Mother's Day

I know that I was very fortunate. I had parents who were gentle and kind – both highly intelligent, well educated people.

But I suppose I was a bit of a “Mummy’s boy” as I adored my mother! I know that she had a very difficult time with the birth of my late brother Bruce and she lost a baby boy, Adrian, between Bruce and myself. So I suppose there was some anxiety when I came along – a hulking 4kg (9 1/2LB) baby.

But this is not about me but my thoughts on mothers generally. To me mothers are special and I really believe a jump or two ahead of us men. Physically smaller, nor as physically strong as men, generally they are emotionally way ahead of us males. 

Think about it - life is conceived in a woman’s womb where it is nurtured until birth. That must be very difficult, I would think, while still carrying on with daily life. And a baby, once born, is so helpless.

So, I owe my mother a great deal. More than I can ever repay. She gave me unconditional love and an a deep appreciation of literature, music and poetry that have been my standby during my times of tribulation. And I trust that in my life so far, I have tried to treat women, all women, with the respect I believe they deserve.

Not being able to find a poem that would be appropriate, instead I will use a short piece by Max Ehrmann (1872-1945):-

Love some one.

"Love someone – in God’s name love someone - for this is the bread of the inner life, without which a part of you will starve and die; and though you feel you must be stern, even hard, in your life of affairs, make for yourself at least a little corner, somewhere in the great world, where you may unbosom and be kind."

And may this always refer to a man’s treatment of a woman and a mother – any man and any woman or mother – anywhere. 

Just be kind.

And Now?

Anniversaries keep coming round don’t they? Yep – 42 years ago today I married Maria Augusta Bandeira de Lima – better known to all by her nickname – Magucha. Now being married to someone from a different culture and language base has its challenges. And then throw into the mix the different personalities – me, tall (1.96 metres and 97kgs) and relatively phlegmatic, and she, tiny (1.52 metres and 50kgs), very pretty with a quick fire, Portuguese (Latin) temperament and sparks would often light up the environment!

 

She loved flowers, pretty things, small things, bright colours and mirrors – there are mirrors all over the house that I have left in position, not having the heart to move them. But then she also had a kind heart, was very loving with an innate sense of justice. She also was indomitable and absolutely fearless - I never saw her afraid of anything.

 

Another strange thing, which I call to mind, is that I never saw her cry. I’m sure she did – in fact when her father died, twenty years ago, I’m certain of it, but not in my presence. In that respect she was very private.

 

Being my wife, she could criticize me and point out my many faults but if anyone else tried that within her range of hearing she would fire up, almost vibrate with anger, and defend me with all her considerable powers.  I loved her for that. 

 

You see – I truly know that, if the situation had ever arisen, I would have defended her to my last breath. I have absolutely no doubts that she would have done the same for me.

 

Finally, however, with all her health problems and the pain she suffered, the “uninvited visitor” called and she went with him to that “Undiscovered country from whose bourne no traveller returns”.

 

She was only 62 years old when she died five and a half years ago on 21 January 2016. We were together for just over 36 years - and I miss her more than I can tell.

 

As always when my emotions run high I turn to poetry to best express how I feel. I offer the following which I have used before but it still resonates with me:-

  

  My Wife

Trusty, dusky, vivid, true,
With eyes of gold and bramble-dew,
Steel-true and blade-straight,
The Great Artificer
Made my mate.

Honour, anger, valour, fire;
A love that life could never tire,
Death quench or evil stir,
The Mighty Master
Gave to her.

Teacher, tender, comrade, wife,
A fellow-farer true through life,
Heart-whole and soul-free
The August Father
Gave to me. 

             Robert Louis Stevenson

A good human story

I’m not sure who wrote this, when it was written, even whether it is true or not. However I think in these traumatic COVID19 pandemic times it is worth remembering that we are all human; that we all suffer; that, at the end of our life we will all die. 

But above all we need to remember that we need to be kind. 

  

…. ////….

A nurse took the tired, anxious serviceman to the bedside. "Your
son is here," she said to the old man. She had to repeat the words
several times before the patient's eyes opened.

Heavily sedated because of the pain of his heart attack, he
dimly saw the young uniformed Marine standing outside the
oxygen tent. He reached out his hand. The Marine wrapped his toughened
fingers around the old man's limp ones, squeezing a message of love and
encouragement.

The nurse brought a chair so that the Marine could sit beside
the bed.  All through the night the young Marine sat there in the
poorly lighted ward, holding the old man's hand and offering him words
of love and strength. Occasionally, the nurse suggested that the Marine
move away and rest awhile. He refused. Whenever the nurse came into the ward, the

Marine was oblivious of her and of the night noises of the hospital,
the clanking of the oxygen tank, the laughter of the night staff members
exchanging greetings, the cries and moans of the other patients.

Now and then she heard him say a few gentle words. The
dying man said nothing, only held tightly to his son all through
the night. Along towards dawn, the old man died. The Marine released
the now lifeless hand he had been holding and went to tell the nurse.
While she did what she had to do, he waited.
Finally, she returned. She started to offer words of sympathy,
but the Marine interrupted her.

"Who was that man?" he asked.
The nurse was startled, "He was your father," she answered.
"No, he wasn't," the Marine replied. "I never saw him before
in my life."
"Then why didn't you say something when I took you to him?"
"I knew right away there had been a mistake, but I also knew
he needed his son, and his son just wasn't here. When I realized
that he was too sick to tell whether or not I was his son, knowing how
much he needed me, I stayed."

The next time someone needs you ... just be there. Stay.

We are not human beings going through a temporary spiritual
experience.

We are spiritual beings going through a temporary human
experience.

Love

This word – love – is used nowadays somewhat indiscriminately to express general pleasure (I “loved” the movie); to express a desire (I’d “love” a cup of coffee); to also indicate sexual pleasure (they made “love”); to indicate a favourite (I  just “love” that painting) and there are many other associations with the word “love” that are in my Thesaurus.

Possibly we lack the vocabulary to express exactly what we mean.

To me, however, the word means a great deal more than a quick throw away expression. To me the word “love” has a deeper meaning that encompasses companionship, trust, empathy, compassion, kindness, understanding, justice, mutual respect and an instinctive “knowledge” that humanity is part of something that is, possibly, beyond our powers of understanding. Something wonderful.

We are, and all living things, are linked, and no matter anyone’s religious ideology or beliefs, we are all linked in many unexpected ways. As an example we humans share half our genes with the banana. And of course it is well known that we share about 98% of our genes with chimpanzees.

Now I am not asking anyone to “love” a chimpanzee but in a deeper more Platonic way we should love all things. This was wonderfully, if poetically, expressed in Samuel Taylor Coleridge’s poem, “Rime of the Ancient Mariner”, wherein he wrote the famous lines:

            “He prayeth well, who loveth well

            Both man and bird and beast.

            He prayeth best, who loveth best

            All things both great and small;

            For the dear God who loveth us,

            He made and loveth all.”

To me this is what the word Love means – something that is both personal and yet all encompassing. It was my privilege and my joy to have loved a woman and to have been loved by her for over thirty-six years. This will be with me always.

23/08/2016. I'm adding a short piece by the American - Max Ehrmann. A piece called "Love some one", which is very appropriate:-

"Love some one - in God's name love some one - for this is the bread of the inner life, without which a part of you will starve and die; and though you feel you must be stern, even hard, in your life of affairs, make for yourself at least a little corner, somewhere in the great world, where you may unbosom and be kind."

Supposed season of good cheer!

Australia – as with many developed countries is a wealthy nation; high standard of living; high standard of education and the under-privileged are (relatively) well cared for. But we have a blot on our Nation’s Escutcheon – that of our treatment of those “illegals” – “queue jumpers” – “boat people” or whatever other derogatory name they are given by politicians. They are still people in need.

This time of year – Christmas time – is a time to reconsider our commitments and the one time of year, if at none other, when we should help those less fortunate. Sometimes it is good to remind ourselves of what others have said about this.

The following quote is from Charles Dickens timeless “A Christmas Carol” (written December 1843):

“But I am sure that I have always thought of Christmas time, when it has come around – apart from the veneration due to its sacred name and origin, if anything belonging to it can be apart from that – as a good time; a kind, forgiving, charitable, pleasant time; the only time I know of, in the long calendar of the year, when men and women seem by one consent to open their shut up hearts freely, and to think of people below them as if they really were fellow-passengers to the grave, and not another race of creatures bound on other journeys.”

We need to closely attend these wise words. We need, also, to recall that these  people, politically diminished voyagers from another country, are fleeing persecution or abuse; they are human beings; they are not aliens. They have hopes and aspirations just like you and I. And just like you and I they bleed when hurt. And just like you and I they can be emotionally scarred by the actions and behaviour of others.

What are we doing to ourselves by our nation’s politically motivated mis-treatment of these unfortunate people?

We are diminished as a people and as a nation.