Our six year old daughter helped me create this video about acids, bases and indicators. Hope you enjoy!
Recently I was involved with the Teachers’ Education Review podcast special event, TER TeachMeet 100. A collection of educators shared their expertise on a range of topics related to pedagogy and classroom practice.
In the podcast, I discussed ways to effectively communicate with parents and carers.
You can access the podcast throught the TER website or through your usual podcast app. Please like, share and leave a review to help others find the podcast.
A letter to my unfinished business, aka my research career,
We first met in 2002. I was a dual degree student, studying science and education.
You were the Advanced Study Program in Science, a course “for high-achieving students interested in pursuing a career in scientific research”.
I reminisce about our year together fondly. You were interesting and enjoyable, we learned so much, and met many great people.
I was in another relationship at the time, and was quite open about it. I wanted to teach.
We were a great threesome – I loved science – I loved doing it, learning about it, showing it; but deep down I saw myself exploring the scientific world with students, rather than spending my days with you in the lab or field.
My piece published today in Overland entitled Survivors of abuse are failed by the legal system.
The Royal Commission into Institutional Responses to Child Sexual Abuse has been inundated with thousands of Australians sharing their stories of abuse. Over 5500 people have attended a private session and a further 1500 are scheduled. Repeatedly, survivors have told not just the heinous stories about their abuse, but about the systems which allowed abuse to flourish. Despite all this, the processes for seeking redress frequently put survivors in an invidious position and the barriers to substantive compensation are overwhelming. Read more…
I’m guessing at ages here – a ten year old kid was slowly riding his bike while half on, half off, in no distinct direction, but with definite purpose. Two young men sat in their cars, engines running, near the top of the bikepath. Half a dozen 12 year olds walked around the steps of the overpass with a teacher looking on – a boarding house outing I suspect. A young woman was slowly riding a fold up bike she must have purchased extremely recently, since the barcode label was still attached to the basket. Three 11 year olds had Macgyvered-up phone holders with duct tape and wood offcuts on their bikes for better screen visibility. One very tall and obese man – tummy hanging out from under his shirt, cigarette balanced on his bottom lip, stood next to his svelte, dark haired companion, both staring at their phones. Two Grade Nine girls from the local rich private school in full uniform, including Panama hats and brown leather shoes, were on skateboards while holding golf umbrellas for the rain. A couple in their 20s, clad in active wear and cuddling, stood near the path. All were meandering, but constantly checking their phones, so I assume they were playing Pokemon Go. They were hunting the geocached pocket monsters – all around us, but visible only through the smartphone screen.
In the same park someone lovingly tends some fairy doors and fairy gardens. There is a little grove where the trees don’t let much light through. It’s dark and mossy like a rain forests. No bikes are allowed on that part of the path.
The fairy house are beautifully decorated. Miniature tea sets and flowers in tiny vases sit near the fairy doors, sprinkled with glitter. Minute framed pictures carefully hung on the tree add to the décor.
I’ve lived near this park for the better part of two decades. I’ve never seen anyone tending the fairy parties, and yet I can’t remember them ever not being there. I’ve often thought about who is cultivating them, and why? They are never unkempt.
My hunch is that is that someone who has lost a child is tending the fairy gardens in memory of her little lost one. How many fairies, how many lost children, dwell among the greenery?
As well as invisible fairies, lost children and unseen pokemon exist around us, what other spectres concealed? Are the ghosts of all the choices we didn’t make, floating amongst the trees? Are there diaphanous angels of abandoned dreams moving about unseen? If there was an app to find lost children and abandoned hopes, what would we see floating around us? Would we be able to Catch Them All?
Could we bear it, if we did?
My presentation from CONASTA 65 In Brisbane in 2016. The literature review can be viewed here.
By Elizabeth Saunders with apologies to Alan Alexander Milne
Whenever I walk down a Brisbane street,
I’m ever so careful to watch my feet
And I keep from the lines
Or it’s double-up time.
Tactile paving is oft the worst to step on
No steps is best, or else two must be upon.
But no gait change allowed
(That counts as a step)
It must be all even among the crowd.
There are bears in my brain which make up the rules
I don’t know what they are til I’m given the chills.
Driveways, usually, an even number of steps
Sticks, leaves and seedpods must be re-stepped.
Running’s the worst,
(And with no headphone a curse.)
I halt on my jog – a utility cover.
I’ll have to turn round and look for another
Route to get home but all paths are the same,
Too many parts to mimic and maim.
The bears growl to each other
Inside my brain
About the lines on the footpath
And the marks on the drain.
The masses of bears,
They see the germs too.
Telephones, lift buttons and eftpos devices
Handles and handshakes: unsanitary vices.
I do my hand washing and I use my hand gel,
The bears think I’m a silly
But I use hand wipes as well.
Some of the younger bears try to pretend
That it’s all about footpaths
Or germs on one’s skin.
But the bigger bears know that in the scariest lairs
They go beyond childhood games and cares
For deep down inside are the menacing bears.
The intrusive thoughts, those menacing bears,
They tear apart every one of your cares.
The worst thing you can think of,
Your boggart – that’s you.
You “know” it’s not true – but really, do you?
You might try to pretend to be someone’s friend
Then hurt them somehow
Or whatever it is that you think is most foul.
The bears in your brain, they know that it’s true
The worst of the worst – the bears tell you it’s you.
It’s ever so portant that you don’t balk
As you try to believe your therapist’s talk
And it’s ever so frightful to beg out “Bears,
Stop the intrusive thoughts from the darkest of lairs!”
I’ve recently taken up cycling. I try to go at least one day on the weekend and listen to music or podcasts while I cycle through the bushlands, wetlands and carparklands of the surrounding suburbs.
I’ve been a bit down lately. Actually, that’s a huge understatement. A team of professionals, a suite of medications, a range of coping strategies (some more maladaptive than others), hospital stays of varying durations, a horde of loving friends and family, and I’m barely keeping my head above water.
Everyone keeps banging on about how well I’m doing and that I should give myself some credit for what I am achieving.
My inner-self cries “what achievements?” Since when did getting someone else to do school drop off, staying in bed all day then heating up a freezer dinner become an achievement?
I know we have times in our lives when we need the help of others – new baby, bereavement, serious illness and the like – but seriously, I’ve barely cooked a meal in two years. What happened to the person who used to just get stuff done?
I have such a low capacity now, and no resilience. Last Wednesday I presented at the national conference for my profession. Last Thursday I was taken by ambulance to psychiatric emergency because I got a bit stressed in a meeting.
Today I dropped off a fortnight’s worth of laundry to a friend who begged me to let her do it. I don’t even have the energy to politely refuse when people offer anymore. I’m so dismayed with my own inability to complete tasks that I gratefully piled her up with overflowing baskets.
Back to this afternoon’s bike ride. I gave up early. I’d been for a big ride yesterday, the wind was against me and I didn’t have any oomph. I tried to be gentle with myself and concluded that a short ride was better than no ride, and headed for home do something nice before it was time to pick up the kids.
I returned home from yet another hospital visit today to see that my ABC Open piece on ‘Advice’ had been published.
Ensure that you have a supportive and loving spouse, family, friends and employer. Navigating mental illness without this is unthinkable.
Don’t expect that if you present to the emergency department that you will get to see a doctor. If you get concerned about this, expect to be offered prescription sedatives, but you still won’t get to talk to a psychiatrist.
Expect to be scolded if you insist on this – being proactive in seeking medical care is generally frowned upon as ‘rudeness’. Don’t feel relieved when you finally get an appointment; tomorrow they’ll decide you live in the wrong suburb and will cancel.
When admitted, an allied health professional may occasionally visit. Sporadically you’ll get to see a doctor, but she’ll contradict the registrar and scold you for following her advice.