Outside these Walls
I sharpened my knife today. Not a kitchen knife, the knife I made in the Anglo-Saxon village last year, the one I made in the forge and worked on in France when my life was outdoors. When I came home to life indoors it was left, as were the shoes I made and the other leather-work.
It has not been shortage of time which has kept me from these projects, I have had time in plenty and time when I have sought gainful employment yet still spurned those things which were so valuable to me in France. So why is life outdoors so different?
We have no technology to distract us, only alcohol, but, it seems to me, that the main difference is that outdoors we have a potential audience, someone to say "What are you doing?",, to comment, to admire or criticize. Here at home between these four walls there is no-one. I rarely play well at rehearsals - I need the audience to give my performance some meaning.
Worked on two CDs recently - good comments from those in charge - how much I loved it. They will be out in the Autumn.
Jesus in the Wilderness
Julia, one of my twins, who is a teacher in a fairly rough area of the city reported this exchange in school this morning:
Julia: What happened to Jesus in the wilderness?
Pupil: He got mugged.
My Fair Lady
My Fair Lady - that joke - "Send the bill to Buckingham Palace" a joke of the 1950's set in the 1800's and still valid today. Like the churches which we take for granted yet which stood, in some cases, 500 years ago and more. These things which stand as markers for history - I can see them leaving after some tedious sermon in their kyrtle and hose. They were not Edwardians, Victorians, Tudors, Stuarts or what the hell, they were just people getting on with their lives as best they could.
My grandfather was not a Victorian, though he lived in the age of Victoria - he was a miner, then a shopkeeper. He started by selling stuff through his window to supplement his miner's wages, then, when the authorities moved, he moved to the address where my father was born. My father, a young man when Hitler moved, joined the army which bought excitement to what would have been a life in a cotton mill.
That song by Jacques Brel - The Statue - the statue erected to the glory of some dead "hero" - the view of the hero we have all seen and here, in the song, the view of the soldier. "Our Glorious Dead" - and here the reality - "Me who got killed in the war, because I couldn't help it."
The opera by Harrison Birtwhistle - Sir Gawain. When Gawain comes home from his adventure, home from the war they all ask him what it was like, "tell us about it" "Tell us about the glory" - "all as it was, all as it was". And that woman who whispers to the side "tell us of the deceit, the betrayal, the lies" Only she knows what Gawain knows, but they don't listen, they want it "All as it was", but only the glory they imagine. Gawain says "I am not that hero" but they do not listen. They want only their truth, not the real truth.
But as I have noted before, the truth does not matter, it's the perception of the truth which is important. You may see the truth that the wall is white, but if he believes it to be black, he will react only to its blackness.
"You are as old as you feel" they say - not true. You are as old as you look - it is that to which they will react and force you into their box. If you are 21 and look 50, they will treat you as a 50 year old and will not allow you to act as a 21 year old.
