Sunday, 29 August 2010
I don’t know if as a parent, one is ever 100% certain that one’s child has chosen the right partner. How could we be? We are not the one who is in love. It does help when the best man tells of how our two went out together in their last year at school and then broke up for a few years - during which, says he, our son drove him mad wishing they were back together. They then took up their relationship again and went off to London where they had good times and bad times and testing times and after six years there, they have finally tied the knot. I was very moved by my son’s speech which was more mature and considered than I had expected. His last words echo in my ears a lot when he said at the end to his new wife after telling her he loved her, “I couldn’t imagine my life without you.” I'm still doing my catch up of old blogs for blogspot - this is now two years ago. Stay with me....
Thursday, 26 August 2010
We’ve had a rash of family birthdays since mine in July and I am just surfacing. It struck me how differently we all anticipate our birthdays and how we like to mark the occasions. When young, they can’t come quickly enough and we can’t wait for the next so that eventually we should attain that mystical adult status when we can do everything and be accountable to no-one. That day finally arrives and with it all the drama and responsiblities of adult life. Then there are the signature birthdays, 21, 30 40 – 50 even and we marvel that we have man aged to reach each one, hopefully unscathed but enriched by our experiences thus far. According to one’s character one celebrates quietly or with an extrovert rave. The next decade marks anxieties about health, the need to save for an adequate pension and coping with the gloom that descends each morning when one looks in the mirror and sees the image of one’s parent. Other’s start to remark on the resemblance. The mortality debate hovers. Then there is the question of gifts. No problems buying for the males in my life but I struggle to buy presents for other females that I can’t relate to myself. I’ve never been able to buy anything for my daughter that she hasn’t rolled her eyballs at, so now it’s just gift vouchers and lately I cannot buy clothes for my tiny grand-daughter, whose mother’s taste centres around “Earth Child” colour schemes whereas I love brights. So I am resigned to only toys and books. I know I am wrong: it’s just a question of taste – which I ought to respect.
Someone sent me an e-mail this week reflecting on some of the more meaningful interpretations of ‘life’. One thought echoes behind: we are all equal when we die, we take nothing with us; the measure of our life is not what we left behind but how we are remembered.