18 May, 2012
Last week was my birthday - 10.05.40; surfing the net, I happen on a list of 200 famous people born - that year. The class of 1940 is 72 years old now - no longer 'combat troops' - but an impressive bunch - even a few of those rare spirits who make a real difference - change things.
Among sportsmen, Denis Law was a 40s boy - and Pele - and for Hibbies, the great Joe Baker; but my chosen sport was golf - my nomination is Jack Nicklaus - arguably the greatest golfer ever. Among a good crop of actors - I nominate the guy who gave us Michael Corleone; not that Al Pacino has 'greatness' (overacts) - but the Godfather trilogy certainly has - the great morality tale of our time - eternal. My third choice is the visionary economist Muhammad Yunus - whose life work challenges the very basis of market capitalism; he wants to run the world economy to abolish poverty - must be mad. 1940 was an amazing year for musicians - in the UK alone, Cliff Richard, Adam Faith, Tom Jones etc. But they were all dwarfed by late John Lennon - greatness unchallenged.
Frank Sinatra was the generation before me (daughter Nancy was born in 1940) - but his art - interpreting the great American Songbook - helped shape the way I view the world. A Sinatra ending; "Now the days grow short - I'm in the autumn of the year. And now I think of my life as vintage wine, in fine old kegs - from the brim to the dregs - it poured sweet and clear - it was a very good year." I wish.
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11 May, 2012
My Dad, Tony Demarco, had two younger siblings - Aunt Marietta, who raised me, from age 4, alongside her own boys (my quasi brothers); and Uncle Nods, who went to train for the priesthood, aged 28 - but who sadly died from heart disease when only 37. No-one remembers why he was called Nods. Fr Alberto Demarco SJ (he was ordained early) was not your typical Jesuit - neither intellectual nor remote; his hallmarks were ready humour (a gifted mimic) - an infectious grin and simple goodness of heart (blessed are the peacemakers).
One of my 'quasi' brothers (above) lives mostly in Spain now and recently sent me this email: 'Uncle Nods sent me a letter for my tenth birthday which I came across sorting through my mother's stuff. He actually sent it on 5/5/55, to celebrate that unusual date; it was a special birthday letter, full of wee drawings and jokes and ended like this: "I will end now by wishing you all joy and happiness - and the chance to see Hibs win the Cup some year. Your father and uncles have got too old to live till that day - which is, I believe, due to happen in 2012. Love, Uncle Nods'"
Now, I don't think for one minute that this strange prediction was a flash of spiritual clarity or mystical insight - he was simply poking fun. But…wow!! What a coincidence. At Hampden on the 19th - Uncle Nods will be there with us; and win or lose, I'll imagine his big grin.
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04 May, 2012
When does sadness become depression - I've been hovering between the two for some weeks now. The dividing line for me is waking early - before 5am - which has started again; I'm anxious and irritable - movement and speech slower - energy, confidence and self esteem lower; my psyche is trying to tell me something. April was cold and dark; this is maybe mild Seasonal Affective Disorder (SAD) - I'll wait and see - wait for the sun.
Evolutionary psychologists have a different attitude to depression than doctors. They see it not so much as an illness - but as 'an evolved mechanism of distress' - signalling that our coping system is overwhelmed. It is telling us to step back, to hibernate - or escape - a wake-up call that something needs to change. Perhaps we have unreasonable beliefs - make unrealistic demands on ourselves - need to cut ourselves some slack.
My instincts tend more to the artist than the scientist - sadness can be seen as a source of creativity. A quote from the great Hermann Hesse: "Everything is within us - gold and mud - happiness and pain - the laughter of childhood and the apprehension of death. Say yes to everything; - shirk nothing. We like to play the solid citizen - wise and harmonious but we are birds in the storm - let it storm - let it drive you… Always, again and again, dark days will come. We have to pay for our loved and lovely life with days like these." 'Wandering' - Hermann Hesse's slim volume of musings is long out of print. I love the melancholy of this piece called Rainy Weather. http://www.senscot.net/view_art.php?viewid=12239
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27 April, 2012
On Tuesday, I was one of the 100 guests for a screening of 'You've Been Trumped'; it's the story - from the point of view of local people - of Donald Trump's development of a pristine stretch of Scottish coastline near Aberdeen. The film is accomplished and brave - showing the value of real journalism. It's a powerful David and Goliath story - the dogged spirit of a few locals refusing to be trampled by a global corporation - which considers that their homes will lower the tone of a new luxury golf resort. The authorities - including, shamefully, Grampian Police - are seen to aid and abet the developer against local people. After the show, I was captured by a camera crew from CNN news. I told the good citizens of USA that I was angry and ashamed of Scotland's Parliament - its deference to big money - that I no longer trust the values of our First Minister.
On a sunny day last month, a friend gave me lunch in St Rules (Ladies) Club - overlooking the hallowed 1st and 18th holes of St Andrews Old Course - what a setting! This, the 'home of golf', is on Common Land - and local citizens have privileged access to all courses. The fairways under our window are crossed by a public highway - I watch golfers courteously defer to folk going to and from the beach. Donald Trump, and the world of privilege he would bring us - wont understand these values - this commingling; - but Alex Salmond should be careful - because we Scots understand it fine - as an important element of what we value about our country - and our way of life.
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20 April, 2012
One of the books in my wee pile just now is called Incognito by the neuroscientist David Eagleman. He says: "this book was written over the course of a few years by several different people - all of whom were named David Eagleman - but who were somewhat different with each passing hour." Self, for him, is nothing fixed - but a constant state of adaptation - a dynamic process of becoming - over time, many different people (see end piece).
Over the weekend, one of my previous selves made an unexpected appearance. Pottering in the garden, I heard first Hibs (Saturday) then Hearts (Sunday) progress to the final of the Scottish Cup (apparently the first time this has happened since 1896). For a period in my life, the Hibees were very important to me - a bunch of us went to all the games - sang the songs - passionate. But over time I got to know some of the players and directors - too mercenary for my romantic spirit; disillusioned, my loyalty moved to other forlorn endeavours.
Over the next few weeks - as the hype builds towards "the greatest derby game of all time" - I'll try to stay detached; but who am I kidding. I'll be at Hampden on May 19th, with some of the old bunch and whether I intend it or not - I'll be roaring. Yes, we change over time - but the influences of childhood endure. A Christian mystic once said: "May God deny you peace - but give you glory." I'll settle for that - Glory, Glory.
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