What Dreams May Come?

My psyche decided to take revenge on me in the early hours of the morning for my claim yesterday that I'm hardly bothered at all these days about forgetting things. At least that's my less than deep interpretation of a dream I had about having to take a Literature exam when I hadn't read any of the books. (I have a remarkable talent for generating very boring dreams.)

Quite remarkably considering my line of work, this is the first time I've ever had such a dream. Previously my anxiety dreams have comprised two distinct types: those in which I'm watching a play and suddenly realise I'm supposed to have directed it but don't have a clue what's going to happen next; and those in which I find myself at a lecture on some kind of degree course at some kind of college and realise I haven't completed any of the research for the thesis I'm supposed to write, or the coursework for the previous year. Curiously I haven't suffered one of these old favourites for a long, long time.

The thought that I might be haunted in old age by dreams of not coping with exams is a bit daunting, but curiously amusing also. At least I get to enjoy the relief when I wake up.

Vulnerabilities

Started the day, as I was brushing my teeth, with a worrying twinge in my back, around mid-way up. That's unusual. Normally it's my lower back that manifests signs that all is not well. In some ways that made me very worried indeed, concerned that I may be about to encounter new and interesting problems and pains; in another sense I was relieved that I wasn't experiencing a recurrence of the kind of aches I'm very familiar with and a great deal happier without. In the event, apart from feeling a mild ache in the affected area for the early part of the day, nothing untoward has taken place since, and now I feel right as rain. (Not quite sure why rain is right, but it is where I come from, at least as far as that obscure idiom is concerned.) But I remain more that well aware that my current state of good health is not just a matter of luck but a matter of improbably good luck - for which I am deeply thankful.

There's something life-enhancing about recognizing the body's fallibilities.

And those of the mind also, I must add. Of late I seem to have become more absent-minded than ever, though this might just be the result of getting back to work and not coping with the information overload involved. Case in point: I managed to forget a routine end-of-the-week task last week, one I've never missed getting done before. I completed it this morning feeling more than a bit silly. There was no harm done as, like a fair number of my admin duties, it's an entirely pointless bit of work and affected no one else at all. The thing is that at one time I would have been really annoyed with myself for any such omission and it would have bothered me enormously, but since I hardly care at all now I wonder if that precipitates the forgetfulness. I just can't be bothered forcing myself to try and remember everything. The younger version of myself sometimes suffered mild headaches when things got busy, a fact that I now find mildly astonishing.

Mind you, I do get annoyed at myself for forgetfulness when it comes to the personal stuff of real life. Somehow or other I completely forgot to respond to one of my ex-student's comments kindly dropped into this Far Place a few days back (appearing at the end of December) and so apologies if you happen to be reading this, Nurul, for the foolishly belated reply.

Odd People In NZ - North Island Retrospective

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

There's nowt so queer as folk, as they say in Yorkshire. Evidence of the truth of this observation above.

A Bit Of Nostalgia

Listened to Ennio Morricone's music for Cinema Paradiso over the weekend for the first time in a long time. Incredibly evocative music, even if you haven't seen the movie, and I've seen the movie more than once, which multiplies the already powerful impact the music possesses.
 
Strangely listening to the soundtrack recording got me thinking fondly of a period in my adult life before I ever saw the film. Somehow I managed to associate a number of the tunes with that time and some of the people in it, several of whom have gone to their long homes. It's an embarrassing truth that whenever I watch the movie I end up blubbing well before the end (though I have to tell you that the Missus starts reaching for the tissues well before me.) And now it seems the music alone can push me in that direction.

In some ways I distrust the inclination to wallow in nostalgia for an unreachable past, but nevertheless it's hard to resist - and impossible when Morricone is in control.

Necessary Guidance

It's taken me quite a while to read Ziauddin Sardar's Reading The Qur'an - The Contemporary Relevance of the Sacred Text of Islam and I'm very glad I didn't rush, which I might easily have done, given the enthusiasm the text evoked in me. Just about every page was inspirational - or, rather, the explication of the sacred text was so faithful to the spirit informing it that it caught fire from the original. Time and again I found myself thinking: yes, I knew The Qur'an was saying this but I didn't articulate for myself those ideas with this kind of clarity or intensity.

At times, I must confess to feeling some degree of irritation with the kind of mis-readings (from all sorts of sources, Muslim and otherwise) that Sardar so tellingly criticises. They seem so utterly petty when set against the nobility and sanity of the scripture. But what I'll remember most of all of the experience of finding my way through Reading The Qur'an is the positive exhilaration of being led to grasp some of the depth of that nobility and sanity.

This is by far and away the best guide to a considered reading of The Qur'an I've come across and anyone looking for a sure guide need look no further. I'll certainly be referring to it frequently in future.

Expectations - Retrospective

 

 

 

 

 

Nobody expects a black swan. Or a wooden man in a river. Unless you're in New Zealand. And even then it's all a bit odd.

Plotting

Glad I decided to leave off reading Charles Palliser's The Unburied until we'd got back from New Zealand, and especially glad I didn't read it in tandem with Life A User's Manual. To have attempted to do so would never have worked, both texts involving far too much information to deal with. I must admit, though, I was sorely tempted to get started on The Unburied when I bought it in Wellington, the opening, which I did take a glance at, looking so intriguing.

And so the whole novel proved to be. I stand in awe of writers like Palliser who can handle complex plots seemingly effortlessly. I can't make up coherent stories to save my life. This guy manages to concoct a mystery based around various murders centuries apart, all this linked to psychologically credible, compelling characters and make it work.

So glad I rediscovered him. I thought he'd dried up after the brilliant The Quincunx. How wonderfully wrong I was.

10 Shots Of Trees In NZ - Retrospective

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

The tree which moves some to tears of joy is in the eyes of others only a green thing that stands in the way. Thus Blake, pithy as usual, wise as ever, in a letter to the Reverend Trusler in May 1789. The rev sounds like a bit of a dope: he'd complained to Blake about some of the illustrations the great visionary had prepared for him and Blake in the letter is giving him a mauling. Great stuff to read. Almost as good as the trees to look at. I think Blake would have shed more than a few tears if he'd ever made it to NZ.

Relief

Had a good long talk with brother-in-law John on the phone the other day - and I mean good. I really thought he was likely to lose another leg after he'd been taken into hospital, but it now seems the chances are very positive that he'll keep his right leg. He sounded astonishingly positive about the loss of his left leg, giving a very thorough account of what took place that led to its amputation without the slightest trace of self pity. His comment on the rehabilitation centre he now attends summed his attitude up; according to John when there are folks around who've lost both legs above the knee and are trying to cope, then losing one a good ten inches below the knee is a small matter. His chief concerns seem to be switching his driving license so he'll be allowed to drive an automatic and suing the NHS for one particular doctor's misdiagnosis of his condition. His pithy summary of how to survive the NHS was forceful, expressive, funny but sadly unprintable.

Maureen also seems to have put her recent troubles behind her - possibly as a result of the need to look after John responsibly. So that's another big, big plus. All those clichés about crises bringing out the best in people might just prove to be true, as clichés so often do.

And on top of all this when I remind myself of the great news we got in New Zealand that Osman's biopsy had proved negative I can't help but smile.

Way To Go

Got back from work today to the news of the death of David Bowie. Was taken aback, probably due to the fact that his recent work has been so entirely alive, so utterly vital. Talk about not going gently!