The 2010 school year lies gasping on the threshold of the finishing line, awaiting the final gun signalling the end of the race. Many disfunctional bodies lurch their way to the medical tent and look to get that crucial sustenance before heading out for the next leg.
That being said, we still have a busy week and a half to get through with resourcing to be finalised for the new school year and Matric marking to be done. It is "Hello, uncle, Hello, Aunty week" for our kids. Than-you, Lord for a strong support group.
Oh sleep, wherefore art thou?
Saturday, December 4, 2010
Tuesday, September 14, 2010
Traffic is a state of mind.
It was a really bad day on the roads today - car packed with pre-pubescent girls with no volume control took a whole hour to travel the eight kilometres to work. Some poor hapless soul collided in peak traffic and so began the impatient snake of which my fun-wagon was but a tardy scale, trapped. As if to a struggling dysfunctional learner, the lesson was repeated on the way home from work, but apparently this time it was twelve hapless souls getting acquainted.
Search to the left, search to right - there must be some way to circumvent the jam. I cannot sit, passive while my life continues elsewhere without me.
And so the realisation: "You're in the traffic, so, you're in the traffic". From past experience the flight or avoidance tactic has often necessitated me reaching my destination after my allocated spot in the jam has dissipated, or traversed the place that would have been my original goal. Often the best place to be is in the traffic. Ultimately you will reach your destination, often at a greater pace than our well conceived, spur of the moment, makeshift solutions allow us.
A contemporary of mine from school has posted the pictures of his life from the last few years, as we are all prone to do. They ranged from London to Ibiza to skiing in the Alps. Beautiful locations, beautiful people, beautiful life. I kid you not, someone actually wrote that they would love to live his life. It would appear that he transcends the traffic. And yet, I sit bumper to bumper in just the right spot.
We get to nudge each other forward on a daily basis, hoping that we are all travelling in the same direction. As the traffic slows, I am able to see the people around me and really make eye contact, and smile.
So, you're in the traffic - I'll bet that you're in the traffic with exactly the right people that God, Almighty God in all his wisdom, wants you to nudge forward; and smile at; and prefer, giving them right of way. It's really slow for a reason: so that we can make eye contact, and wonder about on another, and care about one another.
I love the traffic - it's where I'm supposed to be.
Search to the left, search to right - there must be some way to circumvent the jam. I cannot sit, passive while my life continues elsewhere without me.
And so the realisation: "You're in the traffic, so, you're in the traffic". From past experience the flight or avoidance tactic has often necessitated me reaching my destination after my allocated spot in the jam has dissipated, or traversed the place that would have been my original goal. Often the best place to be is in the traffic. Ultimately you will reach your destination, often at a greater pace than our well conceived, spur of the moment, makeshift solutions allow us.
A contemporary of mine from school has posted the pictures of his life from the last few years, as we are all prone to do. They ranged from London to Ibiza to skiing in the Alps. Beautiful locations, beautiful people, beautiful life. I kid you not, someone actually wrote that they would love to live his life. It would appear that he transcends the traffic. And yet, I sit bumper to bumper in just the right spot.
We get to nudge each other forward on a daily basis, hoping that we are all travelling in the same direction. As the traffic slows, I am able to see the people around me and really make eye contact, and smile.
So, you're in the traffic - I'll bet that you're in the traffic with exactly the right people that God, Almighty God in all his wisdom, wants you to nudge forward; and smile at; and prefer, giving them right of way. It's really slow for a reason: so that we can make eye contact, and wonder about on another, and care about one another.
I love the traffic - it's where I'm supposed to be.
Sunday, September 12, 2010
Breathing!!
Life feels like a race. I know, I know the old cliche, however, as one begins to re-examine the simile, everything extended to the image of the race can in many respects apply to life. One of the fundamental components to any sporting activity is the aerobic and anaerobic functions of the body. One of the key elements of coaching any sport is strength, fitness and sustainability. My under 14 hockey boys know that in order to give a good performance in a hockey match, you need to be able to run for 50 minutes. That is the duration of the game. Key to this performance, the sports science guru who never greets me while skulking through the hallowed halls of our mutual institution would insist, is breathing.
Breathing is the subconscious, systematic intake of oxygen to sustain our bodily, muscular functions. It prevents amongst other things stitches and other forms of cramps. But, so often, we run our lives without stopping to breathe. We conduct our lives in accordance to the dictates of the pinball machine of society and we allow ourselves to be pushed here and there at the whim of others, not knowing that we control the ball. Sometimes we are forced to breathe, other times we stop willfully and take a few deep breaths and look up and take in the scenery.
Tonight, I sat on the veranda of my amazing mother's bungalow in a small coastal town on the outskirts of Cape Town, listening to the breeze in the reeds and the distant sounds of waves breaking on the shallow beach a couple of hundred metres away. The kids, the complete hatrick, were settling down onto Granny's double bed and for a few moments, we were allowed to breathe. I am sure that the other athletes were pushing past in their bid to pip one to the post, like the management guys who have given out schedules to be filled in stating how much you are currently undertaking, and how much more you feel that you could undertake in the next year. It reminds me of a mate of mine in sales who overshot his targets for the year (pre-recession) and those numbers became the new targets for the following year. Clearly no-one cares about oxygen deprivation in an institution that has seen a 36 year-old have a heart attack, curtesy, in part to the high trans-fat content of the tuckshop food, and in part to his own state of oxygen deprivation.
We live as perpetual asthmatics seldom remembering at the end of a lap to grasp onto the the reality outside of our fishbowl and take a few deep breaths, through the nose, down deep, permeating to the core to the AH!! YES! One of my mentors spoke this last weekend of writing down what you want your life to be like, defining as it were, your ideal self, and then begin to go there.
Don't tread water, but begin to swim, stroke by stroke, doing your best and remembering to breathe with each stroke, in the direction of your dreams. Look to the left, look to the right, look up and move.
Breathe.
Breathing is the subconscious, systematic intake of oxygen to sustain our bodily, muscular functions. It prevents amongst other things stitches and other forms of cramps. But, so often, we run our lives without stopping to breathe. We conduct our lives in accordance to the dictates of the pinball machine of society and we allow ourselves to be pushed here and there at the whim of others, not knowing that we control the ball. Sometimes we are forced to breathe, other times we stop willfully and take a few deep breaths and look up and take in the scenery.
Tonight, I sat on the veranda of my amazing mother's bungalow in a small coastal town on the outskirts of Cape Town, listening to the breeze in the reeds and the distant sounds of waves breaking on the shallow beach a couple of hundred metres away. The kids, the complete hatrick, were settling down onto Granny's double bed and for a few moments, we were allowed to breathe. I am sure that the other athletes were pushing past in their bid to pip one to the post, like the management guys who have given out schedules to be filled in stating how much you are currently undertaking, and how much more you feel that you could undertake in the next year. It reminds me of a mate of mine in sales who overshot his targets for the year (pre-recession) and those numbers became the new targets for the following year. Clearly no-one cares about oxygen deprivation in an institution that has seen a 36 year-old have a heart attack, curtesy, in part to the high trans-fat content of the tuckshop food, and in part to his own state of oxygen deprivation.
We live as perpetual asthmatics seldom remembering at the end of a lap to grasp onto the the reality outside of our fishbowl and take a few deep breaths, through the nose, down deep, permeating to the core to the AH!! YES! One of my mentors spoke this last weekend of writing down what you want your life to be like, defining as it were, your ideal self, and then begin to go there.
Don't tread water, but begin to swim, stroke by stroke, doing your best and remembering to breathe with each stroke, in the direction of your dreams. Look to the left, look to the right, look up and move.
Breathe.
Sunday, August 15, 2010
The dam wall
My hands are planted on the dam wall
Afraid of that wonderful burst.
Forgive me, Lord, that I stand
With finger
In
To contain
The tide
of you, Holy Spirit.
You,
Great Spirit, God
Have cracked that facade
You,
Lord,
Push in,
Flood our lives,
And I
Timidly stand
To stop
The flow from that fragile edifice.
Now your Kingdom advances -
Now break down the walls,
Now the violent men take it -
Take it by storm!
I take out my finger,
And so begin to push
To break down my walls
To
Let
Your river
Flow
Over me,
Flow
Through me.
Afraid of that wonderful burst.
Forgive me, Lord, that I stand
With finger
In
To contain
The tide
of you, Holy Spirit.
You,
Great Spirit, God
Have cracked that facade
You,
Lord,
Push in,
Flood our lives,
And I
Timidly stand
To stop
The flow from that fragile edifice.
Now your Kingdom advances -
Now break down the walls,
Now the violent men take it -
Take it by storm!
I take out my finger,
And so begin to push
To break down my walls
To
Let
Your river
Flow
Over me,
Flow
Through me.
Wednesday, August 11, 2010
Iron while the strike is hot!
Being a teacher, there is always a dilemma as to whether to strike for better pay or not. Do you have a moral responsibility to the learners in your class to participate in any rolling mass action, which given the limited time frame of the strike - 1 day- was doomed to the cauldron of inefficacy from the start, even before the cooking fire was lit?
Honestly, I think half of the learners in my classes were disappointed at how few teachers participated in the strike. There was no surging feeling of solidarity with the downtrodden masses as to the pittance offered by state. In fact there was a peculiarly insular feeling as to the events taking place. I know that many of us seasonal patriots who dusted off our brief lack of cynicism for the World Cup were appalled at a number of strikes which threatened (although never really) to derail the near perfect presentation of our nation to the world. I suppose that in the back of our minds there is that niggle that given the current economic climate that to strike is just a tad unpatriotic.
And so we prepare for the final moderation of our marks in about two weeks time. Our Grade 12 learners are increasingly seeing the need to begin their long December Vacation early, and have already begun planning the post Exams after party while completely ignoring the finer points of stylistic devices so juicily presented to them. I have begun to role play the worst case scenarios in terms of end of year marking just to attach some relevance to the learning process. Fear and its associated blind panic are quite motivating if wielded properly. One just needs to make sure that you don't sever any limb that might still be of use.
But I digress - in the past week I have been involved in the production of a musical which far exceeded our expectations. Directed by one of my extremely capable colleagues, it was a privilege to be a part of that show. Time stood still while the show ran for the week, and we got to be part of another time and place. Teaching, ah, where else are you able indulge in this momentary distraction, extend yourself in such an enjoyable way and feel such a sense of collective accomplishment, then to to return to the norm of the classroom, and the mundanity of the proverbial feeding spoon.
I need to plot the way forward to moderation, reset contextual tests, set preliminary examinations and mark a whole forest of assignments. I put on my creased shirt and my crinkled tie and count the cost of not ironing while the strike was hot.
Aidan
Honestly, I think half of the learners in my classes were disappointed at how few teachers participated in the strike. There was no surging feeling of solidarity with the downtrodden masses as to the pittance offered by state. In fact there was a peculiarly insular feeling as to the events taking place. I know that many of us seasonal patriots who dusted off our brief lack of cynicism for the World Cup were appalled at a number of strikes which threatened (although never really) to derail the near perfect presentation of our nation to the world. I suppose that in the back of our minds there is that niggle that given the current economic climate that to strike is just a tad unpatriotic.
And so we prepare for the final moderation of our marks in about two weeks time. Our Grade 12 learners are increasingly seeing the need to begin their long December Vacation early, and have already begun planning the post Exams after party while completely ignoring the finer points of stylistic devices so juicily presented to them. I have begun to role play the worst case scenarios in terms of end of year marking just to attach some relevance to the learning process. Fear and its associated blind panic are quite motivating if wielded properly. One just needs to make sure that you don't sever any limb that might still be of use.
But I digress - in the past week I have been involved in the production of a musical which far exceeded our expectations. Directed by one of my extremely capable colleagues, it was a privilege to be a part of that show. Time stood still while the show ran for the week, and we got to be part of another time and place. Teaching, ah, where else are you able indulge in this momentary distraction, extend yourself in such an enjoyable way and feel such a sense of collective accomplishment, then to to return to the norm of the classroom, and the mundanity of the proverbial feeding spoon.
I need to plot the way forward to moderation, reset contextual tests, set preliminary examinations and mark a whole forest of assignments. I put on my creased shirt and my crinkled tie and count the cost of not ironing while the strike was hot.
Aidan
Tuesday, August 10, 2010
And so, an English Teacher's foray into the world of blogging!
I am really blessed to be able to work in a place as beautiful as Cape Town, with a people as diverse and sometimes complex as urbanised young people, urbanised Capetonians. I am a school teacher and have the privilege of looking out of my classroom window and seeing the magnificent vista of Table Mountain dominating the skyline.
In many respects on certain days that outlook is sanity and on many days the world within is so much richer than the view.
Teaching language in modern day South Africa is not without its challenges, foremost of which for me is relevance, hence the blog. Modern communication is fast moving away from lined books and cheap ball point pens. I suppose in many respects its also moving away from extended writing to curt business utterances which can be spellchecked and secretarised. Or so, many young people think.
And so we, the coal face linguists of the day attempt to generate an enthusiasm and a belief in what we do, and so keep on doing it.
Blogging is surprisingly easy, much to my technophobic relief, in that we are getting our learners to start blogging, challenging them to new experiences and comfort zones, and hopefully in some respects dispelling the discomfort, both mental and physical that comes with handwriting, and pens and pencils. They have after all grown up with the comfort of a keyboard and mouse and will no doubt return there after the initiation which we call school has passed.
Viva le blog - I am liking this already.
In many respects on certain days that outlook is sanity and on many days the world within is so much richer than the view.
Teaching language in modern day South Africa is not without its challenges, foremost of which for me is relevance, hence the blog. Modern communication is fast moving away from lined books and cheap ball point pens. I suppose in many respects its also moving away from extended writing to curt business utterances which can be spellchecked and secretarised. Or so, many young people think.
And so we, the coal face linguists of the day attempt to generate an enthusiasm and a belief in what we do, and so keep on doing it.
Blogging is surprisingly easy, much to my technophobic relief, in that we are getting our learners to start blogging, challenging them to new experiences and comfort zones, and hopefully in some respects dispelling the discomfort, both mental and physical that comes with handwriting, and pens and pencils. They have after all grown up with the comfort of a keyboard and mouse and will no doubt return there after the initiation which we call school has passed.
Viva le blog - I am liking this already.
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