Exhibiting Oneself

I sit in an art exhibition in Valletta, keeping an eye on the paintings and the visitors.  It suddenly strikes me that art, like beauty, is very much in the eye of the beholder.  But, what do I know, being from a science background, I am in foreign territory here in more ways than one.  Valletta, the capital of Malta is beautiful.  With her elegantly chipped sandstone walls and narrow steep streets, surrounded by the blue Mediterranean she is a unique find.  The streets are laid out like New York in a grid fashion but with wonderful buildings rich in history at every turn.  

The best way to visit her is by sea.  The huge walls of Valletta rise above you as you get closer and its fortifications intimidate exactly as intended around half a century ago.  

Right in the centre of Valletta lies St George’s square, which I am overlooking at present.  Surrounded by the ancient buildings of the Knights of St John there are water fountains laid out in the middle.  It’s lovely to sit eating an ice cream while children frolic in the water jets.

 I watched a four year old, at first, play cautiously with her hand in the shooting water.  Then growing in confidence she carefully lowered her hair in to the spraying jets.  She put her face directly into the jets of water and giggled at the explosive force hitting her eyes and mouth.  A growing audience watched as she explored further.  After lying on top of the many jets, she tried sitting on them.  By now completely soaked and bare foot she wandered through the many jets with arms and legs outstretched spinning in ecstasy.  Finally, she sprawled on top of as many jets as she could cover on the flat of her back and while moving her arms and legs, like a figure making snow angels, she controlled the tall jets blocking and releasing them in turn.  Her delight was ours, her genuine wholehearted absorption, a reminder.  Of how all of us should approach life and art, arms outstretched and spirit unleashed.  Only then can our hearts be touched and art do its magic – a true ladder for the soul.

Across Canada and The USA by Campervan

We were in a camping van recently, my family and I, recreating a road journey of over fifty years ago. It’s rare such things happen.  You always mean to do such trips but usually never do.  Life kind of gets in the way or runs you over.  Half a century ago my father decided to immigrate to Canada from NI.  He had a teaching post offer in the plains in Saskatchewan in a tiny hamlet called Piapot. So with his young wife and two toddlers (My Mum and brothers are shown in photo above) they headed out westward, where so many have gone before.  All of them in search of something better, I expect.  Later, he moved to Maple Creek a larger town nearby with proper shops.  On his holidays his persistent restless urge got the better of him, so he set off on an epic journey across Canada and The United States in a large car with his family.

It was this journey, which took us across Canada to Vancover and down the US through loads of national parks, that we redid in 2010.  It felt epic driving a massive camper van through country you associate with movies.  Coming from a small island the vastness of a huge continent is heady stuff.  The campervan rattled and shook as we drove and handled like a small house on a trailer.  As before, there were five of us but there were changes too.  I was merely an embryo on that first journey and my Dad had died five years before the trip.  He has left a huge gap in all our lives and he was the missing passenger on our journey.  He would have loved it. The lakes, glaciers, forests, plains all unfolded before us.  Then, when delight or weariness got the better of us, it was time for a nice cup of tea in our campervan.  Elbow to elbow with my brothers for the first time in three decades felt like revisiting your childhood as an adult.  Only this time around instead of fighting we enjoyed the closest company of all, family. 

There were challenges, my eldest brother’s boots (which had smell one cannot begin to describe), my mum’s skin reaction to mosquitoes (huge swollen pus filled protrusions), a hernia and more (don’t ask!).  But it was all great!  The open road, a huge campervan and total freedom.  We saw real live wild bears in the forests, swam in glacier lakes, explored and have photographs to prove it.  I’m so grateful for all of it.  In Maple Creek the school had been preserved as a museum, so my Dad’s classroom was there exactly has he had left it down to the posters on the door and exercise books.  There was even a picture of my Dad, looking so young, with his class beside him.  Strange sadness as well, as if we were close to him, but he was gone, out of reach, despite our longing.  

Piapot was different, the whole prairie area has suffered economically and there has been a huge exodus of inhabitants to the bigger cities.  So Piapot, which had always been a tiny hamlet beside the Trans Canadian Railway line, had shrunk still further.  The school here had been disserted for years with grass growing waist high around it.  Peeping through the front door everything was still there desks neatly lined up as if it had been left just yesterday and not a few decades.  It felt strange, as if we as a family had been transported back to the same spot 50 years earlier in a time machine. Then, as my brothers stood shoulder to shoulder next to the train lines, a huge endless train trundled past and sounded its horn.  It completed the miracle and we were all awash with the past, delighted to have caught this exact moment on the wind.  There is a photograph of my Dad with my brothers next to the same railway crossing and you’ll never understand it – but we were all there, every one of us, together again at that spot.  It felt like, this is the moment that we had come so far for.

Preserving - how to do it

Canning

One way to preserve is to use canning.  This is a method that means you have to lock yourself away from contamination to avoid any sneaky bad things getting in at you.  Unfortunately, if you are not particularly careful, in the first place, it just take one slip and you become unsafe.  So leaving a contaminate in the mix, without thorough heating and high pressure, or allowing a break in the seal after closure will mean you are exposed to corruption and danger.

Freezing

Just keeping things at a much lower temperature and never allowing heat can preserve but is not as long lasting as canning.  It requires a considerable amount of energy to maintain the effort.  Also, in the process you lose some of the essential you (tendency to become a little mushy).  Frozen as you once were, you are inevitably somewhat less too.

Dehydrating

Taking all the moisture out of you means bad stuff cannot grow.  You can last quite effectively with this method.  You won’t be as nourishing, as you once were either, and in the process you often get pureed.  Preserved but in a different form if you get my drift.

Pickling
Pickling is a common preservative and in solution we can last some time.  It is a common technique in modern days and you can grow to love the taste and the feel of being pickled.  You can find yourself more comforted, social and outgoing in the pickled state.  In the shortened modern form of pickling, excess pickling is expected along with frequent vomiting.

It would seem that preserving oneself in the modern world is fraught with difficulties.  You don’t want to isolate yourself, freeze all emotion out, remove the life force or anaesthetise yourself with alcohol.  None of these things will really do.  They are just a method of avoiding, concealing, ignoring the inevitable.  

Change comes to all of us let’s embrace it.  So I’d like to introduce the concept of renewal.  Our skin does it all the time so why can’t we?  Instead of keeping what we are, why not let it go and become a better us.  Then, instead of viewing each passing day as a threat we can see it as an opportunity. 

May today bring assurance to your heart, quietness to your soul and a renewal of your spirit.

My first Love

You can look back at relationships and see in hindsight the first hairline cracks.  You didn’t see them at the time but passion has blinkers.  Veils are gradually lifted, you not only get to know a bit more about yourself (there are veils between us and our own hearts after all) but also you see the people you know with different eyes.  This applies to other aspects of your life as well, like careers.  Looking back through the wreckage of my physics career many things have become clearer.

I hated physics at school, loathed it, in fact.  But I’d read enough about the subject to know that the awful tedious physics one ploughs through in class, bears little relation to the beauty of relativity, our galaxies, sub atomic particles etc and the practical applications for all that knowledge.  To me it all felt pure and noble – a search for truth.  Having good enough grades in every other subject, bar physics, I managed to get into university to study what I loved.  My physics degree was fun and I sailed through with a 1st class degree.  I started my PHD and was lucky enough to get a CAST award, which involved working in the prestigious Royal Signal and Radar Establishment (RSRE) in Malvern for a month every year.  During this month, I was put up in a lovely health farm and the healthy food, regular walks in the Malvern hills and physics research was a heady combination for me. 

The first cracks appeared when the Duke of Edinburgh came to the site, to give the RSRE an award for excellence in industry.  His security people, refused me entrance to the site that morning.  Somewhat bewildered, I was forced to spend the day outside in the hills and not cooped up in a lab with experiments.  No big deal, but the next day everyone including my supervisor was enraged on my behalf.  Apparently, being from Northern Ireland and technically a visitor, my presence constituted a threat to the royal party.  So, despite having security clearance and badges etc I was deemed too dangerous.  It’s quite amusing really and I could see the funny side of it.  Which was more than my fellow colleagues did.

Then, I did something which angered my supervisor.  That year, I married, despite being half way through my PHD.  His annoyance was not the distraction a marriage might bring but it was that my husband was from the Middle East.  At that time, relations between that region and Britain were as challenging as that between Britain and Ireland.  So my working in a Ministry of Defence centre like RSRE was causing him a major headache.  My security rating plummeted and that month I had to wear a red badge on site and was accompanied at all times by a security guard!  It all felt very ridiculous, my work was not rocket science.  All I did was study the metal-semiconductor interfaces and try to understand what was going on. 

In order to get rid of possible contaminants (which would complicate things) my experiments were done in an ultra high vacuum.  To make sure that these surfaces were totally clean, I cleaved them inside the vacuum.  Then, in this totally clean environment with a freshly exposed semiconductor surface I gradually evaporated down metals and studied them.  As I say, not rocket science, but while I was experimenting with antimony ( a metal), over in the USA, theorists were modelling how this metal would behave on my particular semiconductor and blow me down, my experimental results exactly matched their predictions.  It was particularly heartening as this happened independently; neither knew what the other was doing.  Science is lovely when something like this happens.  You really get the sense of a breakthrough of sorts.  A jump in understanding.  It may have been one particular interface but it felt like it was all exciting stuff with my papers published and presented. 

Given my security rating, however, my marriage was a real headache for my supervisor and he complained bitterly.  Exasperated by his nagging I told him my husband’s family were in the oil industry and really rich.  This he understood immediately and he dropped his belligerent attitude.  Mid conversation his objections melted away and a tone of respect was suddenly engendered towards me.  Ah, the respectability of wealth!  We talked for a half an hour in this vein and I accepted his warm congratulations on my marriage.  Then, I told him that actually there were no oil mines in my husband’s family.  No massive wealth that made my marriage sensible and wise in his eyes.  He was floored and speechless.  He could not now backtrack and change his tune, after all that would make obvious his real objections and how much money changed his attitude.  He told me, I was too clever for my own good and we laughed together. 

He had the last laugh.  During my last visit to RSRE, while heavily pregnant, he pumped me for ideas on how to make faster switches.  It was presented as a physics problem and I was encouraged to be as off the wall as I liked in coming up with unique ideas.  So I was creative and gave him a list of ideas of the top of my head from radioactive decay, to diodes, to lasers etc.  He took out a sheet and began scribbling some of the ideas down.  I laughed and said most of them were just brainstorming stuff with probably no real chance of practical implementation.  He retorted that only one had to work to make it all worthwhile – they could afford many to fail.  Perplexed, I asked what it was all for.  He told me that it was related to my PHD research.  Now, I was confused and he was eager to explain.  “We are trying to make faster switches for bombs, that’s what we’re after, that’s what’s funding the whole research you do here, each year.”

I remember my stomach clenched in shock and my hand went to my bump in an instinctive defensive reaction.  Making faster switches for bombs!!  All my work in understanding interfaces, the beautiful theoretical predictions, the scientific experiments to find the truth, the noble truth.  It was all to make us more effective at killing and destroying.  I finished my PHD but I never did any more research in my field again.  There was something about carrying a life that meant being a part of taking a life absolutely abhorrent.  My published papers all date from before my eldest son was born.  His presence in my life made me choose a different path.  I can have no regrets about that.  I look back at my relationship with physics like a bad affair, it started with passionate devotion and ended in acrimonious divorce.  It’s such a shame because I did love physics so much.  

Let each morn be better than its eve

"Let each morn be better than its eve and each morrow richer than its yesterday."

You get up and hope that the day ahead is better than the one before.  Not in some vague wishing good things for the next day for yourself, but more in the desire that whatever the next day brings (good or bad) you will find something within to face it with grace and dignity.  It is not about what comes to us, it is all in how we deal with what comes that matters.  That is the nature of this game of life we all play.

"Man's merit lieth in service and virtue and not in the pageantry of wealth and riches."

It helps to realize the purpose of our lives and what it is not about.  If life is about service to humanity then the acquisition and display of wealth becomes rather a distraction to the main goal of being here.

"Take heed that your words be purged from idle fancies and worldly desires and your deeds be cleansed from craftiness and suspicion."

When I think about words, how they can hurt others, be fuelled with all kinds of desires, no wonder our deeds inevitably reflect our ulterior motives and doubts.  So we need to choose our words with care and make our deeds worthy.

"Dissipate not the wealth of your precious lives in the pursuit of evil and corrupt affection,"

Time is so precious and how easy to waste it on passing fancies that make a mockery of the reality that the only real wealth we have is our allotted span of time on earth and what we choose to do with it.

"nor let your endeavours be spent in promoting your personal interest."

If we focus only on what we want, what we feel, who we are, then we fail to see the horizon out there and lose our way on a comfortable circular path of selfishness.

 "Be generous in your days of plenty, and be patient in the hour of loss."

Perhaps the only real measure of a character is not what we do in good times but how we cope with the really bad periods.

"Adversity is followed by success and rejoicings follow woe."

It is the nature of our lives that, like our landscape around us, there are hills and hollows.  It is a truth that sometimes the hollows are more like deep dark endless ravines.  But they give us a valuable perspective on life and when you emerge from a deep dark valley the sunlight feels so good!

"Guard against idleness and sloth, and cling unto that which profiteth mankind, whether young or old, whether high or low. "

There is a strange lethargy that can steal from you, your rightful birthright.  This is not something you must guard within that others may take from you.  It is the strange ability in all of us to lose our sense of purpose and direction.  No one can take it away from us or give it to us, it is within each one of us and only we can and must find it for ourselves.  


Quotes taken from Baha'i Writings (Words of Wisdom)

Look at the knockers on that!

My lovely family guests have gone and it has been a blast.  So much laughter and so much walking!  Sometimes 7 kms a day.  Being with those you love, is such therapy for mind and soul.  I have a wonderful memory of walking in Medina, a beautiful walled city in the centre of Malta with my mum and my aunt. 

My mother had just come fresh from polishing our brass doorknob here, which until her arrival had languished dull and neglected on our front door like all the other knockers in our block of flats.  I expect people are far too busy nowadays to see to such things.  My mother, however, knows a challenge when she sees it and the Brasso was out every day until our doorknocker shone like gold.  I wish I could show you ours, before she got started on her mission to improve but since my neighbours have neglected theirs I can use theirs to show the difference.

Before

After

The only problem is here in Malta the brass doorknockers are abundant and elaborate in design.  They can range from fish to faces, and come in a vast range of sizes.  As we walked through the tourist packed streets of Medina, my mother was constantly pointing out new designs that drew her attention on church doors, houses and shops.With every discovery, she would announce in a loud excited voice, “Look at the knockers on that!”  Oblivious to the startled reaction of passer-by’s she would extol the size, the shine, the uniqueness of the knockers.  I grew used to the head turns, the shocked looks as she proclaimed, “I’ve never seen knockers this big”.  Even when someone had forgotten to shine their doorknockers there was plenty to say, “For goodness sake, some one should clean these knockers, they would be beautiful if only someone would give them a bit of attention”.  

Since my Mum is a respectable age, it seemed all the more shocking to have these titbits on a regular basis.  If anyone reading this happened to be in Medina that day, can I apologise for what they were subjected to.  There was something even more unexpected that a very respectful looking white haired pensioner felt duty bound to admire all the knockers on display that day.  I observed one low cut dressed German lady, across the street from us, attempt to cover her ample bosoms as my mum pointed out a set of furious head shaped knockers behind her with the startled exclamation, “My goodness that is a terrifying pair of knockers!”

Oh, how I miss the laughter and the fun of these lovely ladies, my mum and my aunt, in my life.  I cannot begin to tell you about the really funny bits of their holiday, they must forever remain a secret.  And that’s all I am going to say about that.

Mother does not always know best!

I was a rather novice mother.  Being the youngest of my family I had zero experience of looking after youngsters.  So when I gave birth to my first son I remember the sheer fear that he was suddenly my responsibility.  I distinctly remember feeding him in the hospital bed and then ringing the nurse to return him to his crib.  When she asked why I did not do it myself I answered that I had never walked and carried a small baby and was afraid I may drop him.  I was serious! 

Being allowed to leave the hospital with this small vulnerable creature was terrifying and seemed completely wrong.  How would he survive with me!  It was a cold day and we had to put him in a one-piece coat for the first time.  A lovely elaborate outfit with zips that undid at the top and bottom if you needed to change him.  I have to say despite my fears our son was an ideal baby.  He slept and when not sleeping fed, in fact he was everything that reassured a rather nervous mother like me.  He smiled at everyone and held out his hands to even passing strangers to be picked up.  He just seemed really normal and exceptionally friendly.

That day for the first time he was crying.  It threw me but I changed his nappy to see if that helped.  It didn’t.  I tried to feed him and that didn’t help either.  By now I was running out of ideas, this had never happened before and his cry was louder and more pained.  I carried him, tried to put him to sleep by pushing him in the buggy outside.  Even that did not work and I was about to just let him cry, after all perhaps he was becoming spoiled?  If I just left him in the bedroom for a while alone, to cry himself out, he would learn that crying for attention was no way to behave!

Then, I noticed that the zip at his neck was embedded in his flesh.  While pulling up the zip I had caught a piece of his flesh in it.  The poor thing, how long had he suffered?  Once I released him he quickly returned to his usual happy and friendly nature and didn’t seem to bare any grudges for my blatant incompetence.  That night when he slept I cried beside his cot, furious at my carelessness and devastated at causing him pain.