goccediacqua

We are used to educators having a bit of a whinge about having too many students. Not so common to hear lamenting about too few.

But that is my problem now.

My teaching style is geared to working with groups of 22.  Above 25 I get a bit stressed. But 18 is great. Even 15.  Or 12 at a pinch.

At the moment, I only have 5. And it is really not enough.

I don’t quite know what to do with myself.  After I have set up some things for them to do, dealt with the separation anxiety, had some quality interactions, and done a spot of intentional teaching, I kind of feel like I need to give them some space.  I don’t want to be in their faces all the time.

So I write a few obs.

And then twiddle my thumbs for a bit until one of them needs me.

Funny thing is, I know there are educators who are geared to working with 4 or 5 kids. I only have them for 2.5 hours. How do people do this all day?

I suppose it goes to show how much our teaching knowledge is tied to particular settings and ways of working.  Each setting (and age group, and timeframe) has its own particular set of habits and skills. Just because you know how to do one, doesn’t mean you can transfer straight across.

A lot of eggs got broken trying to make this omelette. And now it is full of shell.

One of the class of blogs I follow a bit is gluten-free cooking. A few weeks ago, there was a post about a US food blogger being suddenly widowed, and a call to help raise funds for her. A group called Bloggers Without Borders formed, and started to collect donations and facilitate auctions.

At the time, I wondered about the validity of this. The call for help seemed to stem largely from the fear that the family would not be able to afford health insurance and might have to sell their apartment. I have to admit, I would prefer to see Americans putting their energy into getting universal health care, rather than setting up fundraising organisations to help people who used to be able to afford $1800/month on insurance.

But this stuff is my recreational reading, not my real life, so I drifted off into other things for a bit. Until a new post popped up on my page revealing that the whole enterprise had erupted into an uncomfortably public fight.

The widow posted that she would be putting the money raised into a college fund. Some donors were shocked and said if they realised that was a possibility, they would not have donated.

I have no doubt all these people meant well. But instead they have ended up with an unseemly brawl that must only be making the widow’s life more difficult.

This is probably a scenario that has played out many times before. But somehow social networking seems to amplify it. The number of people involved is bigger. The territory is bigger. The amount of money raised is bigger.

I am sure that similar problems – about who controls money, what purpose it is raised for, the worthiness of recipients – are all totally familiar to people professionally involved in charity work. These are the kind of complications that people can foresee and deal with when they know what they are doing.

I wonder if it is actually inherent in the world of blogging and social networking that amateurs go clodhopping into areas they know nothing about, scorning the knowledge of established organisations and professionals. So many food bloggers are self-taught domestic cooks that have become self-taught writers who self-publish. Perhaps they are naturally positioned to assume they don’t need any expert advice.

And I also wonder if there is some way social networking dooms us to relearn the lessons of how humanity behaves in groups. The problems of flaming, stalking, character assassination, privacy – all of these are areas we have explored and learnt to manage first in villages, then cities, then in publishing. But somehow our rules and know-how seem to have been flung out the window by this new form of community. We are faced again with the problem of how to deal with the nastiness people are capable of.

Blogging creates community. But community is not always automatically good.

For those who need to read the originals, here are the links:

http://www.bloggerswoborders.org/2011/10/an-open-letter/

http://www.injennieskitchen.com/2011/10/thank-you.html
http://www.injennieskitchen.com/2011/09/in-search-of-an-anchor.html

Tonight it worked.

It was the boy’s turn to cook. I provided cut up lamb and skewers and pointed out that there was broccoli in the house. The sister wanted to eat pumpkin risotto, so she said she would cook it if he cut up the pumpkin, which he did with good grace.

They put some music on the iPad, and stood side by side at the stove, stirring and turning and chatting.

They put a lovely dinner on the table for us. We had conversation. Then the cleaning up agreement kicked in, and they all picked up their plates and put them in the dishwasher.

It was all very pleasant and effective, and done without fuss and without me.

I saw a headline yesterday morning. Norway shooting. No good news could come of that. I avoided finding out any detail, for hours. I consciously avoided it. I did not want to know. I did not want to feel that sadness and impotence and failure to understand why there is such evil in the world.

I could not avoid it forever. Eventually, there were snippets of conversation, and Facebook posts, and a news bulletin. I learnt the facts.

But still I do not let the feelings in. I turn the newspaper over so I don’t reread that headline every time I pass through the kitchen. I can see the huge black cloud of grief that belongs to that story. I am keeping it locked out of me. I can see it as if looking out through a window at a storm raging, while I stay safe inside.

These are my people. I am not Norwegian, but I am a political activist and my kids are that age. I know how deeply I could empathise with them. I know how much that is awful there is to feel.

It doesn’t bear thinking about.

I manage to induce some kind of emotional anaesthetic. Do you know that feeling when you have a local anaesthetic, and you can feel sensation, but not pain? I see the tide of emotions lapping around me. I recognise pain and grief and fear and horror. I see them, name them, know them, but refuse to feel them.

It doesn’t bear thinking about.

I saw The Guardian had put together a list of 100 best non-fiction books.
Got me wondering what I would put on such a list. I am going to start compiling. Starting with 10.
Just going from memory at the moment. Will check authors etc some time.
In no particular order.

The Great Hunger – detailed history of the Irish potato famine.
The Fatal Shore (Robert Hughes?) Meticulous and evocative history of the early convict years of White Australia
Salonica – Wonderful evocation of a multicultural city swept aside by history
Evil Angels (John Bryson) Examination of what Australia did to Lindy Chamberlain
A Short Walk in the Hindu Kush (Eric um) best travel writing
The Basque History of the World Fantastically eccentric book that illustrates how the quality of the writing always matters more than the subject matter.
The Man Who Mistook His Wife for a Hat (Oliver Sacks) Crazy, intriguing, informative and kind insight into the world of people with various forms of brain damage.
A Chemical Boyhood (Oliver Sacks) Personal, good story telling, and informative
A Short History of the Nearly Everything (Bill Bryson) Science made clear and engaging.
Montaillou – Great historianship
The Mountain People – Chilling insight into what human nature can be reduced to.

The Guardian list is here http://www.guardian.co.uk/books/2011/jun/14/100-greatest-non-fiction-books