************************************************
I awake at 6.30am with these lines in my head:
Come to the edge.
It’s where I live –
Come, see the drop below;
Don’t be afraid – here,
Take my hand –
I will not let you fall,
I just want to show you
Where I live.
Tuesday, December 30, 2008
Sunday, December 28, 2008
"I've been to paradise - but I've never been to me."
***********************************************************************
So sang Charlene.
And I wondered if I had ever been to me. Is there a ‘me’ somewhere hidden under all the stuff that has been layered upon me? Under all the socialization, the ‘educating’, the moulding etc etc.?
Or is it like an onion? You peel off layer after layer, only to find when you get to the middle – there is no onion left?
Perhaps the only ‘me’ is all those layers. Strip them away, and what have you got left?
I hope it isn’t like this though. But if I am not the layers… what is this ‘something else’ that is the real me?
I think I really know the answer.
It is bloody freezing here. I went to feed the swans and the ducks and the birds and things – Friday, that was. They live on the canal at Spike Island. I understand that this was the first canal to be built in England. It fell into disrepair of course, but they have cleaned it up, and there is a sort of marina there. The canal connects, via a lock, to the river Mersey and thence to the sea. So the boats are sea-going vessels.
I would like a sea going boat. I believe I have an affinity with the sea. Perhaps – if you believe in reincarnation – I was a seafarer in a previous life. Or, if you don’t believe in reincarnation, something may have been carried over in my genes from a distant ancestor who was, perhaps, a pirate.
I haven’t heard from Anastasia. I sent her a Christmas card but I didn’t get one back. Sometimes it is difficult to understand people – don’t you think? I often think about those long legs of hers.
Depression is a much over-used word. Could I perhaps say I am ‘clinically fed-up’? Or ‘clinically pissed-off’. I don’t think either of those diagnoses are in the DSM – perhaps they should be. Or how about suffering from ‘Ups and Downs Syndrome’?
I went to a funeral just before Christmas. His name was John and he did a lot of painting and decorating for us at Wynorin. So much so, that he became a friend.
Being a Roman Catholic, he had Requiem Mass. I just stood up and sat down as instructed. It was John I went for – not a religious ceremony. Nevertheless, one wonders where John is now. It is not a silly question. The priest seemed pretty certain. But then, he’s in the trade – so to speak.
We’re back to the onion again. I mean all the ‘layers’ that I knew as ‘John’ are all gone. But is there a bit in the middle that goes on somewhere? And if so, where does it go? And is that bit the John I knew?
Anyway, I can’t sit here talking to you all night. In fact, it is only six in the evening in America, but in Australia it is 11am tomorrow – which is not here yet, as far as me and America are concerned. So what time is it really?
By the way: one last word on canals. On the Illinois Canal they put the towpath on the right bank. In England – just to be different – we put the towpath on the left bank. Which is why, when the motorcar was invented in England by Maurice Cowley, he chose to drive it on the left hand side of the road. The rest of the world – when they caught up – decided (just to be awkward) to drive on the right.
So sang Charlene.
And I wondered if I had ever been to me. Is there a ‘me’ somewhere hidden under all the stuff that has been layered upon me? Under all the socialization, the ‘educating’, the moulding etc etc.?
Or is it like an onion? You peel off layer after layer, only to find when you get to the middle – there is no onion left?
Perhaps the only ‘me’ is all those layers. Strip them away, and what have you got left?
I hope it isn’t like this though. But if I am not the layers… what is this ‘something else’ that is the real me?
I think I really know the answer.
It is bloody freezing here. I went to feed the swans and the ducks and the birds and things – Friday, that was. They live on the canal at Spike Island. I understand that this was the first canal to be built in England. It fell into disrepair of course, but they have cleaned it up, and there is a sort of marina there. The canal connects, via a lock, to the river Mersey and thence to the sea. So the boats are sea-going vessels.
I would like a sea going boat. I believe I have an affinity with the sea. Perhaps – if you believe in reincarnation – I was a seafarer in a previous life. Or, if you don’t believe in reincarnation, something may have been carried over in my genes from a distant ancestor who was, perhaps, a pirate.
I haven’t heard from Anastasia. I sent her a Christmas card but I didn’t get one back. Sometimes it is difficult to understand people – don’t you think? I often think about those long legs of hers.
Depression is a much over-used word. Could I perhaps say I am ‘clinically fed-up’? Or ‘clinically pissed-off’. I don’t think either of those diagnoses are in the DSM – perhaps they should be. Or how about suffering from ‘Ups and Downs Syndrome’?
I went to a funeral just before Christmas. His name was John and he did a lot of painting and decorating for us at Wynorin. So much so, that he became a friend.
Being a Roman Catholic, he had Requiem Mass. I just stood up and sat down as instructed. It was John I went for – not a religious ceremony. Nevertheless, one wonders where John is now. It is not a silly question. The priest seemed pretty certain. But then, he’s in the trade – so to speak.
We’re back to the onion again. I mean all the ‘layers’ that I knew as ‘John’ are all gone. But is there a bit in the middle that goes on somewhere? And if so, where does it go? And is that bit the John I knew?
Anyway, I can’t sit here talking to you all night. In fact, it is only six in the evening in America, but in Australia it is 11am tomorrow – which is not here yet, as far as me and America are concerned. So what time is it really?
By the way: one last word on canals. On the Illinois Canal they put the towpath on the right bank. In England – just to be different – we put the towpath on the left bank. Which is why, when the motorcar was invented in England by Maurice Cowley, he chose to drive it on the left hand side of the road. The rest of the world – when they caught up – decided (just to be awkward) to drive on the right.
Friday, December 26, 2008
ON THE ILLINOIS CANAL
*************************************
It is not often I devote a post to a comment from a reader. I would, however, like to clear up the small matter of the Illinois Canal.
You were quite right, RJ in taking me to task for failing to mention that national heritage. It was just that the canal is so famous that I sort of took it for granted - if you know what I mean.
In fact, as devotees of folk music will be aware, the canal has been immortalised in song by that doyen of the American folk scene, Long John Jackson (a formative influence on the young Bob Dylan). I myself have a record made at a live performance by Long John at a concert in Chicago in 1950.
There are seven verses, but I will just give the first verse and the chorus:
ON THE ILLINOIS CANAL.
It was on the Illinois Canal,
My wife sailed off, with my best pal;
I can't recall her name, but Joe,
My bosom friend,
I miss him so.
Chorus
With a half hitch, a half hitch,
And a bowline on a bight,
We're bound for old Chicago -
We'll be there by Friday night.
What many people do not know is the the canal was never intended as such. The 'Ditch' as it was originally called, came about as a sort of early YTS scheme to provide employment and get the youth of Chicago off the streets.
The intention was that, once it had been dug, it was to be filled in again. But the Friday of its completion was followd by a weekend of heay rain. When president Polk, who happened to be in Chicago at the time, saw the waterlogged ditch, he had a brainwave: "We could float boats on that, and we've got a cheap transport system." he exclaimed. "Of course we will need more water but the Great Lakes aren't that far away, are they?"
Of course it wasn't quite as simple as that. But with a few locks here and there, and American ingenuity, the Illinois Canal was born.
And it was this famous canal that gave the British the idea for a series of (much smaller) canals, criss-crossing the country and providing transport for coal and such like.
MERRY CHRISTMAS EVERYONE
It is not often I devote a post to a comment from a reader. I would, however, like to clear up the small matter of the Illinois Canal.
You were quite right, RJ in taking me to task for failing to mention that national heritage. It was just that the canal is so famous that I sort of took it for granted - if you know what I mean.
In fact, as devotees of folk music will be aware, the canal has been immortalised in song by that doyen of the American folk scene, Long John Jackson (a formative influence on the young Bob Dylan). I myself have a record made at a live performance by Long John at a concert in Chicago in 1950.
There are seven verses, but I will just give the first verse and the chorus:
ON THE ILLINOIS CANAL.
It was on the Illinois Canal,
My wife sailed off, with my best pal;
I can't recall her name, but Joe,
My bosom friend,
I miss him so.
Chorus
With a half hitch, a half hitch,
And a bowline on a bight,
We're bound for old Chicago -
We'll be there by Friday night.
What many people do not know is the the canal was never intended as such. The 'Ditch' as it was originally called, came about as a sort of early YTS scheme to provide employment and get the youth of Chicago off the streets.
The intention was that, once it had been dug, it was to be filled in again. But the Friday of its completion was followd by a weekend of heay rain. When president Polk, who happened to be in Chicago at the time, saw the waterlogged ditch, he had a brainwave: "We could float boats on that, and we've got a cheap transport system." he exclaimed. "Of course we will need more water but the Great Lakes aren't that far away, are they?"
Of course it wasn't quite as simple as that. But with a few locks here and there, and American ingenuity, the Illinois Canal was born.
And it was this famous canal that gave the British the idea for a series of (much smaller) canals, criss-crossing the country and providing transport for coal and such like.
MERRY CHRISTMAS EVERYONE
Wednesday, December 24, 2008
MAN'S FALSE LEG FOUND UNDER ROLLER COASTER
*****************************************************
I went to see my doctor last week. Well, my real doctor was fully booked: he specialises in gynaecology, and I guess there must be a lot of that about at this time of year.
I saw a lady doctor. She’s very nice. She said, “Perhaps you should up your medication.”
“Up yours” I retorted. No I didn’t, because I think she has a point. I have always been reluctant to increase the dosage, but what the heck: it’s the time of year that always gets to me, so this time I will accept a bit of help – even if it is of the chemical variety.
Ophelia (Actually her name is Helen but I like to think of her as Dr Ophelia Pulse) also agreed to refer me for a course of CBT (Cognitive Behavioural Therapy, to any cork-heads out there). I told Ophelia that I call it the ‘Microwave Therapy’ – how she laughed.
Competition news
There was no outright winner of last week’s “Complete the song title” competition.
“There’s a rainbow round my …”
“All the nice girls love a …”
Although there were some pretty inventive entries, the answers we were looking for were, of course: “shoulder” and “sailor”.
And by the way RJ, regarding your post, trivialising my condition: I do not believe a word of your story about a Christmas song. I judge it as another of your flights of fancy – along with your alleged adventures on canals. I have had a look at Illinois with that Google Earth thing, and there is not a canal in sight, let alone a Narrowboat.
I read in the newspaper that a man's false leg had been found under the roller-coaster at Alton Towers, during a cleaning up operation.
Management are appealing for the owner to come forward.
Limping presumably.
I went to see my doctor last week. Well, my real doctor was fully booked: he specialises in gynaecology, and I guess there must be a lot of that about at this time of year.
I saw a lady doctor. She’s very nice. She said, “Perhaps you should up your medication.”
“Up yours” I retorted. No I didn’t, because I think she has a point. I have always been reluctant to increase the dosage, but what the heck: it’s the time of year that always gets to me, so this time I will accept a bit of help – even if it is of the chemical variety.
Ophelia (Actually her name is Helen but I like to think of her as Dr Ophelia Pulse) also agreed to refer me for a course of CBT (Cognitive Behavioural Therapy, to any cork-heads out there). I told Ophelia that I call it the ‘Microwave Therapy’ – how she laughed.
Competition news
There was no outright winner of last week’s “Complete the song title” competition.
“There’s a rainbow round my …”
“All the nice girls love a …”
Although there were some pretty inventive entries, the answers we were looking for were, of course: “shoulder” and “sailor”.
And by the way RJ, regarding your post, trivialising my condition: I do not believe a word of your story about a Christmas song. I judge it as another of your flights of fancy – along with your alleged adventures on canals. I have had a look at Illinois with that Google Earth thing, and there is not a canal in sight, let alone a Narrowboat.
I read in the newspaper that a man's false leg had been found under the roller-coaster at Alton Towers, during a cleaning up operation.
Management are appealing for the owner to come forward.
Limping presumably.
Saturday, December 20, 2008
**********************************************************
The prize for aphorism of the week goes to Matilde Bonaparte for:
Time flies when you're sedated.
Matilde wins a tin of Highland Shortbreads which will soon be winging its way across the pond.
The big bird of depression spreads his dark wings, as he hovers, low in Christmas skies – they never write seasonal songs about him, though – not like the robin, or those flying reindeer.
This is an Alice in Wonderland world.
I think I'll go fall down a rabbit hole.
The prize for aphorism of the week goes to Matilde Bonaparte for:
Time flies when you're sedated.
Matilde wins a tin of Highland Shortbreads which will soon be winging its way across the pond.
The big bird of depression spreads his dark wings, as he hovers, low in Christmas skies – they never write seasonal songs about him, though – not like the robin, or those flying reindeer.
This is an Alice in Wonderland world.
I think I'll go fall down a rabbit hole.
Thursday, December 18, 2008
"It was Christmas eve, babe/In the drunk-tank..."
************************************************
I should say that it is not Christmas eve, nor am I in the drunk-tank. I just love The Pogue's "Fairytale..."
I have had two falls. The first was off a mountain – sort of. And I bashed my right knee.
The second was in a dark car park. I tripped and fell, over a place where a tree had been, but was no longer there, causing injury to my left knee. As I hit the ground a woman who was passing stopped and enquired, solicitously, if I was ok. From a kneeling position I answered in the affirmative. But a man came and picked up my car keys, which had landed some distance away, and asked if I was alright. He was quickly followed by a boy on crutches, and a woman in a wheelchair, pushed by a dwarf.
(I lied about the crutches and the wheelchair people).
But it just shows how close one is to unforeseen trauma. I blame both accidents on wearing boots. But Freud said there is no such thing as an accident. Or was that Jung? Anyway, it was one of them – and if it wasn’t, it ought to have been.
That settles it: I am going back to skating. Clearly I am safer on the ice that on the ground.
As for this Tai Chi I have been trying – well it is ok, and I am sure it will do me some good, but I miss the atmosphere of the rink. Last night I dreamt I was skating. Skating really well, with skill and confidence – even though the ice had turned to slush.
I am eating bread made from spelt and rye. This is because I have a slight intolerance to wheat.
I’ve a slight intolerance to wheat:
When I eat it, it flies to my feet,
And little brown roots
Sprout out of my boots,
And anchor my legs to the street.
Somebody said I should try goats’ milk. So I did – and it’s ok. Also sheep’s cheese. But that is hard to come by. I asked the man in the place where I get my funny bread, and he said the sheep around here tend to yield wool rather than cheese. I wonder if he is trying to wind me up.
I went to a meeting to the MDF last night. That is the ‘Manic Depressive Fellowship’. Not that I am Bi-polar – I don’t think so, anyway. I just went along for the eats. My friend runs the group, and as it was Christmas they were having a sort of buffet. I enjoyed it.
Incidentally, I think the term ‘Bi-polar’ is much better, because people (lay people, that is) confuse ‘manic’ with ‘maniac’.
Anyway, they have invited me to their proper Christmas meal, in January.
I have suffered from depression, as readers of this column will know, and with OCD thrown in for good measure. But I am working on that.
When I fell off the mountain (sort of) I bust my digital camera. Perhaps someone will buy me one, as a Christmas present. I used to quite enjoy photography – perhaps I could do so again.
Anyway, I have used 44 minutes of my 1 hour allocated time on this computer in Widnes library (I could ask for extra time, but I might feel like little Oliver, asking for more
So I will stop there.
I should say that it is not Christmas eve, nor am I in the drunk-tank. I just love The Pogue's "Fairytale..."
I have had two falls. The first was off a mountain – sort of. And I bashed my right knee.
The second was in a dark car park. I tripped and fell, over a place where a tree had been, but was no longer there, causing injury to my left knee. As I hit the ground a woman who was passing stopped and enquired, solicitously, if I was ok. From a kneeling position I answered in the affirmative. But a man came and picked up my car keys, which had landed some distance away, and asked if I was alright. He was quickly followed by a boy on crutches, and a woman in a wheelchair, pushed by a dwarf.
(I lied about the crutches and the wheelchair people).
But it just shows how close one is to unforeseen trauma. I blame both accidents on wearing boots. But Freud said there is no such thing as an accident. Or was that Jung? Anyway, it was one of them – and if it wasn’t, it ought to have been.
That settles it: I am going back to skating. Clearly I am safer on the ice that on the ground.
As for this Tai Chi I have been trying – well it is ok, and I am sure it will do me some good, but I miss the atmosphere of the rink. Last night I dreamt I was skating. Skating really well, with skill and confidence – even though the ice had turned to slush.
I am eating bread made from spelt and rye. This is because I have a slight intolerance to wheat.
I’ve a slight intolerance to wheat:
When I eat it, it flies to my feet,
And little brown roots
Sprout out of my boots,
And anchor my legs to the street.
Somebody said I should try goats’ milk. So I did – and it’s ok. Also sheep’s cheese. But that is hard to come by. I asked the man in the place where I get my funny bread, and he said the sheep around here tend to yield wool rather than cheese. I wonder if he is trying to wind me up.
I went to a meeting to the MDF last night. That is the ‘Manic Depressive Fellowship’. Not that I am Bi-polar – I don’t think so, anyway. I just went along for the eats. My friend runs the group, and as it was Christmas they were having a sort of buffet. I enjoyed it.
Incidentally, I think the term ‘Bi-polar’ is much better, because people (lay people, that is) confuse ‘manic’ with ‘maniac’.
Anyway, they have invited me to their proper Christmas meal, in January.
I have suffered from depression, as readers of this column will know, and with OCD thrown in for good measure. But I am working on that.
When I fell off the mountain (sort of) I bust my digital camera. Perhaps someone will buy me one, as a Christmas present. I used to quite enjoy photography – perhaps I could do so again.
Anyway, I have used 44 minutes of my 1 hour allocated time on this computer in Widnes library (I could ask for extra time, but I might feel like little Oliver, asking for more
So I will stop there.
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