Motherhood

Subject: Motherhood.

I wonder if my 'independent streak' isn't something to do with the struggle I must have had when growing up under the ever watchful protection of an over loving mother.

That I was the 'apple of her eye' is without doubt. Having nearly lost her life in child birth she seemed determined to protect what she had struggled so hard to keep, irrespective of her own desires. 
Mothers often seem to do this transference, to put their own lives on hold whilst the youngsters gain in strength and experience to eventually leave the nest.
Watching the penguin shuffle around with the chick nestled on their feet as the icy, subzero temperature falls below minus 40, one can only marvel at a mothers resolve and the determination to provide a chance of survival for her offspring. The pluck which a mother shows to protect her offspring is remarkable, chancing her own life by for -instance in the animal kingdom taking on animals much larger and more dangerous than herself, she does all in her power to protect her young.
There often seems little meaningful  reciprocation from a child towards this love, and even a measure of resentment is offered for her efforts. When the young have to leave and make their own way, there's no glancing over their shoulder as they waltz off on the journey, no sentimentality on behalf of the chick, now grown into adulthood. I wonder what the mother penguin feels as she prepare herself for more of the same next season.
Although I can't remember the specifics I am sure my own tendency towards abruptness with my mother, coupled with the decision to leave on my travels, was perhaps based on the fear of being smothered by her love and protection. 
Perhaps I am being unfair since she never, (within my earshot), voiced her fears as I went rock climbing or cycling for the weekend. I suppose my Dad had an influence in pointing out the necessity to let go but she must have been on edge each Saturday and Sunday as I set off, hitch hiking up to the Lake District. By bluff, cheery hello as I walked in late on a Sunday night must have induced relief but these weekends were only an prelude.
Blind to her mental turmoil I eventually played out the cruelest trick of all, the full blown departure, 5 years on the other side of the globe. Somewhere found only on a map, an image without proper reference other than perhaps a mention in a geography book and far far away from the to home she had so assiduously fostered. 
Having returned, it was only a matter of only a month or so before I was off again. Another 5 years, only the ubiquitous  Poste Restante ( the post box situated in a post office where travelers can pick up their mail) to provide any sense of well being and in effect, for her, another 5 years of 'not knowing'.
We don't do these things 'out of spite' or because we wish to hurt someone but our love is different, our love is subsumed into a selfish myopic agenda which is both personal and fiercely independent.
Our own love for another, if and when it comes, will also be dependent on 'reciprocation' and is just as tenuous as hers. 
Perhaps a mothers love for a child, which is essential given the part it plays in the propagation of the species, has no equal. It's the way we are built. The psychological imperatives which nature and nurture provides make the bond immutable.
As we have acknowledged so many times, men and women are so very different. 

Arthur Mee's Children's Encyclopedia

Subject: Arthur Mee's Children's Encyclopedia.

How many of you remember Arthur Mee's Children's Encyclopedia. Those hardcover books of illustrated history which were the prize of many children fortunate enough to live in a house where reading was a priority. The simple poetry, the stories of valor and adventure, the full page illustrations of Greek and Roman antiquity splendid statues and ruined cities resplendent as full page glossy photographs. Mee started his educational odyssey back in 1908 when he began a weekly educational sheet aimed at children and drawing on topics both current and historical, a sort of addendum to schooling for the masses. Gradually these articles found their way into bound editions and about 1922 were published as a ten volume collection or encyclopedia. It was this edition, the blue bound edition that found its way into our house and became a source of much pleasure.

It's prose style was simplistic and featured a pride of Empire, 'ours' and earlier Empires plus their achievements. There wasn't much hand wringing for the defeated, there was little acknowledgement for indigenous people or the feminist movement. Transgender didn't exist nor did the homosexual community have any traction, other than the closeted writers and artists of whom the articles described. 
The world was populated by heroes defending the Eurocentric position of explore's and colonisers, their exploits the building blocks of our febrile imagination.
The other much more weighty tomb in our house was the Encyclopedia Britannica. The fantastic 1911 edition, 32 volumes of finely printed 'fact'. 
Not your fake news but researched facts, documented and authenticated by teams of academics, set out in this magnificent publication.  Beautiful composition, precise ultra clear typeface, state of the art articles, printed on ultra lightweight paper. Thousands upon thousands of words and illustrations, the epitome of the book publishers art. 
It was there to delve into, to redefine a view or settle a misunderstanding. It was there to embellish and refine, to cross the t and dot the i. 
Of course today we have Wikipedia and Google to find our facts. Much easier than sifting through the thousands of pages of fine print but some how my nostalgia for the academic surety, bound in a series of crafted books created by generations of skill now escaped to a never to be seen again graveyard, along with much we fancied as our 'quality of life' back then.

Thoughts expressed

Subject: Thoughts expressed.

Face to face conversation versus putting ones thoughts out as a blog can define the gulf which lies between us. 
Often in conversation the impact of what you say can be misconstrued but equally the image you leave in a blog can take many forms. 
Writing about any topic draws your hand and exposes your trend of thought but nearly always that particular trend of thought has many aspects to it and is dependent on many things.
When one writes about the homeless you needn't be homeless yourself to have something to say about what it must be like to be homeless. This is true about virtually any subject and especially so when one associates oneself with the particular as a special case.
Getting old has been a theme of mine for sometime, not necessarily because I am getting old but that the ageing process gives one the perspective of being old. 
The age old assumptions of life at a certain period in your life are particularly pertinent when you are living through that period and old age is as fascinating and as relevant as being young.
The object, 'ageing' is a phenomena which is rich in experience and inevitably has its own special downside but to be objective and open about ageing and the end of life is not an exercise in morbid paranoia but a gentle nudge towards reality. 
To set down just one avenue of thought is worth while in that it brings to the fore a thought process some would rather not have or if they have it, would rather not share. This is not to say that being interested in what it means to be old means also that you become fixated or even that you display any outward signs of being the person you describe. That person is a representation of not necessarily of even an average or a norm, they may be on the periphery of society but they do exist. 
They are a fictional composition but no less real. They are not you or me but could be, you or me and that is the reason I write about them and the phenomena they represent in the society we all wish to acknowledge we belong.

Growing old

Subject: Growing old

What a crazy, mixed up set of conflicting emotions we are, grappling our mood swings, full of good intentions, we easily fall into a cleft of unintended consequences. Our willingness to define our lives by the custom of our experience means we are tied to the conventions we gathered through our life passage, unable it seems to change and reinvent ourselves to new surroundings. 
Perhaps this is our strength. To keep on being true to our old beliefs, shutting out troubling new trends of thought and belief which assail our convictions. Perhaps our ability to remain true to our old values has the smack of resolution, a commitment to the altar of a life times set of beliefs on which we built our lives.
Of course we see the changes all around us.  The swing away from our norms to new norms which are worn by today's people as easily and with the same surety as the norms we accepted when we were young and flexible.
The term flexible is, in its self a questionable term if you have grown through the various stages of life with the over riding values which now are challenged by the many. It's a statistical inevitability that you will become a minority as you grow old, the new populating the space you occupied, drowning out your claim to be heard. 
And so as we drift into obscurity, as we lose our importance as an individually respected  personality and start to become a stereotype, a picture of amusement, a 'doddering oldie', the joints stiffening, the mind losing its focus, we reach our "sell by date".
The most difficult transition is between us and our children. For so long their protector they have if they wish to assume this role just at a time when it's inconvenient. 
There is also the difference of the relationship not being comparative. The love you had for your baby which was based on the frailty of the new born and your overwhelming power to effect outcomes with the responsibility you now seem to have for an old person especially if that person is a parent. The symbiosis which comes from a child and its parent at the start of life is in part the excitement of life repeating itself. We marvel at our ability to reinvent ourselves to the role of parent and the more or less predictable stages children go through as they pass through and out of our influence. In passing out of our grasp they signal their independence and it's that same independence which is threatened when the old become ever more infirmed and themselves need support.
Society used to provide a blanket care system. Neighbours, having known each other for years acted as a surrogate support system with only the occasional visit to see how Mom or Dad are doing. As the young flee to all corners of the globe to seek their own sense of fulfilment, the old supporting and endorsing this opportunity to make a success of their lives, we lose the cohesion of the social continuity.
Some societies maintain a strict mechanism of social responsibility with family tied to each other until death do they part. The household is a reflection of the structure of this family bond with parents and even grandparents in place within the home as part of a societal norm. Even the hierarchy is maintained to a degree so that the implicit respect for age and gender is maintained. Religion is often the force behind this structure, the 'commandments' set in a time before the aeroplane made flight and dispersion possible.
Secular independence and the reinvention of norms each generation makes custom redundant. We are all individuals and each stage of life is a 'make or break' challenge . It's good to evolve and not stagnate but this embodiment of evolution is more weighted towards the young and leaves many unanswered questions as we grow old.  




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The generation game

Subject: The generation game.

I'm reading a book about Richard the III and the intricacies of  life among'st his brothers and the competing claims of the landed Dukes for favors and ultimately, the crown.

The complexity was in large part the observation that we are owed a position in life, in Richards case because of lineage, his brother was king. 
The assumptions which flow from what we presume to be our role in life's hierarchy, father, mother, brother and sister to say nothing of grandparents, aunts and uncles leads to many reassessments. Life could be classed as a continual reassessment.
One of the problems in the latter passage through life old age is the changes which flow from growing older and the effect it has on the relationships which you hold with those close to you.
Role play suggests that roles don't change, that the status quo is fixed and hierarchies remain the same.  The relationship between a husband and wife remains similar. Both more or less the same age, both effecting the others growth and attainment, for good or for bad, a symbiotic coupling which as far as time is concerned wears well.
The relationship with children is different. They emerge from under the parental shadow and like a chrysalis, break out from the constraint of their childhood to free themselves from parental control. As a parent the tendency is not to recognise the changes until it is too late and to keep on being a parent long past your sell by date.
The initial hierarchical harmony around the dinner table, in the lounge or the shopping mall is no longer structured and depends on the degree people feel there is a need to keep the structure of the family unit together.

Even the question of a family structure is a moot point since it's structure depended, in the past, on need, which in turn led to the pecking order, 'giver and receiver'.
The reasoning therefore behind most relationships is a sense of dependability. We have an inherent fragility, a dislike to being alone and yet, being alone is often our default position. 
In any gathering where young and old gather there is a tension between the age groups, lessened when the different gender mix but crucial to maintaining a hierarchy, a symbolism of order. If the order is broken then until there is a passing away of the old order there is conflict and a measure of unhappiness. It's the control over this unhappiness that become the life's work at least until life ceases. That's not to say this is a negative thing, just another thing to comprehend.

To sleep perchance to dream

Subject: To sleep perchance to dream.

Being asleep or being awake are both part of the process of being alive. We value being awake because we are in charge of ourselves, our actions are recorded in our memory, the plans we make are dependent on being awake. But what if, as we get older it becomes, much of a muchness, that without a plan or even with a plan the effectiveness of the body to carry out the plan is so much diminished.
You see in the old age home people sitting and sleeping throughout the day, some of it is drug induced but much is the natural contentment of having done as much as you were capable of and  now you sit and contemplate. 
Sleeping is an adjunct of contemplation it's a recognition that in your shrunken world of hind-sited memory the future is for others and a good sleep is but the cherry on the top.
The urge to be up doing things is a Protestant ethic inculcated with the thought of "busy hands keeping the mind from straying to evil thoughts". The search for a tidy home and a tidy life was thought to be the epitome of good practice amongst the middle and working class, only people with time on their hands were allowed the 'sacrifice' of doing what they wanted, which included, doing nothing. 
Retirement in many ways brings everyone onto that same plateau. It is only the habits of a lifetime of work and routine which inhibits us to nestle into the  sloth of old age with quiet alacrity  

2018

Subject: 2018

One of the psychological treats of the New Year is that you have another 365 days of the same old, or 365 days to seek new and enjoy.
The festive season over the creaking table cleared of food one is faced with the reality of work.  To begin again and create more of the same, or have the hollowness of no work and an inability to provide. These are the stark choices for the majority, not the uplands of political debate where everything is possible with a few choice words and nothing much attained. 
The diversity of the worlds which people live in make for misunderstanding on a grandiose scale. The misconceptions are at fault in so much as the people 'believed them' and for no other reason. The ideological sure rootedness of a believer, religious or political are but in many eyes, cant, a sham, humbug, the life's work for a few.
What mince-meat will the Brexitiers make of the logic of the market place. What fuss and blather will the Remainders make of immigration fears and the value of national democracy. 
The tent is about to be ripped but who will effect a repair. Is the captain of the ship still sailing the old course or will a new skipper order a new course to be set and will the offer of a new Jerusalem be enough to convince people to become entities in their own right with sufficient give and take so that no one feels left out.
Will the banks and the media allow change to happen or are the self interests in the status quo just too strong.
On a more personal note. Will the bits and pieces hold together for another year. Will the mind still remember my name and who I voted for. Will the global change in weather signal an end to our world as we know it and will Rocket Man loose patience with the King of Twitter and throw the first stone.

A good conversation

Subject: A good conversation.

What is it that makes some conversation easy and with others hard work.

Of course there is the question of topic and a willingness by the other party to give you the time, irrespective of their own time.

Of course if they genuinely  dislike you the conversation will be short if not terse. But if they like you but still can not open up, what is the inhibitor.

Yesterday I had a talk with a chap which went on for a long time and finally when we decided to call it a day we both acknowledged how rewarding it had been. There was no particular topic we just talked perhaps a common thread was our willingness to delve into our respective past experience finding all kinds of  common ground. Perhaps it's the 'common ground' which is important, perhaps it's the respect we hold for the person we are conversing with, perhaps it's finding someone who understands the subject matter or perhaps they are just a good listener as you unload what's been on your mind.

As we seek to understand what we understand we need someone who will understand.

If the generational gap is too wide it's difficult to bear down on the content of what you wish to say because the younger person has no contextual idea of what your describing. You might hold them by your enthusiasm for a while but eventually they will glaze over and mentally seek comfort in their own worldly experience.

It's this worldly experience which we carry around in our heads which has to find a mate, someone who apprehends the enthusiasm because they have the same enthusiasm themselves. That's not to say you have to be a car enthusiast to talk cars but it's the context of the car and society at large which brings a smile of recognition and recollection which is the true cement for a good conversation.
The trust you place in the world around you, which is the mainstay of your happiness is made up of communication with all kinds of people. Most of it is simply a reminder that you are still visible as you joke with the person behind the till in the supermarket Also some of it is at a different level, a sort of verbal box ticking exercise, to tell and be told of the things you value. It's a confirmation that they are still in place, those old emotions which you value so much and are readily confirmed by another.

Our phantom friend

Subject: Our phantom friend.

Television as a medium acts as a filler, it fills the holes in our everyday life in a way that helps us ignore our loneliness, lack of knowledge, unease with silence.  The artificial companionship  formed with the characters in a soap opera, episodes which are anticipated as if they were real, is a well known.
Quiet contemplation seems a thing of the past. Finding solace in ones own company, keeping things simple, understanding the platform on which you as a person stand and not being drawn with envy into the lifestyles of parts of society to which you don't belong.
We witness glitz and outrageous riches are beyond our understanding through the daily bombardment of these lifestyles on television. We become addicted to a style of living most of us will never attain, an image sustained by recurrent 'episodic' injections into a world we will never inherit.
My memories of a simple environment, before television was not one of a painful abstraction, very much the opposite. Our lives were grounded in the reality of who we were. 
Simple games and simple pleasures brought genuine laughter. The interaction between people was also genuine, not the artificiality of Facebook or the tautology within manufactured friendships, which are a feature of online activity. The very "dailiness"and the intensity of our search for commentary on events outside our own sphere of influence, removes us mentally into a nether world where intimacy is traded for multiple skirmishes.  Is it any wonder, in the world of the phantom "friend", that we whirl around like dervishes.

 Facebook and the almost constant search for online messages, the never ending glance  at the mobile phone, willing a contact to share their own fragile need for contact. 

The constant texting of our thoughts and actions. The almost messianic urgency in the passenger when the tube train emerges from the underground, to text where you are. It's as though we have lost that beautiful 'quietus' which past generations had. Where contemplation was an asset and the noise of the world around a distraction.
In reality we are often best alone since the complexity of defending who we are is just too demanding. There are short bursts of time when we feel such affinity for another person that it is a most rewarding thing but in a flash it can be broken and the imaginary mold broken. Most molds are imaginary constructs of how we wish things to be and much of the anticipation of a wider, more enriching experience, outside our own psyche is grounded in this willingness to accept there is such a mold. 

The ultimate connectivity we hope to generate is there, but it comes in fits and starts and dies as quickly as the hope which put it there in the first place. 
How can it be otherwise when the default is so many conflicting aims and desires constantly being undermined by the contrary.