As my final London post (although future blogs certainly may reference my London experience) I want to point out my gratefulness at having the opportunity to teach and live in London for over 3 months. I feel quite blessed for the experience and have altered my view of the world in many respects. Taking full advantage of the city in all its splendor, beauty, and yes occasional darkness, I completely embraced the musical arts, visual arts, and theatre arts, attending plays, musicals, concerts, and galleries several times each week. I shopped, ate, ran, walked, sat, prayed, and experienced every part of London I could find. At first I remained emotionally detached in a kind of abstract manner as I experienced the London world, but over time I must admit that I could not hold back my feelings and eventually became a Londoner in spirit if not in body.
With great love in my heart for the culture, the people, the climate, and my new life, I nearly assimilated into a Londoner, abandoning my Texas past. But even as my detachment disappeared and my ties to London strengthened, I was continually reminded of my Texas world, my family, friends, and my employer. Did Benjamin Franklin struggle with these same issues? After all, he lived in London for ten years apart from his family and friends. How sympathetic was he really with the colonists across the ocean? Did he nearly act as a double agent, supporting London against the revolution? Of course in the end, Franklin rejected his London world and returned to the colonies, joining in the revolution for independence.
There is a strange danger that occurs from temporarily living in a different culture. Upon the return, the adjustment is a little difficult, resulting in a type of ambiguity of cultural norms. With our interconnected world and commonality of relocation, people often live for many months in one culture only to return to a different culture a few months later. While the differences may feel incongruent, over time the result is a societal melding that can alter culture in subtle ways. This makes our world an amalgamation of lifestyles, culture, and broad influences not always obvious but certainly real.
I heard a comedian complain that he was tired of going to Starbucks, ordering coffee, and trying to communicate with the person behind the counter who did not speak English. The audience laughed and applauded his statement. While part of me understands his concern, in London I truly enjoyed the moments of trying to communicate with people who did not understand English very well. I would nearly instantly fall into a basic language without subtle references and rely on hand gestures to get the point across. They would often do the same with me. Add a big smile to the moment and usually things go well. Sure, it can be a challenge but, at the same time, it is an opportunity to hear a different accent, to communicate a different way, and mostly to learn that the world is not made up of one kind of person.
As I finish this post I am wistful for my London life with its fresh food, lots of walking, unlimited museums, galleries, concerts, and architecture. Strangely, in many ways I also enjoyed the anonymity of London which results in a kind of social equality for everyone (monarchy excluded of course). After a few confusing weeks of cultural adjustment, I am once again comfortable in my Texas world. While this is mostly positive, I must admit to missing a small part of my London life. Be that as it may, it sure is great to be home again.
Wednesday, May 16, 2012
Tuesday, April 24, 2012
LP LIX--Experiential Learning and Paperfree Teaching
A few words on teaching in London. I was assigned two classes to teach and one class to monitor. Since one of my classes was an evening class, I did not have a normal classroom in which to teach. Furthermore with the emphases on experiential learning, it became advantageous to go throughout London supporting and discovering the learning outcomes for the classes. Unlike a typical college class of lecture and tests, these classes were more field-based, hands-on approaches to the learning process. When a teacher has a city like London with unlimited academic resources within reach, it makes sense to take a holistic educational philosophy in methodology and in pedagogy. In a way, it becomes less reliant on teacher personality or teacher driven learning, and, instead, becomes about the student discovering a vibrant academic culture.
With this in mind, I designed two courses that could be taught without the use of paper. The classroom was the world of London and in two cases, the entire United Kingdom, and the assessment and assignments were done electronically. Additional material was available through digital means, resulting in a paper free course. Utilizing the public transport system and lots of walking, we learned through our experiences and we experienced a new brand of learning. Being that a college course is designed as about 45 hours of instruction, there is no mandate on what "instruction" means. Most teachers view that as lecture time with students taking notes to be recalled later in some kind of assessment. This is the traditional model that has room for variation to include presentations, research, projects, discussion, and all the techniques that make education viable and meaningful.
Embracing the reality of experience and broad-based education, I approached the classes with the idea that experiencing learning first-hand has infinitely more value than any kind of abstract discussion. While a discussion on the Baroque master artist Peter Paul Rubens may have some strength, and certainly a teacher's expertise and insights can enhance the learning of Rubens, actually seeing an original Rubens has more strength and educational merit than simply discussing the work. A student can then follow up on the experience by supplementing his/her learning through research and critical application. This makes for the learning to be active and vital rather than abstract. Experience it first, understand it second, synthesize it third.
A stunning lecture full of information, moments of discussion, and critical application in a classroom certainly has merit and is often the best way to create a learning environment. But at some point, a teacher may need to accept and acknowledge that experiencing the same information in an active and outstanding environment may be superior than anything verbal the teacher has to offer. For Music Appreciation, we had a discussion on instruments of the orchestra and how they independently and congruently in performance. My knowledge of the subject matter is strong and I delivered a thorough and precise lecture on the subject. And yet, until we sat in an auditorium listening to the London Symphony in all its musical and artistic glory, it was still abstract knowledge. As we listened to the instruments, they took on a life of their own and the students found themselves in a world of cognitive application of the sound of the instruments creating music in one of the finest orchestras in the world. We experienced the knowledge and poured in deep into our minds and hearts in a lasting way. They may not remember every detail of what I said about string instruments, but they will never forget the sound of London Symphony strings playing Symphony No. 2 by Brahms.
In thinking about education and college work, I realized that I could not recall any lectures from my undergraduate time. As excellent as they were, the content offered by the professors did not make a lasting impression on my education. What I do remember, however, were the experiences from those courses and from the process of learning. We learn better through action and through concrete events. From those events we then learn to apply the experience to a new level of cognition and perhaps even a deep emotional level. This makes the learning process have lasting value rather than falling into an abstract bottomless hole of knowledge with no purpose, with no end.
As I developed the learning outcomes for the classes, I integrated those with vibrant, active experiences in London. Trying to avoid excessive cognition apart from the learning that involves the senses, I designed the entire coursework around the experiences surrounding us. The wealth of first hand experiences is vast and robust, unparalleled anywhere else for teaching and learning, particularly in the arts and literature. As often said, "the world is my stage" but for me I would say, "London is our classroom." While this has pedagogical strength and educational merit, it does not escape some problems however.
The lack of a traditional classroom took some getting used to as students had to take notes while walking and looking rather than sitting at a desk. In addition, the dissemination of papers was cumbersome and made for an unnecessary complexity to the educational process. With this in mind, I set upon a path of making the courses paper free. All assignments and all research was digital and grading was handled through email and dropbox. I used a mental system of CDEF (calendar, dropbox, email, facebook) for communication and for immediate assessment. Ideal for teaching and learning, I still had the problem of how to assess the broad knowledge of the students.
Thinking through this, I realized it was time to put examinations online requiring a login and password. While I monitored the process and created a randomization to the questions, it was still entirely on a computer in the digital world. By the end of the courses, students had a portfolio of essays detailing and supplementing their learning experiences as well as an objective and comprehensive assessment of the learning outcomes. As it came together, and in spite of minor gaps in learning, I realized the students had gained a tremendous amount of knowledge of the subject matter that went beyond cognition and into application. The experiment worked. We remained paper free with vital, life-changing experiences while keeping our learning outcomes in the forefront. Their learning was active, their supplemental work digital, and their growth in the subject matter robust. While much of this system was dependent on having a classroom such as London, there are many things to glean from this type of pedagogical approach to teaching.
With this in mind, I designed two courses that could be taught without the use of paper. The classroom was the world of London and in two cases, the entire United Kingdom, and the assessment and assignments were done electronically. Additional material was available through digital means, resulting in a paper free course. Utilizing the public transport system and lots of walking, we learned through our experiences and we experienced a new brand of learning. Being that a college course is designed as about 45 hours of instruction, there is no mandate on what "instruction" means. Most teachers view that as lecture time with students taking notes to be recalled later in some kind of assessment. This is the traditional model that has room for variation to include presentations, research, projects, discussion, and all the techniques that make education viable and meaningful.
Embracing the reality of experience and broad-based education, I approached the classes with the idea that experiencing learning first-hand has infinitely more value than any kind of abstract discussion. While a discussion on the Baroque master artist Peter Paul Rubens may have some strength, and certainly a teacher's expertise and insights can enhance the learning of Rubens, actually seeing an original Rubens has more strength and educational merit than simply discussing the work. A student can then follow up on the experience by supplementing his/her learning through research and critical application. This makes for the learning to be active and vital rather than abstract. Experience it first, understand it second, synthesize it third.
A stunning lecture full of information, moments of discussion, and critical application in a classroom certainly has merit and is often the best way to create a learning environment. But at some point, a teacher may need to accept and acknowledge that experiencing the same information in an active and outstanding environment may be superior than anything verbal the teacher has to offer. For Music Appreciation, we had a discussion on instruments of the orchestra and how they independently and congruently in performance. My knowledge of the subject matter is strong and I delivered a thorough and precise lecture on the subject. And yet, until we sat in an auditorium listening to the London Symphony in all its musical and artistic glory, it was still abstract knowledge. As we listened to the instruments, they took on a life of their own and the students found themselves in a world of cognitive application of the sound of the instruments creating music in one of the finest orchestras in the world. We experienced the knowledge and poured in deep into our minds and hearts in a lasting way. They may not remember every detail of what I said about string instruments, but they will never forget the sound of London Symphony strings playing Symphony No. 2 by Brahms.
In thinking about education and college work, I realized that I could not recall any lectures from my undergraduate time. As excellent as they were, the content offered by the professors did not make a lasting impression on my education. What I do remember, however, were the experiences from those courses and from the process of learning. We learn better through action and through concrete events. From those events we then learn to apply the experience to a new level of cognition and perhaps even a deep emotional level. This makes the learning process have lasting value rather than falling into an abstract bottomless hole of knowledge with no purpose, with no end.
As I developed the learning outcomes for the classes, I integrated those with vibrant, active experiences in London. Trying to avoid excessive cognition apart from the learning that involves the senses, I designed the entire coursework around the experiences surrounding us. The wealth of first hand experiences is vast and robust, unparalleled anywhere else for teaching and learning, particularly in the arts and literature. As often said, "the world is my stage" but for me I would say, "London is our classroom." While this has pedagogical strength and educational merit, it does not escape some problems however.
The lack of a traditional classroom took some getting used to as students had to take notes while walking and looking rather than sitting at a desk. In addition, the dissemination of papers was cumbersome and made for an unnecessary complexity to the educational process. With this in mind, I set upon a path of making the courses paper free. All assignments and all research was digital and grading was handled through email and dropbox. I used a mental system of CDEF (calendar, dropbox, email, facebook) for communication and for immediate assessment. Ideal for teaching and learning, I still had the problem of how to assess the broad knowledge of the students.
Thinking through this, I realized it was time to put examinations online requiring a login and password. While I monitored the process and created a randomization to the questions, it was still entirely on a computer in the digital world. By the end of the courses, students had a portfolio of essays detailing and supplementing their learning experiences as well as an objective and comprehensive assessment of the learning outcomes. As it came together, and in spite of minor gaps in learning, I realized the students had gained a tremendous amount of knowledge of the subject matter that went beyond cognition and into application. The experiment worked. We remained paper free with vital, life-changing experiences while keeping our learning outcomes in the forefront. Their learning was active, their supplemental work digital, and their growth in the subject matter robust. While much of this system was dependent on having a classroom such as London, there are many things to glean from this type of pedagogical approach to teaching.
Sunday, April 22, 2012
LP LVIII--Home to Texas
The long flight back to Texas was uneventful unless one considers the challenges of cramped conditions, crying babies, and confining commodes eventful. Disembarking in Dallas, I stood in a long queue (oops, sorry, I mean line) for customs, another one to get my one suitcase, another for luggage customs and declaration, another to check luggage in again for the connecting flight, another to check-in for the flight, and finally an extensive queue (there I go again, nobody in Texas is going understand me for awhile!) for security. I then settled in to wait for the next flight to Abilene and began thinking about what I will miss and what I will not.
I will not miss the crowded conditions of London and the feeling of being closed in and constricted by tall buildings, numerous people, cars, motorcycles, buses, and businesses. The Texas sky cannot be beat and the wide-open spaces are much to my liking. Of course, this brings to mind me time in the highlands of Scotland with the rolling hills, trees, streams, and fresh air (time for some Scottish folksongs and reminiscing!) as I sought my Brigadoon and found it in strong family connections. Anyway, I do like the Texas sky and the feeling of space and rugged strength found in our Western world. Yet in spite of the overcrowded conditions of London, I will miss the constant walking, the bus trips, the tube, and the amazing coffee and pastry shops found on every block.
It is with mixed feelings that I return to a friendly environment where strangers smile, nod, and often say hello or have conversations in stores or the workplace, a world where eye contact with everyone is the norm and there is a desire for interpersonal relationship building. Yet, ironically, there is comfort in anonymity without any kind of pressure to meet anyone. There is confidence in solitary expectations, in knowing that anything accomplished is dependent on just you, that you respect the individuality of others and consequently your own individuality is also respected. Over time in London you become less concerned with others and realize that your place in the world is your own and there is no vying for your position in society or culture. That said, I do like the friendliness of my Texas world but am also aware of the personal benefits of a less gregarious culture.
I will miss fish and chips although I must admit I got a little weary of the same flavor of fish and chips at every restaurant. A large piece of cod with fluffy batter and fat French fries. Good stuff but always the same. I am excited to have Mexican food, barbecue, smaller French fries called French fries and potato chips called chips rather than crisps. I will miss the freshness of the London food devoid of preservatives and trans fats, food that is tasty by virtue of its natural properties and food that enters the body and benefits it rather than alters it. But it is nice to buy food in Texas that will not go bad in two days time. Still, I will miss the amazing juice and bread of London, not to mention the wide variety of ethnic food found throughout London.
I will not miss the noise level of the streets with frequent sirens (the loudest, most obnoxious and screeching siren ever heard), honking horns, squeals of brakes and roar of motorcycles. It is pleasant to live in a quiet, country world with the sound of birds, wind blowing through the trees, and the occasional chirp of cicadas. Yet, admittedly the sound of the city is also the sound of progress, of development, of culture, of improvement and growth. While these sounds are annoying, they are also an emotional and physical steroid of a city on the move, depicting the collective spirit of individual achievement and commitment to success. So, yes, I like the quiet country world, but may occasionally miss the sounds of progress.
As I look at the goats, mesquites, oak trees, and grass, I start missing the architecture of London with arches, monuments, gothic detail, sculpture on buildings, and spires on every church. I then know I will miss the museums, the galleries, the orchestras, concerts, shows, plays, and the advertisements for the arts. Though I was weary of hearing church bells chiming all day and night, I will also miss hearing them, keeping us in touch with the constant passing of time. I will miss the green parks of peace with flowerbeds of all colors and tulips who smiling faces opened up in sunshine and closed when seeing the clouds.
I will not miss the confluency of cigarettes, the rubbish strewn in corners, the frequent drizzle, the gloom of dark clouds, and the cold frigid air that seems permeate the bones during the winter. I am happy to have the warmth and sunshine of my Texas world (of course, I will complain about that in July like everyone else!) and look forward to running early in the morning when all is cool and calm.
In the end, it is great to be home where my family resides, where my friends smile, and where my employer reigns. My experiences were vast, eclectic, comprehensive, and life-changing, but London is not me home. I do want to say to my family and friends, however, that if I get a far away look in my eye, and you begin to wonder what I am thinking, it is likely not London. While I love London and will return every change I get, the look in my eye is for my roots in the highlands of Scotland where the beautiful, rolling hills and gentle, cool streams call for courage, strength, hard work, and honesty. As the Crest of my Scottish family says, Glory is the Reward of Valor.
I will not miss the crowded conditions of London and the feeling of being closed in and constricted by tall buildings, numerous people, cars, motorcycles, buses, and businesses. The Texas sky cannot be beat and the wide-open spaces are much to my liking. Of course, this brings to mind me time in the highlands of Scotland with the rolling hills, trees, streams, and fresh air (time for some Scottish folksongs and reminiscing!) as I sought my Brigadoon and found it in strong family connections. Anyway, I do like the Texas sky and the feeling of space and rugged strength found in our Western world. Yet in spite of the overcrowded conditions of London, I will miss the constant walking, the bus trips, the tube, and the amazing coffee and pastry shops found on every block.
It is with mixed feelings that I return to a friendly environment where strangers smile, nod, and often say hello or have conversations in stores or the workplace, a world where eye contact with everyone is the norm and there is a desire for interpersonal relationship building. Yet, ironically, there is comfort in anonymity without any kind of pressure to meet anyone. There is confidence in solitary expectations, in knowing that anything accomplished is dependent on just you, that you respect the individuality of others and consequently your own individuality is also respected. Over time in London you become less concerned with others and realize that your place in the world is your own and there is no vying for your position in society or culture. That said, I do like the friendliness of my Texas world but am also aware of the personal benefits of a less gregarious culture.
I will miss fish and chips although I must admit I got a little weary of the same flavor of fish and chips at every restaurant. A large piece of cod with fluffy batter and fat French fries. Good stuff but always the same. I am excited to have Mexican food, barbecue, smaller French fries called French fries and potato chips called chips rather than crisps. I will miss the freshness of the London food devoid of preservatives and trans fats, food that is tasty by virtue of its natural properties and food that enters the body and benefits it rather than alters it. But it is nice to buy food in Texas that will not go bad in two days time. Still, I will miss the amazing juice and bread of London, not to mention the wide variety of ethnic food found throughout London.
I will not miss the noise level of the streets with frequent sirens (the loudest, most obnoxious and screeching siren ever heard), honking horns, squeals of brakes and roar of motorcycles. It is pleasant to live in a quiet, country world with the sound of birds, wind blowing through the trees, and the occasional chirp of cicadas. Yet, admittedly the sound of the city is also the sound of progress, of development, of culture, of improvement and growth. While these sounds are annoying, they are also an emotional and physical steroid of a city on the move, depicting the collective spirit of individual achievement and commitment to success. So, yes, I like the quiet country world, but may occasionally miss the sounds of progress.
As I look at the goats, mesquites, oak trees, and grass, I start missing the architecture of London with arches, monuments, gothic detail, sculpture on buildings, and spires on every church. I then know I will miss the museums, the galleries, the orchestras, concerts, shows, plays, and the advertisements for the arts. Though I was weary of hearing church bells chiming all day and night, I will also miss hearing them, keeping us in touch with the constant passing of time. I will miss the green parks of peace with flowerbeds of all colors and tulips who smiling faces opened up in sunshine and closed when seeing the clouds.
I will not miss the confluency of cigarettes, the rubbish strewn in corners, the frequent drizzle, the gloom of dark clouds, and the cold frigid air that seems permeate the bones during the winter. I am happy to have the warmth and sunshine of my Texas world (of course, I will complain about that in July like everyone else!) and look forward to running early in the morning when all is cool and calm.
In the end, it is great to be home where my family resides, where my friends smile, and where my employer reigns. My experiences were vast, eclectic, comprehensive, and life-changing, but London is not me home. I do want to say to my family and friends, however, that if I get a far away look in my eye, and you begin to wonder what I am thinking, it is likely not London. While I love London and will return every change I get, the look in my eye is for my roots in the highlands of Scotland where the beautiful, rolling hills and gentle, cool streams call for courage, strength, hard work, and honesty. As the Crest of my Scottish family says, Glory is the Reward of Valor.
Saturday, April 21, 2012
LP LVII--War, Peace, and Books
Down to my last day in London, I made a quick trip to the Imperial War Museum. The rainy day got worse on the bus trip to the museum and by the time I arrived after a lengthy walk from the bus stop, I was very wet. With only two hours to see this extensive museum, I realized I would need to do a superficial glance at everything and focus on one area. This is generally true at all museums in London due to their sheer size and magnitude of the collections. One could visit London for 3 months and only spend time in the museums, resulting in still not being able to see everything.
The overwhelming size of the tanks, the submarines, the guns, the weaponry, and the many associated war items was both daunting and empowering, serving as a bold reminder of what war means and what it requires. Called the Large Exhibits Gallery, when a person enters, he suddenly becomes very small and in most ways quite insignificant compared to the massive bombs, rockets, and aircraft. Quickly I moved through the gallery and with a passing nod at the Bond Correspondence, a fascinating study of Ian Fleming and the Cold War by his niece Lucy, I entered an art gallery. Called This Storm Is What We Call Progress by artist Ori Gersht, I was moved by the austere and yet beautiful artworks depicting nature and humanity with their combination of darkness, courage, and beauty. Without lingering and yet impressed, I moved into another room called Crimes Against Humanity. Sitting in a room on a bench, I watched a lengthy film detailing crimes by political power, regimes, totalitarian leaders, and even well-intentioned uprisings by insurgents against innocent people. The disturbing images of human destruction, pain, and suffering as families were destroyed, lives ruined, and constant inflicting of horror took place affected me to the point of immobility.
As the film ended, I walked slowly to the exhibit on the Holocaust which is where I stayed until time to leave. The rain falling hard on the roof added to the accompanying terror as I began the walk through the extensive exhibit. Chronicling the rise of Hitler and the Nazi regime, the Holocaust exhibit demonstrates how and why the horrors happened. Wanting to read every word, but yet not wanting to, I learned about genocide, about human culling, and about getting rid of the people who were different. I read about hatred, violence, fear, and about the total disregard for human life. But as I read and felt the anguish, I also reminded myself of my own disconnection to the events. After all, I was not alive at that time plus had no real connection to either the victims nor the perpetrators. But as I rounded the corner, after having read about getting rid of Jews, blacks, and the elderly, I read about the culling out of humans with learning disabilities. The feeling of disconnection left me as I realized my own middle son would have been exterminated.
Further pictures of concentration camps, death camps, mountains of bones, valleys of bodies left me numb as the rain beat down upon the building. Leaving the museum, I walked slowly through the rain in a state of great sorrow at the horrors of the Holocaust. But it was time to do a little book shopping, so I headed to Cecil Street. This short block located off of Leicester Square has about 12 bookshops specializing in different genres of books. Each one is a gem and I eagerly explored the contents. Beautiful, well-kept books adorned the shelves and I found myself pleased with the care and compassion of the books by the owners. Mostly out of my budget, I did covet several titles and smiled when I found some books printed in England that I own back home. Finally deciding to buy all three volumes of Chitty Chitty Bang Bang by Ian Fleming, something I have sought for years, I headed back for a great fish dinner.
London time is over and much has been said and will be said again. The heritage of this great country, though filled with past violence and destruction, in the end is a history not of war but of peace and love, for it is in peace that we make progress and in peace that we love humanity. Though not me home, I have come to love London and will miss it.
The overwhelming size of the tanks, the submarines, the guns, the weaponry, and the many associated war items was both daunting and empowering, serving as a bold reminder of what war means and what it requires. Called the Large Exhibits Gallery, when a person enters, he suddenly becomes very small and in most ways quite insignificant compared to the massive bombs, rockets, and aircraft. Quickly I moved through the gallery and with a passing nod at the Bond Correspondence, a fascinating study of Ian Fleming and the Cold War by his niece Lucy, I entered an art gallery. Called This Storm Is What We Call Progress by artist Ori Gersht, I was moved by the austere and yet beautiful artworks depicting nature and humanity with their combination of darkness, courage, and beauty. Without lingering and yet impressed, I moved into another room called Crimes Against Humanity. Sitting in a room on a bench, I watched a lengthy film detailing crimes by political power, regimes, totalitarian leaders, and even well-intentioned uprisings by insurgents against innocent people. The disturbing images of human destruction, pain, and suffering as families were destroyed, lives ruined, and constant inflicting of horror took place affected me to the point of immobility.
As the film ended, I walked slowly to the exhibit on the Holocaust which is where I stayed until time to leave. The rain falling hard on the roof added to the accompanying terror as I began the walk through the extensive exhibit. Chronicling the rise of Hitler and the Nazi regime, the Holocaust exhibit demonstrates how and why the horrors happened. Wanting to read every word, but yet not wanting to, I learned about genocide, about human culling, and about getting rid of the people who were different. I read about hatred, violence, fear, and about the total disregard for human life. But as I read and felt the anguish, I also reminded myself of my own disconnection to the events. After all, I was not alive at that time plus had no real connection to either the victims nor the perpetrators. But as I rounded the corner, after having read about getting rid of Jews, blacks, and the elderly, I read about the culling out of humans with learning disabilities. The feeling of disconnection left me as I realized my own middle son would have been exterminated.
Further pictures of concentration camps, death camps, mountains of bones, valleys of bodies left me numb as the rain beat down upon the building. Leaving the museum, I walked slowly through the rain in a state of great sorrow at the horrors of the Holocaust. But it was time to do a little book shopping, so I headed to Cecil Street. This short block located off of Leicester Square has about 12 bookshops specializing in different genres of books. Each one is a gem and I eagerly explored the contents. Beautiful, well-kept books adorned the shelves and I found myself pleased with the care and compassion of the books by the owners. Mostly out of my budget, I did covet several titles and smiled when I found some books printed in England that I own back home. Finally deciding to buy all three volumes of Chitty Chitty Bang Bang by Ian Fleming, something I have sought for years, I headed back for a great fish dinner.
London time is over and much has been said and will be said again. The heritage of this great country, though filled with past violence and destruction, in the end is a history not of war but of peace and love, for it is in peace that we make progress and in peace that we love humanity. Though not me home, I have come to love London and will miss it.
Wednesday, April 18, 2012
LP LVI--Matilda
Another Roald Dahl success story, Matilda has moved from children's story to film and now to the musical stage. The zingy little story of a brilliant girl subjected to stupid parents and an abusive school master is a perfect setting for a London West End show. The Cambridge Theatre is one of the newer theatres in London, having been completed in 1930. Because of the newness, it does not have the expected charm and ornate quality of most theatres in London. It does have, however, a little more space between rows which is quite comforting for those with long legs. We settled into our seats in the Grand Circle (first balcony) and knew immediately we were in for a jolly ride.
The stage was elaborately surrounded by school blocks of letters in various sizes, shapes, and font styles. It was a bold, borderline sarcastic perhaps look of an elementary classroom. The irony of the stage is that the little girl is a brilliant child whose knowledge of letters, sentences, and books is way beyond that of elementary children. The fun and rather bizarre story of Matilda is in keeping with many stories by Roald Dahl. On the surface, his plots are rather tame and predictable but underneath is another world of mystery, of fantasy, of darkness, and of magic that keeps returning in different forms. Such is the case of Matilda as well.
The show started with a bang and stayed at a high level most of the time with an energetic aura that glowed from beginning to end. The children were fun, full of electrical energy with their singing and dancing and fear of the school master (who was actually a very large, ugly mistress I think, or not!) as they collectively sought vengeance on her evil ways. Meanwhile they loved their cute, blond, innocent teacher who championed their cause and took special care with each student. Okay, not all that realistic but it gets worse!
If we deal with this realistically (which is neither right nor fair), nothing really makes sense. Even the most brilliant little girl in the world could not read 9 major works of literature in a weekend and learn to speak Russian by reading Dostoevsky in its original language. Furthermore, are there parents that amazingly stupid as to criticize reading and extol the virtues of the telly (television) while wearing absurd, wildly colorful clothing? A woman surely knows when she is 9 months pregnant and not just fat and a new father must know why the child has no "thingy!" Plus no school master is that horrible and a girl cannot be thrown by her pigtails up to the ceiling and fall back down. None of that makes sense and is all rather campy and silly. And furthermore, a smart girl is not necessarily a wizard as well and can perform magic with her eyes. So, really, the show should be outright rejected for its absurdity.
Instead, Matilda is a fun, fantastical, and frantic show that provides unabashed and uninhibited entertainment for all ages. Imaginative set designs that included massive rolling bookshelves in the library, rising desks from the stage, laser lights from the spots, and various contraptions on the wall of Matilda's bedroom. All these and more created a shimmering, magical world that enhanced the image of Matilda's engaging personality and superior intellect. She was special just like the world around her and by clever manipulation she would alter her environment to make the world a better place. The visual eye catching gimics on stage were well-done with all the smoothness expected of a West End show. Colorful, fast moving, intriguing, complicated yet child-like, the stage was always on the go, leaving the audience breathless in anticipation of the next great change.
The remarkable set design and fast-paced action was matched by the rollicking and kicking music score. With a small orchestra, typical for most West End shows, that included a trapset and bass, the music zipped along with a high sense of energy leaning on the rock music side but in a child or early teenager style. But just the audience felt we had entered some kind of Disney show, the next song would sound rather classically folk with a romantic beauty. Then suddenly Matilda's crazy parents would arrive singing a bizarre contemporary pop tune about their strange lives and absurd philosophies. The brilliant, almost pattern song based on the ABC's demonstrated how physical objects on stage can be directly integrated into the text. It was a remarkable song for teaching letters and words but was simply part of the whole as every song was captivating in its own way and style. The music was all great fun, comical, powerful, and magnetic as the audience got pulled into the sound and the music on stage.
So we have an evil and very ugly schoolmaster, a sweet teacher, lots of eager children, absurd and inane parents, great music, wonderful sets, amazing lights, hints of magic, what more is there? The show relies on a talented Matilda and this is what we got. When asked what she had read over the weekend, she listed several books such as Nicholas Nickleby, Ivanhoe, The Secret Garden, Great Expectations, Jane Eyre, Oliver Twist, and Tess of the d'Urbervilles. She held the enraptured audience in the palm of her hand through the whole show as we marveled at her intellect, championed her mischief against her parents, and cheered for her victories at the end. In the midst of this story, she tells another story that ends up being the truth about the sweet teacher. By the end, everything came together, the mob decided not to maim Matilda's worthless father, the evil schoolmaster disappeared, and all lived happily ever after.
It was simply a great, fun show deserving of high rewards. Profound not, campy yes, absurd and unrealistic, even outrageous at times, Matilda hits the right spot for those looking for some entertainment with class, for a bright shining star among the gloom, and for those moments when we put aside the tensions of the world and realize that it is okay to laugh and to sing, and maybe, just maybe, the acts of laughing and singing can become a part of our daily lives.
Tuesday, April 17, 2012
LP LV--John Wesley and The Embassy
A tube ride on the Northern line brought me to Old Street followed by a nice walk to John Wesley's Chapel and Bunhill Cemetery. First entering the old, classic cemetery I realized I was in a special place for non-conformists. These are people who did not go with the flow, who were a little subversive at times, who expressed something new that was not always embraced by church leaders or government officials. At the same time, their brilliance and contributions were recognized as deserving of some kind of memorial. These were the movers and the shakers from the past whose lives are felt many years beyond their death but whose time on earth was spent in controversy, in taking a different path, sometimes in suffering for their individuality.
Walking slowly and quietly, I first came to the marker for William Blake. I then spent a few minutes pondering the life of poet William Blake whose rich, romantic poetry was filled with colorful encouragement to live creatively and mystically as opposed to the teachings of the Anglican order. Walking onward, I saw the tombstone of Daniel Defoe, popular for Robinson Crusoe and for propelling the idea of the novel forward. His work as a writer and a pamphleteer was wrought full of symbolism and analogy, resulting in many followers and, alas, many detractors. A few more steps brought me to John Bunyan the famed writer and preacher. Known for the allegory The Pilgrim's Progress, he was a colorful and energetic preacher embraced by Baptists, Quakers, and Protestant sects. Imprisoned for his outspoken beliefs but later released, he is now highly regarded by Anglicans and Protestants for his social and religious reforms that had far reaching influences.
Time to go across the street and see the chapel and home of John Wesley, founder of Methodism. I walked into the main chapel and saw beautiful stained glass, ornate engravings on the sides, wooden pews, and an austere pulpit. Looking up in the balcony was the pipe organ with gold, well organized pipes spreading out on either side of the console. Being alone in the quiet church (London is rarely quiet) gave me some meditative solitude and I found myself in gratitude for the lives of John and Charles Wesley who so profoundly ushered in a new way to live a life of religious piety. Later I descended the steps into the Wesley museum where I learned how Methodism began and all of its powerful implications for the future. John Wesley's relentless dedication to sharing the Gospel and reaching all people found a wide audience that continues to thrive today throughout the world. As I walked around looking at portraits, reading history, and seeing artifacts, I found a listening station. Attaching the headphones, I clicked on And Can It Be and heard a glorious choir and organ sing all five stanzas of the great hymn. Luckily since I was the only one in the museum, I could conduct to my hearts content and did so!
Leaving the museum, a sweet lady asked if I would like to see John Wesley's house. Smiling, I said yes and we went across the courtyard to the home. On the way, we walked by a room full of people and I overheard a discussion on charity for the homeless in the area. It was great to see Methodism at work in the world. Arriving at Wesley's home, we took the stairs and looked at his kitchen, dining room, his library, his bedroom, his sitting room, and his guest floor for visiting preachers. I saw his chair that allowed for different sitting positions while writing or reading and I saw a strange contraption called a horse chair to simulate the riding of a horse. In the corner sat an odd looking machine that the guide said was a health stimulator to help with ailments. The recent discovery of electricity by Benjamin Franklin caused Wesley to create this medical wonder to help charge the body to prevent baldness, indigestion, sleeplessness, and stop colds. Quickly asking the guide if I could try it for my own balding situation, she said no and had a little trouble controlling her laughter. I spent a few minutes studying Wesley's books and seeing the chart of preachers at churches around the UK. Then and often now, a centralized plan provided every church to have a preacher, often different each week.
As in most homes and spaces in London, the stairs, doorways, beds, and chairs were designed for smaller people and I had to imagine myself as shorter with a smaller frame. In his home was a small prayer room with a kneeling bench. It was in this room that Methodism was borne. John Wesley, his brother Charles, and several generations afterward all led lives of preaching, music, prayer, and social action. Time for me to move on but not before seeing the organ of Charles Wesley located in the small chapel on the side of the larger church. Wondering if he played And Can It Be on the organ, I left in awe of a Godly family whose insistence on relevance and compassion, in spite of persecution from the Church of England, created a religious denomination that continues to thrive in today's world.
Curious about Embassy square where the American Embassy is located, I got back on the tube and headed to Marble Arch for the walk. Arriving at the beautiful park located in the center, I immediately saw statues of Eisenhower, Roosevelt, Reagan, and the bold symbol of freedom, the American Eagle. Trying not to think too much about the protesters in the area or the guards with submachine guns walking around, I had a prideful moment when I realized the significance of the American Embassy in London. Finishing my American walk, I headed back to the room to get ready to see Matilda.
LP LIV--Evensong and Berlin Staatskapelle
Cathedrals in the United Kingdom are plentiful and each one is a special place for worship and for housing relics and people of renown. Having experienced several cathedrals throughout the United Kingdom, my favorite continues to be St. Paul's with its Classical beauty, large dome, spacious feeling, and flawless acoustics. Just as great art teaches us something new each time when we encounter it, so does St. Paul's have new and stunning revelations on each entry. Its power and majesty is matched with its personal sensitivity, intimate beauty, and careful detail. Of all the great places to visit in London, I put this Cathedral at the top of the list.
And so it was with abundant energy and excitement that I took the tube to St. Paul's and walked the short distance to the Cathedral. Up the stairs I went, two at a time in my anxiousness to get into the church, and entered. But my physical energy quickly evaporated and was replaced with great humility and awe as I walked through the nave toward the dome to experience Evensong, a choral service of evening prayer. Sitting below the dome, I prepared my heart for worship, and in prayer, released any anxieties of the day.
The prelude on the organ was subtle, musically complicated but quite sensitive just the same. The chromatic lines moving up and down with tasteful bass moments, allowed for careful organ stop alterations. Quite soft and yet with a strong musical presence, I was reminded of how the sound of an organ changes not just with the quality of the instrument or the player but also the space in which it resides. While my favorite organ experience remains that of the organ in the Minster of York, the organ in St. Paul's is a close second. The soft, gentle tones that connect to each other ring with a resonating presence from above and around due to the dome-like roundness of the hall. It is as though the sound is coming from a spirit that has engulfed the room but retained its transparency. Warm clouds of tender tones take on a life of their own as gentle but firm entities sharing their good fortune with all in the Cathedral.
The choir entered singing a rich anthem which I believe was by William Byrd due to its interchanging of polyphony and homophony. The choir was a guest choir from a university in Manchester, and it was amazing with an innocent, light almost imperceptible vibrato that added to the ambiance of the room. The sound of the choir was pure, angelic, almost mystical but at the same time courageous and expressive. What followed was a service of interplay between the choir, the leader, and the congregation. Meaningful with spiritual depth, the congregation was treated to prayers, scripture readings, and pulchritudinous music. The main anthem was a thrilling selection by Ralph Vaughan Williams called Let All the World in Every Corner Sing. Fast arpeggiated organ notes accompanied a chorale that moved forward with great energy. Almost fanfare-like, the piece was a bold expression of the powerful text. My normal hesitancy in embracing Vaughan Williams music changed with this piece as I realized his music rings with joy in a hall with a seven second reverberation.
I cannot overstate how music changes shape and feel with every space in which it is performed. This truth has altered literature, performance style, preferences, and composition over the years. A seven second reverberation results in a great elision of chords and sound, making the organ warm and resonating, and causing choirs to resound in seamless beauty. And there is no greater way to share in that experience than in an Evensong service at St. Paul's Cathedral in London.
A quick bite of fish and chips and I hopped on a bus to go to Royal Festival Hall. For the last two weeks, I have been hoping to get a ticket to the Berlin Staatskapelle concert under the direction of Daniel Barenboim. Unfortunately, the concert was sold out. But in a last second desperate attempt I arrived at the ticket queue to ask once again if there were any tickets. Much to my surprise, he said yes he had a couple of tickets that had been returned. I got out my wallet and he said it would be 85 BP! Struggling with this amount ($130 approximately), he saw the pain on my face and said he had another ticket for 45 BP. I jumped at it and with one minute to spare sat down for the musical experience of a lifetime.
Words are inadequate to describe the experience of the Berlin orchestra playing a Mozart Piano Concerto with Daniel Barenboim playing and conducting, followed by a performance of Bruckner's 7th Symphony. It was simply terrific and emotionally powerful, virtually perfect in all respects. The standing ovation (unusual in London) lasted several minutes as Daniel Barenboim returned to the stage several times for bows. The Bruckner was stunning and unforgettable and reminded me of the blessings of my time in London as I have heard the greatest orchestras in the world. '
My time is coming to close in London but I can honestly say I have experienced most of the greatness of this city. What a powerful time in my life.
And so it was with abundant energy and excitement that I took the tube to St. Paul's and walked the short distance to the Cathedral. Up the stairs I went, two at a time in my anxiousness to get into the church, and entered. But my physical energy quickly evaporated and was replaced with great humility and awe as I walked through the nave toward the dome to experience Evensong, a choral service of evening prayer. Sitting below the dome, I prepared my heart for worship, and in prayer, released any anxieties of the day.
The prelude on the organ was subtle, musically complicated but quite sensitive just the same. The chromatic lines moving up and down with tasteful bass moments, allowed for careful organ stop alterations. Quite soft and yet with a strong musical presence, I was reminded of how the sound of an organ changes not just with the quality of the instrument or the player but also the space in which it resides. While my favorite organ experience remains that of the organ in the Minster of York, the organ in St. Paul's is a close second. The soft, gentle tones that connect to each other ring with a resonating presence from above and around due to the dome-like roundness of the hall. It is as though the sound is coming from a spirit that has engulfed the room but retained its transparency. Warm clouds of tender tones take on a life of their own as gentle but firm entities sharing their good fortune with all in the Cathedral.
The choir entered singing a rich anthem which I believe was by William Byrd due to its interchanging of polyphony and homophony. The choir was a guest choir from a university in Manchester, and it was amazing with an innocent, light almost imperceptible vibrato that added to the ambiance of the room. The sound of the choir was pure, angelic, almost mystical but at the same time courageous and expressive. What followed was a service of interplay between the choir, the leader, and the congregation. Meaningful with spiritual depth, the congregation was treated to prayers, scripture readings, and pulchritudinous music. The main anthem was a thrilling selection by Ralph Vaughan Williams called Let All the World in Every Corner Sing. Fast arpeggiated organ notes accompanied a chorale that moved forward with great energy. Almost fanfare-like, the piece was a bold expression of the powerful text. My normal hesitancy in embracing Vaughan Williams music changed with this piece as I realized his music rings with joy in a hall with a seven second reverberation.
I cannot overstate how music changes shape and feel with every space in which it is performed. This truth has altered literature, performance style, preferences, and composition over the years. A seven second reverberation results in a great elision of chords and sound, making the organ warm and resonating, and causing choirs to resound in seamless beauty. And there is no greater way to share in that experience than in an Evensong service at St. Paul's Cathedral in London.
A quick bite of fish and chips and I hopped on a bus to go to Royal Festival Hall. For the last two weeks, I have been hoping to get a ticket to the Berlin Staatskapelle concert under the direction of Daniel Barenboim. Unfortunately, the concert was sold out. But in a last second desperate attempt I arrived at the ticket queue to ask once again if there were any tickets. Much to my surprise, he said yes he had a couple of tickets that had been returned. I got out my wallet and he said it would be 85 BP! Struggling with this amount ($130 approximately), he saw the pain on my face and said he had another ticket for 45 BP. I jumped at it and with one minute to spare sat down for the musical experience of a lifetime.
Words are inadequate to describe the experience of the Berlin orchestra playing a Mozart Piano Concerto with Daniel Barenboim playing and conducting, followed by a performance of Bruckner's 7th Symphony. It was simply terrific and emotionally powerful, virtually perfect in all respects. The standing ovation (unusual in London) lasted several minutes as Daniel Barenboim returned to the stage several times for bows. The Bruckner was stunning and unforgettable and reminded me of the blessings of my time in London as I have heard the greatest orchestras in the world. '
My time is coming to close in London but I can honestly say I have experienced most of the greatness of this city. What a powerful time in my life.
Monday, April 16, 2012
LP LIII--Food, Glorious Food
Thinking about the orphan boys in the musical adaptation of Oliver Twist by Charles Dickens, I realized I have not had gruel yet in London. The food has been quite an experience from the sausage roll on the streets to the elite dinner at an Italian restaurant over near the United States Embassy. Some friends of mine in London bought my dinner at the restaurant. Met by a sweet lady at the door, she took my coat and hat and gave me a ticket. From that moment, I knew I was about to eat a very nice dinner.
For the starter, I had a seafood salad of large prawns, fresh calamari, with bits of salmon, pasta, and lobster. With fresh bread always nearby, the waiter also frequently came to check on us, brushing away any crumbs that may have ended on the table. His commitment to our comfort and happiness was unequaled in my normal "lack of good service" London world. Soon the owner wheeled over a silver banquet cart and unveiled the choices for the evening. The Welsh leg of lamb was inviting and the sea bass almost winked at me, but I chose the veal with its steamy softness, light spices, and delicate meat.
Completely filled, soon the dessert tray came by and I found myself enjoying a type of apple delicacy with custard and cream. It was quite a treat, very different from my normal meal in London, and very much appreciated. Yet a normal meal of fish and chips (french fries to us) with garden or mushy peas always hits the spot. Or perhaps bangers (sausage to us) and mashed potatoes might just be the one. For breakfast it is fun to enjoy bacon (ham to us), scrambled eggs (free range, very healthy), some mushrooms, and a grilled tomato with toast on the side. Today at the French restaurant the lady asked me three times if I wanted "tossed" with my meal. My quizzical look made her rephrase her question and she said "cooked bread!" I realize she was trying to say toast but I misunderstood.
A typical lunch might be a bowl of soup with bread or on Sundays, a traditional carvery of roast beef or Welsh lamb with potatoes. Often a stop at the coffee shop will result a cup of coffee called an Americano and some orange juice...okay and sometimes a pastry called a chocolate paine or chocolate twist. All bread is great and I often have to resist the temptation to eat bread all day. There is no lack of restaurants or cafes in London. Walk a few steps and it is easy to find coffee, tea, pastries, sandwiches or soup. Many of these places are small with just a few tables and a toilet in the basement. In contrast to the sheer size of London and the massive buildings, most of the shops and restaurants are small and somewhat intimate. This may be due to older buildings designed for small rooms.
The cost of a meal is between 8 and 12 BP which is probably about right for an American meal, except that the dollar is about $1.61 per pound. This makes for expensive eating at every meal in London. All meals are fresh without transfats and meat is never overcooked. At first this made me nervous in light of our tendency to overcook all meat, but I have learned to accept it and enjoy it. So no gruel for me on this trip, but I have had lots of great food. I will miss it of course, but I am looking forward to a real enchilada!
For the starter, I had a seafood salad of large prawns, fresh calamari, with bits of salmon, pasta, and lobster. With fresh bread always nearby, the waiter also frequently came to check on us, brushing away any crumbs that may have ended on the table. His commitment to our comfort and happiness was unequaled in my normal "lack of good service" London world. Soon the owner wheeled over a silver banquet cart and unveiled the choices for the evening. The Welsh leg of lamb was inviting and the sea bass almost winked at me, but I chose the veal with its steamy softness, light spices, and delicate meat.
Completely filled, soon the dessert tray came by and I found myself enjoying a type of apple delicacy with custard and cream. It was quite a treat, very different from my normal meal in London, and very much appreciated. Yet a normal meal of fish and chips (french fries to us) with garden or mushy peas always hits the spot. Or perhaps bangers (sausage to us) and mashed potatoes might just be the one. For breakfast it is fun to enjoy bacon (ham to us), scrambled eggs (free range, very healthy), some mushrooms, and a grilled tomato with toast on the side. Today at the French restaurant the lady asked me three times if I wanted "tossed" with my meal. My quizzical look made her rephrase her question and she said "cooked bread!" I realize she was trying to say toast but I misunderstood.
A typical lunch might be a bowl of soup with bread or on Sundays, a traditional carvery of roast beef or Welsh lamb with potatoes. Often a stop at the coffee shop will result a cup of coffee called an Americano and some orange juice...okay and sometimes a pastry called a chocolate paine or chocolate twist. All bread is great and I often have to resist the temptation to eat bread all day. There is no lack of restaurants or cafes in London. Walk a few steps and it is easy to find coffee, tea, pastries, sandwiches or soup. Many of these places are small with just a few tables and a toilet in the basement. In contrast to the sheer size of London and the massive buildings, most of the shops and restaurants are small and somewhat intimate. This may be due to older buildings designed for small rooms.
The cost of a meal is between 8 and 12 BP which is probably about right for an American meal, except that the dollar is about $1.61 per pound. This makes for expensive eating at every meal in London. All meals are fresh without transfats and meat is never overcooked. At first this made me nervous in light of our tendency to overcook all meat, but I have learned to accept it and enjoy it. So no gruel for me on this trip, but I have had lots of great food. I will miss it of course, but I am looking forward to a real enchilada!
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