Call Me Mother

Autumn is upon us and, to be frank, Summer here passed in a whirl and blur of hazy days, walks along the shore, examination results, work, time spent with friends, attempts to spend time with friends, planting, weeding, harvesting…  So much happened and most of it was utterly delightful.

How have you been?

Art GCSE tucked away, enthusiasm for Maths A-level and Latin GCSE are now the order of the day.  (Oh, the lengths to which a mother will go in order to be encouraging and supportive…)

Our final stained glass window is due for installation within the month and I have settled on the builder (and sons) who will repoint the front of the house in the Spring.  All seems to be moving along at a pace.

Concerns about the provision of living accommodation in private hostels for post-16 year olds, its lack of registration and regulation have been exercising my mind.  It is a national disgrace and, with the knowledge that even workhouses were subject to inspection, begs a question about the value which we place on the lives of specific young people.

There are good folk taking up the battle, so we shall see what will be done in our pre-election climate.

It is in all of our interests that we live well and that we encourage others to do likewise.  How long will it take for our society to appreciate and reflect that truth?  Who is holding the piece of string?

Take care.

At long last, my holiday is repaired, refurbished and useable post-burglary.  It has taken since November which, if my sources are correct, is actually a reasonably swift period of time!

The dilemma, from the beginning, was whether to attempt to reproduce the interior that had been wrecked, or whether to completely change the style of the property.  The middle ground – and the safest – was to do a bit of both!

Having eclectic taste and a penchant for the unusual meant that replacing certain items such as a lamp, which featured a working spinning wheel, was always going to be tricky.  Similarly, locating a singing washing machine, which alerted me to a finished programme when I was otherwise engaged, seemed a stretch too far.

Things have a way of working out though!

As the kitchen ceiling had to be replaced, it seemed a blessed opportunity to increase the light levels by having a sun pipe installed.  Equally, it seemed sensible to change the direction of the back door, in order to making entering and exiting the house and rear garden, with large pieces of furniture and electrical items, manifestly more awkward.  Finally, I did what I should have done four and a half years ago; I gave my trusty next door neighbours a door key, so that they can nip in and out regularly when I am away (and let me in when I have locked myself out)!

I wouldn’t go as far as confessing gratitude that some nasty, vandalising little pilferer and friend wrecked my home and stole my things, necessitating a great deal of heartache and hard work as well as increased insurance premiums (I’m not that charitable!) but, I will concede that my home is lighter and brighter than it was before and I have encountered real kindness and empathy in the midst of the nightmare.  I have a new spinning wheel lamp (the wonders of the internet) and LG make fabulous all singing (literally) and all dancing washing machines.

So, there is hope for humankind after all!

Take care.

Stress levels hit a high point amidst the daily expectations of work, family, breathing… when my Art GCSE coursework deadline loomed alongside ten hours of examination.  Why do we do this to our children, exactly?

I thoroughly enjoyed the projects, the enthusiasm, encouragement and camaraderie of my fellow student torture victims.  I relished researching artists, exploring my responses to their work, as well as finding, developing and appreciating my own artistic style.  It was a stroke of genius to engage so wholeheartedly with my link department and students, I congratulated myself; that was until deadline fear and examination nerves moved in, settled down and refused to leave!

As someone who has been through labour five times – and had very manageable labours – I can say, without fear of contradiction that there is a similarity between the experiences.  It is not good!  The point of similarity occurs when the pain begins and memory kicks in.  Just as one says, “I remember this and I remember that I promised myself that I would never do it again…”, reality dawns that there is absolutely no going back!

If you had seen me, you would have believed that my livelihood and career depended upon my Art GCSE.  I was more harassed than I had been, aged fifteen and sixteen, when I embarked upon “O” levels.  University was a positive doddle in comparison.  What was the problem?  Had exam nerves worsened during the intervening years?  No.  The issue is pride; I’ll just call it by its proper name.

I will have to move to a different continent if I, as a school governor, fail to achieve the standards attained by the fourteen, fifteen and sixteen year olds with whom I have been studying.  Put simply, my ego will be unable to deal with the humiliation of being surpassed by youths who are young enough to be my children!

Oh yes, the things which taking this GCSE has taught me are not merely restricted to academic study.  Oh no, beyond that, I have learnt that there is still a long way for me to go in the development of my maturity, serenity and character!

I recommend that everyone takes an opportunity to be challenged likewise.