I have no religious belief at all and while I suppose in some ways it would be awfully nice to live for ever (and initially it seems a lot better than the alternative) I have a sneaking feeling that it would also be either very boring or very frustrating, or both. How irritating would it be to actually be able to see your friends and family getting on with their lives without you, and cheerfully at that? How could you cope with seeing them throwing out your old clothes and even your favourite armchair, especially if they did so with relief and an announcement that they had never liked it in the first place? And if you couldn't look in on them, how would you fill your time, a whole eternity of it?
The first thing that strikes me about eternal life is that most people are quite keen on it, but only for themselves and their own dear ones - not for everyone else. How many graves (bear in mind, dear reader, that I was in Highgate Cemetery on Monday) bore hopes of being "reunited" or "together at last"? Fair enough, but would you want to be reunited with your dotty aunt, or that tedious man from down the road? And if you are granted eternal life there is no reason to suppse that they won't be granted the same.
The other thing that strikes me is that the secular concept of life after death (that we live on in memories) is pretty time-limited. I don't think about anyone that I don't, or didn't know - and when I die, the same will be true of me. I will only be remembered by friends and family for as long as they themselves live - so, say, about 70 years at most after me. The cemetery was filled with graves of people who must have been good and decent people in their time, probably respectable members of society, people who gave something back, teachers, preachers, scientists, doctors, writers and thinkers. Now their graves are being split open by saplings, pulled apart by ivy, the headstones toppling, the inscriptions faded, noone visits, noone knows anything about them and noone cares in the least.
And does it matter? Probably not. But we all like to think ourselves immortal. Illogical, that.
Wednesday 28 April 2010
A rave round the graves
I had a very enjoyable day out on Monday with J and L, who are blessedly undemanding friends, and so we potter along from coffee to cake and lunch, nattering about this and that, in a comfortable sort of a way. We don't agree about everything, but then we don't have to.
On Monday the focus of the day was Highgate Cemetery. I haven't been there for at least twenty years and it has certainly been tidied up (although still very overgrown) - the other innovation is that it is no longer possible just to go in and potter, not in the older part, where you have to join a guided tour. Our guide was excellent, which made it easier to bear (I'm not a great fan of guided tours) and I am sure we saw lots of things that we would otherwise have missed and learned more than we would have done on our own. Of couse it was frustrating not to be able to explore, or to linger. We did more of that afterwards when we crossed the road to the newer part of the cemetery, where you are allowed to wander undisturbed. The mood did gradually become more sombre...
So we went and had tea!
On Monday the focus of the day was Highgate Cemetery. I haven't been there for at least twenty years and it has certainly been tidied up (although still very overgrown) - the other innovation is that it is no longer possible just to go in and potter, not in the older part, where you have to join a guided tour. Our guide was excellent, which made it easier to bear (I'm not a great fan of guided tours) and I am sure we saw lots of things that we would otherwise have missed and learned more than we would have done on our own. Of couse it was frustrating not to be able to explore, or to linger. We did more of that afterwards when we crossed the road to the newer part of the cemetery, where you are allowed to wander undisturbed. The mood did gradually become more sombre...
So we went and had tea!
Sunday 11 April 2010
Garden
It has been a good weekend - the first really sunny and warm weekend - and I have been spending most of it down the garden. So, I have finally got the second (and last) of my potato rows in, which was just as well, as the sprouts were an inch long. These were Anya, which is a variety I haven't tried before, but they are salad potatoes, bred from Pink Fir Apple, so they'll be a funny shape but should taste good.
I also spent a lot of time yesterday pruning the blackberries (and yes, I do know that I should have done it last autumn but I didn't have the time). It isn't a job you can do quickly, and even doing it slowly I got myself very scratched and bloody but it looks tidy now with everything tied in neatly. And I neatened up the vine as well, the one that goes up over the arch, although the effect has been rather spoiled by Ruddles climbing up and chewing the ends, goodness knows why, but he will eat anything and perhaps he liked the taste of the sap.
There is so much left to do that I could spend all week out there and probably still not get it all finished. It is frustrating to have to go back to work tomorrow knowing it will be another six days before I am here again able to get on with it, and even then it might be raining.
I also spent a lot of time yesterday pruning the blackberries (and yes, I do know that I should have done it last autumn but I didn't have the time). It isn't a job you can do quickly, and even doing it slowly I got myself very scratched and bloody but it looks tidy now with everything tied in neatly. And I neatened up the vine as well, the one that goes up over the arch, although the effect has been rather spoiled by Ruddles climbing up and chewing the ends, goodness knows why, but he will eat anything and perhaps he liked the taste of the sap.
There is so much left to do that I could spend all week out there and probably still not get it all finished. It is frustrating to have to go back to work tomorrow knowing it will be another six days before I am here again able to get on with it, and even then it might be raining.
Wednesday 7 April 2010
Mouse
This is the story that I have been asked to tell again, about the mouse - or, maybe, mice. Remember that I wasn't actually there at the time.
It was some years ago and we were staying at Grandma's, who had organised us to join one of her coach trips to Edinburgh. Husband said he would rather emasculate himself with rusty bolt-cutters than go out with all those old biddies and, wisely as it turned out, stopped at home. I and the children , who were rather younger then, went along for the ride. Grandma had said it would be a lovely day out for them at Edinburgh Zoo.
It wasn't a particularly lovely day. It was a cold, wet day - windy and drizzling and penetratingly damp. As we got nearer to Edinburgh, and it took us a long time to get there, what with all the toilet and coffee stops, Grandma indicated that we should to get ready to get off - and only then did I realise that she wasn't coming with us, but staying on the coach to go on into the city. Which is how we ended up in the lay-by outside the zoo, in the drizzle, as the coach roared off towards the bright lights, the shops and the cafes.
We did our best to make a good day of it, but we spent a lot of time sheltering. Any animal with a nice warm box had the good sense to stay in it, so mostly we were looking at empty cages. The zoo was offering a "meet the reptiles" session and we even went to that, as it was indoors, and I ended up holding a snake (which, to be fair to it, was reasonably warm) only because I didn't dare have an attack of the screaming ab-dabs with the children watching.
Eventually we ended up back at the lay-by, and rather later the coach came along to pick us up, full of rosy-cheeked old biddies full of tea and cake. What did they care, or even notice, that we were wet through, shivering and murderous?
Husband had realised the state we would be in and, to his credit, had organised hot food and a roaring fire. Before Grandma would settle down, though, she insisted on pottering about checking and emptying the mouse-traps of their sad little corpses. I was in the kitchen when I heard the shouting. Having arranged for the children to spend the day learning about the wonders of the animal world, Grandma was nonchalantly emptying the mouse-traps onto the fire.
Since when we have always shrunk from examining too closely the fires that Grandma builds - fearing that amongst the merry blaze we will hear the soft thwump and sizzle of exploding mice.
It was some years ago and we were staying at Grandma's, who had organised us to join one of her coach trips to Edinburgh. Husband said he would rather emasculate himself with rusty bolt-cutters than go out with all those old biddies and, wisely as it turned out, stopped at home. I and the children , who were rather younger then, went along for the ride. Grandma had said it would be a lovely day out for them at Edinburgh Zoo.
It wasn't a particularly lovely day. It was a cold, wet day - windy and drizzling and penetratingly damp. As we got nearer to Edinburgh, and it took us a long time to get there, what with all the toilet and coffee stops, Grandma indicated that we should to get ready to get off - and only then did I realise that she wasn't coming with us, but staying on the coach to go on into the city. Which is how we ended up in the lay-by outside the zoo, in the drizzle, as the coach roared off towards the bright lights, the shops and the cafes.
We did our best to make a good day of it, but we spent a lot of time sheltering. Any animal with a nice warm box had the good sense to stay in it, so mostly we were looking at empty cages. The zoo was offering a "meet the reptiles" session and we even went to that, as it was indoors, and I ended up holding a snake (which, to be fair to it, was reasonably warm) only because I didn't dare have an attack of the screaming ab-dabs with the children watching.
Eventually we ended up back at the lay-by, and rather later the coach came along to pick us up, full of rosy-cheeked old biddies full of tea and cake. What did they care, or even notice, that we were wet through, shivering and murderous?
Husband had realised the state we would be in and, to his credit, had organised hot food and a roaring fire. Before Grandma would settle down, though, she insisted on pottering about checking and emptying the mouse-traps of their sad little corpses. I was in the kitchen when I heard the shouting. Having arranged for the children to spend the day learning about the wonders of the animal world, Grandma was nonchalantly emptying the mouse-traps onto the fire.
Since when we have always shrunk from examining too closely the fires that Grandma builds - fearing that amongst the merry blaze we will hear the soft thwump and sizzle of exploding mice.
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