Today it is official: my youngest son has signed his diploma and is ready to go to university. He has chosen Health sciences, together with two of his friends, and will move out into the wild and roaring student life in August. Student Sean. It does have a nice ring to it, don’t you think? 
My youngest son Sean has passed his exam. HE DID IT!! He called earlier to give me this excellent news. We talked for a bit and then I broke down crying for joy in the arms of a professor at work, oh pffff.
Sean, cheers, I’m so very, very proud of you!
Now Maastricht University is waiting, student life is beckoning…
*jumps around*
Love you,
your mom
Sean is the one in horizontal position, with the red clown nose
Yesterday I stared into the eyes of a complete stranger. Non-stop, for ten seconds. No talking involved. It was interesting and weird. Afterwards I asked for his name, so he (Koen) was no stranger anymore
It was a challenge during the annual Education Day of our university. The speaker told us that the average time married people look full into each other’s eyes is eight seconds a day. Only eight seconds?! Can anyone confirm that? I stare into V-man’s eyes much longer, but perhaps that is because we don’t live together.
On our way back to the academy, I saw this statue, with a fancy fair in the background. I jumped onto the bicycle path (yes, we have plenty of those in Holland), was almost run over by several vehicles, but managed to take this photo. The Fair Man.
Photos of the oriental party of our academy last Friday, as promised:
During the first three weeks of April our academy, the teacher training college for primary education at Avans University of applied sciences in Breda, * gasps for air * is hosting
This intensive program teaches students from Belgium, Turkey, United Kingdom, Slovenia and Holland how to go about teaching English to Dutch elementary school children with a variety of cultural backgrounds by means of drama and music.
Avans Hogeschool
After nerve wrecking last minute interventions by professor Agnes Taks (the driving force behind the project) finally all visa were cleared and last Monday the participating foreign students of Moving Targets arrived at Schiphol Airport, safe and sound. Amongst other things, the group visited an elementary school to see what Dutch schools are about and had time to enjoy the beautiful city of Amsterdam.
Then yesterday at 9 AM the twenty five students walked into a classroom of Avans university in Breda. The room was brightly decorated with colorful flags. The whole group had spent the night at a house in the neighborhood of Breda, which was filled to the brim with rented bunk beds. Some of them look really tired, but everyone had a big smile and was eager to start with the program.
Agnes opened the meeting by telling a beautiful anecdote about Martin Luther King, and concluded with saying that there is only one race: people; that there is only one country: earth, and one language: love. It was great to see the impact of these words. Our dean Nicole van Son introduced herself and welcomed all to the Avans University, after which professor Muzaffer Yanik spoke a few words. Carla Nijlunsing (drama), Margriet Veenbrink (English) and Kitty van Gulick (music) were also present.
Like last year, I was asked (as bilingual writer) to recite my poems. In 2010 accompanied on piano by Kitty in a wonderful way, but yesterday it was only my voice and thirty pair of eyes. Plus an extra lens of the camera. Increasing the volume of my voice to the crescendo needed at the end of the first poem could pose a bit of a challenge, since my trachea decided to entertain me with an insistent tickling since last Sunday. Bad BAD trachea! Luckily a cup of licorice tea sweetened the coughing fits into temporary submission.
For this special occasion I chose:
Where The Wind Sleeps
Spring
After a brief intro, in which I led my audience along the road I had taken to end up writing in English, my poems were handed out on paper.Then I started with Where The Wind Sleeps, forcing myself to speak slowly. Adrenaline was coursing through my veins at an intense pace and my face was glowing. Everybody listened and absorbed my words in silence. When I finished, they spontaneously started applauding ooooh WOW that was so nice! The same with my second poem Spring oh Spring, you are not lost! *happy smile*. I ended by wishing the students great, joyful and instructive weeks and fell down on my chair again. Pfew. Icy cold shaky hands and the rest on fire haha. But it was exhilarating and fun to do.
Language uniting people from all over Europe! I will try to share photos and perhaps films of this wonderful program in the weeks to come.
What’s the longest you’ve been without sleep?
It is 1984. And George Orwell was right: someone was watching me! But it was not my big brother. If it had been him, he could have helped! No, it was the university who was staring at me, breathing in my neck, inserting truck loads of adrenaline into my veins.
It was the week of finishing my thesis. It was a week of writing, of failing typewriters, of coffee and music, piles of papers, computer sheets that made no sense, all spread out through my room. Of house buddies feeding me, encouraging me to keep going, assuring me that I WOULD make it.
There was no time for sleep. My whole world was turning around this project. I took short naps, with my head on the desk, kept the neighbors awake with my never ending writing, the drumming of my typewriter echoing through the house. No computer with word processing options, but a machine that was training my fingers. And I was in turn torturing the poor thing. Hours of just staring at a sheet of paper that had to be filled with sensible, even brilliant meanings. And they were all eluding me as the hours and days slipped through my hands.
Here is the very same typewriter: it survived the slaughter in splendid condition!
At the end of that week – so on Friday – five copies of the thesis had to be handed in at the university, or I would have to wait for months to get another try. On Thursday noon I remember sitting in the bus on my way to the Safaripark Beekse Bergen, where I had done my research and where the copies would be printed and bound. The final concept of the thesis was in my bag, which I kept protectively on my lap. Everything was blurred, in a haze, and an insistent peep was tormenting what was left of my brains.
I have no idea how I made it to the Safaripark. The maximum hours of sleep was about six hours in four days. A zombie looked healthier than I did. Worried hands took the concept from my hands and I could finally relax. A couple of hours later I was on my way home again with five printed copies. Which led me to my diploma.
But first it led me to my bed. I have never been as tired in my life as back in 1984.
A teacher is one who makes himself progressively unnecessary. ~Thomas Carruthers
How very true in the case of Doc Mass Communication, let’s call him DMC.
Back in 1981 – WordPress seems to lead me back in time often these days – I left the town where I grew up to head towards the ‘big’ city of Breda to study Sociological Recreational at the NHTV university.
Everything was new: living on my own, cooking, meeting other students, new relationship, but also the university. From the protected environment of high school to the open, unstructured way of teaching at the NHTV.
Our schedule offered lots of interesting courses, like programming, Dutch, English, French, psychology, recreation, sociology and mass communication. Used to the sing song dialect we spoke back home, all these new accents could be challenging. As I was to others.
Alright, let’s find out everything there is to know about mass communication. Entering the class room came DMC. Doc was tall, slender and talked fast. Very fast and non-stop. In fact he talked so fast with an accent I still wasn’t used to, that I had absolutely NO idea what he was talking about. For an hour I sat there, rolling my eyes and wondering what the message of his lesson was. It was something about a red thread.
But there was always the book, so I dived in to learn more about communication. The next lesson I was totally prepared for DMC. Bring it on! And he did. Another hour went by and sentences without meaning flowed through the room. I understood what he was saying, but he simply was not making sense. One minute he was on subject, the next he jumped to a complete new line of thinking, only to hop back to the first. And again something about a red thread.
Third class there was… snow. Lots of snow. Mountains of snow. And a forest nearby. My friend Suzan and me arrived at school to absorb more masses of communication. We walked towards the class room and sat down. Looked outside. Looked at each other. And got the hell out of there! That was the first of many many long walks and talks and Suzan and I became best friends.
I haven’t been back to DMC’s lessons, not once. In stead I studied the book and flunked the exam. Second try was a hit: I passed. He probably knew very much about this wonderful subject mass communication, but he was the worst teacher I’ve ever had. Or perhaps the best, since his abracadabra taught me self study, plus gave us a wonderful friendship!
Day 19 of the ‘Post A Day 2011′ challenge: Describe a time when you witnessed bravery in your profession.
As some of you may know, I work at a university in the south of Holland. Since 1997 I’ve made it my job – my calling – to harass and torture students, to make their lives utterly miserable at every step with my stupid actions and rules… at least some of them might think so . Among other things, I’m exam coordinator and e-learning coach of our Academy.
It’s not a job where screaming fire trucks head out into an inferno, nor police officers rescue a victim in distress. Life at our university is pretty well organized, even fire drills can’t raise any commotion. Except complaints that there is no coffee outside.
Most students study our program full-time, which means that they spend one third of their time at school following courses, another third in internship and the rest in self-study at home or in Xplora. This adds up to approximately 40 hours a week.
Part-time students (mostly adults) on the other hand, come to school on Tuesday and Thursday nights ’till 10 PM, have to participate in daytime internships , PLUS most of them have regular jobs. Can you imagine this? These students have to have a high level of dedication and commitment, they sacrifice precious free time in studies – not only of themselves but also of their families – and have to study in weekends and holidays. Often for four long years. They have to bring offers daily to be able to get their dream job: teacher.
These part-time students are my heroes and heroines and this post is dedicated to them. I want to honor their bravery by saluting them with a deep bow and giving them my utmost respect.
Day 7 of the ‘Post A Day 2011′ challenge:
Share a story about a memorable job interview.
Back in 1984 my friend Suzan and me, both freshly graduated, went on holiday together to the Indonesian island Java. Six weeks of freedom, very friendly people, breathtaking nature, impressive buildings, mysticism, delicious food, back-to-basic transportation (did you know fleas also travel by train?), rides on the back of a motor bike, trips in a pick-up truck. And heat. Six weeks filled with laughter, adventures, challenges, respect and awe, plus loads of the best friendship one can ever have. Needless to say I didn’t want to return to the cold and bleak flat Netherlands. But by then the money was gone and our plane was waiting.
Back home, I was ready to participate in the mysterious working society. Still in love with the magnificent archipelago, I decided to apply for a job with the Word Wildlife Fund in Indonesia. Anything to get back there. To my dismay they didn’t need my ‘awesome’ bachelor knowledge of Tourism and Recreation. Letters went back and forth, but it was no use. This dutchess would not get the chance to help developing nature-friendly tourism in Indonesia. I was devastated.
So there I was: study finished and no job. I was renting a small room in a student house – twelve square meters – and soon was climbing the walls. Several letters of application were sent out to recreational companies, but with no positive results. After three weeks I was fed up with it all and walked into an agency for temporary jobs on a dark Thursday afternoon.
So tell us, what university did you go to? Aha, interesting, tourism and recreation, hmmm. Can you type? Splendid! We are looking for a coder, you think you can manage that? Ah you coded your own thesis? Good good. Alright, we’ll stay in touch, good day.
Before I knew it, I was standing outside again, wondering what would come of it. The day after I got a message that I was to start working for a social insurance company on Monday.
I HAD A JOB!!
Then doubts bloomed into existence. Coding, did I say I could code? Of course I had messed around with Pascal programming, but never really knew exactly what I was doing. Fellow students had helped me out with the coding aspects of my thesis – a thesis devoted to a Dutch safari park called Beekse Bergen, where I spent a magical time. But that’s another story. So what if the coding would be too complicated? That weekend was hell, I was so nervous I could neither eat nor sleep. Then finally the clock ticked its way towards Monday morning.
A fifteen minute bike trip took me to the office, which was situated in the center of town. I was escorted to my desk and got my ‘coding instructions’. Within seconds I was biting my cheek hard, trying to stem my bubbles of laughter. CODING? This wasn’t coding, this was child’s play! They gave me piles of forms and I had to write down the first two letters of the applicant’s last name plus the six digits of his/her date of birth. That was the coding I had to do! O yes, I also had to alphabetize them. By the end of the week nightmares about coding were trying to eliminate my dreams of nature.
Since then I’ve come a long way in working land. Currently I have a job at a university as information manager and elearning coach. So much better than coding! But my dreams of nature will stay forever. As will my friendship with Suzan.
