Month: Sep 2023

Bombast

I suffered a bruise the other day … to my ego.

For some reason the word came up in a conversation with my daughter … and she laughed! We were talking about the Afrikaans word “windgat”, which is not a compliment and indicates someone who is loud, flashy and probably drives a car with two big exhausts.

We pondered on that; I was forced to admit that some years ago in South Africa, I was called a windgat* by colleagues at work. It was probably because I was a loudmouth and sometimes confronted their conventional awe of authority. Fortunately, I usually knew what I was talking about in industrial relations and in the land of the blind, the one-eyed man is king!

She asked what the English equivalent might be, so I Googled it.

Oh dear!! Bombastic was the word!

ostentatiously lofty in style

synonyms: declamatory, large, orotund, tumid, turgid rhetorical

given to rhetoric, emphasizing style at the expense of thought

That was why she laughed! She recognised me!

Bombast was the cotton padding used in clothing to make the wearer appear more substantial.

I do admit that I have a love of language and have been known to use big words and I avoid the banal like the plague – but I have never owned a car with big exhausts.

So, it is necessary for me to embrace and practice humility !

Banal is a strange word which I shunned in my younger days as it made me feel queasy somehow. Probably because of the -anal sound. But in fact its not ‘bay nal’,- it is pronounced ‘buh narl’, much more reflective and condemnatory sounding. Synonyms are: bland, corny, dumb, hackneyed, mundane, stupid, trite, vapid …

Ooops! There I go again ……

*windgat literally translates as windy a***hole

Unalloyed joy

When your throat thickens, your heart falters then swells and your eyes prickle with tears – that is unalloyed joy.

My middle grandson gave me a cool stare then curled a grin and clasped my finger … and my heart!

In the middle of a slow Spring afternoon, reading on the patio with music in the background. Pavarotti just reached those sad, beautiful notes in Vesti la giubba, which clutched at me, leaving me breathless with its pathos.

Ridi, Pagliaccio,
col tuo amore infranto!
Ridi del duol, che t’avvelena il cor!

Laugh, clown,
at your broken love!
Laugh at the grief that poisons your heart!

Maybe that one was not joy but it was intense emotion!

Now I can’t remember the one which gave me such joy – damn!!

I thonk maybe it was the Vincero, vincero! in Nessun Dorma – have a listen and feel the joy!

Music often does that though. I still weep almost every time I hear Danny Boy:

But when ye come, and all the flowers are dying 

If I am dead, as dead I well may be 

You’ll come and find the place where I am lying 

And kneel and say an “Ave” there for me.

And I shall hear, tho’ soft you tread above me 

And all my grave will warm and sweeter be 

For you will bend and tell me that you love me 

And I shall sleep in peace until you come to me

Sadly this weekend there was no joy, unalloyed or at all, watching rugby….

Between a rock and a hard place

I once had to shoot my dog.

It had been run over and was in agony, so I borrowed a pistol and shot it. There was no vet in a hundred miles and its back was clearly broken ….

That was really just a hard place. Someone else offered to do it, but I felt that it was my problem to resolve. So I did it.

It was the right decision, but the sickening feeling and the guilty relief occasionally stab my well being. Sweet Hector!

There is no real unscarred escape from hard dilemmas, other than mental preparation and a rational analysis of solutions. There must be acknowledgement that hurt will occur and that pain will endure for some time.

The difficult part is ensuring that feelings of guilt are voided by a sensible assessment and choice of outcome.

When a problem is shared, the pain is doubled…

If the solution is not shared and owned, recriminations can rear their head later with even more pain. Negotiation and the gaining of acceptance of others is an extremely delicate exercise, with horrific emotional pitfalls both in the solution and the forever after.

To say that one emerges stronger from a distressing dilemma may be true, but strength is probably not the right measure; wiser perhaps?

So next time your leg is pinned by a rock, don’t cut it off until you are sure there isn’t a handy lever nearby or passer-by who could lift it.

The Gordian Knot

Life today is complicated: many components beset everyday problems. The modern politician has to find the courage and wisdom of Alexander to find a solution that is simple and easy to understand.

That’s the job – finding the right sword to cut the knot.

Brexit may be regarded as an Alexandian solution, not elegant but a simple severance. Covid has masked that track, so success will be hard to judge.

Here in Australia, my thoughts drift towards the Voice as a solution to Indigenous demands for attention and appeasement of the minority zealotry prevailing in the neo-liberal generation which has permeated our universities and subverted critical thinking.

It is an elegant, simple solution, devised to meet the short span of attention engendered by the memes, tropes and tweets of modern social media.

But the longer thoughts linger, supposedly simple solutions lose their lustre. It has a good chance of failure, which may require Albo to embrace the point of his sword as opposed to the blade. How sad!

Complexity and multiplicity of contributing factors cannot be ignored. Alexander could employ radical tactics, he was backed by the biggest, most succesful army in the world. Lesser mortals in democracies have to ensure majority support.

Putin in Russia frequently slashes through Gordian knots, even decapitating military threats … but the very fact that he perceives the need to do so suggests that there are greater problems.

There is very rarely a simple solution to a complex problem, without some sort of magic, deception, smoke or mirrors..

Something Eddy Jones, the Wallabies coach knows and is trading on in the Rugby World Cup, starting tomorrow!!

Yesterday Today and Tomorrow

The scent catches me: we seem to have had a bush in every house we lived in. Such a descriptive name: Vivid in youth, mild lavender in the middle, fading to white in old age.

Maybe life’s distinctions are not just good or bad, heaven or hell, one or zero, young or old.

Maybe it’s a triad that pervades: Id, Ego, Superego; discovery, knowledge, wisdom; experience, life, hope …

I love the music of the past; today’s music needs to age until familiarity brings content. The thing about the past is that we mostly recall the good stuff, which makes today joyful.

Its only when tomorrow becomes today and doesn’t bring joy do we interrogate the past to attribute blame. Of course, it is not so easy to get a clear picture of the past, because we tailor and garnish our memories. Each time they are taken out, they get a bit of a polish, so are usually changed from the original.

So many roads to follow – choice is rarely easy, unless it’s laissez-faire.

An idle thought (most of mine these days..) – focus in the past was sharp, it is a bit hazy today … tomorrow is an estimate.

Perhaps we should spend less time on the warm, familiar past and focus more on our future. Determination and tenacity are the best fuel in the pursuit of contentment. We determine today and step forward tomorrow, which always changes and needs ongoing determination.

So spend time today on sharpening your axe, start chopping tomorrow … but remember to do some sharpening each day.

When you are old, the awareness of the end of the road turns one’s mind to some sort of negotiation with the gods. FOMO is an abiding regret: will I see my grandson play 1st team or my grandaughters’ weddings .. balanced against the imperative of dying (easily and swiftly, of course) before any loved ones.

It is astounding how one seems to pick up speed and not notice how quickly the years pass as we near the bottom of the slope.

Goodness! I didn’t mean to lurch into the melancholy, I certainly don’t feel that; I was just trying to write anything but a rant!

It’s not the colours of the flowers so much as the scent that lingers and stirs the memory – like bacon!