Making a Magpie's Nest

I look at the magpie and I see a very common bird with white and black feathers. What is intriguing is perhaps the stuff that a magpie collects painstakingly to put into its nest, bright things usually. Like the magpie, there is a collector in all of us. Collections of coins, matchboxes or stamps are quite unfamiliar to those born after the new millennium but they were the stuff that some people born before the new millennium were proud of. But the innate desire to collect is still prevalent judging from the mountains of stuff people usually bury themselves under when consumer culture milks the ‘magpie instinct’. How else can we explain the number of souvenirs that we have collected from our travels that were ‘must-haves’ once but now lie sadly on the dusty shelf or worse still in a box in the attic. The wise collector could very well develop into the indiscriminate hoarder if he is not careful. So we collect from the past and for the future. I like to collect memories. I had scrapbooks, diaries, albums and letters. Then I progressed to floppy diskettes, CDs and data stored in cyberspace. But everything has a lifespan. The scrapbook became moth bitten, the floppy diskette became obsolete. Even memories kept in the head become faint over the years as Alzheimer’s disease looms forebodingly. I like to collect plans for the future. Things that I wish to have or to experience in five to ten years' time. That cottage, that certain style of living, that trip round the world, that moment when children have secured successful jobs and that day when I have enough money in the bank to live happily ever after. But the best of plans will always remain plans until they are actualised. Even the best of plans can be destroyed by unseen circumstances, leaving us feeling shortchanged. So I have consciously decided to make a magpie’s nest of the present. But that does not mean that I have stopped remembering the past. I still painstakingly collect moments that have meant something to me, especially photographs. I still plan for the future. But I make it a point not to forget to add the beautiful things of the present into my magpie’s nest.

The present is the morning that you wake up and know that you are still alive and that there is a bed to sleep in and you can smell the fresh sheets about you. It is to look from the window to see the grass growing in the backyard, the wild birds fighting over the seeds that you put out for them, the bins that store yesterday’s rubbish and the job that is waiting for you.

The present is the afternoon when you are still at the office and there is work to be done that guarantees your paycheck at the end of the month. It is the afternoon when you are sick in bed and need that rest. It is the afternoon when you have cooked lunch and the aroma of roast and stew permeates the whole kitchen.

The present is the evening when you are driving back from the office and there is traffic jam but the music in the car continues to play. You see others caught in the jam because it is the rush hour and you are thankful that at least people are working and there are jobs and people are not hungry. The evening is when there is dinner prepared for you because you were at work and someone else minded your children and home while you were at work. The evening is when you come home to be with the people and animals that you love.

The present is the summer when you feel the heat, the autumn when the leaves begin to fall, the winter when the ground is cold and icy and the spring when life begins again. It is that song, that movie, that book or that cup of coffee that you enjoy by yourself or with someone dear. It is remembering to make that phone call or write that note or tell someone that you love him and appreciate what he has done for you. The present is also that nagging cough, that worrying sore throat or that miserable runny nose. The present is life.

Source: http://www.nst.com.my/opinion/columnist/making-a-magpie-s-nest-1.114599?localLinksEnabled=false

Growing old disgracefully and proud of it

THE funny thing about Friesian cows standing in a field is that they all seem to look in one direction, either to the right or left. Whether there is an obvious reason for this, I do not know but maybe that is where the term "herd mentality" comes in. It takes one brave cow to look the other way.

This draws a parallel in humans. Large numbers of people act in the same way at the same time and this implies a fear-based reaction to peer pressure, which makes individuals act in order to avoid feeling "left behind" from the group. It is also the fear that tongues will wag and doing something differently is certainly "not the done thing". I was born in a small town and boy, did people talk. Private business was public business and not surprisingly uncommon behaviour was great fodder for gossip. That is why most people possibly avoided doing things differently and therefore imposed upon themselves what William Blake would call "manacles of the mind". Then, I moved to the city where people still talked but we were too busy eking out a living and minding children to bother with what they were talking about. Now, I am back to living in a small town and even though we have progressed into the new millennium, strangely some things do not change.

There was once when I was wearing this lovely pair of canvas shoes with cartoons on them that were hand-painted by my former student. The moment I walked into the petrol kiosk to get a cup of coffee, I saw a group of school girls and they started whispering. Through years of experience of observing non-verbal communication, I could tell that they were aghast that a grown woman had cartoons on her shoes. Certainly very eccentric indeed. An interesting read is Growing Old Disgracefully by Rohan Canduppa where she quips that the expected behaviour of a grandma is to have a kindly face. She must knit and wear cardigans and be mildly shocked at young people's antics. Most of all, she must never have sex or even think about it. So, it is absolutely delightful to read Jenny Joseph's poem Warning, where the first few lines say, "When I am an old woman I shall wear purple, with a red hat which doesn't go, and doesn't suit me.... I shall sit down on the pavement when I'm tired and gobble up samples in shops and press alarm bells and run my stick along the public railings and make up for the sobriety of my youth..." This reminds me of the time when I wanted to buy an ice cream cone. The accepted code of ice cream eating behaviour is to purchase one with or without a flake in it. So when we passed a shop that sold ice cream cones, my better half asked me whether I wanted one. I said, yes and could I have two flakes in it? Shocked, he said, "This is not the done thing." So we drove by the shop without buying any. Then, we passed by another shop. I asked him to please pull the car over. I went into the second shop and bought myself a cone with two flakes.

Don't get me wrong. I am not trying to be difficult and purposefully trying to be a social menace. I certainly do not condone vile acts of treason or looting or being selfish and disrespectful. Having said that, sometimes I can tolerate meaningless chatter and bad language and being bored stiff in a pub watching others share their private jokes and down liquor for the sake of "blending" in if there is good reason to do so. But I do believe in standing by your principles, knowing that you will not put up with what you are not comfortable with. Most of all, I like doing things creatively -- that has always been the plumb line for my actions. If that exhibits a lust for life and liberates the mind and soul, why not? Just the other day, we passed by another shop selling ice cream cones. This time, my better half asked, "Now do you want three flakes even?" Source: http://www.nst.com.my/mobile/opinion/columnist/growing-old-disgracefully-and-proud-of-it-1.107569

A tale of two frogs and a vat of cream

Once upon a time there were two frogs Frank and Fiona that fell into a vat of cream. Frank lamented and despaired and succumbed to the watery death. Fiona decided she would not give up without a fight and started to paddle fast and furiously only to realise that the cream had turned into butter and so with her webbed feet strongly anchored on the buttery base she leapt out of the vat into freedom. I heard that story when I was a child but it baffled me because I had no inkling of how cream could be turned into butter. But now I know because I have just participated in an event organised by the Limerick International Women’s Organisation- a butter making session conducted by Imen McDonnell.

It was a hands on session and as I shook the bottle which was filled with cream, I could literally see the cream curdling and turning into butter. That immediately got me thinking. When put in a tight situation will I be like Frank or Fiona? Do I look at the waves around me and hold my head in my hands and wait for the inevitable to happen or do I try to make sense of it and get out of it? Seeing a new born baby kicking and screaming as it enters the world convinces me that we are imbued with a fighting spirit. As with many things, with time this spirit can either become more emboldened or quelled.

Vincent Van Gogh said, ‘If you hear a voice within you say ‘you cannot paint’ then by all means paint, and that voice will be silenced.’ I totally agree that we need to try to find out what we can or cannot do. With trying, there will be failures and when we face our failures and forgive ourselves, we know that we still have the fighting spirit. It is certainly easier to be negative than to be positive in a world that is often harsh and unkind – be it at home, at school and at the work place. Someone once asked me how a person can keep on having a positive outlook on life. My reply was to make a conscious choice in cases where we have two options: to fight to survive or to retreat to despair. I believe that a fighting spirit is emboldened by circumstances. Immigrants to new lands seeking survival and fortune are often very hardworking and driven. I saw that in my ancestors and I can see that now in many of those who have come from the Eastern bloc and are working in Ireland. Those who knew little English took it upon themselves to improve by going for language classes. I see hardworking waiters and waitresses cleaning tables and always on-the-go. The ‘one-chance’ mindset also helps to propel the fighting spirit. If we are brought up to understand that we have only ‘one-chance’ to study hard, to get that scholarship or to get an illustrious career, then we learn how to be focussed, to be disciplined and to make decisions at an early age. If we are brought up to know that to succeed is to work hard and not to depend on others, then that is the code of ethics that will drive us. A fighting spirit and self esteem go hand-in-hand. It is like the chicken and egg story and I do not know whether it is the fighting spirit that increases self esteem or the other way round. But there is nothing to lose if we start by building up self esteem. When self esteem is low, we think that ‘everything is about me, me, me’ and everyone else seems to be ‘attacking me.’ We start comparing ourselves with others and what follows is disappointment, jealousy and blame-shifting. We blame others for our present state, never ourselves.

But when we are self assured of both our strengths and weaknesses, then everything is about ‘what I can do to make the situation better’. If we see someone else who is more successful, instead of feeling small, griping or back-biting, we can make that the desire that drives us to better ourselves. Maybe we need to say to ourselves what Lauren Bacall once said, ‘I’m not a has-been. I am a will-be.’

Source: http://www.nst.com.my/opinion/columnist/a-tale-of-two-frogs-and-a-vat-of-cream-1.100579