My Little Cleaver

Through the ages, the word and the notion, truth, has been the subject of conjecture, debate, and reams of written opinion and discourse. I don’t pretend to have anything startlingly new to add. But the phrase which is the title of this post, and what it suggests, has always disturbed me.

One of the dictionary definitions of certain is, ‘some though not much‘. For some reason, this is the meaning I assume to be in use in the phrase. In which case, ‘a certain amount of truth’ is a convoluted way of saying something is mostly a pack of lies!

My instinctive response when encountering this phrase has always been, “Well either its true, or it isn’t.” But truth isn’t  necessarily such an absolute. In the material world it often is. A pint of beer, a dozen eggs, dawn, winter…There’s no denying these things. They just are. A pint of beer is a very certain amount of truth. As in sure, finite…

However in the realm of ideas, philosophy, metaphysics and such, there seem as many degrees of truth as there are colours in the spectrum. Perhaps it is something to do with the nature of words, which ultimately fail us when we try to convey our insights to others. Music or pictures often do a better job. But at best, even they allow only momentary glimpses of something we yearn to know better. And that something we suspect is truth, or at least part of it.

‘A certain amount of truth’ sounds like a kind of seasoning that one might add to one’s reality or perception of it. Enough would make it truthful, but anything less would not.

If we are spicing our lives in this way, let us serve generous helpings!

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This morning as I pottered around my kitchen rearranging the debris, I noticed several children wandering by, after 9.00am, not looking like they were hurrying to school. First two girls walked by both eating some kind of bright yellow candy. Next a boy cycled by then stopped to untangle his shoelace from his chain. A few minutes later a lone boy ambled by peering around as if looking for some company. I would estimate all of these to be between 12 and 16 years old.

Although it is none of my business, it has piqued my curiosity! I know it is not a holiday because both my children have gone to school. Have they complained to their working parents that they are not feeling well, then when the house has emptied, got up and gone out to look for some fun? That’s what I used to do. Read more »

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Am I the only person who increasingly finds that modern envelopes do not have enough glue on them? Or the glue has been diluted? In any case, no amount of spittle will seal the envelope. So some kind of tape is required to do the job.

What kind of cost-cutting madness is this? Is this a prelude to a whole range of products that, in the name of economy, no longer meet requirements? Shorter staircases…lets save wood and jump the last couple of steps. Floorboards too thin to support a person’s weight. Lukewarm freezers…. Sound systems you can barely hear, even at maximum volume.. Perhaps solar clocks….

There is an advertising catch phrase I’ve heard on the TV that goes, ‘It does what it says on the tin’. It has entered the vernacular here in the UK. It seems to imply that nowadays just doing what it is supposed to deems a product miraculous!

Hear ye, manufacturers! Its not much to ask…

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Yesterday I woke up feeling like I’d eaten a dairy farm. Industrial amounts of meat, cream and cheese. I felt bloated, sick, lethargic and useless. Clearly the seasonal excesses had finally caught up with me.

I dragged myself out of bed with considerable effort, and went to church. When I got home, I did a tiny bit of tidying up, then went back to bed for 2 hours. When I awoke I resolved to fast for the day, except for non toxic liquids.

I went to the supermarket in the middle of the afternoon to buy fruit, vegetables and salad fixings, juice and water. Included in my purchases was a carton of prune juice. By 7.00pm I had drunk the whole carton. Much of the remaining waking hours was spent on the porcelain throne officiating at a spectacular clear out.

One day later I feel transformed. I think I’ll do another carton today, just to be sure I didn’t miss anything.

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I’ve never been a big fan of shopping. For me the impetus is need rather than want. Only when I really have to, do I shop. When that moment arrives, I find what is required as quickly as possible and buy it. Leaving the store, or these days, website, is the only enjoyable part for me. I always have something better to do.

I also prefer to shop alone. There are people I love who like nothing better than ambling slowly through displays of goods, stopping many times to pick up and handle items on offer, things they often wouldn’t dream of buying.  A trip to buy milk and bread, winds up being an extended market research project. Not for me! I have ruined more than one relationship, foolishly accepting a casual invitation to accompany someone I like, shopping. In no time at all, I don’t like them as much.

This is one way in which the poor are blessed. I am fortunate to be part of a Western society wherein even the poorest are by comparison very wealthy in the eyes of millions of Asian, South American or African people. Nonetheless, within this society I am definitely one of the ‘have-nots’. Mostly this does not concern me, but the pressure to change is relentless. Every wile and seductive measure is marshalled to persuade me to get more and better stuff, without which I am to consider myself inadequate.

The poorer a person is, the further are such desires from that person’s mind. For the millions of dispossessed around the world, the hunger for something, anything, to eat, and a place to lay their head down for the night keep them busy enough. For them, the choices our consumer society confound themselves with are laughable. They have none of these options, so why dwell on the impossible? Deprived of material advantage, they quite naturally find solace in the world around them, the people in it, and spiritual concerns. Blessed indeed…

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I live in the old English university town of Cambridge. Along the river Cam, are some of the most beautiful old buildings in Europe. A trip I never tire of is a punt ride down this river, from which vantage point, the buildings are perhaps best admired. Far from the traffic, the lapping of water against the side of the boat as one drifts past the colleges that have stood there for so long has a deeply calming effect.

This is indeed a venerable ’seat of learning’. Great men and women have studied, researched and taught here for centuries. Many students have gone on to become world leaders or captains of industry. The feeling of proximity to the ‘corridors of power’ is tangible.

Yet on a trip to town on Monday, it was all to easy to forget this side of Cambridge. Read more »

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November is quite a month. We in the north bid farewell to autumn and don hats, scarves and gloves to shake hands with old man winter. If we resist at the beginning, by the end we are resigned to the onslaught of Christmas and all that entails. Read more »

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God bless America for coming up with such a great holiday. To simply gather with friends and family and give thanks. And there is plenty to be thankful for.

My memories of Thanksgivings past when living in the US, include a tradition of everyone at the table being given a chance to say what they are thankful for this year, before the feasting begins.

We do well to recall our successes, big and small, and the joyful times we have experienced. Looking back over a year, surely everyone has some positive memories, even in the midst of great suffering. Once we focus on the good things, the list grows surprisingly quickly.

Living in the UK, where complaining seems to be the order of the day, it is all too easy to forget. Our sainted media thrives on digging up dirt and picking holes in everything. But then it has long been established that good news doesnt sell.

Unlike its beleaguered cousin Christmas, Thanksgiving is not much tainted by commerce. There is no extravagant gift buying. All that is given is thanks, to each other and to God, for the good things we have.

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Last night I listened to my 57 yr old brother, and my 17 yr old daughter, bemoaning the armies of hoody wearing youths who prowl our urban landscape, terrorising the innocent. They even referred to them as ‘hoodies’.

This has to be the last word in senseless, prejudiced generalisation. The hoody is a very practical, affordable, modern garment. Large numbers of teenage boys wear them. Some of these boys find themselves going through an antisocial phase. Duh! Teenage boys have found it hard to stomach society ever since there’s been a society. Does this mean that anyone who wears a hoody should be treated as a dangerous criminal? Most of these ‘disaffected youth’ also wear trousers, have teeth, and sleep with their eyes closed. Are these characteristics we should view with more suspicion? Read more »

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Yesterday I walked to a local store to buy some milk for my morning coffee. Close to my destination, I encountered an elderly, African looking man waiting for a bus. He appeared both dishevelled and disgruntled.

On impulse, I looked him in the eye and said, ‘Hello!’ Instantly his weathered face broke into a beatific grin and he mumbled a reply. I didn’t stop, but continued on my way.

As I walked away from him, I realised that I had behaved as I did, because of his African demeanour. If this sounds racist, I don’t believe it is, unless in a positive way! I spent several summers in Ghana, West Africa, and got used to their way of saying hello. On a daily basis, total strangers would greet me as they walked by, and not just because I was white. There seemed to me to be a tacit understanding there that no opportunity to acknowledge a fellow creature should be allowed to slip by. I never felt threatened or targeted in any way. I just felt included. How different from the city streets of England! Read more »

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