I tried to hit her over the head rest

The Greek driver was following us along the road talking to us as we walked along the pavement and I could understand nothing.  We had moved to Rhodes some four years ago and set about the task of settling into a completely different culture.  Our three boys attended Greek schools and after a painful transition period were all now fluent in the language.  My husband and I had not yet mastered it in any shape or form.  Our brains seemed reluctant to take in the new vocabulary and grammar in which we were surrounded. 

So bemused I asked Daniel, my youngest son, who I had just picked up from primary school, “What is he saying?”  Daniel listened carefully while the Greek middle-aged man repeated himself through the open window of his car, then he translated, “He says Daddy’s been knocked off his scooter and has been taken to hospital.”  The shock must have shown on my face as the Greek man started talking immediately in a reassuring manner.  Again Daniel provided a translation, “He says only his middle bit has been broken!”  Not the reassurance I had hoped for.  He offered to take us directly to the hospital and Daniel and I clambered into his small car.  He was very kind and tried to calm me by smiling and nodding. 

Even when we reached the hospital he followed us in, directing us where to go after consulting a nurse.  We were shown into a tiny cluttered room filled with about eight people milling around, smoking talking.  There on a trolley lay Vessal in absolute agony and as I reached his side he asked in trembling tones, “Can you put your coat on me?”  He was freezing and beginning to shake with tremors.  Medical experience has shown that so many people die of shock after accidents and this can be prevented by two basic techniques.  One keep the patient warm and two don’t leave them alone.  Keep talking to them, reassuring them and keep them warm.  Almost instinctive things you’d think of doing yourself but no one in this hospital seemed aware of them.  I took my coat off and wrapped it around him.  Daniel fell to his knees sobbing at his father’s side.  The man who had opened his car door and knocked Vessal off his scooter, found this intolerable and tried to console Daniel by dropping to his knees beside Daniel and telling him his father would be alright.  Daniel however, was inconsolable and my heart was beating in an uncontrollable fashion.  Everything was going wrong.  I shall not go into the gruesome details except to point out my husband had a fractured back and had to lie flat on his back for eight long weeks.  The complexities of Greek hospitals and the endless queues and pieces of paper required defy belief.  May my worst enemy be spared the experience of a Greek hospital!

Vessal eventually, was home at last but under strict instructions to stay in bed prone.  He spent most of the early weeks on heavy painkillers which were hard on his stomach but did keep the pain at bay.  I’m not awfully good with sick people.  Always previously, Vessal would joke that my limit on sickness was three days.  After three days my sympathy would run out and the message conveyed implicitly was “Die or get better but don’t linger!”  Now, my patience was really to be put the test.  I was having to cover my husband’s teaching hours as well as my own, cook, clean etc for everyone.  Life became a tight routine of chores that required doing and there was little time to dwell on the situation.  It could have been much worse we told ourselves. 

Then, as life so often does, it actually became worse!  Vessal became completely deaf.  It must have been all the lying down, but both ears became blocked.  He couldn’t hear a thing unless you shouted.  A kind of paranoia set in were he was convinced we were plotting against him.  This seemed strange but was followed by an even worse phase in which he sank into a deep dark silence.  This frightened me more than all the previous states.  Life requires effort and will power.  None of us can go on without either of those.  I decided to get his ears fixed at all costs.  The isolation deafness brings had worsened things, but no doctor would treat him at home.  So I arranged an appointment with the closest ear, nose and throat specialist I could find.  We arrived by taxi at the surgery and after a short treatment Vessal could hear.  The genuine delight on his face was a picture. 

The last task was to get him home safe and sound.  We waited at the taxi stop and waited and waited.  By his stage, Vessal was almost passing out with pain, leaning against a nearby tree.  At long last a taxi came but before we could get in a Greek woman jumped in front of us and opened the taxi door and jumped in the back seat.  I told her this taxi was ours and motioned for her to get out.  She refused, even when I said in poor Greek my husband was ill. In a haughty tone she replied, that was not her problem.  My husband, meanwhile, carefully wedged himself into the taxi beside her, unable to lie down on the back seat and told me just to get in so we could get home as fast as possible.  Reluctantly, I clambered into the front seat beside the taxi driver and gave him our address.  As he moved off, the woman gave her address and told him to go to her address first.  I was really mad at this point and told her she was a bad woman.  Unfortunately, I did not change the adjective to suit the gender and ended up saying that she was a shit woman. 

This triggered utter rage in the Greek woman and she began shouting insults at me in fluent fast Greek.  I knew enough to understand what she was saying but was woefully incapable of responding effectively.  It is at such times you realise the weakness and sheer vulnerability of not speaking the language you need.  On and on she raged in aggressive tones and I lost it.  I just lost it.  Eight weeks of sickness, pain, hard work, fear and anger exploded and I tried to hit her over the seat.  I know it is unforgiveable to resort to violence.  She dodged back to the corner of the taxi door to avoid my blow and her demeanour changed from one of shouting fury to sheer fear.  The taxi had high seats and so I could not reach her easily but tried to hit her between the gap on either side of the headrest.  I swung from one side to the other trying to reach her and she like a demented puppet in the back seat tried to avoid me.  At one point cringing up in a corner hugging her mobile phone to her chest like a comforter.  I was livid and intent on smacking her and oblivious to the taxi driver and Vessal’s shouts of remonstration.  The taxi driver stopped, we were at our flat, and an injured Vessal crawled from the back.  The taxi driver put his arm across the gap between the seats to stop me reaching the woman and shouted “Ok, Ok”.  Reluctantly, I got out and the taxi drove off with a very subdued passenger in the back.  As I helped Vessal limp slowly into our apartment, he kept muttering, “I can’t believe you just did that!”  Neither could I.

Legacy

The idea of legacy is an interesting one.  In some ways it can be a simple thing - something left in a will by someone who has died.  But in others it speaks of a choice to live a life that is so rich it doesn’t end with this one.  

“The choices we make about the lives we live determine the kinds of legacies we leave. “ Tavis Smily

You get the feeling that legacy should be about much more than how much money and possessions we leave behind.  A friend of mine who worked in London with the rich set, used to wear a badge saying he who dies with the most toys wins.  It kind of sums up the pointlessness of acquiring stuff.  

 Shakespeare put it differently, “No legacy is so rich as honesty”.  

I like that, it makes you think.  But others have their own definition

“Carve your name on hearts, not tombstones.  A legacy is etched into the hearts of others and the stories they share about you.”  Shannon L Alder

Now, that feels like a better definition, closer to what legacy should be about.  Makes it almost an inspirational thing rather than a post script to life.

 “Everyone must leave something behind when he dies, my grandfather said. A child or a book or a painting or a house or a wall built or a pair of shoes made. Or a garden planted. Something your hand touched some way so your soul has somewhere to go when you die, and when people look at that tree or that flower you planted, you're there.

It doesn't matter what you do, he said, so long as you change something from the way it was before you touched it into something that's like you after you take your hands away. The difference between the man who just cuts lawns and a real gardener is in the touching, he said. The lawn-cutter might just as well not have been there at all; the gardener will be there a lifetime.” … Ray Bradbury

But maybe legacy is not so complicated.  I hate it when I have to struggle to understand something.  I like simple clear explanations.  Definitions that just stay in my head and yet make me think.  So I think my favourite quote on legacy will have to be this one.

“If you would not be forgotten as soon as you are dead, either write something worth reading or do something worth writing.”    from Benjamin Franklin

Perhaps that is a good point to stop, or in the words of Forrest Gump, “and that’s all I am going to say about that!”

To become what you can be

Chosen to sit outside

Slightly cold, buffeted breezes ruffle my page and edges

Make me uncomfortable, unsettled

Remind me that life’s unease brings

Awakening, awareness and growth.

Listening to the tiny sounds

Carried on vibrations through the currents.

Feeling my body respond to the cold.

Eyes drinking in horizons.

Ever walked in forests where bears reside?

Suddenly you re-discover your primitive nature.

Every crack of wood underfoot is crystal clear.

A flickering of movement in the dark undergrowth

Sends adrenalin surging.

You remember your vulnerability

Prepare to run, fight or die.

So too here, I examine my inner landscape with sudden urgency

Tuning into the vibrations of spirit.

Knowing death is coming swiftly

And I must be alert.

That days, hours and seconds must not be wasted.

We have but one purpose here,

Never forget

Flee from lethargy, apathy and laziness.

Be unsettled with where you are

To become what you can be.

Humility exalteth man

When you mention humility people look askance.  It is such an old fashioned word.  Today the language is all about self confidence, that can do, capable, independent spirit we all long to have.  But humility, no, that is something we just wish others would have!  I was having a discussion about this with some friends and one felt that humility felt to her like being on her knees and being told to get lower.  That prompted an interesting discussion about what humility actually is and about self esteem and pride.  It was fascinating to hear all the different perspectives on this issue.

There’s a lovely quote about humility by Rick Warren

“Humility is not thinking less of yourself, it's thinking of yourself less. “

So humility is not about thinking less of yourself but about taking the focus somewhere else entirely.  St Augustine put it differently but more practically in terms of building foundations.

 “Do you wish to be great? Then begin by being. Do you desire to construct a vast and lofty fabric? Think first about the foundations of humility. The higher your structure is to be, the deeper must be its foundation.”

 

What a lovely image of us needing to build foundations to what we are and humility providing those very vital structures.  Something solid on which everything else can be built.  

The benefits of humility and the dangers of pride are dealt with beautifully and succinctly in this quote from Baha'u'llah.

“Humility exalteth man to the heaven of glory and power, whilst pride abaseth him to the depths of wretchedness and degradation.”

So if we are to become greater than we are now, start by building the foundations, acquire humility.  We need to build ourselves on something solid and pride does not help.

An Alternative Script

I tend to fill small notebooks with my scribbling and obviously had reached the very last page of one such book when I penned the following.

 

An Alternative Script

Reaching the end of this book

into which I have poured myself

sometimes rancid with sorrow

rarely radiant with joy

but always thankful for life

Perhaps to know each day

is really a fresh page of a new book

is the way to look at things

A chance to write a different hand

an alternative script

with a better ending

So on this the last

I want to remember and look forward to

all the stories in my life unwritten

that lie ahead just awaiting discovery

The triumphs the deeds

that I can hug to myself

as life on this plain wanes away

The friendships that I thank God for now

and the ones just around the corner for me to meet

And of all the sorrows and challenges

please give me strength for this too

So I won't buckle at the knees

and find my spirit cracked

I don't want to be a horse

carefully broken down to accept

the bridle and bit of life

I'd rather be a rough mare roaming

free on the plains

Discovering all that life offers

finding beauty in the landscape within and without

Unfettered, unsullied, unbroken

and if my feelings get worn

and a bit abused

I'd much rather that, than be iron clad

with the blacksmith's metal

and not feel the rough from the smooth at all

Let the hard surface of all

that I explore and meet

wear my hooves naturally

For a book unopened is protected forever

but what a wasted opportunity

Better thumbed and read, written and turned

than pristine and untouched.

Old Drum And Loyality

I read this piece to my first year animal management course in college each year and without fail it created an emotional reaction.  It helps that the kids are animal lovers but I reckon most people love the sentiments.  Hope you enjoy it!  The picture shows  a statue to Old Drum in Warrensburg, USA.

Senator Vest's "Tribute to the Dog"

It is strange how tenaciously popular memory clings to the bits of eloquence men have uttered, long after their deeds and most of their recorded thoughts are forgotten, or but indifferently remembered. However, whenever and as long as the name of the late Senator George Graham Vest of Missouri is mentioned it will always be associated with his love for a dog.
Many years ago, in 1869, Senator Vest represented in a lawsuit, a plaintiff whose dog "Old Drum" had been wilfully and wantonly shot by a neighbour. The defendant virtually admitted the shooting, but questioned to the jury the $150 value plaintiff attributed to this mere animal. To give his closing argument, George Vest rose from his chair, scowling, mute, his eyes burning from under the slash of brow tangled as a grape vine. Then he stepped sideways, hooked his thumbs in his vest pockets, his gold watch fob hanging motionless, it was that heavy. He looked, someone remembered afterwards, taller than his actual 5 feet 6 inches, and began in a quiet voice to deliver an extemporaneous oration. It was quite brief, less than 400 words:
"Gentlemen of the jury: the best friend a man has in the world may turn against him and become his worst enemy. His son or daughter that he has reared with loving care may prove ungrateful. Those who are nearest and dearest to us, those whom we trust with our happiness and our good name, may become traitors to their faith. The money that man has, he may lose. It flies away from him, perhaps when he needs it the most. A man's reputation may be sacrificed in a moment of ill-considered action. The people who are prone to fall on their knees to do us honour when success is with us may be the first to throw the stone of malice when failure settles its cloud upon our heads.
The one absolutely unselfish friend that a man can have in this selfish world, the one that never deserts him and the one that never proves ungrateful or treacherous... is his dog.
Gentlemen of the Jury: a man's dog stands by him in prosperity and in poverty, in health and in sickness. He will sleep on the cold ground, where the wintry winds blow and the snow drives fiercely, if only he may be near his master's side. He will kiss the hand that has no food to offer, he will lick the wounds and sores that come in encounters with the roughness of the world. He guards the sleep of his pauper master as if he were a prince. When all other friends desert he remains. When riches take wings and reputation falls to pieces, he is as constant in his love as the sun in its journey through the heavens. If fortune drives the master forth an outcast in the world, friendless and homeless, the faithful dog asks no higher privilege than that of accompanying him to guard against danger, to fight against his enemies, and when the last scene of all comes, and death takes the master in its embrace and his body is laid away in the cold ground, no matter if all other friends pursue their way, there by his graveside will the noble dog be found, his head between his paws, his eyes sad but open in alert watchfulness, faithful and true even to death."
The jury deliberated less than two minutes then erupted in joint pathos and triumph. The record becomes quite sketchy here, but some in attendance say the plaintiff who had been asking $150, was awarded $500 by the jury. Little does that matter. The case was eventually appealed to the Missouri Supreme Court, which refused to hear it.