Unconditional Love

It's 9 am and I'm sitting drinking a large glass of whisky, only the first, I'm sure. No, I'm not an alcoholic,[though a self-confessed lush!] I have just dropped my 29 year old son off at the station on the first leg of a journey to Australia, where he may spend a few weeks, months, or a year - who knows? Because he was planning this trip, he vacated his rented house and returned home for the week before he left. Thus, I was inevitably involved in the preparations. He has left my house a complete tip, his things scattered all over the place. Am I complaining? No, he has been gone an hour, and I'm walking round stroking his dear jackets and old socks.

What is it about the love of a mother? My son has not really been very nice to me, never been considerate to me. He has always taken anything he wanted from me, which has always been freely given, but he has always pushed me away if I have threatened to get too involved in his life All this has been tolerated, even fostered by me, in a desperate wish to please him and make him happy, though I'm not saying I'm a complete doormat. I can give as good as I get!

I will not be chastised for the way in which my son and I have allowed our relationship to develop, because that's just the way it is. All mother-child relationships are very different, but there is no doubt that it is a unique one. My own belief is that it is rare for a grown-up child to love its parents as much as the parents love them., or perhaps put another way, parents play a much lesser role in their offspring's lives than the other way round.This is how it should be of course for grown children who have successful lives of their own.

When my son left me at the station this morning, he did thank me for all I'd done for him, but his parting words were that I nagged far too much, and he couldn't wait to get away. Yet I loved him with all my heart, and do you know what?

I know he loves me!

The dignity of labour

A cliche which I have occasionally come across in novels is when the protagonist, who obviously leads a fantastic, exciting life, and whose problems are really important, happens to be on the bus or tube during the rush hour, and they look around them at the drab, tired, clearly desperately unhappy commuters, and think what terrible boring lives these people lead, in fact, how boring they themselves probably are, to have settled for such a life, blah blah blah. This superior arrogance makes me so angry!! How does this "hero" know what's going on in people's minds? I'm sure when I'm returning from work I look dead beat and am not grinning all over my face, but that doesn't mean I'm not elated at the thought of getting home, pouring myself an enormous g n' t, putting my feet up to watch the news or read the paper, enjoy my own company for a bit or maybe see friends or family later on. Other workers may be delightedly looking forward to seeing their spouses and kids, or seeing their mates/lovers later on - what the hell right does anyone have to judge them and decide what they're thinking?

Do you have to do an unusual, high-flying job to be worthy of regard?
Is there something shaming in doing an "ordinary" job in an office/factory/warehouse/school/hospital, sweeping the streets or emptying bins? I totally challenge this. I believe strongly in the dignity of labour, going out in the early morning, hideous though this is, meeting work mates, getting the job done, paying your way in society, even though it might be hard, and injustices often occur, doing a good job,but realising that family and friends are what really count.

I myself work on a temporary ad-hoc basis. On the days that I work I absolutely hate getting up early, but as soon as I'm out and about, I get a real kick out of being part of all those people on their way to work

Am I mad?

An ordinary whistler

I was brought up as a methodist, going to church 3 times a day every Sunday - [Sunday school in the afternoon.] My parents were definitely believers, but it was more a way of life - they had met all their friends and each other through the church, and it was their entire social life. The same was true for me until my mid teens. I remember being absolutely scandalised when school classmates said they didn't believe in God, and vigorously defending my "own" faith. But of course it wasn't my own, as I subsequently found out.

Eventually it was time for myself and a number of young friends from church to attend confirmation classes [in the Methodist church it was called "being taken into membership"]. I can't remember anything at all about these classes, but we attended for several weekly sessions at the manse, and then the minister asked us all in turn whether we wished to go ahead with the service to take us into membership. To my astonishment, one boy said no, he didn't feel ready. I thought, "he must be mad to say no after going through all this".

So the ceremony took place, and we young people took part in our first Holy Communion. When a fellow communicant dropped his glass of wine, I tried hard not to laugh, and I was desperately afraid my stomach would make loud gurgling noises, and then I thought, "hang on a minute, I'm supposed to be thinking about God", and that was when I realised for the first time that I didn't believe in God at all. I didn't choose this. You can't choose to believe if you don't.

At around this time, I started studying for French A levels, and was introduced by a brilliant teacher to the writings of Albert Camus. This did not influence my beliefs, because I already held them by then, but here was someone who agreed with me! I occasionally re-read some of Camus' works, but don't remember or understand them as well as I once did. Briefly though, I think what he was saying, and certainly what I believe, is that this life is all we have, so we must enjoy it to the full. Thus, the enraged doctor during the plague asks the priest how does he know that an instant of a child's suffering is worth an eternity of peace in an " afterlife", and the condemned man Meursault assures a priest that he would rather have a hair off a woman's head than all the priest's "certainties".

Meursault, like me, loved life, ordinary life, just the joy of beingalive. From the condemned cell, he listens to the world outside, decribes its "benign indifference" - one of my favouritephrases in literature - and in the early morning is filled with peace when he hears a man whistling as he walks along the street.

Not for us the fearsome prospect of meeting our maker in the hereafter!

I'm alright, God!

I think it very likely that I, and most other westerners born after the 2nd world war, are the luckiest people ever to have lived, even allowing for the odd knock and tragedy. Our lives are hard enough, but for many people in the world life is desperately terrible - hunger and poverty, disease and pain, lack of human rights, all sorts of horrific abuse and exploitation. Multiply this by any number you like, and you have a description of the appalling lives led by almost everybody up until the mid-20th century.

So yes, a few of us are very lucky indeed today with our cosy little comfortable lives, but I can't just smugly say life is great, God is good, like the Jehovah's Witness lady who came to my door, pointed to my flower tubs and said how could I not believe in God when he made those beautiful flowers?!

I would need rather more evidence than this, and can find none. If there were a god, he would have to be either extremely evil to create a world so full of suffering, or powerless, which wouldn't make sense. I don't buy that "free will" bit. Surely only a monster would create a pathetic, imperfect, and I'm afraid rather evil creature like man, and then sit back and watch him make a huge mess of it, and wallow in his own misery, like a cat playing with a half-dead mouse. Why didn't God make man WANT to choose to do good every time, of his own free will? [oh yeah, I forgot - Eve....]. No doubt the Archbishop of Canterbury would make mincemeat of me in a pub discussion. I fully acknowledge and applaud man's achievements, a constant struggle in the absence of any deity.

Just one more example of God's bungling: The human body. What a ridiculous piece of design - a million parts that can go wrong, the cause of terrible suffering. [He certainly didn't make a very good job of designing mine, I can tell you!] And he made the sexual urge far too strong [in general, I mean, not mine!] causing people to suffer extreme unfulfilment at one end of the scale, or hideous abuse at the other.

The thing I find most frightening about all religions - very very frightening and impossible to understand - is the huge number of people throughout the world who believe in them, highly intelligent, nice,sensible people, friends and colleagues. I don't get it.

Still to come: MY beliefs about the meaning of life!!

The thin end of the wedge

I believe in common sense, and taking each case on its own merit. For example, if we were talking about euthanasia, I feel passionately that people should be allowed to die, or that that decision should be made on their behalf, if they are clearly suffering. Years ago, I saw a brilliant programme on the human body by Jonathan Miller. But I have been haunted ever since by the image of a man whose every muscle was paralysed. He couldn't swallow or do anything, his eyelids had to be moistened every few minutes because he couldn't blink. Yet he was being kept alive on a ventilator. Ever since, I have thought this to be the most unbelievable, misguided cruelty. What must have been going through that poor man's head - that he was going to have to suffer this awful torment until he died - there could be nothing else.

"Oh", but people exclaim, "how do you know that he wasn't thinking the most wonderful thoughts, and hoping to live for ever?" - because I'm not stupid, that's how.

I have had occasion to visit old people's homes, and seen people existing like cabbages, with no quality of life. not even food and drink giving them pleasure, just resting their head in their hands, their eyes closed all day. As a matter of fact I DO think these people, who scarcely know they are alive, are a drain on the public purse, and that we could save a huge amount of money by "allowing" them to die, with relatives' consent. However, my main reason for taking such a course of action would be that it was simple common sense - they had come to the end of all reasonable life. "Ah, but how do you know they are not enjoying a rich, inner life?" you may say. I just DO, ok?

My argument would be the same, of course, for people suffering dreadful pain in some terminal illness, people who are even capable of making their own decision whether to live or die. How utterly terrible to be forced to suffer intolerable pain by some old judge in the knowledge that you're going to die soon anyway. I used the phrase above "with relatives' consent". How many times have I heard people say that this is the THE THIN END OF THE WEDGE, and that there would be nothing to stop families from bumping off grandma at the drop of a hat. NONSENSE, I reply. I am not suggesting that the process would be like taking a hamster to be put down. There would be checks and balances, proper procedures, tribunals etc. - in other words, let common sense prevail!