n.b. The other night a song played by the Irish folk band in a bar in Southsea, from an album we listened to as children, before we had the wherewithal to buy our own, caught my brother’s attention. The Clancy Brothers and Tommy Makem album, bought by my father, featured a great love song, “Holy Ground“.
Hearing it being played through the talk of the bar, my brother said, “We know this one!” We did, from childhoods more than 50 years previous.
The magic of music. I could see the record player; the cabinet it sat in; the room it sat in; the view from the window; the house; the memory of singing along.
n.b. Memory is triggered by so many random details. I recall the playground ringing to the chant, “Christopher Perry kissed….(insert name here)!”
I apologise to her for being so forward. Totally unacceptable behaviour on my part. I was out of order. No excuses. I think I have learned my lesson, although it took a while. Attitudes and behaviours learnt young need early challenge.
My elder sister had never been so embarrassed in her life. She made that quite clear.
n.b. Our essential connection to nature begins with getting our hands dirty as children when we play outside digging. As we do so we build our natural immunities through our exposure to the earth.
Immense pleasure can be derived from using our hands and fingers to push into the soil, open the earth and planting next summer’s crop.
I recently planted one hundred garlic cloves. Each bulb containing a piece of nature’s magic that will more than fully repay the invested effort. As I placed the cloves into the soil I imagined their subterranean uncurling and the fresh green shoots pushing up into the air and sunlight. I wonder how many will make it to the kitchen this year?
n.b. Whatever it was is not so important, but not being able to recall it creates a new reality; the understanding that time has been stretched so thin that gaps are appearing in its fabric. Like a fleece that has been stretched too far, holes are created that themselves will become forgotten when the yarn is spun.
“I don’t care what he does, as long as he’s happy”
What the children know of their parents
Who want them just to be happy
Is that they hold the keys
To all the doors
Well before they’re eighteen
“I’ll do anything for my babies”
Who soon learn that to sulk
Is to take control
Power without responsibility
“I don’t know where we went wrong”
So commonly heard
So unthinking said.
n.b. Happiness is a derived emotional state that seems to come from a sense of being at ease amongst those you respect and share purpose. Hence the attraction of online gaming and gangs. Happy families it appears to me, do things together, rather than just being an altar for feeding the children’s egotistical pleasures.