One of the things I love about teaching is that teachers are always learning from their students.
This year I have had more adult students than I had last year and they have taught me different lessons than the ones taught by adolescents.
Sybille and Roger have taught me a great deal about a basic Swiss characteristic that is ingrained because there is such a deliberate effort to ensure that children and later adults adopt the idea that consensus is far better than conflict in solving problems It makes sense that a neutral country would be non-confrontational, of course, but Sybille and Roger made me really understand this.
Sybille says that one of the problems with always having to resolve conflicts consensually at home or in business is that meetings run by the Swiss are very very long. Sometimes it is a relief to have a German chair a meeting -- more efficient -- and everyone gets home to dinner on time.
Roger was doing some improv in class the other day, simulating an argument between two men at a market. Very abruptly the smaller man ended the argument by giving in, and giving up his right to the location for his stall. Roger said, "There is a Swiss proverb that says that in a tug-of-war, the intelligent person gives in; the stubborn mule or ass refuses to."
Yoshiko taught me many lessons about healthy longevity, some by example; others directly. The Japanese tend to be longer-lived than people in the west. I realize now after spending a week with the 84 year old Yoshiko that diet and exercise are largely responsible. Yoshiko eats four very small meals a day, and seaweed, fish, fruit and vegetables are her staples. She drinks green tea and stays away from alcohol. Last winter she spent 80 days on the ski hills..
She also leads a stress-free life surrounded by beauty and intellectual stimuli. She is an artist so she is not bored, but she says that her life is not work-filled.
When she and Rowboat Flo discussed their healthy longevity, they talked about physical activity. Flo gardens and used to walk miles. Yoshiko skiis. When they discussed keeping their minds active and alert, both women agreed that we need to exercise our minds as well as our bodies. For Yoshiko that means painting and travel and eating a diet rich in brain foods. Flo uses puzzles of various kinds in the same way, and, although her diet is very different from Yoshiko's, it too is healthy, and much of what she eats she grows herself.
I am reading a superb book on travel called The Art of Travel. It is about why we travel, and how we can enrich our lives through travel. By the end of the book it becomes clear that physically going to a new place is just one way to travel. The real secret to enriching one's life lies in learning to see with new eyes; taking the time to study nature and life in general. Travelers, artists and writers who notice the details bring back new ideas and experiences that they can bring to bear in their everyday lives.
Teaching travelers is just another way of learning things that can make life more interesting, and more fulfilling.
Every day I experience something wonderful and surprising. This week Roger taught me how to make apple fritters and how to design a Swiss roof that will never leak. He also reminded me that Shepherd's Pie is delicious, so i am having that for supper tonight. Perhaps most exciting for me is watching him figuure out some knotty language problem,. When he gets it I see a a light dawn. He has once more allowed me to see how language learning takes place.
Showing posts with label teaching. Show all posts
Showing posts with label teaching. Show all posts
Thursday, 5 August 2010
Sunday, 25 July 2010
The People We Are Inspired to Emulate ...
I think we all liked the people who taught the subjects we loved. They were the teachers who gave us our best marks. We looked forward to their classes because they provided a respite from the drudgery of the subjects we disliked. Even their homework was fun to do.
I had been a very good student in junior high school, but when the move to Quebec was foisted on me, I found myself floundering in French and Latin, subjects I had loved. I was 7 years behind in one and a full year behind in the other. Math had also been a subject in which I had excelled, but suddenly math became algebra and geometry. Algebra was do-able but geometry was impossible. I was attempting to do Book 2 without ever having seen Book 1, and my impaired sense of spatial relationships made the challenge even greater. I began to hate school. I went for tutoring in French and geometry, and managed a bare pass from grade 10 to grade 11, but by then I saw myself as a loser.
The one subject I never stopped loving was English. I was still getting good marks in Dr. Smith's class, so I liked going to her classes, liked doing her homework, liked her.
Another child might not have reacted as I did, but I had loved school, and my sense of failure in an area where I had been successful was devastating. I decided that, rather than be seen as stupid, I would begin behaving as if I didn't give a damn. I would fail because I skipped classes, because I thumbed my nose at homework, because I was baaad ... not because I was trying hard and too stupid to learn.
.
In grade 11, I started skipping French classes because I felt like such a dunce. The teacher, Ray Bolla, was strict and reported every absence. So I began skipping school altogether. To make a long story short, I quit school in November and got a job.
Three years later, after Christmas, with two babies and separated from my husband, I returned to the school I had hated. Now I was even further behind in everything. Besides the gap in time, I had lost a full term, so I was scrambling.
I had a terrible French teacher, so I went to Mr. Bolla for tutoring.
I didn't attempt Latin this time round, opting for North American Literature and geography instead.
Geometry was just as hard, if not harder, than before. I was in an enriched math class because there was no room in the regular stream classes. Now I was doing Book 4 without Book 3. My attitude however was very different at 19 than it had been at 16, so I worked rather than giving up, and ended up passing with grades high enough for university acceptance, even in French and geometry.
Dr. Smith was no longer my English teacher. Instead I had Michael Witham, a teacher I also loved. He didn't have a PhD but his MA was from Cambridge and he too was an inspired teacher.
Shortly after I returned to school, Dr. Smith asked me to come to see her. We had a surprising conversation, and she was nearly in tears during it.. She had thought about me often over the years, she said. She wondered whether something she had done had caused me to drop out. I had auditioned for the school play in grade 11, shortly before I quit school entirely, and she had given the part to another girl, not because she had read better, but because she could be counted on to show up for rehearsals.
I too had thought about that a few times, and wondered if it might have made a difference, but I didn't tell her that. I am glad now that I didn't. I am glad I told her that she probably did the only thing that made sense. I said I didn't know whether I would have let her down, but it was certainly a good possibility.
Alana Smith was a good teacher, an inspired and inspiring teacher, but even more important, she was a woman who cared enough to worry about the effect of her decisions on her students.
Like all the really good teachers I have known she tried to give us her best. Sometimes, like all decent people, she undoubtedly made mistakes, but those mistakes were not made with any intent to harm. She was doing her best to do what was right.
I went into teaching because of good teachers like her. The ones who stand out were: in Halifax, Mrs. Shatford, my grade 6 teacher at Quinpool Road Public School, and Miss Hilchie, my English teacher at Cornwallis Junior High; In Pointe Claire, Quebec, Alana Smith, Lloyd Patch, Win Dixon, Michael Witham, and John Jared at John Rennie High School; and, at Macdonald College, the education faculty of McGill, Paul Nash.
All of these people helped me in important ways, and all set wonderful examples for any teacher to try to follow.
I had been a very good student in junior high school, but when the move to Quebec was foisted on me, I found myself floundering in French and Latin, subjects I had loved. I was 7 years behind in one and a full year behind in the other. Math had also been a subject in which I had excelled, but suddenly math became algebra and geometry. Algebra was do-able but geometry was impossible. I was attempting to do Book 2 without ever having seen Book 1, and my impaired sense of spatial relationships made the challenge even greater. I began to hate school. I went for tutoring in French and geometry, and managed a bare pass from grade 10 to grade 11, but by then I saw myself as a loser.
The one subject I never stopped loving was English. I was still getting good marks in Dr. Smith's class, so I liked going to her classes, liked doing her homework, liked her.
Another child might not have reacted as I did, but I had loved school, and my sense of failure in an area where I had been successful was devastating. I decided that, rather than be seen as stupid, I would begin behaving as if I didn't give a damn. I would fail because I skipped classes, because I thumbed my nose at homework, because I was baaad ... not because I was trying hard and too stupid to learn.
.
In grade 11, I started skipping French classes because I felt like such a dunce. The teacher, Ray Bolla, was strict and reported every absence. So I began skipping school altogether. To make a long story short, I quit school in November and got a job.
Three years later, after Christmas, with two babies and separated from my husband, I returned to the school I had hated. Now I was even further behind in everything. Besides the gap in time, I had lost a full term, so I was scrambling.
I had a terrible French teacher, so I went to Mr. Bolla for tutoring.
I didn't attempt Latin this time round, opting for North American Literature and geography instead.
Geometry was just as hard, if not harder, than before. I was in an enriched math class because there was no room in the regular stream classes. Now I was doing Book 4 without Book 3. My attitude however was very different at 19 than it had been at 16, so I worked rather than giving up, and ended up passing with grades high enough for university acceptance, even in French and geometry.
Dr. Smith was no longer my English teacher. Instead I had Michael Witham, a teacher I also loved. He didn't have a PhD but his MA was from Cambridge and he too was an inspired teacher.
Shortly after I returned to school, Dr. Smith asked me to come to see her. We had a surprising conversation, and she was nearly in tears during it.. She had thought about me often over the years, she said. She wondered whether something she had done had caused me to drop out. I had auditioned for the school play in grade 11, shortly before I quit school entirely, and she had given the part to another girl, not because she had read better, but because she could be counted on to show up for rehearsals.
I too had thought about that a few times, and wondered if it might have made a difference, but I didn't tell her that. I am glad now that I didn't. I am glad I told her that she probably did the only thing that made sense. I said I didn't know whether I would have let her down, but it was certainly a good possibility.
Alana Smith was a good teacher, an inspired and inspiring teacher, but even more important, she was a woman who cared enough to worry about the effect of her decisions on her students.
Like all the really good teachers I have known she tried to give us her best. Sometimes, like all decent people, she undoubtedly made mistakes, but those mistakes were not made with any intent to harm. She was doing her best to do what was right.
I went into teaching because of good teachers like her. The ones who stand out were: in Halifax, Mrs. Shatford, my grade 6 teacher at Quinpool Road Public School, and Miss Hilchie, my English teacher at Cornwallis Junior High; In Pointe Claire, Quebec, Alana Smith, Lloyd Patch, Win Dixon, Michael Witham, and John Jared at John Rennie High School; and, at Macdonald College, the education faculty of McGill, Paul Nash.
All of these people helped me in important ways, and all set wonderful examples for any teacher to try to follow.
Wednesday, 21 July 2010
Hidden Truths
Just some reminders that it is important to take time to smell the flowers; that life can still be exciting and learning can continue at 84; that even the toughest looking can be scared of thunderstorms and other loud things; and that in the messiest tangled jungle of life, jewels can be found.
Thursday, 27 May 2010
Kenya smells lovely and has a new identity ...
Kenya went to the groomer today while I taught a lesson on rhetorical devices ... a local woman who breeds horses and dogs and showed her animals for years.
The lesson went well and the groomer loved Kenya ... said she put her head on her lap and just relaxed almost the whole time. She gave her a bag of her homemade natural doggy treats for being such a sweetie.
She thinks (judging by her coat and size) that Kenya is definitely Flat Coat Retriever ... but that the other bits and pieces are Australian Shepherd and Akita. The Akita is a big dog; the females go around Kenya's weight, and the males up to 120 pounds. And, like Kenya, they have very dense double coats that keep them waterproof. The Australian Shepherd and the Akita both carry the blue eyed gene, and the Australian Shepherd would account for the brindling on her legs.
This is Kenya's second professional grooming in 4 1/2 years ... of course I comb her pretty regularly and she has one of those outer coats that is silky and sheds debris easily. The groomer was impressed by how healthy she is and how good she looks.
I am enjoying teaching but I am glad to have a three day weekend. Enjoy your weekend.
Oh ... this evening I ate a salad that was almost completely from my own garden ... only the tomato was bought. It was made up of leaf lettuce, arugula, and a sampling of every herb I am growing.
The lesson went well and the groomer loved Kenya ... said she put her head on her lap and just relaxed almost the whole time. She gave her a bag of her homemade natural doggy treats for being such a sweetie.
She thinks (judging by her coat and size) that Kenya is definitely Flat Coat Retriever ... but that the other bits and pieces are Australian Shepherd and Akita. The Akita is a big dog; the females go around Kenya's weight, and the males up to 120 pounds. And, like Kenya, they have very dense double coats that keep them waterproof. The Australian Shepherd and the Akita both carry the blue eyed gene, and the Australian Shepherd would account for the brindling on her legs.
This is Kenya's second professional grooming in 4 1/2 years ... of course I comb her pretty regularly and she has one of those outer coats that is silky and sheds debris easily. The groomer was impressed by how healthy she is and how good she looks.
I am enjoying teaching but I am glad to have a three day weekend. Enjoy your weekend.
Oh ... this evening I ate a salad that was almost completely from my own garden ... only the tomato was bought. It was made up of leaf lettuce, arugula, and a sampling of every herb I am growing.
Tuesday, 15 December 2009
A Post in Three Parts
Well ... I never thought I'd start a blog post with a quote from Norman Vincent Peale ...
But I guess those inspirational speakers, the oft-quoted folks, and the old cliched homilies are now trite and boring because so many people have quoted them ... and that must have occurred because there were little kernels of truth not too well hidden in the words.
I must say I prefer a little more subtlety, a little more respect for the recipient of these words of wisdom, a metaphor perhaps ... something that requires me to do some thinking ... but here anyway is Peale's piece of ponderous pontification:
"You only lose energy when life becomes dull in your mind. Your mind gets bored and therefore tired of doing nothing. Get interested in something! Get absolutely enthralled in something! Get out of yourself! Be somebody! Do something. The more you lose yourself in something bigger than yourself, the more energy you will have."
You will be pleased to know that the wise old owl, Le Hibou, has pulled me out of my self- absorbed blue funk of illness, and I am now working on other Zentangle adaptations. I still have the cough, but I am working again ... and no longer bored.
I have decided not to go to my last class. The cough? Maybe. But it is also the snow that is drifting down and making the hill out of my place slippery. And the drive into the city. And the fact that I haven't learned much, not because the teacher doesn't know much about art (she does) or because she doesn't care (she does) or because she is lazy (she is most definitely not). No ... the problem is that she doesn't have any teaching skills.
There is an old saw, "Those who can do; those who can't teach". It is intended as a putdown of teachers. Many people think that teaching is something anyone can do, not something learned, and not a natural talent that can be honed. This class has shown me that teaching is an art, a set of skills, something valuable. It is something that not everyone can do. It requires more than a good heart, knowledge, and a willingness to pass on that information.
Our teacher can acquire those skills with further training and study, and when she does, her knowledge of her field, her good heart, and her enthusiasm will make her a good teacher.
I am disappointed because I wanted to learn more about art ... about how to take an interest further ... about techniques ... and tricks of the trade ... and mistakes to avoid. I wanted to come away from this course armed with some tools to make my funky furniture making less fraught with technical mistakes. Oh well, there will be other courses, and books and other sources of advice ... and that greatest teacher of all, trial and error. It's just that I don't have enough time to learn everything by guess and by golly, by trial and error. That's why teachers are so important; they speed up the process of learning.
One of the benefits of the marathon month long writing of the terribly bad novel is that I came to some conclusions about my life ... and took some definitive action yesterday. Not sure I should have ... but made the decision and acted on it anyway. I know that is far too amorphous a statement to make any sense but this is a blog not a private conversation with an intimate friend.
One of the problems with being almost seventy is that you are no longer young enough to be blissfully blind and not old enough to have stopped wanting love.
Happily married friends tell me that they would never marry again; that all relationships become dull with time; become chores to keep up; that men are boring once the children have been raised and sex is no longer a driving force. They certainly don't make me want to find someone to love.
I asked a good friend what married life was like, and I thought, as the details came out, that I couldn't imagine any life I would like less. They were bored by one another, imprisoned by expectations, responsibilities and jealousies, and one at least felt hard done by. I look at Kenya and also feel I do the lion's share of the work, but she is still fun to play with and not at all jealous.
A very close friend who has what the world would see as the perfect marriage has accepted something I could never accept. Her husband makes all the decisions and she has to work within those constraints. She loves him very much and she accepts this element of their relationship. I couldn't, no matter how much I were loved.
Oh I do see good strong relationships around me of course. They are the ones in which the partners are good friends who like to work and play together, who have a great deal in common and seem to keep growing as individual people and together as couples. The problem at nearly seventy, especially if you live alone on an isolated lake with your dog, is finding someone who could be that kind of friend. And when you think you might have found him, you discover something that makes him an untenable choice.
But I guess those inspirational speakers, the oft-quoted folks, and the old cliched homilies are now trite and boring because so many people have quoted them ... and that must have occurred because there were little kernels of truth not too well hidden in the words.
I must say I prefer a little more subtlety, a little more respect for the recipient of these words of wisdom, a metaphor perhaps ... something that requires me to do some thinking ... but here anyway is Peale's piece of ponderous pontification:
"You only lose energy when life becomes dull in your mind. Your mind gets bored and therefore tired of doing nothing. Get interested in something! Get absolutely enthralled in something! Get out of yourself! Be somebody! Do something. The more you lose yourself in something bigger than yourself, the more energy you will have."
You will be pleased to know that the wise old owl, Le Hibou, has pulled me out of my self- absorbed blue funk of illness, and I am now working on other Zentangle adaptations. I still have the cough, but I am working again ... and no longer bored.
*****************************************************
I have decided not to go to my last class. The cough? Maybe. But it is also the snow that is drifting down and making the hill out of my place slippery. And the drive into the city. And the fact that I haven't learned much, not because the teacher doesn't know much about art (she does) or because she doesn't care (she does) or because she is lazy (she is most definitely not). No ... the problem is that she doesn't have any teaching skills.
There is an old saw, "Those who can do; those who can't teach". It is intended as a putdown of teachers. Many people think that teaching is something anyone can do, not something learned, and not a natural talent that can be honed. This class has shown me that teaching is an art, a set of skills, something valuable. It is something that not everyone can do. It requires more than a good heart, knowledge, and a willingness to pass on that information.
Our teacher can acquire those skills with further training and study, and when she does, her knowledge of her field, her good heart, and her enthusiasm will make her a good teacher.
I am disappointed because I wanted to learn more about art ... about how to take an interest further ... about techniques ... and tricks of the trade ... and mistakes to avoid. I wanted to come away from this course armed with some tools to make my funky furniture making less fraught with technical mistakes. Oh well, there will be other courses, and books and other sources of advice ... and that greatest teacher of all, trial and error. It's just that I don't have enough time to learn everything by guess and by golly, by trial and error. That's why teachers are so important; they speed up the process of learning.
**************************************
One of the benefits of the marathon month long writing of the terribly bad novel is that I came to some conclusions about my life ... and took some definitive action yesterday. Not sure I should have ... but made the decision and acted on it anyway. I know that is far too amorphous a statement to make any sense but this is a blog not a private conversation with an intimate friend.
One of the problems with being almost seventy is that you are no longer young enough to be blissfully blind and not old enough to have stopped wanting love.
Happily married friends tell me that they would never marry again; that all relationships become dull with time; become chores to keep up; that men are boring once the children have been raised and sex is no longer a driving force. They certainly don't make me want to find someone to love.
I asked a good friend what married life was like, and I thought, as the details came out, that I couldn't imagine any life I would like less. They were bored by one another, imprisoned by expectations, responsibilities and jealousies, and one at least felt hard done by. I look at Kenya and also feel I do the lion's share of the work, but she is still fun to play with and not at all jealous.
A very close friend who has what the world would see as the perfect marriage has accepted something I could never accept. Her husband makes all the decisions and she has to work within those constraints. She loves him very much and she accepts this element of their relationship. I couldn't, no matter how much I were loved.
Oh I do see good strong relationships around me of course. They are the ones in which the partners are good friends who like to work and play together, who have a great deal in common and seem to keep growing as individual people and together as couples. The problem at nearly seventy, especially if you live alone on an isolated lake with your dog, is finding someone who could be that kind of friend. And when you think you might have found him, you discover something that makes him an untenable choice.
********************************
Tuesday, 27 October 2009
Update on Chaos
My life continues to be overloaded ... not unpleasantly ... but I do not deal well with overload.
I have decided to hang on to my old Toyota and have scheduled her next oil and tire change. Must deal with a couple of bodywork things before winter as well.
I have accompanied Yashiko on two excursions, the second one to the lake where we had coffee and banana bread and took Kenya for a walk around the lake. Beforehand we photographed tourists on the steam train and wandered through the cars. I found myself (with a Japanese camera) photographing an old Japanese tourist taking photos with her cell phone of Canadian tourists. I loved my time with Yashiko.
Tomorrow I start work (9 hours over three weeks) with Eberhart, a German student who is determined to learn English because he can no longer count on the language proficiency of his wife since they have recently separated. We will hike with the Wakefield hikers tomorrow. Kenya will be pleased. I hope Eberhart likes dogs.
Tomorrow evening I will have a couple of neighbours for dinner. Tom (Clare's widower) needs such breaks from his solitary existence. He goes daily to the cemetery.
Today I messed up the amphibious chair I am doing for the silent auction donation and so have been fixing the mistakes off and on all day. I also did a run to Reno Depot to buy an outdoor lamp for Peter to install. I hope that Thursday, Friday and the weekend are peaceful days because the following week is going to be hectic.
Sketchbooking on Tuesday, Eberhart on Wednesday, a trip to Montreal on Thursday, Julie and Pat's wedding (and so a hair appointment beforehand) on Saturday ... and, of course, Nanowrimo all of November!
It is becoming increasingly clear to me that Nanowrimo may fall off the rails ... or my sanity will.
Oh ... forgot to mention ... I have been asked to produce a custom chair for La Source/The Well on Somerset ... the Anglican day centre for women ... to accompany the two wonky women they have already purchased ... one that incorporates their name and logo ... I am really looking forward to working with them ... after Christmas!
I have decided to hang on to my old Toyota and have scheduled her next oil and tire change. Must deal with a couple of bodywork things before winter as well.
I have accompanied Yashiko on two excursions, the second one to the lake where we had coffee and banana bread and took Kenya for a walk around the lake. Beforehand we photographed tourists on the steam train and wandered through the cars. I found myself (with a Japanese camera) photographing an old Japanese tourist taking photos with her cell phone of Canadian tourists. I loved my time with Yashiko.
Tomorrow I start work (9 hours over three weeks) with Eberhart, a German student who is determined to learn English because he can no longer count on the language proficiency of his wife since they have recently separated. We will hike with the Wakefield hikers tomorrow. Kenya will be pleased. I hope Eberhart likes dogs.
Tomorrow evening I will have a couple of neighbours for dinner. Tom (Clare's widower) needs such breaks from his solitary existence. He goes daily to the cemetery.
Today I messed up the amphibious chair I am doing for the silent auction donation and so have been fixing the mistakes off and on all day. I also did a run to Reno Depot to buy an outdoor lamp for Peter to install. I hope that Thursday, Friday and the weekend are peaceful days because the following week is going to be hectic.
Sketchbooking on Tuesday, Eberhart on Wednesday, a trip to Montreal on Thursday, Julie and Pat's wedding (and so a hair appointment beforehand) on Saturday ... and, of course, Nanowrimo all of November!
It is becoming increasingly clear to me that Nanowrimo may fall off the rails ... or my sanity will.
Oh ... forgot to mention ... I have been asked to produce a custom chair for La Source/The Well on Somerset ... the Anglican day centre for women ... to accompany the two wonky women they have already purchased ... one that incorporates their name and logo ... I am really looking forward to working with them ... after Christmas!
Friday, 23 October 2009
Too Too Busy ... but Wired
Two days ago the straw that breaks backs fluttered into view and settled on our lake. Rowboat Flo's daughter's Honda CRV with a For Sale sign on it is parked at Flo's cottage. I need a 4WD vehicle. The make of choice is the Honda CRV. She is asking a reasonable price for a vehicle in very good shape. I liked test driving it, even though I had to dust off my hot rodding standard shift skills as I took it over rough roads with steep hills and sharp corners. Unfortunately my old Toyota is still running fine. It is now ugly and dusty and filled with dog hair and sand, and it has a few bumps and bruises caused by my ineptitude when I park, one skid on ice, and the suicidal tendencies of a local doe, but generally speaking it works well. However; my road demands far more of a vehicle in the bad seasons than this low slung Toyota sedan can muster. I still have not decided.
On Wednesday evening the language school called ... I have some teaching gigs ... the first happened yesterday. My task was to entertain Yoshika, an 84 year old Japanese woman who puts most of us to shame physically (she still skiis, hikes, and dives ... and is a tireless traveler). She proved to be a really interesting companion. She is an artist and calligrapher whose work hangs in Japan's national galleries as well as in European museums and galleries. We visited artists and potters and then settled in at Le Hibou for coffee where we enjoyed wonderful service, food and ambiance. Our coffee table which was an old door painted with flowers on the panels sat between two comfortable old couches. We hope to see one another once more this weekend when I bring her up to the lake for tea.
While we were gadding about in the rain we went to Art de la Paix where Kelly informed me that she has been asked to donate something for a silent auction in Chelsea. She wants to donate one of my chairs, but she wants to keep a constant supply in the shop. I promised to paint a little faster ... stupid promise, I know.
I am feeling overwhelmed by the car decisions, by Kelly's insistence on MORE and still MORE, by the money-gobbling habits of this house and the ever-presence of Peter (can't even use my upstairs bathroom while he is around because the scaffolding climbs the front wall of the house), by the new demands of River Echo (isn't that a lovely name?), and by my reckless decision to accept the Nanowrimo challenge of producing a 50,000 word first draft of a novel in the month of November ... the same month I begin my sketchbooking course. I awaken from nightmares about having accidents with cars I am test driving to musings about chair designs. Last night I was up at 2 drinking cocoa with French stick pieces dunked in it in the vain hope that I would be able to return to bed to sleep till morning.
Kenya accompanied me downstairs, accepted a bit of turkey as a middle-of-the-night snack, and then sleepily followed me back upstairs. She was sound asleep while I pecked away here at the keyboard, absolutely wired.
On Wednesday evening the language school called ... I have some teaching gigs ... the first happened yesterday. My task was to entertain Yoshika, an 84 year old Japanese woman who puts most of us to shame physically (she still skiis, hikes, and dives ... and is a tireless traveler). She proved to be a really interesting companion. She is an artist and calligrapher whose work hangs in Japan's national galleries as well as in European museums and galleries. We visited artists and potters and then settled in at Le Hibou for coffee where we enjoyed wonderful service, food and ambiance. Our coffee table which was an old door painted with flowers on the panels sat between two comfortable old couches. We hope to see one another once more this weekend when I bring her up to the lake for tea.
While we were gadding about in the rain we went to Art de la Paix where Kelly informed me that she has been asked to donate something for a silent auction in Chelsea. She wants to donate one of my chairs, but she wants to keep a constant supply in the shop. I promised to paint a little faster ... stupid promise, I know.
I am feeling overwhelmed by the car decisions, by Kelly's insistence on MORE and still MORE, by the money-gobbling habits of this house and the ever-presence of Peter (can't even use my upstairs bathroom while he is around because the scaffolding climbs the front wall of the house), by the new demands of River Echo (isn't that a lovely name?), and by my reckless decision to accept the Nanowrimo challenge of producing a 50,000 word first draft of a novel in the month of November ... the same month I begin my sketchbooking course. I awaken from nightmares about having accidents with cars I am test driving to musings about chair designs. Last night I was up at 2 drinking cocoa with French stick pieces dunked in it in the vain hope that I would be able to return to bed to sleep till morning.
Kenya accompanied me downstairs, accepted a bit of turkey as a middle-of-the-night snack, and then sleepily followed me back upstairs. She was sound asleep while I pecked away here at the keyboard, absolutely wired.
In spite of all my protestations about feeling overwhelmed by life, it is also exhiliarating to be meeting artists and travelers, to be attending storytelling performances by the best in the business (I did tell you about Ivan Coyote's performance on Monday evening, didn't I?) and to eat in a restaurant that combines the best of everything a restaurant should offer. I feel very alive ... if exhausted.
And it is gratifying to be in demand ... and appreciated. Imagine! Kelly has a whole store filled with beautiful things by real artists ... and she wants to showcase one of my pieces. But I have to be careful ... I don't have skill ... just a beginner's enthusiasm ... and that could be destroyed by being pressured to become an assembly line producer, especially now that I cannot work outdoors so cannot use alkyd primer as a base on the difficult chairs.
In the midst of all this turmoil, my first great grand daughter arrived. She is Lindsay and Johnnie's first child, Deb's first grandchild, and the first great niece for Zoom, Mud Mama and Techwood (and that's just a fraction of the family this baby has joined) ~TA DA~ a big welcome to little Chelsea Katherine ~TA DA~ who was born two nights ago. There is a wonderful welcome on Zoom's blog (knitnut.net) for this tiny little soul (5 pounds 9 ounces) with the long legs and arms and red hair. I can only add my genuine delight and echo Zoom's feelings ... and vow, as she has, to get my own baby sweater pieces sewn together.
And it is gratifying to be in demand ... and appreciated. Imagine! Kelly has a whole store filled with beautiful things by real artists ... and she wants to showcase one of my pieces. But I have to be careful ... I don't have skill ... just a beginner's enthusiasm ... and that could be destroyed by being pressured to become an assembly line producer, especially now that I cannot work outdoors so cannot use alkyd primer as a base on the difficult chairs.
In the midst of all this turmoil, my first great grand daughter arrived. She is Lindsay and Johnnie's first child, Deb's first grandchild, and the first great niece for Zoom, Mud Mama and Techwood (and that's just a fraction of the family this baby has joined) ~TA DA~ a big welcome to little Chelsea Katherine ~TA DA~ who was born two nights ago. There is a wonderful welcome on Zoom's blog (knitnut.net) for this tiny little soul (5 pounds 9 ounces) with the long legs and arms and red hair. I can only add my genuine delight and echo Zoom's feelings ... and vow, as she has, to get my own baby sweater pieces sewn together.
Wednesday, 27 May 2009
Back to Teaching
It was a big change from my everyday hermit's life where I sing aimless little tunes as I paint or talk to Kenya from time to time. ... a life where I can live almost entirely in my own head. Yesterday I had to spend three hours in conversation with a very demanding student.
The good thing is that he is intelligent and challenging ... and he makes me think.
His English is as good as that of most Canadian students I have met and better than the drivel spoken by your average teen. He leaps on words like enigma and dilemma and demands that they be clearly defined so that he can used them and all their derivatives intelligently.
On the negative side is his propensity for writing obscurely as he makes sense of complex ideas and follows them into knotty little puzzles that need untangling.
So ... my job in the next 9 hours I have with him is to challenge him with vocabulary and ideas that are new to him and to encourage him to write clearly about them.
The other teacher working with him on Mondays and Fridays noted that he paused while he spoke. I asked what goes on during these pauses because I suspected that they were unrelated to the language he was speaking. He told me that comprehends things as patterns, almost diagrammatically, and chooses which thread of logic or which part of the whole pattern to choose for the conversation given his audience and the topic.
So ... I will simply pretend while I have him as my student that I have been gifted with a very bright English speaking student who does not want to waste his time on things that are boring. But I might also try to introduce the concept of empathy into the mix as I challenge him intellectually.
I am thinking about starting with the words "enigma" and "dilemma" and seeing how they play out with the notions of assimilation and apartheid ... perhaps as they relate to aboriginal peoples here in Canada and elsewhere ... perhaps as they relate to the Middle East conflict.
Any ideas?
Besides waking up my brain, this job has the advantage of paying better than dog sitting!
The good thing is that he is intelligent and challenging ... and he makes me think.
His English is as good as that of most Canadian students I have met and better than the drivel spoken by your average teen. He leaps on words like enigma and dilemma and demands that they be clearly defined so that he can used them and all their derivatives intelligently.
On the negative side is his propensity for writing obscurely as he makes sense of complex ideas and follows them into knotty little puzzles that need untangling.
So ... my job in the next 9 hours I have with him is to challenge him with vocabulary and ideas that are new to him and to encourage him to write clearly about them.
The other teacher working with him on Mondays and Fridays noted that he paused while he spoke. I asked what goes on during these pauses because I suspected that they were unrelated to the language he was speaking. He told me that comprehends things as patterns, almost diagrammatically, and chooses which thread of logic or which part of the whole pattern to choose for the conversation given his audience and the topic.
So ... I will simply pretend while I have him as my student that I have been gifted with a very bright English speaking student who does not want to waste his time on things that are boring. But I might also try to introduce the concept of empathy into the mix as I challenge him intellectually.
I am thinking about starting with the words "enigma" and "dilemma" and seeing how they play out with the notions of assimilation and apartheid ... perhaps as they relate to aboriginal peoples here in Canada and elsewhere ... perhaps as they relate to the Middle East conflict.
Any ideas?
Besides waking up my brain, this job has the advantage of paying better than dog sitting!
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