Feeling remote in a Zoom class

About half way through my second Zoomed German lesson, while someone was reading her essay aloud from from her 'shared screen', I absented myself from the virtual classroom. Took a bathroom break. Had a little walk around the house, still within hearing range of that confident German voice. Actually, I was pacing up and down, convincing myself not to drop out of class.

Weird really. I've loved learning that language for the past three years. Not that day.

There are five of us in this 'Intermediate German Continuing' class, which due to Covid has gone on line. The plan was that we'd 'share screen' - our own - and individually read our personal writing while the others followed along.. That's one of those clever things you can do on Zoom on a PC or Mac. But not on the iPad I was using. Feeling disadvantaged and just a tad left out, had a teeny, tiny sulk about that; a sulkette. No matter. My Zoomed face, in its Brady Bunch grid, wasn't revealing any emotion

At the start of the lesson, the first student couldn't work out how to 'share screen' on his Mac. We all watched patiently while he peered up close and personal into his computer screen. Ten minutes later the teacher was still calmly trying to help him. And we waited. Yes, I know. New learning medium. Covid. Crisis. Hundreds of thousands dying world wide. Donald Trump. Couldn't I have been a little more tolerant? Evidently not. The teacher in me would have moved it along and figured the problem out with the particular student later. Suppose it's not so easy in a virtual classroom though. Still, my face in its little square wasn't revealing my increasing irritation.

Confined like everyone else, I'd been hanging out for that two hour session. To spend the first ten or so minutes doing nothing was tedious. But it got worse. When the teacher finally displayed this student's sophisticated essay, I could barely understand it as he read with his to me, flawless accent. Seemed to be out of my league, advanced German. I took some comfort from everyone else saying, almost unanimously, that they'd only understood 'ein bisschen' - a little. My image on the screen didn't reveal my rising sense of inadequacy.

When I began learning German three years ago, we were all beginners. But gradually those beginners left for various reasons to be replaced by more advanced students. I'm the least experienced now, and despite recently gorging on three seasons of Babylon Berlin, that day, Deutsch was all a bit beyond me.

Floundering, hurting, I was back in the late 1960s in Year 9 mathematics struggling with quadratic equations, or some such. The oblivious teacher was at the front catering only for that row of mostly boys who liked maths; who seemed to get it. Think I managed a ten minute bathroom break during every one of that teacher's lessons. He always waved me off cheerfully. Memory suggests he didn't care. With 40 kids packed into the room, he seemed prepared to let some fall through the cracks. For the next couple of compulsory maths years, I treated maths with contempt. Barely passed. Hated every painful minute during which I was reminded of how stupid and lazy I was, not by the teachers, but by my own sense of failure and inadequacy.

I've no intention of dropping German. I love it too much. Recognising those primal feelings that betray me if I'm not careful, I got a grip and returned to the session. Of course, because I know now how to learn, I'll have done heaps of revision before my next class.

And a shout out to all those amazing teachers who've pulled off the most astounding feat during the last four weeks in getting all their classes on line. If you ever deserved a pay rise and some proper respect, it's now.

Want to experience some magic? Make your own yoghurt.

I started making my own yoghurt this year to reduce waste. But really? You still have to buy milk and your initial 'starter' yoghurt so unless you have your own cow, you're going to create some waste in the process. If it was just about reducing waste, it would probably be much easier to return to buying Greek style yoghurt, at about $6 for a large tub, which can be recycled. 

So why bother? Making your own yoghurt is so much better. It's like the pleasure of bread making. It's alive and you're the alchemist.

If, like me, you have time, and enjoy creamy delicious Greek style yoghurt, whipping up your own is so satisfying. Seriously, the euphoria of tasting yoghurt straight from its tepid bath. Heaven. These days I enjoy my pleasures where I can. Perfect consistency: dollops cling to the spoon. Intense creaminess on the palette. 

It's taken me a few weeks to get there, a bit of trial and error. So here's my method, in case you feel like trying something new.

You don't need special equipment, other than an esky (mine's big enough for a six pack) - cool box - a meat thermometer and a bit of patience. You have to wait for the magic. The batch I made yesterday had rested for about 20 hours - because I forgot about it - and it's the best I've ever produced.

Initially, I bought an Easiyo Yoghurt maker from the op shop but it's not necessary. Any clean lidded jars or even an old plastic yoghurt container will do.

For your first batch only, you need a starter. Buy a small tub of full cream Greek style yoghurt. I started my current batch with 170g of the Tasmanian Tamar Valley Dairy variety, but I don't suppose it matters. You only need it for your first 'cook'. Get the yoghurt out of the fridge before you start the whole process, to allow it to get to room temperature. I dispense the yoghurt into a large heatproof jug at this stage. (Tip: wash and reuse the yoghurt tub for your next starter.)

In a saucepan, whisk together a litre of full cream milk - I use the UHT type - and a cup of powdered skimmed milk. Now slowly, slowly - patience! - heat the milk to 82 degrees centigrade, stirring occasionally.

When it's at 82 degrees, take it off the heat and wait for it to cool to 46 degrees centigrade.

When it's at 46 degrees, gradually - slowly - mix it into the starter yoghurt in the jug. The idea is to try to keep everything as close to 46 degrees as possible, so don't be too slow!

Once you've mixed the yoghurt with the hot milk, pour some into your starter container - for next time - then fill your jars. Now turn on your hot tap and get it to the temperature where it stings on your knuckle. This is about 46 degrees. Put the containers in your esky, or Easiyo container if you have one, and fill the containers with water at 46 degrees - about half way up the sides of the jars in the esky. Now close the esky and put it somewhere to stand for at least 8 hours, but as I said, 20 hours produced my best return.

I've read that some people just put a container of boiling water in with their jars in the esky. Makes sense if you don't have a small esky that fits under the tap.

This recipe works for me. Of course, you can sweeten it in your preferred way once it's done.

There's heaps of information on line if you don't get pleasing results the first time. But it's like anything. Practice makes perfect.