42 or the meaning of life: Part One

My first stark image of the day would have to be the nuthatch I spotted whilst cycling to work, after having dropped off my boy at school.

‘Fall Colors Nuthatch’ by Lara Ellis

In what way is a nuthatch symbolic? Well, we have to go way back, back around 32 years in fact to Mark as a mere ten year old, fascinated by animals and, with his grandmother’s guidance, learning about the animal world through books and forays into the local area.

The guidance was not so much hands-on as spiritual, based on the fact that my grandmother was bed-ridden at this time, a result of being diagnosed with TB when she was just three years old. At that time, the solution was that the patient should get as much bed rest as possible, a total contradicton to today’s advice. My grandmother was ill her entire life, using a walking stick in my early years, a wheelchair from my being about five or six and becoming confined to bed, with frequent stays in the hospital, as I turned ten, finally dying at 49, when I was only twelve years old.

However, she remains a massive influence in my life, governing certain decisions I make today and responsible for many of my life values (for good or ill).

On a grey day in Burnley, at ten years old, I asked my mother if I could buy a print, which depicted a nuthatch on a tree. It cost £5.00 and my mother thought I could spend my money on something more reasonable for a boy my age, like Lego, for example.

But I was determined and not suprisingly when I returned home with my prize (bought with my own spending money, I might add), my grandmother naturally loved it. It went up on my wall the same day and remained with me for many years before going the same way as much of my stuff when I was foolish enough to store several boxes in our damp, dark cellar, whilst I travelled around the world.

So the nuthatch was a symbol on this day, my meaning of life day, when it reminded me of my grandmother and all that she gave me, still gives me and how I can never truly thank her for it all.

Walking and Listening

Today I’m having one of those days, mainly due to the fact that I had a very restless night last night. I am aware of having at least two nightmares, both of which involved me not looking out for my children and both of which had me reacting angrily to myself after the event.

I put it down to the fact that I am subconsciously dwelling on this ‘life’ question, although I’m not entirely sure why I am dwelling on it or to what end. I have always had an interest in the topic but never really thought about it as much as I’m doing at the moment.

I blame Douglas Adams in part. This, due to the fact that I am re-reading his ‘Hitchiker’s Guide to the Galaxy’ “trilogy”, as a consequence of turning 42 next month and the relationship to that number and the meaning of life, the universe and everything.

I also blame Wax Tailor and Archive for their wonderful albums ‘Dusty Rainbow from the Dark’ and ‘With Us Until You’re Dead’, which have both focused on the meaning of life and our roles in the great scheme of things in different ways.

Dusty Rainbow from the Dark

I had three lessons today and was a little apprehensive before all of them, not for any other reason than my lack of sleep last night, certainly not anything to do with lesson planning or the groups themselves, just that something felt “off”, out of place, displaced, disjointed.

Lack of sleep can do that.

Last night I continued my walking and listening sessions with a trip to one of biggest supermarkets in town, not the most scenic route but a productive one. The walk there was much easier, due to the fact that I had a rucksack filled with about 30 kilos of shopping on the way back (maybe not 30 but quite a bit).

My music choice was a bit of a mix: some EL-P, some Lecrae, some Wax Tailor (see above) before finishing of with Museum. A nice mix and a nice walk.

Today should be floorball (innebandy) but I just don’t feel like it, my energy levels are so low. Sometimes you just have to accept the fact that it’s not the right day/time.

I think tonight I just want to spend time with the kids before trying to get myself an early night.

What he hears in the dark

Twice today I managed to force myself on my new(ish) health program – the magic of walking. I suppose it is power walking of a sort, as I get my running gear on, pick an album to pop on the MP3 player (just now my mobile phone) and set off, walking as fast as a can for as long as I feel like (around an hour).

Tonight was a walk around one of our areas of scenic beauty in Norrköping, Strömmen (translated directly it’s the stream but it’s a bit bigger than that) in the dark. I realised, once I’d left the lit area, that I was getting a little nervous. It reminded me the stark contrast to when I walked through the park home in Burnley in my early teens, totally oblivious to the real dangers in the area (preferring to worry about witches and the like). In years since I have read about abuse, murder, rape and the like in the stretch between Burnley’s town centre and my family home.

And I’m back on the life is short, life is fleeting, what’s it all mean pondering. I mean, when I started planning my ‘meaning of life’ party this year (as I turn 42), I wasn’t aware just how much of a mid-life crisis I’d put myself through. I suppose at least that means that I’ll live to 84 now instead of 70 (seeing as I had a mid-life crisis party 2005.)

But the walking feels more my thing at the moment, being as the music really inspires me and I also realised today I can walk pretty rapid when I feel like it (especially when it’s dark…).

The album of choice today was Archive and With Us Until You’re Dead and it’s already a classic – I leave you with the first single from the album: Violently

Audrey and her grandmother would have gotten on

Today was one of those days that I thought a little about unfairness.

Basically, I spend a lot of time reminding myself that even though I don’t really believe that everything happens for a reason (I used to) or that after a really terrible thing comes a good thing (I used to), I do believe that you have to get on and make the best of what you have. Call it the stiff British upper lip, if you will, I tend to sway on the side of the overwhelming realisations that life is so fleeting and so fragile that if you don’t get on with it you’re a bit of a fool.

Anyway, today was a day where I felt an ache that my mother never met any of my three children but especially Audrey.

We were in town doing some errands and I asked her if she wanted to come for a coffee break with her daddy. A double cappuccino and a chocolate biscotti for me and a glass of water and a coconut ball for Audrey and we were set. As we sat and chatted I became aware of just how much a people watcher Audrey is before her comments started about how nice that girl’s plaits were and how much she liked that woman’s jumper and how that other woman looked like her auntie Vivianne.

And the more I sat and listened, the more I realised that had my mother been sat there with her, they would have both been in their element, comparing the people coming in, discussing hairstyles and clothing and so on.

Fairness is relative, but today I felt unjustly served.

Ishtar: a review

Ishtar: a review.

IN SITU is now available!

IN SITU is now available!.

In the Mail #3: The Whisper Jar by Carole Lanham

In the Mail #3: The Whisper Jar by Carole Lanham.

Father’s Day or A Tale of Two Worlds

Up until 2006, Father’s Day had absolutely no significance to me, as I had no children of my own and I’d never met my father. My mother married my stepfather in 1989 but we pretty much never saw eye-to-eye from day one and so there was no real endeavour on my part to celebrate the day for his benefit. I’m sure I was asked to buy a pair of socks for him by my mother a couple of times, and I’m sure I did a couple of times too. Doing something for your mother on Father’s Day doesn’t really count though does it?

And then came 2006 and Maddoc was born, giving Father’s Day a whole new meaning.

In Sweden, Father’s Day is the second Sunday in November, but I stated from the beginning that I wanted to be celebrated on the English day. This is for two reasons: the first was that I’m English, and it feels like the proper day to celebrate, especially seeing as it wasn’t celebrated in my family before and also due to the fact that my Birthday is 13th November (calendars out people), meaning I would have to have my two special days around the same time (possibly even the same day). That will not do.

An ironic twist today is that my son, Maddoc, has been invited to a Birthday party on my special day. Ironic in that most Birthday parties he attends are on a Saturday and also because the father of the Birthday boy is also English. Maybe he prefers celebrating the Swedish day…

So here I am with Audrey, my daughter, who has repeatedly stated she wants to do her own thing, rather than go out and do things with Daddy. That is fine, she’s only three after all and has not understood the concept of the day. She is merely taking advantage of a rare moment home without her brother, where she can play with the Lego and not be told she’s doing it all wrong…;-)

It’s days like this I’m reminded of the immense responsibility of being a parent, especially a father, in terms of the fact that I never had a father myself and because this is the last Father’s Day I am the father of two. Having never met my own father, I was informed last year that he’d actually died, putting pay to that ever happening. Was I regretful that I’d never tracked him down, that we’d never discussed why he left, why he wasn’t prepared to take the responsibility he helped create? No. I struggle to feel any strong emotions, due to the fact that I never met him, that I only ever saw one photograph of him, that I only heard about him from others.

Blood is thicker than water, is an expression that has never meant anything to me. I believe that family members deserve more chances when they have wronged you but only to a certain extent. Maybe the expression does hold then, just that it is not a given. I have relatives that have said the most hurtful things to me and later acted as though nothing was said. I am a Scorpio and we do hold grudges. I have tried to be more forgiving of others (and myself) over recent years but changing the spots takes time, a whole lot of willpower and the desire.

So today is a day I celebrate the fact that I am a father, that I continue to be an active father to my children, to help them in their lives, as much as I can, as much as they need. It’s a day to reflect on what I have done for them so far, what I’ve done well and where I can improve. I’m helping them through life but they are also helping me, they are making me a better person and for that I am truly grateful.

The son to the father? That’s a role another can play, a role that was denied to me, a role beyond my grasp. We cannot be everything to everyone. Father is a role I’ll happily play. Be. Enjoy.

Maddoc and I decided today that he will call me ‘Dad’. Audrey will continue to call me ‘Daddy’. Until the end of July they are the only ones that can call me this. This is one of the reasons why I don’t want them to call me Mark. That is a name for others, not them, it’s not because it’s a sign of respect, some old conservative view, it’s that it’s their priviledge.

Happy Father’s Day to those fathers celebrating today.

England vs Sweden – a mini-report

Welbeck hits a clever winner

I’ve been reading quite a bit since last night, from both Swedes and Englishmen, about who deserved to win last night, whether the score was fair, with a few grudges starting to spill out.

I’m not sure I understand this one so much, as if we were to take the Czech Repulic vs Greece game, in which the Czechs won 2-1, then you can really start a debate off, seeing as the Czechs believe they should have had a penalty and Greece had a legitimate goal ruled offside. Both game changers.

Here’s how I see England vs Sweden: two teams played for a win, a win which both needed, England to aim for the top of the group and Sweden to physically have a chance of going further.

Both sides were very dangerous going forward, as proved by five goals being scored and Joe Hart and Andreas Isaksson having to pull off some cracking saves during the course of the match. The pick of the bunch being Isaksson’s against Gerrard in the dying minutes and Joe Hart’s punch from Ibrahimovic’s stinger.

However, both sides were extremely shaky at the back, again highlighted by the score and how exposed the keepers were at times and this could have gone either way.

One team took three of their chances and one team took two. There were no contentious decisions, no penalty shouts, no missed handballs, etc., etc. The game was played at a good pace, entertaining to watch (for the neutral – I was biting my nails throughout) and nothing, nothing in the match shows that either team can feel that the elements, the fates or, more importantly, the referee, were against them.

England scored three and Sweden scored two. A fair game and a fair result I feel. If Sweden had won with the 2-1 scoreline they held, I would have said the same thing (albeit in a grumpier tone).

The harsh reality for Sweden is that they played two, lost two, and it is incredibly difficult to proceed with that start. If they had played against Ukraine they way they played against us, I think they would have beaten the Ukraines. And then everything would be different.

But it isn’t.

We are not through yet, for if we slip up against Ukraine and France win, then we are also out. It is in our hands to make sure that doesn’t happen.

Commiserations go to Sweden and good luck to England on Tuesday.

We’ll need it.

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