If you are from my era, you probably sang this as a child:
Jingle Bells, Batman smells
Robin's flown away
The Batmobile has lost its wheel
And landed in the hay.
Yes? Good. I'd like to know I wasn't the only one. Did you, too, share a frisson of naughty delight when you sang it? Not only were you singing the wrong words, which made it already pretty naughty, but that line "Batman smells" - wasn't that just the rudest thing ever?
Times move on, but it is good to know that childhood pleasures remain if not the same, than at least similar. There are new versions of Jingle Bells being sung around the globe. I thought you'd be interested to hear what eight year olds are singing in this neck of the woods. It goes like this:
Dashing through the snow
In a hybrid SUV
O'er the hills we go
Crashing into trees.
Bells are all destroyed
Making spirits fall,
All my presents have turned into
A flaming fireball.
There aren't any extreme rudenesses like "Batman smells", but even so, there's a healthy level of violence and destruction.
I love that eight year olds are singing about hybrid SUVs. Marvellous.
Postscript:
Oh. I've just spoiled my own post. I ran the lyrics past 8-yo. "Hypered", he said. "Hypered, not hybrid. What's hybrid mean, anyway?".
.
Tuesday, December 30, 2008
Perspective
It's all a matter of perspective. That's part of the whole "Not wrong, just different" approach to life. We used to think it was a long journey to see family: 4 hours to the nearest. We now think of that as a short hop. Four hours would hardly get us out of our state in most directions.
Living outside your own zone makes you realise how relative many of your absolutes actually are. What seemed like fact, becomes opinion. I overheard this telephone conversation between 11-yo and his grandmother. She had asked what sports he was playing at school at the moment, and it turns out they have been learning baseball (which I thought was a summer sport, and an outdoor one, but there you go). He said
"It's really hard. The bat is round, so the ball flies off in any direction, and they pitch it at you so fast. And the rules are so complicated. I like playing sports which have simple rules. Like cricket."
Yes, I thought that would amuse you. All a matter of perspective, you see.
Living outside your own zone makes you realise how relative many of your absolutes actually are. What seemed like fact, becomes opinion. I overheard this telephone conversation between 11-yo and his grandmother. She had asked what sports he was playing at school at the moment, and it turns out they have been learning baseball (which I thought was a summer sport, and an outdoor one, but there you go). He said
"It's really hard. The bat is round, so the ball flies off in any direction, and they pitch it at you so fast. And the rules are so complicated. I like playing sports which have simple rules. Like cricket."
Yes, I thought that would amuse you. All a matter of perspective, you see.
Sunday, December 21, 2008
Christmas party
I was helping at 8-yo’s class Christmas party. My duty was to organize one game. In the car on the way there, 4-yo was asking me all about the event. Who was going to be there? Were other little brothers and sisters invited? Would the brothers and sisters be allowed to join in the game? Would they be allowed to have the snack?
I explained to the best of my knowledge (I wasn’t entirely sure what the party was going to be like myself, beyond my own game). Then she asked “How will the kids know how to play the game?”
“I’ll explain the rules to everyone before we begin”, I replied.
“Will the little kids understand the rules, or will they just watch the big kids and do what they do?” she asked, in such a matter of fact way that my heart melted.
Of course it didn’t need to melt. I know that second, third, and subsequent children “come on” much quicker than first children. Parents are amazed at the way their second children whizz by the milestones, and make sense of life so speedily. Perhaps it’s a little unsettling to think that all that careful parental input lavished on the first child, is less effective than the contribution of the sibling toddler, who does no more than potter on with daily life, oblivious of his or her role as a teaching model to number two.
As it happened, she was the only little sibling there, understood the instructions (it wasn’t a difficult game), was taken under the wing of her brother so that they both dropped out of the game together, had at least as much snack, if not more, than everyone else, and thoroughly enjoyed herself. She can't wait to start school. I sometimes wonder if we parents are more in danger of getting in the way of our children’s learning, than of not helping them enough.
I explained to the best of my knowledge (I wasn’t entirely sure what the party was going to be like myself, beyond my own game). Then she asked “How will the kids know how to play the game?”
“I’ll explain the rules to everyone before we begin”, I replied.
“Will the little kids understand the rules, or will they just watch the big kids and do what they do?” she asked, in such a matter of fact way that my heart melted.
Of course it didn’t need to melt. I know that second, third, and subsequent children “come on” much quicker than first children. Parents are amazed at the way their second children whizz by the milestones, and make sense of life so speedily. Perhaps it’s a little unsettling to think that all that careful parental input lavished on the first child, is less effective than the contribution of the sibling toddler, who does no more than potter on with daily life, oblivious of his or her role as a teaching model to number two.
As it happened, she was the only little sibling there, understood the instructions (it wasn’t a difficult game), was taken under the wing of her brother so that they both dropped out of the game together, had at least as much snack, if not more, than everyone else, and thoroughly enjoyed herself. She can't wait to start school. I sometimes wonder if we parents are more in danger of getting in the way of our children’s learning, than of not helping them enough.
Thursday, December 18, 2008
Christmas carols
My two younger kids are singing in church on Sunday, along with all the rest of their Sunday school. They’re doing Away in a Manger, and Silent Night.
Away in a Manger is to a different tune to the one I know. How can that be? Shurely shome mistake. How can you have Away in a Manger, not to the Away in a Manger tune? Actually, I’m rather glad, since the usual tune makes me cry. You know how it is. You go and see your child in some preschool or school event, and you put a tissue in your pocket but you’re absolutely determined not to use it. You’re doing really well, and it’s almost over, and then - oh they’re so clever these teachers – right at the end, a child steps forward and lisps “Now we’re all going to thing Away in a Manger, the firtht time on our own, and then pleathe join uth when we thing it a thecond time”, and the familiar music starts. You’re sitting there, thinking “This is SUCH a cliché. I’m so NOT going to get emotional just because it’s Away in a Manger, and my little darling is dressed as a shepherd/angel/lamb. It’s just Christmas, for heaven’s sake, and I’m NOT going to succumb to the cheesiest old favourite in the book. Absolutely NOT.” It rather depends how slowly they sing it, and how many verses they have learned, as to whether you can keep these stern thoughts going for long enough, or whether the tissue has to emerge from the pocket.
What is it with Away in a Manger? I’m wondering if mothers put it on quickly when their baby daughters start to cry, so that the association becomes ingrained Pavlov-style at an infant age, and then somehow lies dormant till motherhood. I didn’t know about this, so I didn’t do it for my daughter. She’ll have an easier time at her children’s nativity plays.
Silent Night. That’s a nice one (apart from the rather screechy way you have to slide up the scale on “pee-eeace” in the last line). I was getting 8-yo to sing it to me, to make sure he knew the words, and half way through, he stopped and said “What is an infantso?” You know that bit: Holy infantso, tender and mild. I told him it was a kind of reindeer (I didn’t really).
It reminded me of one of my own childhood Christmas carol puzzles. There was this really confusing bit in “While shepherds watched” which said Thus spake the sheriff, and forthwith appeared a shining throng. I knew it couldn’t be a wild west type of sheriff, in Bethlehem. In any case, men can’t be angels. Girls are angels, as eny ful no. I remember being confused, but I can't remember how I resolved the issue. I probably concluded the sheriff was the angel with the bright golden star.
Ah, innocent times. These days, kids are probably more confused by why forthwith a shining thong would appear.
Do you have any childhood festive misunderstandings you’d like to share?
.
Away in a Manger is to a different tune to the one I know. How can that be? Shurely shome mistake. How can you have Away in a Manger, not to the Away in a Manger tune? Actually, I’m rather glad, since the usual tune makes me cry. You know how it is. You go and see your child in some preschool or school event, and you put a tissue in your pocket but you’re absolutely determined not to use it. You’re doing really well, and it’s almost over, and then - oh they’re so clever these teachers – right at the end, a child steps forward and lisps “Now we’re all going to thing Away in a Manger, the firtht time on our own, and then pleathe join uth when we thing it a thecond time”, and the familiar music starts. You’re sitting there, thinking “This is SUCH a cliché. I’m so NOT going to get emotional just because it’s Away in a Manger, and my little darling is dressed as a shepherd/angel/lamb. It’s just Christmas, for heaven’s sake, and I’m NOT going to succumb to the cheesiest old favourite in the book. Absolutely NOT.” It rather depends how slowly they sing it, and how many verses they have learned, as to whether you can keep these stern thoughts going for long enough, or whether the tissue has to emerge from the pocket.
What is it with Away in a Manger? I’m wondering if mothers put it on quickly when their baby daughters start to cry, so that the association becomes ingrained Pavlov-style at an infant age, and then somehow lies dormant till motherhood. I didn’t know about this, so I didn’t do it for my daughter. She’ll have an easier time at her children’s nativity plays.
Silent Night. That’s a nice one (apart from the rather screechy way you have to slide up the scale on “pee-eeace” in the last line). I was getting 8-yo to sing it to me, to make sure he knew the words, and half way through, he stopped and said “What is an infantso?” You know that bit: Holy infantso, tender and mild. I told him it was a kind of reindeer (I didn’t really).
It reminded me of one of my own childhood Christmas carol puzzles. There was this really confusing bit in “While shepherds watched” which said Thus spake the sheriff, and forthwith appeared a shining throng. I knew it couldn’t be a wild west type of sheriff, in Bethlehem. In any case, men can’t be angels. Girls are angels, as eny ful no. I remember being confused, but I can't remember how I resolved the issue. I probably concluded the sheriff was the angel with the bright golden star.
Ah, innocent times. These days, kids are probably more confused by why forthwith a shining thong would appear.
Do you have any childhood festive misunderstandings you’d like to share?
.
Monday, December 15, 2008
Seasonal offerings (though getting a bit unseasonal)
OK, OK, so it’s getting a bit late now for autumnal posts, especially since it’s minus 13 degrees centigrade today, but we’ll just have a quick look at leaves, and then I’ll get into gear for Christmas. I promise.
Look at this lovely carpet of leaves in my back yard, just over a month ago. (It's worth clicking to enlarge).
You can almost hear them whispering “don’t sweep us up, don’t sweep us up” can’t you?
You will probably remember that what impresses me so much about the trees here is their ability to multi-colour (ooh, a new verb is born). Well, the leaves do it too.
These leaves have decided that those of them on one branch will be yellow, those on another will be green. How do they do that? A fine example of peaceful democracy.
Here, they’re all mixed up together.
I wonder if that creates more friction between them, or if they still happily co-exist, green and yellow, at such close quarters. Does the tree engineer the design and control when each leaf may change from green to yellow, or does each leaf have free will?
Look here, though, how within a single leaf, the multi-colour effect is achieved. These do that clever thing that the trees do, holding on to one colour in the middle while letting a new colour creep in at the edges.
This one is a work of art. Deep red veins traced against that subtle orange background, on an even deeper red stem. Perfect.
A couple of final glorious pictures, just because I can’t resist, and it’s going to be at least 9 months till autumn comes round again.
And don’t you just love this song?
To me, it captures the whole essence of the way our lives are marked by change. The seasons are a part of that. The music somehow manages to be both melancholy and cheery at the same time, which is masterly, for change is, surely, both our enemy and our friend, a stealer and a giver.
Thank you for your indulgence. I know blogging this late about autumn is very bad form. There now, I’m ready for Christmas. I’ll catch up with the rest of you.
Look at this lovely carpet of leaves in my back yard, just over a month ago. (It's worth clicking to enlarge).
You can almost hear them whispering “don’t sweep us up, don’t sweep us up” can’t you?
You will probably remember that what impresses me so much about the trees here is their ability to multi-colour (ooh, a new verb is born). Well, the leaves do it too.
These leaves have decided that those of them on one branch will be yellow, those on another will be green. How do they do that? A fine example of peaceful democracy.
Here, they’re all mixed up together.
I wonder if that creates more friction between them, or if they still happily co-exist, green and yellow, at such close quarters. Does the tree engineer the design and control when each leaf may change from green to yellow, or does each leaf have free will?
Look here, though, how within a single leaf, the multi-colour effect is achieved. These do that clever thing that the trees do, holding on to one colour in the middle while letting a new colour creep in at the edges.
This one is a work of art. Deep red veins traced against that subtle orange background, on an even deeper red stem. Perfect.
A couple of final glorious pictures, just because I can’t resist, and it’s going to be at least 9 months till autumn comes round again.
And don’t you just love this song?
To me, it captures the whole essence of the way our lives are marked by change. The seasons are a part of that. The music somehow manages to be both melancholy and cheery at the same time, which is masterly, for change is, surely, both our enemy and our friend, a stealer and a giver.
Thank you for your indulgence. I know blogging this late about autumn is very bad form. There now, I’m ready for Christmas. I’ll catch up with the rest of you.
Tuesday, December 9, 2008
Seasonal offerings
I knew you’d all be fed up with the festive season by now, so I thought I’d give you a break from tinsel decorations and snow scenes, and reminisce with you about autumn. What? You think I took photos of autumn leaves a month ago, didn’t get round to writing the blog post, but am still determined to use them? You cynics.
I love autumn. It’s my favourite season, always has been. And I never knew how much I was missing out. The British autumn, I’m sorry to say, is really a bit thin, compared to the richness of the season here. You know how at the beginning of October, you get a few days where it is warm again and the sky is a deep blue, and everyone says how much they are appreciating this Indian summer? Well, this year, we had that kind of weather for about eight weeks, mid September to mid November. No rain, no wind, just day after day of perfect skies and exquisite warmth. The leaves that fell stayed dry, and raking them up was like building piles of cornflakes, rather than that sludgy mess that comes with raking wet British leaves. Altogether a different experience.
Nature seemed to appreciate the perfection of the weather too, and put on some beautiful displays. Trees in Britain have to get their shows done so quickly, and in the damp. A few days, and they need to get from green foliage to bare twigs. They manage a little colour, but have to speed on through to dead brown leaves pretty fast. The trees here have the luxury of week after week of slowly fading temperatures, and still have the energy to choreograph their colour changes with finesse. What impresses me most, is the way one tree can exhibit different colours at the same time. We had two trees in our garden that were, for days on end, red at the top, yellow in the middle, and still green at the bottom. Traffic lights. I couldn’t get far enough away from them to photograph them, more’s the pity, but here are some other examples I found.
Look how this tree shades itself from orange to green, left to right.
This one decided to do it from top to bottom.
These ones do it from the inside out. See how they’re red at the ends of their branches, but still green at the core, as if holding on to summer in their hearts while bravely waving their hands at the oncoming autumn.
Impressed? Just wait till you see this. Group choreography. These five babies have got together for a chorus line performance.
Great show, gals. (That isn't a floating roof, by the way. It's just that someone painted their store the exact same shade of blue as the autumn sky.)
Some trees are just too bursting with their own creativity to bother with that shading effect, and they mix up the colours in a great effusion. This one gives us a beautiful two-tone green and yellow.
I left in that stunning little red bush for you to see. What an effort it made – the least I could do was not to crop it out of the picture.
This one couldn’t wait to decide which colours to go for, so threw them all in together and mingled them up. The photo doesn’t do it justice. Click on it to enlarge it - go on, you know you want to.
I’m glad trees are rooted to one spot. If those British trees came over in the autumn, I’d hate to witness their feelings of inadequacy and embarrassment. It would be like meeting your best friends in Milan or Paris, and walking down the most fashionable shopping streets with them in their old cords and Fair Isle sweaters. We could console the trees with talk of differences in climate, and how they do their best against the odds, but I’m sure their branches would hang low and their leaves would droop. I’d hate to see that. Of course they wouldn’t really need worry, because the trees here, being American, would be supremely impressed by the sheer size of their towering British cousins, and their history. All those years laid down in concentric circles, from the time of their sapling youth when masked highwaymen hid in their shadows, and men in tights hurtled between them in pursuit of wild boar (my historical knowledge is poetic rather than factual...). Trees here are neither large nor old. Too many ferocious winds to which they must bow low, and too many ice storms to contend with, when their branches are broken off by the weight of the days-long accumulated ice.
To finish, here is a glorious display of autumnal splendour.
Look at the rich red, the startling yellow, the mellow ochre, the luscious green. Even that little shrub in the front is shimmering in maroon and silver.
Which one? Well, it's a bit small, I admit. You probably can't appreciate it properly.
I'll enlarge it for you - I'm sure it's well worth a closer look.
Those lovely autumn tones...
Hang on...
It’s a fire hydrant. I’m getting carried away here. But don’t think I’ll be moving on to Santa and polar bears yet. Oh no. This post was trees. The next is going to be leaves. Sorry.
I love autumn. It’s my favourite season, always has been. And I never knew how much I was missing out. The British autumn, I’m sorry to say, is really a bit thin, compared to the richness of the season here. You know how at the beginning of October, you get a few days where it is warm again and the sky is a deep blue, and everyone says how much they are appreciating this Indian summer? Well, this year, we had that kind of weather for about eight weeks, mid September to mid November. No rain, no wind, just day after day of perfect skies and exquisite warmth. The leaves that fell stayed dry, and raking them up was like building piles of cornflakes, rather than that sludgy mess that comes with raking wet British leaves. Altogether a different experience.
Nature seemed to appreciate the perfection of the weather too, and put on some beautiful displays. Trees in Britain have to get their shows done so quickly, and in the damp. A few days, and they need to get from green foliage to bare twigs. They manage a little colour, but have to speed on through to dead brown leaves pretty fast. The trees here have the luxury of week after week of slowly fading temperatures, and still have the energy to choreograph their colour changes with finesse. What impresses me most, is the way one tree can exhibit different colours at the same time. We had two trees in our garden that were, for days on end, red at the top, yellow in the middle, and still green at the bottom. Traffic lights. I couldn’t get far enough away from them to photograph them, more’s the pity, but here are some other examples I found.
Look how this tree shades itself from orange to green, left to right.
This one decided to do it from top to bottom.
These ones do it from the inside out. See how they’re red at the ends of their branches, but still green at the core, as if holding on to summer in their hearts while bravely waving their hands at the oncoming autumn.
Impressed? Just wait till you see this. Group choreography. These five babies have got together for a chorus line performance.
Great show, gals. (That isn't a floating roof, by the way. It's just that someone painted their store the exact same shade of blue as the autumn sky.)
Some trees are just too bursting with their own creativity to bother with that shading effect, and they mix up the colours in a great effusion. This one gives us a beautiful two-tone green and yellow.
I left in that stunning little red bush for you to see. What an effort it made – the least I could do was not to crop it out of the picture.
This one couldn’t wait to decide which colours to go for, so threw them all in together and mingled them up. The photo doesn’t do it justice. Click on it to enlarge it - go on, you know you want to.
I’m glad trees are rooted to one spot. If those British trees came over in the autumn, I’d hate to witness their feelings of inadequacy and embarrassment. It would be like meeting your best friends in Milan or Paris, and walking down the most fashionable shopping streets with them in their old cords and Fair Isle sweaters. We could console the trees with talk of differences in climate, and how they do their best against the odds, but I’m sure their branches would hang low and their leaves would droop. I’d hate to see that. Of course they wouldn’t really need worry, because the trees here, being American, would be supremely impressed by the sheer size of their towering British cousins, and their history. All those years laid down in concentric circles, from the time of their sapling youth when masked highwaymen hid in their shadows, and men in tights hurtled between them in pursuit of wild boar (my historical knowledge is poetic rather than factual...). Trees here are neither large nor old. Too many ferocious winds to which they must bow low, and too many ice storms to contend with, when their branches are broken off by the weight of the days-long accumulated ice.
To finish, here is a glorious display of autumnal splendour.
Look at the rich red, the startling yellow, the mellow ochre, the luscious green. Even that little shrub in the front is shimmering in maroon and silver.
Which one? Well, it's a bit small, I admit. You probably can't appreciate it properly.
I'll enlarge it for you - I'm sure it's well worth a closer look.
Those lovely autumn tones...
Hang on...
It’s a fire hydrant. I’m getting carried away here. But don’t think I’ll be moving on to Santa and polar bears yet. Oh no. This post was trees. The next is going to be leaves. Sorry.
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