Volcanoes

Thanks to the volcano, we remember that we are the play-things of forces of destruction which can at best be kept at bay but never vanquished. We may enjoy local victories, a few years in which we are able to impose a degree of order upon the chaos, but everything is ultimately fated to be shredded back to a primeveal soup. If this prospect has a power to console, it is perhaps because the greater part of our anxieties stems from an exaggerated sense of the importance of our projects and concerns. We are tortured by our ideals, and by a punishingly high-minded sense of the gravity of what we are doing. A volcano hundreds of miles away invites us to live with the sense of awe and generosity of people who never allow themselves to let the thought of death slip too far away.
 
Early in the morning on the fifth of February AD 62, a gigantic earthquake rippled beneath the Roman province of Campania and in seconds, killed thousands of unsuspecting inhabitants. Large sections of Pompeii collapsed on top of people in their beds. Attempts to rescue them were stopped when fires broke out. The survivors were left destitute in only the soot-covered clothes they stood in, their noble buildings shattered into rubble. There was horror, disbelief and anger throughout the Empire. How could the Romans, the world’s mightiest, most technologically sophisticated people, who had built aqueducts and tamed barbarian hordes, be so vulnerable to the insane tempers of nature?

The suffering and confusion – only too familiar today in the wake of the Icelandic volcano – attracted the notice of the Roman Stoic philosopher, Seneca. He wrote a succession of essays to comfort his readers but, typically for Seneca, the consolation on offer was of the stiffest, darkest sort: ‘You say: ‘I did not think it would happen.’ Do you think there is anything that will not happen, when you know that it is possible to happen, when you see that it has already happened…?’ Seneca tried to calm the sense of injustice in his readers by reminding them – in the spring of AD62 – that natural and man-made disasters will always be a feature of our lives, however sophisticated and safe we think we have become. We must therefore at all times expect the unexpected. Calm is only an interval between chaos. Nothing is guaranteed, not even the ground we stand on.

If we do not dwell on the risk of sudden volcanic explosions and pay a price for our innocence, it is because reality comprises two cruelly confusing characteristics: on the one hand, continuity and reliability lasting across generations, on the other, unheralded cataclysms. We find ourselves divided between a plausible invitation to assume that tomorrow will be much like today, and the possibility that we will meet with an appalling event after which nothing will ever be the same again. It is because we have such powerful incentives to neglect the latter scenario that Seneca asked us to remember that our fate is forever in the hands of the Goddess of Fortune. This Goddess can scatter gifts, then with terrifying speed watch us choke to death on a fishbone or disappear along with our hotel in a tidal wave.

Because we are hurt most by what we do not expect, and because we must expect everything (‘There is nothing which Fortune does not dare’), we must, argued Seneca, hold the possibility of the most obscene events in mind at all times. No one should undertake a journey by plane, or walk down the stairs or say goodbye to a friend without an awareness, which Seneca would have wished to be neither gruesome nor unnecessarily dramatic, of fatal possibilities.

Alain de Botton

‘Gather in today’

 ‘Carpe diem’ means, of course, ‘Seize the day’, and comes from an ode by Horace. Though a friend of mine, who happens to be a former secretary of The Horatian Society, and speaks Latin as you and I do English, tells me that it can be translated in a more interesting way.

It could equally well be phrased ‘Harvest the day’. And I like that. It’s a little less aggressive and opportunistic. After all, it is often said that you reap what you sow, and so harvesting the day suggests that you have quite a lot of responsibility for what the day offers you. In his own translation, my friend goes a step further and writes ‘Gather in today’ – which picks up the other sentiment from the ode, namely that we might live this day as if it were our last. Today is the day when we can enjoy life, for yesterday is gone, and tomorrow never comes.

That said, it’s remarkable how difficult it is to do so. So much in our lives would have us recall what has happened, or hope for what might happen. There’s the nostalgia tendency, the pressure to reflect on school days, or when the kids were young, or when we were young. ‘The best days of our lives’ are said to be behind us. And then there’s the pressure to look after tomorrow. We take out mortgages and devote our working lives to paying off the debt, hoping that the house will be ours. Or we pay into pension plans and life insurance. That’s all good. But put together, nostalgia and concern for the future do have the effect of distancing us from today.

In his poem, Days, Philip Larkin asked after what days might be for. He replied that days are where we live, for ‘Where can we live but days?’ Seize, harvest and gather in today.

 

Mark Vernon

The 3 boxes of life

Richard Bolles is perhaps best known as the author of the job-finding, career-path-defining, weird-illustration-containing manual “What Colour is Your Parachute?” which he has rewritten every year since 1970 to keep each new edition relevant and which has sold more than 10 million copies.
 
One of his lesser-known works, however, has an even wider purview than job-hunting. “The Three Boxes of Life: and how to get out of them” is a book that addresses the way that we typically organise our lives. The “boxes” Bolles defines are: Education, Work and Retirement. The general pattern of culture in the modern Western world is to divide these up across life: we spend our first 20 years or so studying, the next 40-50 years working, and then perhaps if we’re lucky another 20 years on leisure pursuits. Bolles’ notion is that we could mix these boxes up, and that we might be happier for doing so. Why not, throughout life, spend some time on each? Lifelong learning, lifelong work, lifelong leisure.
 
These ideas were ahead of their time when “The Three Boxes of Life” was first published in 1978 but they’ve become more popular in the past 30 years. As pensions shrink, the idea of finding lifelong congenial work starts to seem more appealing, and ‘career breaks’ or flexible working to pursue leisure interests have also become common aspirations.
 
Life-long education seems to me the most exciting and rewarding goal of the three. In fact, I never feel quite ‘right’ unless I’m pursuing some kind of study. Despite the continuing financial assault on the university sector, it’s still possible to take a short course fairly inexpensively in the UK. I’ve taken Open University courses and short classes at the City Lit. There are also one-day workshops – I enjoyed a great woodworking class earlier in the year, and have the perfect fit-for-me footstool to prove it. Independent learning provides flexibility – I have a French ‘conversation exchange’ partner who I meet up with for a couple of hours’ chat, one hour in English and one in French. And then there are the pursuits which might not be considered typical ‘education’ but which fall under that heading for me. My sessions on the psychoanalyst’s couch aren’t exactly education, but I certainly learn a lot from them.
 
Several of the characters in my new novel “The Lessons” find the structured learning of Oxford University ultimately stultifying and demoralising. The weekly tutorials, the reading lists, the libraries… these don’t work for everyone, least of all perhaps for 18-year-olds. My characters find that they learn more once they’ve left university than they did while officially in the “study” box of life. Perhaps that’s not surprising. The curriculum you build for yourself tends to be more rewarding than one handed to you. And the idea that you could have learned everything you need to know for life by 21 is, when you come to consider it, fairly ridiculous.

Naomi Alderman

Your Word is a lamp to my feet and a light to my path

Read from The Daily Bread..

His Word assures us that He knows the plans He has for us, plans for wholeness and not for evil,
to give us "a future and a hope" (Jer. 29:11). And He tells us that our trials are there to make us better, not bitter (James 1:2-4).

Your Word is a lamp to my feet and a light to my path. – Psalm 119:105

小天使

羽丰渐渐长大，也越来越活跃、逐渐形成自我意识，知道自己是一个独立的个体。简单说，他已经不是奶来张口，安静让你为他洗澡、换尿片等等的贝比了。比如说，最近他特别不爱坐推车，需要两个人又哄又骗、软硬兼施才勉勉强强、心有不甘地被“驯服”在推车里。这几个星期，他“更上一层楼”- 就是爱用食指东南西北、上下左右地指，然后要你应声或是跟他说出东西的名称。这还好，也挺有趣的，只是他有时会很不耐烦，当我们不让他玩某样东西或抑制他什么的话，他会对着我们发脾气叫喊。第一次碰到这种反应，我被吓到了，而且不由得开始担心 – 我的开心宝宝变成小魔王了吗？有时真不知道要怎么反应才是最正确的，只知道一定要控制自己原本就坏得不得了的脾气，不能也对他提高升量。那天到图书馆取经，翻开育儿宝典才发现宝宝要到三、四岁头脑的发育才有控制情绪、运用理智的机能。

 

有人说孩子出生就是来“治”他爸妈的。有些人甚至说孩子是来讨债的。

说“讨债”让我觉得很不舒服。对什么都不懂的孩子来说很不公平。

相反的，我相信孩子与生俱来的权益就是被疼爱的。

每个孩子都是上帝牵到父母手里的。。。他们或许也是上帝送下来的小天使，让大人看见自己的缺点，然后跟天使一起学习、一起长大。

 

我的小天使，妈妈要提醒自己，手里牵着的你仍是一个什么都不懂、甚至发脾气也是不由自主的宝宝。

Create

"I think we should all have a manual skill, however small. Something you can do in your spare time, when you disconnect from the normal routine: write on a piece of paper with a pencil, build something out of wood, work with tools to create something out of metal, paint, take photos and develop them manually, not with a machine. Whatever you decide is your manual skill, put all your heart to it. You’ll feel great, I promise." ~ Mnmal.org

 

放下并不是放弃

在朋友的facebook看到她在自己的留言板上问：一个女人有了孩子后是不是生活就绕着孩子。一天孩子长大了，她们是不是就完全失去自己了？

上个星期跟一个前同事吃饭，他刚换了工作，现在在报馆打拼，很快活地在做自己真正要从事的行业。他说我现在仍在目前的工作岗位上是形势所逼，因为我刚当了妈妈，已经不能象他那样，潇洒活出自己、为自己活了。

我笑笑。是，目前的我是个凡事绕着孩子的妈妈。

 

这两位朋友目前都单身。

我单身时也这么想过。

我相信，很多初为爸爸和妈妈的人都会再次闪过这些想法和问题。

 

但，

或许生活不能单为一个人活，无论那个人是孩子，还是自己。

或许漫漫人生中的某些阶段，就是学习放下自己的时候。

我宁愿这么想。

自己正处于这个学习阶段。

 

所以，朋友们，

放下自己并不是放弃自己的追求、理想、 ————————（随个人的想法填充）。

这也是我对自己的提醒。

人太多

上个星期五提前庆祝儿子的一岁生日。没有我想象中悠闲。周围的干扰太多，我不能静下心专心聊。有个朋友到来时，我正忙着蛋糕的生日祝语（因为蛋糕店那里忘了写上），后来她交代要过来的朋友顺便对我说她觉得人太多，先走了。她过后也传简讯向我道歉。其实，我完全理解，一点也不怪她。如果是两年前的我，可能会为此不高兴，但现在都无所谓了。

是我老了？累了？

是心态上的转变。

还是跟三两个朋友一起即兴宵夜聊天比较畅快。

 

 

 

临时

和志远临时才决定给羽丰做一岁生日。

只会把部分好友叫来，不是因为其他人不重要，而是因为都很重要，所以想保有空间让自己真正跟好友们聚。

从婚礼到满月- 贪心地把好友都叫来，结果跟每个人都说不上什么话，自己又累得要命。

还是不要了。

这么说来，其实临时决定办生日也不错。无法之前做安排来的朋友们，我们就能期待下回聚咯！

只是在筹备方面就比较匆忙了。

刚刚才agak确定会到的人数，因为太迟约有些还不能确定，但实在等不了了，只好大概大概上网查询然后打电话订些小点心。还好，人数不多，容易办。

羽丰，妈妈和爸爸很懒，没心思给你办什么主题生日派对。Anyway，妈妈偏见认为主题派对很无聊，况且你目前只有瑞珍朋友，没有其他朋友了。派对也没意义。最重要的是：你也没得选择！哈哈！所以一切就从简啦！

 

这么临时也好，逼着自己没时间多想，简单做就对了啦！简单就是美ma.

 

温柔

好快。羽丰快1岁了。过去两天多累都要把他打从出世那一刻的照片到昨晚才新鲜出炉的照片整理出来。限制在50张就好。想手制一本记录他第一年成长的相簿送给长大后的他。一边整理照片，一边回想过去的一年。说百感交集太夸张，但确实有些感动。很多人告诉我，宝宝长很快，我会怀念的。

 

想起昨天在巴士上看到一幕年轻爸爸怀里搂着一个看似刚满月的宝宝喂奶的画面。那位年轻爸爸右肩挂着一个看起来象是装满宝宝用品的包包，左手挽着小宝宝。他是一个人上车的。我怎么知道这个男人就是宝宝的爸爸？直觉。他的温柔举动是只有爸爸才会有的。

 

反差的画面特别令人动容。这位爸爸的样貌很阳刚，身材壮硕，但搂着宝宝的臂膀却少了粗壮，多了温柔。喂奶的神情是百分百专注的。爸爸已经深深爱上了宝宝。我也很专注地看着他们。

 

下车。我想着家里的宝贝。脚步快速。

 

 

那天立梅说这张照片不错。狗无论大小，志远都拒于千里，所以坐到我后面，害我变大头。在花莲民宿拍的。民宿主人在客人走前都会为客人和他们的爱犬留影，放上他们的blog.