What dress shall I wear?

When I got here, I didn't really unpack or think about anything, I just went straight to the beach for my first surf and then to visit my niece and nephew (oh, and their parents!).  It was all I could think about.  A day later, when I realised I hadn't seen my bridesmaid dress in my boxes here, my first response was to panic.  I'm talking thirty minutes of doom and gloom, I decided I'd taken it to the States and left it there!

Jbird is my saving grace when I  panic at home.  He kind of just absorbs it.  Saying things like "Well, I think the only thing you can do in this situation is to panic." and "are you panicking yet?"  It sounds sarcastic and mean but it actually helps me to think: "oh, what should I be doing?"  I've heard this of sarcasm: it's no longer considered the lowest form of wit.  It can be mean, but it can also be clever, helping the recipient to think about where it came from, and what it means, encouraging creativity in their thought process.  I'm not just saying this because I have a habit of using it, either.  Click here to read the article.

I'm packing today to go down to New Plymouth for the great wedding fête.  The bridesmaid dress is already down there, taken by my mum.  It's going to be a fun weekend but I'm glad I'm only visiting one person and her baby today, I need a rest day!

The Icing on the Cake

I visited two lovely friends yesterday.    I had energy and time so the visits were comfortable.  Today, I'm squeezing in three, as well as a haircut - call me crazy.  

I woke up with time to do some baking for today's friends this morning so I thought I'd throw together some chocolate cupcakes, using a cake recipe I found in one of mum's books.  I made sure all the ingredients were available before I started.  This search wasn't quite thorough enough as I got them in the oven and went to make the icing, only to find there was no icing sugar in the cupboard.  How very annoying - this happens to me far more often than I would like.  A quick search online told me it would be fine if I whipped butter and plain sugar together.  Unfortunately, in order to get a smooth texture, you have to whip and whip and whip and whip or it's going to be grainy.  With a hand held beater, this can be particularly annoying.   

With all my visiting, I feel the urge to relate this to our friends, husbands, and anyone we desire to be close to.  Friendship (and all relationships) can't be instantaneous.  We have to throw together a lot of ingredients and bake them.  I'm inclined to think that in these relationships, we try to add plain sugar and they take a lot more whipping than we're willing to give.  

The cupcakes were a hit - I substituted out the milk, putting in berry yoghurt instead.  I also had real chocolate in the icing (which was a little grainy).  Though it had almost melted by the time I got to the last house, the cupcakes were really soft and yummy.

The raisins didn't get a good soaking

As mentioned in an earlier post (click here to read it), I baked two smallish rum-soaked fruit Christmas cakes ten weeks prior to Christmas.  I thought about bringing the second one to NZ as a pressie for my mum.  It's the kind of thing that's appreciated in NZ while Americans (and I) don't really go for fruit in cake.  I didn't bring it in the end, for a few reasons: I ran out of room in my luggage, I wasn't sure how to transport it safely, lacking a decent tupperware container, and I wondered if home baking would be allowed through customs.  I guess I figured if it was homebaked, they'd want to know what was in it.  Those NZ customs peeps can be tricky at times.  I was once nearly fined $200 for some dirty boots in my luggage - they were worried about mad cow disease in those days.  Turns out any food's allowed in, unless there's honey or meat involved.

So this morning I whipped another one up.  It won't have ten weeks to age and the raisins weren't rum-soaked - though there's some port in the cake itself.  The recipe I used called for 1.2kg/2.6lb of dried fruit, six eggs and not much else!   I wonder how it will turn out.

A Thirteen Hour Flight

Two days ago I was dressed for winter, snuggling under a rug, recovering from Thanksgiving.  The sun set before 6pm, the early morning was chilly, and the trees were bare.  I had to duck away from a biting wind while biking to the Black Friday sales.  Though my accent was tending towards an American lilt, a day didn't go by that I wasn't asked where I was from.

Today I went body-boarding in the ocean, I am wearing jandals and torn jeans, I have a slight burn on my shoulders, and black sand between my toes.  It's still light at 8pm, all the trees are covered in vibrant green leaves, and there are flowers everywhere.  I have to remember to stay on the left hand side of the road while I drive.  My accent is normal.  

Today we had a picnic at a summery Christmas concert and I received sloppy chocolatey kisses from HarryBarry and Madsta. 

Today, you are there and I am here.  Jbird, I miss you. 

Island life

I MISS the ocean.  Maybe more than I miss family and friends.  While they always talk to me and respond, the ocean expects me to stop by and invite myself in.  It doesn’t care if it’s too cold and uninviting - or too far away. 

Growing up on an island, I took regular ocean swimming for granted until I moved to Dhaka, Bangladesh.  Although it's a harbour city, surrounded by water, the water is polluted: rank, and green or purple.  It enjoys a cooling monsoon season and a flash storm could flood the streets in seconds.  Later, Jbird and I moved to Baltimore.  Though it's another harbour city, we did not own a car, and because we followed the winter to New Zealand, we were never able to swim in clean salty waters.  Now we’re in Indiana and I'm landlocked for the first time in my life.  We’re pacified with a pool nearby but secretly yearn the ocean.

On Monday, I’m going to drive out west to get my hair cut.  Afterwards, I will drive to Piha with my body board in tow.  I hope there's at least a four foot swell.  Strong enough to take me by surprise, pick me up, and dump me on the sand.  A thorough baptism of home waters, the Pacific.

Variations on a Turkey

Our first thanksgiving in the States together, Jbird and I flew to Texas for a Thanksgiving extravaganza.  I won't go into too many details, it was a memorable trip in too many ways, except that the turkey was deep fried.  I over-ate and nearly went into a food coma.  There was no way to avoid it, the food was too good and very plentiful.

Yesterday we enjoyed thanksgiving at two different houses.  I managed to show a considerable amount of constraint by serving minuscule portions.  It was a good survival method.  Two types of cranberry sauce, gravy, green veges, turkey and pumpkin pie later, as well as many types of wine and coffee in between, and any number of side dishes, and I was doing okay.  I think it was the pecan pie right at the end of the night that kind of sent me over the edge.  I had to have some quiet time inside my head.

The real bonus for us is that we're in somebody's house on one of their biggest holidays of the year.  Traditions are shared that may stem from generation to generation: recipes, family, and locations, all things that that particular family has adopted over time. 

Thanks for sharing, America.

Pre-Turkey Day

Yesterday, we had one of those perfect pre-Thanksgiving days.  Our friends, Ash and T, wanted Jbird to tune their new/old piano.  They have four boys.  Their relatives had just arrived from Baltimore – the dad's a cop in the Mondawmin Mall area.  He says The Wire is true.  It was fun to get to know him and his family, from recent stomping grounds.

While Jbird tuned, I played with the kids, stuffed my Christmas cards, knitted and cuddled the baby.  Best of all, I was allowed in the kitchen this year!  I was given the honour of making the cheese cake/pumpkin pie.  Ash had kindly pre-baked the pie base.

We finished the day in a payment of barbeque ribs.  Think: Fred Flinstone and his toppled over car.  They were amazing.  I don’t want to say the ribs were better than the smoked brisket of Texas, Thanksgiving 2009 (read about that here).  They may have been just as good, not in the same way, a different meal.  America also knows how to do meat.

Heart Friend

Trying to relate is really hard, for everyone.  I know this so I try to make it easy for those who don’t know me.  I mimic accents, facial expressions and body language, I try not to butt in too often, and I remember anecdotes so that I can ask that person about them when I next see them.  

I think about all this relating a lot, it keeps me up at night.  A lot of the time I’m thinking “huh, I shouldn’t have said that!” because I am no good at the not-butting-in part.  I let myself spend a lot of energy on my relating skills and then I crash.  My response to this is to hermit.  I creep into my little house, with my coffee, books and knitting, not coming out for anything.

As I consider going home, I know that I will see a lot of people who I think of as heart friends.  People that know me so well we can get talking and wonder where the time has gone?  Days, months, years spent apart becomes irrelevant.  But it won’t be all peaches and cream.  People are already telling me they’re not available.  I won’t be on my best behaviour all the time.

With only two weeks, I promise to try my very best.  To be a relating machine. I'll sleep on the plane.

Tying up loose ends

I ensconced myself in the corner of our lounge last night with the Mary Tyler Moore show, a bowl of chips and a bottle of water.  I had decided to force myself to finish off the three months worth of knitted/crocheted items I had overflowing from my craft box.  My friend, MK, tells me – with all the wisdom of a life-long artist and as a much more experienced crochet-hook worker – that I should enjoy this part of the job.  It’s creating the final product.  Particularly with the amigurumi toys I have been fond of making.  Your crochet skills almost don’t matter, as the sculptor, sewing them together is what gives them their character.  Do a bad job of it and you can end up with one funny looking toy.

I’m far more prone to let myself “do it later” than I would like to be because five hours later I had a cramp in my right hand and I had still not finished! 

Preparing for travel

Travelling internationally used to be a delight for me.  I loved to choose the movies, eat the little meals and not be where I was leaving, or arriving, but just be.   

I’m a little more travel weary these days.  Jbird once described it as familiarity with the bad parts of flying; sleep deprivation, waiting at airports for countless hours, lost luggage, armrest wrestling with strangers.  On our last trip home, we flew FOUR international flights with my maiden name on my ticket and my married name on my passport, it was so stressful.  Soph once lost her passport at LAX, what a nightmare!   

Do you know what I hate the most, something that can never be avoided?  Living in recycled air for two days and the dehydration that ensues!  My skin peels for days afterwards.  My eyes ache.  My mouth or nose – depending on which I chose to breathe through while asleep – feel dry and uncomfortable.  

With all the liquid carrying restrictions on planes, this is hard to remedy but I have started making my plans for this trip.  I will carry a bottle, refilling it inside each airport and sip, sip, sip – I have found this even helps the dry eyes/nose/mouth syndrome, so long as you remember to do it.  I will carry little bottles of moisturiser, Vaseline and olive oil to protect my poor skin.  

Is there anything you do to make flying more comfortable?  I’d love your ideas!

On writing

I was talking to a new blogger buddy at church today.  It was nice to share this thing that we have in common, and to realise that it’s changed my life in a little way. 

The regularity of this blog was something that I needed when I started.  It helped me to keep it up and to fill a void I had from moving to a new town.  It hasn’t been too much of a challenge, so far, to write something and publish it every day but I don’t know if that will change soon.  My life is a little busier now and it’s sure to be even busier next year.  Most of it will be study busyness, and blogging is a nice distraction from that.  I’m going home on Friday for two weeks and the travel will delete an entire day from life - I just won’t see Saturday (I get two Sundays on the way back here).  It will be Thanksgiving just before I leave so I’m sure to have lots to write about and pre-schedule for those travel days.  I’ll just have to take the trip as it comes though, maybe I’ll miss a day or two.  Maybe I’ll be able to keep on top of it.  We’ll see.

The best part of this blog is that the voice that talks to me while I’m going about my day, my inside voice, has taken to composing blogs.  It’s quite nice - I will be lying in bed and realise I’ve thought up three new posts and I’d better get a pen to write them down.  I think it might even help me to avoid the negative voice that often likes to chime in.   

Here’s to writing regularly.

Building creativity and ability

A teachers’ college mantra through the four year degree was “...and write a reflection”.  They wanted us to learn to reflect on everything, at all times. At the time I was a young ‘un and I really didn’t know what I would reflect when I did reflect because I didn’t have the nouse to know I’d have to stop and think first.  I just wanted to do it as quickly as possible, get the grade and go do something I was interested in.

As a part time job during those years, I taught a small studio of violin students and I was fortunate enough to have an amazing mentor.  She supplied me with games, ideas and even stickers.  Even with her help, my lessons were awful.  I would finish everything in ten minutes, leaving twenty minutes to improvise.  The improvisations were bad too, I was empty of words.  My response to this was: "At least I won’t be doing this forever!  I’ll be in a classroom with 30 kids and everything will be much better."

It wasn’t, it was super hard.  I’ve learned that there’s no two ways around it, there’s more to teaching than just having a job.  

Today I started a violin student and it is amazing to see where I have come in 12 years.  I have this knowledge, a teaching pedagogy, that has built up over the years.  I still use a lot of my mentor’s material but I know what to say in the gaps and I know how long I should spend doing activities.  I probably didn’t reflect on it the way I was taught in teacher’s college, but I have developed and improved none the less. 

Did your twenties do this to you, too?

This post relates directly to what I’ve written earlier here and here.  I’m remembering to be bored so that I can be creative.

Making something out of rags

Rag rugs are a really satisfying, quite simple gift to crochet.  Making the rags takes a bit of time and it can be quite messy - I end up with a layer of rag fluff all over my clothes and the floor.  I prefer to make circle rugs, although I have found the hardest part at the start when I'm counting the first few stitch increase increments.  It's hard to see the definition between stitches with all the jaggedy edges getting in the way.  Doing this step properly makes a big difference for a really tidy looking rug, unless you’re going for the lopsided effect. 

They are one of the few items I make that I always like at the end.  They seem plush, and it's satisfying to see how the width of the rags I've made and the imagined design turns out in the finished product.  I've made a couple with some sheets my parents have had since they were newly-weds.  Those sheets are really familiar to my family but they had become thin and were tearing easily from over-use.  It's nice to have found a new purpose for them. 

Preparing for home

In preparation to go home next Friday, EIGHT SLEEPS FROM NOW, I have bought 144 votive candles and their glass holders for a very special wedding, written a Christmas letter for family and a few select friends, and am receiving packages in the post for things people want from the States that are more expensive or not available at home.  Clothes from baby gap (so cute, Madstar and Haz are lucky little people), cowboy belts for the resident cowboy (Mr. Bird, Sr.), and a kindle for some cuzzies (still waiting, I hope it gets here in time).  Older-sis ordered a bunch of American mags too, so I’m trying to get through those.   

I am also in the process of finishing off our New Zealand Christmas shopping. “Finishing off” is an exaggeration.  I should say, starting.  Fortunately, my study has finished, placing me into a very wintery summer holiday, so I have the time to concentrate on all these things.  Unfortunately, I am far more inclined to knit and watch old episodes of the Mary Tyler Moore show.  I should get on it though.  We have dinner engagements and thanksgiving to get through before I leave.  Oh, and the black Friday sales the morning I leave.  

Really, I have no complaints.

We had a spill

...on the apartment carpet.  Which was new just before we moved in.  Jbird was going to tip a wet bike upside down in the spare room, to keep the wet tyres off the carpet.  A wet, black substance (probably grease) dripped out.   

When we spill anything at his parents' house, Mrs. Bird Sr. yells “I’ll get it!” and won’t let us near it.  She has a strong conviction that her method is the only method and will work at it at any time of the day or night to get that stain out.  It’s impressive.  And it works.  She uses a dry cloth and dabs, dabs, dabs, presses and jumps until no stain remains.  It gets all soaked up into the dry cloth.  

So we tried this last night - we’re very interested in getting our bond back when we move out.  Unfortunately with her conviction comes strength and perseverance.   What we needed to do was to put Mrs. Bird, Sr. on the case.  To be fair, it’s not looking too bad now, but I KNOW she would have been on it until it was all gone.   

My job today is to put some baking soda sludge on the remainder of the stain and to buy a chain to get those bikes out of the flat.  I want my spare room back!

What's a Hoosier?

We were given tickets to the Hoosiers’ basketball game on the weekend.  We’d done our research by watching the movie “Hoosiers” a couple months ago.  The game was a fun cultural experience, super super American.  I saw my first live slam dunk!  There was a brass band, cheerleaders and flags.  Bigger flags than I’ve ever seen in my life.  I’m not going to lie, the cheerleaders were a hit for me.  They wear big white bows in their hair and they’re soooo peppy!  Jump, jump, jump, arm pump. Back flip. Thrown in the air... Unfortunately, I missed getting the pyramid on camera by about a second.  Bah to that. 

It was a home game for the Hoosiers so they had home audience advantage.  By that, I mean the entire audience was decked out in red and white.  The women in the vicinity to me had had red manicures that day.  It was intense. 

I know I’m meant to be on the Hoosier’s side but I couldn’t help feeling sad for Chattanooga.  They played an okay game but the audience was pretty mean anytime they did anything ANYTHING decent.  It was quite lopsided.  I don’t think I’ve ever been to a game where the cheering was solely for only one of the teams.  It must be super demoralising.  Ah well, go Hoosiers!? 

What's a Hoosier?  http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Hoosier

Recital week for the Birds

This Wednesday, Jbird and Soph will play their chamber music recital.  They have formed a trio, with a cellist, and are playing Rachmaninoff Piano Trio Élégiaque No. 1 in G minor and Shostakovich Piano Trio No. 2 in E minor.  They have put a lot of work into this recital, holding a huge number of lessons and rehearsals together, besides all the personal practice.  Jbird even managed to swing a fancy lesson with Professor Dubinsky who played the piano part for Rachmaninoff himself! She's kind of royalty around here.  They're holding their dress rehearsal as I type.

I am always much more inclined to enjoy a concert if I’ve heard the music a lot.  Normally Jbird practices at home but we didn’t have a piano for a good part of this semester so I’ve had to resort to listening to recordings instead.  Rach and Shost are two of my favourite composers.  Those Russians write dark, intense, exciting music.  The themes are memorable and hold many story-like components.  

One of the best things about living here is all the concerts we can go to, and even better, the concerts that Jbird and Soph play in.  If you’d like to see little bit of their magic, click on this link.  Here, they’re playing Gran Duo Concertante for Double Bass and Violin by Bottesini with their buddy Steve.  It was at Steve’s Senior Recital.  I’m extremely proud of my sis-in-law and hubby.

Community Bike Project

Jbird has gotten into the habit of bringing home abandoned bikes.  They will have something small wrong with them - a broken peddle or their handle bars have come loose.  In this student town, the owner will dump it, believing it to be irreparable - or unsure how to fix it.  Ten dollars for a new peddle from any of the convenient bike stores but instead they're bike-less!

We finally made the trip downtown to the community bike project, to fix the broken bits.   It’s kind of hard for us to get there – it’s only open a few hours a week and it meant biking one bike and wheeling another alongside.  Not an easy feat.  Down there, they have tools and spare used parts we could use for free.  It’s a fun place to be, everybody helps each other.  Two pedals swapped out, a kick stand replaced and we have five working bikes!  We donated one of our old cruisers too, I’m sad to see her go. 

This makes me think of a book: Zen and the Art of Motorcycle Maintenance.  The narrator knows a couple that refuse to get to the nitty gritty of their own motorcycle, instead they just send it into the shop.  This pervades into their lives, they live with a dripping tap for years and years.  The author goes deeper than I’m going to but I do want to say that I’m a little bit like that, I put up with annoying stuff.  I used to think this showed patience, but now I’m veering toward the apathetic side.  Jbird, on the other hand, remains annoyed and then he fixes stuff.  He’s starting to influence me that way and I like it.

Just so long as you're happy

One of my many guilty pleasures is to watch back to back episodes of a show I’m enjoying at that moment, often whole seasons at a time (at the same time I’m knitting up a storm, so the time isn’t completely wasted). 

This week I have been watching a particular show about a Hollywood stylist.  No names shall be named.  When you watch the show a lot, you can’t help but notice the shallowness with which they make life changing decisions.  Their favourite mantra, when musing, is: “Well, I mean, just so long as you’re happy.  I don’t mind what you do, just so long as you’re happy.”  This is often at the expense of employees or so called loved ones.  Actually, a lot of the time their loved ones are paid by them – but that’s another story.  Nothing seems to make them happy.  Maybe the editors are more concerned with drama and don’t show the less shallow moments.

I have been thinking about this “just so long as you’re happy” mantra, and how often I use it myself, at the detriment of others.  A whole lot, I suspect.

Love Big

I guess I was a little bit obscure in yesterday’s post. I so badly wanted you to think about it too, not to have me spell it out.  However, I know at least one person who completely missed the idea I had tried to get at because they didn’t read the last paragraph.  

Today I will expand a tiny bit on what I was trying to get at.  Not to give you any kind of clue, because it’s your own life that you’re busy learning lessons in, more to help me to keep processing.  Here goes.

If I’m to let myself become withered yet strong, I’m also going to have to let myself love big, bigger than I know how to love.  I will have to do this with the expectation that it’s not an easy kind of love and that I’m probably going to be hurt in the process.

I've been doing some thinking

I want to write a bit more about that one plant I mentioned in an earlier post (click here to read it).  

It nearly died living indoors for two years and since we moved here, I've been growing it outdoors where it is thriving and multiplying.  I’ve let one of its cuttings grow inside, and they could be completely different plants, they look so distinct from one another.  The ones outdoors are strong, leaves growing upwards, thick and hardy.  The colour is denser, redder and, well, stronger – if a colour can be stronger. Its stems are sturdy. The one indoors trails down over the edges of its pot.  It has developed fine, delicate and pretty features.  But it snaps when barely touched.  

It’s the same for all indoor plants, they don’t have any elements to fight (apart from supremely dry air) so they just don’t grow strong - they don't need to.  I now realise its why the herbs I tried growing indoors last year couldn’t stand up to anything and never got bigger than an inch – every time they were knocked slightly, they would die. 

I think this is a good analogy for life.  Which would you rather be – a breakable, delicate, indoor plant, or a strong, yet weathered, outdoor plant? 

On ya bike

There’s nothing like riding a bike down hill to keep you focussed on the moment.  Rushing past trees, the road below, the cars all around.  It can be exhilarating.  Bloomington has a healthy number of hills too.  

Jbird and I have been getting around on bikes for about a year now and it has improved our standard of living greatly – places that would take an hour to walk to, are now only 15 minutes away.  It also means we are getting exercise every day.  We have put a crate on the back of mine, making grocery shopping by bike more manageable.  In this town, no one shouts out the windows at me to “get on the sidewalk” either: Baltimore could be quite terrifying on a bike.

It’s fun to ride together and the weather has been largely gorgeous since we moved here.  People often say “what a beautiful day for a bike ride” when we pull up and we agree!  The physical activity leaves me feeling as though I’ve achieved something too.  As long as it’s not raining and I’ve brought enough clothing to keep me warm, I’m happy. 

Double Boiler Madness

The idea of making anything with a double boiler can seem a little overwhelming.  I have found it gets easier/smoother/quicker the more I do it.  It only took me 15 minutes to make chocolate mousse just now!  That doesn't include the dishes, of course.  I’ve given up trying to skip using a double boiler too, as I will always ALWAYS over-cook/burn/scramble the food if I do.

The trick is to get that water boiling as soon as you step in the kitchen.  If it’s ready and waiting for you when you need it, you don’t then resent it while you’re waiting for it to come to the boil.  I’ve come to enjoy being glued to the pot too, as the food thickens and its temperature slowly rises.  It’s only yummy food, after all, and doesn’t resent you having little tastes as it reaches its desired quality.

The first Saturday of the month

...is a fun day in the Bird house – its half price day at the local op. shop <thrift store>.   Its taken me a while to reconnect with my love of op shops.  I have to take a deep breath when I first walk in and get stuck in for the long haul, carefully going through each section, looking at individual items to find their potential.  I’ve stopped making plans to do anything immediately afterwards, as it’s often a big job to get our finds home.  The one in Baltimore was a bit dusty so I could never bring myself to go through the clothes (I have an allergy to dust which obliterates my skin) but everything seems pretty clean here.  

This time, we got a brand new duvet/comforter (i.e.: still in its box) for our spare bed for just $15.  I got 3 cute skirts, a dress and a pair of adidas track pants.  We got some glass food storage jars and a photo frame for a wedding picture.  It has been frame-less since the glass got broken on our move out here.  Jbird found another picture in a frame for our walls. We got all this for a grand total of $38.  Half price day is GOLD day! Unfortunately, I’ll be in NZ for the next one (or fortunately, depending on how you look at it). 

I think ‘op’ is short for opportunity and I know why.

The bird came first

One of the most surprising discoveries we – or perhaps just I – have made, on moving to this large land mass, is that other people in the world don’t know what a kiwi (bird) is.  We kiwis find so much of our identity in that little fluffy guy who has a nocturnal nature, a long beak, and a lack of flight and site, that we assumed he was well known.  He’s not! 

I remember feeling such a strong sense of indignation when a character in book asked her mother to pass her a kiwi that I considered writing to the author and telling her she’d left a word out, it’s a kiwi fruit.  I think I was eight.  It didn’t occur to me that nothing else was called a kiwi in their world so they didn’t need to distinguish between the bird and the fruit.

It's raining leaves

It seems like the oak trees on our property are the last to lose their leaves in Bloomington but they finally started falling this week.  Before anyone could tidy them up, I took advantage of a nice afternoon and collected a few bags.  I will scatter some seeds in my flower patch and place a layer of leaves over the top when the weather gets more consistently cool.  I read that the seeds should then remain naturally dormant through the winter, protected by the leaves on top.  I’m only doing it with a few flower seeds because I don’t want my vegetable seedlings destroyed by a late spring frost.  I’ll plant those in little pots and replant them when the weather is sure to be warm enough.  The leaves will be perfect plant food when they’re all broken down but I know a lot of leaves turns to almost nothing so I will be out there again soon, collecting more. 

It's getting harder to say maths

Click on this link to read a condensed version of what I have been reading, writing, thinking and dreaming about for a Current Issues in Teaching Mathematics course I have been doing through Massey University.  It has had me gripped, too, by the seat of my pants (quite literally, I have tried so hard not to move from this one chair...).  I have written papers on teaching issues, student issues, and am finishing one off on assessment issues.  I have read hundreds of pages of journal articles with some intense ideas for me to process, at times spending more than an hour on ten pages.  Every aspect of my life now relate to issues in teaching mathematics and all I want to do is get into a New Zealand classroom and use what I have learned.  But that's not the purpose of doing the course.  The purpose is to give me something to do while we're here (job well done). 

Now I have six sleeps until the course is over and I'm on 'summer' winter break.  I have a back log of knitting/crocheting to do to keep me busy but I will definitely miss the intellectual stimuli.  

Jbird says I need to tell you the meaning of the title of this post.  Americans say "math", New Zealanders say "maths".  It's getting harder to say "maths", "math" is beginning to make sense to me.

I'm a Tom Waits kinda gal

You’re either an enthusiast or a hater when it comes to Tom Waits.  Jbird is definitely the later.  It’s hard for me to respect this, and I often insist on a back to back TW album night despite it.  He is so gritty and raw, yet melodious.   I heard an interview with him on NPR (National Public Radio) recently, and it made me love him even more.  He came across as an intelligent thinker, as he spoke about how he and his wife write the songs together, and how his father made him and his siblings speak Spanish at the dinner table.  His respect for his wife is evident and refreshing to hear of a musician I had taken to have some kind black life/history (it’s hard not to if you listen to his lyrics). 

NPR have posted a live gig from 2008 (they had the new album up for a week but you’ve missed it now).  I wonder if it’s your cup o’ tea? I'll try to understand if you're just not into him.

An adult student

I’m not a huge fan of teaching adult violin students.  They miss lessons, don’t practice, often don’t like being told what would help them, and inevitably give up.  They also always start with huge intentions and I just look at them and judge them right out: oh man, my experience tells me you’re never going to get there!  There’s a huge difference between what an adult can soak up subconsciously and what a child can soak up.  The flexibility of their brains are reflected in the suppleness of their fingers and limbs.  But the money is good so I never say no. 

That being said, I have been taking piano ‘lessons’ from Jbird and I don’t want to give up!  It’s been 13 years since I had lessons so I’ve gone a far ways backwards.  He doesn’t give me real lessons, I use my own expertise to know how to practice and sometimes ask him what I should do next.  I'm struggling through, taking baby steps.  

Remember my post about needing time to be creative?  I’ve got the time right now but I hope when life gets busier, I am motivated to carry on. Or that life doesn't get any busier.

The common slice

I love making slices for our morning tea. I had decided, after searching online for slices on all the common recipe websites, not finding any, AND never seeing one at a potluck, that Americans do not make slices.  Having come to this conclusion, it followed that I would be limited to my Edmond’s cookbook (a common NZ cookbook) for slice recipes.   Because I have found NZ flour to be different from US flour, requiring different quantities, I basically have to make an educated guess on how much flour to add to the slice and hope it turns out okay.  Sometimes it does.  Just as often it does not.

This week, my brain had a little click (a Vygotsky-an ‘ah ha’ moment) and I realised that when people say “oh, it’s like a bar”, it doesn’t follow that the only bar they know/make is a muesli bar.  That’s just the only bar I know!  American's call it a granola bar.  Somehow, I suddenly knew that if I looked up raspberry bar, a slice recipe would be suggested and low and behold it was!  This may seem like it’s not really worth sharing but it is YEARS of unconscious research for me.  My brain is slower at picking this stuff up than a child’s.