Berlin 2

Isn't it a nuisance when life gets in the way of blogging? And it does; it certainly does. This life has recently featured a bit of painting of Daughter 2's new flat, quite a lot of looking after my mother (who fell and cut her head on Sunday in church - now, that's no reward for churchgoing, is it?) And work. Far too much work.

Can I tell you a bit about Berlin? (The non-toothache aspect.)

My generation grew up thinking of East Germany and especially East Berlin as a sort of badland full of grey concrete and anxious people. As it quite possibly was to some extent. I certainly never thought I'd visit it or stay in a hotel on the east side. Nowadays, however, some of it's not terribly different from lots of other cities and the visitor isn't really aware - or I wasn't anyway - of passing from East to West - apart from where there are bits of wall standing isolated and gloomy-looking as historical landmarks.

Here's Mr Life taking a photo of this chunk in Potsdamer Platz. This bit's been transplanted, I think.

But this bit stands where it did.

We walked around a lot and saw the sights: Berliner Dom,

Under den Linden (somewhat distant here)

the Brandenburg Gate,

the Reichstag.

The weather may look good but it was chilly.

And the Jewish Museum - we didn't go in. I don't think that would have been a cheery experience. And we wandered through the Tiergarten and in and out of various shops and churches.

The city is still obviously in development and there are still many derelict sites, often right next to expensive new buildings.

Indeed wherever you go you're very conscious of bomb destruction - and who caused it. You feel it when you see these gap sites, like missing teeth in a sparkling smile (why did that simile come to mind, I wonder...?). You're aware of it when you look at beautifully restored old buildings, damaged during the war. You see it when you pass churches which haven't been rebuilt entirely but just in part, half-old, half-new, strikingly reminding you of man's inhumanity to man. I felt a little cloud of guilt following us.

So I didn't find Berlin an entirely comfortable place to visit - though interesting and in parts attractive. Maybe we'll go back sometime, without toothache, and explore further.

Berlin

Well, we're back from Berlin, which was sunny but very chilly. I had to buy a scarf. We had difficulty finding one costing less than 80 Euros and some were considerably more. Who on earth pays £100 for a scarf???

We stayed in former East Berlin - which seemed very odd - near this television tower in the picture above. And then we went up the tower - which was quite a remarkable thing for me to do, since I don't at all care for heights. You go up to the big ball bit and the views are extensive - see below. I hope you're impressed by my daring.


Berlin was very interesting in various ways, but the big snag for us was that I had gone to the dentist the previous Thursday for some treatment to a tooth which was causing me no trouble (but which showed problems on an x-ray). This was on the Thursday. "It might be a bit tender tomorrow," said my lovely young Irish dentist. And it was. So I thought nothing of it. It was worse on the Saturday but we were off to Berlin on the Sunday at 4.30 am so I took lots of paracetamol and ibuprofen and crossed my fingers and went.

And the tooth got worse and worse. We were due to come back on the Friday - today - and my dentist doesn't work on Friday afternoons. So this meant that I wouldn't be seen till Monday, and I have a full teaching day on Monday... so... we changed our flights and came back on Wednesday instead. When I say that we changed our flights, I mean we had to book new ones. Mr Life had to book new ones, to be more accurate. And the dentist saw me and things are now greatly improved.

Mr Life is a saint. Never a word of complaint. Even when I fainted on the plane and had to be laid out along three seats with an oxygen mask and "Is there a doctor on board?" and all that. Cringe.


Well, we did see quite a lot of Berlin in the three days we were there.

And I'll tell you more about it another day.

And it was certainly a memorable holiday though as you'll understand not entirely in a good way. I managed to speak a bit of German, though not much.

Unfortunately, my vocabulary is not good. I kept being able to translate things up to a point, such as: "It is very important that you should something the something, so that something something isn't somethinged." Menus were much the same: being a vegetarian, I kept understanding that that dishes contained potatoes, cheese, beans and something.

Many words and phrases did keep coming into my mind, such as the German for naturally, for example, immediately, hearty greetings - but it's a bit hard to fit these into a conversation involving what's in the pasta. "Naturally I don't want any meat... For example is there sausage in this dish?.... Bring me my meal immediately.... ".

I could have described the weather a bit - "Die Luft is kuhl* und es dunkelt", I could have remarked, or said something about the landscape: "Der Gipfel des Berges fulkelt im Abendsonnenschein". The wind certainly was cool and it did get dark, though there were no mountains to sparkle in the evening sunshine. But alas, the occasion never arose to impress anyone with these conversational gems. Pity.

* Kuhl should have an umlaut. But I don't know how to do them.

An autumn walk

Our son came home for lunch today and Daughter 1, SIL and my mum were there too. Daughter 2 popped in and out with three friends she has staying: they're going to a university reunion. In the afternoon, Son, Mr Life and I went for a walk. It was a beautiful day.

The colours of the trees are picture-book perfect.

Looking towards Corstorphine Hill.

A bit further on.

Look at that leaf against the sky. Yum.

Some of the shades are more subtle.

Back along the main road.

Trees in...

... various gardens.

Nearly home - looking towards the Pentland Hills.

My hanging baskets still bloom away - no frost yet.

And the tender plants - not for much longer.

Will this Busy Lizzie still be in flower when we get back from Berlin?

Oh yes, Berlin. We're off there tomorrow and the taxi's coming at 4.20 am. Seemed like a good idea at the time.

I should pack. I hope the weather's as nice in Germany.

How much German can I remember from my two-and-a-half-years of classes, which ended in 1967? I do remember that "to buy fresh eels" is "frische Aale zu holen" - I think that's the right way to spell it. You never know: might come in useful.

Back on Friday. Keep your fingers crossed that the plane stays in the air.

Wanted!

I went to the dentist in town this afternoon and afterwards walked up to George Street to meet Mr Life so that we could go home together. This poster was stuck to a letter box.

It says:

Have you seen this girl?

Then please tell her she is perfect *

[then in handwriting at the bottom]

* and that I'm sorry.

I hope it worked. I think.

A post for Anna

An extract from an essay by a Zimbabwean student:

When I first arrived in Scotland, I expected to see bagpipers on every corner and men in quilts walking along the street like you see on postcards.

Admit it, Thimbleanna - that's your fantasy, isn't it?

An invitation I think I can resist

I've been invited to a seminar. It's called:

Pedagogy, Culture and Society: Whatever Happened to Curriculum Theory?

I'm not all that tempted to go.

Season of mists and lots of stuff like that

I have a clear memory of walking through George Square towards Edinburgh University library one autumn day when I was a student. It's one of those snapshots of the mind - separate and distinct like a dropped flower. I don't know where I'd been or what happened next. But I do remember the sun shining brightly, low in the sky; and I remember the chilly air; and the trees in the garden in the square, their leaves turning various shades of flame. And I thought to myself: autumn is my favourite season. I felt really enlivened by the chill, the glancing sunlight and the bright colours.

I don't feel like that now, 40 years on. Autumn has its charms but Spring - that's the season that lifts the heart. Thrusting shoots, fresh leaves, baby birds, lengthening days, renewed hope. Autumn - well, I wouldn't go so far as to say that it brings thoughts of death but it does remind me how fast time is passing. Whoosh.

I probably feel this particularly because my working year runs from August to June. So autumn also brings grindingly hard work and a weary haul till the next long holiday.

At this time of year we Scots tend to say with pained surprise, "The nights are drawing in" - as if we'd never noticed this happening in previous years. At the moment it's still light at breakfast time but darkish by 7 at night. By December the sun doesn't rise properly much before 9 and then starts setting about 3.30 pm. Those of us who work and don't stop for lunch live in the winter like moles, and emerge blinking into the daylight at weekends.

Will I feel differently when I retire? Will I once more enjoy the sharp air in my lungs on a sunny day; the cosiness of sitting with a book in a warm room as the workers fight the rain and the traffic to get home; the sooch of the wind against the windows behind the closed curtains and the realisation that I don't have to go out in it? Will autumn seem exciting again?

367 working days to go. Approximately. Or that's the plan. Meanwhile, back to the pile of marking on the kitchen table.

Another successful lesson

We were reading a newspaper article and considering the writer's style. We discussed his word choice, his use of sentence structure and imagery, the effect of the headline, the impact of the opening paragraph, the neatness of the closing paragraph, his use of repetition and humour and allusion and so on.

"Now write a paragraph on how effective you find his writing," I said.

And I got, from one student: "The language of this piece is short and simple but worth every penny."

Profound analysis.

MEETING DIETGIRL AND ZANNA

It's very windy today and the cats are refusing to go out. They don't like their fur being ruffled. If we firmly carry them out to the garden for a little run about, they circle round the house and are pouring themselves in through the cat flap before we get back inside. (They're supposed to sleep on that yellow blanket, not on the cushions.)

Although work continues unrelenting with loads of marking and preparation to do at home, and I feel SO out of touch with all your doubtless interesting lives, there have been two pieces of excitement in the Life household. One of these is that Daughter 2 has got the keys to the flat she's just bought - more of that another time - and the other is that the great, the wonderful, the talented and famous Shauna, aka Dietgirl, came to tea on Thursday. As did the also-very-nice Zanna.

Shauna, as many people know, is a shining star in the universe of Blog. She writes hilariously and touchingly and perceptively about her life and her travels in two blogs: What's New, Pussycat? (www.pussycat.shauny.org/) and The Amazing Adventures of Dietgirl (www.dietgirl.org/).

(By the way, does anyone know why I can no longer cut and paste on to my blog? It's very annoying.)

She has many, many readers. She recently also wrote a fantastic book called "The Amazing Adventures of Dietgirl" about how she became overweight and then slim and lots more besides. Hers was one of the first blogs I read, on the recommendation of Daughter 1. Shauna's writing combines humour and observation and information and wisdom - an old head on young shoulders if ever I met one - and now I have met her. It was such a pleasure. I knew what she'd be like - perfectly lovely - and she was.

This was thanks to Zanna. Confusingly, Zanna (http://zanyzanna.blogspot.com/) is a Scot living in Australia and Shauna is an Australian living in Scotland. Zanna is a keen traveller, currently visiting her family in the middle of a European tour, and she suggested we meet up. So we did. Daughter 1 came along too. I provided an unimpressive salady meal - I can cook but I didn't know what they liked, work has been so busy that my brain has given out and anyway I didn't want to be responsible for making Dietgirl gain weight...

Shauna brought some brownies along and we had them with our tea/coffee. They were delicious and of course, because they were made by Dietgirl, contained no calories.

It was also very good to meet Zanna. Though I knew she was originally Scottish, I'd always read her blog (in my head) in an Australian accent, but in fact even after 27 years in Australia she sounds more Scottish than I do.

Well, well, this bloggy thing does bring delights. And now I must do some ironing. No marking for me today! Tomorrow, now; that's another matter.

Work 2

I'm always interested that very few of the bloggers I read tend to write about their work. Some appear not to have paid employment - (I do keep recommending that my children marry money. They pay no attention). Some are retired. And then there's Thimbleanna, who works more or less full time but also creates beautiful things eight days a week and reads and comments on a million blogs. I think I've worked out how, though. She's twins. Ha ha! - rumbled you at last, Anna.

But many bloggers, though they give the impression that they have jobs, seldom say anything about these.

Is it because you don't want to get the sack, I wonder? Or do you not want to think about your work in your leisure time? Are you being deliberately mysterious? - not that there's anything wrong with that. (My name is not Isabelle, or at least my first name isn't. )

For all my complaining I do find my job endlessly interesting. My colleagues are good fun, the students are usually lovely and it's nice to have so much to do with beautiful young people when you're 59. Much of my work is connected with words and stories and I'm very fond of both of these. In many ways I'm very fortunate. And we do have great holidays. I occasionally wonder if life will seem a bit empty without all this. Life will be one long holiday; will I miss the heady joy of the last day of the session?

Philip Larkin wrote another poem about work called "Toads Revisited", in which he thought about retirement:

Walking around in the park
Should feel better than work;
The lake, the sunshine,
The grass to lie on...

And then he wondered if in fact he'd miss having something definite to do, with status and an in-tray, and decided to keep on working:

When the lights come on at four
At the end of another year
Give me your arm, old toad,
Help me down Cemetery Road.

Such a cheery chap, he was. In fact he died before he got to retirement, so he was right.

I would - will - miss a lot about work. The students, the colleagues, the feeling of usefulness. But I think I'd cope.

What does your work mean to you? Apart from money?

Work 1

Thank you, kind commenters. I am now able to post this picture of Daughter 2 and Sirius having a little nap. They are both talented nappers, though Daughter 2 is sometimes very busy. Unlike Sirius.

Philip Larkin, the curmudgeonly English poet who died in 1985, wrote a poem called “Toad” in which he complained about having to work. It begins

Why should I let the toad work
Squat on my life?
Can’t I use my wit as a pitchfork
And drive the brute off?

He was latterly the head librarian of Hull University. My job isn’t nearly so elevated but at this stage of term, work for me is all-consuming. Classes are big, students are being diligent with homework and we have to create schedules of relevant work for them. I teach some straight English, but also teach Communication – practical English – to students of computing, hairdressing, film, art and so on. When I say “relevant” I mean that I have to find reading material and writing tasks suitable for the subjects they’re studying. I never stop for lunch and always spend coffee breaks answering emails and phone calls.

I don’t mind this; I do actually like my work. But what I don’t like is doing it in the evenings and weekends. Yesterday was an Edinburgh holiday and I spent most of it working. Marking is the worst. That’s when my job seems like that warty toad, crouching heavily on my back and sucking my life away.

(Still, there are compensations such as this essay, beginning: To me the British monarchy is an embolism of disrespect and tertiary power.)

Some day soon I hope to be back commenting on your blogs.

Communication failure

Is it just me and my computer or is anyone else finding that they can't add pictures to their blog posts? Everything on the picture-adding screen is very pale and especially the "Cancel" and "Upload Image" squares, which aren't clickable. I found this last night and thought that Blogger was just having an off day, but it's still the same. Any solutions?

My colleague Joyce's son, Stephen, works part-time as a temp for the BBC, in Radio 1 - he has done this for some time and hopes to make radio his career. He phoned her on Thursday in a state of excitement and though it was a bad mobile phone line she was soon jumping around and squealing with equal or even greater excitement. After a while they had to terminate the call because it kept breaking up. "What was that all about?" I asked.

"Yesterday [famous presenter] gave him a lift home!" she beamed. "Maybe [famous presenter]'s going to be his mentor! Isn't that great? I'm so pleased for him!"

Then her phone beeped: a text.

It said: "I think you got the wrong end of the stick. I shared an elevator yesterday with [famous presenter]."

Oh well.

Collapse

It's been such a long time since I posted. I feel like a boxer - thrown against the ropes each day just to stagger back in time to face another. Teaching is such an all-consuming job, keeping people entertained and supplied with suitable handouts all day, every day. And then there's the marking.

The garden blooms on, unseen.

At the end of last session I decided that I would no longer teach an evening class in addition to my full-time job. Somehow I seem to be doing it again. There were no other volunteers. I do get paid extra for it and actually it's my favourite class. The marking is a killer, though. There are 29 people in the class - far too many - and if they all write something in class and also do their homework, that's 58 pieces of work to mark each week, just from this class. When you consider that each piece can take up to 15 minutes - well, it adds up. I just hope some of the students aren't too diligent.

So I teach till 9 o'clock on Tuesdays and I stayed at work on Thursday last week till 9 also, just to try to catch up a bit. And of course I bring work home too. Yes, I know: teaching's a part-time job. Ha.

Daughter 2 went down to London last week to see her actor boyfriend on The Plinth. British people will know about this - one plinth in Trafalgar Square hasn't got a statue on it, and the artist Antony Gormley has invited people to occupy it for one hour each, 24 hours a day for 100 days.

The actor boyfriend applied for, and was allocated, one of these hours. Unfortunately for him it was between 2 and 3 in the morning but astonishingly, about twenty of his friends were there to support him as he sang his own satirical songs and accompanied himself on the ukulele. Daughter 2 supplied the banner and lots of cupcakes for the spectators. I'm torn between thinking the whole thing is ridiculous and telling myself that he's young and this was a bit of an adventure. (And he has nothing much else to do because he's largely unemployed.)

As usual, last weekend was a rush, too. There was the usual dusting and tidying to do. Then Daughter 1 and her husband got home from holiday and came for a meal on Saturday. She turned 30 while they were away (what happened to that 30 years and how am I so old?) and so on Sunday they came for a birthday tea and we had a cake and sang to her.

"It's just as well we cycled over," said Son-in-Law, surveying the 30 candles burning away, "to offset that carbon footprint."

Our son came over again. I think we need to have a crisis or a birthday every weekend to bring him home. (The photo of him arriving is in the wrong order but life's not perfect.)

And then the week began again. Ten classes, each with 20 to 30 students I've never seen before, many of them called Kerry Ann or Carianne or Lee-ann or Lianne or some such confusingly similar name.

I plan to work for two more years. About 375 working days to go. I think that might be manageable.

Just about.

I apologise for any typos here. Normally I type in Word and then copy and paste but Blogger wouldn't paste tonight so, having spent ages doing the photos, I then had to retype it all on to the post. And now I must go and mark and then get up to my mother's house

What did you do at the weekend?

On Monday mornings colleagues often ask what one did at the weekend.

Saturday morning – woke at my mother’s house, took her a cup of tea, set out to collect Daughter 1, Son-in-Law and their three guinea pigs plus assorted paraphernalia: Daughter 1 and her husband were going on holiday and the guinea pigs were to stay with us. Arrived at their house and waited while obsessive-compulsive SIL did his checks; then came back here so that he could to his satisfaction install the piggies ( who had more luggage than their owners) in our sitting room. (Not our only sitting room.) The cats sat outside the patio doors gazing through the glass with fascination.

Then Mr Life took Daughter 1 and SIL to the station and I brought my mum down here for coffee and a chat. She hadn’t been out since her funny turn on Monday. I took her home again and went for my library book and to put petrol in the car. When I got home, Daughter 2 met me at the door. “Come and see what we’ve found,” she said, and led me into the kitchen, where Son sat, on a surprise visit home. (He can do this now that he’s only in Glasgow rather than the distant town in the south-west.)

So that was lovely. We had lunch and then Daughter 2 had to go up town, Mr Life had to cut the hedge and Son and I went for a walk. When we returned, we tidied up the hedge-clippings and Son went up to collect my mum to bring her down for an evening meal.

Look - a conjoined twin strawberry and Daughter 2.

After that I took Mum home again – for her first night alone since her funny turn – and I organised Sunday lunch for the next day.

In the morning, we went to church and then had Mum back for lunch. Later, Son and Mr Life went on a boys’ outing to research sound systems while Daughter 2 and I went for a walk.

Daughter 2 has been making a banner on and off all weekend, also in the sitting room – more of this another time – and later went out to dinner with friends to watch the end-of-the-Festival fireworks from their window. Son went for a run and then he and Mr Life watched “ER” with the cats.

In the evening, Mr Life took Son to the station to get the train back to Glasgow and I am currently in the middle of speed-reading two books on the history of our church to write a summary of them for the church website. I can hear the thunder of fireworks in town a couple of miles away.

I had been thinking, by the way, that the comments on my blog had been getting a bit sparse. The solution: write a pathetic post, currying sympathy. Thank you so much for your good wishes to my mum. She seems more or less recovered, but still rather anxious about what happened and a bit wobbly. Tooth – hmm, not sure. Difficult students – didn’t appear. (Yes!)

And then it’s Monday again, back on the work treadmill.

What did you do at the weekend?