There are times when hearing something about yourself that you already know to be true is the most unbearable intrusion into your sense of well-being. Any stability in demeanour or presence of mind can suddenly seem very fragile indeed. Maintaining a poised and gracious facade requires a well-practised dexterity that few can maintain under all circumstances.
And receiving a compliment that you know to also be untrue can also bring such a discomfort as to render the intention of the compliment void. And being on the receiving end of either compliment or censure without making a response can often feel like we have deserted our own conscience and principles.
We are a fickle folk, rendered all the more so by our refusal to admit anything to the contrary, and by our determination to prove to all and sundry that behind the strong, confident, well-balanced, accomplished facade is a strong, confident, well-balanced accomplished person, even if we secretly feel that this, too, is untrue.
Perhaps if we were to be a little more accurate in the portrayal of our thoughts and fears, we might give others opportunity to consider different words when they spoke to us. And perhaps there would come a greater understanding of who the real person is that we are conversing with.
Monday, 2 January 2017
Sunday, 18 December 2016
Summer Week-ends
I love this time of year. Late Spring - early Summer.The weather is the catalyst, as is the pending holiday break. And although the weather can be a little unsettled this time of year, it never intrudes on events because I can enjoy a beer on the patio looking at my garden whether it's raining or not.
My week-ends commence with a conundrum of decision. To barbecue or not barbecue? That is the question. If barbecuing, should I smoke the meat or simply throw it on the hotplate?
I love the lazy afternoons filled with c icada symphonies, far-off dog barks, a farther-off car horn, the uncomfortable caress of bottle brush against the side of the house, the wind turning ten thousand pages in the camphor laurels.
Friends dropping in and deciding to stay longer than intended.
I love the sizzle and snap of sausages on the hotplate, their fragrance overpowering the mock orange.
The happy sounds of children playing in water - whether in the neighbour's pool or the unexpected splash of water when a gust of wind blows the fountain spray across their path as they run around the yard.
The gentle late-afternoon breeze that brings relief from the hot day and, with it, a scent of a possible thunder storm.
I love too the relief that comes when I realise that this down-time is enough to recover my strength and composure after a hard week, knowing I am facing another one.
Oh, yes. I love this time of year.
Saturday, 27 February 2016
Melancholia
My melancholia, whether from disposition or habit, is like any man's; unable to be vindicated by stoicism or wisdom, happiness or patience, generosity or even godliness.
Melancholy is the character of mortality. Any man who is able to avoid all melancholic feelings from his thoughts, desires, and anxieties shows proof of an inability to fully and properly comprehend life itself; for to avoid melancholy is to avoid empathy, refuse comprehension and shun participation in reality. To hold to a perpetual tenure of happiness in life is ridiculous and absurd. Even Solomon himself held that "in the midst of laughter there is sorrow". Indeed, to not know melancholy is to make oneself unable to reciprocate true feelings and affection to another.
Melancholy should not be mistaken for depression, nor should it be joined with any other thoughts or attitudes that may legitimately be considered vain, egregious or erroneous in some way. Melancholy provides a window to different perceptions. It enables a deeper understanding of distress and trouble, and once understood, opens doors to the provision of support and anchor for the one suffering.
For some, their melancholia may have derived from a period of disquiet, an issue raising apprehension or even an event that caused perturbation. It may creep in during a season of distress or during a time of upheaval. The arrival or existence of melancholy is not evidence that something has gone wrong. It is not a state that requires correction or "fixing". True, a prolonged period of melancholy may be an accurate indication that help is required, adjustment made or support given, but the same can be said for prolonged periods of celebration, extreme physical activity, and over-work.
Of itself it has the same right to exist as contentment, peace and calm. Melancholia promotes contemplation, reflection, and personal insight. Just because it may lead to an unhealthy measure of introspection does not mean it should be avoided or eradicated. That would be like refusing to teach children how to swim because some might drown. True melancholy does not focus on the inner person. It is not a self-indulgent, introspective, ego-centric, "woe-is-me" deportment. These conditions indicate depression, not melancholia. A true melancholy state provides a time of reprieve in order to assimilate the current season and conditions and to adjust attitude, approach and response.
There are times in my life when I deliberately seek a melancholic disposition. I am careful to keep my demeanour appropriate when I am with others, but I find the environment and culture of melancholy helpful for personal stocktaking, attitude and perception adjustment and it assists me to maintain a humble and judicious attitude towards others and life in general. Melancholia can sometimes make me pensive and sometimes this may come across as being despondent or disconsolate, but I am rarely in either of those states.
In short, occasional melancholy makes me easier to live with and that's got to be a good thing, right?
Melancholy is the character of mortality. Any man who is able to avoid all melancholic feelings from his thoughts, desires, and anxieties shows proof of an inability to fully and properly comprehend life itself; for to avoid melancholy is to avoid empathy, refuse comprehension and shun participation in reality. To hold to a perpetual tenure of happiness in life is ridiculous and absurd. Even Solomon himself held that "in the midst of laughter there is sorrow". Indeed, to not know melancholy is to make oneself unable to reciprocate true feelings and affection to another.
Melancholy should not be mistaken for depression, nor should it be joined with any other thoughts or attitudes that may legitimately be considered vain, egregious or erroneous in some way. Melancholy provides a window to different perceptions. It enables a deeper understanding of distress and trouble, and once understood, opens doors to the provision of support and anchor for the one suffering.
For some, their melancholia may have derived from a period of disquiet, an issue raising apprehension or even an event that caused perturbation. It may creep in during a season of distress or during a time of upheaval. The arrival or existence of melancholy is not evidence that something has gone wrong. It is not a state that requires correction or "fixing". True, a prolonged period of melancholy may be an accurate indication that help is required, adjustment made or support given, but the same can be said for prolonged periods of celebration, extreme physical activity, and over-work.
Of itself it has the same right to exist as contentment, peace and calm. Melancholia promotes contemplation, reflection, and personal insight. Just because it may lead to an unhealthy measure of introspection does not mean it should be avoided or eradicated. That would be like refusing to teach children how to swim because some might drown. True melancholy does not focus on the inner person. It is not a self-indulgent, introspective, ego-centric, "woe-is-me" deportment. These conditions indicate depression, not melancholia. A true melancholy state provides a time of reprieve in order to assimilate the current season and conditions and to adjust attitude, approach and response.
There are times in my life when I deliberately seek a melancholic disposition. I am careful to keep my demeanour appropriate when I am with others, but I find the environment and culture of melancholy helpful for personal stocktaking, attitude and perception adjustment and it assists me to maintain a humble and judicious attitude towards others and life in general. Melancholia can sometimes make me pensive and sometimes this may come across as being despondent or disconsolate, but I am rarely in either of those states.
In short, occasional melancholy makes me easier to live with and that's got to be a good thing, right?
Tuesday, 23 February 2016
Oh Happy Day!
Whoot! Last night, at 7:23 pm our eldest daughter gave birth to our second grandchild. A girl of unknown size, weight and dimensions. (Her father was tired, excited and was not able to pass on this information).
This is our daughter and son-in-law's second child and even though they are over-the-moon with joy and happiness, their emotion is a mere drop in the ocean compared with our's. (Every grandparent indisputably knows that grandparents enjoy their grandchildren more than parents enjoy their kids).
This child, like her older sibling, will live a blessed life because of the wisdom, insight, love and devotion of her grandparents. Pa and Nanna, closely followed by Granny & Gramps, will endow this child with love, affection and support better than any other child will ever receive.
There is no doubt that she will become a Nobel Laureate, a space engineer and a brain surgeon, after ....
[Daughter] Dad? What are you doing?
[Pa] ... an educational career including Dux of the...
[Daughter] Dad! Stop it!
[Pa] ... school and Universi...
[Daughter] Dad! Stop it! NOW!
[Pa] ... ty valedictorian ...
[Daughter] Dad, if you don't stop right now we will revoke all visiting privileges.
This broadcast has been halted due to technical difficulties.
This is our daughter and son-in-law's second child and even though they are over-the-moon with joy and happiness, their emotion is a mere drop in the ocean compared with our's. (Every grandparent indisputably knows that grandparents enjoy their grandchildren more than parents enjoy their kids).
This child, like her older sibling, will live a blessed life because of the wisdom, insight, love and devotion of her grandparents. Pa and Nanna, closely followed by Granny & Gramps, will endow this child with love, affection and support better than any other child will ever receive.
There is no doubt that she will become a Nobel Laureate, a space engineer and a brain surgeon, after ....
[Daughter] Dad? What are you doing?
[Pa] ... an educational career including Dux of the...
[Daughter] Dad! Stop it!
[Pa] ... school and Universi...
[Daughter] Dad! Stop it! NOW!
[Pa] ... ty valedictorian ...
[Daughter] Dad, if you don't stop right now we will revoke all visiting privileges.
This broadcast has been halted due to technical difficulties.
Saturday, 13 February 2016
Home Free
No
ghosts from the past with sordid history
No
skeletons in the closet or places to be
No
chip on my shoulder, no monkey on my back
No
muse in my head to blame for my lack
No
dues owed to the Ferryman, no tiger by the tail
No
need to pay the Piper, nothing beyond the Pale
No
fear of the Reaper, no angst t’wards Old Man Time
No
grief for anything that ever was mine
No
bad dreams to falter or things I want to forget
No
tears of dread to cry, there is no regret
No
niggling doubts to ponder or trivial questions “Why?”
No
unsettled dispute, no little white lie
No
pressing appointments or points to prove
No
soap-box to preach or stumbling block to move
No
chain to bind me, no lock without key
No
debt tying me down - I’m home free.
No
magic trick, no sleight of hand,
No
fancy foot-work, no shifting sand
No
ace up my sleeve or joker in the pack
No
magic wand or rabbit in a hat
No
spin of the dice, no four leaf clover
No
reason to look my shoulder over
No
rabbit’s foot, no lucky charm
No
hasty retreat from a rushing gendarme
No
other agenda, no facade on my face
No
rockets in my shoes to cheat in this race
Not
counting the blow but turning the cheek
Not
eager for fame but fervent for meek
No
fear of flying, no terror of heights
But
an awe of flame and a kin for lights
Facing
the challenges, no fear of fear
Living
my life as if my Saviour is near.
No
baggage to carry, no millstone round neck
No
run-away thoughts to be kept in check
No
prison to hold , no handcuffs on me
No
reason to stay - I’m home free.
MDC
12/4/96
Saturday, 26 September 2015
Creation
Seething Sea; Writhing wind; Rigid
rocks
These be my heart and mind.
Restless soul; Aching heart; Empty
void
These all the same kind.
Faithful Father, Brothering Son,
Gentle Spirit
Creation process again.
Peaceful heart; Renewed mind;
Quieted soul
Health and wholeness when I was
lame.
MDC
Saturday, 4 July 2015
I Like
Summer week-ends that unexpectedly become available when I don't have to work.
Lazy afternoons filled with c icada symphonies, far-off dog barks, a further-off car horn.
The galvanized action that appears suddenly when a conundrum of indecision crystallizes into a plan.
The sizzle and snap of sausages on the BBQ, their fragrance over-powering the mock orange.
The scent of vanilla lurking behind the fragrance of coffee.
The uncomfortable caress of bottle brush against the side of the house.
The wind turning ten thousand pages in the camphor laurels.
Saturday, 20 June 2015
Dolce Vita
Sift the flour, heat the milk
Do take care that it’s not spilt
Chop the nuts, grate the cheese
Just a pinch of nutmeg please
Warm the oil, melt the butter
Please be careful of the splutter
Grill the pancakes, fry the bacon
This is a feast we are creatin’!
Self-raising flour, a pinch of
salt
Some arrowroot, a little malt
Beat the eggs, grease the tin
Put a teaspoon of vanilla in
Dice the onion, shell the peas
The cake should come out of the
pan with ease
Skin the kiwi, pit the cherries
Garnish with a few strawberries
Sunflower, olive or rape seed oil
Wrap the tongue in vented foil
Smoke the sausage, let them hang
Fold chopped hazels into meringue
Melt the chocolate, stew the pear
Prepare the Brie and Camembert
A cup of honey, whip the cream
This desert will be a dream!
Warm the plates, decant the wine
Pluck the grapes fresh from the
vine
Choose your condiments, a dollop
of mustard
Don’t forget to chill the custard
Fold the napkins, set the china
Indirect light will be much
kinder
Draw the curtains, cut the glare
Ah, life is wonderful. Savoir-faire !
©
MDC
Saturday, 6 June 2015
Things I hate
The mocking of youths, like an harassment of seagulls, creating a cacophony of activity and sound that produces no useful outcome.
The denial of delinquents protesting their innocence, forever enshrining their perception of the veracity of their behaviour.
Political commentary, igniting a holocaust of public indifference, being promoted by self-appointed talking heads whose rationale for promoting the commentary is completely divorced from the topic at hand.
People feeling sheepish, when they should be feeling ashamed.
People confusing the act of capitulation with the notion that to do so allows an attack on their self-worth.
Things rendered invisible by habit.
The new and exciting becoming normal and mundane.
The tearing of a comfortable shirt, thus rendering it usable only as a rag.
The articulation of night keeping me awake.
The articulation of night keeping me awake.
Running out of Pedro Ximenez.
Saturday, 25 April 2015
Realisation
The
sun, the moon, the wild dark ocean
The
ice, the dune, devoid of devotion
The
dim, the night, the forbidding mountain
The
dream of hope, the dewy fountain.
The
eye, the sight, the rising, the dawn,
The
greens, the blues, the feeling forlorn
The
tongue, the taste, the day, the dusk,
The
sound of autumn, the smell of musk
The
ear, the sound, the morning new
The
distaste of bills long overdue
The
yawn, the groan, the anguished cry
The
bitter aged asking “why?”
The
wicked, the clever, the dumb, the deft
The
rich, the powerful, the poor and bereft
The
quick, the slow, the wise, the sloth
The
golden thread in the dark cloth
The
king, the queen, the abdication
The
folly of his fabrication
The
subject revolt, the nation hissing
The
realisation of a kingdom missing
The
courage of love, the cowardice of hate
The
strength to accept the command of Fate
The
resolve to live with faith unfeigned
The
humbleness to be justly-blamed
MDC
5/5/97
Saturday, 24 January 2015
Naming Dilemma
Elizabeth
or Kate, Bernice or Sue
We
cannot decide, what will we do?
This
cute little bundle must have a name
The
indecision will turn us insane!
Kylie,
Samantha, Julie or Jean
Lauren,
Kathy, maybe Maxine
Gertrude
or Sigrid, Lisa or Prue
Goodness!
There must be one that will do.
Born
on a Monday after much pain
Helen
or Phoebe. What about Jane?
Lyndal,
Trudi, Margaret, Joan
We’ll
even settle for Claudia (moan)
Mary,
Lilly, Bronwyn, Faye
Do
we have to make a decision today?
Megan,
Jodie, Yvonne and Tammy
Now
my hands are getting all clammy
Sophie,
Nora, Sally, Nicole
I’m
just digging myself into a hole
Vanessa,
Edith, Bethany, Lenore
What
you say there’s even more!
Andrea,
Lois, Kim, Terri-Lee
Make
it easy for poor simple me
I’ve
done no work but I’m tired [yawn]
Debra,
Cindy, Melanie, Dawn...
MDC
11/05/93
To all the young couples at Toowoomba Christian Fellowship who are enjoying the birth of their first daughters.
Saturday, 17 January 2015
A good read
Reading is one of the singular pleasures in life. Regardless of whether you prefer fact or fiction, a hour (or three) spent reading a good book ranks as one of the most pleasurable things a person can do to relax. It does not matter what the subject matter is, and here is where I disagree with my I-only-read-non-fiction friends, because you can always learn something from a good book.
What makes a good book? That answer changes for every person. It will depend on your level of education (no point reading something that is far beyond your ability to grasp). It will depend on your preferences (no point reading something that is as dry as sawdust).
When I was a pre-teenager I read just about anything I could get my hands on.The first book that made an impact on me was Cocky's Castle by Celia Syred. The adventure excited me, the emotional ending shocked me. I read all of Enid Blyton's Secret Seven and Famous Five and I do not remember a time when I have not been reading a book since then.
My parents called me a book worm. They love to tell the story of the time when some old lino was being pulled up in the kitchen to make way for renovations. As the lino came up, sheets of newspaper, lying between the lino and the floorboards, were revealed. Apparently I was of little help to them as I insisted on reading every sheet as it was released from the floor.
Life takes many twists and turns, and mine has had many that were unexpected and difficult. Some things remain as constants though, and one of those for me has been reading.
In an effort to conform with my afore-mentioned friends I took a journey into the domain of non-fiction. I read biographies, auto-biographies, historical treatises, white papers, etc. I enjoyed most of them. But I don't read just for content. In fact, given that the larger portion of my reading is fiction, content has been a minor consideration for many years. I read to learn and to expand my vocabulary; to improve my communication skills. In my experience, non-fiction is generally written with only the content in mind. This leads to lazy writing.
One of my favourite authors is Charles Frazier. He became famous in 1997 with his first full-length novel, Cold Mountain. The movie was rubbish. The book was a tour de force in how to describe something with expression. He described several characters as "not precisely old but he was working his way there" and "had a natural inclination toward bile and melancholy" and "poisoned by lonesomeness and longing".
Another fabulous author, Simon Winchester, wrote The Surgeon of Crowthorne". This is one of the few non-fiction books I have read that match the prose and beauty of script that is commonplace in fiction, but so often sadly lacking in non-fiction. Winchester's masterpiece proves that it is possible to cover a topic that many would consider dry as old bones with artistry and aplomb, thus elevating it to the level of the sublime. The Surgeon is sub-titled A Tale of Murder, Madness and the Love of Words. It details the story of how the Oxford English Dictionary came to be published. One could be forgiven for thinking that the pursuit of ensuring that the mite of a two-letter preposition should have no less standing than the majesty of a piece of polysyllabic sesquipedalianism would be banal and trite. One would be wrong, but I digress.
This post started with an intention to alert you to an excellent book I read over the Christmas break. I don't usually recommend books to others as I know that reading is a very personal enjoyment, and like art and love, there is no accounting for taste. Written by William Kent Kreuger, "An Ordinary Grace" is the story of one summer told through the eyes and perceptions of a 13 year old boy. Read it for the story or read it for the beautiful prose and exquisite phrasing, but read it.
What makes a good book? That answer changes for every person. It will depend on your level of education (no point reading something that is far beyond your ability to grasp). It will depend on your preferences (no point reading something that is as dry as sawdust).
When I was a pre-teenager I read just about anything I could get my hands on.The first book that made an impact on me was Cocky's Castle by Celia Syred. The adventure excited me, the emotional ending shocked me. I read all of Enid Blyton's Secret Seven and Famous Five and I do not remember a time when I have not been reading a book since then.
My parents called me a book worm. They love to tell the story of the time when some old lino was being pulled up in the kitchen to make way for renovations. As the lino came up, sheets of newspaper, lying between the lino and the floorboards, were revealed. Apparently I was of little help to them as I insisted on reading every sheet as it was released from the floor.
Life takes many twists and turns, and mine has had many that were unexpected and difficult. Some things remain as constants though, and one of those for me has been reading.
In an effort to conform with my afore-mentioned friends I took a journey into the domain of non-fiction. I read biographies, auto-biographies, historical treatises, white papers, etc. I enjoyed most of them. But I don't read just for content. In fact, given that the larger portion of my reading is fiction, content has been a minor consideration for many years. I read to learn and to expand my vocabulary; to improve my communication skills. In my experience, non-fiction is generally written with only the content in mind. This leads to lazy writing.
One of my favourite authors is Charles Frazier. He became famous in 1997 with his first full-length novel, Cold Mountain. The movie was rubbish. The book was a tour de force in how to describe something with expression. He described several characters as "not precisely old but he was working his way there" and "had a natural inclination toward bile and melancholy" and "poisoned by lonesomeness and longing".
Another fabulous author, Simon Winchester, wrote The Surgeon of Crowthorne". This is one of the few non-fiction books I have read that match the prose and beauty of script that is commonplace in fiction, but so often sadly lacking in non-fiction. Winchester's masterpiece proves that it is possible to cover a topic that many would consider dry as old bones with artistry and aplomb, thus elevating it to the level of the sublime. The Surgeon is sub-titled A Tale of Murder, Madness and the Love of Words. It details the story of how the Oxford English Dictionary came to be published. One could be forgiven for thinking that the pursuit of ensuring that the mite of a two-letter preposition should have no less standing than the majesty of a piece of polysyllabic sesquipedalianism would be banal and trite. One would be wrong, but I digress.
This post started with an intention to alert you to an excellent book I read over the Christmas break. I don't usually recommend books to others as I know that reading is a very personal enjoyment, and like art and love, there is no accounting for taste. Written by William Kent Kreuger, "An Ordinary Grace" is the story of one summer told through the eyes and perceptions of a 13 year old boy. Read it for the story or read it for the beautiful prose and exquisite phrasing, but read it.
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