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What is it about gnarled and ancient beings that draws us into their sheltering circle? The olive tree in the picture alongside is part of an ancient grove planted in the Valley of the Temples in the town of Agrigento, Sicily which dates back to 581 BC. In Roman times the olive tree was revered for its bounty, its ability to thrive in the most inhospitable soil and tough climatic conditions and its regenerative power. An olive tree that burns down to a stump in a raging fire will grow new shoots in the spring and become a tall strong tree again in time. "Love and do what you will"
In our preoccupation with youth and outer beauty we have lost touch with communal life. So many of us have grown up without grandfathers and grandmothers. In my case my parents emigrated from Italy and left all family behind. The only contact I had with a grandparent was meeting my maternal grandfather twice. The last time I saw him I was ten years old and he took me along with him to his farm in the country on the day hay was being baled for winter feed. We shared fresh cheese and bread for lunch in a hut overlooking the fields. He offered me some red wine from a flask and laughed when I declined, his sharp berry-brown eyes crinkling at the corners. In his book A NEW EARTH Eckhart Tolle speaks about how in our modern Western society we do everything we can to sanitize death. We hardly know what a real dead body looks like. At funerals we no longer see dead bodies without make-up. Children are generally kept away from death and funerals. We don't talk about the dead. We don't allow others to talk about their dead. Old age is viewed as something highly undesirable. Grand father and Grand mother have become grannie and granpa, so it's easy to forget that the ancient ones are the true repositories of wisdom. Instead old people are often viewed as weak and foolish. We fear death in our homes. We don't want to be reminded of the difficulties of old age or of our own mortality. "Let me not beg for the stilling of my pain but for the heart to conquer it"
Francine O'Meara's ode of grief for her faraway Namibian grandfather is a reminder to enjoy our grand parents while we can.
FRANCINE O'MEARA
My grandad
Did my father ever want to blow up the paper mill where he worked for 32 years? Undoubtedly; at least in his imagination. Did he fantasize about shooting his co-workers down with a machine-gun at his farewell party as he gazed at the wristwatch given as recognition for a life-time of committed service? I doubt it. He immigrated to South Africa to leave a war-torn country behind him, adored spy thriller books and cowboy films and was of a gentlemanly disposition. But I don't know. I'll never know for sure. That's what I kept thinking while I watched the excellent movie A Quiet Man starring Christian Slater. My father was a quiet man. Somebody said that at his funeral a year after I'd written a novel featuring a heroic undertaker; long before A Quiet Man came out in DVD format. An old friend who'd known him since we were both schoolgirls. 'He was a quiet man,' she said with distinctive emphasis. Now I wonder at her perspicacity and economic use of words to describe my father.
One of the unexpected consequences of writing The Good Cemetery Guide has been some amazing no-holds-barred conversations on intimate topics with total strangers. Many people tell me how when somebody central to the family structure dies, usually a parent, they come to learn with shock that their siblings have a completely different view of the family life they've shared as children, and who the deceased person really was. Others tell me that one of the greatest sorrows they bear is the 'loss' of a parent who is still alive; either through an illness like Alzheimer's which at least has a name, or through a witch brew of circumstance and miscommunication which really has no name.
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"Say not what your country can do for you but what you can do for your country."
That phrase about doing something for my country has been running through my head ever since I heard the the phrase and its inverse being tossed around on a radio talk show. It seems obvious that the provocative power of the phrase lies beyond its exact meaning - however noble the sentiment of true patriotism might be - in the implacable certainty that the locus of moral responsibility rests with oneself. More than one great thinker has postulated that exactly one commandment is necessary to be a good person: "Do unto others as you would have them do unto you". In this peculiar convoluted fashion I came to drawing up a list of what my father - a quiet man - had done for my brother and I.
If you want to see my list-in-progress click here:
Consuelo Roland |
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