Category: Musings

Simplifying our lives

Smell the roses

Actually I don’t watch the television at home, so when I am away and staying in a hotel it is novel to turn on the TV.

I am amazed at the similarity between productions, whatever country you are in. The practice now seems to use 4-second clips, with movement across the screen, together with a moving strip, rotating bill board, and a moving back drop, moving camera, and to cap it all constant music.

I have no need for this, in fact I have little use for any of it! Am I informed? – well yes to a point, but beyond a certain amount of scrambled information my own brain becomes confused.

Shopping is another area where a wealth of choice confuses me, but yet I lack nothing.

So often we are faced with pressure to have something. Well I have found that the less I have, the less I have to worry. Indeed, more to the point, I work on the principle: if it hasn’t been used for two years it can go. I have made a conscious choice to keep certain items, those which I believe are of use, but the rest is sold, given away, or recycled.

In this modern world, we have so much thrust upon us forgetting however that our parents were happy with what they had. I am also learning that our children are far more healthy, as a result of having love and time to do all manner of things together, being free of modern extras.

It is interesting to write down what you think you need, or what you would take with you if you had half a day to vacate your house.

Health and happiness come as a result of different things, but keeping up a program of work, or living a lifestyle that is gruelling will take it’s toll.

An expression that I recall being said by a friend once was: ”It was time to stop and smell the roses.” Well of course they will always smell, but it takes time to throw away other time consuming things to realise simple pleasures.

A quiet walk, time for a chat, slowing the pace down, some reading, music: I am happy.

By Bob Derham

Dad, what job am I going to do?

Approaching that big boundary between learning and earning.

It seems like only yesterday that my first daughter Natalie was born. Now Natalie is approaching 17, going to college and will soon be learning to drive. She did very well in her GCSE [UK exams taken around the age of 16. Ed] exams, but at the moment has no real idea of what she wants to do.

Perhaps not what you would expect her Dad to say but I think that is great. Because she can continue with a broad based approach to learning and from this she will eventually channel her interests and knowledge in a particular direction.

For A levels [University entrance exams taken around the age of 18. Ed] she is taking French, Psychology, Law, and Textiles!

Clearly for a young person another language enhances the ability to communicate with the wider world. Psychology is an interesting and a useful insight into fellow humans. Law will help to make her aware of what she will be expected to deal with but textiles, that was an initial puzzle to me.

The college were very unhappy about Natalie taking up textiles because she had not done art at school but, to be honest, that was because the school, at the time, had put pressure on her to drop art in favour of another subject that fitted into the weekly program of lessons.

But in just three months Natalie has shown great flair for textiles and I am amazed by the work she has produced. However, when I called her this evening from abroad (I’m currently in the Middle East), she was feeling very unsure because her form master has been putting pressure on her to decide what she wants to do when she leaves college.

If you are lucky enough to know your career path then life is easy but actually I am pleased that my daughter is building her knowledge in an open way. I only ask that she does her best.

Exam results might seem important on the day of announcement, and they may well be of serious consideration when applying for jobs in competition with other applicants, but who is the person?

Social awareness is hugely important, and trying different jobs earning money in the school holidays has given her an insight into various ways that people earn their living.

My suggestion is for her to not even worry about exams. Just enjoy the information she is learning. In France last year she was chatting away to locals in French, and laughing, because the level of understanding was already there.

Take the pressure off ! Make learning fun. Take the subjects you want. Enjoy education. There is greater variety with regard to work these days. Natalie will not end up in an office as she fears. Her general level of education and happy disposition will guide her to something different.

It is difficult to try an explain all this, but success in adult life is not a multitude of qualifications and lots of money, it is a balance of finding something that is of interest, pays a suitable wage, and makes you happy.

When I was at school nobody suggested making stained glass windows, or restoring paintings, or moving to Greece and working with different textiles but many things are possible now.

I only hope that she will trust herself, and then when she finally discovers something she really likes, she will be happy.

By Bob Derham

Time Flies!

Family echoes.

Today is my 54th birthday. I am now the age that my mother was when she died, on January 8th, 1985. I knew then that she died too young, that she had so much more living to do.

Two weeks before her death, I visited her in the convalescent hospital where she had been for months. She was going home! The doctors had given her a clean bill of health. She ordered a new skirt to celebrate and had it shipped to her home. We got out maps of London and made plans to take a trip there together, as adults, as friends, the following summer. I went back to school, happy to have had such a nice visit, happy she would soon be going home.

About ten days later, on January 5th, 1985, I got a call from my brother, telling me that mother had septic shock, that she might not make it, and that I needed to get there, fast. I bought a one-way ticket and packed a dark suit. She was still alert when I finally arrived. The nurses remembered me, and let me stay with her, even when visiting hours were over. I got to talk to her, and ask her what she wanted me to do for her, what she wanted the doctors to do for her, what measures she wanted taken. She wanted to live. She was getting weak, working to breath, waiting for the antibiotics to work. Or not. The doctors recommended a ventilator, to help her conserve her strength. Before they put it in, she had one last thing to say: “I love my children.” She died that night.

Lillian Harris, Sherry's mother, at age 20 with her first child Brenda

I remember thinking at the time how sad it was that she had never gone to college, never had a career, never fulfilled her dreams. That she had fallen in love at 18, gotten married, and devoted her entire adult life to her children. That her last thought was of her children. I was single and doing odd jobs while earning a doctorate. I had a cat and helped take care of my 90-year-old neighbor, but having children was the furthest thing from my mind.

Fast forward to today, January 12, 2010. I am now the age my mother was when she died. I did go to college, I do have a career, and I have chipped away at those dreams. But those are the side bars of my life. Like every parent out there, the moment my first child was born, I understood what my mother meant. I understood how much you could love someone, how you could put their interests ahead of your own, and how you could not be happy unless they were okay. And, as the years go by and I get older, I understand what a precious gift my mother gave me when she said those last words. She taught me that time flies, and you never know what day might be your last. She taught me to treasure every second with your children because, before you know it, they have grown up and are out the door. Just yesterday, they were toddlers; blink, and they are turning 30.

Time passes so fast. Make it worth it.

By Sherry Jarrell
[Readers may find that an earlier Post by Sherry fits very beautifully with this moving account published today. Ed.]

Criminals or enemies of the State?

A reflection on what ought not to be a legal difficulty

Yesterday, Dr Sherry Jarrell strayed outside her normal field of economics and voiced the feelings of an ordinary US citizen. That is that the “underwear” bomber should be seen as a combatant, not as a common criminal.

It’s easy to share the frustration of others that someone who allegedly was committed to blowing up an American airliner was clearly behaving as an enemy of the State and, therefore, should be treated and tried in a military manner.

What is the history of such definitions as combatants? WikiPedia provided an answer. (NB. Good reporting should cross-check a source with another source. I spoke with a Barrister friend of mine and he confirmed that the entry under WikiPedia appeared to be legally correct and reliable. Readers are asked to make up their own minds on this issue.)

Mexican outlook

The work ethic!

I moved out to San Carlos, Sonora State, Mexico in September 2008 and while San Carlos is a favourite holiday & second home place for North Americans, it is still possible to watch the way that Mexicans approach their lives and view the world.

This lovely tale was sent to me recently (thank you Jonathan) and it is published because it not only illustrates the Mexican attitude but also reminds us ‘Westerners’ that we aren’t necessarily correct with our Western views.

Read the rest of this Post

Blogging and jail!

Is blogging the same as journalism?

There is a very interesting Post on the Blog TechCrunch. Let me quote a little from that Post:

Last week two bloggers, Steven Frischling and Chris Elliot, were visited by TSA agents and threatened with jail time if they did not reveal their source of the TSA Travel Directive that they each published shortly after the attempted terrorist attack on Christmas day. Frischling caved immediately and handed over his computer. Elliot did not. Since then the Department of Homeland Security has dropped the subpoenas, but there is a bigger issue here. The protection of sources is a cornerstone of our freedom of speech.As bloggers, we have a duty of confidentiality to our sources. And that means keeping information confidential even if threatened with the tyranny of government. And even if the legislatures and courts haven’t decided that as bloggers we have real rights protecting us from that tyranny.

I’ll never be surprised by a tyrannical government. In a sense, it’s their job. It’s our job as bloggers to stand up to that tyranny, even if our liberty has been threatened. Journalists have gone to jail rather than disclose their sources. If bloggers want the same level of respect, and protection from government by the courts, they need to stand up for what’s right.

The New Year’s Day walk

A walk in two continents.

For many years it’s been traditional for me and the family to take a walk on New Year’s Day. But this time, without me, my wife and family back in the UK decided to go to Stonehenge for a walk, on a cold crisp day.

Why ‘back in the UK’? Because I was in Sharjah, one of the seven emirates in the UAE.

When here I always stay in one of the original hotels of the country, built on the edge of the corniche. As the day was warm and bright I decided to vary my walk.

Instead of going some 5kms round the lagoon, I made my way towards the area where the shops are mostly run by Indian people. For many years their influence has been very strong, indeed the rupee was used as currency until not long ago.

It didn’t take long to leave the main area that is regularly seen and head down towards the old port where the Dhows are moored. There is an ancient feel to this area, and the water front is full of activity.

There was one man who had been unloading coal from his boat onto the quay side. You could hardly see his features until he smiled. All along there were people onboard their various craft, none of which really looked seaworthy, but which obviously make a regular and long journey to India.

The pathway was broken, and the occasional cat appeared from a rubbish bin. I made my way past the open market where animals are sold. Nothing is hidden here ! It was prayer time, and from many different minarets came the sound of the chanting. There was a lot of dirt and rubbish, uneven walk areas, and tatty shops. All with quite an East African feel. I passed a selection of tents where many plants and flowers were for sale; no garden centre as we have come to expect in England.

I finally worked my way down to the fish market, and was amazed at the white covering to the broken pathway, which turned out to be made up entirely of fish scales.

The next part of the walk was back towards the lagoon where directly in front of me was the Burj Dubai, which has taken

just over 5 years to build, and measures 2684 feet. It is due to open this week, and if you want some office space, the cost is $4000 per square foot. The contrast from such back street filth to the glitter of the world’s tallest building separated by only a few miles brought home the stark contrast of what for most people is reality, and the unreal.

Sadly the amount of rubbish in all its forms is a huge problem, but I did smile when I saw one fisherman improvising, for instead of a float on the end of his line he was using the upturned remains of an old plastic bottle, but it did work!

Nobody bothered me, and I was quite happy taking in the sights and smells, and lost in my own thoughts, amazed that if you smiled and caught somebody’s gaze they would likely wish you Happy New Year.

By Bob Derham

Before we forget …

that Christmas for young children is a wondrous place.

Here we are on the verge of the first full week of the New Year and soon busy lives will engage with all that 2010 is bringing. So I wanted to share with you something truly magical that happened early on Christmas morning in the Derham house.

Our little four year old woke us at 4 o’clock Christmas morning crying.

“Father Christmas hasn’t come”, he struggled to tell us through his tears.

Then he saw his stocking.

“Oh He Did Come “

“I have been a good boy after all!”

And with that he settled back to sleep.

Joy ……

By Bob Derham

A Perfect Neighborhood

The best place to live? It’s all down to your neighbors!

No offense to anyone else, but I live in the perfect neighborhood.

My neighborhood is not big; it consists of only one street, a circle; where you enter the street is the same place you exit. There are only about 30 homes on my street. None of them are very fancy or very big. Most of the houses are older. Some need repair. One or two are empty now. No, it isn’t the size of the neighborhood or the grandeur of the houses.

I live close to the University where I work. I could walk to work if I needed to. But I haven’t needed to, except for the one time, when the Presidential debate was held on campus and security closed it down to all but pedestrian traffic. Although it is certainly convenient, proximity to work is not the reason my neighborhood is perfect.

My girls are unlikely to agree just yet with my assessment of our neighborhood. But they are still young, and there are no kids their age on our street. One neighbor does have grandchildren their age who visit sometimes, but that doesn’t really count, they tell me. Off and on, they complain and say they want to move. My 15-year-old wants to live in a city, the bigger the better, the more people the better; my 13-year-old wants to live on a horse farm, the bigger the better, the more horses the better.

But I tell them that some day, when they are married and have children and are busy with life, they will look back on this time in our neighborhood, and will understand what I meant when I told them how very lucky we are to live here.

Because we have neighbors; real neighbors!

They welcome new families with home-baked bread; take in your mail when you are away; call to check on you when you are sick; give you a ride to get your car out of the shop; lend you their extra tall ladder. All without hesitation and without expecting anything in return. And they let me do what I can for them. There’s genuine warmth and support between neighbors on my street. It’s like an extended family.

Maybe even a little better! Why? Because they do all of this without pushing, without invading your privacy, without crossing into your personal space. They are supportive without being nosy. How totally wonderful: to have support when you need it but, as important, perhaps more important, you also have your privacy. I can’t imagine a better combination. I can’t imagine feeling safer. I can’t imagine a more wonderful neighborhood. I can’t imagine a better home. My neighbors are the best.

By Sherry Jarrell

Ode to a Church Organ

What comes around goes around!

A few years ago I saw an advert for a small piano sized electric organ in our local shop window.

Great I thought, that will be a good way to introduce some music into the home, and see if I can add pedals to the idea of playing the piano.

It didn’t take long to track down the owner, but unfortunately the organ was in a back room, down two sets of stairs, round a corner, in a house which was isolated and difficult to find. Whereas I should have gone along with a team of

people, there were only three of us to move the instrument, but we eventually managed to move the thing out of the house, and into a trailer which we used to transport it to our house.

My wife thought I was mad, but I really liked it because it only had the sound of an organ, not a choice of sounds. It even had stops, not buttons to choose the different pipes you wanted to use.

Actually we were undertaking a great deal of building work at the time thus when our local church’s organ came to the end of it’s life, it seemed a good idea to offer them the chance to have this piece. It was ten times better than the original and sounded wonderful: job done!

However, last year some kind soul left money to the church and it was decided that the churcch could afford a new organ.

It duly arrived and our old one was moved to an alcove at the back of the church: I was asked to remove it.

Where was I going to put it? By chance we had acquired an almost new one ourselves and nobody seemed to want this old but wonderful piece.

We tried Ebay – no luck. Adverts – again no interest. The pressure started to grow.

People were asking me to move that old organ of mine. Letters started to arrive. Could I please take it away – I became the bad guy.

Eventually, I made contact with a man in London who would be happy to take it away for free, but he wanted to hear it play. Whoops! It was already loaded on my trailer!

But I managed to position trailer and load near an electric socket and in broad daylight, with the aid of the mobile phone, I stood and played a range of music! Our customer was happy.

He agreed to come at about eight o’clock one Saturday morning, but actually arrived two hours ahead of time at six in the morning!

The man brought his wife, dressed in her national dress, explaining that they wanted the organ for a church in their village back in Ghana. They had never ventured outside London, so this visit to the country was a major event. They joined us for breakfast and we showed our children a map depicting where the organ would eventually go.

The man was built like an ox and he and his wife together were quite happy to lift the instrument and put it in the back of their vehicle.

Funny old life!

By Bob Derham

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