Christmas Blues

Was at school this week in the staff room and the discussion was centred on the preparations for Christmas.  Buying presents, decorating trees, Christmas parties, performances etc.  I mentioned that we did not and have never bought Christmas presents or trees for our children.  There was a horrified silence as if I had regaled them with tales of how I starved my children regularly.  My story had slipped out when I told them of shopping at a supermarket with my youngest, a mere toddler, in the trolley seat with groceries pilled up behind him.  As the shop assistant scanned the items she smiled brightly at my son and asked that usual pre Christmas question.

“And what is Santa bringing you?” 

in a happy confidant tone designed to lift customers spirits with festive joy.

Daniel answered instantly 

“He doesn’t give me anything and never has!”

A horrified uncomfortable silence reigned as she scanned in the remaining items.  The look she gave me was one of shocked surprise that said clearly she wondered what kind of parent was I.

My children were told from an early age that Santa was not real.  That other parents pretended he existed for lovely reasons.   To make their children excited about the Christmas period, to celebrate the birth of Christ, to create a spirit of giving and kindness in families and communities.  We kept stressing that it was a religious festival designed to remind people of the life of Christ and his teachings.  But they missed the whole presents and Santa thing.  The only present they got was one from my parents and boy did that one present mean a lot!

It was a little hard at times when they saw the abundance of gifts showered upon their cousins and neighbours.  But they were surprisingly stoical about it.  Children accept you for what you are, warts and all.  They see you as normal and judge the rest of the world from that baseline. That’s why it is so horrible when we really screw them up.  When we make our nightmare their baseline.

Thankfully our three children, now adults, seem to hold no grudges for all those missing gifts and non-existent Santas.  Which kind of shows how meaningless most of that crap really is.  Indeed, we were careful to tell them, even when toddlers, that on no account should they ruin the illusion of Santa for their friends and school mates. That it would be cruel to steal this illusion when their parents had so carefully cultivated the magic of it year after year.  So when Daniel aged three answered the shop assistant with

            “He doesn’t give me anything and never has!”

I was quite proud that he was careful not to shatter her conviction that Santa was real.  He knew not to announce that,

“Santa does not exist and therefore does not bring me anything.”

He responded with a statement of truth while allowing her to maintain her belief in Santa.  It always amazes me how thoughtful and kind small people can be.  It strikes me that they would not ruffle feathers in staffrooms over Christmas.  I obviously have much to learn!

my take on smoking - a gentle approach to encourage stopping

Trying to get across that smoking is bad for you to my middle school class - may have gone over the top slightly let me know what you think!

Have a look at a healthy lung and a smokers lung - sometimes images speak louder than words.

But what is in these cigarettes? Lets look at an experiment to find out.  It is slightly long so do feel free to fast forward to get the main point of it!  But hopefully those final few images will stay in your head!

Enough of the petty details worldwide how many people are actually being effected?

Somehow figures don't get across the loss of life do they?  We almost need more time to digest the information and set it in context.  After all, people die everyday from a range of causes.  So let's put it all to music and take some time out to digest the facts right now.

Enough said!

Sliema to Valetta by boat and foot - getting lost and finding good stuff

Went for a walk in Valetta today.  First I walked up the hill in Sliema.

The colours of the flowers are amazing and catch the eye.  The houses are equally unusual and even when dilapidated have a presence.

In Malta there are churches at almost every turn, all covered in statues and with often two clocks.  One is set at the wrong time to fool the devil – they say!

The blooms beside a doorway seem too pretty to miss so I do a close up.

Over the hill and I reach the ferries, this is where I catch a boat to Valetta from Sliema.

And as the ferry gets closer the view gets better and better.  I reckon Valetta should always be approached by sea.  The walls are so impressive from water level.

Arriving at Valetta.

Hugging the walls I make my way along the ramparts.

Looking back at Sliema I can see the ferry and where I have come from.

Nature is found even on the bare dry walls.

Now time to climb some stairs and the height of the houses surprises.

Every square meter seems used and the density of living quarters is apparent.The streets become narrow and yet full of life.  This is no museum, but a living city.

Some grand buildings, like the front of this one.

Haven’t a clue where I am going but have time to admire the greenery.

Who cares if they are lost when everywhere interesting streets entice.

Am tempted down one and find myself in the second oldest theatre in Europe.

Even better is the tea room and I take the opportunity to grab a pot of tea and have a well earned break.  I have never experienced this tea room and it is filled with light and has a lovely atmosphere. 

This has to be the loveliest place to chill.  I heartily recommend it!  Sometimes getting lost leads you to the nicest surprises.  Time to head home.  

Charlie Horse playing cards

Came across this video on a camera, which someone had taken while we all played cards together.  I am simply the most un-photogenic person on this planet and it does not bode well that I also have just about the most irritating laugh imaginable.  But I love the way it captures family times when playing cards.

Not one extra prune

My mother and aunt stayed with us on Malta for a glorious two weeks this October.  I luxuriated in their presence.  Their daily routines were fixed.  In the morning after their showers they had breakfast, eating exactly the same thing each day.  A bowl of porridge and five prunes followed by a pot of tea with one slice of wholemeal bread toasted, with butter and marmalade.  Then they would hand wash all their dirty clothes.  My practice of dumping all colours into the washing machine was an anathema to them.  They are of the generation that hand washed, bleached and bullied laundry into blistering white submission – my half grey whites did not do!

The sun here in Malta dried their clothes in a few hours and they delighted in the speed of the whole affair.  Then, after tidying my flat with equal thoroughness and a demanding level of order and neatness they filled their water bottles and headed out for their daily forced march.  They would walk the promenade beside the Med each day, choosing St Julian’s Bay one day from Sliema and then the next heading right towards Valetta.  These walks were no mean feat in the burning sunshine.  They allowed themselves just two breaks during this four-hour marathon.  One was for ice cream cone, or a ‘poke’ as my mum calls it.  

My Mum, with eight decades under her belt, would order their cones with a smile, asking for loads of the white cooling ice cream on top.  God bless the Maltese café staff who universally responded with unrestrained generosity filling the two small cones to abundant heights.  The happiness with which these two grandmothers/great grandmothers devoured their treat had to be seen.  With two hours of walking in the baking heat it felt like a life saver and their toes practically curled in delight at the delicious coolness.

Then on for another two hours of walking and chatting.  These two have so many memories to share, so much news to tell and experiences to debrief they talk non-stop for the whole two weeks.  Listening to them chatting away from their beds to each other until they fell asleep was the best background music to have.

The second pit stop is for a large cappuccino and they have by now found the best cafés to stop at.  

Not only the café but also they also have a favourite table near the door from where they can observe the world go by.  My aunt has an eye for detail.  Noticing people who chew with their tongues out, peculiar gaits, unusual hairstyles or fashions ensembles.  She notices everything and views the entire spectacle with excited voyeurism.  This is fortunate, as my mother sees nothing.  She is a ‘starer off into space’, happy in her own skin and head with a coffee mug held tight in delight.  So this unusual team works well.  My aunt points out what my mother would have missed and my mother restrains her sister from tucking in shirt tails, turning down labels that stick up and generally rearranging the hairdos of complete strangers.

I tease them because they do not vary their routine.  Not one extra prune, not one different flavour of ice cream ventured, not even their footwear has changed in the last few years.  But they are happy, fit and in great shape.  Their laughter and giggles filled the flat and our lives from the moment they arrived until they disappeared into the departure lounge in the airport on the way home.

So if anyone happened to see me standing at Malta International Airport last week waving and sobbing at two elderly ladies while tears tripped down my face try to understand.  Such people burrow into your heart and letting them go is akin to open-heart surgery.

My 9 Favourite Pastimes

1. Still Game.  A wonderful series set in a run down estate in Scotland populated with aging characters.  Doesn't sound uplifting or funny but it is.  Watched the whole series and mourn the fact that there are no more new ones to watch.  Here is one of my favourite episodes, just love how even wallpaper can roll back the years for us all. 

2. Lie To Me

This is a modern series about a company that specialises in reading the micro_expressions that speak the lies we tell.  It wears a little thin after a while but love the idea and how it is executed here. It is not on youtube, but keep you eyes open for this one

 3.  Rummycube – one of my favourite games at present.  This game depressingly reminds me how slow my brain has become.  Other players shout how long I take when it is my turn.  It is just the speed my brain is at present.

4. Swimming in the Med – there is a feel good factor about being the sea that swimming pools cannot compete with.  Is it the salt, the odd jellyfish or the waves that I occasionally swallow?  Don’t know but it hits the spot.
5. Café Frappe – coffee and ice in a blender, make my own and drink half pints of the stuff.  Addiction is a terrible thing!

6.  New Scientist – a wonderful magazine that I enjoy vicariously via my brother, usually three months out of date.

7.  Good friends to laugh with and sit at cafes with.  Here in Malta, like the Med elsewhere you can sit for hours out front with one cup.  Easily the cheapest outing and yet brilliant fun!

8.  Visiting and being visited by loved ones – I shall not name each one but they know who they are!

9.  Earning money writing – of all the things I do, this writing business earns me no money and yet I have a dream of doing what I love and being paid for the same.  One must have dreams right?

PS And yours? 

PPS cannot delete the 4 below, so please ignore this gremlin - it means nothing. 

codes of behaviour - the mob!

Your Perspective can change quickly.  I can remember sitting in this café with a sore back and the effort required to lean even 5 degrees forward or backward was akin to a cheese grater on my spinal column.  I bought the same drink I have now and even sat at the same table but I could no longer smell the coffee, notice the waiter’s welcoming smile or even see the people with whom I was sitting.  My field of vision was restricted to a portion of my lower back and its surrounding nerve endings.  Each movement had to be planned in advance to prepare for the forthcoming pain.  I grew to recognize these pre pain signs, sweat to the brow and upper lip, a tightening of the stomach muscles and a roll of the shoulders as if to accomplish the required adjustment by means of the upper body alone.  People stare at you when you do such odd affected motions.  They cannot help themselves. 

Perhaps it is a lingering memory of the pack we once were.  Such movements would signal ill health, weakness, frailty and an urge to turn on the weakest pack member stirs within all the rest.  Nature’s way of strengthening the pack.  Not only killing off a substandard member but providing, by eating them, useful nutrients to the rest.  In such a win win situation pack members would be assiduous about noticing limps, stiffness, poor skin or coat health.  Of course, turning on a weakened pack member also insures that you, yourself do not become a victim.  Finding a weaker member, other than yourself, is therefore a sensible strategy.  It is thought that this self-protection lies at the heart of mob psychology. 

It has long been noted that groups of people in mobs have a communal morality much lower than any individual member.   They will tear you limb for limb, stone you to death, happily lynch and set fire to you when perversely not a single individual on their own would sanction such gross atrocities.  So what is it that makes such a discrepancy in codes of behaviour. 

The answer lies in the mobs first act of violence.  Once it is taken each member of the mob knows there is a definite possibility that the mob could turn on them just as easily.  What can they do to prevent such an outcome?  They must out do the first violence, up the anti so to speak.  By this means they prove their loyalty to the pack, keep the rage targeted on some one other than themselves and in doing so trigger an ever ascending spiral of atrocity in others for the exact same reasons.  This fuels the final carnage. 

So sad that many leaders of thought, idealists and innocent have fallen victim to the mob’s senseless selfish violence.  Perhaps it has ever been so, survival of the fittest and all that?  But, I like to think that ideals and truths also have strengths that persevere despite the mob’s advantage of numbers.  That the actions and words of brave noble people echo across the millennium and will out last and outshine the foul deeds lesser minds devise.