I am eating far too much chocolate for my own good. Of course, I have tried to offset the ill effects with greater amounts of physical exercise and a higher degree of restraint at mealtimes. Still, it worries me that I am gradually sliding down this slippery slope into addiction: quite frankly, my brain refuses to work without suitable gastronomical stimulation, and chocolate is the handiest food substance to keep around.
Sigh.
Wednesday, 20 June 2007
Wednesday, 13 June 2007
The Labyrinth
Sting's Songs from the Labyrinth plays as I scribe this, bringing me back to another age. A more romantic age, some claim, an age of wondrous letters and songs of love. I will not gainsay them. Perhaps one's heart dwells upon love and desire when one must wait months for a reply. Perhaps inspiration's hammer strikes often and true when one has the luxury of mooning away one's afternoons. Perhaps the heartache of loss hurts more deeply when the nights are long and lack diversion. Perhaps I am merely feeling overwhelmed; butter spread so thin that one needs to feel the greasy surface to know which side of the bread it is on.
Time is no longer measured in months and seasons, as it was in days past. Suzanne Vega sang of Yesterday's Troubles, just as Sting's music evokes an image of days that flowed at a slower, more stately pace. These days, time is measured in minutes and seconds, with emails and sms' marching in and occupying the march of my hours. These days, my days pass in a torrent, a veritable cascade, bringing with them the flotsam and jetsam of recollections and regrets. These days, I begin to feel the weight of my years.
I know the reason for this mood: over the course of the last few weeks, I have been blessed with a great many chance meetings. Friends and acquaintances from my past, from school, from previous jobs, and even from other worlds, have appeared in the river of my days; ripples that I thought spent surface now, to reveal that they had merely been hiding beneath all the turbulence.
It was a joy to see each and every one of them again. Some I have not met in seasons, others in years, and the rare few, for nigh two decades. An orgy of 'do you remember's and 'what have you done with your life's generally ensued, followed by the exchange of numbers and email addresses, and promises to 'stay in touch'. Yet, in the hustle and bustle of our lives, will we? Too much to do, and too little time. This is a disease that afflicts us all in this day and age. Our work consumes far too much of our time and our energies, and what we did not squander in our headlong rush towards that next project deadline, we dole out to our families. Little wonder then, that we hardly have time to meet and eat and drink copious amounts of caffeinated beverages. Once I would have said beer, whisky or wine, but I am getting older and the penalties for getting caught with alcohol in one's bloodstream is fast approaching cruel and unusual proportions. The authorities in question will doubtless disagree.
So I am resolved, for this year at least, to seize the day, to live in the now. I shall make time. I shall invest it wisely in my family and my friends. I shall fashion good memories and great works together. Or great memories and good works, accordingly. There will come a time for me to retire, a time where my days are no longer filled with such pressing demands. When that time comes, my family and friends shall be there to inspire me and surprise me. And should they be otherwise occupied .... Well, I shall have reminiscences aplenty to keep me warm.
Time is no longer measured in months and seasons, as it was in days past. Suzanne Vega sang of Yesterday's Troubles, just as Sting's music evokes an image of days that flowed at a slower, more stately pace. These days, time is measured in minutes and seconds, with emails and sms' marching in and occupying the march of my hours. These days, my days pass in a torrent, a veritable cascade, bringing with them the flotsam and jetsam of recollections and regrets. These days, I begin to feel the weight of my years.
I know the reason for this mood: over the course of the last few weeks, I have been blessed with a great many chance meetings. Friends and acquaintances from my past, from school, from previous jobs, and even from other worlds, have appeared in the river of my days; ripples that I thought spent surface now, to reveal that they had merely been hiding beneath all the turbulence.
It was a joy to see each and every one of them again. Some I have not met in seasons, others in years, and the rare few, for nigh two decades. An orgy of 'do you remember's and 'what have you done with your life's generally ensued, followed by the exchange of numbers and email addresses, and promises to 'stay in touch'. Yet, in the hustle and bustle of our lives, will we? Too much to do, and too little time. This is a disease that afflicts us all in this day and age. Our work consumes far too much of our time and our energies, and what we did not squander in our headlong rush towards that next project deadline, we dole out to our families. Little wonder then, that we hardly have time to meet and eat and drink copious amounts of caffeinated beverages. Once I would have said beer, whisky or wine, but I am getting older and the penalties for getting caught with alcohol in one's bloodstream is fast approaching cruel and unusual proportions. The authorities in question will doubtless disagree.
So I am resolved, for this year at least, to seize the day, to live in the now. I shall make time. I shall invest it wisely in my family and my friends. I shall fashion good memories and great works together. Or great memories and good works, accordingly. There will come a time for me to retire, a time where my days are no longer filled with such pressing demands. When that time comes, my family and friends shall be there to inspire me and surprise me. And should they be otherwise occupied .... Well, I shall have reminiscences aplenty to keep me warm.
Monday, 11 June 2007
The Herald I
Herald is my name of old,
From which my metier may be told.
Aneas Sylvius later on related
How the heralds were incorporated
Many years before to go on missions
Visiting princes and men of high position,
And freely passing every frontier.
To the heralds should one reverence bear,
Give them gifts and jewels and courtly clothing,
Fortify them in their lordly living,
Guide them safely and defend them,
Strictly punish whosoe'er offend them.
- epigram by Hans Guldenmundt, about 1550
Each time I consider the Herald, I find myself inexplicably wondering about laundry. Here was a man who was welcome in all the Courts of Europe. Surely he must have maintained an impressive wardrobe, no? However did he manage to keep his clothes clean? In comparison, my laundry basket is ever in a deplorable state. Of course, my wife would be less generous if she had to describe it. Nevertheless, I can honestly say that the situation is much improved over what had been before I wed her.
But, back to the herald....
Here was a man without power save what he borrowed from those he claimed to serve, without status, without means. Yet, in a tourney or upon the field of battle, he was an authority to be reckoned with. And the reason for this? His knowledge. To me, he was a true symbol of meritocracy.
Or was he?
From which my metier may be told.
Aneas Sylvius later on related
How the heralds were incorporated
Many years before to go on missions
Visiting princes and men of high position,
And freely passing every frontier.
To the heralds should one reverence bear,
Give them gifts and jewels and courtly clothing,
Fortify them in their lordly living,
Guide them safely and defend them,
Strictly punish whosoe'er offend them.
- epigram by Hans Guldenmundt, about 1550
Each time I consider the Herald, I find myself inexplicably wondering about laundry. Here was a man who was welcome in all the Courts of Europe. Surely he must have maintained an impressive wardrobe, no? However did he manage to keep his clothes clean? In comparison, my laundry basket is ever in a deplorable state. Of course, my wife would be less generous if she had to describe it. Nevertheless, I can honestly say that the situation is much improved over what had been before I wed her.
But, back to the herald....
Here was a man without power save what he borrowed from those he claimed to serve, without status, without means. Yet, in a tourney or upon the field of battle, he was an authority to be reckoned with. And the reason for this? His knowledge. To me, he was a true symbol of meritocracy.
Or was he?
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