Housework crisis: female vs male approach

It's a pain in the butt, keeping your house tidy and then whizzing round cleaning manically whenever a potential buyer wants to look round (can't they just browse and buy online like we do for everything else these days?) At least since Husband's term has ended, he's around and helps out. Women and men have a different approach to housework, don't they? Though there are some underlying similarities.

My stream of consciousness

Oh bother, this bottle of bathroom cleaner has run out. Never mind, there'll be quite a few others around the house in various cupboards. Husband always stocks up when he goes shopping… On the other hand, this could be a reason to go to Dillon’s and finish the cleaning later. There might be something on special offer and I could save some money. So it totally makes sense. Hm…Yes... That’s a good idea. I need a break anyway. I wonder if Anne-Marie would be free for a coffee in the Starbuck’s inside Dillon’s. That’s sensible - killing two birds with one stone. In fact, it would be silly to go to Dillon’s without seeing if she’s free. I’ll just call her… Dang it, she's not there. Left a message on her voice mail, so now I really have to go, because she might turn up and if I'm not there, that would be bad.

That’ll be one of the fun things about moving to Scotland. There’ll be some great coffee shops to discover in Edinburgh. I bet they’re really nice. There’s that one where J K Rowling wrote Harry Potter. Ooh, fun… All I need is a friend, or a book. Bookshops! Bet there are some nice bookshops in Edinburgh too. I wonder what people are reading these days in Scotland. Maggie O'Farrell - I love her. Has she written anything new recently I wonder? Or Alexander McCall Smith. Yes! Fabulous! What I really need is a bookshop with a coffee place inside it. Or just next door. Mmm… lots to explore.

Twenty minutes… I suppose I could just whip round with the vacuum, or do the kitchen. Not really worth it though. Can’t do much in twenty minutes. I know… I’ll just check my emails. That’s a really efficient use of time. Yay, me, for being so efficient. And I could just have a quick look at Amazon to see if there's a new Maggie O'Farrell. Or read one quick blog post. Wonder who's posted today.

Husband’s stream of consciousness

Oh bother, this bottle of bathroom cleaner has run out. I don’t think we have any more in the house anywhere. Funny that, because I always stock up on stuff like that when I go shopping. I suppose I could look, but actually, I think I’d better go to Home Depot instead. Yes. In fact, there are a few things I need from Home Depot, and I didn’t get them when I was there yesterday. Right. Home Depot it is. They have the best selection of cleaning fluids anyway. Much better than boring old Dillon’s.

Ooh, cleaning fluids! I wonder if any will be on special offer. I could really stock up. Oh, except we’re moving in 5 weeks’ time… But I’m sure we’ll use lots before then. Yes, I’ll stock up. Cleaning fluids… I wonder if they’re anywhere near the wood varnishes… or perhaps the high-powered solvents… paint-strippers… ant-killers… lawn fertilizers… mmm… so much to look at…

Home Depot… I’d better check out the tools while I’m there… Makes sense. Tools! Gadgets! Aisles full of them… Aaaah…

Home Depot… I wonder if HomeBase still exists in Britain. I can’t really imagine life in Britain without it. And B&Q! Oh yes! B&Q! Ooh, fun… Those super-size trolleys… I think I might still have my reward card in an old wallet somewhere. I wonder if my points are still valid. There are probably some really essential new pieces of DIY equipment in B&Q these days. I could have a look online. See what’s there. And if I see anything that would be really useful, I could check out if Home Depot has the equivalent. Cheaper to buy it here. Like that axe I got recently. Don’t know why Iota found that funny. Really useful thing to have. Our house has an open fire, and is right next to some woods. I’ll be using an axe. Definitely made sense. Wonder what else we need. Yes… Before I go, I’ll just have a look at the B&Q website and get an idea of prices.

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"You saved my life"

Today I went to say goodbye to my doctor. I think technically it was an annual well woman appointment, but that was just the cover story. I like my doctor so much, and find him so easy to talk to, that after I'd been through breast cancer, I got him to remove three moles from my back. That was a good 20-30 minutes chat time, lying on my front on a table. If I had grown up with a health service which allows more than 10 minutes for a visit to the GP, I could probably have just made an appointment and said "I want to ask lots of things about cancer that I wasn't able to focus on at the time", but I still have a residual vaguely guilty feeling about wasting a GP's time if you're not actually dying, and so I pleaded suspicious moles instead. Two of them were normal, but one of them was pre-cancerous, which just shows that the lab technician who analysed them didn't know his or her Latin, because actually it was post-cancerous.

Anyway, I got quite mushy in the Doctor's Office. I walked in at 9.00am, and there was one person sitting in the waiting room. What's up, I wonder? Isn't anyone ill any more these days? What are they all doing with themselves? Being healthy? So I thought to myself "Oh good, he'll have time to chat", and indeed he did. I told him all about moving to Scotland, and asked about what records would be useful to copy and take. Apparently all of them (or it's easier for the medical records people to copy the lot, rather than riffle through and pick out the juicy bits). So no doubt I'll have a few box loads of paper to replace the stuff I'm daily throwing out as we sort our house contents in preparation for the move. In these electronic days, it is unbelievable the amount of paperwork that the medical world generates. I sign a form every time I go to that office to say that none of my details have changed: address, telephone number, insurer, date of birth, etc... Hang on a minute. Why is my date of birth on there? How could that possibly change?

Of course one of the tricky things about saying goodbye to a GP, is that you don't know for sure you're not going to see him again - unless you arrange to have the annual well woman appointment on the way to the airport. I feel I've rather tempted fate, by having a closure-y type conversation with him. One of the kids is absolutely bound to get an unusual virus now, aren't they? But I didn't want to just let him do the usual prodding and poking and extracting and be on my way. I wanted to say some things to him, one of which was "You saved my life". I believe that to be true - or at least I believe it to be a real possibility. Of course I won't ever know what would have happened if he'd taken the word of the mammogram radiographer on two separate occasions, and said "you got the all-clear" to me, instead of "I'd really like you to have a second opinion". And you might say he was just doing his job. But there's vigilance and there's vigilance, and I think... well, I said it anyway, and his eyes looked a bit moist at that point.

It's been an education

I’m glad you enjoyed my great-great-aunt Bessie’s diary. In answer to those of you who wondered if she kept diaries beyond this one, I don’t know of any, but I will have to ask around in the family.

Now back to 2012, and with the school year drawing to a close, I have been in reflective mood. For us, it’s not just the end of the academic year, but the end of my kids’ school careers in America. Here is a letter to each of them (though only for blog readers’ eyes, not theirs).

Dear 11-yo,

Your time at school here has neatly fitted into and filled the elementary years. You started in Kindergarten and you have just graduated from Fifth Grade. You began and ended our time in America at the same school. I have loved going through the last couple of weeks of Fifth Grade with you, “crazy busy weeks” as all we moms remark to each other. Every event has felt like the scribing of a closing parenthesis, an opportunity to think back to the drawing of the opening parenthesis. How different the one is from the other!

(Field Day), for example. I loved my final Field Day. I felt mellow, relaxed, happy. I know so many of the moms, the teachers, the kids. I know what snow cones are. I know what to expect. I know what to volunteer for, and – crucially – what to avoid. I know how to be me in that situation. Five years ago was my first Field Day (I wrote a blog post about it), and it was all so new. New and fun, new and exciting, but new and unsettling too. I knew hardly anyone. I wondered what a snow cone was. I was trying to be someone, but without knowing who.

(Talk about Scotland), for another example. I came into your class to talk about Scotland and your new school. You and I did a PowerPoint presentation together. That’s what Fifth Graders do. You’d helped me put it together, looking for pictures of Edinburgh Castle and Loch Ness on Google Images. I remember coming into Kindergarten to talk about Scotland and your old school.  I’d asked you beforehand what differences you’d noticed between school in Scotland and school in America. You said “When we line up in America to go to a different classroom or out into the playground, we just line up in a line. In Scotland, when we lined up, we had a partner and we had to hold hands.” “Anything else?” “Those hanging-down things in the dining room. We didn’t have those in Scotland.” America. Land of the free, home of the brave, nation of moveable track-mounted partitions in school dining rooms.

Dear 8-yo,

You were a tot when we came to America. You started at a “Mom’s Day Out” one morning a week. You were in a little class of five girls. You loved it. Next was pre-school, a year of Monday, Wednesday and Friday mornings, and then a year of five mornings a week. You were so ready for school when the time came. I’d lost my hair to chemotherapy when you started Kindergarten. I hoped I didn’t embarrass you, coming into the classroom to help with “reading centers” in my cap.

Now you’re finishing Second Grade. There was one day last week when all the other grades were out on field trips, and the teachers let you run through the hallways shouting “Second Grade Rules!” I agree. You do!

You’re still not quite big enough and brave enough to stand outside the school door next to that gaggle of fourth and fifth graders, but you hate to be late, so we have to time our morning arrival to the minute. You’re half way through elementary school – “grade school” as they call it – and your tot days seem very distant indeed.

Dear 14-yo,

You’ve experienced all three stages of American schooling. A year and a half in elementary school, three in middle school, and one in high school. Middle School in the parentheses of Elementary School and High School. More parentheses! The three schools are all part of one school, on one campus, and I’ve been glad for that. The transitions have been easy.

Your round, full fourth-grade face is now shaped and chiseled, with cheek bones and a chin. You regularly check to see if you’re taller than me, and last time we compared, we decided that yes, that day had come. Your legs and arms are those of a sportsman. Your backpack is sometimes so heavy, I hesitate to lift it, but you swing it over a shoulder multiple times a day. You’ve seen all three stages, but I’m sure it’s the High School year that will remain with you most. You’ve loved the freedom, the fun, the adult-ness of it.

You’ve borne the brunt of our parental ignorance. You’ve had to teach us as you’ve learnt. “Getting to Regionals is a big deal, Mom.” “Everyone calls Coach ‘Coach’.” “If the flag touches the ground when you take it down, they have to throw it away (but I don’t think they always do).”

You came as a child, and you leave with the man in you emerging, almost here. You walk tall. The school has served you well.

Everyone clucked their teeth as we left Scotland. I know they did, even if they didn’t do it to my face. Schools… education… what would it be like? How would they compare? How would our children ever fit back into the British system? And I’d be lying if I denied that their unspoken thoughts tapped into my own deep anxieties. Let’s face it, education is something of a British obsession. I just held on to the thought that whatever they lost in flip-flopping between education systems, they would gain in life experience.

You know what? The education has been one of the greatest benefits of our time here. At their schools, our children have been motivated, stretched, enthusiastic, (well, at times enthusiastic-ish), and – most important by a long chalk – happy.  I’ve probably got rose-tinted specs on, feeling a little sentimental as we leave, and we haven't done the "fitting back in" yet, but the specs are only slightly tinted and I'm feeling confident about the "fitting back in".  I’ve had my reservations off and on about some of the academics (weekly newsletters from teachers with grammar and spelling mistakes), and there was a year when one of them wasn’t happy, but wasn’t exactly unhappy either. Otherwise, they’ve been happy - truly happy. Three children, for a combined total of 14 school years, happy. That’s an A+ for the schools here, in my book.

Blogging, 1883 style: Part lV

The final installment. Bessie arrives in Barbados in good spirits. She and George are married.

March 2^nd

Cast anchor at six o’clock this morning. I sat at the port in my cabin, watching for the little boat that would bring my darling. I stayed there, as I did not care to be up on deck, & have all the eyes of the passengers upon me. At last a tremendous knock at my door, & I was once more face to face with my darling. Soon after we came on deck, & George introduced me to a friend of his, a Mr. Meade, to whose house I was taken. His wife is such a gem, only 23 years of age & Scotch. They have one baby, like a little doll. I am perfectly spoiled & every body is so kind to me. George lives at Mrs. Masson’s (an English family). This is Friday & I am to be married on Monday in the Barbados Cathedral at 11.30a.m. I have been confined to the couch ever since I came with rheumatic inflammation in the ankle joint. I was so terrified, for my feet were all swollen. It came on two days before I left the steamer – I could scarcely put my foot to the ground.

March 3^rd

Still on the couch, & every body very busy preparing for Monday. I am to be married in my white satin, veil & wreath. People have got to hear about it & intend to see the ceremony.  Mr. Meade is to be father giver, Miss Masson bridesmaid, & Mr. Shields groomsman.

March 4^th (Sunday)

Still have to keep to my couch – indeed no one will allow me to do a thing for myself. I am afraid I shall be spoiled – every body is extremely good & kind to me. Mrs. Meade is only 23 years of age (I have just noticed that I mentioned this before).

March 5^th

My wedding morning. Lovely flowers have been sent from all parts – baskets full – & an exquisite bridal bouquet. Such a stillness in the house – every one more excited than another. I am to be married in the Barbados Cathedral. The bridesmaid has covered a stool with white satin & put a lovely wreath of flowers all round the edge for me to kneel on in church.

At last the hour came & I went off with Mr. Meade in a carriage & pair to church. A great many people were there who had heard of me. After the ceremony we walked down the aisle & showers of flowers were thrown from the gallery & all parts. We got home through crowds of people. We had invited a few friends to a splendid lunch when the cake was cut & toasts given.

I have been staying at Hastings Hotel, a most beautiful part of the country, about four miles from Barbados. We have been driving about every day seeing all there is to see. I should have been perfectly happy if only all those dear ones at home had been here to share all the pleasures. However, that is not possible, & I must be content. I shall have to close this diary as the mail will leave soon.

We sail for Antigua on Sunday, March 11, as George is forced to get back to his practice again. He is the same dear old boy he always was. I have had a job to get all this written as George is such a dreadful tease – I cannot get anything done for him. We have had our photos taken – mine in my bridal dress, & both together. I shall write after we arrive at our own home at ‘Longlane’ & tell you all what every thing is like there.

The sugar-cane crop has just commenced, - it is very funny to see the people going about with great sticks, sucking away at it.

I must now close as I am going out shopping. I hope you will excuse all mistakes in this hasty scribble, written under great disadvantages. My only reason in sending you this is to endeavour to please you all, & to show how much I have thought of those I have left behind.

God bless you all. Good-bye.

Blogging, 1883 style: Part lll

Bessie continues her journey. The initial excitement has worn off, and this is a week of mixed emotions. I have left unedited some politically incorrect terminology.

Feb. 25^th (Sunday)

Had a run of 270 miles – temperature 73 degrees. Saw the drill of all the sailors on deck, & afterwards retired to the Saloon where Divine Service was read by the Captain, followed by a discourse by a dissenting Minister on board. In the evening a tropical storm got up, accompanied by thunder & lightning, the latter being extremely brilliant & appalling.

Had a few hymns – “Eternal Father, strong to save”, & some others which I enjoyed exceedingly.

Feb. 26^th

Run today 283 miles. Tremendous storm on – sea washing the decks – everybody sick & miserable. The captain imagines that the storm is the tail end of one raging in more northern latitudes. Strong sun & almost cloudless sky. I spent the whole day in my cabin, I did feel so ill again. Indeed it takes me all my time to write, the ship rolls so fearfully that it makes it a great effort. Any amount of flying fish to be seen. Last night one flew on deck & was captured. It is quite a treat to hear the poor sailors calling out, after eight o’clock when all is dark, “All’s well”, at every half hour & hour. Looking over into the water there is quite a flame of phosphorescence.

Feb. 27^th

Run 296 miles. Nothing very special today – lounging about, talking, & eating is about all one can find to do. Temperature 76 degrees. It is so pretty to see every one in their light costumes – I wear my pink, it does look pretty. Fancy in February – I wonder how England & Scotland are looking.

Feb 28^th

Run 291 miles. Weather nice & warm – such a splendid breeze. I like it immensely & the passengers seem all sorry that our voyage will soon be at an end. The “nigger entertainment” came off tonight & was great fun. Miss Usher, Mrs. Davis and myself have been very busy all day stitching up the most remarkable costumes & sewing on paper cuffs & collars. Every one seemed to enjoy it immensely & we had a proper laugh. A few of the officers took part.

March 1^st

Run 297 miles. Every body is very busy this morning packing up &c., as we expect to arrive at Barbados tomorrow morning. I do feel so strange when I think I shall see my darling so soon. We are to have our photos taken today by one of the passengers. A dance was got up this evening & the deck was all hung round with lamps. The ship was gliding along so beautifully & the sea was like a sheet of glass.


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Blogging, 1883 style: Part ll

Continuing my great-great-aunt Bessie's diary of her voyage from Southampton to Barbados, February 1883. Bessie is settling into life on board ship, and finds there is much to enjoy.

Feb. 22^nd

Had a run of 316 miles. We passed the Western Islands about 12 o’clock last night. There was great excitement today watching a vessel, five miles off, ‘homeward bound’. We have seen only two vessels since the time we left England & even then ‘twas only a glimpse. The weather is simply charming – only once have we had a slight shower of rain. Had plenty of music this eve. The gentlemen are getting up a concert for Saturday eve, & have put my name down on the programme for a song. The officers on board are getting up a ‘Christy Minstrels’ for next week, so that will be a nice change. We are getting into the Tropics now – it is really beautiful on deck. The awning has just been put up.

Feb. 23^rd

Had a run of 320 miles. Nothing very special to speak of today, except that a lady got a dreadful fright about one o’clock in the morning. The sea swept up with such a force against her port, that it broke the glass & swamped her cabin. She was sound asleep at the time but awoke with the fearful noise of the crash. She was literally drenched, poor thing, & has most of her clothes destroyed – she naturally thought we were all going to the bottom of the sea.

I am agreeably surprised to find how extremely social people on board ship can be; they seem to lose all the stiff formalities of society & are glad to converse on the most friendly terms. It is amusing & interesting to find out the destinations and occupations of the different passengers on such a voyage as this. Here, you have a British Consul from the Orinoco, & there a commercial traveler bound for Santa-Fe-de-Bogota. Again, this old man is, I am told, the wealthiest planter in Barbados & that stout-set middle aged man comes from the centre of Mexico. Two of our passengers are from the S. Kensington Museum, & are going out to the Caroline Islands, a small uninhabited group in the S. Pacific, to view the transit of the Moon across the face of the Sun. They expect to meet the American Expedition at Colon, from whence both parties steam across to their destination.

Feb. 24^th

Had a run of 290 miles. The weather is lovely – everything seems like dreamland & every one is as happy as the day is long.

This morning the fire bell was rung (for practice) & in a moment all the sailors were on deck with blankets, pails, & anything else they could lay their hands upon, & the hose was set to work at once. Then they ran a bell & a boat was lowered into the water in a few seconds.

Our concert came off tonight & was a great success. The place was all decorated with flags & draped at each side of the open doors of the cabins – it just looked like the boxes in a theater. We all swelled ourselves up so that the effect was really splendid. When I went into my cabin to dress there was a lovely button-hole for me, sent with the chief officer’s compliments. He had cut the beautiful geranium from the plant in his room & I have been teased ever since. It is greatly surprising to find what an immense amount of musical talent there is on board, & how indefatigable all are in their efforts to amuse. We had an interval for refreshments, during which time a collection was made on behalf of the widows and orphans of the seamen in connection with the company. We subscribed 11 pounds, which was splendid.

The passengers have already changed their clothing & it looks so nice to see them in their sun hats & white trousers. The evenings are lovely,- the stars are so beautiful & clear, & the moonlight shining on the water. It all makes us very happy. No one seems to have a thought of care. The sea is covered with the Gulf Stream weed – we have been fishing it up. It is so pretty, - with green berries hanging from it.


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Blogging, 1883 style

When I was at my mother's house last summer, she showed me a diary that was kept by my grandmother's aunt (is that my great-great-aunt?). It dates from 1883. One of my cousin's had typed it up, though my mother has the original.


I think you'll enjoy it. Bessie and her sister Rachel (my great-grandmother) had been brought up in Edinburgh. Bessie got to know a young medical student, George, who lived in Antigua, and had come to Edinburgh for his medical training. They became engaged, and he returned to Antigua. The diary tells the story of her journey to join him, to be married.


I first read it last summer, soon before returning back here. It gave me pause for thought of course, how different it was in 1883, when leaving was truly leaving. No email, no phone, no Skype. Now I've read it again, and I find it strangely circular that Bessie and Rachel grew up in Edinburgh, because that's where I'm headed next (I've been coy about telling you specifically where I'm moving to, but I think you might as well know). I love the language - old and quaint. Some of the things she says are the kind of thing an old-fashioned me might have said - or am I just imagining that, because I want to feel a connection to her? 


I'll edit a little as I go, but I find it hard to take anything out - it's all pretty interesting. The italics in parentheses are my comments, but I've kept them to a minimum. 


Oh, and one last thing. I'm going to let you in on a fact that Bessie didn't know about her future. You'll pick up from her letter how hard she found it to leave her sister Rachel. Well, she needn't have worried. Rachel found herself her own student from Antigua, Ralph, who came to Edinburgh to train as a lawyer. She married him, and joined Bessie and George in Antigua. It almost feels like cheating, to know that while reading the journal, but I thought you'd like to know.


Here's the first instalment.

S.S. Medway

Lat. 38.47 N – Long 22.W

Feb 21^st. 1883

My Voyage to the West Indies

Sat. 17^th inst.

Left Uncle Ralph’s at 6.30 in the morning for Waterloo Sta:. Janet Harrison [Bessie’s cousin] & Rachel [Bessie's older sister] accompanying me. Uncle Harry was waiting patiently for us – he brought with him a beautiful Bible for me, which I prize very much. Mr. Bain & Mr. Muir had just left the station, thinking I would leave by an earlier train, as I had intended. They had to be in time for business so were compelled to leave without seeing me. I was very sorry I did not see them to wish them Good-bye. The train left for Southampton at 8.5 a.m. It was a very tiresome journey, as neither Rachel nor I felt very bright. On arriving at Southampton, Mr. Reith was waiting for us. I don’t know what we should have done without him; he was extremely kind & saw my luggage and everything right; for which I was very thankful. We went out in a tender to the ‘Medway’ & lunched there, Mr. Reith, Rachel & all those who were seeing their friends off joining us in the repast.

As the time of our departure drew near I could scarcely express my feelings. I only knew I was leaving dear old England perhaps for ever, & all those who had been so dear to me, for a foreign clime. I felt as though my heart would break but I dare not encourage it. We ‘lifted’ our anchor at 3.30 p.m. & as dear Rachel & Mr. Reith got on board the little tender, the ‘Medway’ moved quietly away – I started my first trip across the Atlantic. Wind rather fresh & my feelings far from so. [I love that sentence.] We reached the ‘Needles’ at 5.30 where our pilot left us. By this time dinner was ready. I had no sooner seated myself at the table, than I had to rise & go to my cabin. I was so ill. (I had the cabin all to myself). I lay there prostrate, more dead than alive, not caring for anything. I tried to get up on Monday but was only too thankful to tumble in again. However, I succeeded on Tuesday & went in to dinner for the first time. I soon began to get my strength back again.

Among the passengers, numbering about 80 in the Saloon and 14 or 15 children, there are some 16 ladies, two brides & bridegrooms, two twice chosen wives & ‘half a bride’ as I am described. The ‘Swells’ on board include Lord Combermere & his son, Major-Gen. McNeil, K.C.B., Col. Nugent, the Governor of Grenada & Dr. Freeland (the gentleman whom George has been acting for while on his visit to England), his wife & little girl. They are taking out an assistant, Dr. Davis & his wife, just two weeks married. She is a very nice person & we have become great friends. They always wait for me every where they go & will live about ¾ of an hour’s drive from ‘Longlane’ (my home to be). Then there is a Dr. Boyd and his wife, also newly married, who are going to St Vincent; Mr. Musson & his nephew have just been on a visit to England & are going back to Barbados. Mr. Goodhard, a very nice gentleman (on a pleasure trip for two months) always takes me in to dinner. We have a very nice company at our table. Mr Bicknell is retired & travels about for pleasure. He is also an astronomer & very clever, & has with him a great number of splendid instruments.

We have had marvellous weather, the passage being the driest on record for the time of year though the ship rolls greatly.

We have splendid living on board – a cup of tea in bed at 6 o’clock in the morning; then breakfast at 9 o’clock with three or four courses, & always potatoes; then dinner at 5 o’clock with eight or nine courses & tea at half past seven. Nothing but sleeping, eating & lounging about. There are very few people on board writing a ‘diary’, strange to say you can scarcely settle your mind to write on board ship, & besides it rolls so, the pen always seems inclined to slide right down the paper.

I wonder how all the dear ones at home are – if they could only see me in my little cabin. My port is open & I can hear the water splashing up against the ship. My thoughts are far away – cannot write more today.

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Back to school

I don't know if you remember, but way back last August, I enrolled to do a Masters in Christian Ministry. I've just completed the first year. It's the big casualty of our move back to the UK. I would love to finish it, not only for the content per se, but also for the sense of achievement that would be. I have occasionally fantasised about graduating - gown, hat, certificate, that kind of thing - and it's always felt good.

People here ask if I can transfer the credits and finish in a university in Britain, but I don't think British universities are open to that kind of credit trading (I may be wrong here). They then look at me with a "wot?" expression on their faces, because that is so very standard over here. But credit transfer or no credit transfer, I am hoping to continue in some shape or form. The city we will be living in has a university known for its theology department, and I'm hoping they will have me. The only question is whether to try and sneak in this autumn (which feels rather overwhelming), or to take a year to settle, focus on the family, and apply for next year, giving myself time to think more carefully about what area of theology I want to engage with, and to do lots of preparatory reading. I think I've just answered that question for myself.

Husband is enjoying having a nascent theologian in the family. I use words like 'theodicy' and 'post-modern' quite a bit, and have opinions on the way the Enlightment has affected the church. I no longer say things like "I suppose God might be a Trinity, but who knows? and why would it be important anyway?" (though hmmm... my old self did have a good point, come to think of it...).

I started the course (you may remember) with the attitude of "well, this might be fun, and you never know where something may lead, and I can always drop out if I don't like it". I was wondering if I should get a job instead. I'm so glad I tried the Masters, though. It's been like a door opening into an intriguing new world. I have struggled with some things. It hasn't been an easy ride at all. I have found some of the ideas difficult to grasp, I have discovered strong and uncomfortable opinions I didn't know I held, I've not always found my classmates easy to be alongside. But... I have loved it. I have loved going out on a Monday evening and leaving everything else behind (bad timing, though, Monday evening). I have loved the intellectual challenge. I have loved the confidence that comes with having to give class presentations. I have loved rediscovering rusty academic abilities. All those skills developed of old, which have laid dormant for 25 years - they're all still there. It was like meeting old friends. For example, I couldn't think of a conclusion for one essay I was doing, so I simply typed the sub-title "Conclusion" above the last paragraph I'd written, and ta-da, job was done. I found I'd said all I wanted to say, and had already summed it up adequately. Then I thought to myself "oh yes, I remember that old trick now". See? An old friend.

I could write at length about the topics I've covered, but you might be tempted to insert "Conclusion" before long, so I'll keep it brief. One of the really great things about the course is that it gives students a lot of freedom to pursue our individual interests - you'll see that in each of the four classes I've taken.

Church History
I thought this would be dull and boring, but, as I wrote on the course evaluation, "I have discovered my inner church historian". It makes so much sense of present day situations, if you have even a very scant knowledge of the history of the faith. For my paper on the topic of my choice, I wrote about the Crusades and Modern Day Guilt. Correct me if I'm wrong, but Christian/Muslim relations are going to be increasingly important in the century we've just begun, and I feel that the Christian church in Europe has a deep sense of guilt over the Crusades that somehow stands as an invisible block. So I looked at the whole topic of whether you can apologise for wrongs carried out in past generations. I discovered that there have been attempts by groups of Christians to do just that, and plenty of historians who say that the Crusades were such a mess, over so long a period of time, that it's impossible to say who should apologise to whom. I also discovered a rather fascinating 13th century theologian, called Ramon Llull, who wins the prize for having the most L's in a 5-letter surname, and who would be an excellent PhD subject, because he lived in Majorca, and of course any serious research into his life and writings would necessitate several lengthy trips.

Leadership 
I'm not in any position of church leadership, so I didn't think this would be terribly relevant to me, but a lot of it was about the development of personal spirituality, and so it was. Terribly relevant. I did a rather zappy presentation (though I say it myself), with photos and youtube clips, on Women and Body Image. I based it on two texts which had nothing to do with church or religion, but tried to think about how good theology could, and should, enable women to feel better about their bodies. We do not HAVE bodies; we ARE bodies. Why do we all fall victim to the idea that there is a perfect standard to which we should attain? What can we do about the fact that most women feel their bodies are so un-perfect? I can't remember how I tied that into "leadership", but as I said, the course is pretty flexible in that way.

Basic Theology
Yes, well, in my opinion there is nothing basic about theology, so that's an oxymoron right there before we've even started. My special topic was the Problem of Evil (Guilt and the Crusades, Women and Body Image, the Problem of Evil... I am nothing if not ambitious in my choice of topics). I didn't reach any conclusion on that thorny old problem of why an omnipotent, all-good God would allow evil and suffering in the world, but I had a pretty good canter round the course. I still think that if I was God, I'd have done things a bit differently, but, well, I'm not. And I guess God knows what he's doing. I sat in on one of Husband's undergrad classes, which was fun.

Dimensions of Worship
Ooh, this was fun. We had to go to worship service in two churches outside our own tradition, and then reflect and write on the experience. I went to the Eastern Orthodox Cathedral in town, which was beautiful, and an Episcopal service, beautiful in a different way. If I'd had more time (wasn't getting the house ready to sell, dealing with the prospect of an international move, single-parenting while Husband was away), I would have made the effort to venture further outside my comfort zone. I wanted to go to the church of the African American pastor who came to speak to the class, and respond with a vigorous "Ay-men" after each and every one of his sentences (can't you just see me?). Maybe I'll have time over the summer to do that, before we leave. There was a section on the Arts in Worship, and (for all the aforementioned reasons), I cheated, by digging out an old blog post - one which I'm very fond of, actually - imagining Jesus paying a visit to the toy shop where I work, and trying to recast it as a drama skit. I'm embarrassed even just writing that, and it didn't work very well at all, but it achieved my main objective which was to do with being brave, and speed rather than quality. Oh, and I also did a presentation on Food and Worship, in which I looked at the totally dysfunctional relationship our culture has with food. And gave everyone Ghiradelli dark chocolate to eat.


So there we are. Doing the MA was one of the best decisions that I've made. As I said in an email to the Prof in charge of the course, "It has been fun and exciting, opened new windows for me, challenged me, nurtured me, given me confidence, and enriched my life". It also taught me that sometimes the best decisions are ones that don't seem to make a huge amount of sense, and you're not sure why you're making them. Hurrah for randomness in life. And maybe it isn't randomness. 

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Finest parenting moments

The other day, at dinner, 11-yo stood up, in order better to access his trouser pocket, and grinning, fished a many-times-folded piece of paper out. He handed it to me, and it took a while to unpeel the layers. When I did so, I recognised the homework I'd helped him type out the night before. 


Fifth Grade had been set the task of writing a poem, titled Springtime. He'd done that, and then a couple of evenings later, they'd been given back their texts, and asked to type them out - for display purposes. When he sat down at the computer, it was late, he was tired, and I thought the point of the assignment was creative writing rather than typing practice, so I said I'd type it for him. It took me no time at all (I'm a touch typer).


Ladies and Gentleman, for your delectation and delight, here is the poem that he submitted to his teacher, (which describes his memories of his grandmother's garden).

Springtime

By 11-yo

When I look outside my window, I see lush green grass and tall trees. I see purple flowers with yellow and red. There are pink blossoms in the trees and thorns on the branches. There is a vine of colourful flowers climbing down the brick wall of the house.

Sometimes there are rabbits, birds, squirrels, and deer. I can see the farm next door, and hear the cows mooing. There are young sparrows chirping in the tall trees.

The sky is blue and speckled with puffy shit clouds, and birds flying high in the air. The sun is shining with puffs of wind swaying the tree branches.

One word had been circled by the teacher, with the comment "oops" written above. Have you spotted it? Luckily, she has a good sense of humour, and thought it was very funny. She made it into a joke between herself and 11-yo, not to be shared with the rest of the class, and she and he had a good laugh privately about it (you have to remember that Americans are much more offended by this kind of bad language than Brits, so this is a much bigger deal here). When she and I emailed about it, she said that actually, what had amused her most was that when she first pointed it out to 11-yo, he told her I'd "helped him" type it, rather than saying I'd typed it. Which only goes to show that as an exercise in choosing words carefully, the poetry homework had served its purpose.

And here's a little secret addendum to the story, between you, and me, and 11-yo, which I didn't confess to his teacher. I originally typed it as puffy shite clouds, noticed, had a laugh with 11-yo, and then corrected it. But I wasn't paying attention, and my subconscious obviously spotted an opportunity for a bit of a joke at the expense of my conscious. Damn you, Subconscious, though I like your style.

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