Tradition

This Christmas has been a different one. Actually all my Christmases over the last few years have been different. Many have been very good and memorable, but they have not been the traditional ones of my childhood. This may come as a surprise to some of you, indeed it was a surprise to myself - I who strive to be open-minded and to accept new ideas and ways of thinking - but I think I like traditions. Yes, I know, it comes as a shock.

We were staying this year with an Indian family who we became good friends with when they were living in Zimbabwe and who are living at the moment in Dublin. They have moved around a lot and subsequently do not have a lot of Christmas traditions of their own because many years are in new places, with new people, so their Christmases are always different and often take on flavours of the places they are in - this year we had brussel sprouts along with Indian delicacies and drank mulled wine with brownies (okay, so the brownies are not particularly Irish, they just happen to be going through a brownie phase. We didn't complain.).

As we were talking around the table about Christmas memories that we each had, we realized how many traditions we as a family have. Mum's German heritage comes out most strongly at Christmas time and for me, Christmas tastes like stollen and lebkuken and prunes with diamond donuts (yes, I imagine they do have a real name; no, I don't remember it). There's our Christmas Eve supper of cheese and crackers, chips and dip and salami and chutney (a feast in the days growing up when cheese and chips were luxury food items that we didn't get during the year) when we read the Christmas story; stockings (literally Mum's old pantyhose cut in two) that appeared on the bottom of our beds in the middle of the night filled with more treats of sweets, small gifts, chips and complete with an orange in the bottom and a balloon in the top. I remember the feeling of that stocking on the bottom of the bed, the thrill of brushing your toe against it, half asleep in the early hours of the morning and hearing the crinkle of the wrapping of something that just must be good, and dragging it out to the lounge to be opened all together. We always opened gifts early Christmas morning as we ate sticky cinnamon rolls warmed in the microwave before heading to the Christmas Day service. Christmas lunch was always a hodge podge of people who didn't have anywhere to go and who managed to be such an odd and different combination that it always seemed to be the perfect group. Boxing Day was always extended-family day with everyone's leftovers combined to form another spectacular feast, more gifts and often a competitive Chinese auction (white elephant game) where the spirit of giving and love and family loyalty was set aside for an hour or two as we all battled to end up with the nicest junk.

I guess I shouldn't be surprised that these traditions are so important to me, because I suppose it is what comes with these traditions that makes them so important. There is a deep security and contentment in the constancy of traditions and I think that this is tied to the memories that are embedded into those traditions: being flooded with moments and feelings attached to a cinnamon roll or a crinkling stocking or the smell of cloves and pineapple glaze on the Christmas ham. That is a powerful thing. I do like traditions. And I think there is plenty of room for adding new ones to the old. Hmm, twelve months to get Mum used to the idea of mulled wine...

London Glimpses

I have been here almost two weeks and although I feel that might make me even less of an expret than someone who has never been here, but I thought I'd share a few things I've seen, glimpsed, in the last 10 days anyway.

1. Although in this city you can find people dressed in absolutely anything and ranging from designer clothes to very worn, second hand ones, I always feel underdressed and like I really should wear more makeup than I ordinarily would just to feel okay. Its a daily mind battle to convince myself not to give in to the social pressure to throw on every vaguely fashionable piece of clothing or accessorie I own to try to measure up.

2. Londoners are remarkably friendly and helpful. The few interactions I have had with strangers - socially and as a customer - have been very pleasant; not at all the brusque, stiff upper lip treatment that is stereotypically expected of the British.

3. Saw 2 little boys, about six, happily pulling the middle finger at the car behind their bus. Their huge, innocent grins suggested that they merely knew that they would achieve some sort of strong reaction and I'd like to think they did not know what they were doing but even if so, how sad that they already know this sign and its implications.

4. We watched a fascinating scene between two drivers. A very fancy white car crossed on-coming traffic in order to enter a side road. Although I don't think it was dangerous, the on-coming driver of a delivery truck had to slow down somewhat and leant on his horn (do I say horn or hooter or beeper as a Zimbabwean? my lexicon is confused!) as he approached the fancy car. Well. Fancy-driver stopped his car in the middle of the road, got out and shouted abuse at the "arrogant ***", saying he could "SIT THERE ALL NIGHT". I was waiting for the delivery driver to get out and for a full blown, perhaps physical, fight to begin. And yet delivery driver just sat in his car while fancy-driver rained anger on him. After a moment, fancy-driver got back in his car and delivery-driver skirted around him on the pavement. It was fascinating. I am confused about the delivery-drivers lack of reaction, especially given his hooting in the first place. Power issues at play? Class even? Very interesting.

5. Christmas is different here. As in the States, consumerism still rules and there is lots of pressure and chance to spendspendspend! But the endless Christmas jingles that plague you ceaselessly are not here. Christmas music, yes, but much less Santa Claus, reindeer and elves. Its nice.

6. There are whole vegetarian rows in the supermarkets here! So wonderful. And although the restaurant menus I have looked at still only have a couple vegetarian options, they are marked with a V, so we're on the radar here. In Zimbabwe you might get a salad or a cheese sandwich. If you're lucky. Also, there are 7 recycling categories... what a place! I would move here except it rains in winter and I can't imagine living some where it rains in winter!

Silently alone

(To understand this post fully you need to know this bit of information: I'm in London).

I hate being alone, a lot. Even though I knew they would be good for me and my spiritual well being, I avoided Calvin's Silent Retreats like the plague!

In the last two days I've had two experiences that really made me think about this quality (flaw?) more. Yesterday I explored a couple cities in Cambridgeshire that we visited as a family about six years ago and had made a strong positive impression on me. Ely is a small town known for its beautiful cathedral and Cambridge is this bigger town with a whole lot of people who like studying in it, you may have heard of it. I loved Cambridge right off and Ely's charm is prominent in my memory. And yet, as I wandered around these two places yesterday, while I appreciated many of the things I must have appreciated six years ago - the river on the edge of Ely with the hopeful ducks and fishermen, the markets full of fresh things, the atmosphere of life and movement in Cambridge, the old college buildings that are grand and would be intimidating but manage to sit alongside cafes and bicycle racks with casual ease - it was not the same. Okay, this time I was chilled to the bone and trying not to get frostbite or hypothermia, but I think it was something more. I think the fact that I did these towns alone made all the difference. I'm glad I wandered them, don't get me wrong, and I had a great time, but there was something missing: people to share it with.

I've noticed this about myself before and yesterday confirmed it, I don't enjoy doing things alone - travelling and seeing new places being among the biggest. This isn't to say I won't go travelling or see places alone, or that I'll be miserable when I do, just that I don't love it. So I've always thought I hate solitude and silence (hence the no-looking-back run from Silent Retreats).

Tonight I went to a really wonderful church service. The church was called Moot and it is part of the New Monastic movement of churches. I actually went to 3 services today - an Anglican morning one with a Nigerian twist, an Anglican choral evensong, and this one. This was by far my favourite and was one of the most beautiful services I have been to. There were several aspects of it that really connected with me but something that stuck out in particular as I think of my day yesterday was their use of silence. Quite near the beginning of the service there was a five minute period of "Disciplined silence"; and it was lovely. Really. It had been an exhausting day of walking non-stop around South London and the chance to just sit and catch my breath was well-needed. But it was also a chance to catch my breath after a busy week, a crazy final two weeks of the school year, a hectic term and a non-stop year. And a chance to talk to God. Really talk. I don't often just sit quietly and deliberately and it was good. And what made it even more so was that I was in the company of others doing the same thing. I have to admit here that I'm sometimes a cynical church participant as I watch people around me entering in or not entering in to worship. And yet, with these folk I had a sense that we were all there, together, catching up on rest, sitting in silence, talking. There were other creative uses of silence in the service but those five minutes were the pinnacle.

I think what made those five minutes so powerful for me was that although I was silent, I was not alone at all. And I've realised tonight that silence is not something I hate; maybe being alone is (and maybe I have to deal with that) but silence is good and healthy. Good and healthy and wonderful.

One down, a life-time to go

Well, it’s over. I have finished my first, full year of teaching my own classes.

I’m sitting in the garden with the extension cord trailing out the bedroom window to my laptop because it is way too hot to be inside, just returned from a day of staff meetings and a final staff lunch at a fancy restaurant where we ate and drank and were merry until we had to say goodbye to teachers who were leaving.

And now after all the reports and marking and uploading of applications and meetings are done (almost), I can reflect on where this year has brought me.

I think back to the beginning, to January, when I faced down my classes, quickly winning over my eager Form 2s and willing L6s but battling for weeks with my Form 3s, 4s and U6s. There were rough days and sometimes weeks with all those classes. The U6s remained difficult - it’s hard to teach or learn in the final two periods on a Friday afternoon – and there’s only so much Form 4 language anyone can take and we definitely had too much; sometimes even my bright and enthusiastic little Form 2s were just a little too much to take, and my Form 3s were a constant struggle but one I threw myself into because my heart was with these unimpressed, dubious 15 year-olds from the beginning.

But there were more days when I reveled in the joy of being with them, of seeing their eyes light up with a new idea, of reading powerful stories and poems that made me laugh and cry. My Form 2s fell in love with Pride and Prejudice – well, at least Mr. Darcy – this term and despaired at the loss of vocab lessons next year. A few of my Form 3s awoke to injustice around them through a project (the majority of them pulled out their hair in frustration at the torture I was putting them through) And my L6s met me in the midst of hard questions about language and identity and power. One of them said the most important lesson she learnt this year was that an A wasn’t the goal but improving her grade from where she had started from at the beginning of the year was (this was my mantra to them all year that I thought had fallen on deaf ears).

It has been a good year. One full of learning and growing. I am excited to be where I am, at the prospect of more conversations and mind opening moments, of being allowed into the world of these girls all over again.

Two young teachers are leaving our department. It has been a hard few days for them as they have said their goodbyes to students and teachers. I think it is going to be hard to leave this place when I need to. For now, I’m loving the present.