I have three daughters and, as anyone else will know, that is a lovely position to be in. One has just got engaged, to a man who would have passed the most rigorous “Are you good enough for my daughter ” exam. One is a budding entrepreneur, and shows all the enterprise and determination that indicates, and one is about to begin studying for her PhD in chemistry, which I know as much about as most of you, but we can’t know it all can we.
Well yes we can actually, if only for a time. More than a few years ago when my eldest was about four she might sit on my knee, and I could tell her, in the manner of Solomon, that, “according to the latest estimates, at least 38% of the moon was made from cream cheese. Quite possibly Philadelphia,” and she would nod wisely and drink in all these facts. She might tell her passing mother that “38% of the moon was made from cream cheese”, and discount the baffled shake of her mother’s head which this nugget of wisdom produced.
Now time has moved on. We remain parents always, and that incurs certain duties and expectations of course, but gradually, if only for a time, we morph into friends before journeying on to the dribbling pensioner’s who need their daughter’s care to survive. Luckily I am still at the friend stage. Like most of my friends, my daughters now view some of my information with caution. If I say the 153 bus is the best route into London, they will not stand by the bus stop and wait for hours until they discover there is no such thing as a 153 bus. They will sensibly check the information and go with their own instincts: often better than mine. Whats not to love about that. Having said that I long for the arrival of grandchildren who will be able to benefit from my secret information about the moon, but all good things come to him who waits, even if it’s the bus to central London.
In the same way I wrote a piece called “The Beacon Home” and I loved writing it. Every world was chiselled with the greatest care. One of the amusing things about my “Beacon” post following on from my observation made in my post about Blogging etiquette is that the “Beacon” post got more “Likes” and less comments than any post I have produced in a long time. Was that the fates asking me to mind my manners.
Anyway I was inspired while I wrote it by playing a female soloist singer, name of Clare Torry on the Pink Floyd Album, “Dark Side of the Moon”. That album, and that piece of music are dear , well obsessively dear to my heart, and I am transported whenever I hear it.
When I had finished writing the piece, toning it off, wiping away the coffee stains and the rest, I dragged my partner over to my laptop and made her read the post/ word poem while I played the track to her through ear phones. To her patient credit she said she liked it and was complimentary. Very nice. Will the next person who wants to praise me kindly step up. We are offering free coffee and home-made pastries to the more abundant compliments. What actually happened was this. Some time later she talked about the post. She thought it was good but “She had trouble concentrating”. “Why I asked”. “because that awful women was screeching in her ear while she was trying to read the words.”
I fell back on the chair dazed. Clare Torry: “that awful women”. …. “screeching”. What was she saying…. Everything around me started to spin as my sense of world order was thrown into confusion. Waves of bewilderment poured over me, and I felt baffled and at a loss. Then I realised. Like my daughters she was right. We all have pieces of music which transport us but Good old Clare was not singing one of hers. Just because I love Pink Floyd it does not mean that everyone has to. Once the shock had subsided I felt a sort of warmth flow through me. You’ve got to love increasing your self-knowledge whether it comes from your daughter, your partner or your Blogging friends out there. Comments please to an address of your choice or in the space below.