I’m now at my final school for teaching rounds and have a class of awesome kids to work with for about eight weeks. It’s always good getting to know the characters within a new bunch of children, slowly associating their little ways with the names and finding out what makes them tick. I found myself being talked to 10mins straight on all the car names this one kid wanted to relay to me and then about another 10 on another boy’s grandma’s sister’s dog named Buddy. Yep… But all that stuff is important background info for when I’m teaching them. If cars and dogs will tune them in to the learning, I’m using it. I did have an interesting conversation about flying cars too but won’t diverge.
Okay so enough about my adventures in kiddo land. What I really wanted to write about was something I heard another child say. This little person is moving to the Middle East with family because, “Dad can make three times as much money working a whole lot less.” In fact where they’re moving is not far from Sudan. Not entirely sure what Daddy’s doing over there to make this packet of money not doing much but here’s to hoping it involves helping the country get back on track after the refuse of crap resulting from civil war. The ironic moment came when this little person completed her explanation as to why they were leaving the school then went to sit down next to her friend who had only joined the school last term as a refugee from Sudan. One flees the land because she’s no longer welcome at home, the other is whisked off to the foreign land because this is where the money is for Daddy. It’s a rather upside down world.
Filed under: stuff
My last couple of weeks has involved a quest to find a new car. So I know nothing about cars. Nothinggggg. I mean I can change a tyre when the act is a necessity. It’s always great to have an enthusiastic member of the male species to help in such moments. Yes, I am unwillingly capable. Anything else and I need roadside assistance.
But looking for a car. This takes automobile understanding to another level. You see, as I walk into a car yard the “clueless but desperate for a vehicle” radar goes off and the ever-so-smiley salesman rushes to greet me and offer his advice… I’ve only met a handful of this kind, but far-out they’re transparent. As soon as I mention what I’m looking for and the price range, I can see the glint in the eye dull a little, the creases in the smile drop a tad and he goes on to explain that I’m hard pressed to find such a vehicle. “Not really worth my while” ticks over in his head.
One place I dropped in on just out of interest was one of those collective mega car yards. After five minutes of looking it was obvious that the cars were way over priced and beyond my means. However there was this one little grey car that sat within my budget but was verging on too old and too many k’s to bother. Anyway, the salesman comes out and after we’ve discussed the initial wish list and the monetary reality he begins his magic on the little grey bullet I’d just mentioned. “This one’s a keeper, there’s no way you’ll find a car like this in such good condition in the Southern Hemisphere…blah…blah…” then he goes on to tell me that its sole history resides in being driven by the Sisters of Mercy. God bless their little cotton socks. Heh. Yeah I think I can smell something rather like rotting Carp. So that was the end of my trip to the mega yard.
But thanks to a mate with connections I seem to have found something beyond the value and means of my wish list. Yay… I’m going to miss my old grandpa style box-of-a-car. I’ll miss its boot with the capacity of six persons. I’ll miss its character and its little button for the radio antenna. I will not miss its five minute engine warm up and fuel guzzling in the slightest. Yep. Goodbye BUZ. Oh faithful one. You served me well.
Filed under: idiocy
Some of these Cyanide and Happiness comics are hilarious and others go way too far. This one I haven’t made my mind up on yet, but I’ve included it because it reminded me of a time when I was about 10 years old and stole the crutches from a girl with a broken leg because she wouldn’t let me a have a go. I think she ended up crying and her friend told the teachers and I got into a heap of trouble. Heh. Anyway, sorry to Lily wherever she is these days.
There is something so powerful in sharing life with others. Something profound in the simple act of sitting and listening and partaking in and understanding and not understanding and forming those deeper bonds which allow an unspoken trust between individuals. It takes time, but it is so worthwhile.
Hindsight is a wonderful thing indeed. In the past I’ve held irrational and debilitating fears about spending the time necessary to allow such relationships to form. I’ve (subconsciously?) not allowed myself to disclose too much of me. But vulnerability and admitting one does not have it all together is a base, and I believe necessary, human trait.
Anyway, at 24 I’m finally learning the beauty of facing some of these fears and just taking risks with myself. Hey, it’s just one little step in working out this life and my place in it, but it feels so good to be free of old weights and to see the affect of weightlessness.
Filed under: stuff
I’m hearing the steady sheets of rain hitting the iron roofing above me and it is a comforting, quenching sound. A sound that saturates other incoming noises and provides a blanket for the ears of the heavy-eyed. A secure, encompassing sound.
I love the rain. I love it when I get caught out in a downpour and I have nowhere to be so I can just let it soak through. I love running in the rain, beating my feet against the sodden earth and finding a pace and pushing myself. I just hate the squelchy feeling in my running shoes. I wish I could run in it right now. But it’s too dark and I’d surely trip over in the mud. Perhaps tomorrow.
It’s stopped now. Maybe that’s a good thing. They’ve been getting way too much rain up in NSW and floods have been causing a fair bit of trouble. Not that floods would affect us on the mountain, but big soakings of rain in one hit have caused landslides around here in the past. This is such a nothing post. My apologies, it’s just a bout of pre-examination procrastination.
I spent a large portion of my yesterday having to look for ‘nice’ clothes. Many of these clothes I would never choose to wear but for the fact that I am required to place on my body garments that are considered aesthetically appealing and of a suitable standard for the classroom.
I’m not certain if I have mentioned it before but I am in the final year of study to become a primary school teacher. My last eight weeks of rounds are looming and jeans, or anything slightly comfortable and well-worn, are strictly no-goers. Necklines have to be of a minimum depth and bare shoulders are strictly advised against. No we wouldn’t want to go harming the poor little souls with a bit of shoulder.
Instead we are required to find the money to purchase a wardrobe of neat, clean cut, office-appropriate wear that truly does not lend itself to getting down to the level of the children and encouraging them to explore their world.
There is a huge push for the role of teaching to be seen as a profession and I suppose the dress code is indicative of this. It just goes against many of the integral fibres within me to subtly give children the message that particular dress is unsuitable and that they are to conform to what the world says is ‘nice’ and appropriate. They get enough of this from the crap presented via all means of pop culture. It’s a sickness. I guess it is the uniform of the Western world over.
