reader".
I repeated these portentious words to my minister-for-all-things-computational, and zipped off to church. While I was away collecting my palm cross, sharing the peace, and making my contribution to "World Peace" or, "Thy Kingdom Come on Earth", my next answer to prayer was in progress. He-who-knows-all-about-computers was doing his own form of liturgy contributing to "Peace at Home".
The upshot is that he has fathomed the depths of "Google Reader" and installed it on my mobile phone for me. And on his mobile phone for him. And on the computer for us. Actually, the depths are quite shallow; I have been able to paddle through the menus without getting drowned in tech-stuff.
Pride of place in my magazine would go to Archdruid Eileen as a memorial to her prompt response to a fellow-human in distress, but it works in alphabetical order, so she is unfairly relegated to second place. Sorry. I know it's wrong, but bringing fairness and a proper order to the whole world is beyond even his skill.
"Peace at Home" is now a real reality - we sit together, in our separate chairs, reading our separate magazines and occasionally sighing, gasping, or laughing out loud. I'm afraid "Peace on Earth" will not be so easy to solve. This coming week is the annual bitter reminder of the price to be paid for that.
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