Category: ego blography

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.

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!

The absurdities of our kind

I was thinking of another rant about the Woke Religion and its priests, the Voice and the courtesies we insist are paid to tyrants who we permit to flourish. But I have ranted about most of that already, so I need a change of tack.

We have too much tolerance.

We tolerate teenagers who steal and wreck the most expensive cars for Tik Tok kicks.

We tolerate demonstrators who burn and loot in their righteous displays of outrage.

We tolerate shoplifters because we are too scared to arrest them in case they create a victimisation scene.

We tolerate and compensate governments who suppress freedom, eliminate opponents and yet proclaim democracy.

We allow men claiming they are women to enter womens’ prisons despite convictions for rape of females

We give girls drugs to stop their sexual development and allow them to have their breasts removed, sometimes withhout parental consent.

We tolerate the mass murderers we catch, providing lifetime accommodation in our prisons.

We shoot mad dogs and any dangerous animal.

We also train soldiers in ways to efficiently kill people our governments declare are enemies; often in cold blood.

My recommendation is that we re-institute the death sentence for murderers and serial rapists.

Their places in our prisons can be filled by those who wilfully damage property.

We must also stop meeting tyrants and refuse them entry into our world.

I believe that the deterrent effect of capital punishment for terrible crimes will reverberate and reset the respect for societal values that has disappeared.

Odds and Ends

For some time I have been trying to work out what are the essences of Conservatism and Liberalism in politics.

Liberal politicians aim to maximise the transfer of wealth from Capital to the general population; Conservatives aim to increase the ability of business to generate wealth which in turn generates benefits to the population.

It would be easy to say Liberals are populists who succeed by appeasing the masses with new benefits and Conservatives are dedicated to preserving the wealth of the elites. Still a class war then…

The mission of both left and right wings is to be perceived as the greatest benefactor. If the Left take too much from the wealth generators, the economy falters and the voters suffer, if the Right do not give enough they will be abandoned, even if the economy is booming, although that can be a major attraction.

So recently in Australia, the Conservatves lost out in the election, despite “protecting” the economy during Covid: it was skilfully portrayed by the Left as arrogant and mysoginistic.

In the US the Liberals (Democrats) are seen to be too progressive with new rights and change, despite giving huge economic benefits, while the right (Republicans) are resistant and supportive of Trump who while personally offensive, appeals as a champion of conservative rights.

This is in my view is where the main battle in the World Woke War will be fought.

Moving on…

While Rugby remains my main affection, it has not been that exciting in recent years, despite skills seeming to improve.

The introduction of the TMO and on screen reviews is a contributor. Referees are no longer instinctive and decisive. The TMO should be reserved for reviewable foul play to be actioned after the game.

The other issue was the expulsion of Israel Folau, in my view one of the greatest rugby football talents ever. This is part of the Woke wave, along with the taking of the knee, welcomes to the country and the promotion of indigenous causes, support for the Voice, etc. which saw administrators kissing a number of arses to maximise their virtue signals.

They forgot that they are paid employees not elected representatives of players – they need to ensure that their utterances have the support of all players or shut up!

On the other hand…

I must say that I have really enjoyed the FIFA Womens’ World Cup matches that I have watched. I confess that I resented the intrusion of females into what I saw as male sports. I recant and am now a supporter, even of female rugby, although I cringe at the crunch of some of the contacts on those soft female bodies….

For men, it was sort of manly and glorious to be injured; a spot of claret endorsed manliness, a badge of glory – what is the significance for women?

There is no denying that they can be just as tough and their blood is also red but it is somehow uncomfortable. Vestiges of mysogyny?

Just to round it off..

I am glad that there seems to be backswing against transgender men being permitted to compete in womens’ sports. I don’t think they should be allowed in womens’ prisons either or in their toilets.

Who would think I was once threatened with deportation for my liberal views?

In the bleak mid-winter

I sometimes feel a bit feeble and a little apprehensive that the phone will ring to say a dear one is dead, or worse, dying.

Those are some of the prospects of the downhill side of the age spectrum.

Of course, there are others.

My newest grandchild is 3 months old today and can count to 42 and speaks some Italian. I have another due in a month! My oldest grandchild is already ten and growing into a terrifying beauty.

Six sprouts to water with tears of pride and joy.

Our children are grown up and independent; indulgent of their sometimes unwieldy parent. The tick tock is inexorable and marches on at pace.

I am dismayed to find we have been in Australia for 10 years already, after 15 in New Zealand.

Yet, Africa still aches within me: its politicians infuriate me and the increased pace of the crumbling of the infrastructure sickens. But it is where most of my extended family are and a trace of guilt lingers: that I will not die there where 9 generations of ancestors died and my parents, 4 sisters and two brothers have chosen to die.

But my chosen home is a bright, comfortable place and we see the grandchildren quite often, but not too much.

There are still four more Ashes tests and the Rugby World Cup this year.

Who do I want to win? Australia for the Ashes of course; the rugby is more difficult: I am a citizen of Ireland and New Zealand and live in Australia but my playing days were in Southern Africa.

I think I may bet on the Irish but my heart will be with the Bokke.

Perhaps I should re-read Desiderata:

… in the noisy confusion of life, keep peace in your soul.

With all its sham, drudgery and broken dreams, it is still a beautiful world.

Be cheerful.

Strive to be happy.

Per me si va la perduta gente

“Through me go the lost people” written on the gates of hell according to Dante’s Inferno, which is part of his Divine Comedy.

It was quoted in a novel, but it gave me pause. Recently, I was debating with a good friend, a pious and patient Christian, who has never hesitated in his efforts to persuade me to make the leap of faith required to be given the keys of heaven.

I am a sceptic, a Catholic who reversed to be a questioner, not a believer. To be honest this was because I lapsed and stopped following the disciplines of the religion in which I was baptised and confirmed. It was too hard to live the good life and still get up for mass and confess my sins in order that I could receive the body of Christ. Domine, non sum dignus,  ut intres sub tectum meum, sed tantum dic verbo et sanibitur anima meum – the legionnaire’s words to Jesus: I am not worthy, … say but the word and my soul shall be healed.

So I rationalised that I could leave it to God to forgive me (if I deserved it). My later thoughts and cursory research has instilled in me a great distrust of man as a purveyor of God or the Gods’ words.

The mere fact that there are estimated to be more than 45 000 Christian denominations with new prophets and witnesses, each with their own interpretation of the Christian God, suggests that since Jesus, religion has been a fertile field for creativity … and a comfortable living?

If we include the myriad of different sects amongst Muslims, Hindus, Jews,Buddhists, Taoists and many more, all with their own gods and dogma, how can we tell the good news from the fake news?

I believe that Gods exist as an answer to our need for Them. In order for us to be able to see our way forward, gods show us Heaven/Nirvana/ Valhalla at the end of the road, guide us and welcome us when we die…

… if we believe in them.

So I have been given pause for thought by Dante. Looks like I may be bound for the inferno.

I am reassured that my friend has a firm hold of my coat tails and may still pull me back! So, while I may not have the required faith, I still have not abandoned Hope.

I hope that unaddressed prayers still get delivered!

Are you a leader or a follower?

Daily writing prompt
Are you a leader or a follower?
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I tend to go my own way. I sometimes lead and sometimes I follow. I’m a slow thinker and don’t react fast, so sometimes I follow then stop. Sometimes I dash out the door to do something … then stop and think about it.

I often follow my wife’s lead