Sunday, 25 August 2013

More Nevermores

The serendipity of the circularity of my work life  delightes me, still. It seems there are some things that aren't gone forever more. However, it also got me thinking about things which will certainly not come round again no matter how serendipitous one's  imagining  may be.  I shall never run for a 'bus again. I shall never wear a mini-skirt again. I shall never have another pregnancy. I was about to say I would never have auburnish tints in my hair again, but that would be a fallacy because I could easily purchase and apply some. My hair just won't grow rich brown anymore but settles for a sort of sludge. I shall never be nine stone again - about 126 pounds in Mount View California. As it happens, I am currently heavier than I was on the day before my last child was born, so, heavier than at nine months pregnant. No more high heels in which  no longer to  run for the aforementioned 'bus.Now this is something of an advantage: I no longer need to change my shoes in to what we called "driving shoes". Because, silly, one couldn't drive in high heels and so slipped on a pair of flatties which were kept in the car for the purpose. Now, I should have to bend down, untie my shoelaces, drag off my brogues and, having remembered to bring a shoe-horn, apply my purposeful flatties. I don't think so.

I have left it too late to go to Japan. The culture fascinates me and the food is to live on permanently, given the option. But I can no more explore where one needs one's feet. Walking is rationed. Last week I went with my oldest friend, (also known as the Father of my Children) by air to Dublin for the day, to see my next oldest friend. The distance from Check-in Desk to Departure Lounge at Heathrow is a kilometre. I have it on the best authority, the porter who pushed the wheelchair I was obliged to ask for. That facility was supplied at Dublin Airport, too, so I was able to save my walking capacity for the city centre: 'center' if you are in MV Ca, see above. On this occasion, nevermore threatened to creep in to what was a delightful, peaceful and enriching day. Unspoken was the awareness that all three of us were well beyond the Departure Lounge and actually  waiting on the tarmac, on board the aircraft for a departure of whatever degree of finality your creed permits you to believe in. Our friend is fifteen years ahead of us but as strong in mind as ever with an essence of self which has remained unchanged for the six decades of our acquaintance. He is reading for a degree at Trinity College. This is more a 'never before', than a 'nevermore'. They have never had a graduate of his age in their entire history. We have pledged to go to his graduation so the wait to take off  on that final flight must endure at least another year.

There may well be even more 'never dones' than 'nevermores': all grist for the next or, anyway, future blogposts. But the sun is out in this extraordinary repetition of the summers of childhood when the sun always blazed and there was always sand in your toes. I shall walk down to the 'bus stop in the calm knowledge that the next 'bus will surely follow the one I have not been able to run for. Prynhawn da.

Friday, 9 August 2013

More Change

You may remember my excitement, a post or so ago, at the serendipidy of my employment life. From making an index at a publishing house, via helping passengers at London Airport to flying in stewardess mode with unaccompanied children, I find myself, at the hospital, working in the Library with the book index, at an Enquiry Desk helping patients' with their enquiries and, wonder of wonders, that which I failed to note the last time, pushing a trolley of books around the wards and, therefore, once again, a Trolley Dolly. Whomever you may believe in or not, Something, Somewhere must have a sense of humour. There have been so many changes in recent times that that little joke on Life's part is very reassuring.

Not only a new paragraph but a new start after a couple of days.  I will tell you why I broke off. The Wizard of Cyberspace, with whom the faithful among you are only too well acquainted, stole all the post but for the above shortish paragraph.  Yes, I had pressed 'save', boringly, neurotically often. To no avail. The blogpost had gone, leaving only a tiny, forlorn reminder of the inspiration behind the whole. To add insult to you-know-what, I think I must have been instrumental in aiding and abetting. I think there must have been something I leaned on which acted as 'delete.' There is, therefore, a further problem: what did I do and how can I avoid doing it again? The Guru is too busy to ask and, anyway, I didn't want to delay any longer in case you thought I, myself, had gone off to join the Wizard in Cyberspace.

 I had been thinking about change. Recently, the papers have been discussing phubbing. I understand this to mean attending to your mobile phone and snubbing the people you are with in real space and time. As you know, the Guru serves as my insight in to the contemporary world.  He phubbs all the time.  On one occasion, fed up with the phenomenon and feeling mischievous, as he read yet another text message, I pulled out the crossword and bent my attention to it. The Guru's response: he told me not to be so childish. Now, I happen to know he was very well brought up, so that assessment could have been based only on his conviction that his phubbing was perfectly acceptable contemporary behaviour and in no way reflected bad manners. But manners have changed. Walking - shuffling may be fairer - down my local road the  other day, in scorching heat, begging the minimal shade of shop awnings, I was twice cut into by pedestrians overtaking on my outside to duck in to a shop on my inside. On the same day, I was pushed out of the way for an extremely able-bodied teenager to take the seat in the 'bus which is labelled for the disabled. As it happens, politically correctly, it says " those less able to stand". That pleases me. Most political correctness does not. Though I do have one other acceptable example. There is no need to say "manned". One can say "staffed" instead.  Political correctness probably deserves a post all of its own but it would be nice to hear your views in the meantime. Liz is off, now, to the world of Mindfulness with the lovely psychologist who comes to help me with it. What with that and political correctness I may yet end up fit for Guru's world of how-it-is-now. Bore da