Thursday, December 13, 2007

Life cycles

In my life, as for others, there are cycles that come round regularly. One such is our student graduation ceremony in York Minster each November, when years of slogging and nagging and bullying all seem worth the effort. We dress up in our academic finery and process with York St John University staff to take our places and watch as our students collect their MA or Foundation Degrees. This year we were allocated a parking space, so we could travel up by car and arrived early enough to have a really good lunch beforehand at the Cafe Concerto within spitting distance of the Minster. The slightly fuzzy photo shows my colleague, the Director, and one of our students shortly after the ceremony: the fuzziness was caused by my shivering.

Shortly after that, a three-year cycle came round and Christine and I had to renew our First Aid certificates. It's always a shock to have to do something educational that has almost no cognitive content, aimed at those with limited skills: delivery was painfully slow, and the teaching style was weak by any standards. But we were reminded how to handle an emergency, stop bleeding, initiate CPR and use the recovery position, so our students, tutors and visitors are safe for another three years.

The cycle which generates the most work is the termly assessment one. From about half-term onwards, students are working on their assignments, which have to be handed in early in the following term. In the summer term, working with them on planning and drafting is a comparatively leisurely process, with long weeks of summer holiday in which to complete the work. Christmas is quite another proposition. All my students are either clergy or otherwise active in their churches, so the Christmas holiday leaves them little time to research and write. This means that essay planning and drafting has to start earlier, and move at a brisker pace, so that the bulk of the work is complete before the Christmas rush. So apart from teaching, the first three weeks of December each year is mostly taken up with student tutorials.

The domestic front has been equally lively. Youngest son has been looking at sixth forms and colleges for his A level studies, so after he'd narrowed down his choices, I had the dubious pleasure of visiting one (quite terrible) school and one (very pleasant) sixth form college. It's a relief that youngest son and I concur that the college will suit his needs in every way. He's likely to be a high flyer, and I think he'll find his wings more easily in the more focused atmosphere of the college. This particular activity marks the end of a part of my life cycle: from September next year, I won't have a single child in compulsory education. Eldest son started school in 1986, so it's been a long haul.

Second youngest son, meanwhile, does his share to brighten my life by being good at theology (much to my surprise). His (quite delightful) girlfriend occupies our spare room often enough that she's been allocated a share in the household chores, which she does with good humour. The two of them have now managed to co-ordinate their part time jobs so that they are both working at the same time, and therefore have the same time free, at least some of which is supposed to be spent revising for the exams after Christmas. How can teenagers revise for two different subjects (him-theology, her-psychology) with one sat on the other's knee?

Alas, my lover's work has been as busy as mine recently, and we've not been able to co-ordinate diaries to spend time together, though there's the possibility of a short interlude during the Christmas holiday. We've been working together on a developing project which has given us more excuses than usual for long phone calls, though, and the internet makes collaborating over long distances possible and fruitful.

We're now well into Advent and though the cycle of the church year rolls inexorably towards Christmas, there is yet a sense of stillness and waiting as the term draws to a close. This week's frosty, misty mornings and sharp, starry nights give a sense that all creation is preparing for something very special.