My father has been clearing out a corner of his shed. This is not to be confused with clearing out the shed. That would be too much to expect. This is a corner, very much a corner. He wants a space for his new dust extractor to perch when it is not in use.
He has found some 'treasures'. There is the inevitable jar of rusty screws, nails, nuts and bolts. They have all been tossed in there over the years on the grounds, "They might be useful one day." There is the old electric typewriter rescued from the dump, kept because "the springs might be useful". There are two old inner tubes from my tricycle. "Well they could be useful!"
There are the old drink coasters, kept because they are made from cork and you never know when you might need some thin cork.
The magic apparatus, carefully shrouded in old sheets and a bedspread, is something I know he will never use again. He says so himself but he cannot quite bring himself to part with it. We will leave that there.
My sister comes in. She has picked up a new type of tomato for him to plant. She barters the plant for the jar of rusty screws.
Now, what is he going to do with the fishing rod? He was given the fishing rod by Mum years back. The idea was that he would go fishing when they went on holidays in the caravan. He hates fishing. He would go fishing with an unbaited line and a book. There were very few caravan holidays anyway because of Mum's other commitments, grandchildren, Probus, Guild, Lunch Group and so on. He decides he is giving the fishing line to a mate who also enjoys fishing wih an unbaited line.
The Mother Earth magazines he has saved for years are going and so are the old Linking Ring magazines. The Readers' Digest condensed books that he used to make solanders are going. The old rake - he was going to replace the handle - is going.
All of this is carefully packed in the proper, separate containers and put out for the rubbish collection. It is lined up neatly along the curb according to council regulations. It will not be wasted. Almost all of it can be recycled.
As I am going indoors from taking out the last load for the day I hear someone calling out,
"Hey, look what someone's throwing out. It might be useful one day."
Monday, 7 September 2009
Sunday, 6 September 2009
I do not care for birthday parties.
My birthday is on a date that is, fortunately, generally drowned out completely by other celebrations. This is a good thing. I do not like the fuss. I am not responsible for my birth.
A friend turned 80 on Friday. Her daughter had a party for her on Saturday. Her sparse family was invited. A few neighbours were invited. I was invited. That was it.
I knew the occasion would be one of those affairs where people actually have to find things to say - or sit in uncomfortable silence. The invitations were late in coming and I already had two other events to attend. I said I would call in for a short while early on.
"Come on in Cat," her daughter says when she sees me at the door. She is busy trying to get food ready in the kitchen. I let myself in.
My friend, who is getting a little vague and forgetful, is sitting there in the semi-darkness of the overheated lounge room. A neighbour has arrived. The neighbour is older but more alert. She is trying to make conversation but it is stilted. They have never had much in common and my friend is now in a nursing home. They have even less in common now.
I stand there and the neighbour nudges my friend. "Cat's here." She looks up.
"Oh, hello dear." I say hello and Happy Birthday and all the other things that should be said. She smiles but I am not sure she is really taking it in. She seems overwhelmed. I give her the little parcel. She likes the dogs on the little bag. It is not an old lady bag at all. It is intended for children but she loves dogs and misses not having one of her own. There is a dog on the card too. All the cards which said 80 were mushy and the print would have been too small for her to read.
It takes her a while to read the card and investigate the bag.
"You can open the parcel too," I tell her gently. She looks at it. I have wrapped her parcel in tissue paper and put a piece of curling ribbon loosely around it. She has difficulty with small things, with tape and bows and fiddly things. Slowly, very slowly she pulls the ribbon off and puts it to one side. She looks at the tissue paper and then realises that it is coming apart. There is a hint of relief on her face and she unwraps it more quickly. Socks. I have made her blue woollen socks with lace tops. There is not much else I can do for her now but she is always saying here feet are cold under her slacks.
"Oh." She smiles, "They're lovely." Suddenly she turns to the neighbour and says, "Do you remember how we used to have to darn the socks..."
She starts to reminisce. The neighbour and I exchange a glance. We let her talk. More neighbours arrive and it seems like a good time for me to slip out.
When you are old the past is fine. The present is difficult. The future is almost impossible.
A friend turned 80 on Friday. Her daughter had a party for her on Saturday. Her sparse family was invited. A few neighbours were invited. I was invited. That was it.
I knew the occasion would be one of those affairs where people actually have to find things to say - or sit in uncomfortable silence. The invitations were late in coming and I already had two other events to attend. I said I would call in for a short while early on.
"Come on in Cat," her daughter says when she sees me at the door. She is busy trying to get food ready in the kitchen. I let myself in.
My friend, who is getting a little vague and forgetful, is sitting there in the semi-darkness of the overheated lounge room. A neighbour has arrived. The neighbour is older but more alert. She is trying to make conversation but it is stilted. They have never had much in common and my friend is now in a nursing home. They have even less in common now.
I stand there and the neighbour nudges my friend. "Cat's here." She looks up.
"Oh, hello dear." I say hello and Happy Birthday and all the other things that should be said. She smiles but I am not sure she is really taking it in. She seems overwhelmed. I give her the little parcel. She likes the dogs on the little bag. It is not an old lady bag at all. It is intended for children but she loves dogs and misses not having one of her own. There is a dog on the card too. All the cards which said 80 were mushy and the print would have been too small for her to read.
It takes her a while to read the card and investigate the bag.
"You can open the parcel too," I tell her gently. She looks at it. I have wrapped her parcel in tissue paper and put a piece of curling ribbon loosely around it. She has difficulty with small things, with tape and bows and fiddly things. Slowly, very slowly she pulls the ribbon off and puts it to one side. She looks at the tissue paper and then realises that it is coming apart. There is a hint of relief on her face and she unwraps it more quickly. Socks. I have made her blue woollen socks with lace tops. There is not much else I can do for her now but she is always saying here feet are cold under her slacks.
"Oh." She smiles, "They're lovely." Suddenly she turns to the neighbour and says, "Do you remember how we used to have to darn the socks..."
She starts to reminisce. The neighbour and I exchange a glance. We let her talk. More neighbours arrive and it seems like a good time for me to slip out.
When you are old the past is fine. The present is difficult. The future is almost impossible.
Saturday, 5 September 2009
The crabbit old bat...
otherwise known as Nicola Morgan, wrote a blog post on Help I need a Publisher on 2nd September stating, "You do not have a right to be heard." (When I work out how to do those fancy links you just click on I will do that and make your life easy. In the meantime head over to her blog and hunt for 2nd September.)
Her post generated some debate - including some cat hairs from yours truly. I decided to add some cat hairs here.
Nicola was, of course, talking about getting published. In that sense she was absolutely correct, nobody has a right to have others read what you have written or listen to what you say. Just because you have written something it does not mean that other people will read it - although I hope that someone is reading this.
We need to start earlier than this, much earlier. I think there are some cat hairs or ideas out there that need to be dealt with.
First, the most important thing anyone learns to do is communicate. If you cannot communicate you cannot connect with the world around you. Communication is a two way process. Communication occurs in an infinite variety of ways.
When I set out to persuade the United Nations to designate the year that became International Literacy Year I was hoping they would take a very wide view of 'literacy' because literacy comes in many forms, not just the ability to read and write. Literacy is only one part of communication. Learning to understand those funny little squiggles on the page or screen is only part of learning to read the world around us.
In order to be able to communicate we need to be able to read the world around us. We have to be able to place our own attempts to communicate in a context that others can understand. My experience of a chair is different from your experience of a chair. If I want to talk to you about chairs then we have to agree on what a chair is. We do this through a complex set of experiences which are presumed to be common (and sometimes called the same) but are actually different. I cannot sit in a chair for you. I cannot see it or feel it for you. We can however to agree to call an object a chair. We have communicated because, although different, our experiences are sufficiently close for communication to take place. It is pretty elementary sort of communication.
Now, having explained that rather badly, let's go a little further.
My second cat hair for the day is that everyone has the right to a means of communication. Now that is not a right to be heard but a means to make oneself heard and to hear others. It is the right to the means by which we can connect with the world. There are infinite ways of doing this. Language is infinite and takes an infinite number of forms.
My third and final cat hair for the day is that it is our capacity to use a means of communication which will allow us to be heard or not heard. We have to be able to make connections. The more connections the more successful we will be in allowing another individual to share an experience or imagine a new one. Connections need context. Context is observation. Observation is receiving as well as giving.
Writing is about making connections.
Her post generated some debate - including some cat hairs from yours truly. I decided to add some cat hairs here.
Nicola was, of course, talking about getting published. In that sense she was absolutely correct, nobody has a right to have others read what you have written or listen to what you say. Just because you have written something it does not mean that other people will read it - although I hope that someone is reading this.
We need to start earlier than this, much earlier. I think there are some cat hairs or ideas out there that need to be dealt with.
First, the most important thing anyone learns to do is communicate. If you cannot communicate you cannot connect with the world around you. Communication is a two way process. Communication occurs in an infinite variety of ways.
When I set out to persuade the United Nations to designate the year that became International Literacy Year I was hoping they would take a very wide view of 'literacy' because literacy comes in many forms, not just the ability to read and write. Literacy is only one part of communication. Learning to understand those funny little squiggles on the page or screen is only part of learning to read the world around us.
In order to be able to communicate we need to be able to read the world around us. We have to be able to place our own attempts to communicate in a context that others can understand. My experience of a chair is different from your experience of a chair. If I want to talk to you about chairs then we have to agree on what a chair is. We do this through a complex set of experiences which are presumed to be common (and sometimes called the same) but are actually different. I cannot sit in a chair for you. I cannot see it or feel it for you. We can however to agree to call an object a chair. We have communicated because, although different, our experiences are sufficiently close for communication to take place. It is pretty elementary sort of communication.
Now, having explained that rather badly, let's go a little further.
My second cat hair for the day is that everyone has the right to a means of communication. Now that is not a right to be heard but a means to make oneself heard and to hear others. It is the right to the means by which we can connect with the world. There are infinite ways of doing this. Language is infinite and takes an infinite number of forms.
My third and final cat hair for the day is that it is our capacity to use a means of communication which will allow us to be heard or not heard. We have to be able to make connections. The more connections the more successful we will be in allowing another individual to share an experience or imagine a new one. Connections need context. Context is observation. Observation is receiving as well as giving.
Writing is about making connections.
Friday, 4 September 2009
Knowledge, they say,
is power. Power is the root of corruption. Yes, there is money involved but power is the root of corruption.
Anyone foolish enough to read my ramblings will have realised by now that I am no supporter of the union movement. Do not misunderstand me. Unions had their place. They may still have a place - but they do not have a place in the employer's office among the confidential files.
At the last election in Australia there was a highly successful and forcibly funded scare campaign run by the union movement and the Labor party over the previous government's "Work Choices" legislation. That legislation recognised the complexities of doing business on a global basis. It recognised the need to be able hire and fire with fewer restrictions than had often been the case in the past. It recognised the need for employers to be able to negotiate directly with employees rather than through a union movement that, after the abolition of compulsory unionism, represented less than 20% of the work force.
All that has changed. There are reports in this morning's paper of the union movement starting to make demands. They are claiming the right to enter premises. They are claiming the right to a place at negotiations even if there is only one union member in the workplace. They are claiming the right to previously confidential information about employees. They are claiming the right to other information about the manner in which the business is run and is proposed to be run in the future. They state that employers have obligations to provide all this information. They want to know if there are any proposals for change of ownership in the next five years. They want to know what information the business has on the financial position of its competitors. They want to see the budget and they want to know if there are any proposals for the way in which the business will operate. They want to know about restructuring plans, redundancies, outsourcing and insourcing. In short, they want to know exactly how the business is run and will be run. They say they have a right to all this information.
Business of course cannot operate this way. Industrial espionage is a fact of business life. So is employee poaching. The more people who know about the most intimate details of a business the less intimate those details will be. Knowledge is power. Power corrupts. The union movement is already corrupt. The only real outcome of the Royal Commission into the building union was a change of name and, despite another Royal Commission, the waterside workers still wield power far in excess of their contribution to the community.
The Australian Labor Party is dependent on the union movement. It is the union movement which provides, directly and indirectly, the funds for election campaigns. It is money which does not need to be sought. It just appears. Much of it is contributed in ways that does not need to be declared. Unlike contributions from other sources questions are not asked about what is expected in return. The ALP cannot afford to question what the expectations might be. It is the price for diminished democracy but greater power.
Anyone foolish enough to read my ramblings will have realised by now that I am no supporter of the union movement. Do not misunderstand me. Unions had their place. They may still have a place - but they do not have a place in the employer's office among the confidential files.
At the last election in Australia there was a highly successful and forcibly funded scare campaign run by the union movement and the Labor party over the previous government's "Work Choices" legislation. That legislation recognised the complexities of doing business on a global basis. It recognised the need to be able hire and fire with fewer restrictions than had often been the case in the past. It recognised the need for employers to be able to negotiate directly with employees rather than through a union movement that, after the abolition of compulsory unionism, represented less than 20% of the work force.
All that has changed. There are reports in this morning's paper of the union movement starting to make demands. They are claiming the right to enter premises. They are claiming the right to a place at negotiations even if there is only one union member in the workplace. They are claiming the right to previously confidential information about employees. They are claiming the right to other information about the manner in which the business is run and is proposed to be run in the future. They state that employers have obligations to provide all this information. They want to know if there are any proposals for change of ownership in the next five years. They want to know what information the business has on the financial position of its competitors. They want to see the budget and they want to know if there are any proposals for the way in which the business will operate. They want to know about restructuring plans, redundancies, outsourcing and insourcing. In short, they want to know exactly how the business is run and will be run. They say they have a right to all this information.
Business of course cannot operate this way. Industrial espionage is a fact of business life. So is employee poaching. The more people who know about the most intimate details of a business the less intimate those details will be. Knowledge is power. Power corrupts. The union movement is already corrupt. The only real outcome of the Royal Commission into the building union was a change of name and, despite another Royal Commission, the waterside workers still wield power far in excess of their contribution to the community.
The Australian Labor Party is dependent on the union movement. It is the union movement which provides, directly and indirectly, the funds for election campaigns. It is money which does not need to be sought. It just appears. Much of it is contributed in ways that does not need to be declared. Unlike contributions from other sources questions are not asked about what is expected in return. The ALP cannot afford to question what the expectations might be. It is the price for diminished democracy but greater power.
Thursday, 3 September 2009
I am an expert authority on the subject of cows
- or so it would seem. This has come to pass because, for the second time in my life, I have been able to recognise that something with four legs is not a Jersey cow but a Friesan cow. I now know "all about" cows. (There are other living things with four legs and I can also recognise that they are not always cows.)
Now this matters. Once you are an expert in one area you can make pronouncements on other issues as well. People will listen. After all, you are an expert. Experts are important people. They matter. We should listen to experts. They tell us what to do.
Experts are becoming increasingly important in society. There are more and more of them. Their areas of expertise are not, contrary to original belief, getting smaller. There will soon be experts in everything. There may even be experts in everything now. I may just have missed out on them while I was busy being an expert in my own area of recognising cows.
All these other experts allow me to be lazy. I no longer need to work at understanding anything. An expert does it for me.
An expert will educate me in the proper way to do something as well. Their role is to intrude on my personal life as well as on public policy. They will not tell me too much. They will tell me only as much as I need to know. After all, that is what experts are for. If they tell us too much we will not need them. We might start to think. That would be dangerous.
Experts have taken over from the law and from other forms of authority. Experts advise the law. They advise government. "Science" is everything. We have statistics to back up this theory or that theory or some other theory.
When I was in secondary school I had to read CP Snow's essay on "The two cultures". It is a long time ago now but, if I remember correctly, he was lamenting the fact that the arts and science no longer spoke to one another. Part of the problem was the explosion of knowledge and the need to know more and more.
Now you are a member of the arts community or you are a member of the science community. You cannot be both. There is too much to know. Even in your own community there is so much to know that you can only belong to a sub-group. This means you may not even be able to communicate with members of other sub-groups in your community. That does not matter because there are other experts out there to do it for you.
Experts are presumed to solve problems. In reality they create new problems. They fail to communicate. They use languages all of their own. It is the task of the expert to create and maintain a sub-group. Their role is to isolate and, in doing so, maintain control or help others maintain control over us. It is the experts' way of maintaining an orderly society. It should be the end of all our problems.
However, I have a problem. I do not know how to milk a cow.
Now this matters. Once you are an expert in one area you can make pronouncements on other issues as well. People will listen. After all, you are an expert. Experts are important people. They matter. We should listen to experts. They tell us what to do.
Experts are becoming increasingly important in society. There are more and more of them. Their areas of expertise are not, contrary to original belief, getting smaller. There will soon be experts in everything. There may even be experts in everything now. I may just have missed out on them while I was busy being an expert in my own area of recognising cows.
All these other experts allow me to be lazy. I no longer need to work at understanding anything. An expert does it for me.
An expert will educate me in the proper way to do something as well. Their role is to intrude on my personal life as well as on public policy. They will not tell me too much. They will tell me only as much as I need to know. After all, that is what experts are for. If they tell us too much we will not need them. We might start to think. That would be dangerous.
Experts have taken over from the law and from other forms of authority. Experts advise the law. They advise government. "Science" is everything. We have statistics to back up this theory or that theory or some other theory.
When I was in secondary school I had to read CP Snow's essay on "The two cultures". It is a long time ago now but, if I remember correctly, he was lamenting the fact that the arts and science no longer spoke to one another. Part of the problem was the explosion of knowledge and the need to know more and more.
Now you are a member of the arts community or you are a member of the science community. You cannot be both. There is too much to know. Even in your own community there is so much to know that you can only belong to a sub-group. This means you may not even be able to communicate with members of other sub-groups in your community. That does not matter because there are other experts out there to do it for you.
Experts are presumed to solve problems. In reality they create new problems. They fail to communicate. They use languages all of their own. It is the task of the expert to create and maintain a sub-group. Their role is to isolate and, in doing so, maintain control or help others maintain control over us. It is the experts' way of maintaining an orderly society. It should be the end of all our problems.
However, I have a problem. I do not know how to milk a cow.
Wednesday, 2 September 2009
The advertising now says " 2 days to go"
but I had a preview of a small part yesterday. It is that time of the year again. September is marked in Adelaide by the Royal Agricultural and Horticultural Society Show. It is the big communal event of the rural calendar. The country descends on the city and shows them that milk really does not come from plastic bottles and that farm machinery is often huge and incredibly expensive.
There is livestock, grain and market garden produce. There are the all the ring events, including wood chopping and a grand parade and fireworks in the evenings. On the edges there are 'show bags' (high priced advertising that you can buy) and side shows.
There is also an area where there art, craft and cookery are on display. That is where I had my sneak preview yesterday. There is now a fine new pavilion for all of this. It is lovely. The lighting is excellent. There are lovely new showcases for the items on display. It is the content of some of those showcases which was my concern.
I knit. It is the one and only craft I have ever taken any interest in. If truth be told I would still rather read or write but knitting has certain challenges and a history which fascinates me. I am therefore involved in the hand knitting section of this show. This year I rewrote the judging guidelines after extensive consultation with others. I was now judging the judging.
There have been problems in recent years. The two judges are undoubtedly worthy women. They are elderly (one is in her mid 80's and the other in her late 70's) and they have been judging for many years. They have not changed but knitting has. They can recognise and acknowledge the familiar. They do not recognise new yarns or techniques or colour combinations which were unacceptable in their youth. It has been a problem and it is still a problem.
Many knitters never enter anything into the show. Some will know their work is simply not good enough. Some cannot be bothered to take the time involved. But some, too many, have simply given up because the worth of their work has never been recognised. It has never quite reached the point where it has been deemed worthy of a prize or it is not something the judges can recognise.
The rules, rightly or wrongly, allow the use of a commercial pattern. I am familiar enough with the 'style' of certain publishers of knitting patterns to recognise which garments come from commercial patterns. The judges are too. This is what they look for. This is the familiar. It is not threatening. They do not have to consider style. It has been done for them. I look at a magnificent intarsia style shawl with the hundreds of yarn ends equisitely neatly finished off. The knitter, someone I know, designed it herself. It takes second place to a commercial pattern in one colour which, although nicely knitted, does not require nearly as much as skill. I look at a lace scarf. It has edges which wobble slightly but it has won a first over a scarf embellished with leaves and flowers. A green woollen hat in an unusual shape with hand knitted nasturtiums loses out to a beanie with cables and a bobble on top. The latter is nicely knitted but the former (which does not even win a prize) is as equally well knitted and better finished. It also shows imagination.
The Convenor and I pull things out of the display cabinets. We turn garments inside out. We make notes and then return the garments to their places. We hunt for the pair of mittens that have gone missing and do not find them. Thankfully they are not my responsibility but I feel concerned for the knitter who made them.
I come away from the whole exercise feeling that this is all a little bit like life. If you are a different colour or shape or size, if your cables go in a different direction or your yarn is a new variety others are going to have problems recognising you. You get recognised for fitting inside the mould.
There is livestock, grain and market garden produce. There are the all the ring events, including wood chopping and a grand parade and fireworks in the evenings. On the edges there are 'show bags' (high priced advertising that you can buy) and side shows.
There is also an area where there art, craft and cookery are on display. That is where I had my sneak preview yesterday. There is now a fine new pavilion for all of this. It is lovely. The lighting is excellent. There are lovely new showcases for the items on display. It is the content of some of those showcases which was my concern.
I knit. It is the one and only craft I have ever taken any interest in. If truth be told I would still rather read or write but knitting has certain challenges and a history which fascinates me. I am therefore involved in the hand knitting section of this show. This year I rewrote the judging guidelines after extensive consultation with others. I was now judging the judging.
There have been problems in recent years. The two judges are undoubtedly worthy women. They are elderly (one is in her mid 80's and the other in her late 70's) and they have been judging for many years. They have not changed but knitting has. They can recognise and acknowledge the familiar. They do not recognise new yarns or techniques or colour combinations which were unacceptable in their youth. It has been a problem and it is still a problem.
Many knitters never enter anything into the show. Some will know their work is simply not good enough. Some cannot be bothered to take the time involved. But some, too many, have simply given up because the worth of their work has never been recognised. It has never quite reached the point where it has been deemed worthy of a prize or it is not something the judges can recognise.
The rules, rightly or wrongly, allow the use of a commercial pattern. I am familiar enough with the 'style' of certain publishers of knitting patterns to recognise which garments come from commercial patterns. The judges are too. This is what they look for. This is the familiar. It is not threatening. They do not have to consider style. It has been done for them. I look at a magnificent intarsia style shawl with the hundreds of yarn ends equisitely neatly finished off. The knitter, someone I know, designed it herself. It takes second place to a commercial pattern in one colour which, although nicely knitted, does not require nearly as much as skill. I look at a lace scarf. It has edges which wobble slightly but it has won a first over a scarf embellished with leaves and flowers. A green woollen hat in an unusual shape with hand knitted nasturtiums loses out to a beanie with cables and a bobble on top. The latter is nicely knitted but the former (which does not even win a prize) is as equally well knitted and better finished. It also shows imagination.
The Convenor and I pull things out of the display cabinets. We turn garments inside out. We make notes and then return the garments to their places. We hunt for the pair of mittens that have gone missing and do not find them. Thankfully they are not my responsibility but I feel concerned for the knitter who made them.
I come away from the whole exercise feeling that this is all a little bit like life. If you are a different colour or shape or size, if your cables go in a different direction or your yarn is a new variety others are going to have problems recognising you. You get recognised for fitting inside the mould.
Tuesday, 1 September 2009
I was flower girl
for my godmother. I was told to smile with my mouth closed because I had just lost a baby tooth and had one of those interesting gaps in front. My dress - long - was lemon yellow and I had a wreath of frangipani in my hair.
So what, you say? What's so special about being flower girl? Isn't it the sort of thing all little girls dream about? No. I was not sure I wanted to be. There was plenty of other opposition to the idea as well. It meant the bride had to go down the aisle holding on to the flower girl to make sure the flower girl did not fall over. How many brides would be prepared to do that? I loved my godmother then. I love and admire her now. It was her special day and she made it special for me.
I explained all of this to a young friend (11) who has been asked to be an attendant at her godmother's wedding. Young friend came to talk to me. It is not something she has ever dreamed about doing. She is afraid she will do something wrong and spoil the big day. She is not a 'dressing up' sort of child - any more than I was.
"Look," I tell her, "You have all your front teeth. You do not have braces on your teeth. You do not have spots on your face."
None of that seems to help her very much. I think I know what the real problem is. Her mother is not going to be there. Her mother died some years ago. Her godmother has done her best but she will now be living further away. I am only and can only ever be a partial substitute. She wants someone who will hold on to her too.
I tell her I will be there.
So what, you say? What's so special about being flower girl? Isn't it the sort of thing all little girls dream about? No. I was not sure I wanted to be. There was plenty of other opposition to the idea as well. It meant the bride had to go down the aisle holding on to the flower girl to make sure the flower girl did not fall over. How many brides would be prepared to do that? I loved my godmother then. I love and admire her now. It was her special day and she made it special for me.
I explained all of this to a young friend (11) who has been asked to be an attendant at her godmother's wedding. Young friend came to talk to me. It is not something she has ever dreamed about doing. She is afraid she will do something wrong and spoil the big day. She is not a 'dressing up' sort of child - any more than I was.
"Look," I tell her, "You have all your front teeth. You do not have braces on your teeth. You do not have spots on your face."
None of that seems to help her very much. I think I know what the real problem is. Her mother is not going to be there. Her mother died some years ago. Her godmother has done her best but she will now be living further away. I am only and can only ever be a partial substitute. She wants someone who will hold on to her too.
I tell her I will be there.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)
Posts
