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Sunday, June 26, 2011

Is this a record?

I happened to catch sight of my wife's yahoo mail inbox page a few days ago.  She had 30,638 - that's thirty thousand six hundred and thirty-eight - UNREAD emails in her Inbox.  There are probably more now.  If she sees me smiling, she will ask what's funny, and I tell her "thirty thousand six hundred ..." and before I can finish she will start laughing.

She's a person who finds it very difficult to throw anything away.  Sometimes I will find in odd corners of the house objects that I threw into the trash bag a while before.  Tidying the house is a very difficult task!  I can't count the pairs of old, broken and worn-out shoes I have surreptitiously bagged up and thrown out, I have to be very careful not to let her see what I am doing, if she sees me she will tell me she is going to have them repaired, but from experience I know this will never happen.

Do any of my readers have this in their lives?

Thursday, June 23, 2011

Hindsight

OK, Kitty, here's a little more of my life story just for you!

In my last post I mentioned Jenny, a blonde, good-looking girl with a gentle temperament I knew at Bristol University.  We met at a dance class, fitted together quite well and started going to dances and just for walks together.  Once or twice we walked up to the Cabot tower on Brandon Hill - I remember the pouring rain and the reflections of the lights of the city in Jenny's rain-spotted glasses (John Cabot was actually an Italian but made a voyage of discovery starting from Bristol.)  This was our view of the University from there:


More often we walked over the Clifton suspension bridge, where we stopped in the middle somewhere to kiss.  I had to be careful that Jenny's glasses would not fall off and into the river Avon far, far below.

On this page there are some lovely panoramic views from and of the bridge.

One evening - our relationship was about six months old then - as we were setting out to go over the suspension bridge, Jenny announced that she was wearing her slacks "in the skin", by which I understood her to mean she was not wearing panties.  Would that be right?  You will find it hard to believe how innocent and ignorant of the ways of girls I was in those days, even though I had spent 18 months in the army:  I read into that remark of hers no significance whatever.  I'm really embarrassed to think about it even now.

We had crossed the bridge and were walking along a road then - and probably still, if I can judge by Google Earth - bordered by woods at least on one side, when suddenly, without provocation, Jenny slapped my face.  I had no idea what prompted her to do this.  She then invited me to retaliate, but I declined politely.

Soon after this incident, Jenny let me know she wasn't interested in me any more.  If only I had known then what I know now!  And there were plenty of bushes from which a handy switch could have been cut or broken off, too.  I was such a wimp in those days - alas!  Perhaps I still am???  I am quite sure most all readers of this blog will be able clearly to picture what should have been done.

Sunday, June 19, 2011

Past Lives?

Kitty, I'm so glad you liked "Liebesbotschaft."  I listened to it again just before writing this, it never fails to start tears to my eyes and wonderful feelings somewhere inside me.   The rippling piano accompaniment, an effective representation of the flowing stream, is not easy to play, though quite simple.  Schubert's modulations (change of key) are so telling!  In a few days I will post another of my favourite Schubert songs here.  I have published the text of the words of Liebesbotschaft, in German and English, as a comment on that blog post, in case anyone is interested.

Dannah - you wanted to read about Elizabeth.  She was a physics student in her 2nd year, I was still a first year student, though a year or two older than her. We both attended a lecture by CF Powell, Physics Professor, well known for his work on photographing the effects of cosmic rays at high altitudes.  I saw this girl from my place at the back of the tiered lecture theatre, she was sitting somewhere down at the front, with her back to me.  I immediately found myself seeing mental pictures of life with her in the Canadian forests (I have never told her about this.)

The details and chronology of my few meetings with her in Bristol are not clear in my mind, but I was to play the piano accompaniments to three of Vaughan Williams' "Songs of Travel" (poems by R.L. Stevenson) to be sung by another student at a public concert; I forget his name but I remember he was fond of archery.  It's customary for an accompanist to have an assistant turn the pages of the music book while he is playing, and I asked Elizabeth - a good musician as are many scientists - if she would do that for me.  I hardly knew her, but she agreed.  That made that event memorable for me, having her sitting next to me and helping me at a somewhat stressful time seemed exactly right.

Just before the end of the academic year the Student Union Ball took place - the major social event of the year, really.  Some time before that I had broken up with my previous girl friend, Jenny (that story might interest certain readers of this blog, too!), and had no one to take to the ball. I did not want to go alone.  Elizabeth seemed to my inexperienced eye to be outside my league, as she seemed to know a lot of students and was a good deal more sociable than me, I thought she would have a number of invitations to choose from;  I was very gauche and uncertain with women, however, I plucked up the courage to ask her if she would come to the ball with me and much to my surprise, she immediately agreed.

I had been used to dancing with Jenny, who was a fluid mover, easy to lead and we had often gone to dance classes together.  Dancing with Elizabeth felt unfamiliar and a bit wooden (I'm sure she will not be reading my blog, but I think she would agree with me!).  After the ball, in the early hours of the morning, I escorted her back to her Hall of Residence, and that seemed to be the end of that relationship, more or less.  The year finished with little further contact that I can remember.

But it seemed fate had other plans; I kept running into Elizabeth, sometimes half intentionally, sometime quite by chance.  While I was living in London I found out that she lived quite near me, in the house of a well-known conductor, and although I was already married then (but not happily), I visited her.  We did exchange a few letters but they were not love-letters.  I seem to remember even visiting her at her parents' home in a southern suburb of London.  I met her once again by chance at a music camp somewhere in the South of England.

In due course I left London and took a job in Oxford.  In a restaurant in Queen Street I ran into Elizabeth again, and we talked.  I hadn't known she had moved to Oxford.  She was then living in Chalfont Road, Oxford - a road I knew well as my cousin's grandmother had lived there and I sometimes visited.  I lived with my aunt further out, and Elizabeth gave me a ride on the back of her scooter.  This showed me once again a very weird and unusual effect: when I was with her, and for time after, I lost all interest in other women.  

This has never happened with anyone else.  What ever woman I happen to be with, and however much attracted to her I may feel, I never lose the impulse to weigh up other women I happen to see.  But with Elizabeth, that impulse disappeared without trace.  Sitting on the back of her scooter, she was the only woman of any interest to me.  The attraction didn't seem to be physical sex, that never occurred to me.  It took hours for this effect to wear off.

At the time of that ride, Elizabeth told me she was getting married, and told me her future husband's name.  Since then, I never saw her again.  I have never read the book on Schubert she wrote, though I would like to (the price is too high).  I feel glad she has attained some measure of success and respect, she's a good woman and industrious too.

Human relations have many factors bearing on them, and past lives is one of the most interesting.

Saturday, June 18, 2011

Here is one of my favourite songs from one of my favourite composers - "Liebesbotschaft" (Love's Message), by Franz Schubert, sung by Petre Munteanu, a Romanian tenor. Schubert wrote it about 1828, the year of his death at the early age of 31.



Since boyhood Schubert's music has been a source of great pleasure for me, especially the two song-cycles "Die schöne Müllerin" (The Maid of the Mill) and "Winterreise" (Winter Journey); but this song does not belong to either of those groups.  For me it exemplifies the unmatched ability of Schubert to conjure wonderful feelings with simple tunes and accompaniments on the piano.

P.S.  I have added the original German words by Rellstab, and a translation into English, as a comment to this post.

(A footnote here: A definitive biography of Schubert has been written by a woman called Elizabeth whom I was very attracted to in my early twenties - i.e. about 60 years ago.  I first saw her in a physics lecture given by C.F. Powell (a Nobel laureate) at Bristol University and immediately saw mental pictures of her living with me in the forests of Canada - in a previous life I suppose.  The attraction was not sexual but seemed to have some other basis - but I won't continue this story as it really has nothing to do with Liebesbotschaft!  Material for another post perhaps.)

Monday, June 13, 2011

Don't be a victim!

Let's assume for a moment that there is something about my life I don't like and want to change.

I want to explore the idea that everything in our lives is a result of our beliefs.

I like this idea because it forces me to take responsibility for my life and to avoid thinking of myself as a victim.  Once you get the feeling that you are at the mercy of others, you become a victim.  Much better to look inside yourself and see if you can discover just what you have done or believed that has guided your life into its present state.  ASSUME that you have done, or believed, something that has resulted in your life being as it is now.

Suppose you have a "disease", for example.  Such as alcoholism, or cancer.  Most people in the western world regard disease as something that has hit you, out of the blue: you are its victim.  You have to take drugs or visit a shrink or a surgeon.  You have to "battle the disease."  Avoid this line of thought studiously and instead, regard the disease as an essential part of you, for the moment.  The disease is telling you something you need to know.  It's a cry from your body that something about your life has to change.

So far as I can understand, the need for alcohol arises because alcohol can cause you to forget or ignore painful feelings which you do not know how to deal with otherwise.  In my case, I am not addicted to alcohol, I can go without it for many days and not feel the need to take it.  I like it, however, and usually drink a little every day - say 3/4 inch of Tequila in the bottom of a small tumbler, and only after 5 p.m.

Now comes the interesting part:  I have a tremor, very noticeable in my hands but present elsewhere in my body.  It is present all the time.  It's worse in my right hand than in my left. It makes writing extremely difficult, for example signing my name to withdraw money at the bank.  Lifting a cup of coffee to my mouth requires both hands to avoid splashing it everywhere.  When it first became noticeable, about three years ago, I thought there must be some nervous damage, and I remembered that my father also had this tremor.  Perhaps it's inherited?

One day I inadvertently poured too much Tequila into my glass, almost twice as much as usual; nevertheless I drank it all and became slightly tipsy.  It happened that I needed to sign a document that evening.  I discovered to my astonishment that I could write perfectly well, there was no sign of a tremor.  Next day, the tremor was back.

A little research on the internet showed me that this phenomenon is known in medical circles: alcohol relieves tremor symptoms; but nobody knows how that works.  Of course, it is no use considering it as a cure, as I would probably become addicted to alcohol.  But it showed me that alcohol was allowing me to stop doing, or believing, whatever it was that was causing the tremor.  It showed me that my nervous system was working properly, not defective. If something was inherited, that something must be somewhat insubstantial, like a belief, for example.  Just what exactly is it that I am doing, or believing, that causes it?

I haven't found that out yet - sometimes ordinary life is too interesting to spend time introspecting like this. (excuses, excuses.)  Then again, it is very difficult to expose one's basic beliefs as one is so close to them and so used to them one doesn't recognise them as beliefs, even.  If in this case the alcohol is doing its job of causing me to forget, temporarily, painful beliefs, what can those beliefs be?  Must be something that's basic to my life.

(I'll continue this later, time is running out)

Sunday, June 12, 2011

The "Little House on the Prairie"

Emilie and others suggested "The Little House on the Prairie" series as good reading matter, and I bought the first 5 books from Amazon.  I enjoyed them very much and finished to lot in about three days.  I won't buy the others, though.  What a life! It certainly makes one wonder if the automobile is a blessing or a curse.  I don't have one and don't miss it.

Sorry for not explaining my absence

Saffy, Sue - and other readers, I do appreciate your concern.  Yes I'm fine.  Just suddenly, blogging became empty, meaningless.  I am not a consistent person, my life is full of U-turns!  I'll probably get back to it some time soon.  I haven't been reading any blogs either.  Spending much less time on my computer and more on everyday stuff like mending things, reading books, making jam.  Trying to understand the nature of reality: it appears certain that there is no reality "out there", it's all within us; but how do we alter our beliefs to accommodate this apparent fact?  Otherwise it is just a useless piece of book-knowledge.  We have to be convinced in our hearts that that is the way things are.

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