I would like to move a motion that children are taught how to listen actively at school. You know. Show that they are really listening by making comments like
so what you are saying is...
how did that make you feel...
can you explain that a bit more...
have I got this right...
can you tell me more...
I thought I heard you say...
Now I know what you will say to this brilliant new plan of mine - that the education system is full of subjects designed to fix all the problems of society. And you are right of course. Teachers are supposed to teach kids things like sensible eating, safe sex if there is such a thing, how to exercise, how bad drugs are for you, how to treat everyone nicely even those with different skin colour to you etc etc. Topics incidentally that parents should actually be responsible for.
However, it would not take much energy to teach active listening because in the middle of the sex talk teachers could invite pupils to ask questions like, so what you are really saying is if you ....
Or in the middle of a don't eat junk food session, children could be encouraged to ask each other questions like have I got this right that potato chips are bad for me?
Now you might wonder why I want the people in the world to be better listeners. Well for a start off it might put an end to wars. And for a second off I am really tired of people not listening. I am tired of being in conversations that feel more like a tennis match than two people communicating.
You know the one? I share a story and then just before I have finished and sometimes even before I am finished whammo the conversation ball is hit back to me with them telling me a story about themselves that my story has reminded them of.
Enough I say.
I want to take part in more conversations where the people I am relating to give the occasional grunt or mmmmm, smile encouraging, ask for clarification or check they have understood me.
I wonder if I should start doing this too?
Monday 27 February 2012
Monday 13 February 2012
Name calling
I was sitting on my back porch the other afternoon staring across the paddock vacantly as I like to do and I saw a very mis-shapen sheep. It looked terrible. It was lying on its side looking very grotesque like it was dead and bloated. I stared at it for a minute or two and then realised it was not a dead sheep. It was not even a sheep but a pig. A big, white, fat kunekune pig. From the neighbours several paddocks away. It was lying next to our fence snoozing, a long way from home but 300 metres from my house.
Anyway this irrational desire to shout something like "you big fat pig" started to burble up inside me. Trying to resist shouting it out was too much so I gave in and shouted across the paddock "you big fat pig". Normally calling something a big fat pig is frowned upon. It is not nice to name call. But this time I felt it was ok. It was big. It was fat. And it was a pig. No problem.
There is more to this story.
After a minute I saw the pig wriggle onto its stomach, open its eyes and stare at me. I could feel its little piggy eyes boring into me from 300 metres away. I felt a little bit uncomfortable.
It sat there staring. I sat there squirming.
Then I started to think to myself. How did that pig get there? If it had pushed its way through several fences to get to our paddocks maybe it would keep pushing through fences and eat my vegetable garden? And although the gate to the paddock it was in was closed, could it wriggle its way under the gate and come up my drive towards my tasty beans?
At that point the pig rolled over and shuddered to its feet and at that point I started wondering who would win the race to the gate to my drive. Could I cover 50 metres quicker than an overweight pig could cover 300 metres.
I decided not to wait until the pig started running. Whistling casually I sauntered to the gate and shut it. The pig had not even put its running shoes on. It was munching on grass oblivious to me. Eventually it munched its way over a rise and disappeared.
I am not sure what the moral of that story was.
Anyway this irrational desire to shout something like "you big fat pig" started to burble up inside me. Trying to resist shouting it out was too much so I gave in and shouted across the paddock "you big fat pig". Normally calling something a big fat pig is frowned upon. It is not nice to name call. But this time I felt it was ok. It was big. It was fat. And it was a pig. No problem.
There is more to this story.
After a minute I saw the pig wriggle onto its stomach, open its eyes and stare at me. I could feel its little piggy eyes boring into me from 300 metres away. I felt a little bit uncomfortable.
It sat there staring. I sat there squirming.
Then I started to think to myself. How did that pig get there? If it had pushed its way through several fences to get to our paddocks maybe it would keep pushing through fences and eat my vegetable garden? And although the gate to the paddock it was in was closed, could it wriggle its way under the gate and come up my drive towards my tasty beans?
At that point the pig rolled over and shuddered to its feet and at that point I started wondering who would win the race to the gate to my drive. Could I cover 50 metres quicker than an overweight pig could cover 300 metres.
I decided not to wait until the pig started running. Whistling casually I sauntered to the gate and shut it. The pig had not even put its running shoes on. It was munching on grass oblivious to me. Eventually it munched its way over a rise and disappeared.
I am not sure what the moral of that story was.
Sunday 5 February 2012
Fine young cannabulls
When I lived in Kolkata I met a vegetable delicacy that I grew particularly fond of... ladies fingers or okra. I used to fry them up with ground cumin.
Okra and I became a source of entertainment to both me and my Indian friends who while not seeming to share my enthusiasm for the little honeys, were amused by my okra adventures. For example once I was so glad to discover a man selling okra on the side of the road on the way home, I accidentally bought a kilo of them. I did not realise how light okra were and how many you got for a kilo. It took several kilos of commitment to chew my way through that lot before they went off.
In NZ I discovered I could buy okra in Auckland but south of Auckland sourcing them was very tricky. Until that is I discovered I could grow my own in the tunnel house with moderate success.
When I moved souther I gave up, thinking it was too cold. However, imagine my joy when I experiemented and discovered last year they grew very well in a bucket on the window sill at work. And if I was lucky I could get four producing at once for a decent feed.
The only challenge with growing okra at work is you have to take them home with you for a month over the Christmas holiday period. That can get tricky if your holiday destination is six hours away. It can also get awkward if the plants grow too big to bring back to work or if you were stopped by a friendly police officer who wanted to check out the vegetation being transported. Lucky I escaped both awkwardnesses.
This year the plants are only producing one fruit at a time. To fruit well they seem to need warm temperatures and sunlight which they do not always get in the southern region.
The plants start producing flower buds when they are not very tall and then keep growing taller and producing new leaves and buds from the top growing tip. The bud grows between the stem and the leaf. As the plant grows more the leaf and flower bud end up perched on the side of the stem. Eventually the flower, a beautiful butter yellow colour with a deep red centre, opens up and blooms for one day. It would be worth growing okra just for the flower alone.
I am not sure why I like okra so much. I like their subtle flavour and the seeds. Maybe it has something to do with the fact they remind me of Kolkata and my dear friends there.
Okra and I became a source of entertainment to both me and my Indian friends who while not seeming to share my enthusiasm for the little honeys, were amused by my okra adventures. For example once I was so glad to discover a man selling okra on the side of the road on the way home, I accidentally bought a kilo of them. I did not realise how light okra were and how many you got for a kilo. It took several kilos of commitment to chew my way through that lot before they went off.
In NZ I discovered I could buy okra in Auckland but south of Auckland sourcing them was very tricky. Until that is I discovered I could grow my own in the tunnel house with moderate success.
When I moved souther I gave up, thinking it was too cold. However, imagine my joy when I experiemented and discovered last year they grew very well in a bucket on the window sill at work. And if I was lucky I could get four producing at once for a decent feed.
The only challenge with growing okra at work is you have to take them home with you for a month over the Christmas holiday period. That can get tricky if your holiday destination is six hours away. It can also get awkward if the plants grow too big to bring back to work or if you were stopped by a friendly police officer who wanted to check out the vegetation being transported. Lucky I escaped both awkwardnesses.
This year the plants are only producing one fruit at a time. To fruit well they seem to need warm temperatures and sunlight which they do not always get in the southern region.
The plants start producing flower buds when they are not very tall and then keep growing taller and producing new leaves and buds from the top growing tip. The bud grows between the stem and the leaf. As the plant grows more the leaf and flower bud end up perched on the side of the stem. Eventually the flower, a beautiful butter yellow colour with a deep red centre, opens up and blooms for one day. It would be worth growing okra just for the flower alone.
 |
| An okra flower. Okra are a member of the hibiscus family. |
A week or so depending on growing conditions the fruit has grown to edible size looking suspiciously like well a ladies finger.
I am not sure why I like okra so much. I like their subtle flavour and the seeds. Maybe it has something to do with the fact they remind me of Kolkata and my dear friends there.
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