Darkest Hour Before the Dawn....

I recently heard a diary piece by Olivia O’Leary on RTE’s Drivetime and, as always, Ms O’Leary gave me food for thought. For that is what she talked of – thought. In the increasing electronic clamour of today’s world it is often hard to find a spot to sit and ponder or write or dream. And yet out of such quiet moments have come all of humankind’s best ideas. All those Eureka moments as thinkers leapt from their chosen place of safety and comfort to tell the world a blindingly obvious truth.

Then the rest of us could cry – ‘Yes! Of course! Sure, why didn’t we think of that!’. Often because we were to busy simply living – ensuring our families and friends have enough to eat, are clothed and warm and not in pain. But in the Western World where increasingly these essential physical commodities are not as hard won as they once were, and where technology has made the daily grind of earning a living – one that simply that prevents hunger and discomfort - much easier and faster, one would think man had increased time for thought. Quiet reflection, moments to contemplate the beautiful, the sublime – to puzzle out the conundrums of the world.

Instead there is this constant background electronic hum. I occasionally suffer from insomnia and have long given up twisting and turning in bed vainly waiting for sleep. Instead I get up and toddle about downstairs. I used to listen to the radio and clean my house. In recent years I discovered writing and use these quiet hours as some of my more productive ones in getting ideas, plot lines, character descriptions from my fevered brain onto the page. I often use the time to read – to absorb another’s thoughts in the wee small hours.

One night recently I noticed I was being distracted by firstly an electronic hum and secondly a winking light in the direction of the ‘off’ PC. After disconnecting 8 , EIGHT, plugs I eventually had both visual and aural peace. As the sun rose I heard the dawn chorus, heard starlings shifting and scratching in the eaves – saw the rabbit nose his way out of his hutch , lift up on his hind legs and sniff the air before shaking himself and lope off to feed on the last of my dahlias. I drank it all in and thought. Really thought, about the wonder of life and the extraordinary in the ordinary.

So here’s my suggestion - not that you all develop insomnia – ye would make my quiet time too noisy if ye were all up - but every day for the next ten days find ten minutes. Shut off all (ALL-including your phones!) electronic devices. Sit and stare, sniff the air, look through your window, pray or dream if you want or think or not. Just enjoy being. You might get to like it.

You can't fatten a thoroughbred......

A friend of my oldest son took a remarkable picture of him. Not that he is a remarkable looking human being but she seems, to me, to have caught his essence. His strength, his humour, his compassionate nature. (I’m his Ma I’m allowed to wax lyrical).

I showed the photo to all and sundry – beaming mother, look at the fruit on my womb, type of thing and one friend who is involved in the world of fashion and beauty suggested he get a portfolio together and she would take him on her books as one of her models. But he would have to get rid of the fringe.

Silence in the house. The son, like all his peers, is into hair. Hair makes a statement – or so I’m told - I thought you just had to keep it clean and neat. Hair is like shoes, both tell the world how you want to be perceived. Now the son has gone through all sorts of hairstyles in the last five years, from crew cut to a No. 1, from a bleached blonde streak standing up like a Mohican at the centre parting to the latest asymmetrical fringe. This fringe irritates me. But it’s his hair and I always swore I would not fall out with my kids over either hair or clothes, life is too short and their bodies are their bodies not mine etcetera.

But this fringe. He constantly plays with it or throws it off to one side with a flick of his head like a horse trying to keep flies away from its arse. He poses endlessly in front of the mirror to get that smouldering seductive look he thinks will get him women. He’s wrong of course. His smile , his laughter and teasing gentle ways are what the ladies will go for. The fringe kills me because it also hides his lovely eyes.

I have made all these comments (without bursting his ego bubble – impossible), and was told,
“Be quiet woman! Sure you haven’t a clue about what looks good.”

Which is a fair point. But it killed me that when some other good looking sexily dressed lady – of my vintage - told him to cut his fringe that he was quite prepared to do it. Have I failed him in someway that he responded to the opinion of another popinjay like himself rather than his sensible parent?

No. I haven’t failed him, I hope. His appearance is important too him, but at aged fifteen earning a few euro from said appearance is even more important. And like he says:

‘Not worth falling out with her over it. I can always grow it again once she’s signed me’
I think I have reared a politician

I'm not the boss of you....

I am horribly upset, I have been accused of being intellectual three times in the last two days! Lads, I'm not intellectual, I'm like you 'cept I take time out to sit and be quiet and think.

Thinking is a much under-rated activity in this century, if we are not 'DOING' something or just about to 'DO' something then we are(apparently) either lazy, unemployed and /or unemployable.
With all due respects , bullsh** If we all did a little more thinking, a little less committee meeting and a little less indulging our need to hear ourselves talk we would have a far finer planet -qualifier, all this is the opinion of a non-intellectual person

Think boys, think.