Wednesday 29 October 2008

Rant about a boys - or several

I have a lovely system in my classroom for maintaining a suitable noise level.
It's a Noisometer. Or Noise Monitor.
Permitted noise levels vary from silence to group discussion.
Unfortunately, it doesn't work. The noise is usually off the scale.
Boys don't 'do' whispering or talking quietly.
It doesn't matter too much, but I just wish I could find the volume button sometimes.
Or even turn them off.
Hmm.

Tuesday 28 October 2008

FC

It seems that Feral Chicken is not actually feral, but escaped from some loving family home.
The trouble is, we don't know where.
It hangs around under the bird seeder ALL DAY, scratching away at the lawn. The weather has turned chillier, so the chicken is looking considerably 'fatter' as it fluffs up its feathers against the cold.
Now Richard has started feeding it bird seed.
It clucks appreciately when it sees him.
It'll be wanting to come into the house next.

Sunday 26 October 2008

I lift my eyes to the hills

Psalm 121 - which has been set most beautifully to music by Brian Doerksen www.briandoerksen.com says:
I lift up my eyes to the hills -where does my help come from?
My help comes from the LORD, the Maker of heaven and earth.

We all love and appreciate the beauty of God's creation, which is a love song in our ears. A quiet walk in the country; sitting on a rock by a wildly raging sea; gazing at a panorama of mountains - all these bring rest to our souls, restoring peace. But help - that is something else.

The peace brought about by nature is only temporary, fleeting. Help comes from nature's Maker.

A friend once defined an extrovert as someone who gains energy from other people. I suspect Jesus was like that. Even his retreat to a quiet place to pray was to spend time with his Father, not just to be on his own.

I've never thought of myself as an extrovert. I'm naturally shy, quite quiet, not the life and soul of the party. But I gain energy from being with like-minded people. From talking about things of the heart, things that really matter. From sharing Jesus with them.

Rejoicing

Cappuchinoed out. I've lost count of the number of cappuchino coffees I've drunk this week. Every meeting with friends has been to the song of the frothy coffee. Leisurely mornings at home with my husband have been punctuated by the sound of high pressure steam frothing yet more milk.

It has been wonderful to catch up with friends and meet new ones. It has been a joy to catch up with a girl I prayed for some weeks ago, and to hear how God is marvellously meeting her needs. It has been an inspiration to see the happiness on her face as she recounts, not how her situation has changed (it has, it seems, almost got worse) but how God has protected and supported her in countless ways.

Richard thoughtfully schedules all his leave to coincide with my holidays. Our week together has been punctuated with bike rides, meals with friends and walks with the dogs. Not for me a husband who wants to go off fishing by himself for a week, or to watch football matches. He actually prefers to spend his free time with me. Amazing!

Wednesday 22 October 2008

The Spiders

My last post was so full of chicken I never got round to mentioning The Spiders.

It is Spider Season here. The carpet has been crawling with the thin long-legged type – so ephemeral their legs snap if you glare at them. The front door has a huge web in front of it, occupied by a golden Madam who throws her washing lines in every direction and has a hissy fit if one of her threads so much as trembles. (Which they do, frequently: my breath turns somewhat menacing when I realize I cannot approach my front door without the risk of destroying the Madam’s home.) Tiny white balls of fluff, spider cases, have appeared on the floor beneath my spider plant, rolling stroppily around, resisting attempts at capture.

I have been woken at night by strange caresses, long fingers delicately tracing my cheek or neck.

I had entered Spider Season with equanimity, until the night-time caresses turned to day time horrors. Stumbling out of bed, I sleepily put on my jeans. As my foot emerged from the bottom of the leg (if that makes sense – the leg of the jeans, that is) something large and grey dropped from my toe. A spider. At least 3 inches across, stretched out. It was certainly at full stretch as it galloped towards the bed. I lunged, but missed as it reached safe haven.

Its cousin – even larger – was in the bath, glowering.

“Look, it’s not my fault I live in this house too,” I told it. But reasoning with Spiders is a fruitless task. I gave up, because I know something the Spiders don’t.

Cold weather is coming. Then they’ll be sorry they ever lived here. They’ll be moving out then – unless I get them first.

Tales of Chickens and Feral Spiders

Actually, this should be feral chickens. One arrived in the garden a few days ago. I arrived home one evening, paused at the mail box, and was startled by a scrabbling above my head accompanied by a smattering of twigs falling into my hair. A chicken was roosting in the cypress tree next to the box.

Since when had our postman turned into a chicken, I wondered? I examined it closely. Smart brown and white dappled feathers, with a tawny brown collar, a red beak… all the usual Chicken appendages. It glared at me, annoyed that I had broken its peace with my presence. Shrugging, I left it to it. It was cold in the tree, and I had a warm house to go into.

It was still there the next morning. Beneath the tree. Scratching around on the gravel, turning over dross in search of insect and grub gold.

It was still there at lunch time. Same actions. Same menu.

And dinner.

As dusk fell, it hopped back into the tree again. I contemplated asking it for a contribution towards its board and lodging.

Days later, it still occupies my garden. It evidently has chicken intelligence: the hunting ground has moved to the patch of grass below the bird feeder. This is normally Robin’s haunt: he flashes his red feathers at all who intrude, but in this instance he is nowhere to be seen. The FC must be more than a hundred times his size, so sense reigns in his birdbrain. There is probably more nous in there than in the Chicken, which must be galling for him. A clear case of brawn triumphing over brain.

Where has this Chicken come from? Where should it go? There is no knowing, but at this rate, the lawn will be scratched to pieces in another couple of weeks and the Grass Police will be on my case.

Or the Chicken’s.

Tuesday 21 October 2008

Half term holidays

I LOVE my job. It's tremendous fun. High energy, intense, exciting - never a dull moment.
Part of the reason I went into teaching is because one of my teachers said that every day was different. That sounded a lot more fun than an office job so, decades later, here I am.

But I LOVE the holidays. This is half term week, and it's such a pleasure. I have time.

Time to cook different meals, trying new recipes.
Time to meet up with friends for coffee and chat and talk and eat.
Time to go on long bike rides with my husband.
Time to take the dog for an exhilarating scamper on the beach.
Time to search the internet for resources to enhance my teaching.
Time to catch my breath before diving into the hectic run up to Christmas.
Time to catch up on emails.
Time to pray for my loved ones at greater length.
Time to reflect.
Time.

I LOVE having more time.

Monday 20 October 2008

Jesus is

Jesus is
A mirror reflecting God
An architect of creation

Jesus is
The beginning of everything
The glue which holds our world together

Jesus is
The first who survived death
The Supreme one – the best, the biggest, the most important

Jesus is
Everything God is
The one who sorts everything out with God
by giving up himself to die on the cross.

Live in the reality of God's presence
without doubt of His existence
with the living possibility that He IS
with the promise of certainty that He WILL BE.
Colossians 1:15 - 29

Colossians 2:13

Don't get caught up,
don't get trapped
with strange ideas
or godly claptrap.

Don't be deceived
by those who say
"I know God means it -
but not today.
Today I'll choose
just what I like
for I can do
what I think is right."

It's not like that
- no, not at all.
It's not up to us
When it's God's call.
So don't get bogged down
by petty stuff
don't worry over
if you've done enough.

It's not about
what you can do
-or what you can't -
or obeying the rules.
God's done it all
He's sent His son
a generous gift -
that's what He's done.

So this is what
we have to do
just accept
he died for you
and me. That's hard
to understand
for decisions are taken
from our hands.

But that's okay
if we let go
and leave our trust
in the God we know.

Friday 17 October 2008

Fun


Wow - half term - what fun!

What fun it has been this half term in school.
I cannot express the joy God has given me with my class.
A restitution for last year's struggles.
A restoration of my soul and spirit.
I am immensely grateful.

The half term finished with an exciting announcement.
We grew 25 pumpkins in the school garden. The largest must have weighed over 10 kilos - it was very hefty.
It took three small boys to carry it.

So we ran a silent auction in aid of the Tumaini Fund, which supports destitute widows and orphans in a remote corner of Tanzania.
We raised - if everyone coughs up what they have promised - over £275!!!

So satisfying, that as we rejoice in our harvest we can share with those who had nothing to harvest themselves.

Our children were very excited as I announced the winners.

But the biggest surprise of all was when our Deputy Head thanked me for organising it.

The school gave me a huge clap and cheer.

Having been told by a parent in July that all the boys hate and fear me, rejoicing when I am not around, I can't express how much that meant to me.

Sad!

Sunday 12 October 2008

Boys will be boys

I'm having a wonderful time with my class this year. They are SUCH fun and a great bunch of kids.

Nevertheless, they are still scamps.

This week, I've had:

Lost items, most serious of which was a toy which a boy was very upset to have lost. I sent him round the whole school with a description of the missing item and desperate appeals to all and sundry to help search for it.. Then, suddenly, another boy in our class put his hand up and said he had it. He described how he had 'found' it when it had dropped out of the schoolbag.
"Oh, that's fine," I said, relieved it had been found. "Where is it now?"
"At home."
Oh dear. Hopefully it will be back in school, with its rightful owner, tomorrow.

Other lost items were clothes, ownership of which was furiously disputed. No one wanted to claim the surplus blazers, sweaters, shirts or shoes. Some boys vehemently denied that items belonged to them - even when the evidence of their own name tape shouted at their eyes. There was much doubtful headshaking as the clothing was forced on the rightful owners, as if to say: There is some sort of conspiracy here. I KNOW I didn't lose this blazer. It is a complete mystery how it ended up lying in the playground. I really am not at all sure it belongs to me.

The games have been a headache as well, with the potential for serious injury. It's all great fun - but comes under the 'Only Try This At Home' rule. Strangely enough, parents don't allow boys to climb out of windows and then run round to the door, timing themselves to see how quickly they can do it. Or play games of 'chipping': hold a football between your feet and let the others chip it away from you. Funny how ankles and shins get kicked instead.

The most minor of infringements, in my book, is the 'top collar undone and shirt untucked' challenge. Yet it's the first to be confronted. Because underlying this challenge is a much bolder statement: 'Let's see who is really in charge here - me, or my teacher?'

Let those tails and ties go unnoticed, and it's the long slippery slope to anarchy. Fortunately, all it needs from me is a raised eyebrow or a marked look, and small hands start tucking in shirts and pulling up socks.

I even have them convinced I know their innermost thoughts.

Gotcha, boys.

Sunday 5 October 2008

Making Sense

Making sense - or naking sense, as I mistyped at first - isn't easy. Communicating my ideas is difficult. Understanding - making sense of - my life: near impossible. So here comes some 'naking', naked, sense.

I rarely read a blog without a sense that the writer is writing for the world. Projecting a certain persona, a viewpoint, an impression, a facade. Blogs contain naked sense of a kind - up to a limit.

Because we do not dare reveal our naked selves for fear they would look too bad.

Nor do I.