H has been sick and spent a few days watching TV. This just happened to coincide with an interview on Radio New Zealand about how we don’t totally relax. I went with the whole mind-numbing TV thing until I was too restless and started some random projects, so my eyes were off the ball.

H has been on a project bender now that she is “better”… Loom bands mark II

There is, of course has some cross-over into the new project from her passions. The good old sorting schema, and one of those loom bands says “but if the while I think on thee dear friend all losses are restored and sorrows end” (“it is peaceful and nice, it is true –  if you feel a bit sad and you pick something up that contains a memory of a friend you can’t help but smile and feel better”) which is of course Shakespeare.

H loves her own room. She spends hours in there. I can’t often tell what is happening in there or when as when the door is shut, no light spills out. H doesn’t sleep, finds it hard to go to sleep, maybe doesn’t need sleep… Sometimes, I can’t tell if the tears and arguments are due to her indignation about being sent to bed or because she is tired as sometimes there is no fuss, no sleep and no consequences!

This morning, she came out with these fully written poems:

Rhyming Maths

 One plus one is two

try it its true

four and seven equals eleven

give it a go, do

but we’re not done cause maths is fun

three minus two equals one

 twelve and four is twenty six

well done, you’re great at this

 nine minus five is four

 I’m sure

but nine plus six is fifteen

see what I mean

 one and two are in between

 a and b divided by three

 that’s a bit too hard for me

 I could do this for a year

maths is beyond compare

but now its time I do declare

 drop your calculator notebook and pen

 and tomorrow we will do it all over again

 

I have numbers on my brain

I have numbers on my brain

 two, four, five, and seven all caught the thought train

numbers cling to my neurons

figures float in my memory, adding, dividing, and multiplying

bouncing in a thought bubble

 how shall I end this trouble

 squidgy grey balls, numbers bouncing on the walls

 I have numbers on my brain

 

never-ending numbers

A universe of units

millions of figures float through the air

maths is everywhere

 these digits are infinite

the numbers never ending

 you’d think they’d be bending

the end should be descending

from every number there is more

 when will they hit the floor

I suppose they might

 just take flight

 and shoot out of sight

 in this world of infinite numbers

 

Nonsensical numbers

The numbers in my mind are just squiggles and lines

 Shapes that  have a meaning

“that’s greater than this”

what a symbol this is

 a loop to the left plus a right turn equals a single stripe with a corner and a line

who invented numbers

 they’re nonsensical slashes

 the romans had dashes xs and ls

our wiggles are just tasteless

where shall we base this

what flaws they created

this confusion is bated

I wish we’d waited

To design the lines, the six and the nine

Oh what a muddle

 if placed in a puddle

they look exactly the same

lets re-write the numbers, lets do it again

lets eliminate the trouble

lets pop the bubble

I’ll change those numbers in my brain.

 

She even got dressed. I think the seed for these was sown a few nights earlier when we read, while she was sick, a bit out of a book called Once Upon a Prime that ponders the use of maths in literature. I am sure she told me it was boring and, at the same time, laughed at the content and seemed engaged. I can’t tell what goes on in that head of hers. I don’t ask anymore.

her head, her room… all that private thinking and learning…. could I really know what was happening there anyway when I am looking through my eyes and my brain?