Wednesday, December 26, 2018

Christmases past

Xmas 2018, we went to SD#1 for lunch.
Aunty Eileen and Aunty Pat had died in 2018.
Xmas 2017, DH I went up to stay in Richmond and took Eileen to mass on Xmas day (and I went to the Saturday vigil mass too), and for a meal in the hotel on Xmas day - not wheel chair accessible. Daughter had gone to live in Canada.
Mum had died.
Xmas 2016, Daughter's Canadian friend came. We all three, CF, DD & I went to midnight  mass at St Joe's. We visited Mum at her cafe home.
MumC had died.
Xmas 2015
Dad had died.
Xmas 2014, just three of us. DD, DH and I went out for lunch.  I had to rush up to Yorkshire to see Mum and Dad before Christmas. Was that the year we invited DH's brother & wife for lunch later that week? They came the year before DH got cancer, now fixed. We'll meet them for lunch next week.
Xmas 2013, 5 years ago, one of the nicest with the most and best promises for 2014. SD #2 came over at coffee time with her son & daughter but had to leave before DS and girlfriend got here so girlfriend never met her and they never met her new son. DS & girlfriend told that they had got engaged, & SD#3 rang to say the same with her partner,
Xmas 2012 6 years ago, SD #2 came with her new son. Photo on FB
Xmas 2010, we went to do Xmas for my parents. DD flew home from Bordeaux (She had an EU Erasmus scholarship) for Xmas. I gave my supervisors the first full draft of my thesis.
Xmas 2009 was nice - the last time my elders came.
Many deaths leave me now without the older generation before me, unless you count my father's cousins. They're only a tad older than my DH.





Thursday, October 25, 2018

Memories of music: Until it's time for you to go

"Until it's time for you to go" was a song I learned and sang in summer 1975, after my first serious love affair had ended. I learned it from DW's records. He too had just had a serious love affair end, engaged to an Irish girl at the same college as me. But he was a Northern Irish Protestant. Why did he have to meet another Catholic girl? Me. But we spent that summer as friends, travelling together platonically (we experimented with that word,"platonic") round French camp sites, hitching down to Bordeaux, and walking up the highest (and hottest) sand dunes of Europe in the middle of the day. We laughed, argued and sang together that August.
Back in his room at Brunel University he had this Buffy St Marie record and I taught myself to play the tune on  my guitar, and I learned its words. They seemed so apt to us, in a relationship we could not sustain:
"Don't ask why"...
"and here you'll stay until it's time for you to go".
"Yes, we're different. Worlds apart. We're not the same..."
but we were the same, and only a sea apart, a slightly different faith apart.

Having written that, now I remember more about that holiday:
  • visiting P & M, old family friends that I'd spent a previous summer with and who were holidaying in the Bordeaux region, knocking on the door and hearing an invitation, we stepped in to the family's surprised faces. P had said, not "Entrez" but "Qui est ? It must have been shock to have us visit in late evening and dark. Their son, F, quizzed me on our sleeping arrangements in our tent - cheeky nearly teenage boy!
  • the torrential typical Mediterranean downpour, so DW had to wake me because i was sleeping in a newly created stream! We spent the rest of that night in the men's showers, and packed and left in the morning. But the sun came out and by midday, all our clothes were dry, including our sleeping bags sitting on the top of our ruck sacks, as we hitched in the heat. one night our hitch dropped us int middle of who-knows-where, but not near a campsite, so we pitched our tent surreptitiously and hopefully in a small wood by the side of the road, slept and got up early to be off before someone came saw us and complained we were trespassing.
  • one lift took hours to get and DW was getting grumpier and grumpier, so I was attempting to balance him with cheerfulness. he complimented me after, but I felt I was forcing it, yet he never knew and my cheer took us through to the next lift.
After that summer, we started our first jobs, in London, hardly a city apart, only a few suburbs between East London and the west. We kept in touch for a few months, then, since our paths didn't cross again, we lost touch. It was time to go.

Tuesday, September 25, 2018

Truth and arguing

Do you know what is true? Do you know how to argue? To structure an argument? To make a good argument? Husband and I have been discussing Evan Davis's approach to recent "Post Truth" life. I have to tutor argumentation techniques and Davis's introduction to his paperback edition provides me with an example structure:
  1. disreputable politicians tell lies
  2. the naïve public swallow the lies
  3. accordingly, the naïve public vote the wrong way
Such a structure provides a claim, a supporting claim and conclusion, but it doesn't make it a good argument because we can pick holes in for example, the public being 'naïve'. Is the public naïve? Evan Davis argues that the public can choose without having to believe literally everything. The ten commandments of the Christian bible do not include "Thou shalt not lie" but You shall not bear false witness against your neighbour. So then, husband and I discussed what a lie might be, and the motivation of someone apparently lying; is it for a greater good, or for self-benefit. Arthur Miller's play, "The Crucible" turned on this distinction.
Years ago, when I kept a tank full of goldfish and had two small children, one day, when small son was out, I discovered his favourite fish floating dead at the top of the water. I rushed out and replaced the fish with one as much the same as I could, so that sensitive son wouldn't be upset. But in his teenage years, son told me that he'd once taken the fish "for a walk". "How did that go?" I enquired? "Not very well," he admitted! He'd replaced the moribund fish in the tank where I had subsequently found it. Between the two of us, we both lied, but for different reasons.
Husband suggests that truth is what you make it. Isn't that a Buddhist concept? Tae kwon do practitioners tell a story of a Korean philosopher, Yul Gok, who wanted to study Buddhism at a time when it was not much practised in Korea. He started a pilgrimage to China to find enlightenment. On the way, tired, he laid down in a cave at night to sleep, but woke thirsty in the dark. Reaching out for something to drink, his fingers touched what felt like a gourd, which he lifted to his lips, found water and drank. Delicious! In the morning, he saw, that the gourd of delicious water was not a gourd but a skull, a skull full of putrid water and maggots. Disgusting! So was it disgusting or delicious? Delicious or disgusting? Truth is  not what you see, or what you feel, or what you taste. You make truth in your own mind.
Just to prove it, watch the 1944 short video of shapes and lines at https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=VTNmLt7QX8E. Isn't it your mind that tells a story from what you watch? 
Unbeknown to us both, husband must have Buddhist tendencies. No wonder he is so tolerant and my attempts at Western style argument with him don't work!

Sunday, September 09, 2018

How to make friends: unusual ways

Here's a short timed and rapid tour of England, not Britain, just England: https://expatexplore.com/tours/taste-of-england/
and it's an American who's told me of it because she and her husband are about to do it. They arrived in London last week, and husband and I went to meet them. We had never met them before but got on well, chatting from our meeting point outside Buckingham Palace, then as we walked to Brown's and while we had lunch.
This is my new random friend (RF). RF emailed me some years ago, "Dear B..." which isn't quite my name. First I thought it was spam mail, then I realised as she sent me more emails that she had the wrong address. I ignored them. Partly I ignored them because she was emailing me at an email box that I rarely used, so I didn't notice them for months. Over time I got to know something of her life as she told it to her friend, B, Then one month I looked at the email and saw that she was telling B about some issues, issues that touch your heart. At this point, I had to tell her that she was emailing the wrong person, but that since she'd told me so much about herself for the last two years, here was some information about me. She thanked me. The next New Year we exchanged emails just to say hello.
A month ago I realised that RF was due a big birthday this year so emailed to ask her about it, and she emailed back to say that they were coming to England this month, to visit on a whirl wind tour, including a couple of days getting over jet lag in London, and then this expat tour. It was too goo an opportunity to miss, so I suggested we met. We didn't even know what we each looked like and she sent me a photo of her at that big birthday.
I can't tell you here how much we've got in common with this lovely couple from Detroit., but we are both glad she made that serendipitous typo in that email to Betsy and we'll be keeping in touch on purpose in future.
Telling this story to a tae kwon do friend today she replied telling me of a occasion to do with random theft, when she made a new friend, one that she's kept for twenty years. We meet nice people when we respond well to random opportunity

Tuesday, September 04, 2018

Memories of music: While the music plays on

"They say my voice is so appealing,
that no one sings the blues the way I do."
I'd like to sing more blues; I'd like to sing more; I'd like to sing like I used to do. But age and hormone drugs....
"little do they know..."
'While the music plays on' tells of a memory of a lover, while the singer sings "each night in some café" where she's on display. She sings about her "lover dancing by in someone else's arms". (Doris Day sang it or listen to Tony Bennett who sings it with slow feeling.
Can't you feel the choke in the voice as she sings, "... in someone else's arms"?
Were you dear reader ever in such a situation? Knowing someone you had cared about no longer cared about you? And when you see them in the same space, a shared room, they ignore you? Are you bitter, or, like this singer, are you blue?
"...no one sings the blues they way I do
but little do they know, 
their praise just goes to show
Every word I sing rings true."

Wednesday, August 29, 2018

La Motte

http://www.jm-foto.com/2007/La-Motte/index.htm

I found this wonderful series of photos about gliding at La Motte, taken by one of the German visitors to the gliding club. I remember the excitement of the trip after coming off the motor way, reaching the Col, driving round the craggy castle of Sisteron, and back north to La Motte, breathless at the awesome splendour of the mountain tops. And that's before we start gliding. Look at these photos.

and these http://www.cvvmc.com/index.php/en/webcams

Guided tour to theorem country

What's a theorem? An assertion you can prove is true, at least that's what I'm asserting following yesterday's seminar at an Oxford University Continuing Education (OUCE) day.

If you've seen the Theorem of the Day web site you'll get a flavour of what the discussion was about. The presenter was the author of that site. Now that site is not easy, not the best way to get to learn about theorems, if you know nothing to start with. Theorems are challenging. But if you like thinking, then you'd have enjoyed the day. And it did help to have some maths.

The participants included relative amateurs like myself, retired maths teachers, chemists, physicists, an eminent professor of biology, a couple of sixth former, a member of the Institute of Mathematics and her husband who'd done a PhD in maths - but not this field she hastened to assure me.

Planning a birthday party


  • invite people: write cards, send emails
  • book the venue
  • get husband to bake cake, and tell him how to ice it
  • check children & brother's family are coming
  • get decorations
  • plan brunch
  • arrange people into teams of 3 and then of two to play against each other - or let them choose their opposition
  • think if I want to say anything
  • plot 60 good things about life.

Sunday, August 26, 2018

Memories of music: the Hallelujah chorus

The Hallelujah chorus comes from Handel's Messiah. My dead husband introduced me to this music when he used to sit of an evening on our brown sofa, his one long leg resting on the other, his arms conducting enthusiastically, and me playing ignorant pleb. When they sang, "Oh! We like sheep..." one day I responded, "and I like lamb!" causing husband to choke a chortle at the impiety. With practice, I grew to like that magnificent music.
Years later, would-become-new husband took me on our first real date to hear The Messiah. He was, unbeknownst to him, onto a winner that brought me happy memories.
This year The Next Stage Choir performs the Hallelujah chorus. I sing with the sopranos. The high notes challenge me and the long holding of breath challenges even more but the choir master and fellow sopranos say it will come with practice, so I'll practice. With practice, I'll get to sing it.

Tuesday, June 26, 2018

Lying or writing clearly


Do you want to write clearly? Adding adjectives to your writing blurs its message, mendacious writing. I suspect though that often my students write like that, not because they're lying but because they don't really know what they're talking about but if they write enough words, perhaps they'll say the right one that persuades me to give them the mark!

Watch Pamela Meyer's TED talk on 'How to spot a liar' at http://www.ted.com/talks/pamela_meyer_how_to_spot_a_liar,which is intriguing and informative. I love where she shows small babies, toddlers and five-year olds and even a chimpanzee lying - it shows a level of intelligence that gets you out of trouble or gets what you want. It shows an understanding of other people.

Not that I'm recommending lying - I would lie to avoid hurting someone, and I think Meyer suggests that when she uses examples of lovers and spouses. Watch it.

Sunday, June 17, 2018

Another father's day


 Another year, another father's day, another birthday
Gliding field at La Motte du Caire, end of the day

Not
http://www.cvvmc.com/index.php/en/webcams

Monday, June 11, 2018

Lectionary 10

"Lectionary 10" is what it reads on the front of the weekly leaflet of the Faith Lutheran Church last Sunday when I visited with daughter and daughter's partner (dP). You can find its web site at www.faithlutheranbrantford.com
The services are not unlike those I've attended elsewhere for years: start, say hello bit perhaps, sing, pray, sermonise, pray, pay, pray, eat & drink, pray, it's ended (deo gratis). I like the way the FLC write it up as: gathering, word, meal, sending.
Yesterday's sermon, perhaps a tad long, revealed a depth of tolerance for difference, in recounting a similar Lutheran church near San Francisco where in the eighties a number of male members kept dying off, before they realised they had AIDs and were gay, which is something not tolerated by some. The congregation still accepted them despite protesters standing outside the church with placards saying it was a sin. When the pastor revealed he too was gay, the congregation said, "yes, we know. You're still our pastor" and when the bishop tutted, the congregation said, "yes, we know. He's still our pastor", and he stayed their pastor.
That's Christian tolerance.

Friday, June 08, 2018

Busy, busy first day when we visited Niagara
and then drove in this newly hired car to Waterford to see Glen's karate class. We didn't get back to our B&B in St George till well after ten o'clock, so I got to drive in Canada in the dark.
We got to eat poutine.

Tuesday, June 05, 2018

Canada

We've flown over to Canada to visit daughter, G, who now lives in Ontario with her partner, G.  We plan a lot of activities: visiting Niagara, touring Toronto, canoeing down the Grand, playing karate at her partner's club, eating poutine, meeting her partner's mother who's flying over from the west coast.
Husband has twitched his back and is a bit uncomfortable if he sits for a long time, so we have to adapt what we do. At this very moment, he's reading his newly acquired (my old) iPad with the newspaper on it, his crossword, access to the cricket scores. He appears to be happy.

Monday, April 30, 2018

If I could use a time machine

If I could use a time machine, I'd go twenty years ahead of now and avoid the boredom of lonely retirement and being socially useless. I'd jump straight to aged decrepitude and senility in the hopes of oblivion. Then the rest of society couldn't accuse me of being a drain on the younger generation that can't afford degrees or mortgages, and there's not enough of them to support baby boomers in retirement. In the eighties, baby boomers could get mortgages and pay the 16% interest, and Thatcher hadn't yet sold off all the council houses so that was an option too.  Baby boomers' parents could retire early cos there were so many younger people working who could therefore pay for their retirement pensions.
And if I wind my time machine forward, I could skip being taxed on the Open University degree I got part time without a government grant or support while I was paying that 16% on our mortgage.

Saturday, March 31, 2018

Aged auntie died

You know how they talk about the squeezed generation - those people who have aged  relatives getting doddery and still have children to bring up. Well they ought to call it the hugged generation because your children hug you and your aged relatives need you. But I'm no longer the hugged generation because my children are quite grown up and the last of my older relatives has gone. Aunty Eileen died in the middle of this month of March after too many bugs in her increasingly frail body.
Here are some links to when I blogged about her:
Now I'm drafting an eulogy for her funeral next weekend. What should I write?
Eileen and her big brother, Joe


Visiting Ireland with her parents, 1947
She had a wicked sense of humour
Bridesmaid at Joe & Jean's wedding, 1950

Monday, March 05, 2018

Frustrating week - snow stopped all:

Frustrating week - snow stopped all:
  • choir
  • tae kwon do
  • face-to-face tutorial
  • getting back from North Yorkshire where ancient auntie moved from hospital to care home for respite. At least auntie can now see out of a window and watch the snow.
On top of that, the university union, UCU, called strike action, which meant I couldn't do an on-line tutorial.

Saturday, February 10, 2018

Votes for women

A hundred years ago this week, one of my grandmothers got the right to vote. She was old enough because she'd been born in 1888, but the other grandmother was only 18. She had to wait another ten years till she had the right to vote.

Sunday, January 21, 2018

Working then and now

Have you written your CV? Do you have a job? What is a job? If it's some action that you get paid for, then you probably count it as a job, rather than a chore.

I've worked since I was 16. As soon as I finished taking my GCE exams, I walked down Chorlton high street going in every garage, hairdresser and shop asking for a job until I got one in the local supermarket. The supermarket manager must have asked me about my background because someone got excited about me having taken (I hadn't yet got the results) maths 'O' level. Consequently, they put me on green groceries. This required weighing produce and then doing complicated arithmetical calculations in your head, like if apples are one and seven pence ha'penny a pound, and this customer wants six ounces of apples, then how much must you write on the brown paper bag?*
Maths is not arithmetic; maths is patterns and logic. I can do patterns and logic (though I didn't know it at sixteen). I cannot do mental arithmetic, and I particularly cannot do mental arithmetic when under stress. Can you?

I was rapidly taken off the green grocery counter and put on the tills instead. The tills were fairly amusing because you met lots of customers, usually women and you had a machine to add up all the purchases, even the extra carrier bag that they asked for after you'd totalled. The first day, I used to put the total back in the till again and then add the few pennies for the bag so I could be sure the sum was correctly calculated. Unfortunately, this meant that at the end of the day, the till was short of the money for all the extra times I'd used it as a calculating machine.

Despite these disasters, the manager kept me on for the next five weeks of the summer holiday, paying me five pounds a week; and he took me back for the next two years of sixth form employing me on Saturdays and school holidays. Thus, I earned my tiny fortune that I spent on my two guinea pigs, one rabbit and twenty pet mice, or on Sunday train fares to the peak district, to trek for my Duke of Edinburgh Award scheme efforts. My brother got jobs in university vacations when he worked on roads along with Irish navvies. He earned a fortune compared to me, but that always was the differential between male and female wages.

What 16 year old now can get a summer job so easily? Over ten years ago, I encouraged my teenagers to look for something, but they came home explaining that everywhere they went, they were told, "Come back with your CV". They didn't get paid work till they went to uni where they got part-time jobs as librarians, tutors or lab assistants. One of our kids spent a year between uni and her first professional job working in B&Q, coming home grubby and proud that she'd earned.
My grandmother started working in a china shop at 14, my mother started teaching in an inner city school at 19, and I was 21 when I started teaching. Yet none of our children started working until at least 22. Several took gap years. One did a foundation year before uni. All of them have done masters degrees. So they're all highly educated, and took years about it.

But it seems hard for them to find and keep jobs.  I suspect my fourteen year old grandmother needed some way of earning her keep, some job that would pay her for her efforts so her auntie didn't have to keep her (her father having died and her mother emigrated). My mother wanted a qualification so she could support herself whether or not she found a husband who could keep her. Similarly, girls of my generation were encouraged to work before marriage, expecting to do hairdressing, secretarial or clerical work, and if they were a bit brighter they could be nurses or teachers. Most of them were not expected to go to university and some were actively discouraged. I started by East End primary kids with the enthusiasm of a twenty year old that thought she was doing good. Then I found teaching English as a Foreign Language was fun because of the intellectual challenge of explaining my own language. (You tend to take it for granted, automatically knowing things like the difference between "I do" and "I'm doing" or "you must" and "you don't have to" or "I could have done" and "I was able to do). A a job was a means of earning a living, of paying the rent, eventually a mortgage and contributing to society.
You used to aim to find a job. And you didn't always have to submit a CV.

*BTW, one shilling and seven pence ha'penny for a pound (twelve pence in a shilling and sixteen ounces in a pound) means that I probably should have written 7d on that paper bag. It'd be an easier sum at 1/4 (one and four) a pound because that would be 16d a pound or a penny an ounce.