1 September 2020

Epistle

 LETTER TO MY FUTURE SELF...

It's the beginning of September and the year is twenty-twenty. I thought it would be a good time to check in with you as you sit there looking out of your window. The leaves are turning and you know that there is only infinity ahead - that black, witless tunnel where we all go when life ends. You are not afraid.

You will recall that twenty-twenty was the year of the great plague - the one they called Corona. She swept across the globe with her  invisible scythe. In April of that year, the streets of England were deserted. It was like a film about some apocalypse with all the people gone. You walked along a moorland track to a remote grouse shooters' cabin and did not see another human being.

That was in the days when Trump was the American president, before the American people booted him out in favour of the Democrat - Joe Biden. You know the one I mean. He died in office and was replaced by Kamala Harris, the first female president. Erasing Trump's divisive legacy was more challenging than tackling Corona. Some scars never heal. They remain to remind us of ugly confrontations down dark alleyways or upon the fields of war.

In those days, Britain's political leader was Johnson. You may remember the scandal that led to his reluctant resignation. He had to go. But like Trump over in The States, he left a bitter legacy behind. It is said that he now spends most of his time in Dubai, surveying The Persian Gulf from his luxury penthouse. Still grumbling and mumbling. Still in a state of denial. "The King of the World".

You tried to be a good man living lawfully and happily, generally at peace though sometimes anger would boil up in you, frothing and steaming like one of those sulphurous pools you wandered round in Iceland in 1991. You couldn't help it. This was part of your nature. Fundamentally, can we change who we are? Somehow I doubt it.

You managed a blog for twenty years until your senility began to really kick in. You called it "Yorkshire Pudding". Visitors would come and go. Random people from all over the world. They became virtual friends. It was like an online party with guests chosen at random. As you now look out from your high-backed armchair upon the September trees with magpies squabbling on the lawn, perhaps you remember some of those visitors from far away...Red and Jennifer, Meike and Dave, John Gray, Steve and Mary Moon...

You may also remember the miles you plodded up hill and down dale, seeking photo opportunities and the sweet fatigue that comes after a long walk. In retirement you saw so much beauty in these islands on the eastern edge of The North Atlantic Ocean.

But now you don't walk any more. You just stare out from your window. The weather changes day by day. Carers come and go. There are family visits but you don't speak. You don't even read any more. You just sit there waiting, wondering when the darkness will fall. Just another human being, one of billions.

Life. Life. Life. We only get one chance. One throw of the dice. Most of us wrestle with regrets, pondering the things we did not do, the paths we did not take, the words we cannot unspeak, the words we didn't say. You were born under the constellation known as Libra. The scales. In the end we weigh up profit and loss, mark how things balance out. And for you it was okay old man. In the final analysis, you did okay.

Close your eyes and sleep the dreamless sleep. You did okay. What more can I say?

34 comments:

  1. "In the end" it doesn't matter whether you did "okay" or not. That's the beauty of death, YP.

    "Scales"? Like the ones that fall from your eyes? Alas many go blind in old age. Literally and metaphorically. Shutters going down. Blinkers.

    The woman I loved most in my life (my grandmother) was a Libran. My son is a Libran too, if he were any more laid back he'd be horizontal. The symbol of your shared sun sign that of scales. Just as Virgos are depicted as maidens (regardless of gender) and Geminis as two faced.

    For me the symbol of scales is that of balance. As anyone who has ever been to a grocery shop before those scales were made redundant. AH! Balance. The holy grail. It was magic watching that balancing act between the purchase and the weights (and, naturally, trusting that the weights weren't weighted against you; not that a few grams and pennies either side matter).

    U

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    1. Thanks for reading it Ursula. Your reflections upon the business of balancing were quite poetic.

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  2. Yes, you taught, partnered Shirley, raised competent, decent children, cooked, painted, wrote, walked.....a rich life

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    1. Thanks for reading it Kylie and for considering it... but in a way it is not really about me. It's about all of us.

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  3. Who will read that letter out to your future self? Are you going to make provisions for when you won't be able to look after your blog anymore? I have sometimes be thinking of that; should I give my password to my sister or O.K. or someone else I trust completely, so that they can notify my readers? Law firms are now offering "care-free packages" surrounding the digital aspects of our lives, but somehow I prefer to keep it more personal.
    Anyway, this was a touching piece of writing, Neil. Has anything specific brought it on?

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    1. Not really. It was an act of creative writing and it's not really about me. That was just a vehicle for reflecting on the ageing process. The question of digital presence and ageing or death is an interesting one. That gives me another creative idea!

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  4. Well, this was a bit self-reflecting. I was going to say "morbid" but thought better of it. It's really not morbid to think about our deaths or declining years. It's reality.
    I surely do like the part of the scenario about Trump being voted out. And I can certainly see BJ sitting in his penthouse in Dubai. But I'm not especially fond of the thought of you rendered speechless and not taking your walks. Let's try not to let that happen, okay?

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    1. Shhh! We must not talk of death. Put the blinkers on or turn your back upon that scenario. But those of us who are 66 are already in the last chapters of the novel.

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  5. The old people use to say Leap years are unlucky. I think they are right. You're far too stoic to stop walking and writing your blogs YP. I hope your right with your political predictions. I could do with winning the Euromillions tonight.

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    1. Sorry Dave. I have just looked into my crystal ball. No Euromillions jackpot for you I am afraid.

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    2. You should look again YP. We won SIX Euros.

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    3. Enough for a bag of chips next time you are in Bantry.

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  6. Maybe Frances' baby will be a grown up man or woman reading this to you...far, far in the future, hopefully.

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    1. It's not really about me. It's about everyone. Thanks for reading it Jennifer.

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  7. Aww, that made sad reading. Things are surely not that bad? You'll soon be a grandpappy with a baby on your knee. Surely that's something to look forward to?

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    1. When Shakespeare covered murder in his plays, I doubt that folk asked him if he was feeling murderous. Creative writing is often different from self-analysis. Grandpappy rhymes with soiled nappy!

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  8. Oh dear, that sounds a bit gloomy, are you okay? not like you to be morose.
    We on the other hand are nearly there looking into the hole that we are going to disappear in fairly soon. Actually it's not that bad and it's funny how we are adjusted to going and not at all frightened. Tom is eighty and knows that he has only a short while left on this earth. I don't know how he feels inside as he never talks about it but he seems to have accepted it.
    Live each day as if it were your last, who said that? but he/she was right.
    Cheer up you have so much to look forward to.
    Briony
    xx

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    1. Thanks for reading it Briony. Don't fret. It was an act of creative writing. I am perfectly fine.

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  9. A very poignant piece. It moved me.

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    1. It was a kind of experiment. I am so glad that it connected with you Christina.

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  10. "Grandad, Grandad, we love you,
    that's what we all think of you"

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    1. Eh? Eh? Who are you? Nurse! Nurse! I've wet myself!

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  11. Great description of our coming days. I have watched too many people travel the path you have described. You have included some nasty history which will influence our twilight years.

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    1. Just keep birding as much as you can and kiss The Micro Manager.

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  12. What a bittersweet account but I think I understand. I hope you keep walking and blogging for a very long time. When I think of my future I get stressed because I have not done all I need to do in order to properly prepare for my final years. The thing that scares me most is looking at the past year or even the past five years and realizing how quickly they flew by.

    I find your views on history interesting and possibly even a bit prophetic. I do believe the year 2020 will leave many more scars on our world and all of us that we ever expected.

    You need to know you've done much better than okay. Just look at your children and in time at your grandchildren and you will know you've done very well.

    Christina put it well when she said that was "A very poignant piece". I agree.

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    1. Thanks for reading it Bonnie. I am so pleased that it resonated in your mind.

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  13. When you get there, Brother Pudding, give a thought to me walking with you over hill and dale and river with the ever-present bottle of wine for our walk...for I will be long gone!

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    1. Sister Thyme - that sounds like a nun in a convent - and I am sure that your conduct was hardly nun-like. Nuns will be sadly disappointed when they discover that there is no heavenly light after all. Just black infinity.

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  14. Joe dies! Oh, no!
    I suppose better written now, before you no longer remember what to write.
    But Joe dies.....?

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  15. Well I have found it difficult to comment on being old. But the one note of optimism is that I may see great grandchildren in the future. I have grown old and weathered many a storm but I believe our minds help us to come to terms with it.

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  16. So beautifully written, very moving.

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Mr Pudding welcomes all genuine comments - even those with which he disagrees. However, puerile or abusive comments from anonymous contributors will continue to be given the short shrift they deserve. Any spam comments that get through Google/Blogger defences will also be quickly deleted.

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