Digigran

On Building as a reflection of literacy

2006-05-16T04:01:00.000-07:00

Or La Plus Ca Change
I have noticed that my colleagues have suddenly become very serious about their BLOGGING. See Dr Kate's post here and Dr Joolz's here. (Go to Joolz on May19th- I can't navigate round her new BLOG yet- it doesn't seem to work like Blogger.)
Then I realised they must be conscious that the students on this course which they run (See the Module 3 choices) have recently been asked to BLOG and would probably be reading theirs as examples. Which raises the question of how far BLOGs are constrained by the known identity of the BLOGGER.
I, for one, am missing the regular fix of narrative from Ruffield, tant pis!
Joolz however continues to divert with images of Trois Tetes looking wet. See
Anyway decided I had better do a more "seious" post myself, just in case any of them logged on to mine. Do let me know if any of you do...
SERIOUSLY THOUGH...
This post was stimulated by the wonderful images of the Chrysler Building that Dr Joolz brought back from NY. I was inspired to look up more facts about it and its construction only to find an ongong debate about the loss of authenticity in creativity and craft.
See
The trouble with all the talk about the decay of artisanship
is that it is true. It has always been true. It was true when the last
wattle-weaver died and they took to building houses of brick. And it will be
true when the tools and machinery of the contemporary arts are replaced by atomic explosions...
The master-workmen of our time drive steel to steel with
hammer strokes of air. But they still depend upon the judgment of hand and
eye. And their necks are still breakable" (27).
I was reminded of Plato and his anxiety about the loss of human faculties consequent on the introduction of writing:
If men learn this, it will implant forgetfulness in their
souls; they will cease to exercise memory because they rely on that which is
written, calling things to remembrance no longer from within themselves, but by
means of external marks. What you have discovered is a recipe not for memory,
but for reminder. And it is no true wisdom that you offer your disciples, but
only its semblance, for by telling them of many things without teaching them you
will make them seem to know much, while for the most part they know nothing, and
as men filled, not with wisdom, but with the conceit of wisdom, they will be a
burden to their fellows.
(Plato, Phaedrus 275a-b)
Which brings me to the latest example of the Luddite in the surprising guise of
Susan Greenfield, who one hoped might have known better.
Does this mean young people are acquiring or will need different skills? v Memory, for example, may no longer be as essential as it was for those of us who had to learn reams of Latin grammar, but with everything just a click away, perhaps we are at risk of losing our imagination, that mysterious and special cognitive gift that until now has always made the book so much better than the film.
Books better than films, always? I suppose this book has been found to be better than this film . But so what. There are good films and bad films, good books and bad books. Sometimes they deal with the same story, sometimes they don't nut they have different affordances and satisfy different tastes and desires.
For more on Greenfield's views on issues of creativity and the digital see http://education.guardian.co.uk/schools/comment/story/0,,1760235,00.html.
Then let me know what you think.
I for one will only be teaching Alexander Latin of this order:
Ceasar ad sum iam forte
Pliny et erat (Ah, ah! Please note subtle segue into main meme of this BLOG.)
So perhaps we can enjoy this from here together. Long before he is 15, though, I hope.

Gonzo the Great-moi?

2006-05-11T04:14:00.000-07:00

Could you see me as:

OR:

Just done a Muppet Personality Test taken from here: http://images.blogthings.com/themuppetpersonalitytest/gonzo.jpg ,
which I found on Dr Rob's blog and which provided admirable relief from the boredom of proof editing the NATE journal. However, not so happy with the result, especially as Rob's profile also came out as Gonzo.
Rob, of course, managed to get both image and the test itself on his BLOG. I failed miserably at this, hence the URL.

But can we both be Gonzo's, I ask? I know I could never be Miss Piggy - much too slim - and anyway that soubriquet has been earned by someone else in the school of education (not, of course, Joolz or Kate) but surely there were other female characters in the Muppet Show I could be? Would even have settled for Kermit, as in one school the kids decided to call me thatbecause of my taste in green silk stockings, amongst other colours. (When I was young I was much influenced by Ursula in Women in Love, See.)
But Gonzo!!!!! Surely not.
What do you think, hypocrite lecteur, mon semblable, frere ou soeur ?
Gonzo is however slightly preferable to the granny shown here:

Ah well, proof reading calls.

On Teaching and the Flightless Cormorant

2006-05-10T14:33:00.000-07:00

This is a flightless cormorant. I snapped it (my photos remain at the level of snaps whatever the context) on my visit to the Galapagos. For more information about the bird see: http://www.nature.ca/notebooks/english/galapa.htm.
It seems a perfect analogy for the kinds of young teachers we are currently producing. Just as the cormorant flew into a habitat where the stocks of fish were so rich and the competitors so few, it evolved to develop its swimming and diving at the expense of flight, so young teachers enter departments, which after ten years of a National Curriculum, abound with resources, schemes of work and predigested reading materials - all photocopy ready - so that they see no need to devise lessons of their own. Moreover there is far less competition for jobs and so fewerof them need to be anything other than a confident deliverer of ready-made schemes of work and as a result many of these young teachers, but thankfully not all, appear to be losing the power of flight. By that I mean the ability to create a magical lesson from the classes' own interests that allows both teacher and taught to soar above the everyday.
As you can see, I have been thrown back into my old identityas educationalist, by a round of visits to school to assess the performance of new entrants to the profession. I was impressed by the young teachers' enthusiasm and obvious warm relationships with their classes, but also more than a little dismayed by the abundance of pre-prepared, departmental materials in use.

A system that subjects everything to measurement, that sets minimum standards for practitioners and expects a particular kind of performance from the pupils will always have this effect. As one of the tutors remarked, as I described a particularly dire condensation of Jane Eyre to small chunks of text which omitted the whole Lowood experience, what the children reaaly need is more narrative, less textual features. I can agree with that. With my other hat on, I also hope Alexander's life will be full of stories- some of them about Edward.

So what is Motorhead?

2006-05-07T02:37:00.000-07:00

Hi
Have lost the plot a bit with blogging the Edward stories. Fot those of you who haven't yet met him this is Edward.
Still intend to write stories for Alexander but have decided they are bit boring as a post- unlike Dr Kate's serialised Fieldnotes which are compulsive reading. Instead, will return to the life and its ennuies.

Visited digibaby yesterday unannounced; this is against the advice of more experienced grannies See but on this occasion it was OK. Was admitted only to to find that he had been left sleeping in the garage. His parents obviously are more enlightened than the d-in-law of my friend Jane. See post for 20/04/06.
Anyway, all were surprisingly happy to see me. Alexander soon woke up and was ready for play. He is amazingly active for a five month old and wants to bounce and sit up as you talk to him. I began to perform from my repertoire of songs suitable for little-ones, forgetting that his dad, once he got to an age when he could express an opinion, had begged me neverto sing to him again. It is a very sad truth that although I have a wonderful memory for lyrics of all kinds from The Marseillaise to Eleanor Rigby , but my ability to hold a tune for any more than a few seconds is minimal. I had given my best rendition of all the verses of The Wheels on the Bus and was a good way into I love little Pussy simultaneously stroking Leonard, the cat, when my son suggested Alexander might prefer arendition of Motorhead.
He then took the boy on his knee and they bounced up and down together, his dad making loud rhythmic noises and Alexander gurgling. This was Motorhead, I guessed. Something that up to now had passed over my head. SoI went to the Official Website and discovered that my grandson is being exposed to the loudest rock music on the planet! The iconography is a bit daunting too .
See this:

And:

A bit different from:

Reading through the group's history I realised thatwhen they began producing records in 1975 I had been busy tunelessly singing other kinds of songs to my sons. One went like this:

While riding in my limousine
What to my surprise
A little Bubble Car was following me
About one-third my size
The guy must have wanted to pass me out
As he kept on tooting his horn - beep beep!
I'll show him that a limousine
Is not a car to scorn.
Beep,Beep,Beep, Beep,
His horn went beep,beep,beep.
Full version here.

On refelection though, I see the principle behind each of our choices is much the same. -lots of action and exciting noises. I remained a bit unsure about the skulls.

Of course this time I heeded my Good Granny's Guide and said nothing.

Accidental (Sorry, Ali please don't sue)

2006-04-26T14:47:00.000-07:00

Edward is pictured in the Skoda pick-up as a v. young pup.
(He loves the pick-up and usually feels v. safe when sitting on the passenger seat)
However...

Just when I thought that nothing more exciting could happen to Edward this week, my beloved, usully the most reliable of men did something rather silly.
Our garden in Nottingham is infested with grey squirrels, who, dissatisfied with the accommodation provided by a splendid range of trees surrounding the property, have taken to squatting in the attics. Squirrel Nutkins they are not. They leave evidence of their destructive habits by the scattering insulating material from the atticsover the borders nearest the house. They also bury conkers everywhere- especially in my pots.They dig up bulbs and I am sure they eat them.

Digidoc enraged by the assault on his property, determined to eradicate the newest little pest and all his family. In D.doc's defence, the said squirrel had already destroyed three bird feeders and a newly planted tree. To accomplish this he purchased a humane trap from the pet shop, which he loaded liberally with mixed nuts.
Of course the aerial rat (D.doc's term) could not resist these treats as they were the very best of nuts,Waitrose organics, left over from a dinner party. One squirrel was successfully trapped. This left Digidoc with something of a dilemma. How to dispose of the creature ?

Although D.doc detests grey squirrels, he is v. tender-hearted re all animals and is unable to kill them. (Perhaps it's an extension of the Hippocratic oath). He decided to liberate it in the woods , which line the Via Gellia, the main road to our Derbyshire cottage from Cromford.
He put the cage and its contents in the back of our small pick-up truck, placed Edward in the front seat of said vehicle and drove into the Peak District. Once outside Cromford, he drew into a lay-by, selecting a spot where folk often stop to leave out scraps for the local wild life, including peanuts for the squirrels. Gingerly he lifted out the cage.

Now, as I have perhaps told you before, Edward is very keen on chasing squirrels and noticed this manoeuvre. Eager to be part of the action, he jumped around in the van's cab, scrabbling to get out so vigorously that he mangedsimultaneously. to lock both doors and set off the wipers

Unfortunately,Digidoc had left the keys in the ignition with the engin running.
What to do? All windows were securely closed and there was no obvious wayto get in. The cab was getting hotter and hotter and Edward was beginning to pant- soon he would be gasping for breath. Digidoc loves his pick-up truck- See why here , but he loves Edward more,
See above, a picture of the pair taken outside the cottage.

So resolutely, he selected a large rock from the verges and began to smash it against the side window. The window did not break immediately but after several attempts finally imploded, spreading shards of glass everywhere. Edward, cowering in the foot well was unhurt but very traumatised. Surprisingly none of the many lorry drivers or motor cyclists who passed the scene stopped to see what was going on!

The pair arrived at the cottage, both looking very sorry for themselves.

I nursed Edward on my lap and spoke soothing words to them both.
But I could just imagine the comments if I had contrived to lock the dog in a car and come home with a busted window. I know who would have been blamed and it wouldn't have been the dog!
Still it makes a good vignette and is a diversion from the marking.

The tale of a bold, bad rat

2006-04-25T10:43:00.000-07:00

Inspired by Dr Kate' astonishingly good foray into the world of literature , but doubtful of my ability to emulate her brilliance in the campus novel, I have decided to begin my own alternative writing career much more simply, with a series of children's books, set in the little village in Derbyshire peak District where I live for half of the week. I shre my time between them rather t like the kidsin the Squid and the Whale. This is a most dreadful, but wonderful film, inspiring in me Aristotelian emotions of pity and fear. You must all see it and take note of it's stark message about the effect of adult bad behaviour i=on their children's lives. Oh that awful father/professor man, Bernard ( you must place accent on the last syllableof his name. Personally, I could find nothing much wrong with the mum except in her agreeing to his ludicrous plans re joint custody. Her choice of the tennis pro as new partner seemed eminently preferable to the frightful opinionated father. To follow what I'm on about see this review

Anyway, I have been intending to write short stories for Alexander ever since he was born but have lacked the courage to get started. Now, stimulated by Kate's work, which is truly brilliant,I am taking the plunge.
I want to write animal stories based on my dog, Edward's life without the tweeness or dressing up element of the stuff I read as a kid, Brabbits and Beatrix Potter, little grey rabbits and Alison Uttley, peruvian Bears and Michael Bond,and of course dear Edward Bear and Tigger and Rabbitin A.A. Milne etc. I intend to complete a series with an opening story which introduces me and Edward and the village , but as a little story from my own fieldwork is already in my head, I will begin there.
Here goes.

Edward and the Bold Bad Rat

Dear Little One, I recently told you how much Elaine and Edward enjoy their walks in the hills which surround Little Tor, the Derbyshire village where they live and how they often find adventures when they are out walking. They also like to make visits to friends in the morning, have a little something and take a look around a new place, so they were delighted when your other granny, Jules, said she and her dog, Suki, would like them to come for a walk with them.
Jules and Suki live in beautiful old farm house on a country estate. There is a large lake, a swiftly flowing stream and dark pine woods. Edward likes to walk there because there are so many wonderful places to poke his nose in and sniff out other creatures. He can smell lovely scents from the squirrels, rabbits, hares and pheasants who live there. Suki likes that too and is good at leading Edward to lots of special hiding places. Suki specially likes chasing the pheasants. The pheasants are being looked after very carefully so that the men with long guns can shoot them for fun. There are lots of them. But Jules warns that the gamekeeper might even shoot them if they doesn't do what Elaine says and keep close to her. Edward listens carefully to this. he knows what had happened to the sandy dog in Little Tor who had ran away from his owner when he was young to chase the sheep in the top field. He had had one eye shot out by the farmer and now only goes out on a lead. Edward would hate having to stay on his and he knowsknows he must never chase sheep.

When they arrived at Jules' house they found her looking a little worried.
"My dear," she said to Elaine, "I think that rats have moved into my
out house and are sneaking into the house at night. They have been nibbling through storage bags, gobbling up the corn kept for the pheasants and have made nests in the woodpile. There is a particularly big bold rat who runs on my work tops and steals from my vegetable baskets. Suki can smell him but is much too frightened to catch him and I do not know how to get him
out."
Edward's ears pricked up when he heard the word rats. He knew he was particularly clever at finding out the places where rats and mice like to hide and
hoped that Jules would let him chase them for her. He had been told by his
mother, when he was a very young puppy, all about his ancestor John Joiner.
John Joiner had saved naughty,Tom Kitten from the dreadful fate of being baked in a roly-poly pudding by Anna Maria and Samuel Whiskers. Edward hoped he could do something brave too. He had already chased a fierce old rat away from the compost heap at home in Little Tor and was sure he could be very helpful and get rid of Jules' unwanted visitor. He was very pleased when he heard Elaine say,
"That is very serious, Jules, you can't let rats live here. We must let Edward have a look when we come back from our walk. He is very good at sniffing rats out and has already caught two\of them who tried to live in my compost heap." Jules agreed.

First, they went for a lazy, long walk around the estate and through the village. The sort of walk Edward really likes with lots of time for exploring new places. He and Suki ran arounf d together playing chase in the fields and and hide and seek in the woods.They passed a field full of ewes with their new lambs and they were very careful not to chase them at all. Suki startled a hare in a field and Edward rushed round and round in a circle, trying to catch him for her, but the hare was much too quick and got away from both of them quite easily.
By another cottage, where two small dogs were yapping firercely, they came across a large group of pheasants and ran straight at them, just to watch them whirr up into the sky, making their crackling call, but both dogs came straight back to
Elaine and Jules when they called out crossly,"Come here you two, or you will be shot."

They climbed over stiles from field to woodland and crossed a fast flowing stream on a narrow, wooden plank to the village green. They watched as the ducks dabbled in the village pond or weed. Edward paddled in the shallows to get a better look at the frogs who were hiding in the reeds. In the village, Jules helped the post man find the right house to deliver a big parcel. Edward was disappointed because Jess, the cat, was not in his van. "A pity," thought Edward, "No one shoots dogs for chasing cats." He did find a large black and white cat on a shed roof to bark at, but it was not as good as chasing one.

Finally they got back to the house and Jules made some toast with lavender honey and a strong cup of tea. Perhaps you remember , my little one, that Edward particularly likes toast and honey. He likkes honey just as much as his namesake, Edward Bear, who you know better as the inimitable, Winnie the Pooh. Edward made sure he got his share of toast by sitting up straight and looking very longingly at Elaine, who finally gave him a little something. Suki was contented with her chicken and biscuits

After this little treat, they all went out into the yard. Edward felt a prickle of excitement as he began to catch the scent of small animals hiding there and when Jules opened the big wooden doors to the old barn he began to wag his tail from side to side in expectation. He rushed straight in. Suki followed him eagerly. A shaft of light illuminated the dark, musty place, full of cobwebs and spiders.In the gloom at the darkest end he found a large woodpile, smelling strongly of rats.
Now, my little one, you must not worry about what happens to the rats. Rats are horrible creatures. They sneak into your home and steal all manner of food stuffs. They hide their supplies in nooks and crannies. They are very dirty in their habits and leave a strong smell of decay around the place. There was a very strong, stale, musty smell in the barn.

Suki ran straight to the woodpile and sniffed intently, pointing with
her nose to where she thought rat might be. Edward followed her. He yelped and whined and sniffed and scratched at the logs. He pushed hiis nose into a hole in the pile and continued to scrabble, his bottom sticking up in the air, his tail wagging madly.
"That's a good sign there is rat's in there," said Elaine, "He always whines with excitement when he can smell something."
Jules lifted a big top branch from the pile and immediately a rat peered out and darted straight back in again. Edward dived after it and in a trice he came out with a huge, fat rat in his jaws. He shook it and shook it savagely, but it bit at his nose with its sharp yellow teeth and he dropped it from his mouth onto the dark, grainy floor. The rat seemed huge. It stood on it's back legs looking very fierce indeed.

Jules and Elaine were frightened as they knew rats can bite badly and it was trying to get Edward's throat. But Edward was not afraid. He pounced quickly on the rat again and grabbed it by its neck. He shook it and shook for what seemed along time until it went quite still. He dropped his prize at Jules' feet.
" Good boy," shouted Jules, "Well done!" and she picked the dead rat up with a spade that was hanging on the wall and carried it out to her bonfire in the garden.
" Now the other rats in there will gather all their little rats together and leave the out house, just like the rats did in theTale of Samuel Whiskers," said Elaine.
You may want to read this stroy, my little one. It was written by Beatrix Potter who is famous for telling us stories about Peter Rabbit and Jemima Puddleduck. They all lived in the country too.
" Next time Edward comes he can check all the sheds again to
make sure they have not come back," said Jules. Edward felt very important . He was a barn inspector now. What a responsible job for a young dog!

And that, my little one, is how a quiet morning visit to a friend turned into another big adventure for Edward. Elaine was proud of Edward and when they got home she gave him his favourite treat, crunchy pig's ear, for a job well done. Edward curled up in his basket with it and Elaine went back to her computer to write.

The End

So that's the story
I will add the pictures next time. If there are any children out there who canread it and give me an opinion, I would be very happy to have your comments. There will be photos to go with the story soon.
And so to mark.

Sometimes it's hard to be...

2006-04-20T20:28:00.000-07:00

Tales from the kitchen cabinet
Have been listening to tales from the other grans about the frustrations of being grandparent. It's a bit like when you are pregnant and people begin to tell you all about their birthing experiences -and these are never good. Same for grand-parenting, here's an example.
Jane has a new granddaughter and is eager to see her as much of her as possible. Well I can relate to that- it's natural isn't it? She lives quite near her and has offered to babysit whenever. Her son thinks this is a good idea , but the family needs two kinds of baby -sitting and Jane always draws the short straw. She gets the dog!
The dog's name is Wilson and he is a Basset Hound.

Jane is not very fond of Basset hounds. This one's called Wilson. She says he's just a big lump of useless meat that won't do anything she says, just stares at her mournfully. He slobbers continually and gets the stuff on his ears. His paws, which are the size of a young lion's, leave huge dirty prints on her kitchen floor. He is too big to shift when he decides not to move too.
And it gets worse- Wilson finds it really hard to settle at night and howls or whimpers at the least hint of movement or noise. Jane has even found herself tip-toeing past him hiding behind a sheet, trying not to wake him- but of course he is a Basset and always does detect her movements and greets them with howls. He also has a habit of leaving nasty, slobbery, wet nose tracks up and down the kichen as he follows her scent to- the fridge!
Poor Jane, she likes most dogs - but not Wilson and yet she never gets offered the baby, it always stays with her daughter-in-law's mum.
She puts it down to a careless remark she madewhen the first grandchild was born. She had three months colic and cried most of the time. At a family gathering- a barbeque in the garden - the babe was howling and Jane remarked (humorously, she thought) "If it were mine, I'd put it in the gagarge". Her d-in-l did not find this at all amusing and refused to bring the baby for a long while after.
Jane has offered to pay for Wilson to stay here.

It is a top dog hotel, boasting

Our Accommodation
To ensure the comfort and security of your dog during their stay at Dunston Lodge:
Each room is generously proportioned, with an inner sleeping area, leading out to a covered, outer play area.
All rooms are heated and have access to natural daylight, with each room also having an individual heater lamp, to provide additional warmth and light.
Raised beds, with plenty of bedding and blankets are provided, although you are welcome to bring your own if you prefer, as well as any other toys or accessories that may add to your dog's comfort and enjoyment.

A most luxurious establishment which Edward loves. When I leave him he makes loads of friends with both the kennel maids other dogs of all shapes and sizes. He comes home frisky and perfectly groomed like this:
Jane's d-in-l can't be convinced. Wilson she says is already psychologically disturbed (i.e. very jealous of the baby) and she thinks sending him to a dog hotel, however good , would make him suicidal. Has anyone ever hear of dogs committing hari-kari? Would that be canicide? No that would only be applicable if Jane were to do in Wilson! But if you have heard of any dog wiflfully self-harming, please write and tell me, also let me have your own stories of grandparenting traumas- told from either point of view.
And so to marking!

On Spatiality and How Clever is This?

2006-04-18T09:02:00.000-07:00

Joolz is right about Vic Carrington. She is clever. See this post. Look what I have learned to do from reading her blog , thanks also to Flickr.
My own sense of spatiality is hopeless. I can't ever work out how to back back in a car or remember how to redo a route with lots of left turns the other way round. But I do agree with what Kate comments on my last post about the spatial dimension of BLOGGING and the importance of the arrangement on the page. This is something I can work on. AND MUST DO BETTER However my next post will be dedicated to the downside of grandmotherhood as related to me by colleagues and friends. If you have a vignette to offer- get ready for next time. A I think about it these could be key incidents in a joint novel.See. Think about it Kate.
And so back to the marking, yet again.

In search of self/ves and the bumbo

2006-04-04T04:18:00.001-07:00

The number of postings I've read recently about the anxieties attendant on a) being an academic and b) needing to write about what you do, whilst having avery critical and self-critical audience, has made me think long and hard again about the way we approach the teaching of writing, particularly in school.
When writing is going well, it simply flies from the fingers, as fast as pen or keys can manage it. When it isn't flowing then nothing can be more dispiriting, drawn out or boring. I conjure up instantly pictures of the many children in school I have observed sighing over their work with arms folded across their papers, eyes down, simply begging for a bell to end their misery. The sheer drag of the pen, the vastness of the expanse of paper stretching before them are a penal sentence none of them think they deserve. This photo by Doisneau always represents this for me- even though I know his photos were always staged
- a bit like Dr Joolz's images of sweets. See below:

I started to write this post at the end of March and then my other life seemed to intervene- I had some real writing to do, some entertaining, visits from Alexander and gardening to sort out so I never quite got back to finishing this post. (Oh, and a sick sister to visit and a funeral to attend- though these two things are not connected at all.)
Meanwhile all those angst ridden academics were having the time of their lives in St Francisco see Dr Kate and so obviously the writing came in full flow. I'm so envious . The messages being sent home were a bit daunting- Kate cites Colin and Michele's dictum that you're only as good as your last post- so what a poor out-dated thing am I, then - a thing of rags and patches witho new thoughts.Still I mean to press on with this stuff about why people write and how we get kids to do authentic stuff in school.
I went to a presentation by the QCA about the new big ideas in curriculum development which seemed as if it would be addressing the future and the impact of changes in the way we communicate and develop ourselves through education and then I found that everybodyelse there seemed driven by very old ideas like employability, functionality and the gold-standard of the current examination system. So how will this big idea ever get them writing in school and more importantly, help them to get satisfaction from what they do? I agree with Dr Kate that BLOGs are about affinity spaces so if there are people still reading this BLOG who share my concerns and have new thoughts to add to the debate on writing please join in. I have just written an editorial for English in Education's Summer Issue and I intend to get this ionto the NATE website as soon as Easter has been and gone. My own experienceof BLOGGING is that it does stimulate the desire to write and the potential of a real and perhaps critical audience makes me revise and reedit as I go along. I sometimes get scared and inhibited too- but then I read someone else's post and want to respond and the delight in writing starts again. This makes me think that giving our kids more internet space and reasons to write for others would help to give that practicein expression and position taking that no amount of functional literacy delivered in packages can possibly do.

And so to the Bumbo. See picture at the top of this post and here.
I sometimes forget the purposeof this BLOG is to explore my new state of being a gran and revert to my other self, especially when I am feeling left outof the big academic scene .
Well, I am still learning. Alexander came to visit over the weekend with his dad and brought one of these with him! Yes he did enjoy the big touch and feel book about the Wheels on the Bus which I had bought- but the world he is growing up in has many other ways of presenting meanings. He sat inhis Bumbo and olayed with the remote control on the television too. He is now just four months old!

So how is the curriculum that is being devised going to work out for him? Will he still be writing A level essaysin 2004 or will the curriculum really have evolved by then? Answers on a postcard to...

Can Spring be far behind?

2006-03-24T08:28:00.000-08:00

What a shock to get back from here to find that Spring had not yet sprung. I was expecting daffodils and bird song and just saw lumps of grey and damp stuff. What have you all been doing ? I bet it's something to do with all those trillions of plastic bags weve all been using, and their ability to contribute to the destruction of the environment See. My renewed green consciousness has arisen from my visit to the Galapagos Islands which was idyllic. The skies were heavenly blue with only the fluffiest puffs of clouds floating by occasionally, the scenery stunning as sen from a high point, like this:

No one is allowed to take any thing to eat or drink onto the islands themselves except for bottles of water to keep hydrated and all visitors are sworn to picking up any waste plastic or paper wrapping that does escape. Everything therefore seems so pristine and unspoiled and the animal life which attracted me there abundant and contented and unafraid. I went because I wanted to see these:

But entered up being much more impressed and interested in these fascinating birds with the endearing name of Blue-footed Boobies. I took loads of pictures of them, some with their eggs, some of them making their nests on the ground, sometimes even on the paths used by the visitors, because they are so unafraid of humans. I chose this picture to show you because of the display of the wonderful eponymous blue feet. There are two other kinds of Boobies endemic to the island- the masked booby and the red -footed booby, but this little fellow is the most endearing. They are such maladroit creatures too. Sometimes they misjudge landing on their perches and crash into the cliffs. They also allow the predatory frigate birds to rob them of their fish as they come back into land. This is a picture of the robber-bird in full flight.

The male frigate birds is displaying to attract a mate. The great red balloon is a kind of wattle beneath his throat, inflated during the courtship ritual. I had seen the birds at the coast while working inTobago, but never witnessed their courting rituals, or their brigand activities before. They attack and hold onto the Boobies when flying into shore with their catch and force them to drop their prey (fish) which they then catch in mid-air and bring into land . Poor little boobies, I can identify with them having encountered a few academic brigands in my time and having suffered several crash landings too.

I also snorkled in very deep water with sealions- one of my mates is shown below Both of us look less than elegant on land, but in the water half a dozen sealion puppies came rolling and turning round me as I swam, biting my flippers and staring through my mask. Astonished, I glided over turtles,

and floated with the fishes.

So it's a little hard to be adjusting to life back home with Edward and the garden to see to, as well as the marking and the report to write and a growing envy of my colleagues, Dr Kate, Dr Joolz and Guy who are all getting ready for their big show at the AERA . Ah well, we can't have everything, though despite their protestations about the writing, theirs is a very big adventure.

This little BLOG may however one day serve to show Alexander where I have been. I sent him his first postcard home- just in time to mark his first quarter of a year old. Also wrote myself a postcard, inspired by this book:

which , if you haven't read it, might make for a good read on your American flight, though I did find the in- flight movies irresistible, myself. The writer, Alice Steinbach, is a bit self indulgent and writes too much about her social successes in high society, but it's good on why travel is good for one's sense of identity and serves as a reminder of the more adventurous selves we all once owned. So enjoy your trip to San Fransisco and be sure to wear flowers in your hair in memory of less drab times.

Not gone for long

2006-03-10T15:03:00.000-08:00

I suspect most of you didn't even notice I'd left. Well I have and I am posting this from the Hilton in Quito- feeling slightly light-headed from lack of sleep and the effect of the altitude. I don't think I've got that altitude sickness though just a little sad at heart because in all the wonder of a beautiful city we keep coming across examples of dire poverty and gross neglect of the indigenous people. I guess when we finally get to the Galapagos tomorrow we will see mainly widlife and tourists. However, that doesn't make the ridiculous spectacle of a Catholic Church spending God knows how much to re-furbish their churches with huge amounts of gold leaf, when outside the Indian population is not getting an education or the kind of healrh care to treat the most obvious illnesses and disabilities.. In the school day the public square was full of little boys trying to hustle a buck by cleaning shoes and little girls toting babies round in shawls, showing their faces to try to get a dollar. The guide remarked that education was no longer universal and poorer families often chose to educate only their sons and keep their daughters at home.
And they are so dignified these indian people and the churches in which they worship so groos, over decorated and oblivious of their need. They feature God and the saints as Spaniards and show hell fire pictures to frighten the vanquished into prayer. Ended up empytying my wallet od f one dollar bills.
Lost myself for the afternoon in the anthropological museum which is full of the wonderful artefacts of the pre- Inca periods. Gold to airy thinnes beat in breast plates and head gear, and a multiplicity of ceramic imagings of the human condition- some of them very rude indeed - but I coudn't take pictures in the museo so you will need to make do with the ones at the top of the page. Digidoc said a very wise thing; he said that he was struck by the beautiful simplicity and human-size clarity of the Indian art in comparison with the over-blown, suffocating, deadly sentimentality of the Spanish conquerors' rendering of Christianity. I hope we don't have to visit any more cathedrals on this trip or i might just have to vomit.
Anyway BLOGGING is a bit expensive at the Hilton so that's all for now. I'll see if I can BLOG again on our return. I think we are marooned in Miami for six hours on the return journey, so I can try then.

Gone Skiing

2006-03-07T20:02:00.000-08:00

No not this:

but this:

It's the mature citizen's equivalent of the time-out gap year- only it lasts longer and is called:

Spending
Kids
Inheritance

...in bite-sized chunks. We are off here:
Scene!

To see these:

And these:

Perhaps on return I will even be able to upload some lovely pictures of my own.

Until then, a little vignette for the ethnographers among you.

My first boyfriend, whom I admired and adored as he seemed older and much cleverer than me because he was at Queen's College, Oxford, studying Russian and I was well to the bad impressed, once said I looked like a marine iguana! I was enchanted because the name seemed so lovely, like a heroine from a late Shakespeare play.

I was in the sixth form at the time and reading this:

I imagined myself as the lovely Iguana marooned on a coral island with Fred as a beloved Ferdinand. But I wasn't sure what they were so I went and looked them up in Central Ref- no google then young Alexander - and was surprised.

No wonder it didn't last, that friendship. I think he shacked up with a nurse called Ethel, or Hilary, or some such name. So where are you now Michael (Fred) Cunningham? At last I get to see them for myself now and they may prove to be more lovely than they look.

Dr Kate - I'll keep my eyes peeled for paddles and other interesting artefacts.

Dr Joolzs - I will try harder with my photography.

Bye for now.

Sleep and rest, contented little baby

2006-03-06T04:10:00.000-08:00

This is not a photo of Alexander but of another babe with a comfort blanket, just like his.
See below for further details of the Noo noo

Bright angels beside my darling abide

They will guard thee at rest, thou shalt wake on my breast. (Brahms Lullaby)

I seem of late to have got a bit diverted from the main purpose of this BLOG which is to record the development of a digigran and her relationship with her new grandson. I guess this gran also has a lot of other things to think about too. However Alexander is never far from my mind and I melt every time I get to see him.
Visited him on Saturday and he has come on amazingly. He scanned my face to see if he recognised me- something he must have developed at nursey and a faculty all young babies have, as well as the ability to detect the number of people talking together. When I held his plastic mock radio out for him to play with he reached forward and twiddled the object that swirls round. He made lovely communicative noises with gees and gaas and smiles and stood on my knee smiling directly into my face. A genius!
However, I am finding visiting quite difficult because now he is accompanying his mum to the hospital nursery I cannot nip over whenever I am in Sheffield and, of course, this is not a good idea at any time ( see the Modern Grandmother guide by Hugh Fernley Whittingstall's mum!). Life is even more complicated because he is being brought up by the principles laid out by Gina Ford in this. Gina Ford has replaced Dr Spock and Penelope Leach as the guru of parenting. All her parents seem delighted by a system which demands a great deal of self discipline on the part of the parents and is totally different from the laid-back views of the generation who brought up these go-getting 30 somethings. Basically Ford believes in putting the baby down for sleep at set periods and having a very controlled regime of feeding and bathing and bedtimes so the windows of opportunity for visits in these early months are very small. Also it always seems that it is a imperative to keep the child awake if it is not an allocated sleeping time, and yet as all my friends agree, their memories of holding a sleeping baby mark one of life's greatest and transitory joys. No sleeping on the breast in Ford's regime though and she is certainly influencing a good number of new parents , extending her influence with a dedicated website (£40 to join). For a debate about her methods compared with a more child-centred approach see THIS. I'm for the continuum concept, myself, but then, at the time my children were small, I did not have a really demanding job, with tight schedules to meet. I can see that a well organised life style, with a contented little baby is very necessary to enable a less hassled, more relaxed mum, who can concentrate on her professional life. as well as giving qualty time to her child. So two cheers then for Gina Ford who is helping with this.

One of the lovely off shoots of the sleep focus is this NooNoo- a comfort blanket, bought from here. Alexander's, which you see here, is called a woodbug comfort blanket. Ahhhh!

Isn't it adorable.
I do so love women's art in soft materials, usable and comforting weavings , tapestry and sampler, rugs and collages of materials, gossamer printed scarves - such lovely things to touch and hold!

Pussy-cat, pussy-cat, where have you been?

2006-03-02T14:25:00.000-08:00

To London of course, but before that to Blackburn to visit the Parallell Realities exhibitions with my good friend, digitalplayer. We had great fun. There was one amazing exhibition focused on games, where you could sit on a huge purple dragon, whose great nostrils were the source of a zapping action and eliminate alien monsters on a screen located directly opposite. Players had to scramble up to a seat about five feet from the ground and manoeuvre the monster by tilting its head up and down whilst simultaneously firing the zapper. Both of us took a turn. DP scored 220 (dead things?) and I scored zero. You see it's just not in my nature to kill and maim. I am typical of those girls I interviewed in my first study of computer usage who only wanted to save creatures from disaster They hated shoot-em- ups but enjoyed a game called Lemmings, whose purpose was to stop the foolish creatures from hurling themselves over cliffs.
It was however fun playing with the dragon, though few of the town's children had managed to cotton on to the idea that you could climb on to it, and the museum guards didn't seem to want to tell them, more the pity.
We also messed about with the pieces of a giant Korean Monopoly game which covered an area equivalent to a smallish dining room and scrabbled around on the floor to view a display of miniature plastic figures through a magnifying glass. These were set between the skirting board and the wall at about an inch from the ground. The guardian critic, Alfred Hickling, thought the display looked as if it could be 'the history of the world explained through the medium of cake decoration.' It reminded me of a display in the museum of childhood at Sudbury Hall, Derbyshire, where you are invited to peek into small displays, one through a mousehole! I shall take Alexander to visit there one day.
The gaming dragon turned out to be a very good preparation for my next trip to London, Emerald Street, to a seminar of the ESRC funded seminar series on Play, Creativity and Digital Cultures. The group describes itself as a ' bunch of academics; an international group who are variously interested in literacy, digital cultures, cultural studies, play, language, learning and chewing the fat over issues and theories associated with these, SEE. We heard presentations on all manner of gaming research. I was particularly engaged by the presentation of Valerie Ines de la Ville (now wouldn't you just die for a name like that!) from Poitiers. Poitiers University boasts a centre for children's products, based in the business school, which supports the development of new animations and their spin-offs. I was full of both admiration and horror of the account of the work there. Admiration because there exists a centre which takes children's concerns to the very heart of it's planning and thinking, horror because there appeared to be an unacknowledged element of colonialism and gender stereotyping in all that was shown. Take the latest animation figure Kirik ou who presents an African child surviving in the jungle and is completely naked. One would wonder about the binary opposition of naked (savage) and clothed (civilised) thst haunts the imagery, as if France had not produced the most sophisticated theorist on the question. See Levi Strauss.

There, I need to have more time however, to explore the way in which commercialism reinforces hegemonic difference between races and genders. The boys and girls interviewed in the Making Games Project displayed very different attitudes to that very same question of killing an enemy. The girl interviewed showing her contempt for the boy's (a much more experienced gamer prediliction for exterminating obstacles in his path. It was something we could have examined more closely, I think.
I must however, once more return to the meat world of marking and e-mails and bxxx ethic reviews and more importantly get back to thinking of childhood pleasures with Alexander in mind. Next time I blog, I intend to concentrate on contented little babies. So good night and good luck. Now who did I last hear saying that ?

Digigran to the rescue

2006-02-21T04:13:00.000-08:00

In line with my plan ( see previous BLOG) . I got up yesterday and went to the village shop to begin a casual conversation about hens and poultry keeping in general, referring to any articles in newspapers about impending approach of Avian Flu, which are currently spread across most front pages. Edward was tied up outside to prevent any one running away at any hint of their complicity in the aviacides. But I was thwarted in this cunning little plan by the sudden imcapacity of the shop assistant, who, in turning to use the till, strained her back and became frozen in situ. This coincided with the morning rush for papers and the arrival of a documentary team, headed by an American, who were all staying in the village and looking for supplies for the cook!

Had to abaandon any hopes of a pleasant little detective foray in order to takeover at the till whilst the people we met at dinner the night before held fort in the back of the shop and helped the injured lady home.

Now, who said village life was dull! Cheered myself up last night, by watching first episode of Inspector Morse , The Dead of Jericho, to try to pick up tips on detective work. Not much help there though. Seemed a bit hit and miss. Have a character in the village who looks like Patrick Troughton but that's not really good enough, is it?

Will keep you posted. ( Ah, Ah - new meaning for old message)

Midwinster Murder: or who killed cock robin?

2006-02-19T07:00:00.000-08:00

Well, you might well ask about the prevalence of murder in the small villages of England, as relayed in multiplicity of crime novels and TV series such as Midsomer Murders . (Skip all the blurb on the murder link and take a look at the picture story following it - now that could only have been done by someone in a small village- in fact the scene featuring the 'Rook and his little book' could be located in our village, though it is ravens, rather than rooks that wheel above our roof). A love of murder goes hand in hand with a comparable prediliction for small domestic aimals, so that many of our fellow villagers keep poultry or goats or pet sheep, rather as our friends in town have cats or gerbils and dogs. But to begin at the beginning before I get to the cock and bull of the story.
We have a cottage in a lovely Derbyshire village where we spend at least three days of the week to write and walk and, of course, mark. Here is a picture, the view from our cottage windows, taken after an early fall of snow. Village life is part of the digigran plan for digibaby who I hope will join us here from time to time when old enough to escape from the 'sick hurry' of urban life. We have been here for three years now, gradually making the cottage more comfortabe and getting to know neighbours.
Last night, we went to supper with people who have lived here for sometime and began to hear about the dark underside of the village.
First some villagers had conducted a concerted campaign to keep out a woman fron the curacy;
second there is a member of an important Derbyshire business family who boasted in the pub of never paying bills;
thirdly the stand-in vicar's dog bit the flying bishop, sent in to sort the curate problem;
but fourthly, and most shocking, someone is poisoning the village hens.
Our fellow guests at the supper party had found their hens looking decidedly poorly. Apparently hens are real little drama queens and let you know immediately by their body language when all is not well. Their hens began to lose their feathers and one died. Suspect grain of a virulent orange colour was found scattered in the yard. Now digidoc knows all about hens and feathers and chemical exfoliants. He said there was a poison, which made b oth birds' feathers and people's hair fall out. He also suggested that agent orange might be involved as it is an organophosphate found in acgricultural pesticides and available to farmers.
My ears pricked up and I began to feel like Geraldine Mc Ewan, on the case. These are the theories I am following up.
Suspect may be someone in the village who hates poultry because of fear of avian flu (H5N) perhaps-action- begin a discussion in village shop may give me a clue here.
Perhaps even a very close neighbour who dislikes clucking and scratching noises and fears introduction of a cockerel to the flock-enquire about difficult neighbours in pub, very casually.

Someone who has same knowledge as digidoc of poisons - find out about medical men or chemists in the village

Someone from the competition- commercial poultry owners fighting to keep hold of market (not very likely as most farmers near hear are keeping sheep or cows). No action as yet.

Holiday makers with duff stuff, feeding chickens for fun- again unlikely but I am going for 5,as I always advise boys to do when conducting thought showers in class. Keep eyes peeled for small children with bird seed.

So that's my new project and I shall be down at the village shop today with Edward, on the case- just as soon as I've done the marking.

After thought

2006-02-14T05:27:00.000-08:00

Interview
The ladies men admire, I've heard,
Would shudder at a wicked
word.
Their candle gives a single light,
They'd rather stay home at
night.
They do not keep awake till 3,
Nor read erotic poetry.
They
never sanction the impure,
Nor recognize an overture.
They shrink from
powder and from paints...

So far, I've had no complaints.

Happy Days

2006-02-14T01:06:00.000-08:00

Alexander is settling in well at nursery and though his mum is feeling very, very tired and has to get up at unearthly hours to get to her job, she seems well content with arrangements.

Parallel Realities Exhibition

See Blackburn

I think because he is so young he is getting lots of extra attention and cuddles and of course his mum gets to see him during the day too. He is not featured in this picture but I can assure you he is getting lovelier by the minute, I get updates on my mobile of him smiling. I am therefore saving up all my cuddles in one big hug for the next time we meet. I am a bit sad because I cannot visit him so often, but then this gives me more time to BLOG and actually get down to doing some work. Despite being part-time I find academic life as always all absorbing and have also planned a granny day out. I am off to Blackburn, braving Lancashire and a train change in Manchester to see this.

I braved our local railway station and got myself a SNR Railcard ( note the discrete use of abbreviation). It did take up an hour of my time but I got a first class ticket to London at peak time for £19!!!!!! and my trip to Blackburn cost £33 what larks, eh. Now here's a ruse for my much younger friends . The silly girl behind the screen did not look at the passport, driving licence or birth cert. I had with me but just stamped my form and gave me the card. It cost £20 and I reckon I have already saved £50. So leave off make-up, borrow grey wig and frumpy clothes like this and get a card! You too can join me on artytrips up North. Any tips Kate on local phrases to use, or customs to observe? Can't keep saying "EEH BY GUM!" now can I?

Also can ponder my wardrobe and wonder whether it was a shirt dress, Kate recommended or the shift dress (looks a bit fattening) suggested in the Guardian's fashion advice, she meant. Oh dear, so many choices.
Just checked out at Joolz's posting for today and realised I perhaps ought to give more attention to
Digidoc- so I'll be nipping off to Tesco's and god knows when I'll get t'marking done- again.

On prams and other granny stuff

2006-02-07T08:08:00.000-08:00

Will begin with prams- as I promised last time as this BLOG seems to keep veering off the granny stuff. Modern prams look brilliant. They have names like Elite, Mountain Buggy, Twin Sport and Expedition. I think this is a ploy to get their dads to buy them and push the baby to the park while mum gets a bit of peace. I can tell you now it won't work. My sons took an interest in my new carpet sweeper when they found out it was called a turbo something- but soon lost interest when it merely had to be pushed. Nice try though.

But they are not as easy to push as they were when my sons were babies (I bet all the digigrans say that these days). Theyare big, clumsy and heavy and hard to get up steep hills and there are so many of those in Sheffield (DID YOU KNOW SHEFFIELDERS SAY THAT SHEFFIELD WAS BUILT ON SEVEN HILLS- JUST LIKE ROME?)
Anyway most young mums don't call their baby vehicles prams now, new names for them are buggies or strollers or even travel systems (sic).
However some mums do seem to have all the bother I had when proudly pushing Alexander up one of the steepest hills in Sheffield SEE .
The other problem , beside the pram itself and cars that try to run over you and the baby just as you are easing across a road, are other people on the pavements- they walk at you and what are you supposed to do? Me, I speed up and drive straight at them and so they have to step off the pavement and not hit me. Watch out Joolz if you go strolling in the vicinity, doing deep thoughts when I am on pram patrol we may well collide.

About the new names for prams. As I am semi-retired, I often work at home now and listen to radio 4. I like human speaking voices when I am working , not music which distracts me. Have you ever heard Ring Around the Bath? I guess most of you are too busy blogging or researching or doing the bloody emails to pay attention and it is indeed very trivial -Well one of the daughters of this sit-com is having a baby and her brother' s girlfriend, Xanthe, gave a list of things you only say when you are dealing with babies, like nappies, matinee jacket, basinette, rompers, bootees etc. I think strollers and buggies are almost in this category too, though I can think of other uses for those words . It is sad that Sheffield hills get so bad a press though as in the above student comment:

Sheffield is not a particularly pretty place. Tourists would not find much
within the city itself that is pleasing to the camera lens. The countryside
nearby more than makes up for this though. The weather is another problem. It
does seem to rain a lot in that part of the world. And it gets quite chilly too.
In the surrounding countryside, mist can be a problem. It doesn't matter how
beautiful the scenery is if you can't see your hand in front of your face
because of the fog.
Another feature of Sheffield is the hills. Sheffield, like Rome, is built on seven hills. These hills were formed by the six rivers of Sheffield (told you)
The main shopping streets in the city centre are fairly flat, but head out in
any direction and you'll soon find yourself going uphill. The advantage to this
is that it makes for some great views over the city. The disadvantage becomes
evident when you are struggling up these hills with your shopping.

because walking up them keeps you fit and they guarantee, as is grudgingly admitted here, that wherever you are in Sheffield you can look up and out over roofs to somewhere green to head for.
Well enough of the grannying moans.
Have a look at Dr Rob's new post. Prompted by me he's written a very snazzy poem- though it does share something of the nature of lists .

On lists and listmania

2006-02-03T17:46:00.000-08:00

Picture of Bloom , drawn by JJ.

Thinking of how to begin, and as usual, a bit guillty about not blogging for a while, I idly scanned a few random BLOGs and became really irritated by the quantities of lists on offer Here are a few examples of the genre:

Places I'd rather be,

Dogs I've owned,

X ways of enjoying the weekend,

Famouspeople I have met,

Unusual jobs I've done,

Top ten wardrobe items etc, etc.

Is this the death of prose as we know it? Perhaps I am just a crusty old gran stuck in a time-warp with my vinyl mentality, paper-back novels and l Letts diary style of writing.

Lists seem to me to be at the very Blagging end of Blogging. They cry out, ' Look at me ! Oh look at all the things I've got, done, seen, know etc, etc. 'Well, the irritation with the list thing was compounded by this report in the Guardian, which reported on well-known writers' list of the books kids should read before leaving school. The headline-grabbers were those of the two Laureates- the Poet Laureate and the Children's Laureate. Such rubbish. Of course English teachers would want to claim to have read Ulysses but not taught it in school. I have added a link to a quick summary just in case any of you want to check it out for Monday morning or remind yourself of its sections. This is an even shorter, jollier version. Go on have a look; it's animated.

My own favourite of Joyce's writing for school however, is Dubliners andI might risk sharing a story or two with an older class; perhaps The Dead, especially as John Hustom made it in to a wonderful film, with Angelica Huston portraying magnificently, the wife haunted by memories of a lost love and with falling snow a poignant image of the state of the West of Ireland . Anyway, see how easy it is to get into competing choices\ personal lists . (Hear me cry, "Look, look how well-read I am.") and think of the utter foolishness of thinking that adults, however famous, should try to prescribe and reify what children and young people should read and enjoy. And how resistant the establishment is to change to its literary canon. Ignoring children's interests is a sure way to turn readers off for life. What is needed is a bigger emphasis on personal reading in school, matching child to book, with occasional shared whole works in class , but more often little tasters to hook the reader and consideration of the multimodal ways of presenting of favourite stories .
Primary schools often get this right because there is such a wealth of fiction available to them. Secondary English teachers often feel constrained to teach to the numerous assessments and impositions on the curriculum at Key Stages 3&4.
Oh enough of schools and schooling!
But just imagine my horror, when I blogged on to my two favourite Bloggers DRJoolz and Dr Kate to find some damned tag had tempted them both into a list fetish, under the guise of a meme. (Can any word have been so much abused as it moved from science to communication, from Dawkins to BLOG? ) Ok, so I know what memes are in this context, but do they have to be so trivial.
As you can see, I have taken a leaf out of the narrative methodology of both TristramShandy and The Cock and Bull, film version (Steve Coogan was just brilliantly cast, loved him crooning to his baby) and am about to relate this last reflection to my expressed reason for Blogging: Alexander (see December BLOGS for personal details and family connections).
The sweet babe is about to accompany his mother to work next week and start his routine in nursery, so I won't be able to visit in the afternoon, or push him in his pram to see the ducks, which are now gradually returning to our lakes and ponds- This reminds me, I still haven't told you about that pram saga yet- next time perhaps. I do hope Alexander will settle in
And therefore, much against my own Blogging instinct, here is a list compiled for my grandson on his going to nursery, concluding with my favourite poem on infancy, offered as a sweet blessing on his tiny head:

Alexander may you find

soft hands and gentle voices wherever you go
carers who love children; babies in
particular
a calm and loving environment; no shoutingor alarming noises
a warm welcome each feeding time from your
mum
safe and speedy journeys home
happy, splashy bathtimes at the end of each day with mum and
dad and perhaps a song
gentle slumbers and deep sleep
Times occasionally for me to visit or babysit
Much, much virtual love

and here's just a small section from the poem, Coleridge's Frost at Midnight, one day, Alexander, I will read this to you.

Dear Babe, that sleepest cradled by my side,
Whose gentle breathings, heard in this deep calm,
Fill up the interspersed vacancies
And momentary pauses of the thought!
My babe so beautiful! it thrills my heart
With tender gladness, thus to look at thee,
And think that thou shalt learn far other lore,
And in far other scenes! For I was reared
In the great city, pent mid cloisters dim,
And saw nought lovely but the sky and stars.
But thou, my babe! shalt wander like a breeze
By lakes and sandy shores, beneath the crags
Of ancient mountain, and beneath the clouds,
Which image in their bulk both lakes and shores
And mountain crags: so shalt thou see and hear
The lovely shapes and sounds intelligible
Of that eternal language, which thy God
Utters, who from eternity doth teach
Himself in all, and all things in himself
Great universal Teacher! he shall mould
Thy spirit, and by giving make it ask.
Therefore all seasons shall be sweet to thee,
Whether the summer clothe the general earth
With greenness, or the redbreast sit and sing
Betwixt the tufts of snow on the bare branch
Of mossy apple-tree, while the nigh thatch
Smokes in the sun-thaw; whether the eave-drops fall
Heard only in the trances of the blast,
Or if the secret ministry of frost
Shall hang them up in silent icicles,
Quietly shining to the quiet moon.

Wonder now, if all any of you have read are the lists!
Aaagh!

Worried Well

2006-01-23T21:52:00.000-08:00

Pediculosis Capitas

The Head Louse
or
Nit
as we call them in our profession.

Worried Well
This is an expression I have adopted from my husband who says that people who worry about being unwell occupy a good deal of many doctors' time. Not that he thinks the sufferers do not need help - only that there are increasingly more and more things about health we worry about (as well as the work-related stuff and guilt complexes of things left undone like our BLOGs for example).

He is currently writing about patients who believe they have been infested by some kind of unseen creepy crawly. The posh term is Delusions of Parasitosis (For those who have such fears see THIS).
I went to NATE Conference this weekend and bought him a simplified version of real infestation called I' ve Got Nits ( See picture and scroll down for details of content).

I told a retired GP in the village about my husband's writing and he then told me he had once knelt in the living room of a patient in Belper watching her bang the back of a settee to show him the myriads of parasites living there. These, she said, were jumping all over her at night, as she watched TV and causing a horrible itchiness. As she banged, hosts of dust motes floated high into the air and she cried gleefully, "Look, look, they are everywhere!". He then, he said, found himself kneeling beside her, banging the top of said settee, trying to prove that it was only dust! He should, of course, have referred her to see my husband, who knows how to listen gently and sensibly to patients, getting themto explore their anxieties and let loose their fears, etc. However, that takes up a good deal of NHS time and money so I guess sitting and banging a settee together might give some sort of comfort. She was not, as you may imagine, disabused of her illusion though.

More stories of nits
I also once worked with a class on poems about headlice with a wonderful teacher called Stuart Harrison , one of the most creative people I have had the pleasure to know. He use a microscope o attached to a classroom computer to take images of nits combed from a child's hair which looked like the first picture on this BLOG. (Bear with me, dear reader, if you exist, I cannot yet place my pictures where I want them in the text.) I then wrote thin poems with them and we made them into ppts. I wish I knew how to attach the PPT. presentation, so you could see exactly what these Y6 children achieved. I must get a lesson from DR Joolz and post it later.
Meanwhile here is a sample from the boys:

Head lice crawl around your head,
Without you even knowing.
They are blood-sucking lobsters,
Feeding on your blood to stay alive.

Some times they make you itch and scratch,
And some times make you shiver.
They look like space monsters,
Waiting to pounce on passing planets.

Head lice are like tiny transparent ants,
Scrambling from head to head.
Laying their eggs wherever they go,
Being swept away by passing comets.

and now the girls:

It is a transparent oval
Blood trickling through its body.
Long waving tentacles
Swaying side to side.
The thought of it living in my hair
Makes me shiver and my teeth start to quiver.

Its claws are like crab’s pincers
Digging into my head.
It is a space monster searching
Through your hair
It’s lost in the space of each hair

My head is like an obstacle race
It has to win.
It moves wobbling along my hair
A tight – ropewalker
A circus act
It can balance on one strand of hair and hardly fall off.

This was their Literacy hour work on metphors and similes- they thought it was learning about lice!

So why am I burbling on like this?

No I have not got

NITS

Nor do i feel unwell, but I am well and worried or perhaps just well-worried. You see, I may be invited to do what I consider to be a very important National job in the near future, where I will want to appear as perspicacious and wise as I can possibly be and because I will be represnting others, aslso have a little gravitas. Can I still then hang on to a digigran identity? Do I need to kill this BLOG?

The thought seems a 'horrible

imagining' . ( see Macbeth's thoughts when contemplating killing Duncan) I suppose I could just delete the message from my email and then no one would know about this except perhaps for the good Drs Joolz and Kate and a few intimate friends....but This is for Alexander, the digibaby,who I am visiting today and who I want to be able to read these pages at a later date and be proud of his NAN.

These worries are like a little infestation, making me want to scratch my head-- to follow through my metaphors

Dilemma, dilemma, dilemma

Please advise.

Worried but Well-Pleased with herself

Digigran.

Off to see a Cock and Bull Story here tonight. Perhaps it will impove my narrative stylea nd help me stick to the point. At least it should be more cheerful than Saraband (which is brilliant, but oh so very depressing a narrative for the silver blogger)

Hush a bye

2006-01-16T10:20:00.000-08:00

Rock-a-Bye-Baby

Rock-a-bye baby, on the tree top
When the wind blows, the cradle will rock
When the bough breaks, the cradle will fall
And down will come baby, cradle and all

Wow, can't believe that I have not posted for a whole month, especially as the baby's birth happened almost to date on Dec 10th and not the expected 6th and at the beginning of December too. So, no excuses there for my long silence. I have actually thought about blogging a lot in the interim. However, I have also been caught up in a whole range of experiences that have militated against me finding a quiet time to write and cut and paste as I like.
I had my sixtieth birthday, showed

this film

at the local screenroom to celebrate (all my friends thought it very apt)
spent my wedding anniversary in

Paris

and then came home to a swathe of marking and assessment.
Did all of you know out there that lots of teachers spend their Christmas holidays focusing on professional development and writing assignments? Such dedication.

I've been thinking a lot though about the nature of blogging and the personal time it consumes, so that in my own time ( is that meat space, Julia?) having an experience and blogging that experience begin to compete for attention rather than complement each other. When I was waiting for the baby, there seemed ample time to sit and write about my expectations but since the birth there have been a series of events and work obligations that have demanded my full attention. Are most Bloggers then, people with a good deal of time on their hands, who live life vicariously in a virtual reality- or am I just disorganised? Yes, please do respond, I need to know how you mums manage it.

Anyway, much a surrounding the early days of the baby- the nature of the delivery, mum and baby adjusting to feeding rhythms etc mmm too personal to log on about here. And tin that lies another paradox. This seems the personal medium 'par excellence', but it is so very public too, so it's like those diaries in the newspapers ( see Michele Hanson) rather prone to posturing and positioning rather than the true confessional diary.
As you know, my son and daughter-in-law do not want me to publish any pictures of Alexander- so I can't fill the screen with his adorable little person. He is however very, very lovely and very like his dad- but then is the baby's father's mother (his gran)allowed to say that? Am I making some sort of family claim? I don't intend it to be. He does however reminfd me quite poignantlyof his father as a baby- except he has more hair.

Both equally lovely parents however, are just as besotted and have bought me number plates which end with NAN as my Birthday present. Look out for a LOL ( accepted clinical designation of elderly female patient!) in a

mini cooper

with

Mary Poppins personalised plates, reading something like:

MP05NAN in PINK!!!!

I bought the baby a soft cushion version to match.
Have now pushed him out in his pram for a walk, so more on prams and pushing and schedules next time I get round to blogging.

Diddle Diddle Dumpling

2005-12-11T06:30:00.000-08:00

A mother's words to a typical boy child!
No origins in history can be found, it is merely a nonsense rhyme, probably
made popular and handed down from generation to generation
owing to the popularity of the name John (Diddle Diddle Dumpling my son John).
It is an interesting fact that this is the only old rhyme that uses the name John - all of the older poems use the colloquialism for John i.e. Jack.

Poem - Diddle Diddle Dumpling
My son John,
Went to bed with his trousers on;
One shoe off, and one shoe on,
Diddle, diddle, dumpling, my son John!

A bit of an oblique opening.
But, yes, the baby finally arrived, exactly one week late and aftera little persuasion from the mid-wife and an epidural for mum, who says, despite the help from the anaesthetists, that it was still very painful and if there is a next time she'll opt for a caesarian .

He is notreally a 'John' either- but I can't think of any appropriate nursery rhymes for Alexander, and Jonathan is his second name after my other son, his uncle, Jon.

The facts are:
Name: Alexander Jonathan
Born: 6.00pm, Saturday, 10th of December
Weight: just under 9lbs

It was a very pleasant day with slanting light of watery winter sunshine,which still made the stone of the cottages glow golden . We took a long walk with Edward, the dog, to ease the waiting. We ate at the Bull's Head, Ashover
Somewhere I can highly recommend for those who like good food in a real pub.

Bull's Head A fine old coaching Inn, situated in the centre of the village, with roses round the door and seats outside. Open for food every lunchtime and all evenings apart from Thursdays. (Tel. 01629 812931)

He and his mum came out of hospital on the Sunday lunchtime and I had my first cuddle at about 3.30 pm that day. His other granny brought a lovely celebration meal of smoked salmon, followed by chicken and avocado bake with a green salad, accompanied by champagne.

We sat around (all that is except mum who was feeling sore so paced about ) and adored him.
Further connection to the nursery rhyme s through the little knitted shoes he wore to bed and was already kicking off..

I hadn't realised how many different kinds of shoes you can find for babies. Shoes from companies with lovely names like : pitter patter; daisy roots, star child and shoo shoos. (These pics are for you, Katie)
So as usual blogging brings out the shopping urge which I am just managing to control.

Also must resist the temptation to keep going back to visit unannounced, until Ifind myself , parked in the mini, waiting outside under their window- very sad case.
Can just see headlines :

Granny Arrested for Stalking.
Old Biddy ound lurking outside home demanding to hold grandson
So, sadly, I promised them , no pictures of the new three-piece family- but believe me the baby is well to the jay bad, cute ( See Dr Rob's cool poem)
Oh and he can call me Nanny Lainey- but I'm still Digigran to you.

Still Waiting

2005-12-06T02:17:00.000-08:00

This first poem is written by a mother awaiting the day when she can set out on her journey to Vietnam to find the child she is about to adopt.

Slow Moving Moon
By Marea Rose Jenness
It started out a slit of light.

Stubbornly, it grew to a crescent.

In this January-February sky,

While I wait to see you for the first time,

Its progress seems painfully slow.

Three-quarters now, it will be full in three nights.

Then in reverse, it will shrink to a crescent before I travel.

Eleven long nights.

I have no power to speed the earth's shadow as it moves across the moon's face.

I think that I may notice each degree of progress.

The following is a counting rhyme which emphasises the infinity into which time draws us on :

How many seconds in a minute?
Sixty, and no more in it.

How many minutes in an hour?
Sixty for sun and shower.

How many hours in a day?
Twenty-four for work and play.

How many days in a week?
Seven both to hear and speak.

How many weeks in a month?
Four, as the swift moon runn'th.

How many months in a year?
Twelve the almanack makes clear.

How many years in an age?
One hundred says the sage.

How many ages in time?
Noone knows the rhyme.

Sing Song by Christina Rossetti, firstreleased in 1872, has stayed popular for over a
century, and some of its verses (like "Who Has Seen the Wind") remain
well-known today.

Sorry I have been of-line so long. It's been a busy end of the month , culminating in my husband's retirement from medicine after 40 odd years in the NHS. More of that next time
As yet No BABY.
As you may guess from the poem and images, I am full of contradictory feelings. I am anxiously awaiting the message that announces the birth of little bean and brings a new digibaby into the world. Time seems to be both to have sped by and stood still.

The first poem reflects the slowness of time for a mother awaiting the day to travel to find her adopted child, the second the enduring nature of time and its slow progress, while the clock signals the time running out and the birth day imminent.
Too scared to phone in case I interrupt anything.
Jumping at any sound from the phone, like an expectant lover, not a gran.
This morning I received the following txt message from a friend:
'Hi baby here. Can you meet children from bus today?.'
Took me a good ten minutes of panic, rushing to find coat , boots, car keys etc, before I realised txt should read: 'Is baby here?' and the children in question are 10 and 14 .
Will let you know exact day of arrival when it happens.

Meanwhile

Maddona

says it all. But in my case the baby in question is really a baby.

Poor Robin

2005-11-29T00:05:00.000-08:00

The North Wind heaved in yesterday with a flurry of snow that iced the pathways and whitened the hills round Winster ( see picture of local farm buildingo. Edward and Iwere out in the wodds- me watching birds, Him hunting rabbits ( but not very successfully) when we felt the first little flurry of soft flakes which began to lodge themselves inEdward's coat, particularly his whiskery bits. He looked so amazed to becoming a living snow-dog like his American cousin.

Hickory Dickory Dock

2005-11-27T15:05:00.000-08:00

Hi
Time ticks on.
Now only six days to estimated date of arrivalof Baby Bean. A Saturday's child, and so if the old adage is to be believed, will have to work hard for its living. But perhaps it may surprise everyone and come either side of the given date and in consequence, be , like me 'loving and giving' or even'blithe and gay'. You can check out this site to discover yourown nature!!!!!
Have been sent very silly book by well-meaning friend, which, however, has one sensible message related to the the way in which women who have been up-to- the moment of granny-dom, reasonably entertaining, can become extremely boring and itrritating to friends. This then is another good reason for keeping up this BLOG- an outlet for the blagging on about GC which would render me a social outcast in other spheres of my life. Thank you Louise.

Pity infact that there are already to books on the market about the state and time of being a gran- so can't hope for real life publishing opportunity. Here's the other. Clear sign of baby boomers and sixties generation moving onto new things. Will have to stick with BLOG, though as was reminded this morning that BLOGs can become books if the writer is interesting enough and that in the words of Samuel Johnson , who would himself have made a brilliant BLOGGER, suggested that what is written without effort is in general read without pleasure and BLOGGINg does seem to demand a certain degree of effort. However, Johnson also said that no man but a blockhead ever wrote except for money and it would be hard to see any income coming out of this particular BLOG though there are awards around.
To me BLOGGING seems more like the newest form of vanity publishing!
Realised that when i separated out from Letsgetdigitalplay and stopped posting as Digitalplayer, I lost the little readership I had. hey, Ho. I'll think about new tactics tomorrow.
Edward the dog is already snoring- and so to steal from another diarist, to bed.

Baby Bunting

2005-11-22T03:08:00.000-08:00

Well what a surprise- I always thought this little rhyme went Bye Baby Bunting- but a little surfing has revealed the generally accepted title for this old rhyme on the web is this. Though this is an American version andhas therefore probably been changed in transmission. And the reason for this choice of lyric - well I have succombed once more to the shopping impulse and purchased one of these. I know I promised the d-in-l to refrain from all purchases until the little bean was an actual person but this sin of commission has an excuse. I went into Waterstones bookshop to meet an old colleague who had retired a few years earlier because of health problems and whom I hadn't seen for a while. Surprise, surprise, when we discovered we were to become grannies within 3 days of each other. (Dec 3rd and Dec. 6th, so both babes will be Saggitarians and therefore, if the Web is to be believed- delightfully contented:

Sagittarius

That happy-go-lucky child in the play circle is bound to be a Sagittarius. These carefree tots march to their own beat, and yes, they will walk early! They'll also be beating a path to everywhere, since they love to explore. Independent and free-spirited, it's imperative that the Sagittarius baby has lots of room to roam. Confined spaces are a disaster for these wandering souls, so they'll simply flail about until they can get out.

The good news in all this is that the Sag baby won't have to be entertained every second of the day. That said, be sure to keep tabs on them in public places, as they could easily wander off! Above all, the Sag baby loves to explore, whether it's a new toy or a new friend. No fear here! This kid is a sponge, soaking it all up with relish. Thankfully, this child will know how to make friends and can be counted on to have lots of them. They love being part of a group, whether it's at home or out in the big, brave world. And it's that world they want to see, which may be why it's so easy for this baby to hit the road. Whether by train, plane, or the high seas, the Sag baby will travel better than the rest. To sum up, the Sagittarius baby needs freedom, has a curious mind and is forever on a journey of discovery. Happy trails!

My friend is under no injunction from her daughter to refrain from shopping, rather the opposite, and said that her most recent research (done by accosting a young mum in the cafe and asking her opinion whilst cooing at a dangled infant) had revealedthat a lamb fleece was the extravagant present that all mums rated. So I just had to go straight out and buy one. Something else to hide in the back bedroom until needed.

My hope is that d-in-l will be so delighted by surprise gift that I will be forgiven for disobeying her request not to indulge . What do you think- any new mums out there? Is a lambs fleece so desirable for a new baby?
I am full of trepidation.

I blame it all on the blogging which seems to me to consist of one part blagging- this is better than reading the academic paper sitting on my desk for review ; one part boasting -'look at me I'm having a grandchild'; a third part shopping (see relevant hotspots above) and with just a little bit of political commentary thrown in; see previous blog on why our choice is real terry towelling nappies.

More on shopping to come.

Incy Wincy Spider

2005-11-12T08:06:00.000-08:00

Title chosen to record rush of rain pouring down outside water spout. Rain so pelting that Edward, the dog, refused to step footoutside and had to be dragged from the comfort of the mat in front of the log stove to do what a dog has to do in the morning. Began blogging on Apple so links were difficult to do but found associated activities for grans
Have been thinking a lot about consumerism and digital culture. As Giroux, now Global Television Network Chair in Communication Studies (WOW!) at McMasters, did when he found himself watching large numbers of Disney films with his three sons. He writes very interestingly on consumerism- an issue I think needs to be referred back to Letsgetdigitalplay to be considered at more length.
The easy access from shop to shop, web site to site and country to country make it tempting to accumulate more and more stuff. I once had a cleaner who said to me in desperation at the amount of dusting I generated, " The trouble with you, E*****, is you have too much stuff," and I had to admit I did and still do, despite all tmy attempts at decluttering. I own too many skirts, too many jumpers, too much crockery, many too many books, postcards, journals, papers etc. and perhaps even one too many houses; though it would take a reawakening of very very strong socialist conscience to winkle me out of this lovely little cottage in Winster which seem built to be written from.

All this stuff accumulation is now accelerating through the simplicities of on-line access, particularly to books, though shopping sites are also very very tempting. I'd make a good case study for the inestimable Dr Kate whose Arty Stuff and academic work is much concerned with the life of objects and who constantly So the thing I must seek to avoid as Digigran is investing in too much digital baby stuff, or other nursery stuff acquired digitally, and think of the most creative ways of using my digipower to inform what is, in fact, one of the most lovely of human relationships when managed well.

The latter perfection of loveliness seems however very hard to achieve though, especially with the first born. The Guardian advice page this Saturday (Family Forum 05.11.05) had a cry for help from a new mum who felt suffocated by a voracious new gran's desire for contact with her infant. Perhaps a new gran needs to earn the respect and trust of a new mum and wait to be called upon or invited to visit. It is certainly my intention not to criticise even if I think I know better on occasions- such a dangerous temptation, that of giving advice. I failed to make the grade in the Samaritans because I did so itch to tell the not so good folk on my line what to do. This was especially true of the men who, attracted to the softness of my voice, wanted to confess how bad they had been(for purposes that I do not wish to describe here, though they seemed to involve a good deal of heavy breathing). Still that's another story altogether and although Tristram Shandy is my favourite 18th century novel, I must also avoid these digressive tendencies and return to the matter in hand- how to be an effective and loveable digitalgran.
I think, perhaps, I could follow the example provided was yesterday on Michael Rosen's version of Home Truths. On this, I heard a bloke explainng how he was archiving the documentary detritus of his whole life so that it would help future generations understand our present. A huge task indeed. But I can at least record the beginnnings of this babe's life digitally, so that s/he will have a record of how looked for s/he was and the preparations made for her/his arrival.
What do you think, any of you who are mums or dads of babies?
This Blogging project will produce less material stuff- though, having also consulted Personal Shopper in the Guardian and knowing that my d-in-law favours non-disposable nappies, I probably do need to purchase this recommended stainless steel nappy bucket and investigate this rather fascinating site where I ponder the relative values of Tots Bots, Motherease, Nature Babies or Fuzzi Bunz as the source of acceptable gifts.

A New Blog is Born!!

2005-11-05T07:04:00.000-08:00

Yes, in one month I shall be a gran and a digigran at that: something between a Mary Poppins figure and a computer nerd.

Even more excited than I was about my first BLOG. I have had to promise son and d-in-l not to include pictures of the babe on my postings or to buy it anything yet. However, although first promise was fairly easy to keep (though I do have a hospital scan, I could scan, if you get my meaning) I could not stop myself shopping for little bit of very cute stuff,
Like this:

and

this
Thinking it might just be a little bit digital. Now out looking for soft computer toy ( Jackie once had one as a visual aid for her work with babies and computers) and a babysoft mobile phone. Even thought of getting myself a rocking chair like this.
But thought I might not be able to hide it from the parents to be when they visited next week.
It seems that for me, Blogging is tied into consumerism and I can't resist the thrill of selecting stuff. It all looks so good on line.
Any tips on digital baby accessories welcome.
I'll keep you posted about dates (there's a whole new meaning for ETAs) etc. DG