tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-71826303956152476542024-02-19T22:57:01.421-08:00My MomentsJettygirlxhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16000206544560620524noreply@blogger.comBlogger19125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7182630395615247654.post-78895718498276405192015-07-18T09:34:00.000-07:002015-07-18T09:34:05.143-07:00<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhRiQoeFfAJhWfzC3_qBShMtUmNE6pU3NqqgZLEFwMVyuNC381zhIMcgqLlpXFFfNbutIv5Uo60EjkUkBR7NuzzvgQ107oVTra3X_dZS1waDlxRHTZtJUi0HznQy5dWBdhVx6s1tcdcViA8/s1600/_DSC0381.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="213" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhRiQoeFfAJhWfzC3_qBShMtUmNE6pU3NqqgZLEFwMVyuNC381zhIMcgqLlpXFFfNbutIv5Uo60EjkUkBR7NuzzvgQ107oVTra3X_dZS1waDlxRHTZtJUi0HznQy5dWBdhVx6s1tcdcViA8/s320/_DSC0381.JPG" width="320" /></a></div>
<br />
<br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><b>A Moment by the Jetty </b></span><br />
<br />
For the past few years I have uploaded a photo each day to an online photo community called blipfoto. Since its future seems less than 100% secure I may occasionally 'blip' to this blog instead. This is by way of my starter!Jettygirlxhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16000206544560620524noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7182630395615247654.post-5523525013550828702014-02-25T08:16:00.000-08:002014-02-25T08:16:02.300-08:00Learning for Life<h3>
In praise of the MOOC!</h3>
I always enjoy having a topic up my sleeve with which to bore good friends who are sufficiently unwise to ask me what I've been doing with myself! In the last few months, my answer has been that I have been MOOC-ing about!<br />
<br />
A MOOC is a <b>massive open online course</b>, offered globally to thousands of learners, free of charge, by an academic institution, through one of a growing number of online providers, in my case Futurelearn (linked with the Open University) and Coursera.<br />
<br />
I could bore you too with further fact but better to provide links to articles before I get up close and personal;-<br />
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<a href="https://www.coursera.org/">https://www.coursera.org/</a><br />
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<a href="http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Massive_open_online_course">http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Massive_open_online_course</a><br />
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<a href="https://www.futurelearn.com/courses">https://www.futurelearn.com/courses</a><br />
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And for an idea of the current clients for MOOCS<br />
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<a href="http://www.theguardian.com/education/2014/feb/19/moocs-online-universities-recruit-students">http://www.theguardian.com/education/2014/feb/19/moocs-online-universities-recruit-students</a><br />
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If, like me, you are <u>not</u> the typical Moocer, fully employed, degree qualified, a 30+ year old man in a developed or BRICS country, you may wonder whether such a course might be for you. So I am about to <strike>bore you</strike> fascinate you with my own experience and perhaps bring you together with the MOOC of your dreams!<br />
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Since I retired in 2010, I have taken several courses at what I call "The Wrinkly Uni": courses of, say, 4 to 10 weeks duration, in subjects linked to Music, Forensic Psychology, Architecture, Art Appreciation, at a nearby university, convenient for the train. I have paid for these courses and they have been of variable quality from dire to brilliant, held in classrooms either sauna-like or baltic, with 10-19 others of similar mind! Additionally, I have taken a very demanding but excellent online course in novel writing from the same uni. My motivation in each case has been to keep learning; to stimulate my brain; to keep me thinking and to take me as far as possible out of my comfort zone.<br />
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Now, like literally thousands of other older learners, I have found the MOOC. Before Christmas I studied a six-week Introduction to Philosophy with the University of Edinburgh through Coursera. <br />
Since then, I have had a six week Introduction to Forensic Science from Strathclyde Uni and a three week Good Brain Bad Brain Basics course from the University of Birmingham both via Futurelearn; this week I have started the second part of the latter course, now focusing on Parkinson's Disease. Later in the year, Part 3 will focus on the Origins of Drugs and another short course will teach me How to Read a Mind with University of Nottingham. In September, I'll be back with Coursera and Penn University for 10 weeks to learn about Modern & Contemporary American Poetry; they've already been in touch to suggest pre-reading.<br />
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I chose each course from a vast catalogue and signed up without minutes; in each case there was an estimate given of the hours 'required' to complete each week's work and these have been relatively accurate. I take the minimalist approach, watching the videos, taking notes (45 years on, that's still my learning style), completing research and testing myself with the weekly 'test' for retention. I post in the discussion sections, but don't get involved in the extended online debates which the Philosophy course certainly included. I don't do the written assignments for peer evaluation (Coursera) or apply to sit an 'exam' (Futurelearn): I don't need a certificate, although Coursera provided one and I suppose if I were in need of proof for a Personal Development file, it would be useful.<br />
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The highlights of these courses have been many: making shoe-prints in the kitchen, using cocoa powder and olive oil; screaming at the screen when I recognised forensic science terminology in Silent Witness (and knowing where that description of F.S. originated); encountering a chapter entitled Time Travel & Metaphysics in suggested reading; trying to learn words like Cholinesterase and hemidesmosomes; enjoying deeper insights into the work of Walter White ; following the based-on -reality murder case study and getting the right person for the crime. And what fun to be involved in three live Google Hangouts with hundreds of fellow Moocers all 'asking' who had brought the custard creams!<br />
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In most of this I am a mile outside my arts and humanities comfort zone: having been chucked out of Biology at 13 on the grounds that I was good at English (no, I didn't understand either) I am taking courses alongside people who have degrees in science. When we are given a topic to research online, I can't tell whether the web page I land on is for fifteen year old beginners or is a complex chapter in someone's doctoral thesis! And while I take notes and look them over, my memory is 63 years old and would rather remember something detailed from 1957 to a broad generalisation from last week.<br />
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But it is really good fun! It has got me hooked on BBC4 as a source of other scientific learning, on YouTube's archive of innumerable lectures, TV programmes and powerpoints on related topics. It has got me stunned by what I am carrying around in this skull of mine.<br />
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I don't care what the Guardian article has found in its research; the people I see posting on discussion boards are often like me; retired graduates with a deep hunger for new learning and a relaxed attitude to summative assessment. It's a pity the MOOC providers haven't yet drawn in their original target audience; but they have disturbed the Boomers in their gardens and on their bracing walks, in crossword completion and coffee drinking! Who wants to see a movie matinee on the cheap when we could be discussing methamphetamine, dendrites and multiple realizability?<br />
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Go on.... search MOOC and see where it will take you.Jettygirlxhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16000206544560620524noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7182630395615247654.post-75486160488353275822014-02-21T09:19:00.000-08:002014-02-21T09:19:39.570-08:00Floating<h2>
<b>Floating</b></h2>
<br />
No Google Glass for my eye;<br />
no staring off into my prism;<br />
Smartglass is not my new worldview;<br />
I am no age Explorer!<br />
<br />
My tiny spider scuttles<br />
across my vitreous humour;<br />
its wispish shadow comforts me:<br />
I will explore new landscape.Jettygirlxhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16000206544560620524noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7182630395615247654.post-8248003045366707682013-04-14T03:48:00.000-07:002013-04-14T03:48:40.059-07:00On Calm ReflectionAs the fates would have it, I was not at home in Scotland on April 8th, but far away in icy Norfolk. Sheltering with our three older grandchildren as they wasted coppers in an amusement arcade, I updated my Facebook status on my phone only to find a brief post saying that Margaret Thatcher had died. I told my husband and we wondered if it were true or one of these vile hoaxes. Taking a lot of care (in Scotland it's unlikely that random strangers will be pro-tory) I asked the two arcade supervisors to confirm the news. They did. There flooded over me a feeling I recognised as relief, as though, unknown to myself, I had been holding my breath just ever so slightly all these years. Possibly the relief was written on my face. The two supervisors looked bemused.<br />
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For various reasons, I had no access to wifi when in Norfolk and missed all the immediate media and social networking responses. I posted very little although keeping an eye on friends' activity when I could. This enforced 'radio silence' gave me the opportunity to observe and to reflect a little more calmly on my own reaction and on the responses of others, not battered by an atmosphere of eulogy or vilification, but in order to tell my own truth. I have valued that hiatus.<br />
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In 1979, I was a comparatively new mum, a teacher by profession. I was happily at the start of seven years' parenting absence, we were 'skint' but mortgaged and I had the best job in the world. I was left of centre politically, influenced by my dad, whom I adored, with his tales of Hugh Gaitskell, his insistence on social justice and integrity and his belonging to the Cooperative movement; I was not that long past voting for Danny The Red in a Glasgow University rectorial.<br />
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In the 1979 General Election, I voted for Margaret Thatcher.<br />
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I voted for a woman, not for the party she represented and not, in my extreme naivety, for her policies. I voted as a feminist because I believed fervently that a woman could sort out the appalling mess we were in while also doing what women do best - caring. She would, I was sure, gain ground for feminism, put families first, fight for the underdog, ensure we were not bullied ............ all this because she was a woman and surely had to be better than a crumpled pasty-faced man who was scared of Scargill and McGahey! It has taken me years and years even to begin to forgive myself for that woeful level of ignorance and naivety. Much of the obsessiveness with which I pursued social justice for young people from areas of deprivation in the working professional life to which I returned in 1984, was the product of the 1979 shame I felt and the need to balance my own moral books; to be able to look myself in the political eye. <br />
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I don't like the street party, celebration nonsense although I understand it. The airing of opposing views on a former leader whose pernicious influence affects all of us in the U.K. today is too healthy a debate to be trivialised. Let those who think the woman was a force for good have their say but let us have reasoned, evidenced argument and explication of the evils she purveyed. It is easy to come by. Let us not demean ourselves but rather educate our sillier young people about the real reasons for our anger and show them that the greed-is-good, rampant individualism, no-such-thing-as-society attitudes are anathema to us. Such openness is healthy and if the past week has shown the 40+ generations anything, it is that the younger generations have no idea at all that they are still living in Mrs Thatcher's creation but that there was a time when people cared more and attitudes were different. <br />
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Listening to and reading about reaction while I was furth of Scotland also made me realise that I take it for granted when at home and certainly did while I was working, that the political views of those around me will be left of centre! As we move towards 2014, we will need to question our assumptions in any political debate that we are all on the same side!<br />
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When the American people repeatedly voted for the likes of Bush senior and junior, I would shake my head and wonder loudly what on earth they were thinking about! I had the cheek to query their sanity on Dubya's second victory! I will not do that again: I have been surprised that comment from across the globe seems to ignore the fact that a view from the outside, interesting as it might be, will lack the first-hand experience. From now on I am hands-off with U.S. voting preferences!<br />
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But more than anything, I was immensely disturbed by the pronouncements of young audience members on last week's Question Time. Polly Toynbee, Ming Campbell and Ken Clark were exceptional and David Blunkett was also reasonable . But the young audience were horrifyingly ignorant! Here were politics students, modern feminists et al who believed that Thatcherism had "stopped" when John Major melted greyly into Number 10; that Margaret Thatcher was a 'role-model' for young women today, that she had helped women improve their lot! It was blood-freezing stuff. Thank goodness for the brilliance of the panel members, all of whom hit the latter nail firmly on the head! Women who have worked in a man's world know what it's like to work with a Thatcher style woman; Women Beware Women as the playwright said!<br />
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Then it hit me. These 20-something, intelligent, earnest, young people had fallen for the Thatcher myth; they couldn't see the evils which her critics talked of; they thought her influence had died long before her death: what was the clamour about?<br />
<br />
How different were these 'kids' from the 29-year-old mum who despite all she had been brought up to believe, despite all her own values, still went out and voted ... only once in her life ... for Margaret Thatcher?Jettygirlxhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16000206544560620524noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7182630395615247654.post-33649450781318206202013-03-09T06:13:00.004-08:002013-03-09T06:13:58.044-08:00Learning from Experience.Two linked staples of the current media agenda are the need to 'cure' the NHS and the challenge of the 'baby boomer' generation's entry into '60s' which relate to their age rather than their era. How will an overstretched, under-skilled, morale-deprived NHS cope with the needs of a generation which has lived its life as a centre of attention and which will not conform to expectations of age?<br />
<br />
Despite the awful experiences of both parents at the hands of the NHS, I have tried to remain open-minded, but recent experience has made me pause.<br />
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I am not ill. I have always enjoyed robust good health, last visited a doctor two years ago and have stayed overnight in hospital only for childbirth. In my final 12 years of work I was absent through illness once ... for three days. I consider a visit to the doctor an admission of defeat; if I do have to resort to it, I use the appointment to seek advice on how to help myself. Like the ex-teacher I am, I read and research carefully to aid this process. I believe in self help.<br />
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In the past three months I have been suffering excruciating pain in my lower back, groins, buttocks, hips and legs: I have never had an unbroken night's sleep and, at its worst, the pain has reduced me to yelps and tears in public places. I have refused to see a doctor, hoping instead that yoga, stretches, heat and as little ibuprofen as possible would see me through.<br />
<br />
Finally, after one crying jag brought on by gardening, I acceded to my family's pleas. GP 1 told me we would have to find out where this pain was coming from. GP 2 agreed. There followed blood tests which were pronounced absolutely clear. Yesterday came the X-ray results; I had to discuss these by phone with G.P. 3 . Thus began a demoralising conversation:<br />
<br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: inherit;">First the good news. My X-rays showed wear and tear in both hips and lower back that is normal "for someone born in 1950". No need for ortho consultation as we are "a long way away from that" </span>Just pain killers and anti-inflammatories (GP2 had advised avoiding them if possible).<br />
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span></div>
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: inherit;">So, I ask, it's just self-help to deal with this pain then? </span></div>
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span></div>
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: inherit;">Yes.</span></div>
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: inherit;">Should I just keep at the yoga , swimming etc ? Should I assume any exercise is good?</span></div>
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span></div>
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: inherit;">"Mmmm"</span></div>
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span></div>
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: inherit;">The pain sort of reminds me of sciatica I had years ago. Could that be a possibility?</span></div>
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span></div>
<div>
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: inherit;">"Oh well that doesn't show on an X-ray because it's nerves" </span>He can certainly tell from my level of articulacy that I will already know this, so</div>
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span></div>
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: inherit;">!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! I see.</span></div>
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span></div>
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: inherit;">What we're interested in, he says, is whether you need an ortho consult. And you don't.</span></div>
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span></div>
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So really, I need to do self help to deal with this .........?</div>
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span></div>
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: inherit;">Uhuh! (sic)</span></div>
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: inherit;">At that point I thought there wasn't much more to say! Whatever he <i>wanted</i> to communicate, what I actually <i>heard</i> was, "You're 62, woman! This pain is normal for that age. Sort it. Buy some pills. Now get off the line because there are tens of others behind you."</span></div>
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Personal anecdote this may be, but it raises some serious issues. I am a highly educated, retired professional, articulate, comfortably off, time-rich and well acquainted with Google and You Tube. However, the area I live in and which this large practice serves has major deprivation as its norm. In fairness, my need to be sufficiently pain-free to enjoy gardening, tennis, walking, yoga, foreign trips, must pale into insignificance compared with the GP's caseload of diseases and ailments which are exacerbated by poverty and lifestyle and lead to lower than average life expectancy. Many 62 year olds in this area are in the last decade of their lives. If good fortune, self-help and heredity play an appropriate part, I have good reason to expect another twenty years and more. Which of us demands the GP's attention? I understand.</div>
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But surely, when that GP recognises from a voice, from questions and reactions that a client is capable of self-help, given a bit of extra advice, why not offer it, in the hope of increasing the years before she joins those who need referral to a specialist? Thousands of us are willing to self help if we are simply pointed in the right direction. The assumption must be made that we are looking for another twenty or thirty years! We're looking after ourselves, watching our diet, our alcohol intake; we don't smoke, we exercise, we hone our intellectual skills; we are the Boomers.</div>
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<br /></div>
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I have now spent hours researching the cause of the pain I am experiencing, because I simply will not give in to it. Normal wear and tear does not produce this level of pain; sciatica and piriformis syndrome do! And strangely, in researching the latter following a remark from my yoga teacher, I found a list of symptoms I could have written myself! I now know from my research that the GP could have given me a phone number (as one of his staff has now done!) for self referral to a physiotherapist; that there is a huge online advice resource for my NHS area; that osteopaths and chiropractic are governed by safety regulations; that the practice can arrange acupuncture; that Youtube is laden with suitable exercise videos; that diclofenac is causing concern and that you have to be careful with ibuprofen ................... I have the intellectual capacity, the wide circle of supportive peers, and the technology to research; what about the 62 year old who does not have these resources? </div>
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<br /></div>
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We all have to learn how to see the ageing of the Boomers as a plus to society, rather than a drag. Many of us are more than willing to look after ourselves, given targeted support when we really need it. A few minutes pointing us to appropriate support will leave space in the GPs' waiting rooms for our less fortunate peers. </div>
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<br />Jettygirlxhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16000206544560620524noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7182630395615247654.post-18942025766849500752012-05-29T10:00:00.000-07:002012-05-29T10:00:50.880-07:00Defend Our National Jazz Orchestra!This is the letter I have sent today to The First Minister.<br />
<br />
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;">Dear Mr Salmond,</span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;">It was my great pleasure, yesterday evening, to attend one in the latest series of concerts with The Scottish National Jazz Orchestra at the Royal Conservatoire. Collaborating and performing with Randy Brecker, in celebration of the sublime talent of the late Michael Brecker, the Orchestra gave an outstanding performance, as its regular home and growing international audiences have come to expect.</span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;">In his plea that this Orchestra deserved support at the highest level as well as from its audiences, Randy Brecker was not the first to heap praise on the Orchestra, testifying to a now international reputation which draws admiration from across Europe not only for the musicians, for their brilliant leader, Tommy Smith, and for the innovativion and creativity of their multi-dimensional projects, but also for our <i>nation</i> as one which, though small in size, can nevertheless produce talent on this scale, developed over a comparatively short period and continuing to surge towards ever greater potential as its influence in music education increases exponentially and more and more young people play and listen to jazz because this Orchestra and its individual members have given them access to it.</span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;"> I know that you cannot fail to be aware of the decisions of Creative Scotland in changing the way in which it ‘supports’ the SNJO. It seems to me beyond belief that such a lack of understanding and fairness should be considered appropriate in the treatment of such a high-profile, Europe-leading and pioneering ensemble!</span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;">It goes against all notions of equity to require the SNJO to bid, and therefore work, project by project, unable to plan long-term and therefore losing access to world-renowned international musicians with whom its creative collaborations have been so successful and who are then well-placed to spread news of the SNJO’s quality. </span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;">Alone amongst a clutch of national arts companies, the SNJO seems to be targeted by Creative Scotland’s imagination-deficit; Although I detest opera and rarely attend classical music concerts , I support<i> absolutely </i>the need for the national companies to have direct grant support. Yet, fine though our companies may be, I have <i>never</i> heard Scottish Ballet, Scottish Opera or indeed The S.N.O., described as “the best in Europe” or “the only one of its kind in the U.K.”. Both apply to the SNJO!</span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;">Yesterday saw the highly significant launch of a C.D., entitled <i>Celebration </i>, on which SNJO perform with Arild Andersen. The fact that this C.D. is being issued by the highly prestigious E.C.M. label is a unique testimony to all that I have said above concerned the Orchestra’s status. </span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;">And so, as Europe lauds the Orchestra; as the U.K. Parliamentary Jazz Award for Best Ensemble goes to The SNJO , and glory for Scotland is garnered, by association .....as all of this happens, Creative Scotland repays Tommy Smith and the Orchestra by delivering an extremely damaging blow to its ability to pursue excellence! It is a shocking reflection on us, making Scotland look like a small country in which small minds make the big decisions and negatively target success. This surely cannot be comfortable for a Scottish Government.</span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;">I am acutely aware that grant funding has to be ‘earned’. I support funding for small, one-off, community arts projects. I am in favour of increased accessibility, on the understanding that it is something different from popularism. But we are talking here about a <i>National</i> orchestra ; a group of highly talented musicians led by a man of international stature who has bred in them through his teaching, mentoring and leadership over nearly two decades, a commitment not only to musicianship and innovative creativity but to the promotion of jazz education in schools and beyond. These musicians take extremely seriously their role in the national community. They understand accessibility and equalities and they are doing something about it!</span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;">I would beg you to use all your influence to have Creative Scotland, and indeed, the Scottish Government, look again at the securing of long-term funding for the SNJO so that it can stand shoulder to shoulder with, if not ahead of, the S.N. O., Scottish Ballet and Scottish Opera in making Scotland a giant in Europe and world wide in its support for excellence in the enriching arts.</span></div>
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<br /></div>Jettygirlxhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16000206544560620524noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7182630395615247654.post-1271079517967195322012-05-09T06:31:00.000-07:002012-05-09T06:32:47.787-07:00Is this a Cause for Concern?<h2>
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It was a perfectly ordinary trip to Tesco for my husband and me. It was a pleasant enough day outside. Parking was easy. The shop wasn't busy. It certainly wasn't an intrinsically stressful environment for shoppers.<br />
<br />
But as we chatted idly about what we needed to buy and who would search for the croutons, and what we'd have for lunch, I became aware of a couple, perhaps in their late 60s, who were moving in our direction. The male was haranguing the female, his body language very aggressive and gesticulating in apparent anger. She was quieter and was responding but clearly she wasn't doing as he wanted. As they passed us and he insisted that she "go down this way!" I saw that he was gripping her arm. It was an unpleasant scene. "If you ever spoke to me like that I..." I said to my husband " ..... I think I'd lamp you!" We smiled at the irony.<br />
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I have to clarify. This was not in the nature of marital niggling and low-level squabbling: couples who've been together for 40 years recognise the day to day affectionate grumbling that comes with closeness. This wasn't even a full-blown "I -don't-care-if-we're-in-public-we-are-having-this-argument-right-now!" kind of thing. They looked like a well dressed, ordinary couple; they showed no signs of being under the influence. Even given the current heightened awareness of Alzheimer's behaviour and consequent partner frustration, I didn't read their interactions as one of carer and sufferer. I believed that I was seeing a bully in action and their age made it shocking.<br />
<br />
However, the parmesan cheese had to be bought and on we trolleyed.<br />
<br />
In the wine aisle, as we debated tempranillo versus merlot, I was utterly astonished to find <i>another</i> couple right beside us, in what could have been a rerun of the previous scenario! This pair seemed to be in their 70s and he was actually dragging her hand back from her choice of wine as he said loudly 'NO! Not that!" He muttered and moaned "For godsake! I told you ...." Again, no sign of drinking or of dementia behaviours: just bullying. Another male talking 'at' a woman as though she were dirt and verging on physical contact to make her do as he wished.<br />
<br />
I've since wondered if perhaps these incidents did indeed betray the very early signs of dementia taking the form of unreasonably aggressive interactions. I can't possibly know.<br />
<br />
But I did worry that those women seemed so cowed and accepting. My husband thought maybe they'd been treated like that for so long, they hardly even noticed. I wonder.Jettygirlxhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16000206544560620524noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7182630395615247654.post-68223447695996326812012-03-02T03:04:00.000-08:002012-03-02T03:04:44.201-08:00'Acquisitive Individualism in Childhood'?I have really enjoyed Alastair Campbell's e-book, 'The Happy Depressive'. He is searingly honest about his challenges and characteristics. On the way to drawing conclusions about his own happiness, he quotes a Rowan Williams article for the Telegraph on childhood materialism.<br />
<br />
"The selling of lifestyles to children creates a culture of material competitiveness and promotes acquisitive individualism at the expense of community and cooperation."<br />
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Campbell also notes that research by York University for Child Poverty Action showed that children in the U.K. are the least happy of any wealthy European country.<br />
<br />
Also currently in the news are opinion pieces critical of the fashion for rose-tinted nostalgia, particularly in the BBC Sunday evening 'hit' <i>Call the Midwife,</i> but also<i> </i>in<i> Downton Abbey, Upstairs Downstairs </i>& co<i>. </i>Strenuous journalistic efforts are made to coat these sugary products in reminders of the despair, dirt and deprivation which would apparently make them more true to reality.<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi1_yF06k_wLr8sOOuy3U4UU6K4PNs4BQZ3gD1-5DZpdQbqt7HuO0RpZMdeMv81O6Ik5DUMeb38zXU3luFx62uAZe3atnwf5xtlFppp-hfSzxHnQTuD1qrwSRBfwLtYhmQrwC4UleipWa3c/s1600/DSC_1239.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="200" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi1_yF06k_wLr8sOOuy3U4UU6K4PNs4BQZ3gD1-5DZpdQbqt7HuO0RpZMdeMv81O6Ik5DUMeb38zXU3luFx62uAZe3atnwf5xtlFppp-hfSzxHnQTuD1qrwSRBfwLtYhmQrwC4UleipWa3c/s200/DSC_1239.jpg" width="133" /></a>These two strands come together for me in memories of the playground of the 1950s and two activities to which little girls were particularly drawn and which perhaps saved us from the materialism of our 2012 counterparts. Playtime and after school would find us bringing a hardback book out of the schoolbag, not to read but to open, page by page, revealing to our admiring friends our collection of 'scraps'. Fairies, flowers, rustic scenes, pretty little girls like ourselves, but most important of all, giant cherubs, seemingly head & shoulders only, leaning nonchalantly on a cloud; or full length angels, gazing wistfully into the heavens. Towards the back of our book would be our 'swaps'; the scraps of which we had duplicates and which we were happy to exchange with a friend. And this cooperation was a key element; the greatest satisfaction came from interacting with another child rather than enjoying the solo activity of a PSP or football on the Wii.<br />
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The other activity also involved trading and swapping and we called it 'Treasures'. We would produce a small tin or box which contained precious items. Negotiations would begin: would we be prepared to swap that item? For what? I should make clear the nature of these items; we were not dealing in DVDs or electronic wizardry: our treasures were glass waistcoat buttons; a single 'emerald' droplet earring; pieces of embroidered ribbon; cheap brooches with some of the glass stones missing; groups of 'poppet' beads or perhaps a single stray pearl from an unstrung set; a hair clasp with damaged fastening. Obviously, some of these were so dear to us that we could not part with them, but we could fall back on exhibiting them for the admiration of our friends. What fascinates me all these years later is that the acquisitiveness which is the most natural of childhood pleasures was, for us, essentially communal rather than individualistic. We learned to live with the pang of envy which struck when a friend had some unique and desirable thing she would not swap; the lesson was absorbed that you could not have something just because your friend had one; you could enjoy the possessions you had, but the real joy was in sharing!<br />
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<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjWMzCCXgGJBxbvyfd1Os0ULKMnW13skP48vhZbMbvfaqviGSWo77tbIZsFJrNSMauKhU5JbaKqJIKZLvHLGxGUvQVE1wR_KMWDTzOjyGquJ2UExMkvn9lm9ogwKNxu5bOOXzJ6HRTr1pML/s1600/DSC_0991.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="133" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjWMzCCXgGJBxbvyfd1Os0ULKMnW13skP48vhZbMbvfaqviGSWo77tbIZsFJrNSMauKhU5JbaKqJIKZLvHLGxGUvQVE1wR_KMWDTzOjyGquJ2UExMkvn9lm9ogwKNxu5bOOXzJ6HRTr1pML/s200/DSC_0991.JPG" width="200" /></a></div>Is it too much to suggest that our crouched huddles round these treasures were one of our most valuable preparations for adult life? We became a generation which loved life all the more because we feared the threat of nuclear war; when our parents told us to stop being so silly, we shared the fear through action, like sitting down in the road to protest and wearing the CND badge; we talked about psychedelic fabric patterns, but our mums made our Mary Quant dresses following Butterick patterns and arguing with us over the final length. We went barefoot or fell off our wooden Scholls'. We sang songs about parents getting out of the way of a generation they couldn't understand .... only we understood, together, the messages on the 'eve of destruction'!<br />
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It is becoming almost mandatory to criticise the 'baby boomers'; we all have these damned pensions, you see, and have retired in an unseemly manner, having the audacity still to clutter up the shops, bars, restaurants, tennis courts, greek islands, european city centres while damn well enjoying ourselves. We threaten to live until our 90s, spending the kids' inheritance along the way. And we still have opinions! <br />
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But I am tremendously proud of my generation. We didn't start the fire! We were idealistic and obsessed with the power of flowers but we worked together. As instructed by Jimmy Reid, we were not rats! We made a lot of noise, some of it sublimely musical, and we made it together, not in the isolation of our electronic fiefdoms.<br />
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<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEguKJQAn-CVQP1gxdZN9RLZXsfBiuFlOxQfguc_u5ggJyD_bqWPYbSAu6b0L58JX0W3tsg-sB8XnwV4RgPXRmAhmlFfzv_ufsEVhZnDuES4HBq4fhCcttJuvpTiYvkZZvRQ7Z8lsE-kiXHS/s1600/P8220128.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" height="150" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEguKJQAn-CVQP1gxdZN9RLZXsfBiuFlOxQfguc_u5ggJyD_bqWPYbSAu6b0L58JX0W3tsg-sB8XnwV4RgPXRmAhmlFfzv_ufsEVhZnDuES4HBq4fhCcttJuvpTiYvkZZvRQ7Z8lsE-kiXHS/s200/P8220128.JPG" width="200" /></a></div>It is in being with other people that we really find ourselves. By negotiating our way through relationships we make our mark on life. I have a vested interest in the well being of today's young adults, pre teens, rising fives and toddlers. I hope that materialism begins to lose its shine for their generations, that they always know the fun of activity which comes cheap or free, of digging channels in the sand, collecting sea glass, building a garage out of a shoe box, making muffins, dancing in the kitchen, singing in the backseat of the car or drumming with wooden spoons and pots and pans; and that they understand that it is in sharing the activity that real joy is to be found.Jettygirlxhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16000206544560620524noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7182630395615247654.post-12511732563395628732012-02-21T02:30:00.000-08:002012-02-21T02:30:26.350-08:00Young People Today .....As someone who writes, I am a shameless 'listener-in' to other people's conversations! Sometimes the listening is quite demanding but often the conversations are so loud they are easy to hear; this is particularly true of teenagers, who are of the view that their opinions and experiences are so deeply fascinating to us all, we should have them conveyed to us at megaphone pitch!<br />
<br />
However, a few days ago I heard a conversation which gave me real cause for optimism. A group of girls had been to see 'Woman in Black' and the station platform was loud with their exclamations and shrieks as they recounted their recent shock and terror. In the middle of this entertainment, the following exchange fitted seamlessly.<br />
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"Oh, and d'you know who was at the cinema too? Mr X from xxxxx (school subject) ! "<br />
"Aw, I like him! Who was he with?"<br />
"His husband. And he said "Hi, girls. Enjoy the movie!""<br />
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And the conversation rolled on with further shrieks and giggles about the ghost movie, as I thought how wonderful it was that these girls showed how far we have come, probably because of civil partnerships, marriage for gay as well as straight couples but, I hope, also because of the good work being done in schools to counter homophobia, gender stereotyping and the ignorance which gives rise to fear. As so often before, I was heartened by young people, although I know we still have a long way to go.<br />
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Then, yesterday, a different experience, again on a station platform where a group of adults with learning difficulties, with their carers, were waiting for the train, as they regularly do. Only a couple of the men communicate verbally, but I chat to them in passing if they signal or look at me, just as I would with anyone else. One of the wheelchair-using men communicates by clapping his hands, slapping his own forehead and also by an occasional very loud yell. Immediately after the first yell, a young woman of about 17, who had been sitting on the bench listening to her ipod before the group arrived, leaped up and moved swiftly up the platform, away from them. Her expression said it all; she was afraid.<br />
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Initially, I felt cross with her. It reminded me of 35 years ago this month, when I arrived at a local bus stop to find a young woman standing at the edge of the pavement with her severely learning disabled son who was making one hell of a din while rocking back and forth and hitting his hand against his head. The other folk in the queue were crammed in at the rear of the bus shelter! I was eight months pregnant. I began a friendship that day simply by standing with G and her son and sharing a quiet laugh at the rest of the queue's discomfort. In the intervening years we have seen progress in the perception of people with extensive learning difficulties. But we have such a way to go.<br />
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The young woman on the platform was afraid. There was nothing to be afraid of. How can we teach future generations and help them see humanity rather than difference? For all the work I have seen in schools on issues of equality and diversity, I don't recall open discussion of the nitty gritty of serious learning disability and on public behaviours which may catch us by surprise. Even though we teach respect for all individuals, perhaps we need to be honest and say ... 'You might find yourself embarrassed or nervous if someone behaves like this; but here's why it happens and why you need not feel afraid"<br />
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The group enjoyed their train journey; F showed me the fabric daffodil pinned to his jacket and waved as he left. I felt uplifted by sharing in his pleasure and my day was the better for meeting him.<br />
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I wish the young woman could have got something positive from her experience. Where will she stand on the platform next week?<br />
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There were reports in the press of another 'reclaim the streets' gathering by cyclists seeking to draw attention to their concerns. I have a measure of sympathy with them, not least because of the worrying number of fatalities in London and other cities. <br />
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But there is a danger in a mindset which decrees all cyclists 'good'; all drivers 'bad': demonising the majority --of careful, considerate drivers -- is patently unfair. And it is naive to paint all cyclists as faultless victims.<br />
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Just as vehicle drivers must take on board a need for greater awareness of cycles, so cyclists need to recognise those behaviours which reflect badly on them or cause great frustration.<br />
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This was brought in to sharp focus for me this week. I was walking in Glasgow's Bath Street at a point where wide pavement narrowed because of the basement railings and steps on my left; cars were parked on my right. I paused briefly to glance up at the numbers above doors. Suddenly, a cyclist flew past me ... <i>on the pavement...</i>. at a speed which would have been questionable on a busy city <i>street</i>. Having barely missed me, he swerved to avoid two other pedestrians and rode on. He was a heavily built young man; had I stepped six inches to my left as I paused he would have hit me and the combination of his substantial body weight and the speed at which he was travelling would have led to my serious injury; you will understand that had he injured himself I would have had no sympathy for him.<br />
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I was very shocked; arriving at the tearoom I had been looking for, I know I must have seemed garbled and semi coherent. As the shock faded, I felt increasingly angry. This is the closest I have been to serious injury for a very long time. What if a baby or toddler in a buggy, or a frail elderly person had been walking where I had been? When he had arrived at the traffic lights, did this selfish man choose to be a 'pedestrian' or 'vehicle' depending on what suited him best? Any vehicle driver will have seen the cyclist who breaks the lights, drives the wrong way on the one way street. These are not rare occurrences.<br />
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I am fighting the urge to think of this man as the representative of all cyclists. He is, no doubt, as much of an embarrassment to decent cyclists as the speeding, exhaust-roaring, baseball cap wearing car driver and bullying white-van-man are to responsible motorists.<br />
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But the selfishness and arrogance of this one cyclist made me feel vulnerable and dented my confidence; and for that I cannot forgive him. Sadly too, he has dulled my ear to the pleas of the cycling community.Jettygirlxhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16000206544560620524noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7182630395615247654.post-27491602071706068422012-01-09T03:23:00.000-08:002012-01-09T03:23:43.051-08:00Outing My Inner MeldrewThere is something about January that brings out my inner Meldrew! I find my tolerance of the arrogant, the bullying, the silly, the mediocre, the unnecessary, is at its lowest ebb. Given that one of my targets this year, as ever, is to be a better and more compassionate human being, I am acutely aware that such intolerance is going to be a problem. Therefore, I have decided to air the issue. Why keep secret one's serial grumps when one can spread the misery and act as a beacon for other Meldrews?<br />
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I have already started my grumping day on a relatively serious note by dashing off an email to Ruth Davidson, MSP and new leader of the infinitesimal Scottish Conservative and Unionist parliamentary flying wedge, drawing her attention to the bully-boy tactics of her shiny faced colleague the Prime Minister, with regard to who is 'the boss of us' , just in case she hadn't noticed his incursion. There is an irony here, given that few physogs so invite a skelp as the smug visage of Scotland's First Minister, but by comparison with the man I call 'botoxboy', he has a lot to recommend him.<br />
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Thus limbered up, I am of a mind to rant on other topics as well. Last week, just when I thought I had entirely detached from my former calling, I found myself rising to the bait of a bit of sloppy language. An 'Advisor' I had never heard of to a Commission I have never heard of appeared to find that most Scottish schools are 'bog standard'. Being in a position to know this is not true, I dashed off a quick rejoinder to that little bit of slapdashery! No response yet: what a surprise!<br />
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One of my usual targets, the Met Office, is lying fairly low at the moment but I am alert to possible future opportunities. It was also disconcerting to find that recently the Police seemed to abandon their much vaunted " ...not to undertake a journey unless it is really necessary", which is incomprehensible as advice, in favour of the more useful "Stay off the bloody roads! They're all shut anyway! And that's you tell't!" which presumably means that if your employer demands that you skid 25 miles to get to your snow-buried place of work, you can at least sue them should you or your vehicle suffer injury.<br />
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While I'm scanning the horizon for other prey, could I just draw attention to the fact that even when they are two years old and repeatedly washed, M & S's navy blue bath towels shed enough fluff to intimidate the dust in any self respecting bathroom, and that is in addition to the dust other people are somehow leaving around our house ... it can't all be ours!<br />
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Then there are the people who stand in groups in the middle of the swimming pool, having a conversation! I accept the social function, but I'm fed up swerving round them when I'm puffing my way through my lengths; and that's before I encounter the single person who is doing breadths so as to maximise the irritation of all his fellow swimmers!<br />
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And what about 'recent research'? Isn't it comforting to know that scientists, having spent millions in funding on their research, are now in a position to tell us that people who report themselves to be happy tend to smile more; that children who are never cuddled by their parents tend to do less well in their Higher exams; that some men are taller than some women; that starving in a developing country makes you less likely to watch reality TV. If I hear one more po-faced stating of the blindingly obvious I will ..... well, I don't know what I'll actually do, but it won't be pretty!<br />
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I could go on for hours about the mining of January irritations and grumps, but I've decided the best way to deal with this is to get into the cage with the lion! So I'm off now, to meet with three representatives of different replacement window companies to decide who gets the job of fitting four new windows for us! Yippee! What a source of Meldrewing material! And if just one of them says "I just need to phone my Manager ....."!!Jettygirlxhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16000206544560620524noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7182630395615247654.post-85295623266108410862012-01-03T05:02:00.000-08:002012-01-03T05:02:08.287-08:00In the Teeth of a StormA few weeks ago Scotland experienced a day of very strong gales which caused severe disruption and structural damage. With immense good humour, we called the gales "Hurricane Bawbag" and posted very funny video footage of an escaped trampoline and of flying Greggs' bags. It was the country's way of taking the "Smeato" approach to weather; a kind of "Here's tae us! Wha's like us? Damn few, an' they're a' deid!" attitude, applied to the wind and rain.<br />
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Today, the younger folk who thought there had never been a wind like that before; who didn't remember the death toll of the 1968 hurricane, who thought only snow could stop us in our tracks, have discovered that December was just the practice run!<br />
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It is a frightening thing to be woken by the ever-louder howling of the wind; to hear the roof creak and groan and bounce as though ready to fly away; to hear thumps and crashes in the darkness as bins capsize and gates bang; to scan mentally for lantern torch, candles, matches and think how cold it will be if the heating goes off.<br />
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The 76mph breezes of December are replaced by gusts of up to 100mph; the ever-open Kingston Bridge closes in both directions as do the Forth, Tay, Erskine, Skye. Trees crash through cars; walls blow out. On Facebook the word 'apocalyptic' surfaces through the storm.<br />
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BBC Radio Scotland gives over its daily phone-in programme to the weather situation and folk call in with tales of terrifying abandoned car journeys, closed roads, cancelled trains and power outages. There is no humour this time, not yet. In many of these voices there is real fear.<br />
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And then comes the call from a priest from Bridgeton who tells the programme's host that he has been 'praying hard' since 6.00 a.m. because he is in an old house and this feels like the end of the world! At first it sounds like a hoax call, but perhaps not? Then he announces that "as Christians, we believe" that this could be a sign of "God's anger"! And he seems to be serious; the host shuffles him quickly off the line.<br />
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There are the usual criticisms of the government and the met office forecast; who is to blame? We seem to believe that someone could have prevented this. Even with my snow phobia and resultant ongoing animosity towards the met. office, I can see that they were caught out by the sudden escalation in the ferocity of the wind. Most callers to the show also accept that.<br />
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As we wait for the winds to die down, I am left with the unsettling sensation that weather displays such as this carry a salutary message. I may consider the priest ridiculous and abhor his citing of 'God's anger' ; I may remain sceptical of the excesses of the environmentalists' direst warnings. But a primal fear is engendered by our inability to carry on with our hi-tech, urban, commuting, materialist lives in the face of a storm. We can build walls and bridges and even storm barriers, but the wind will win. We can sit on our beach mat and tweet across continents, but the tides will come and go. We can travel miles to our 'plum' job everyday, but blizzard or flash flood will stop us.<br />
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We are very small. We really do need to reflect on that. On a day like this, we don't even need Professor Cox to remind us of our place.Jettygirlxhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16000206544560620524noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7182630395615247654.post-59373452636462172782011-12-18T06:22:00.000-08:002011-12-18T06:22:34.429-08:00Blip<div style="text-align: justify;">What did you think of when you read the title of this post? Did you think something had gone wrong, temporarily, some little problem to be easily ironed out, some failure in execution which cast a shadow over an other wise exemplary performance? A mere blip on life's radar?</div><div style="text-align: justify;"><br />
</div><div style="text-align: justify;">If you are one of my 'Facebook friends' or indeed a fellow 'blipper' you will most likely have thought of photos and cameras and addictive snapping and lenses and angles. Because blipfoto is a wonderful online community of digital photographers of which I am part.</div><div style="text-align: justify;"><br />
</div><div style="text-align: justify;">Have you ever found a lovely restaurant, or coffee shop, or small hotel in Malcesine and seriously considered <u>not</u> recommending it in case everyone floods in and spoils it? I'm a bit like that with blipfoto, but if you enjoy taking digital photos I can't, in all conscience, deny you this pleasure any more than I would deny you a book or TV drama recommendation. So what's it all about?</div><div style="text-align: justify;"><br />
</div><div style="text-align: justify;">You can be part of blipfoto by registering free at blipfoto.com. Later you may decide to become a full member & enjoy extra privileges, but it's not necessary. Basically, you can upload one, but only one, photo, taken on that day, every day, adding a written journal entry ... a few words or a long diary-type piece. Other blippers can see and comment, as you can with their entries, so you aim to interest. People use it in different ways depending on their circumstances and personal objectives. The community clearly includes professionals extending themselves or relaxing; highly knowledgeable and experienced amateurs; proud parents recording their child's early years; devoted gardeners cataloguing their gorgeous blooms; less secure, non-tech blippers who are trying to extend their skills and those who are happy to take a snap or two. Many of them live in Scotland, where the community originated, but I can easily log on and see the morning sunshine of Melbourne or the first snow in southern Germany as uploaded by worldwide blippers.</div><div style="text-align: justify;"><br />
</div><div style="text-align: justify;"> I have a Digi SLR with which I try to teach myself to be a better photographer. I still tend to point and shoot but I am learning. Since the 3rd of March 2011, I have had my camera with me at some point every day to 'collect' a blip. Everything from a view of Arran, to a close up of my silver fitflop, from a portrait of a grandchild to an unusual swan photo; they're all in there.</div><div style="text-align: justify;"><br />
</div><div style="text-align: justify;">But what I have learned is that blipfoto is about much more than the image which <i>appears</i> to be the end result. The community is a real community of souls. Gradually, I have come to know some of the stories behind the highly anonymised usernames : there are stories of joy, of ill-health, of courage or fear, of tragic loss, of fun and laughter, of house buying, of job-loss, of good fortune, of emotional difficulty. And in every case, the community has responded with warmth and generosity. In nine months of blipping, I've never seen a critical, carping comment on composition, content or technique; I <i>have</i> seen strangers telling a fellow blipper that they are thinking of them, that things will get better, that they admire their determination, that they have the very cure for what ails them.</div><div style="text-align: justify;"><br />
</div>If you ever glance at the comments under the clips on Youtube you will probably decide that no decent person would ever <i>think </i>of commenting, so malevolent and so vicious are a substantial number of comments. That would not happen on blipfoto. There is a sense that we know respect and care about each other.<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhvyyxVzqXcJ4UT91xMXEqokIcvr1T2_f3yISqUhKAV1UdwivrW7sa5sRnj-ELlP7n-4FABiafgd4Mb99NqyjmKnExuMNyy1hyphenhypheng2c-ScqPUFUOfewBCZILhv1WEBsB5dbReNZtweDmiff5E/s1600/_DSC0090.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="200" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhvyyxVzqXcJ4UT91xMXEqokIcvr1T2_f3yISqUhKAV1UdwivrW7sa5sRnj-ELlP7n-4FABiafgd4Mb99NqyjmKnExuMNyy1hyphenhypheng2c-ScqPUFUOfewBCZILhv1WEBsB5dbReNZtweDmiff5E/s200/_DSC0090.jpg" width="133" /></a>Besides this feeling of shared values ..... always accepting that there is the very occasional odd-one-out who is swiftly dealt with by the moderation process ( a Barbie Doll wearing a swastika armband disappeared commendably swiftly) ....... there is a sense of common purpose. And that purpose can become a joyful obsession. It's easy to take a lovely pic of a sun-kissed seascape. But what about the day of interminable icy rain? This is when you find yourself with an image of a city street blurred by the raindrops on the lens cover; or a close up of your new bottle of golden Scottish rapeseed oil in front of your scarlet coffee tin. You panic as evening approaches and you have no blip! <br />
<br />
And a day of blip-famine may well be followed 24 hours later by the torture of choosing just one from a series of brilliant or interesting photos. Below is what I rejected today!<br />
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjPiIYZkj_z2q-SqbGyy0Jlj2a7nwnHvv3XOp9MSFxTd1LO2CpaN_grkpXKasQr3CKlGfNMsYQDxOPvWMfiPOb_j4WYrk7oJC7uEm9jYzOus-Zixa9U9kbYoKGyml_nqqiQ1Wp0IxJmcE6h/s1600/_DSC0087.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" height="133" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjPiIYZkj_z2q-SqbGyy0Jlj2a7nwnHvv3XOp9MSFxTd1LO2CpaN_grkpXKasQr3CKlGfNMsYQDxOPvWMfiPOb_j4WYrk7oJC7uEm9jYzOus-Zixa9U9kbYoKGyml_nqqiQ1Wp0IxJmcE6h/s200/_DSC0087.JPG" width="200" /></a><br />
Many blippers use compacts or iphone and android cameras; they snap away while out cycling or jogging. I carry my DSLR, a Nikon 3100, slung round my neck in a case, with the long lens in my handbag or rucksack. It goes to Tesco and out for lunch; to the Art Gallery and the yoga class and for a lot of cups of coffee and porridge breakfast! The whole world becomes a resource. I have to look, really look, at what is happening around me at any given moment. And I am learning to see my world with clearer eyes.<br />
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<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgLGFCQEvPTXr-lR-Z5GLCRcW2S11Z-kimdJmCIEPRjBFPZG1mtqTcZBMHr2WIT0sFFRx6Fwi0C3-n4FNEkx5QYUTSgmLhqzLUUfopmx9QVk18YrXAqtBIkxSOkEqx-35JoVSVyrKLd9nKS/s1600/_DSC0741.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="133" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgLGFCQEvPTXr-lR-Z5GLCRcW2S11Z-kimdJmCIEPRjBFPZG1mtqTcZBMHr2WIT0sFFRx6Fwi0C3-n4FNEkx5QYUTSgmLhqzLUUfopmx9QVk18YrXAqtBIkxSOkEqx-35JoVSVyrKLd9nKS/s200/_DSC0741.JPG" width="200" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br />
</div>Next, I want to learn the skills of the candid portrait. I have used only those images where the person has actively invited me to take the photograph, but some blippers have an amazing series of candid shots. I also need to learn a bit more about using the features of the camera to take movement and night-time shots.<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhIvcyC9olwyD7YbZwApkGk3f0gQAGgYeFHY4eLwSJrFpeANb13cjzI6h42_nvtNHooPqDJso9g5nJVCcjua_AcW3Ph_98Zm5TtSVC2EHbj8i_rck0embtCMXHxj0LHaurR_ESrLrsGH8Tu/s1600/_DSC0196+-+Version+2.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="200" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhIvcyC9olwyD7YbZwApkGk3f0gQAGgYeFHY4eLwSJrFpeANb13cjzI6h42_nvtNHooPqDJso9g5nJVCcjua_AcW3Ph_98Zm5TtSVC2EHbj8i_rck0embtCMXHxj0LHaurR_ESrLrsGH8Tu/s200/_DSC0196+-+Version+2.jpg" width="135" /></a></div><br />
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<div class="" style="clear: both; text-align: justify;">I hope to meet some more fellow blippers in person! I 'got into conversation' with one person when I recognised from her pics that she lived near my sister, We met for coffee and I felt an instant rapport! In another instance, I could see that the blipper was a jazz fan and we arranged to introduce ourselves at a gig we were both attending. Only in this developing relationship does a 'real name' come into play; I exchange comments with another blipper who lives nearby. I have no idea exactly where she lives, far less what is her name. It isn't important; you reveal what you want to, no more.</div><div class="" style="clear: both; text-align: justify;"><br />
</div><div class="" style="clear: both; text-align: justify;">Being part of blip fits well with other aspects of my life; it asks me to focus on the moment as my yoga and my interest in mindfulness also do. It makes me look at the world through a lens, as I have looked though literature and am hoping to learn to look through paintings. It makes me get out and look at the world , in particular the ordinary. I photograph my existing passions; Glasgow architecture, the Isle of Arran, my garden, my family; and I discover new passions ..... light on water, the elegant contortions of the swan, the beauty of grass, the majesty of dark clouds.</div><div class="" style="clear: both; text-align: justify;"><br />
</div><div class="" style="clear: both; text-align: justify;">Perhaps I'll see you there, on blip, someday soon.</div>Jettygirlxhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16000206544560620524noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7182630395615247654.post-79406179825253717892011-12-15T03:15:00.000-08:002011-12-16T07:44:14.825-08:00"Facebook? No, I don't fancy that!""Your sister has just played a 33-point word I've never even heard of!" I tell my husband.<br />
"Which sister?"<br />
"Mel!" I say. I have three sisters-in-law in Australia and play this scrabble-type word game with two of them. Mel lives in Perth. Biz lives in Camden, also in Oz. Her daughter and our niece had a sore throat yesterday, which isn't surprising when she works so hard in her young business, what with five children also demanding her attention. I feel as though we are involved in each other's day-to-day lives, far more than we were two years or ten years ago. We no longer share only the big life events, the New Year phone call, the wedding photos. We also share the grumbles and joys of family life in all its minutiae and this sharing brings us closer.<br />
<br />
All this happens on Facebook.<br />
<br />
While I was still working, I steered clear of this site. I had heard of it, as I had of Twitter and the infamous Beebo which regularly was the venue for vicious slanging matches between teenagers who seemed to think they could abuse one another online without consequence. Since I began my new life, however, I have become a great fan of Facebook: I follow sensible practice and limit my number of friends; I restrict the readership of my posts and I don't write anything on my status which would be harmful if, indeed, it were to be seen by someone other than my intended audience.<br />
<br />
I often talk about Fb with friends and family who are still very reluctant to join. The big mystery for them is why I would want to use a social networking site rather than phone or meet someone. The only way I can begin to explain is to describe how I use the site as the base not only for far-flung family contact about little things you would never remember to say in a phone call; but also for my intellectual growth.<br />
<br />
In the last 24 hours, Facebook has linked me to the following activities. I have used it as a shortcut to the <i>blipfoto</i> journals of several photo-taking new 'friends'; I have kept up to date with the activities and future gigs of <i>Brass Jaw</i> and the <i>Scottish National Jazz Orchestra</i>; I have shared with my Fb friends a couple of inspiring TED talks I have listened to. I have perused Rafa's latest post and read the <i>Tennis Now</i> update. I have followed one of @<i>theplayethic </i>Pat Kane's excellent links to Carol Craig's blog on the <i>Centre for Confidence </i>website and enjoyed several articles in T<i>he Economis</i>t and other political journals which I hadn't read and wouldn't have taken the time to subscribe to myself. I have kept up to date with stimulating posts from <i>Action for Happiness, Charter for Compassion and the Mindfulness Manifesto</i>, all of which feed to my status (the word used for your 'own' bit of Fb). I have listened to a 1980 performance by Weather Report and laughed at a video clip of a cat climbing over someone during a sun salutation in the yoga studio! I've had to question my responses to several articles on KILTR and <i>The Scottish Review</i>, discovered via the recommendations of other Facebook users.<br />
<br />
And yes, I have kept up with the latest news from Strictly Come Dancing.<br />
<br />
The essential feature of my life now is lifelong learning; I want to have my brian ache as much from the demands I put on it as my body aches after yoga! This is where Facebook comes in. It is no more a substitute for my university classes and face-to-face family contact than a Kindle is for a book, but it is a gateway ... a shortcut ..... to a network of experiences which stimulate my brain. Fb fires up the synapses!<br />
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The snapshot above only touches the tip of the joyful iceberg which is my Facebook experience. I use the messaging facility of the site instead of emailing friends and contacts; I have renewed contact with individual former pupils from classes as far back as 1976 who 'found' me on Fb. I have shared all the photos I want to share. I have sought advice or the answer to a question and been flooded with answers. I know where every snowflake or hailstone in the Central Belt is falling.<br />
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This is just the start. In five years, there will be a bigger, better, newer, more stimulating way of keeping this level of social contact. This is the exhilaration and excitement the future holds. If you're 60+ and convinced Fb isn't for you, my advice would be to sit along with someone like me and actually watch us use it. See how protected you can make yourself, how easy it is to limit your friends ... you just say, "no". See what a massive range of activity it introduces you to by shortcuts. It isn't perfect, and the endless fine-tuning changes to the site can be irritating, but it can be wonderful. It links you to a world of ideas and people which then encourages you to go off on your own into further reading, listening, watching and researching. <br />
<br />
I have another sister in law who lives half an hour away. We'll be seeing her later today. But when we were arranging today's meeting, we realised that she wasn't up to date with a piece of great news: my older son has a new job!! Now, Mel and Biz in Australia knew that within hours of his interview ...... thanks to Fb!Jettygirlxhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16000206544560620524noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7182630395615247654.post-33748480972724961872011-12-13T08:43:00.000-08:002011-12-13T08:55:14.047-08:00The Book Buyer's DilemmaRecently, I read the views of Richard Russo, Anita Shreve and a number of other authors whose work I regularly read and enjoy on what they perceived to be the beyond-the-pale tactics and rampant commercialism of Amazon seeming actively to encourage buyers to browse in a real bookshop before ordering online. The response to their dismay was divided between the horrified and the 'get-a-life' brigade, but the debate rings a very loud and discordant bell for me, touching on a dilemma I cannot solve.<br />
<br />
<br />
In early November my husband and I went on a pre-Christmas browsathon at Waterstones, the one big surviving bookstore in Glasgow. We had a lovely breakfast and looked at so many books, leaping up and down the stairs between biography, children's, spiritual, new titles, music, sport. We bought two books to a total of about £20, but came away with a list of other titles. Yes, reader, you've guessed at the dilemma. Arriving home, we went on line and had Mr Amazon send us another £80 worth. By doing so we saved about £17.00 but I felt uncomfortable.<br />
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Books and reading have played a massive role in my life; my father's insistence that books were the key to learning, his habitual gift of a book given as a reward or recognition, or when I was poorly; his agreement to pay for any book I needed at uni. while showing reluctance to underwrite my chocolate egg habit, the joy he got from discussing with me the books we had both read .... all of these early interactions with books have underpinned my life, my relationships with others, my values.<br />
<br />
This Amazon dilemma is the second wave of trauma for my book-buying generation. Do you remember the many departments and subsections of John Smith in St Vincent Street? Was your preferred browsing zone the equally quaint Thins on Edinburgh's Bridges? How did you feel when John Smith was drowned by the tidal wave of Waterstones, Borders, Ottakars? As you sipped a hot chocolate while perusing possible buys, or rifled through the '3 for 2' piles in one of the 'new' stores, did you worry that you might have played a part in the downfall of the old favourite?<br />
<br />
Hardly had I overcome my guilt by nearly bankrupting myself, weekly, in the massive branch of Borders, The Fort, than there came the news of its closure .... a victim, perhaps of the amazonian strengths of online booksellers. And so to a further dilemma.<br />
<br />
I use Amazon for most of my online buying: not only books, but camera lens, hedgetrimmer, snow shovel and dyson have arrived at our door in the past year, courtesy their swift delivery. No matter what the item, I check there for a comparison and cannot remember the last time they were not the cheapest! Sometimes it is only because of their pricing that I feel I can afford the item.<br />
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But, as I disclosed on the topic of charity, I am no stranger to hypocrisy. I absolutely <i>love</i> bookshops, the piles upon piles of titles, the knowledgeable staff, the books I've never heard of which suddenly grab my attention; the classics in brand new, extortionately priced but beautifully illustrated editions and formats (there's a new 'Secret Garden'!) Then there's the opportunity to read a few pages over coffee: is it my type of novel? Or look through three books on Venice; which is the best? In a small, out of town bookshop I became involved in an ad hoc discussion with two other book buyers who then recommended titles to me, as I did to them ... wonderful! Will all of these pleasures be lost to us in the near future if people like me indulge ourselves in the shop then buy cheap at home?<br />
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Waterstones, and I am sure the small independent survivors (to whom the likes of Waterstones is no doubt a continuing torment), do their best to fight back by giving a high profile to their 'special' prices, their rewards for buying multiple titles, their loyalty cards. I will always visit bookshops and will buy, not always because the price is the cheapest, but out of recognition of what is offered, inclusive, that Amazon cannot give me.... the chance to browse, the advice, the smile, the coffee!<br />
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A fortnight ago, our local library contacted me to ask if I still wanted a book I had ordered; there would be a delay as they would have to buy a new copy to replace a missing one. I phoned to say they shouldn't waste limited funds on this very specialist book for me; I had seen it on Amazon, and would buy it; I'd rather the council funds were spent on a more popular title! The irony did not escape me: virtuously saving my library cash while putting another dent in the prosperity of bookshops!<br />
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I am extremely fortunate to be able to afford books; I would also prioritise them over many other items in a pinch. If Morrison's price for Nescafe Gold Blend is markedly lower than Tesco's, I'll pop in to Morrison's. If my new coat costs substantially less in John Lewis than it does in Fraser's I will buy it from John Lewis. It seems so obvious, so 'common-sensical' that I wonder why I would feel I ought to do any differently for books.<br />
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But it is different; it does feel like a moral as well as a commercial dilemma. What should I do ?<br />
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<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi8TGU2Sn0w3cgb1ltEgS6rIyL4vgIAo4hBP114QZK-jhitYKcl2Tjjwc6_QggY1v6A73f8gtqAz7xLlVxqjZkRoCDyGdzI5Qny92G_4q2y0QPDLA3n9ZugPHR72C8KHkCLKkzShSgH4dBW/s1600/DSC_0223.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="212" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi8TGU2Sn0w3cgb1ltEgS6rIyL4vgIAo4hBP114QZK-jhitYKcl2Tjjwc6_QggY1v6A73f8gtqAz7xLlVxqjZkRoCDyGdzI5Qny92G_4q2y0QPDLA3n9ZugPHR72C8KHkCLKkzShSgH4dBW/s320/DSC_0223.JPG" width="320" /></a></div>Jettygirlxhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16000206544560620524noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7182630395615247654.post-26634642975483212182011-12-10T02:58:00.000-08:002011-12-10T02:58:05.700-08:00Sweet and Sour CharityA month ago, I had a thought-provoking encounter with my hypocrisy.<br />
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I was in Glasgow's Royal Exchange Square taking photographs for an online photo-journal; I had a DSLR and an extra lens in a case hanging round my neck. I had just been interviewed on camera by a group of media students who had asked me questions about the importance of technology in daily life. I suppose to the untutored eye I looked like a 'proper' media person. As I left the square, a street beggar who was sitting cross-legged at one of the arches called out "Hey! Y'gonnae take my photo?" and threw out his arms in an expansive gesture. He smiled broadly.<br />
"Oh, I wouldn't be bothering you!" I replied.<br />
"That Kate Moss gets £100K a day, they say!"<br />
"Aye, just to get out of bed!"<br />
At that, someone dropped a coin in his paper cup. "An' I've just got 20p!" He smiled and laughed ruefully. The whole conversation was very jokey and he seemed more upbeat and focussed than, sadly, street beggars usually are. The eyes feed information to the brain without our immediately realising it and in retrospect I had registered that he was very clean, that his skin was fresh and clear, that he was warmly dressed, that his hands were clean. Perhaps because of this as well as the selfish prospect of the chance to take a portrait I agreed that if he wanted me to photograph him, I would, but would put cash in his cup.<br />
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<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjnhVsFleJlj2yVN5FC9iV17_wUPRkMU5BoxJ_FM1bel5WUKhXrSvb6PDn7kBJZc7bKPWEAo6QC4IZ7_eA2p1hqxUy7dyFzcsvbyTYgEmLeROkaIIQ1AB5Gf3EgkGsFi9AslGr-BqZMH6MN/s1600/_DSC0736.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="213" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjnhVsFleJlj2yVN5FC9iV17_wUPRkMU5BoxJ_FM1bel5WUKhXrSvb6PDn7kBJZc7bKPWEAo6QC4IZ7_eA2p1hqxUy7dyFzcsvbyTYgEmLeROkaIIQ1AB5Gf3EgkGsFi9AslGr-BqZMH6MN/s320/_DSC0736.JPG" width="320" /></a></div>I raised the camera. At that point, to my astonishment, he dropped his gaze, drooped at the shoulders and wiped the smile! He posed. I took the image, showed it for his approval, dropped coins in his cup and bid cheerio to his waving hand and beaming smile.<br />
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In the intervening weeks, I have questioned my whole attitude to charitable giving. For many years, I have had a Charities Aid Foundation account, paying in a monthly sum which I then distribute among my favourite charities, as well as having standing orders to two other charities. It is all very genteel. I don't even notice the money going out; I get pleasure from bursts of online giving. I strongly resist on-the-spot street collectors; would never sign up in response to 'chuggers' ; I don't buy The Big Issue or give to street beggars.<br />
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What does all this say about me? I want the egocentric pleasure of giving but try to impose middle class rules to 'merit' my generosity? I'm not giving to the street beggar, because (I reassure myself in righteous inner voice) I "don't know where the money will go"? I become become irritated by charities which phone to tout for business or indulge in 'chugging'; I want to <i>choose</i> the recipients of my miserly bounty. And, interestingly, I don't tick the 'give anonymously' box! <br />
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I don't like what I have discovered about myself.<br />
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If I give a beggar some money, do I have the right to worry about what he'll buy? If life has dealt him such blows that he finds himself sitting next to polystyrene pizza boxes and dog shit in a city lane, does it really matter if he collects the money for something brain-numbing, or spends it on a healthy bagel and a latte with cinnamon? Who am I to judge?<br />
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The argument extends to the wider issue of overseas aid. We see the images on TV and reach for the laptop to donate. Then we hear that a huge proportion of the money raised disappears through fraud and never reaches those in need. What to do? We give freely when the disaster kills holidaying Europeans in a place we thought was paradise or in a setting which looks a bit like our own country; we hesitate when it is Haiti or New Orleans.<br />
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I am always moved when ordinary folk do extraordinary things to raise money for good causes. Who could remain unmoved by the magic of Cash for Kids, Children in Need, Comic Relief? That money changes lives, beyond doubt, and I am in awe of those who tirelessly give of their time and imagination. The target of my enquiry is myself: if I want to look in the mirror and like what I see, do I need to change my attitude to giving to those in my own country who are closest to despair?<br />
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Does an imposed hierarchy of need sit easily with true compassion?Jettygirlxhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16000206544560620524noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7182630395615247654.post-6210151398381919162011-12-08T04:17:00.000-08:002011-12-08T12:32:04.758-08:00Reading the RunesTo develop the theme a little further: removing myself from paid employment has meant also happily stripping away the veneer of 'She' ... the woman who was the senior manager and headteacher .... to rediscover my former self, the woman who was only partly represented in the stilettos, formal clothes and workaholic self-indulgence; to leave behind the ego.<br />
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I loved most aspects of my work and could usually set out in the wind/rain/snow safe, at least, in the knowledge that I would have an interesting day. But since I stopped working, the aspects of my former life which give me cause to smile are the memories of young people and of some truly gifted colleagues. It gives me enormous satisfaction to remain in touch through Facebook with people who were in my English class in 1976, or 86 or 96, because there was no great distinction in those years between my classroom persona and my perception of who I was ; someone who loved literature, language and kids! It was all one and there was time for being oneself, even as an assistant head, before the demands of senior management role-play dominated the last ten years.<br />
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So who am I now that I do not have to wear high heels ... red ones for unpleasant meetings .... or smile through gritted teeth and tolerate behaviour in adults which I would not tolerate in a child? Is there enough of me left once She is shaved away? It occurred to me this morning, marooned at home by a storm of some ferocity, that if reading has been at the centre of my life, a stranger might read me in the books currently scattered on the large coffee table. I offer this as a true record: what do you make of it?<br />
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The Warmth of the Heart prevents your Body from Rusting de Hennezel<br />
Yoga for You Fraser<br />
Nikon 3100 Revell<br />
Building Norfolk Rice<br />
The Practice of Contemplative Photography Karr & Wood<br />
The Bolivian Diary Guevara<br />
Travelling with Che Guevara Granado<br />
Mystery & Manners (contains chapters on writing) O'Connor<br />
The Blank Slate Pinker<br />
A Small Town in Germany (library book) le Carre<br />
Untold Story (library book) Ali<br />
Twelve Steps to a Compassionate Life Armstrong<br />
The Forest of Hours Ekman<br />
The Leopard Nesbo<br />
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Also on the table are: a David Baldacci (<i>nothing </i>to do with me!) ; yesterday's Herald; two Apple laptops (mine and son's) and a Galaxy 2; a written Journal, posh Parker pen and two leather covered notebooks!<br />
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I did not 'edit' this table; and if books were my life until I started on the senior management ladder, if they were at the heart of who I was, it's good to read the runes all these years later, to find out if that person is still thriving!<br />
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So we have a student of the 1960s,who had posters or photos on her hall of residence wall, of Robert Redford, Che and Jean Shrimpton. She still loves a whole range of novels, from literate nonsense (Ali) through brilliant classics (le Carre) to Scandolit (Ekman & Nesbo). She still reads challenging non-fiction because she wants to learn and, guided by de Hennezel, gut instinct and the guidance of good friends, she adds to her curriculum a jigsaw of yoga, photography and mindfulness. Although she loves Arran and Glasgow with a passion, there is room for an ever increasing fondness for the flatlands of Norfolk.<br />
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And she writes; she writes; she writes.<br />
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What do your books say about you and where you are on your adventure?<br />
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Jettygirlxhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16000206544560620524noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7182630395615247654.post-37213399174344232872011-12-07T04:11:00.000-08:002011-12-07T04:11:36.063-08:00Not the Retiring Sort?Throughout my last year of work, as people found out that I was retiring at the end of the school session, certain questions and comments recurred: "Why?"; "Will you actually go?" and inevitably, "But what will you <i>do</i>?" People who knew how much I had loved my work as a teacher were bemused; they apparently found it difficult to identify me in other than my work persona. This rang a bell or two: when I announced in 1977 that I was stopping work following the birth of my first son (despite being the first woman in my school to have had the right to return to work after maternity leave) there was general surprise. I had been promoted early and I loved the school and my work. Seven years later, when I prepared to battle my way back into work when son number two went to school, again I was met with expressions of amazement. I had been neck deep in local Playgroup, as well as the emerging National Mother and Toddler Group movement, had been writing for the local paper and for women's magazines. Why would I want to change all that?<br />
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If you are by nature an enthusiast, if you are easily fired up by whatever you are involved in, and especially if you are vocal about the joy you get from what you do, others may find it terribly difficult to imagine you in "retirement". This is probably why so many rising 60s refuse to use the word itself. I understand why, but I would rather we reclaimed the word 'retirement' and showed all the bewildered onlookers what it really signifies in our lives. While never forgetting that for many, the ending of employment with a wage is not a positive thing for financial reasons, I am fortunate enough to have had work which earned me enough to save ferociously for this stage in my life and to me retirement is bringing the freedom to rediscover the self which was laminated over by the persona who was the senior manager and headteacher.<br />
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<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj2IIvaVxFlpGysLXT77YGoewSZA-soykgR0oMR2JR5-e8ccVSkDDu7P9HrDly1QVx6fbg2NmXc3foct2eqPC78S8kM7NempPW0PV5afcnsw4l9lX-GcSolB9ZKHmqPMIMteHB7sas306my/s1600/_DSC0050.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="207" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj2IIvaVxFlpGysLXT77YGoewSZA-soykgR0oMR2JR5-e8ccVSkDDu7P9HrDly1QVx6fbg2NmXc3foct2eqPC78S8kM7NempPW0PV5afcnsw4l9lX-GcSolB9ZKHmqPMIMteHB7sas306my/s320/_DSC0050.JPG" width="320" /></a></div>It's a bit like the nice comment "Oh! You don't look 61!" The answer is "You're wrong! I do look 61! This is what 61 looks like these days! " We are wearing purple and a lot of us are intent on great adventures. Our brains are in fine condition and we're going to use them! Not least to record our lives!Jettygirlxhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16000206544560620524noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7182630395615247654.post-75761996570435275552011-12-07T03:35:00.000-08:002011-12-07T03:35:14.762-08:00Does the World Need Another Blog?Would I be creating my first blog if it were not a windy winter's day, the first snowfall gradually leaking away into the already sodden garden, the sun struggling to make a statement? Perhaps not.<br />
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I ask myself that very question and others: why am I trying this experiment? who is going to want to be a reader? which secrets might I reveal to titillate the audience / readership?<br />
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I have decided to use a blog as another prompt for my writing. I am currently writing a novel which might never see the light of day in finalised form; but I must write it. My head buzzes with ideas about other writing, but where can they find an outlet? I write a personal journal, with handwritten entries more days than not; you needn't worry that I'm going to blog the endless wearisome details of my day to day life. But I think like a writer: when something interests me, a small word processor starts typing away in my brain, turning the experience into a mini-article for an imagined newspaper or magazine. And now I think the blog may be the best destination for these 'articles'.<br />
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<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgjq4c62JLHF9zbPtyo1vNwLa0Cnzg5uT85RFWNcLKjNXY4rwuSP0qDh1p_e4s7W0kXhNwRLugX-slCvNw_qKc6fClRtPAsiV4vSsKLwkOiwic0BUtrA6gGje6ckGHxXRBEcmvxs_Vm16OF/s1600/DSC_0709.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="213" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgjq4c62JLHF9zbPtyo1vNwLa0Cnzg5uT85RFWNcLKjNXY4rwuSP0qDh1p_e4s7W0kXhNwRLugX-slCvNw_qKc6fClRtPAsiV4vSsKLwkOiwic0BUtrA6gGje6ckGHxXRBEcmvxs_Vm16OF/s320/DSC_0709.JPG" width="320" /></a></div>You can be either flattered or disgruntled to be one of my guinea pig group! I do not mind if you choose never to read what I write: why should you? But by creating a group of invited readers, I am putting a little pressure on myself to come up with some posts that will be of interest to you. I have no idea what the next post may concern! Keats whispers in my ear a reminder about Negative Capability; OK John-boy! Let's see where the experiment leads!Jettygirlxhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16000206544560620524noreply@blogger.com3