All Being Well

Today marks the end of the month of Syawal, thus an end to the post-Eid celebrations. I'm guessing that for many Muslims a return to normality will be welcome, pleasant as it is to visit friends and relations.

The day also marked a significant anniversary of a bond in this household, one for which I find myself more thankful than ever, if that were possible. A useful measure of any relationship is the extent to which it promotes growth for the individuals involved and I'm keenly aware of the very specific ways in which that applies to yours truly. It would be embarrassing to try and make any claims about having become a better person over time, especially if it turned out that such claims were just an example of typical self-deception. But in a quiet way I know what I know - and I'm happy to know it. Especially when I know the credit isn't down to me but to a genuinely better half.

We celebrated in a little way in a little place on Arab Street with a cuppa and cakes in the afternoon, and all was well. Very well, indeed.

From Afar

According to Sky News the UK will be indulging in one of its periodic royal junkets over the coming weekend. No one getting married, as far as I know. Just that the present monarch has clocked up an impressive number of years staying alive and this is regarded as a Good Thing.

There are advantages in living in exile and missing this kind of nonsense comes close to the top of the list.

Still Occupied

Today's itinerary: marking, cleaning, socialising. Finally, recovering. 

Not such a bad way to spend time, all in all. We played host in the evening to Nahar, Yati, Boon & Mei, and a rather jolly time was had by all, fueled by excellent nosh from The Missus. No prizes for guessing the MVP in our household. (Though I did a nifty bit of cleaning myself.)

Fully Occupied

It's the first day of the vacation, but I find myself deeply engaged in my second bout of marking for the IBO this year. This time it involves essays as opposed to orals, so the ground is more familiar, though I'm marking a paper I've never been involved in before. 

I'm facing quite a number of scripts and haven't got all that many days to deal with them, so I've set myself quite stiff daily target. Not sure it was wise to take up the offer from the IBO, but I suppose it helps keep me off the streets.

Not Exactly Rational

Another school shooting in the United States. And everyone knows there'll be no real action on gun control. I suppose if you needed an example of craziness on a grand scale, this fits the bill. And, on a slightly smaller but related scale this.

Almost Decided

I've been thinking quite a bit lately about the way, or ways, in which I listen to music. One aspect of my thinking has revolved around the medium through which the music gets to me. I own quite a number of CDs and had it not been for recent developments in technology I suppose I would have been content to continue buying more in my very senior years. But I've found myself growing away from this way of encountering the music I enjoy, particularly over the last couple of years. And this isn't simply due to issues of availability or a change in fashion.

I think I may well have come to the point when I just don't buy anymore CDs and seek to give away some of those I own. Too much of what I've got just sits on various shelves and I don't listen to it. So what's the point?

Well, the point is to listen - and to that end I've sort of vaguely decided (but not quite, if you know what I mean) to play each and every CD, and get close to it. If it doesn't work, then out it goes. I think.

The thing is that I suspect it's going to be impossible to conclusively decide that something I once enjoyed doesn't work anymore when the current version of myself responds in a different way. Case in point: I played the music from Brideshead Revisited yesterday evening, which I haven't listened to for years, and the magical glow that once surrounded it had gone. But what I heard still had a presence for me and, if anything, I was more aware of the harmonic textures involved than ever before. So, will I pass it on to someone who might get more out of it? And who could that be when no one listens to this kind of stuff anymore and no one owns a CD player to spin the thing?

Something Missed

Last week's Poem of the Week in Carol Rumen's excellent feature in the Graun was a particularly astute choice. Thom Gunn's Slow Waker really is a striking example of the poet exploiting his many gifts yet in seemingly relaxed, informal mode. But here's the thing. When I first encountered the poem in my recent read-through of the wonderful Collected Poems it didn't jump out at me as it did last week. I suppose I needed Ms Rumen's telling analysis to help me along. I needed someone else's act of creative attention.

I suppose that's what genuinely fruitful criticism does. It alerts us to what we might fail to register in all the noise.

Dining In Style

Attended a formal dinner this evening for the first time in yonks. Can't say I've missed such events. Fortunately I was in good company so time didn't drag as it's wont to on these occasions - for me, at least.

I know there must be folks somewhere who enjoy this kind of thing, otherwise nobody would bother to organise them. But I struggle to grasp what exactly it is they find to enjoy.

Must be miserable to be the queen, eh?

Just A Thought

The future has a way of arriving when you least expect it. 

Not Much To Play For

Time was that the final day of the English Premier League was a big, often nerve-wracking, occasion. That time seems long, long ago, I'm afraid. Now it doesn't matter to me in the slightest which team wins since neither option is a good one for this on-looker.

I suppose things might turn around in the next decade. They certainly have a way of not standing still. Hope those who triumph today enjoy it while they can. (And if that sounds bitter, it's meant to.)

The Big Finish

Racing to the end of Stephen King's 11.22.63. Ironic really. Having taken forever to get to the last 80 pages (and quite enjoyably so) I'm now desperate to see how the whole thing is tied up. Masterful plotting, I reckon, from a writer who's usually stronger on beginnings than endings. But this time all of what appeared to be interesting meanderings have combined into one almighty flow with genuine direction.

By the by, every guess I made as to how the narrative would work itself out proved wrong. It's exhilarating to read something that defies all one's tired expectations. Though it just might be I don't have the imagination to have figured out what a writer with real imagination might come up with in dealing with the time travel trope.

Great Expectations

18.52

Noi is preparing a few items for some family & friends who are popping round this evening. Her famous sup tulang is a key feature of the menu, I'm happy to say. Expectations are high. Well, mine are, at least.

Postscript (next morning): well, that was a bit of a do, I must say. I managed to get a great deal of the sup for the tulang smeared over my face. Which is as it should be - a dish to take any sense of dignity away.

Not quite sure how Noi manages to do it (get everything so right for these occasions) but I'm glad she does. 

Expectations delivered.

At A Cost

My first month's salary as a teacher, back in October 1978, saved me from going into debt for the first time ever. Quite a few years later I can still recall the relief I felt back then. That's a useful memory at a time when prices are rising sharply for so many necessities and so many are feeling the pinch - and worse.

I have the great good luck not to be all that troubled by the rising cost of living. Wish the same were true for others.

On The Outside

For many of the years I've lived in this Far Place I paid little or no attention to news coming out of my homeland. I remember visiting the UK during that period, watching the news on the telly there and reading the papers and feeling I'd come to a foreign land - and a strangely inward-looking, parochial land at that.

I suppose things began to change once I had regular access to the BBC news, and then Sky news - followed by checking the online news quite obsessively once I'd been forced to buy a smart phone. (I was a spectacularly late adopter.) Now I know plenty about what's going on, and wish I didn't. And it still seems weirdly parochial, but in a sinister fashion.

I'll resist writing anything about the current government there, at least for now. I'd rather go to bed not feeling angry, or sad, thank you.

Just A Moment

Just bade farewell to some guests, three small children amongst them, the children of a young lady we remember as a child visiting for Raya some years ago. So the wheel turns. We went out into a gently cool, forgiving evening of the sort we've happily walked out into after many a visit ourselves. Above us a mistily glowing moon. A little moment of magic.

I'll happily take what I can of those, thank you.

Disparate Voices

Today is nominally the final day for marking of the various oral exams for the International Baccalaureate. I completed my quota a few days back, but my team of examiners have kept me at work trying to resolve their various issues.

The actual marking, though demanding, has a fascination all of its own. It can feel like each 15 minute oral is a little drama in itself. This year there have been quite a few with a distinctly eccentric individual quality that have served to break up any sense of routine. Sadly, the odd qualities have led in a number of cases to candidates not doing as well as I suspect they had the potential to. But, happily, some have delivered work of real quality. It's surprising how little of a burden the job seems when it's just about rewarding excellence.  

Very Appetising

Noi treated me to a belated birthday nosh-up at the Turkish Sofra restaurant at Marina Square yesterday evening. In our advanced years we've learned not to over-order, but we still conspired to be more than amply provided for. Fortunately we cancelled a side order of sesame bread, otherwise I suspect I wouldn't have felt like eating at all today. Must say, the various bits of bread that came with our dishes were munchable in the extreme.

I can remember the younger version of myself being able to scoff unreasonable amounts of food and still feel hungry on subsequent days. I have no idea how I used to do that - and I can't say I miss those days of appetite at all. There's something very restful about no longer feeling the need to over-do it.

At Length

It's been a long day, but most days are. Good to be granted them, I suppose; but I wouldn't mind a little less intensity now and again.

Food For Thought

Heard a lady on Sky News just now citing statistics suggesting that one-third of the food produced globally goes to waste. Didn't see enough of the interview to grasp her background, but it was clear she was regarded as an expert in this area. The interviewer looked pretty much stunned, and that's how I felt. 

Funnily enough she didn't see the figure as cause for despair but was intent on framing solutions, and she claimed much could be done to reduce the wastage in the developed world by altering the behaviour of individuals since systemic wastage was far less problematic than it is in the developing world. 

To be honest, I find it difficult to think of such problems without my thoughts being coloured by a dark sense of despair. But since that isn't going to do anyone anywhere any good at all, I'm considering what I might reasonably do to contribute to a solution. Very little, of course, but that's no excuse for not trying.

Something Different

When I last posted here, in March, about reading Stephen King's 11.22.63 I talked about gently spinning out my reading of the novel, but I didn't quite expect that to mean I'd still be a long way off the end a third of the way into May. I did, however, point out the particularly intriguing nature of the text, and I think it's that quality which means I've been quite happy to dawdle along.

There are two aspects of the work that seem to me rather different than anything King has done before. One, obviously, is the treatment of Lee Harvey Oswald. Clearly a lot of research has been done and the picture that emerges of the president's assassin is a complex one - both thoroughly despicable yet paradoxically sympathetic, if that's the right word, which it isn't. But it's the only one I can think of now to represent the fullness of the portrait.

The other is the romance (if that's the right word, again, which it isn't) between Jake the narrator and Sadie, his love interest (which fails to do justice to the curiously obsessive treatment of her as a character and the relationship in general terms.)

I have no idea what's going to happen in the next 150 pages or so, except that a president will die somehow. I think.

Less Than Certain

I'm thinking, I'm hoping, that some advice I gave someone today might prove very helpful to them. But you can never know for sure, can you? Good to try. But far better to succeed when it comes to the well-being of others.

Secret Worlds

Chanced upon a brilliant article by George Monbiot over the weekend relating to the 'unknowable wonders' of soil. Unknowable they may be, but Mr Monbiot lets the reader know an awful lot and it lives up to the wonders billing. The first few paragraphs are powerfully inspiring but, inevitably I suppose, much of the rest makes for pretty depressing reading as the writer lets us know of just how much damage we've managed to do to the soil with which we were gifted.

The good news is that he reckons we can still do something about our collective stupidity. Hope that those positioned to take action have the sense to do so. And also hoping that those, like myself, who've been content to let things take their course stir themselves into doing... something.

Out And About

We're setting off soon for our first bit of Raya-ing for this year, though we're only going as far as Rozita and Fuad's, which is so familiar it doesn't really count. It's been quite some time since we've done the multiple households in a single afternoon and evening thing, and I can't honestly say I'm all that keen to resume visiting with such intensity, despite my high regard for the essential spirit of the enterprise. I'm just not that much of a social animal, I'm afraid, and the overload of edibles can be daunting. Having said that, I'm quite looking forward to scoffing and quaffing on whatever comes my way this evening. I'm definitely moving out of fasting mode.

Oh, and we'll be celebrating Fifi passing her driving test this morning. Time certainly not standing still as far as my nieces embracing adulthood is concerned, eh?

The Lighter Side

Spent a little while gazing up in admiration at the twinkling lights at our window on returning to the homestead this evening. It's possible to get a little too pleased with oneself at times, you know.

Something Therapeutic

Got to thinking earlier in the day of Springsteen and the E Street Band live at Bramhall Lane in the 80's on The Tunnel of Love tour. They featured a cover of Chimes of Freedom, a really good one, needless to say. When Springsteen sang the penultimate line - the Bobster speaking of the bells tolling for every hung-up person in the whole wide universe - there was a huge roar from the audience (self included.) I suppose it was in part provoked by the liberty taken with a translation of the supremely 60's phrase hung-up into a somewhat more brutal term, but I also like to think there was a genuine moment of recognition of how one of Dylan's most charitable lines applied to us all.

The stimulus to my memory of that great moment (in a concert comprised pretty much of great moments in its entirety) came from my thinking of someone I know who I suddenly realised was hung-up enough to be worthy of therapy. And the further realisation that I couldn't think of anyone who wouldn't benefit from a course of therapy in some way. Self included, needless to say.

How strange, how damaged we are.

Not So Routine

It was back to the old routine this morning, preparing in the usual manner for work at the usual time. Except after a month's break I'd forgotten the routine, so it wasn't routine anymore, if you see what I mean. A useful reminder that what we take for granted shouldn't be taken for granted - one of the many lessons of the fasting month. 

I suppose I'll forget the lesson just as the routine becomes routine. But I know it's worth at least striving to remember how unusual the usual actually is. 

Feeling Blessed

Hari Raya Puasa, Eid ul-Fitr; 1 Syawal 1443

Very happy to have attended the prayers for Raya at the masjid this morning for the first time since 2019. It's been quite some time. Good to see so many there, despite some restrictions still being in place.

And added to the sense of a special blessing, I'm now quaffing a cup of tea and it's actually during the day!

As always, for those who are blessed with the freedom to celebrate this day, in whatever form that celebration takes: Eid Mubarak!

Easing Up

30 Ramadhan, 1443

Just got back from a bit of late-night shopping as Noi prepares her various goodies for the morrow. A reminder that concluding the fast is by no means the end of the full experience attendant upon the fasting month. It'll good to be able to loosen up in the coming days, but the essential point is to not lose sight of the discipline and sense of proportion acquired over the thirty days of Ramadhan. Acute awareness of the fundamental importance of food and drink in our lives brings with it an acute sense of the pernicious nature of waste - and that needs to apply to all aspects of a life well lived.

A Question Of Patience

29 Ramadhan, 1443

Hot off the presses: they've declared Eid for tomorrow in Malaysia, taking the Muslim population there by surprise. I suppose there are those delighted to 'lose' a day of fasting, but I suspect most will feel they could have done without the need to prepare for the big day in an unseemly hurry. We're more than happy to wait patiently for another day. In fact, I suspect if there had been a similar announcement here I would have felt cheated in some sense.

Over quite a number of years of observing the fast I have managed to develop a degree of patience that otherwise would have been beyond my grasp. I see it as necessary patience. Without it I simply would not have been able to cope with the demands of the Holy Month. And I am deeply grateful to have had it forced upon me.

Strange how out of fashion patience is in these times when it's possibly the most useful of all the virtues.