Brain training

Christmas is coming.   Does that mean the goose is getting fat?  No chance.   The Advent fast is starting to bite: no meat, sweets, biscuits, desserts.... The children are revolting in more senses than one, and gorge on whatever animal flesh they can find if I'm out for a mealtime.  But that first Quality Street after Midnight Mass will be sweet indeed.

Life in a household of older teenagers is somewhat surreal.   They are all doing different A level subjects, and I'm the first port of call if they are struggling with their homework.   So in a single evening, I can be trying to revive my rusty maths to help with differential equations when another one cames to ask the difference between the Augustinian and Irenaean theodicies, and then switch straight to evaluating models for social research.   In between, I provide food, discipine, medical advice and interest-free loans.   Who needs gadgetry for "brain training" to stay mentally flexible?

Meanwhile, term rolls gently towards a close, with students starting now to panic that the essay season is upon us concurrently with the Christmas one.   There's a bit of general scratchiness in the air after a long term and some unusually heavy start-of-year stresses.   Most of my teaching this term has been research supervision, so I've kept up more effectively than usual with administration.  This last week, though, my colleague has been silenced by a nasty laryngitis bug, so I have been covering her teaching, which has been quite fun, for me if not for them:

Student: Thank goodness we will be judged by Jesus and not by you.

Me:  Maybe, but Jesus won't be marking your essays, and I shall.

Autumn being busy for both if us, I've seen less than usual of my lover, and our joint project is now badly in need of the extra effort we're going to put in over the Christmas holiday. After that I have another new project in the pipeline which, if it won't make me rich and famous, at least associates my name with those who are really doing exciting stuff.   Much as my heart is embedded in theology, it's very refreshing to do multidisciplinary work at this level.

One highlight of the term has been eldest son's MSc graduation from Sheffield Hallam.   We went out with him and his in-laws-to-be the evening before to look at the church where they will be married, and then had a meal together where the main topic of conversation was wedding planning, and therefore very scary stuff.   September next year seems a long time away yet, thank goodness.

Minor ups and downs

Steady drizzle blurring the chilly air and semi-naked trees in the cemetery bear witness to the fullness of autumn, and with the turning of the season, the academic year is now back in full swing.   Summer seems a distant memory, though part of the reason for that is the very poor weather we had through almost all of it.   I was waiting for the forecast of a week's dry weather to repair a door, but it never came, and the door still awaits attention.   

Good exam results for all the resident minors (I no longer dare call them "children") brightened the holidays.   

Youngest son went off to Egypt to work as a site engineer for seven weeks after his exams finished, and penultimate son and foster daughter enjoyed a rather lazier couple of weeks at the height of the summer in Alexandria. 

My camping trip never materialised - in fact, apart from a few days city break with my lover, summer was a period of relentless work.   The amount and complexity of administration seems to increase from year to year, and as the staff at our partner institutions apparently migrate en masse to warmer climes in July and August, even the most trivial things take weeks to complete.   I did fit in a couple of flying visits to London to see second son and daughter, who have both turned into astonishing lovely people while my back was turned.

The start of term coincided with a host of annoyances: minor illnesses (minors and pets), the threat of major disruption at work and the effects of too long without a break which left me irritable and stressed.   One by one the afflicted recovered (though we have to live with the consequences of Bertie's new allergy to fleas), issues at work were resolved, and a break with my lover and visiting family dissipated the tension.   Eldest son brightened my life further having gained his MSc, a new job (which pays more than mine) and a date for his wedding next year.

But as mists and mellow fruitfulness lead inexorably towards bonfire night and we hunker down for the dark winter, life looks brighter.   There's an exciting new collaborative writing project in the pipeline which gives us the opportunity to break new ground in professional practice.   I have dipped my toe into the murky waters of A level examining to add a string to my professional bow, and a stream of requests for journal articles means that I can keep my publications list up to date.   The minors are all taking their A level courses seriously enough to convince me that they might actually get to university, and I think the worst of their temperamental teenage years are behind us, so the atmosphere at home is, if not calm, certainly noisily congenial.   

This time next year, things will be very different, so I plan to enjoy the last year with a houseful of kids before the sands of time blow them away to their futures.

Summer Holiday - or not

As my father reminded me yesterday, and one of my adoring public today, there's been a quite unreasonably long gap between posts. I'm always frustrated by the widely held fantasy that lecturers have long, lazy summer breaks. Not a bit of it! Instead, there's all the end-of-year administration to do for the last academic year, and all the start-of-year preparations for the coming one, which overlap throughout the summer holiday. Students writing assignments over the summer still need supervision, and assignments that come in need marking. As a result, summer is one of the busiest periods in my calendar, and I've struggled to keep going without benefit of any proper holiday.

Towards the end of last term, I started work on an exercise in contextual theology following a murder of a teenager locally. Comparisons between the young Augustine of Hippo and the typical experience of local youngsters took me deep into Augustinian theodicy, and an analysis of the theology expressed by the young people who responded to this horrid event. I presented it as work in progress at a conference at UTU in July, but I hope to revisit it to develop the thinking in the autumn.

The children who were working towards exams when I last wrote are now enjoying their long summer break, however. Youngest son spent seven weeks post GCSE working as a site engineer in Egypt and came home tanned and lean to an excellent crop of GCSE results. A levels at the local sixth form college will follow, and he plans to do a degree in civil engineering with a view to turning his holiday experience into a career.

Second youngest son and foster daughter were enjoying their holiday in Egypt when their AS results came through, and they too did themselves credit. This year starts with them making their university choices before the final push towards A2 exams, so independence and adulthood suddenly seem awfully close.Despite the lack of holiday proper, I've had a couple of short breaks with my lover, and a wonderful day in the one really hot week we had visiting country pubs in his open topped sports car. In between times, I've used my limited leisure time to start work on an exploration of theology expressed by combattants in the First World War, after a friend mentioned the work of a relatively obscure war poet whose writings astonished me. Following this thread led me to spend a wonderful day a couple of weeks ago in Scarthin Bookshop in Cromford, whence I came home with early editions of Blunden and Brooke. Instead of the Guardian crossword, I now retire to bed with dusty books and a pencil to read and take notes so that the theology can float gently into my consciousness as I sleep.

Hail, bounteous May...

...that doth inspire
Mirth, and youth, and warm desire;

When Milton wrote his Song on a May Morning, GCSEs and A levels has not been invented - oh bliss! In my household, three people who could fairly be described as "youth" have spent much of May seeking inspiration in revision notes and late night swotting sessions as the exam season starts to bite. Youngest son is ploughing through GCSEs with (mostly) equanimity: this may be either appropriate confidence or rash bravado. We shall find out at the end of August. Meanwhile, penultimate son and foster daughter approach AS exams in quite different ways. He has prolonged bursts of intense activity punctuated by indolent lounging in front of the computer, while she runs an anxious treadmill of perpetual re-reading notes and self testing. My role in all this is to provide suitable light relief at intervals to punctuate the steady rise of stress levels. An excellently done am-dram farce in Hathersage and the latest Indiana Jones film both provided just the right level of escapism.

After an almost unbearably busy and stressful Spring term, things have become lighter at work. Although my colleague had two weeks off following surgery, her more regular presence has lifted much of the teaching load for this term. Once last term's marking was out of the way in mid-May, I have had something that almost looks like leisure time. Of course, on closer inspection, this is merely a redistribution of energy to other, less pressing matters, but it has given me time to fit in some work on other academic interests, including a presentation in London which gave me the rare opportunity to see second son. All this hardly constitutes "mirth", but it has led to a marked lightening of a mood which was becoming increasingly black and sour.

Warm desire is better represented. Spring throws up more flexibility in my lover's life so that we have been able to work and relax together more than usual. I am learning to enjoy fine dining and nice hotels without feeling guilty that I wake up relaxed, comfortable and warm, overcoming the self-righteous legacy of decades of rough camping. Not that camping is off the agenda: I have promised foster daughter a weekend under canvas so that she can learn to pitch a tent, fire up a primus, and enjoy the best bacon-and-egg experience of her life.

Towards a mid-life crisis

I dream of an uncomplicated life. You know, the kind of life where you know what to expect from day to day; where sane people work an 8 hour day, and spend time with spouse and children in the evenings and at weekends. Superficially, our household is not so very far from that model. No spouse, I grant you, but I work a five day week not far from home, and with three teenagers, a dog and a cat, we're not so very far from the pattern.

But that's where it ends. Predictability largely fails when it comes to teenagers, school and casual work: it's a major success of domestic logistics if I know who is going to be in for dinner on any given day, and with the more eccentric school hours of sixth form study, I'm never quite sure whether or not I have to get them up in the morning.

Meanwhile the lighter load of this term at work is about to revert with the news that my newly returned colleague is having surgery at the end of the month, leaving me once again to fill the gaps. I'm running out of energy for this kind of workload. I'm still reaping the effects of her last absence, marking twice the usual complement of essays after covering her teaching last term.

You'd think that things outside home and work might be a little better. Not a bit of it! Penultimate son was due to go on a school trip to see Equus at the Lyceum, but on the day of the trip, his head teacher suddenly discovered that it included swearing and nudity, and in a paroxysm of philistinism, cancelled the trip. (How could anyone *not* know Equus contained nudity and swearing after Daniel Radcliffe made the headlines therein?)

"Fear not - you shall go to the ball!"" I thought, spending the whole month's child benefit plus a bit in one go to get tickets for the last night. The first half was mesmerisingly wonderful. The second half was cancelled when the winches to lift the safety curtain broke. Sometimes, you get the feeling that things just were not meant to be...

Behind all this, I'm trying to arrange a controlled mid-life crisis as I review where I am and where I want to go next. Somewhere in the mix, I am trying to reconcile the fact that I am fed up of being poor with a genuine belief that what I am doing here has value; that I want a sexy car and a bit of a life before I'm too old to have either; the sense that there must be more to life than this with the dreadful sense that this is probably all there is.

A short break with my lover shortly after Easter gave me a little relief from the chaos and angst, and apart form the deliciousness of time together, also gave us the chance to do some work on our collaborative project. Doing something so very different to my normal work is both a challenge and a joy, and helps to keep at bay the simmering eddies of discontent. I think this is the psychological equivalent of spring-cleaning: one has to deal with creepy crawlies and cobwebs to restore order. But order will, no doubt, be restored soon enough.

And another one

I hope our house has elastic walls. Having made the fairly modest addition of a dog, we've now acquired an extra child, a schoolfriend of penultimate son who was left homeless after things failed at home. The spare room isn't ideal for a teenage girl, but it and the family can offer her some security and stability until the whole situation is sorted out, and that's unlikely to happen quickly. She's a joy to have around, sharing the chores and making her own mark on the way we work as a family. Parents' evening proved complicated, with two sets of teachers to see, but it was quite wonderful to be able to come home and tell two kids that I was proud of them.

Bertie has become very much part of 

the family, showing enthusiastic affection and gentle obedience, and occasionally giving us cause for merriment. A few days ago, the boys were playing Monopoly, and Bertie decided to join in, but he hasn't yet got the hang of taking his place at the board properly.

Now that the worst of the wet winter is over, walking the dog is more a pleasure than a chore. Each lunchtime, I escape the office for an hour, the first three-quarters of which sees the two of us hurtling round the cemetery. I've lost weight and lowered my blood pressure, and Bertie has gained weight and bounce, and now runs most of the way round, streaking away and back to the path so that he must travel twice the distance I do.

Meanwhile at work, term drew to a welcome close with the usual flurry of student tutorials, intensified because I had my sick colleague's cohort as well as my own two. In addition there are vocational training matters to deal with, and the odd crisis to survive. On a good day, I remind myself that I'm honing my organisational skills and stamina, but by the end of term, I was mostly just exhausted.

But term is over, and a beautiful Maundy Thursday service at the Cathedral last night reminded me why I do this stuff. 

Today we're all at home making hot cross buns with the prospect of an evening bowling and then going out for a meal. We have lots to celebrate: surviving a heavy term, the kind of parents' evening every Mum hopes for, youngest son's A* in maths GCSE (taken early), and happy additions to the family.

After a short break with my lover last month, we were able to fit in a city break recently, which after an arid winter, is positively an embarras de richesse. Fine food and champagne, shopping and art galleries, dinner with a friend and a luxury hotel - it's all a whole different world from the everyday grind, and I come back happy and refreshed. With so many positive things, I think Easter this year is going to be joyful indeed.

Old family and new addition

I apologise profusely to my adoring public, whom I have kept waiting far too long for the next installment of this journal. Things were going so well, too. The run up to Christmas was a little busy, but no more so than usual. Christmas seemed to be slow coming, but was happy and peaceful, with all the canonical family rituals happening at the appropriate times. We had a friend of penultimate son staying with us over the holiday, so there was plenty of scope for additional teenage merriment. On boxing day, youngest son and I went to visit my ex-in-laws, a lovely, welcoming family gathering. I am constantly in awe of my ex-belle-mère's generosity of spirit towards us, and grateful that she is happy for us all to keep in touch. Epiphany saw the now traditional gathering of the clan for a meal, exchange of gifts and then the stripping of the decorations to mark the end of the Christmas season. With three sons now well over 6ft and a fourth heading that way fast, this is rather easier than putting up the trimmings, which usually involves me and a kick stool in some precarious acrobatics. This year we had eldest son's fiancée and penultimate son's girlfriend to swell the crowd and help us get through enough food to nourish a small village, and a modest mountain of chocolates and toffees.

Term started well, but rapidly became demanding as my closest colleague became too ill to work, leaving me to assume her teaching, marking and some of her admin duties into my own workload. It's essential she takes enough time off to recover fully, and colleagues and associates have given freely of their time and energies to help keep the wheels running smoothly. I've found it tiring, and the extra time I have to spend completing the work inevitably impacts also on the boys, who are getting used to my spending evenings with the laptop and a pile of marking as soon as dinner is over.

The big news since my last entry is an addition to the household. Shortly after Christmas, a routine visit to the GP uncovered a problem with my blood pressure that required addressing urgently. Additional exercise seemed to be a solution, but I'm not really a gym person, and I spend too much having my hair dyed to risk turning it green with regular visits to the swimming pool. The search for something more congenial led me to consider when I last took regular daily exercise, and this provided a most happy solution. When I last had a dog, two daily walks were part of normal life. So we decided to get a dog.

We were very lucky to find the perfect animal very quickly. A phone call to the local Springer Spaniel Rescue identified a few possibilities, and one drizzly, windy afternoon, daughter and I went and walked a few of them round a muddy field as a wonderful lady talked us through their history - where known - and individual foibles. I fell in love with Bertie at first sight. He's a seven-year old neutered liver and white male, and, paperwork completed, we went back at the weekend to fetch him. Introducing him to the cat was uncomplicated - the cat spat and hissed and Bertie ignored her, with the chivalry of a gentleman who politely overlooks a lady companion's inebriation. He settled in as if he'd been here all his life, and we were delighted to discover that he answers to commands, comes to call, and behaves impeccably indoors and out, on the lead and off. If I wanted any confirmation that he's given us his love, it came when I was away overnight last week, and he greeted me on my return with unrestrained adoration and frantic affection. My other source of such loving attention has been as busy as I over the last couple of months, and we've only managed one day together, but it was enormous fun and well worth waiting for. I was allowed to drive his classic car - one of the items on my "list of things to do before I die". Once the present rush is over, we hope to spend a little more time in one another's company. It's been a year now - and a good one too.