Lost....and I don't mean the TV show!

Do you ever feel a bit lost? Drifting, time passing quickly and seemingly getting sod all done?? Please tell me there are others out there!

Am back in Ireland three and a half weeks, time has flown by catching up with people but am feeling strangely lost in nowhere. I've noticed big changes with people - each to their own like never before - it's sad but hey suppose its a symptom of the current climate. Friends are friends but even they are all a bit lost too.

Can anyone find us??

Survey: what drives you to write for 9 pounds, at least?

The recent comments about whether we need more outside people, our reasons for taking part in this little human study called a blog, made me curious.

Why do you write on 49£? Is it because

a) you want to write for everyone who reads it;
b) you write for the enjoyment of the others in the group;
c) it gives you a thrill to put random crap up on the Internet;
d) you need an escape from your real life; or
e) other ?

Pondering our not having received the Irish Blogs Award, I realized something interesting for myself: I actually do this for (b)---everything I put into a post is driven, probably without exception, by my interest in sharing stuff with the other LBPs.

As I type stuff in I have absolutely no thoughts about Joe Random Human Being who may come upon a 49£ page because Google decided the choice of words looked kind of similar to what one of us wrote. I have some weird sense of comradery towards you-all, even thought I really don't know very many of you particularly well. As we get more chances to meet up face-to-face I find I know you a bit better, but at the same time I don't expect to actually know all of you. It would seem to be self-defeating to not have some level of mystery in place.

Anyway, back on topic: please share what you think is your primary reason for writing on here. Maybe after a couple of minutes thinking about it you'll discover (as I did) that your actual reason is not what you're expecting?

Unwanted harsh realities

A few days ago I was at my son's primary school doing a bunch of fixing of their computers. I was in First Class (not like on an airline, but like 1st grade in Ireland) when I heard a small voice next to me.

"Hi," she said. "Atreus, right?" (Names have been changed to protect the less innocent.)

I looked, and recognized the little girl. She was the daughter of a good friend of mine who died about eight months ago of cancer---my first exposure to the seemingly random nature of death and its harsh effects on you, the spectator. My brain had to work really quickly to disguise my real thoughts and memories. (Friend holding her when she was an infant, talking about parenting with him, laughing over a pint of Guinness about the lack of sleep.)

I maintained my composure, smiled, and said back, "Hi! R____, right?" Her glowing smile told me I'd remembered correctly.

"You used to be a friend of my dad's," she said.

Jesus. "Yes, that's right!" I agreed. Holy cow, she sure blind-sided me with that.

"Bye!" she said, still glowing, and went over to her table where I overheard her tell her best friend who I was.

I tried desperately to focus on what I was fixing on the classroom's new PC, but all I could think about was how much I really haven't come to closure on his dying. I'd seen both she and her older brother around at the school, said "Hi" every once in a while, but never encountered such a hefty bit of innocent reality. Perhaps I was actually trying to avoid seeing them too much, because it would just remind me of their dad and force me to focus on my memories of him.

I managed to get myself together and make progress on what I was doing. The teacher started to ask for the class's attention, then dropped her own bombshell.

"Now many of you know the boy C____ who was in Sixth Class last year, right? You remember how he was really sick?" A number of little heads nod, sharing glances. "Well, he got better for a while, but now he's back in the hospital and not feeling very well." Wow, you really can't say his kidneys have failed, I thought. He's the son of some neighbors of ours, and we know his family reasonably well. I'd only just heard from my wife that she'd spoken with the principal of the school that morning and learned he'd had a serious set-back. His dad's part of our street's bookclub, and a source of great humour.

The teacher continued. "I'd like us all to take a minute and send a lot of happy positive thoughts to him. Can we all do that together?" A hand shot up.

"Yes?"

"He was my buddy last year!" the little boy announced more to the class than just to the teacher.

"Really! Well, you'll be able to send him even nicer memories of the projects you did together, won't you?"

"Yes!" he replied, the eagerness broadcasting from his wide eyes.

In less than ten minutes I've been absolutely blown away by two incredible examples of mortality, both of them startlingly close to me. I have to acknowledge the fact that even if I've lost some relatives in the past, it was always in the context of not having regular day-to-day contact with them which seems to soften the blow somewhat.

But now I've got it happening right in my close field of vision, involving people more directly involved in the closer world around me. Maybe my acceleration towards passing 40 is making this hit me stronger than it would have ten years ago, but still ...

I bet a counselor would have a field day piecing this one together. (Not to mention the fact I'm blogging this rather than actually seeking one to talk to about it...)

Our images of deities

When at a friend's house for dinner last week (and the eventual cookout and making of s'mores), the skies finally cleared and the sun came out for a little bit. The sunshine on the leaves was one of those spiritual moments. The friend, A, was born a Muslim but is now a member of the Unitarian church, and has married a Jewish man, so she has a good knowledge of religions of the world.

As the 6 of us were standing there, admiring the leaves, A said "Forget the dead guy on a stick...that's my God right there."

Perfect summing up of how most of my friends believe.

Open Your Eyes

I was listening to the radio yesterday, and a song came on that brings back really sad memories for me.

All this feels strange and untrue
And I won't waste a minute without you
My bones ache, my skin feels cold
And I'm getting so tired and so old

The anger swells in my guts
And I won't feel these slices and cuts
I want so much to open your eyes
Cos I need you to look into mine

Tell me that you'll open your eyes [x4]

Get up, get out, get away from these liars
Cos they don't get your soul or your fire
Take my hand, knot your fingers through mine
And we'll walk from this dark room for the last time

Every minute from this minute now
We can do what we like anywhere
I want so much to open your eyes
Cos I need you to look into mine

Tell me that you'll open your eyes [x8]

All this feels strange and untrue
And I won't waste a minute without you

The first time I heard this song was right after our friend, Riko, was diagnosed with pancreatic cancer and given less than 6 months to live. And all I kept hearing when I heard this song was his then girlfriend (they got married soon after the diagnosis) singing this to him, as he was lying in a hospital bed. It is heart wrenching for me, as Riko was the first person I know who is about my age who died (he died in April, on a gorgeous spring day), and while I wasn't as close to him as my hubby is, he was still a dear friend. It's harder still, as his children go to the same school as our oldest (in fact, he was the one who informed us of the school), and we see them and his ex wife quite often. His widow was pregnant with their first wife when he died...she's since had a beautiful daughter.

But the song, when I hear it, is like the commercials for not using mobiles while driving, or the Axa ads, or whatever. I just have to turn it off when it's on. I'm stuggling not to cry right now, just thinking about all this. I get waves of "Oh god, he's not here anymore" and have to hold in tears.

Not much worse

Than being out with a few friends for dinner (and more than a few bottles of wine), and having all these great things mentioned and thinking "Hey, I need to blog that!" Then the next day realizing you have no idea what everyone was talking about after about 10pm.

Natural?

Okay, around the table a few days ago, we mentioned the jellies that were put out for the kids (and what little the adults left for the kids). They were from the Natural Confectionery Company, which I realized is quite interesting. Why, in our little circle of school and other friends, do we all serve up these jellies to our kids, compared to, say, the Haribo line? Cause they're *natural*? It's still freaking sugar and glucose syrup and flavoring. It's still crap! But in our little world, the natural part is the one we cling to, maybe to make ourselves feel better about buying candy for the kids?

There's just something funny about it, to me. We're the generation that is supposed to save the world. Are we starting with jellies and bring-your-own-bag shopping?

Sunshine on my shoulders...

...makes me happy....

Nothing beats a chilled bottle of white wine, a friend or two, and a table with lots of (welcoming) empty chairs around it on a stunning early summer evening. Kick it up a notch, have the table in your front garden, and have your neighbours stop by to poach a bit of the vino.

Good times, good times.