Rebirth, renewal, great cycle of life and all that.
Hey ho. So now I know what the inside of a crematorium looks like.
I stood beside my father in the front row and when three liveried attendants pushed the box containing his mother's body past us and into the discreetly draped elevator to the flames, I perceived (didn't see or hear...perceived is the best word) his anguish. Of course, one's final farewell to one's mother is a profound event but this was almost shocking to me. The Da is a giant of a man with an aura of indomitability - but yesterday I felt as big as him for the first time in my life. Afterwards, in a little hotel outside Leith, politely schmoozing with relatives i'd never met or heard of before, people whose surname I have as a middle name, I couldn't but notice how old my father's generation is looking. As usual these days, the thought of my daughter steadied me. It was good as always to see the Wee Sis and her man too - their company keeps me feeling youthful.
Unlike family gatherings. Bliss was it in that dawn to be alive, But to be young was very heaven!, quoth the poet, and we all may underline this and write 'How true!' in the margin. Being alive is ace, innit? A blip of consciosuness between two voids, what a joyous privilege. This week I have had many little aches and pains to remind me I ain't a boy any more but by golly I'm glad to be here in this time and place, still fairly young with a life that's bountiful, how ever much I may moan about things. Getting old is not great and being dead is shit. It's the fashion to call the talk about the deceased at funerals 'a celebration' of their life. As Mo asked last night: why wait til they're dead? Go and celebrate.
Meanwhile: today I bid my final farewell to the office. I will be plied with noxious liquors this evening no doubt, after which I have some days to relax with Mo and the Bean and then I start my new job at the hospital. Bearing in mind the sentiments above, I'm being positive and looking forward to my return to the madness, mostly. Fingering my old health-care accoutrements, name badge, ID and fob watch (a gift from two feisty young nursing colleagues one dank and drunken South London xmas), I feel like Daniel Dreiberg in Watchmen wistfully toying with his old Nite-Owl superhero paraphernalia. Change always gives me the willies and a Glasgow hospital ward has got to be one of the more unpredictable workplaces but life is to short to be spent glowering sullenly at invoices.
I foresee having but little time to post here in the days to come - pity, because the new job will surely afford me much more anecdote material than the present clerical bollocks, though of course confidentiality must be maintained. I wondered if I should knock the old LJ on the head, this in turn prompting the question: why do I do it anyway? I like to record things and I seem to use it to figure out personal matters at times; I have calmed down plenty after ranting about some insult or issue here often enough. Then there are the rather queasy ego-reasons - I need the words of praise and approval I get here sometimes. Insecure, show-offy man-child. Bleeeh. I've also met some excellent people here, in their electronic form anyway, which is only a good thing. And I enjoy writing...but lack the imagination or indeed will to write about anything other than my own unremarkable seeings and doings.
So the LJ stays, but i think I will change my name to symbolise the start of this new era - fatherhood, starting afresh at work, middle age looming...Suggestions gratefully received, but now don't be nasty.
See yer.
I stood beside my father in the front row and when three liveried attendants pushed the box containing his mother's body past us and into the discreetly draped elevator to the flames, I perceived (didn't see or hear...perceived is the best word) his anguish. Of course, one's final farewell to one's mother is a profound event but this was almost shocking to me. The Da is a giant of a man with an aura of indomitability - but yesterday I felt as big as him for the first time in my life. Afterwards, in a little hotel outside Leith, politely schmoozing with relatives i'd never met or heard of before, people whose surname I have as a middle name, I couldn't but notice how old my father's generation is looking. As usual these days, the thought of my daughter steadied me. It was good as always to see the Wee Sis and her man too - their company keeps me feeling youthful.
Unlike family gatherings. Bliss was it in that dawn to be alive, But to be young was very heaven!, quoth the poet, and we all may underline this and write 'How true!' in the margin. Being alive is ace, innit? A blip of consciosuness between two voids, what a joyous privilege. This week I have had many little aches and pains to remind me I ain't a boy any more but by golly I'm glad to be here in this time and place, still fairly young with a life that's bountiful, how ever much I may moan about things. Getting old is not great and being dead is shit. It's the fashion to call the talk about the deceased at funerals 'a celebration' of their life. As Mo asked last night: why wait til they're dead? Go and celebrate.
Meanwhile: today I bid my final farewell to the office. I will be plied with noxious liquors this evening no doubt, after which I have some days to relax with Mo and the Bean and then I start my new job at the hospital. Bearing in mind the sentiments above, I'm being positive and looking forward to my return to the madness, mostly. Fingering my old health-care accoutrements, name badge, ID and fob watch (a gift from two feisty young nursing colleagues one dank and drunken South London xmas), I feel like Daniel Dreiberg in Watchmen wistfully toying with his old Nite-Owl superhero paraphernalia. Change always gives me the willies and a Glasgow hospital ward has got to be one of the more unpredictable workplaces but life is to short to be spent glowering sullenly at invoices.
I foresee having but little time to post here in the days to come - pity, because the new job will surely afford me much more anecdote material than the present clerical bollocks, though of course confidentiality must be maintained. I wondered if I should knock the old LJ on the head, this in turn prompting the question: why do I do it anyway? I like to record things and I seem to use it to figure out personal matters at times; I have calmed down plenty after ranting about some insult or issue here often enough. Then there are the rather queasy ego-reasons - I need the words of praise and approval I get here sometimes. Insecure, show-offy man-child. Bleeeh. I've also met some excellent people here, in their electronic form anyway, which is only a good thing. And I enjoy writing...but lack the imagination or indeed will to write about anything other than my own unremarkable seeings and doings.
So the LJ stays, but i think I will change my name to symbolise the start of this new era - fatherhood, starting afresh at work, middle age looming...Suggestions gratefully received, but now don't be nasty.
See yer.