The Persistence of Memory

It's now the time of year when everything is starting to melt. The landscape is still covered with a snowy white shroud, but rocks, roads and patches of soil are now starting to poke through, much like the way in which the hairs on the legs of an East German women's shot-putter from the 1980s would have poked through her stockings should (s)he have tried to wear any.

Time is also melting away, like the clocks in Dali's famous painting, and it's melting just as slowly, if not slower, than the snow and ice. For both myself and my students we are now at the stage where nobody wants to be here any more and, if truth be told, nobody really needs to be either. For the students, their exams are now long over, and consequently their academic fate is effectively already sealed. Quite why they have to sit their exam a full two months before the end of the course I never managed to fathom out but, just like the Light Brigade, mine is not to reason why.

From my point of view it's just a matter of keeping my class occupied for one more week and trying to maintain the mutual motivation of both students and teacher. To that end I always fill this time of year with projects which at the very least interest me and hopefully manage to pique the interest of my students as well. Last week I taught my class some German - they can now count to ten, ask for directions to the railway station and order two large beers, please - and tomorrow we're going to examine the conspiracy theories surrounding the assassination of President Kennedy. I'll let you know whether my students subscribe to the theory of the lone gunman in the next post.

In the meantime I shall continue to stare out of the window, wishing myself away as I watch the snow melt, and as I do it's rather opportune that the Dave Matthews Band's Dive In should come up on my iPod:

Wake up sleepy head,

I think the sun's a little brighter today.

Smile and watch the icicles melt away and see the water rising.

Summer's here to stay and all those summer games will last forever.

Go down to the shore, kick off your shoes, dive in the empty ocean.

Nine more days...

That's snow business

It may have come about a week later than it did last year, but on the day of the vernal equinox we had our first snow of the season today, moving us directly from summer into winter without passing 'Go' and without collecting $200.

I've been wanting to climb one of the hills that surround the village ever since I've got here, but aside from the weekend when I was ill (typical!), all our weekends have been terrible weather-wise so I haven't had the chance. Those hills look more like mountains now that they have their cover of snow, but if I'm feeling brave I might still try to mount an expedition this weekend.

Weather permitting, of course.

Bowled over

At my time of life, you are faced with a decision. Do you attempt to cling to your youth and try to remain at the cutting edge, or do you embrace your growing seniority and prepare for a more sedate future?

I faced that decision head on this week.

My answer?

I've taken up lawn bowls.

In all honesty, it's something I've fancied having a go at since my childhood, so maybe I've just been old from the word go. Ever since my grandad used to take me to Poole Park to watch the bowlers I've had something of a fascination with the game, and an open day at Kingston Lawn Bowls Club this Sunday gave me the chance to indulge myself.

The ad I heard on the radio proclaimed that there would be free pancakes and coffee (they had me at 'free') and this, coupled with the fact that I was referred to as 'youngster' for most of the day, made it a winning experience from the start.

I had a splendid day in the company of Cliff, Ruby, Loretta, Bill, Walter and all the others and, if I say so myself, I'm actually a bit of a natural at the game. My very first bowl curved sedately in from the right and came to rest nestling adjacent to the jack, and although I wasn't able to repeat such success with every bowl thereafter, I did well enough to warrant another visit to the club on Monday when I continued my education on the green.

I think I'm going to keep playing as the summer progresses, and although it's perfectly fine to borrow a set of bowls each time I play, I might have to think of investing in my own if I get really serious. They can cost anything from $250 upwards but, with a comment that was as encouraging as it was sadly realistic, one of the members told me that second hand sets come up on the market quite regularly over the course of a year.

I shall keep you informed as to my progress as the summer moves on, but I have to go now as the nice young man from Meals On Wheels is at the door. Cheery-bye!