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Life long learning

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What the heck?!

When I stopped working in London five years ago and The Girl and I upped sticks and scampered across the pond (and a continent) to the west coast of Canada, I firmly expected to be able to spend the years ahead responding to queries as to the nature of my occupation by gleefully announcing that I was happily retired.

And that is pretty much what I did (and was) for the first two and a half years…

Then – for reasons which those who really want to know are directed to the postings of that period to to this online journal – I decided that I needed a job. Not a real, full-time, balls-to-the-wall sort of a job – just something to give me a sense of purpose and to earn a little pin money.

At first nothing suitable (ie, that met my exacting criteria) seemed to be available. Then – at the point at which I really needed to make a decision – the perfect opportunity arose. A position teaching on term contracts at a post-secondary college here in Victoria looked to be ideal; my background in education and a forty-year career in IT (the subject in which I was to instruct) equipped me suitably well for the task and the notion of teaching a single course – two days a week and then only for two terms of the academic year (keeping the summers free for other pursuits) – looked like a gift from the gods…

…which for the next two years, it was!

Then – half way through this spring (winter) term – along came the novel Corona virus.

Along with everyone else I was immediately obliged to effect a rapid transition from the sort of face to face teaching with which I was familiar to a rapidly cobbled-together form of online teaching – for the last three weeks of the term and for the remaining exams. I think that it is fair to say that we just about got away with it.

Now – here we are in the early days of my wonderful summer off and I have myself (along with many others) been obliged to go back to school.

It became very clear that we are not going to be teaching face to face this autumn (fall) term – and possibly not for the remainder of the coming academic year. What we effected in the winter term was just about ok as a stop gap, but rebuilding courses for online-only delivery involves an entirely different skill set to anything that I have learned before – not to mention a great deal of time and effort. I am now attending online seminars, classes and conferences – as well as doing a great deal of reading – preparatory to starting work on converting what was once a quite familiar course structure into something suitable for this brave new world.

It is impossible not to ask myself:

“What the heck am I doing? I am supposed to be retired. Do I really want – and need – to be taking all this on at this time of my life?”

I suspect that the regular reader already knows the answer to that question…

 

 

The Journey Home – 3

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Photo by Andy Dawson ReidHaving bid a fond farewell to my brother at the end of my second week (and The Girl’s first week) in the UK at around this time last year – and having at the same time reluctantly extracted ourselves from the slightly strange but delightful decadence of a mostly empty Oatland’s Park Hotel (for such it was, though I did not name it at the time), we set out on a short road trip to impose ourselves on the hospitality of lovely friends in Essex (Colchester), Kent (Sevenoaks) and Berkshire (Maidenhead).

A lesson that we learned from our trip as a whole – but from this segment in particular – was that though it was absolutely lovely to see again such a great number of those from whom we had been separated for at least the length of time that we had been resident in Canada… paying fleeting visits to them was never going to be enough.

Photo by Andy Dawson Reid

However generously and warmly we were received, entertained and generally spoiled rotten it was impossible not to feel that we had cheated these good folk out of the joys of our extended company. I say this not from any excess of ego on my (our!) part, but merely echoing the sentiments that they themselves repeatedly expressed (as well, of course, as our own feelings) at the point at which we had, reluctantly, to tear ourselves away and to move on to our next port of call.

I hope that my postings – then and now – have expressed adequately just how grateful we are for the amazing hospitality that we were shown by all concerned. Thank you.

Photo by Andy Dawson Reid

 

I looked back over the photos that I took on this part of the trip. I make a point – as any regular readers of these jottings will no doubt have noticed – of not uploading to the blog any pictures that identifiably include the people of whom I write (including myself, for which the gentle reader will be most grateful!). I do so as a point of principle; the matter concerning privacy. I extend my caution also to names and to other such detail. Not all bloggers adhere to such strictures. I do!

Sometimes however – as in this instance – I am as a result left a little short of interesting material with which to embellish my postings. In the case of our mini-tour I took photos of some of the lovely people with whom we stayed that must remain – and will remain – private.

Fortunately I, at least, get to look back at them…

Photo by Andy Dawson Reid

Green shoots

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Photo by Andy Dawson ReidI mentioned a few posts back that something indiscernible (imperceptible almost!) had shifted with regard to our COVID-19 lock-down state here at the southern end of Vancouver Island. That something (that the previously lengthy queues for our local grocery store had all but disappeared) was – though not obviously explainable – clearly an indicator that things were beginning to change.

Here are a couple of other such signs:

Each and every visit that I have paid to our local store since this all began have included an unnecessary detour – courtesy of the pandemic one-way scheme – through the pet-food aisle, the purpose of which was to enable me to pass up the cleaning aisle in a fruitless search for disinfectant wipes and disposable gloves. The expanse of barren shelving where these essentials should have been was marked by signs commanding us to limit ourselves to a single item of each. Chance would be a fine thing!…

…until this week – when suddenly there appeared an entire pallet-load of Lysol wipes! Hooray! I took my one and – public-spirited soul that I am – passed the word on to friends, rather than just shoving a couple of extra packs behind something on the top shelf in the hope that they would still be there later.

Still no gloves though…

The other sign was that – in common with other countries that are also slowly loosening restrictions – we can now ‘entertain’ a few folk from outside our immediate isolation circle – as long as we do so outside, that no-one wants to use the washroom (or is prepared to re-sanitise it when they have done so) and that we keep our distance in the approved manner.

Now – this is where having a splendid garden and a mild (for Canada) late spring climate comes into its own. We can sit around (two metres apart) drinking wine and eating take-out sushi (purchased individually) long into the evening. For this to really work at the end of May (or indeed for much of the summer) one needs that other Canadian staple – a fire basket or pit. Even at this stage open fires are banned here on the island because of the wildfire risk, but Canadian Tire (other ironmongers are available!) handily supplies propane fueled devices such as the one below… and jolly good it is too.

Well – here’s to slow progress… I hope that your neck of the woods is seeing similar – though cautious – relaxation of the restrictions.

Photo by Andy Dawson Reid

 

 

The Journey Home – 2

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If the first week of our epic jaunt to the UK and to Europe this time last year was all about me revisiting people and places that I had not seen for a goodly period – more than three decades in some cases – then the second week was about two things: visits with family and an opportunity for The Girl to catch up with those with whom she worked and played during her time in the UK.

Once we had enacted a joyful reunion at Heathrow airport (full details withheld to protect those of delicate sensibilities) The Girl and I boarded our hire car and navigated our way around the M25 to the town in which I grew up and where my brother still lives. It had been our intention to stay with him for the following week but as a result of the unforeseen circumstances detailed in this gripping blog episode we found ourselves rattling around a mostly empty grand hotel just down the road.

Photo by Andy Dawson ReidNow – as it turned out this worked out particularly well for a number of reasons and we owed a great deal to my brother both in terms of smart thinking and also of massive generosity on his part (for he footed the bill!). Kudos!

Not only was the hotel a very good base for our excursions into Berkshire, Buckinghamshire and other nearby haunts where The Girl (and I in appropriate cases) was reunited with some of those with whom she had worked and some with whom she had become good friends (to the great joy of all concerned) but staying in a place with a bar and lounge that was open to service all day meant that those who had not been able to attend other gatherings could call by and one or other (or both) of us could spend a happy hour or so catching up with all of the news and gossip from the previous half decade or more. I was delighted to make connections anew with others from my musical and theatrical past and – as was the case with all of those whom we met throughout our stay – I was overwhelmed by the expressions of joy and love with which we were bathed.

Photo by Andy Dawson ReidWith regard to family it was good to see my sister and brother again – though in both cases we have in the interim been fortunate enough to have had visits from them in Canada. My brother and his Lady in particular went out of their way to entertain us and to ensure that our visit was a success. There was dining and quaffing – a boat trip to Hampton Court – a visit to the Victoria & Albert Museum (with lunch in the Members’ Room!) and much more. In short – they treated us royally and we were most grateful.

Photo by Andy Dawson ReidWe were quite sorry to leave our grand hotel but the third part of our expedition was to take us on a road trip around some parts of southern England to stay with other old and dear friends. More on that next time!

Before I go – the image below is of my alma mater’s boathouse, the which is on the bank of the river Thames opposite Hampton Court Palace. It is named the R. C. Sherriff Boathouse after one of the School’s famous alumni. The playwright had been a great sportsman, had rowed for the School and subsequently raised funds for rowing both at the School and for the nearby Kingston Rowing Club. On his death in 1975 his house – Rosebriars – was sold and the monies from the sale put into a trust to help support the arts in the district. The youth theatre with which I was associated benefited from these funds during the 90’s, which enabled us to commission a writer to create a new play for the group.

Photo by Andy Dawson Reid

The Journey Home – 1

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“Oh, to be in England now that April ’s there
And whoever wakes in England sees, some morning, unaware,
That the lowest boughs and the brushwood sheaf
Round the elm-tree bole are in tiny leaf,
While the chaffinch sings on the orchard bough
In England—now!”

Robert Browning – “Home thoughts from abroad”

OK – well it wasn’t actually April. It was the middle of May, though, and the effect was similar.

Last year the Kickass Canada Girl and I returned to the UK for the first time since we moved to Canada back in 2015. We felt that it was time to revisit the land that had been her home for more than a decade – and mine since birth!

For operational reasons we traveled a week apart. She had work to do so I left a week ahead of her with the intention of catching up with family and old friends – and of visiting some old haunts. I had been nervous before we set off. What would it be like – going back? Would anyone really want to see us or would they just be polite? Would things have changed too much? Would it make me terribly homesick?

The big takeaway from the first phase of our travels was just how lovely it was to see everyone again – and how much they all appeared to want to see us. This was a deeply moving and life-affirming experience that is even now really quite difficult to put into words. We were very touched and most grateful for the hospitality, the care and the love that we were shown everywhere.

These were for me the highlights of that first week:

  • Staying with old friends who just could not do enough to make me feel welcome – for which many thanks!
  • Re-visiting the School at which I had last worked. It was good to see my chaps again and to be shown round the building developments that had been completed since I left. I was most touched, however, by the number of staff members who – seeing me around the place – just wanted to say ‘Hello‘, to see how we were doing and to have a chat. What might have been a couple of hours visit rapidly became twice that length.
  • Visits to two particular old friends whom I had not seen for quite a while even before we left for Canada. Good to re-connect.
  • A trip to the Worcestershire/Herefordshire borders to stay with Oldest Friend and his wife. I had not seen their new home there and it was good to take a few days to catch up – and to revisit such a lovely part of the country.
  • Perhaps the most affecting of all – the reunion of band members and youth theatre friends from back in the 70s. This was a complete joy, not only because it had been arranged as a surprise (I did not know who would be there) but also because those present were clearly so delighted to see each other again – let alone to see me. Connections were re-established between those who had not met each other for multiple decades (some of which have been maintained since our visit). The very great pleasure that this gathering garnered was reflected later in our visit as I had the chance to re-meet further music and youth theatre friends from years gone by. More about that next time.

Finally, I should say that – though we are most fortunate in that we live in a beautiful part of the world and, of course, many other countries have their own particular attractions – there is something particularly Arcadian about the English countryside.  It was wonderful to be able to indulge in its joys once more. Herewith a few panoramas that attempt to capture that flavour. Double-click for a closer look…

The ‘New Normal’

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It is really not that far short of two months since I wrote this blog piece in which I described the business necessarily involved in a visit to one’s local grocery store (supermarket). I ended that post with the expression of a fear of just how long the restrictions then newly imposed might need to remain in place – and of how the public might react when that fact became apparent.

Here we are two months down the line and it is fascinating to observer how what then seemed like an emergency provision has after all become what is described by that increasingly hackneyed phrase – the ‘New Normal’. The business of grocery shopping here is still essentially as I described it then, but with significant improvements to the first ‘draft’. Other things have changed as well – some of them less expected.

The whole bulk-food section has gone (to be replaced by shelf-loads of properly packaged offerings) as have the fresh fish and meat counters. The one-way system around the store has been refined and the checkouts now have plexiglass screens not only between the masked operatives and the customers but also between adjacent lines. Customers have also become more adept at the delicate dance of avoidance that we all perform around the aisles. Finally, even those of us ideologically opposed to the practice have adopted the use of ‘tapping’ at the credit card machines so that no direct touching is required.

The biggest practical change, however, occurred a couple of weeks back. I had been going to the store once a week early in the morning and queuing with all of the other anxious shoppers. Then – without any warning – the queues vanished. On no occasion since then have I had to wait at all to enter the store – I have just swanned right on in.

Other elements that are rapidly becoming ritualised in the ‘2N’ include the return home. Mine goes like this:

  • Carry the disposable (paper) bags of shopping into the house. Place on the floor.
  • Remove the disposable gloves that I wear in the store and wash hands.
  • Remove each item from the bags and carefully wipe it down using hand sanitiser and kitchen towel.
  • Dispose of bags.
  • Wash hands.
  • Using hand sanitiser and towel wipe down steering wheel, door handles and other controls in the SUV.
  • Wipe down front door handles and locks.
  • Wipe down keys, man-bag and glasses.
  • Wash hands.
  • Put away groceries.

Now – some of this may seem over the top… or not – depending on how rigorous the gentle reader has determined is necessary in his or her particular circumstances. We wear cloth face masks when we go to stores. Others don’t.

It is somewhat depressing to think that this might be how we live now for an extended period, but we can certainly do it. It is the other things that feel to be a greater loss – socialising with others – dining out – going to the theatre – music in the parks and suchlike…

Those I really do miss…

A sign of the times

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Back near the beginning of the COVID-19 crisis I wrote a post (pleasantly entitled ‘Make Yourself Happy‘ – fortunately without an exclamation mark) in which I reported on one of the UK national newspaper’s re-posting to their digital site of the ‘live’ minute by minute’ commentary of a favourite footie fixture from some point in the (middle)-distant past (1971 as I recall) – a notion that has, I observe, since been picked up and run with by all and sundry. My observations may have been ‘voiced’ in a tone that the casual reader – someone who doesn’t know me better – might have mistaken for cynicism (Who, me? Never!).

The problem that the broadsheet had accurately and most presciently identified is, of course, that during an extended lock-down – in which none of the usual newsworthy happenings – er… happens – there is nothing much left about which to write – apart from the wretched pandemic itself.

By now even the less fleet-footed amongst the gentle readers of these ramblings will already have figured out where this is going…

Yes – apart from gardening and… um!… well, that’s about it – there is not too much else to write about when one’s existence has been shrunk from our usual mad gay whirl to a really rather limited routine. I am not – of course – complaining. One is – after all – a long time de*d!

So – in the spirit of The Guardian’s enterprising sports editor I intend to replay coverage – in ‘real time‘ – of our legendary trip to the UK and Europe of this time last year (observe the date on the luggage tag in the accompanying photo). I will be revisiting – virtually – some of the places to which we went and some of the friends and family with whom we spent time a year ago. I will also, of course, be revisiting – somewhat wistfully – the Greek islands. Look out for the posting of some of the photos that didn’t make the cut first time round.

Of course, the whole point about keeping a regular blog is that one has an enduring record of what one did in previous years – and of when one did it. As this is all (somewhat rashly) available publicly (as it were) there is nothing to stop the gentle reader from glancing back through the archives to view the postings from a year ago. What I will be doing, however, is looking back through my rose-tinted spectacles with the 20/20 benefit of hindsight.

One of the first observations to make is how jolly lucky we were to have finally settled on traveling last year. Who knows when we might be able to do so again…

VE Day

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This weekend has seen the seventy fifth anniversary of the end of the Second World War in Europe, the which was celebrated on May 8th 1945 on what was given the soubriquet – ‘VE Day’ – or ‘V-E Day’ – or ‘V Day’ – or ‘Victory Day’ – depending whereabouts on the continent one was.

That this auspicious anniversary should occur in the midst of a global pandemic has, naturally, caused some controversy, since the public celebrations that might have been thought to be the order of the day could not reasonably take place. In the UK at least I can’t help feeling that – even had the situation not been as it is – there would have been some disputes as to the nature and relevance of any celebrations.

David Lloyd George said of the end of the Great War in Europe:

“At eleven o’clock this morning came to an end the cruellest and most terrible War that has ever scourged mankind. I hope we may say that thus, this fateful morning, came to an end all wars.”

There are those among us who believe that such a hope should still be the basis of any and all remembrance. In his notable Zurich speech of 1946, Churchill said:

“We must build a kind of United States of Europe. The structure of the United States of Europe, if well and truly built, will be such as to make the material strength of a single state less important.”

There are – sadly – those in the UK who happily forget that VE Day was a celebration of the coming together of a continent of nations to defeat a small group of aggressors amongst its number and that the day itself is celebrated by more than just the plucky Brits. These zealots cleave to the image of Britain standing alone (regardless of the fact that she was backed by a huge world-wide empire and openly looked to the New World for salvation) and would love to see VE Day as a celebration of a victory over Europe rather than for it.

The exceptionalism that the UK currently shares with the US has served both nations poorly in their responses to the current pandemic and one of the rich ironies in the UK is that what remains of the generation that fought and won the war is currently dying miserable deaths in the nation’s ravaged care homes. The inevitable eventual inquiry into this tragedy will doubtless record that there had been a number of warnings in recent years as to just such vulnerabilities, the which were – sadly – ignored by successive careless or mendacious governments.

As is so often the case The Guardian cartoonist – Martin Rowson – manages to express in a single image that which I struggle to express in many words.

This moves me – at least – to tears.

And so to bed…

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Several posts back in what is in serious danger of becoming a blog about gardening (a subject on which I am completely unqualified to write but which seems to be one of the few activities still open to one in these strange days) I spun a tale about the conversion of the redundant raised pond in our front garden into a new bed for plants. All that remained – I reported breathlessly – was to choose that which should be planted therein.

To give the gentle reader some broader physical context – this is what the bed looks like in situ:

Photo by Andy Dawson ReidPhoto by Andy Dawson ReidAs may be observed the bed is backed – and overhung – by a screen of five medium sized fir trees and surrounded by a cluster of evergreen shrubs. This whole acts as a handy barrier between our property and the road and gives the garden an agreeable degree of privacy. There is – however – a fair bit of ‘green’ going on.

What to plant there? The firs raise the acid level of the soil beneath them which limits the choice somewhat. We considered azaleas or rhododendrons (both of which we already have in fair number) or something with bright coloured flowers. The problem with the latter is that the contrast obtained thereby would last but a limited period each year.

We chose instead to offset the greenery with some burgundy/red which would provide a nearly year round contrast – and went looking for suitable low-habit Japanese maples (or acers should you prefer). Here is what we found:

Photo by Andy Dawson ReidPhoto by Andy Dawson ReidThe larger one is a Gloucester Red Select and the smaller one is a Red Dragon. Why did we not purchase two bushes the of similar size? Have you seen the price of these things? They will end up of similar stature and this way we get to see them grow and fill out over time whilst ensuring that they take on the shape that we want.

Photo by Andy Dawson ReidThey both cascade nicely and will give us a pretty mound of burgundy – fading to crimson red in the autumn (fall)  – to offset all of that greenery.

Photo by Andy Dawson ReidNow we just have to wait and enjoy the show from our kitchen window!

 

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