Digigran

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.

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.

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.

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.

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.

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.


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.

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!