[Quite apart from the fact that I have turned American and write math instead of maths :-( ]
Actually, the transition from maths to met is quite a pleasant one. I can now perfectly permissibly get excited about clouds, even if they aren't displaying kelvin-helmholtz instability; look up satellite images of hurricanes; and a significant proportion of my study seems to bear relation to everyday, real phenomena. Add to all that that I got to go on a FIELD TRIP; a real field trip, where I could wear my hideous yet warm ensemble of outwear gear, thus adding to my sister's possible reason's to disown me, and prance along the Dorset coast whirling meteorological instruments around my head and watching boys let off weather balloons (we girls lost out because 1) the boys were eager and 2)the boys were taller and less likely to pop said balloon on a spiky tree).
However, certain aspects of this whole application malarkey are rather upsetting.
For example, I am, for the first time in my life, the owner of my very own scientific calculator. Why?
Well, at GCSE and below, my poxy non scientific one coped (I still own it, and it has breakout 2004 stickers on it and my name in orange nail varnish). At ALevel I got to borrow a school graphical one, and learn to draw smily faces for my friends/teachers/self. As for undergraduate, there were two types of maths.
1) we don't need numbers, silly numbers, it's all about defining things, or manipulating things, or whatever, but we can generally survive without things so ridiculous as 7.9346x10^-4.
2) If we did need numbers, say to analyse a physical model, or a clever expression of pi, we wrote a PROGRAMME which did it for us (or a programme which spent eternity trying to compile and then exploded in a puff of smoke, but the point remains).
[this is an awful awful explanation of why I didn't need a calculator, but I didn't].
So, to the question 'you're a mathematician, can I borrow a calculator?' you could answer smugly 'no, ask a physicist' or 'no, ask an engineer'.
But no longer. while my brain can do division and multiplication and the like, it's not quite up to exponentials and logarithms (if yours is, I suggest you check that you aren't actually a computer.) and quite a lot of meteorological expressions seem to contain these pesky things. So I just spent £10 that could have been spent on
1)cake
2)cake
3)cake
...
(the veggie frenzy passed)
on a calculator.
But it is new and shiny, so I guess I can find it exciting for a short while.
Tuesday 9 November 2010
and that is why they call me Decaff...
Ah, it was inevitable, really. I'd lasted a whole month. Not a whole month of conning my coursemates into thinking I was quiet, submissive and comprehensible, admittedly (we played monopoly which put paid to the 'submissive'); but a month without any particular hyperactivity. I've noted before, in fact, that my response to caffeine doesn't seem to be at all predictable; sometimes mugs of it have no effect at all.
But take today, for example. 8 hours sleep (somewhat rubbish sleep, I admit, I kept waking up for some reason); nice big breakfast (bacon and eggs and crumpets- yes i have shed some of the Belize pounds, so I've decided bacon and eggs is permissible); no reason for the dormant caffeine monster to emerge. But emerge it did. I think i was my first mug of the morning too- I arrived in the department, only to discover our lecture was cancelled. I had a tutorial an hour later so went and got a coffee (15p!) and sat with some friends.
Well, I say sat. I was more kinda bouncing. and singing about biscuits (of zazzamarandabo- if you get the reference, sing along, and if you don't, check out silly songs with larry on youtube. singing cucumbers, yes yes yes), and belting out a bit of 'Poison' by Alice Cooper (who my friend said 'isn't really metal, more like boyzone'. Turns out he meant boy george...), and generally just being caffeinated. Hopefully no world renowned meteorologists walked behind me while I was boinging up and down.
In case anyone doesn't know, they DO call me decaff. it's my nickname on the support stewarding team at Greenbelt Festival, and it arose as a warning against anyone who should choose to give me coffee, after a certain late night when I got a little bit excited about the Wesley brothers to my team leaders...
But take today, for example. 8 hours sleep (somewhat rubbish sleep, I admit, I kept waking up for some reason); nice big breakfast (bacon and eggs and crumpets- yes i have shed some of the Belize pounds, so I've decided bacon and eggs is permissible); no reason for the dormant caffeine monster to emerge. But emerge it did. I think i was my first mug of the morning too- I arrived in the department, only to discover our lecture was cancelled. I had a tutorial an hour later so went and got a coffee (15p!) and sat with some friends.
Well, I say sat. I was more kinda bouncing. and singing about biscuits (of zazzamarandabo- if you get the reference, sing along, and if you don't, check out silly songs with larry on youtube. singing cucumbers, yes yes yes), and belting out a bit of 'Poison' by Alice Cooper (who my friend said 'isn't really metal, more like boyzone'. Turns out he meant boy george...), and generally just being caffeinated. Hopefully no world renowned meteorologists walked behind me while I was boinging up and down.
In case anyone doesn't know, they DO call me decaff. it's my nickname on the support stewarding team at Greenbelt Festival, and it arose as a warning against anyone who should choose to give me coffee, after a certain late night when I got a little bit excited about the Wesley brothers to my team leaders...
Sunday 17 October 2010
Los Vegetatbles
(No, I didn't learn Spanish)
Hello everyone!
I am, as you may have picked up, no longer in Belize, but rather in Reading, Berkshire, UK, being a styowdent again and trying to make sure that
t(working) > t(coxing)+t(climbing)+t(singing)+t(at church)+t(other assorted activities)
Generally the thought is that one of the times on the left hand side needs to vanish to zero, probably coxing or climbing or singing, but it's all too fun. So more anon.
Meanwhile, I am settling into my house and in an attempt to budget I am determined to Never Buy Food Out. And also to Be Healthy. So on Monday, I trundled off to Morrison's (I would shop at the little fruit and veg stall next door, but it's not the best stuff and very overpriced so I thought I'd try the supermarket.) Sadly, I hadn't really made a list, so I did the Vegetarian version of shopping-when-you're-hungry (I'm not vegetarian by the way, I just had a bit of a veggie fit).
So, when I arrived home from Morrison's (a good mile's walk by the way), I had, among other things:-
2.5 kg of potatoes
1 aubergine
1 butternut squash
1 courgette
750g of mushrooms (I still have mushroom withdrawal symptoms for six months without them)
celery (Who BUYS that. Like, seriously? CELERY)
three tomatoes
one onion (clearly insufficient onion)
broccoli (remind self: I DO NOT REALLY LIKE BROCCOLI)
spinach
also, four (rubbish will not ripen) kiwis, five (fairly traded but entirely inedible) oranges, and six (UK, but also not remotely ripe) plums.
Therefore, the past week, when I have not had too much studying to do, I have been mostly trying to cook all these vegetables into freezable form (because that's a LOT of vegetables and vegetables tend to go sad). They are nearly gone, except some spinach, the celery (obviously), two tomatoes, half the aubergine, and NEARLY ALL THE POTATOES. And I LOVE the potatoes. I was actually quite proud of some of the food I produced, including mushroom carbonara, vegetable curry (with help from patak's), tuna and tomato pasta, and roast vegetables with goat's cheese. I should add that another small motivation to this epic cooking spree was that one of my housemates is from Mauritius and she and her friends cook up delicious meals like chick pea curries every night, and then offer me some, and I feel quite a bit self conscious if I then whip out the Fish Fingers and Potato Waffles courtesy of Captain Bird's Eye.
I should also add a small note about Take That. This week I have been listening to the radio again, and find myself both singing along to 'Robbie and Gary' (oh DEAR, they rhyme bus with toys 'r' us), and, after only ONE LISTEN, humming The Flood ALL DAY. The Flood has the added bonus of being accompanied by a video featuring Take That 'rowing'. Sadly, however
1) they are not in lycra, but old fashioned stuff
2) (which supercedes 1), they all look rather old, and not terribly fetching in rowing kit...
3) (which supercedes both the above) THEY CANNOT ROW. Anyone who's ever done a fair bit of rowing will identify with being a little bit dead on the inside when they witness Awful Rowing Technique, but the video cheats a little, in that you see a nice Zoom In View of Howard's left wrist (a few metres above his right wrist, because that's how you row, clearly), or of Mark's Face (who looked particularly pained), or of Gary (who's just preoccupied singing, which probably doesn't help his technique, although it might keep him Loose And Relaxed I suppose) or whatever, and it all looks painful and you're surprised the boat is upright, and then it zooms out and you see a 5X (a non-existent boat prior to now, I should point out) rowing perfectly down the Thames. I'm not entirely convinced that all of Take That were actually in a boat at the same time...
However, despite all this, I am still rather happy that Take That decided to make a video with rowing in. Although it would have been better if they'd just stood round the boat house (mine, preferably) singing and paid some national (preferably attractive) champions to do the rowing properly.
Anyway. Take That rant over.
Time to go and forecast the weather...
x
Hello everyone!
I am, as you may have picked up, no longer in Belize, but rather in Reading, Berkshire, UK, being a styowdent again and trying to make sure that
t(working) > t(coxing)+t(climbing)+t(singing)+t(at church)+t(other assorted activities)
Generally the thought is that one of the times on the left hand side needs to vanish to zero, probably coxing or climbing or singing, but it's all too fun. So more anon.
Meanwhile, I am settling into my house and in an attempt to budget I am determined to Never Buy Food Out. And also to Be Healthy. So on Monday, I trundled off to Morrison's (I would shop at the little fruit and veg stall next door, but it's not the best stuff and very overpriced so I thought I'd try the supermarket.) Sadly, I hadn't really made a list, so I did the Vegetarian version of shopping-when-you're-hungry (I'm not vegetarian by the way, I just had a bit of a veggie fit).
So, when I arrived home from Morrison's (a good mile's walk by the way), I had, among other things:-
2.5 kg of potatoes
1 aubergine
1 butternut squash
1 courgette
750g of mushrooms (I still have mushroom withdrawal symptoms for six months without them)
celery (Who BUYS that. Like, seriously? CELERY)
three tomatoes
one onion (clearly insufficient onion)
broccoli (remind self: I DO NOT REALLY LIKE BROCCOLI)
spinach
also, four (rubbish will not ripen) kiwis, five (fairly traded but entirely inedible) oranges, and six (UK, but also not remotely ripe) plums.
Therefore, the past week, when I have not had too much studying to do, I have been mostly trying to cook all these vegetables into freezable form (because that's a LOT of vegetables and vegetables tend to go sad). They are nearly gone, except some spinach, the celery (obviously), two tomatoes, half the aubergine, and NEARLY ALL THE POTATOES. And I LOVE the potatoes. I was actually quite proud of some of the food I produced, including mushroom carbonara, vegetable curry (with help from patak's), tuna and tomato pasta, and roast vegetables with goat's cheese. I should add that another small motivation to this epic cooking spree was that one of my housemates is from Mauritius and she and her friends cook up delicious meals like chick pea curries every night, and then offer me some, and I feel quite a bit self conscious if I then whip out the Fish Fingers and Potato Waffles courtesy of Captain Bird's Eye.
I should also add a small note about Take That. This week I have been listening to the radio again, and find myself both singing along to 'Robbie and Gary' (oh DEAR, they rhyme bus with toys 'r' us), and, after only ONE LISTEN, humming The Flood ALL DAY. The Flood has the added bonus of being accompanied by a video featuring Take That 'rowing'. Sadly, however
1) they are not in lycra, but old fashioned stuff
2) (which supercedes 1), they all look rather old, and not terribly fetching in rowing kit...
3) (which supercedes both the above) THEY CANNOT ROW. Anyone who's ever done a fair bit of rowing will identify with being a little bit dead on the inside when they witness Awful Rowing Technique, but the video cheats a little, in that you see a nice Zoom In View of Howard's left wrist (a few metres above his right wrist, because that's how you row, clearly), or of Mark's Face (who looked particularly pained), or of Gary (who's just preoccupied singing, which probably doesn't help his technique, although it might keep him Loose And Relaxed I suppose) or whatever, and it all looks painful and you're surprised the boat is upright, and then it zooms out and you see a 5X (a non-existent boat prior to now, I should point out) rowing perfectly down the Thames. I'm not entirely convinced that all of Take That were actually in a boat at the same time...
However, despite all this, I am still rather happy that Take That decided to make a video with rowing in. Although it would have been better if they'd just stood round the boat house (mine, preferably) singing and paid some national (preferably attractive) champions to do the rowing properly.
Anyway. Take That rant over.
Time to go and forecast the weather...
x
Wednesday 1 September 2010
I don't Belize it: Beer Pong, Barnacles, and Book worms
I feel this entry shouldn't go in the I-work-for-the-church page as it contains mention of Alcoholic Beverage, and indeed, consumption of alcoholic beverage. But in this respect I am not my father's daughter (my first words in Spanish, uttered the other week, were 'dos cervesas por favor') and therefore my Methodism/Christianity permits moderate such activity.
SO,
on my weekend down in Stann Creek I was introduced by some lovely new American friends to the concept of Beer Pong, which either my incredible good behaviour, or my choice of friends, or my Englishness has thus far sheltered me from. I won more than I lost, and I claim that the credit for this is fairly equally shared with my playing partner.
Post beer pong the four of us remaining went for a swim in the sea and attempted to clamber onto the dock. Alas the (lack of) upper body strength of myself and the other female present made this quite a struggle and (although she did manage it and I didn't) we both ended up with legs ripped up by barnacles . We tried to come up with a believable story to explain these cuts including being mauled by a jaguar which we wrestled to the ground with our bare hands... but for some reason, it wasn't very believable.
My other discovery of the week was to find bookworms (apparently a misnomer, but they were worms burrowing through a book) in an edition of Winnie the Pooh, which I had opened to recite in an English accent when my American friends were chatting about my accent (which they do a lot). I am rather sad they'd chosen this particular book, but the patterns they make are admirabe and rather aesthetically pleasing, so long as you can't see the worms themselves.
SO,
on my weekend down in Stann Creek I was introduced by some lovely new American friends to the concept of Beer Pong, which either my incredible good behaviour, or my choice of friends, or my Englishness has thus far sheltered me from. I won more than I lost, and I claim that the credit for this is fairly equally shared with my playing partner.
Post beer pong the four of us remaining went for a swim in the sea and attempted to clamber onto the dock. Alas the (lack of) upper body strength of myself and the other female present made this quite a struggle and (although she did manage it and I didn't) we both ended up with legs ripped up by barnacles . We tried to come up with a believable story to explain these cuts including being mauled by a jaguar which we wrestled to the ground with our bare hands... but for some reason, it wasn't very believable.
My other discovery of the week was to find bookworms (apparently a misnomer, but they were worms burrowing through a book) in an edition of Winnie the Pooh, which I had opened to recite in an English accent when my American friends were chatting about my accent (which they do a lot). I am rather sad they'd chosen this particular book, but the patterns they make are admirabe and rather aesthetically pleasing, so long as you can't see the worms themselves.
Monday 2 August 2010
The British Broadcasting Corporation, English Accents and English humour
I seem to be mostly squawking about England at the moment...
Anyway, I caught the BBC world news from the world service today. And I thought, did English people on the radio really talk like this? Do English people full stop talk like this? The fact that I mostly listened to radio 1 might be part of it, but I'm sure even the Today Programme wasn't that posh... maybe they put their distinctive accents on the World Service.
Anyway, I then listened to radio 1 and Matt Edmondson which sounded much more like I remember English people talking (even though I lived for years in Exeter and then went to University in Cambridge...) I also found it very amusing; obviously there is something in English 'humour' although I can't define what I mean.
I am however listening to radio 1 on "listen again" and keep forgetting the fact it's not actually happening right now (and that I'm in another country anyway) and thinking 'ooh i could text in with such and such...' Although the times I've sent a text into a radio show could be numbered on one hand of Bart Simpson.
Anyway, I caught the BBC world news from the world service today. And I thought, did English people on the radio really talk like this? Do English people full stop talk like this? The fact that I mostly listened to radio 1 might be part of it, but I'm sure even the Today Programme wasn't that posh... maybe they put their distinctive accents on the World Service.
Anyway, I then listened to radio 1 and Matt Edmondson which sounded much more like I remember English people talking (even though I lived for years in Exeter and then went to University in Cambridge...) I also found it very amusing; obviously there is something in English 'humour' although I can't define what I mean.
I am however listening to radio 1 on "listen again" and keep forgetting the fact it's not actually happening right now (and that I'm in another country anyway) and thinking 'ooh i could text in with such and such...' Although the times I've sent a text into a radio show could be numbered on one hand of Bart Simpson.
Friday 16 July 2010
Marks and Spencers
This weekend I have to sing at a wedding, and since I did not have the foresight to pack Standard Concert Clothing (smart black and white and covered, pretty black shoes) I had to take a trip down Albert St, the hub of Belize City shopping, to find suitable shoes. I managed, although my big feet meant I couldn't find any heels, but anyway, this is beside the point. I was with a Belizean friend, and found myself, as we browsed, telling her about the wonders of, yes, Marks and Spencers (she has lived in the States so Big Stores are a familiar concept but M&S is not. Poor Americans).
Having been thinking about how I miss M&S, I happened to read the blog of someone I knew at University who's been in Cameroon doing VSO, and although our experiences are incomparable on all other scores, I found her saying that she can't wait to visit M&S on her return to England for the summer. Now, her missing of it is probably more acute than mine, since I have Brodies down the road which is a general all-purpose store, which plays Amy Grant and sells most things you could want, including Patak's curry sauce if you're prepared to pay about £6 for it, which funnily enough I'm not. (I rarely go to Brodies since it costs too much). Yet I was still able to giggle at the English love for M&S.
In other news, I have earache, which I'm hoping doesn't develop into anything nasty, and some new 'pants' (american use of the word!)
Having been thinking about how I miss M&S, I happened to read the blog of someone I knew at University who's been in Cameroon doing VSO, and although our experiences are incomparable on all other scores, I found her saying that she can't wait to visit M&S on her return to England for the summer. Now, her missing of it is probably more acute than mine, since I have Brodies down the road which is a general all-purpose store, which plays Amy Grant and sells most things you could want, including Patak's curry sauce if you're prepared to pay about £6 for it, which funnily enough I'm not. (I rarely go to Brodies since it costs too much). Yet I was still able to giggle at the English love for M&S.
In other news, I have earache, which I'm hoping doesn't develop into anything nasty, and some new 'pants' (american use of the word!)
Monday 10 May 2010
a taste of England
Spent a weekend down in Stann Creek district, primarily to deliver a workshop on developing children and youth work (Maggie delivered it; I wrote things on paper). However, we took the opportunity for a spot of sight seeing. We were first given a tour around Dangriga, by two standard six students, one of whom could muster the most perfect Received Pronunciation accent, which we really should have recorded; I felt like I had a sat nav, only better!!!
We then popped down to Hopkins, a small village by the sea along an unpaved road, and spent a night there to give Maggie some time off and me some more sightseeing opportunity. It turned out it was 'English pub night', since its management was an English lady, so we had Fish and Chips and I had a can of Strongbow (I felt I couldn't pass by the chance of cider, however rubbish)! What with the election chat, it was a positively English evening. Except the lovely heat, the hot sea breeze and the pool...
On Sunday morning the English lady gave us a tour of the much more upmarket places next door, which were truly beautiful. She told me I now have the perfect location for my honeymoon; guess I just need a groom and some money, then...
The drive back took us through mountains, so I now have itchy feet for some walking!
We then popped down to Hopkins, a small village by the sea along an unpaved road, and spent a night there to give Maggie some time off and me some more sightseeing opportunity. It turned out it was 'English pub night', since its management was an English lady, so we had Fish and Chips and I had a can of Strongbow (I felt I couldn't pass by the chance of cider, however rubbish)! What with the election chat, it was a positively English evening. Except the lovely heat, the hot sea breeze and the pool...
On Sunday morning the English lady gave us a tour of the much more upmarket places next door, which were truly beautiful. She told me I now have the perfect location for my honeymoon; guess I just need a groom and some money, then...
The drive back took us through mountains, so I now have itchy feet for some walking!
Wednesday 5 May 2010
on the merits or otherwise of paul scholes as a holding midfielder
this isn't about football, I promise! More about cultural heritage (which happens, just sometimes, to be football).
As mentioned, I spent the weekend on caye caulker, and hanging out in a hostel, met various travellers. Where I was staying seemed to have a majority of mainland Europeans and Australians, but I also met some English guys (and girls, but mostly guys) with whom I fairly promptly entered into a discussion about football. In fact, I was mostly listening, but did make at least one intelligent comment (well, I was complimented for it, but men can compliment you for knowing the names of any player beyond beckham, so this doesn't say much). Anyway, it was very refreshing to talk about football- and not just to talk about football, but to talk about football to blokes from Hull over a beer.
Which I claim, by a stretch of the imagination, to be something to do with cultural heritage.
As mentioned, I spent the weekend on caye caulker, and hanging out in a hostel, met various travellers. Where I was staying seemed to have a majority of mainland Europeans and Australians, but I also met some English guys (and girls, but mostly guys) with whom I fairly promptly entered into a discussion about football. In fact, I was mostly listening, but did make at least one intelligent comment (well, I was complimented for it, but men can compliment you for knowing the names of any player beyond beckham, so this doesn't say much). Anyway, it was very refreshing to talk about football- and not just to talk about football, but to talk about football to blokes from Hull over a beer.
Which I claim, by a stretch of the imagination, to be something to do with cultural heritage.
ooooooh heaven is a place on earth
and it's called caye caulker
(sorry to be blasphemous)
Anyway, I took a few days off for a trip out to caye caulker, which I have heard much raving about, and didn't believe could be as good as promised. However, despite loving to insist I'm an inland girl really, and prefer rocks and mountains and waterfalls and mountain streams to islands... I may be addicted. the island is a few miles long, and mostly narrower than one mile. It is three minutes on a boat from the barrier reef, and in every way wonderful. It's quite a travellers hideout but there's still a strong local presence with churches and a school, and in my experience, just really welcoming. Went snorkelling, saw stingrays and at least one nurse shark (which collided with my leg) and a barracuda (I think). Watched the sunset, twice. Swam in the sea. Read a lot. Met random travellers. Got the wanderlust!
lovely.
(sorry to be blasphemous)
Anyway, I took a few days off for a trip out to caye caulker, which I have heard much raving about, and didn't believe could be as good as promised. However, despite loving to insist I'm an inland girl really, and prefer rocks and mountains and waterfalls and mountain streams to islands... I may be addicted. the island is a few miles long, and mostly narrower than one mile. It is three minutes on a boat from the barrier reef, and in every way wonderful. It's quite a travellers hideout but there's still a strong local presence with churches and a school, and in my experience, just really welcoming. Went snorkelling, saw stingrays and at least one nurse shark (which collided with my leg) and a barracuda (I think). Watched the sunset, twice. Swam in the sea. Read a lot. Met random travellers. Got the wanderlust!
lovely.
Thursday 29 April 2010
Whether the weather be hot...
Or whether the weather be...hot.
I am unbelievably relieved today that the seemingly unbearable heat of the last few days (I've been mooching around like a particularly grumpy sloth), we have had a HYOWGE storm and the humidity at least has given way. Our thermometer still reads 29 but I feel positively cool.
Loving it
x
I am unbelievably relieved today that the seemingly unbearable heat of the last few days (I've been mooching around like a particularly grumpy sloth), we have had a HYOWGE storm and the humidity at least has given way. Our thermometer still reads 29 but I feel positively cool.
Loving it
x
Monday 26 April 2010
ketchup
Prepare to be AMAZED:-
I may be cured of my ketchup phobia. I am happily munching at burgers and sandwiches with red sauce known as 'ketchup' within them (I can't say I positively like it, but it's OK).
In my defence (I am unwilling to accept that I have been making a fuss about nothing for nearly two decades) it is not Heinz tomato ketchup and is, by all accounts, very different. It is much thinner for one thing. So my Issues with Heinz tomato ketchup remain; it remains to be seen whether they have lessened.
In any case, the necessity of being polite does away with many of one's dislikes; I can now cope with coleslaw (although again, Belizean coleslaw, which is different from English coleslaw.)
I may be cured of my ketchup phobia. I am happily munching at burgers and sandwiches with red sauce known as 'ketchup' within them (I can't say I positively like it, but it's OK).
In my defence (I am unwilling to accept that I have been making a fuss about nothing for nearly two decades) it is not Heinz tomato ketchup and is, by all accounts, very different. It is much thinner for one thing. So my Issues with Heinz tomato ketchup remain; it remains to be seen whether they have lessened.
In any case, the necessity of being polite does away with many of one's dislikes; I can now cope with coleslaw (although again, Belizean coleslaw, which is different from English coleslaw.)
Sunday 18 April 2010
praise choruses
I apologise if this post is exclusive. It relies on, among other things, some emotional relationship to 'shine jesus shine', whatever this relationship may be. In my case is is a relationship akin to that shared with parents (love, memories, nostalgia, embarrassment, tradition and irritation. To name but a few.)
Praise choruses make up a big part of worship here, whether in school devotions or Sunday services, and generally there is enough variety in them, and they are sung in a sufficiently vibrant and worshipful manner, that they avoid the 'embarrassment' (lets have a song for the CHILDREN) and 'irritation' (turn around with me, we've only been doing it for an hour) stages and are genuinely conducive to worship.
Yet 'tradition' does become a sticking point.
What do you do when no-one does special claps at all between the "shine on me's" (either the northern[?] clapclap-clapclap, OR the southern[?] clapclapclap-clap)?
What do you do when no-one joins you in "nyene kwenkos"ing in siyahamba.
(or indeed, when it is introduced as 'sighahamba', and, when corrected, excused with a 'I don't speak French'. But that could happen to any individual. It just made me laugh.)
What do you do when "Our God is a Good God" is no longer a song of trying to sing thirty plus goods (occasionally with a whole different song being sung by the other half of your choir, courtesy of MIB.)? And what do you do when you've already launched confidentally into the version you know in conflict with thirty schoolchildren singing the version THEY know, all because you were so excited to find a song you (thought) you knew?
What do you do when "Cast your burdens" has an added (and misleading for the younguns who it may well lead to consider Jesus as merely Superman) verse which goes 'super super, super super super, super super super, supernatural power?
There are also occasional choruses with theologically dubious words; such as one which declares "I wish I had a great big box to put the devil in, I'd take him out and stamp him down and put him back again. I wish I had a GREAT BIG box to put my Saviour in. I'd take him out and MWAH MWAH MWAH and share him with my friends." I am VERY glad to say this is the exception rather than the rule, and actually is generally confined to the classroom and not church! Most of them are very good, and I might post the lyrics of some of my favourites at a later date.
Meanwhile, here is the congregation at Corozal doing actions to 'I looked down the road and I wondered, how far I am from God? So I buckled up my shoes and I started to run, my journey back to God. And now I am happy rejoicing, rejoicing in the Lord.'
Praise choruses make up a big part of worship here, whether in school devotions or Sunday services, and generally there is enough variety in them, and they are sung in a sufficiently vibrant and worshipful manner, that they avoid the 'embarrassment' (lets have a song for the CHILDREN) and 'irritation' (turn around with me, we've only been doing it for an hour) stages and are genuinely conducive to worship.
Yet 'tradition' does become a sticking point.
What do you do when no-one does special claps at all between the "shine on me's" (either the northern[?] clapclap-clapclap, OR the southern[?] clapclapclap-clap)?
What do you do when no-one joins you in "nyene kwenkos"ing in siyahamba.
(or indeed, when it is introduced as 'sighahamba', and, when corrected, excused with a 'I don't speak French'. But that could happen to any individual. It just made me laugh.)
What do you do when "Our God is a Good God" is no longer a song of trying to sing thirty plus goods (occasionally with a whole different song being sung by the other half of your choir, courtesy of MIB.)? And what do you do when you've already launched confidentally into the version you know in conflict with thirty schoolchildren singing the version THEY know, all because you were so excited to find a song you (thought) you knew?
What do you do when "Cast your burdens" has an added (and misleading for the younguns who it may well lead to consider Jesus as merely Superman) verse which goes 'super super, super super super, super super super, supernatural power?
There are also occasional choruses with theologically dubious words; such as one which declares "I wish I had a great big box to put the devil in, I'd take him out and stamp him down and put him back again. I wish I had a GREAT BIG box to put my Saviour in. I'd take him out and MWAH MWAH MWAH and share him with my friends." I am VERY glad to say this is the exception rather than the rule, and actually is generally confined to the classroom and not church! Most of them are very good, and I might post the lyrics of some of my favourites at a later date.
Meanwhile, here is the congregation at Corozal doing actions to 'I looked down the road and I wondered, how far I am from God? So I buckled up my shoes and I started to run, my journey back to God. And now I am happy rejoicing, rejoicing in the Lord.'
Saturday 17 April 2010
Storms
I am developing my theory, that you can tell a lot about a person by what they do in a rainstorm.
It's actually the dry season here at the moment, but it's not the kind of area where dry season implies no rain ever, or wet season implies constant rain. On Friday night I went to dinner with some American Jesuit volunteers living in the city, having met only one of them. I had a really good evening, but shortly after dinner the power started going out, making regular flashes of lightning in the distant sky more obvious. Discussions in the dark revealed, to my delight, that I am not the only person in the city who wants to run around the streets whenever it starts raining. However, I decided it would be smart to go home before the rain got really heavy, so I departed, and arrived home just in time (but stood in the pouring rain for a while anyway!)
As if this wasn't enough, I spent yesterday night at Corozal, a town near the Mexican border, where the Methodist Children and Youth Commission were leading a service this AM. And we had yet another fantastic storm (I use the word 'fantastic'; it was bordering on being alarming.) Lightning in the distance over the sea kept me entertained for a long while after the rain had passed.
But then I was sociable and went and watched a movie.
It's actually the dry season here at the moment, but it's not the kind of area where dry season implies no rain ever, or wet season implies constant rain. On Friday night I went to dinner with some American Jesuit volunteers living in the city, having met only one of them. I had a really good evening, but shortly after dinner the power started going out, making regular flashes of lightning in the distant sky more obvious. Discussions in the dark revealed, to my delight, that I am not the only person in the city who wants to run around the streets whenever it starts raining. However, I decided it would be smart to go home before the rain got really heavy, so I departed, and arrived home just in time (but stood in the pouring rain for a while anyway!)
As if this wasn't enough, I spent yesterday night at Corozal, a town near the Mexican border, where the Methodist Children and Youth Commission were leading a service this AM. And we had yet another fantastic storm (I use the word 'fantastic'; it was bordering on being alarming.) Lightning in the distance over the sea kept me entertained for a long while after the rain had passed.
But then I was sociable and went and watched a movie.
Tuesday 13 April 2010
my nice house and creepy crawly things
I've always had a preconception that volunteering abroad goes hand in hand with stamping on cockroaches every time you enter the house, getting very ill, missing decent food, dealing with daily power or water cuts, and having no internet. This being so, I've felt a bit of a cheat that I come home from meetings, put on the coffee perc., turn on my laptop and surf the world wide web with cake (sometimes) in one hand. Occasionally, the coffee is replaced with coconut rum and juice. Only occasionally do I have to interrupt my relaxation to spray an invasion of very small but very persistent ants (or once, to tip boiling water on them because I lost the spray). There's the odd gecko, sure, but they are small and cute, though their eyes freak me out.
Prior to today, I had encountered one rat and one (big) cockroach, but neither of them at all near my nice house. Today my prolonged spell of luck came to an end; I went into the bathroom and emerged again to ask 'what do we do with cockroaches?' (not being stupid, or cowardly, but merely unsure whether to stamp or spray). I generally avoid killing things (I have spent many a holiday as the spider removal operative, carefully carrying our eight legged friends out of bedrooms and into the Great Outdoors under the instruction of friends) but it seems cockroaches need their own category of morality.
As for power; we had about three Sundays in a row where it went out in the afternoon, sometimes more than once, and for varying amounts of time, but it has been behaving itself very well of late. I don't think I'd be nearly so fortunate were I not living in the capital city, but the city comes with its downsides, so it balances out.
The only other inconvenience is dust. It being the dry season, there is a particularly large amount of it, and when the wind blows the dust lifts itself up and through the shutters into our first floor flat. I wander round the house barefooted (though maybe I'll review this given the arrival of cockroaches) so my feet are invariably filthy even though I give them spontaneous washes several times a day. At the moment one of them is also very swollen with insect bites.
In other news, I lost ALL my music (Boo Hiss computer death, and not quite full resurrection. Maggie's offered me access to her music collection but in the process is threatening to convert me to Rod Stewart. I apologise to my former self if she manages. Although I guess I claim to be open minded?)
Also, I am getting into House, which seems to be permanently on TV, rather like Friends on E4 in the UK!
Prior to today, I had encountered one rat and one (big) cockroach, but neither of them at all near my nice house. Today my prolonged spell of luck came to an end; I went into the bathroom and emerged again to ask 'what do we do with cockroaches?' (not being stupid, or cowardly, but merely unsure whether to stamp or spray). I generally avoid killing things (I have spent many a holiday as the spider removal operative, carefully carrying our eight legged friends out of bedrooms and into the Great Outdoors under the instruction of friends) but it seems cockroaches need their own category of morality.
As for power; we had about three Sundays in a row where it went out in the afternoon, sometimes more than once, and for varying amounts of time, but it has been behaving itself very well of late. I don't think I'd be nearly so fortunate were I not living in the capital city, but the city comes with its downsides, so it balances out.
The only other inconvenience is dust. It being the dry season, there is a particularly large amount of it, and when the wind blows the dust lifts itself up and through the shutters into our first floor flat. I wander round the house barefooted (though maybe I'll review this given the arrival of cockroaches) so my feet are invariably filthy even though I give them spontaneous washes several times a day. At the moment one of them is also very swollen with insect bites.
In other news, I lost ALL my music (Boo Hiss computer death, and not quite full resurrection. Maggie's offered me access to her music collection but in the process is threatening to convert me to Rod Stewart. I apologise to my former self if she manages. Although I guess I claim to be open minded?)
Also, I am getting into House, which seems to be permanently on TV, rather like Friends on E4 in the UK!
Wednesday 7 April 2010
Iguana updates
For those who care, and even those who don't, we have a new iguana. I think the one that died was indeed 'our' iguana, but our drive is obviously a fantastic spot since there's a new one pinched its place. I know it is a new one, since it is darker, squats lower, faces in the opposite direction, and doesn't run away so easily. Thus, as well as having no respect for the dead, it clearly has no common sense either, since you'd think you wouldn't hang around within sight of your dead co-species (and its insides).
Tuesday 6 April 2010
Easter weekend :-)
SO,
a request has been made for 'frequent informal' blog posts so maybe i should use this one (plus, it's pink!)
Saturday was, in some ways, a sad day, because I missed out on watching the boat race AND the new series of Dr Who. Both were, in part, rectified. I listened to the boat race, and even fell over and bruised my knee running for my computer battery cable halfway through, forgetting that I'd just washed the floor :S. And I watched most of Dr Who through dubious means, but it took a whole night to download in seven parts, and one of them didn't work so I still missed part of the episode. I might decide it's not worth doing again; but the fish custard was just too intriguing.
Spent all day yesterday in the sun on a privately owned 'caye', on a church outing (a caye is a mangrove or coral island). This one felt a little artificial, except the mangrove itself, but it was surrounded by the caribbean sea and there wasn't a cloud in sight so who am I to complain? My back, knees, nose and a thin strip of my stomach are rather pink this morning, and I am rather sleepy from all the sun, but it was a GOOD day. And I encountered one of man's happiest inventions... A FLOATING TRAMPOLINE. Inductees of the ToT (exeter peeps, you know who you are), I missed you truly.
MWAH
(I am so tempted to add 'XOXO', but that would be lame)
x
a request has been made for 'frequent informal' blog posts so maybe i should use this one (plus, it's pink!)
Saturday was, in some ways, a sad day, because I missed out on watching the boat race AND the new series of Dr Who. Both were, in part, rectified. I listened to the boat race, and even fell over and bruised my knee running for my computer battery cable halfway through, forgetting that I'd just washed the floor :S. And I watched most of Dr Who through dubious means, but it took a whole night to download in seven parts, and one of them didn't work so I still missed part of the episode. I might decide it's not worth doing again; but the fish custard was just too intriguing.
Spent all day yesterday in the sun on a privately owned 'caye', on a church outing (a caye is a mangrove or coral island). This one felt a little artificial, except the mangrove itself, but it was surrounded by the caribbean sea and there wasn't a cloud in sight so who am I to complain? My back, knees, nose and a thin strip of my stomach are rather pink this morning, and I am rather sleepy from all the sun, but it was a GOOD day. And I encountered one of man's happiest inventions... A FLOATING TRAMPOLINE. Inductees of the ToT (exeter peeps, you know who you are), I missed you truly.
MWAH
(I am so tempted to add 'XOXO', but that would be lame)
x
Saturday 6 February 2010
Unleashing a monster
Having started my 'Belize' blog, I keep feeling the need to share thoughts that occur to me with the World, but I quite want to keep that one to a minimum (so that people who actually want to read about my experiences in Belize once in a while, and to check if I have dengue fever, don't have to put up with my thoughts on how tragic it is that I'm missing out on the new series of Doctor Who, or opportunities for comparing the attractions of the six nations fly halves.)
I also wanted to avoid putting everything I think on facebook. For a similar reason; facebook is a little in your face, whereas a blog is a good thing to go on if you actually find something interesting, OR are trying to avoid doing an assignment and can kid yourself that 'checking how Caroline is' is far more important. Wait, did I say 'kid yourself'?
If anyone is confused by the title, I should say that I have twice in my life been known as squawker; once my my Granny, who found my noisiness as a young child a little too much, and much later by a rowing coach who referred to me as the 'little squawky thing' since I was the cox who was little (implicitly weak, how rude) and squawky (just rude). Some might be offended by this nickname but I don't feel it is inaccurate, so I embrace it, and declare this my 'squawking ground'.
I also wanted to avoid putting everything I think on facebook. For a similar reason; facebook is a little in your face, whereas a blog is a good thing to go on if you actually find something interesting, OR are trying to avoid doing an assignment and can kid yourself that 'checking how Caroline is' is far more important. Wait, did I say 'kid yourself'?
If anyone is confused by the title, I should say that I have twice in my life been known as squawker; once my my Granny, who found my noisiness as a young child a little too much, and much later by a rowing coach who referred to me as the 'little squawky thing' since I was the cox who was little (implicitly weak, how rude) and squawky (just rude). Some might be offended by this nickname but I don't feel it is inaccurate, so I embrace it, and declare this my 'squawking ground'.
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