Startlingly Familiar

Tonight I find myself writing a post about free will, or to be more precise - the lack of it. In doing so, I revert to type and wander off topic to find easy sensory diversion in Youtube. I come across a Why? video through which I discover my wife incarnate.

And so I find another reason to love her;



Some of you may remember that this Four Tet video did the same for me back in 2007

Consequently, I have matters more pressing than Sans God to attend to...

Like I have any choice in the matter, eh?

Oh you pretty atheists

You may enjoy listening to this while reading;



Vivaldi's Concerto Grosso in G Minor is one of my favourite pieces of Baroque music. I find it harmonically beautiful and structurally perfect. As with most music from this period, I'm satisfied when the music repeatedly resolves to its root key. It just feels 'right' to me. Safe, even.

Wholesome.

Just like the film where the boy gets the girl, good triumphs over evil and the mystery is solved - its all tied off nice and safe. It meets that very human need we have for meaning, structure and resolution. We are after all, just pattern recognition machines.

Classical music may not be up your street and to be fair, I'm hardly the buff myself (I'm an indy boy at heart), but the beauty of this piece is undeniable. It's as if it has an inherent, tangible beauty - something you might grasp in the palm of your hand.

Kittens are nice too. You can hold them in the palm of your hand if you want. Sunsets, grand vistas and stars are equally beautiful, if rather difficult to get a grip of. Yet still they feel 'right' somehow.

Love and morality have aesthetic similarities too I think, as it's tempting to see them as tangible entities - things that exist in and of themselves and outwith our own bodies.

I've had many a conversation with the faithful about this very phenomenon. They go something like this;

"Just look around you - look at how beautiful the world is. How could something so perfect be random?"

"Erm, we've evolved to see beauty in this 'apparent' order perhaps?"

"Yes, but it would have to be beautiful in the first place, surely?"

or,

"What is love?"

"Fucked if I know mate, but it feels nice..."

and so on...

I find that on these points of aesthetics, I have some commonality with believers. I've never struggled with the notion of gods per-se, but the nature of beauty, love and morality have had me tied up in knots for years. Like the Christian, who believes that God is the absolute root of beauty, I've struggled to get to grips with them as human, relativist constructions.

Until I decided to stop trying to get to the bottom of it and just get on with appreciating them for what they are.

John Cage, the avant-garde composer (and polar opposite to Vivaldi) once said;

"If you develop an ear for sounds that are musical it is like developing an ego. You begin to refuse sounds that are not musical and that way cut yourself off from a good deal of experience."

Well said, I say.

A question for the boys

I'm no cuddly sausage. Snuggles are something I have to consciously initiate. That's not to say I don't enjoy them, particularly with my wife luckily enough. My male brain however, wherever it is in my body, always assumes it's a precursor to sex.

Honestly, I can't help myself.

Mind, I'm no cold fish. Against my male counterparts, I consider myself to be amongst the most emotionally literate. Yet physical contact isn't something I crave each moment of every day. I'd rather make 'brain contact' with my love. This gets me into bother from time to time.

You see, all the women I've ever 'known' have eventually said the same - "I don't know how you really feel about me..."

I've learned that for all my linguistic and musical abilities, there's nothing better than a squash against the kitchen sink to show your loved one how you feel. It beats any song or poem by a mile.

Miche deserves better than this, so I make sure I do my utmost. And each time I cuddle her, I get that familiar endorphin rush. We have the 'right thing' you see and are made for each other I think. Yet I'm doomed to repeated failure as I doubt I'll ever get it right.

Bedtime is a wholly different affair. Besides the obvious nuptials, I can't bear no physical contact. Be it a big toe, elbow, back or nose tip, I must feel her beside me. Otherwise I can't sleep.

So I wonder, am I a typical bloke and therefore on the autistic spectrum of 'extreme maleness', or am I different from the norm?

Now, I don't want to hear from those of you in the fresh beginnings of love, for that is a wholly different matter entirely. I want to hear from the blokes who've been with their missus' for some time.

Are you spontaneously overcome by the need to smother your woman with kisses each day, or is this a less frequent stirring? And if you are, do you just want to shag her when you do?

Perhaps those of the fairer sex who frequent this blog have an opinion on their own menboys?

This is my love

We have a night and a morning to ourselves sans children. These occurrences we savor, for they are rare. Right now Miche is enjoying her bath whilst I close and lock down our connection to the outside world.

By her request I don't share images of my love with you. I struggle to see why frankly, as she's the most beautiful thing of things to me and I want to show her off. Her wishes come first however, beyond anything else.

But I can cheat, yes? What if I found her double on the Internet and posted it? That would be OK, surely?

And bugger me, here she is; My wife epitomised in a Four Tet video...

Sisyphus in the round

Given enough time, all couples will write scripts together. They use them to re-enact their histories. The past you see, has a habit of repeating itself. When it does, it's easier to do a read through than it is to write a new script on the fly.

Minor edits are made of course, and the backdrop sometimes different, but the themes remain static.

Like any good play, they're usually dramatic. At the core is an unresolved conflict. We watch the actors fight and struggle to solve their quandary. It builds into a stupendous climax where finally the conflict is resolved. The actors are spent.

You can of course, opt for rolling the script up into a tube and thwacking the other about the head with it. It has a similar effect. Albeit a little one dimensional.

The rock is perched on a ledge. Safe for now.

Did I just say that out loud?

Miche my beloved, needn't wear make up to look good. She has a complexion some women would kill for. Even in the small corners, where time has left its mark, she has by her very nature, tamed it.

You see, Miche smiles more than she frowns and spends more time laughing than she does shouting. In doing so, the lines that she does have, simply follow her natural countenance. It is most beautiful.

I love her for this congruence; the fact that what you see is what you get. Also, she is extrovert. So you're rarely left in any doubt as to how she is feeling. This gives vital balance to my introversion, as I'm often found to be frowning at some hidden quandary. Without her, I swear I'd disappear up my own rectum.

I try to tell her these things as often as possible. Being a man however, I frequently forget to say them aloud.

Too much of a bad thing?

My beautiful wife said to me today,

"You think too much."

She worries that my incessant Socratic Questioning will get the better of me. Perhaps she imagines me in a world of entropy, where everything is reduced to blandness. A world where love, beauty and awe have been swept away by explanation.

I say to her, "It's an impossibility, for I will never truly grasp the immensity of my love for you."

Marvin Minsky came to mind;

"We all are reluctant, with regard to music and art, to examine our sources of pleasure or strength. In part we fear success itself– we fear that understanding might spoil enjoyment. Rightly so: art often loses power when its psychological roots are exposed. No matter; when this happens we will go on, as always, to seek more robust illusions!"

The more I understand not only the world, but myself, the more I appreciate what I have. However fleeting it may be.

Illusion or not, no matter.

Gravity never made someone fall in love.

Fifteen years ago I fell head over heels in love with Michelle. Seven years ago we married and five years ago we had our first child. I consider myself, in these respects, to be the luckiest man alive.

Even though the rush of our nascent longings have calmed, we remain very much together. To the point where only 'us' matters much of the time.

To me, enduring Love is an exercise in humility, luck and determination.

However, it could also be down to a good set of hormones;

THE FIRST STAGE

Testosterone and Oestrogen

The first stage of love - lust is driven by the sex hormones testosterone and oestrogen – in both men and women.

STAGE TWO: Attraction

Adrenaline

The initial stages of falling for someone activates your stress response, increasing your blood levels of adrenalin and cortisol. This has the charming effect that when you unexpectedly bump into your new love, you start to sweat, your heart races and your mouth goes dry.

Dopamine

Newly ‘love struck’ couples have high levels of the neurotransmitter dopamine. This chemical stimulates ‘desire and reward’ by triggering an intense rush of pleasure. It has the same effect on the brain as taking cocaine!

Couples often show the signs of surging dopamine: increased energy, less need for sleep or food, focused attention and exquisite delight in smallest details of this novel relationship.

Serotonin

One of love's most important chemicals. This chemical may explain why when you’re falling in love, your new lover keeps popping into your thoughts.


STAGE 3: Attachment

Oxytocin

It's a powerful hormone released by men and women during orgasm.

It probably deepens the feelings of attachment and makes couples feel much closer to one another after they have had sex. The theory goes that the more sex a couple has, the deeper their bond becomes. Oxytocin also seems to help cement the strong bond between mum and baby and is released during childbirth. It is also responsible for a mum’s breast automatically releasing milk at the mere sight or sound of her young baby.

Vasopressin

Is an important hormone in the long-term commitment stage. Vasopressin (also called anti-diuretic hormone) works with your kidneys to control thirst. Its potential role in long-term relationships was discovered when scientists looked at the prairie vole. Prairie voles indulge in far more sex than is strictly necessary for the purposes of reproduction. They also – like humans - form fairly stable pair-bonds. When male prairie voles were given a drug that suppresses the effect of vasopressin, the bond with their partner deteriorated immediately as they lost their devotion and failed to protect their partner from new suitors.

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Hormones or no hormones; Miche, you are adored.

Spoongran

My Gran died three weeks ago. I miss her dearly. She was, and still is, a major influence in my life.

For the last three years Gran lived in a nursing home that cared for people with dementia. Prior to that Gran had lived, fiercely independently on her own for years. When she died it was bittersweet experience for all her family (I think) as she'd been very ill for a couple of weeks. I guess we had experienced anticipatory grief in waiting together for her to pass away.

In the end she was with three of her four children, her son in law and two grand children. She died, with all of us around her quietly, gently and with a great deal of dignity. When I die, this is how I want it to be.

I put on the suit I wore at Grans funeral today. It was for a meeting with some upper wigs of the behemoth that is our National Health Service. It was the first time I'd worn it since the funeral. I'd forgotten that I'd left a print out of the tribute I gave as part of the ceremony for Gran in the breast pocket.

I read it through before the meeting. I was late in to the room, predictably.

Remembering Gran and the way she lived her life has really lifted my spirits.

Here's what I said about Gran, hopefully it'll give you a flavour of the wonderful person she was;

"Grandma was 4’ 9’’ at her tallest. For a small person she was the biggest woman I’ve ever known. Grandma commanded an immediate respect and admiration from all those around her. She had almost limitless energy and drive. Looking back, I can hardly recall ever seeing Grandma sitting down.

We have photos and videos and all sorts of keep sakes that will remind us of Grandma. However there is one thing that for Miche & I sums up all that Grandma was.

This is a wooden spoon that Grandma had. She gave it to us shortly before moving out of her flat. If you didn’t know Grandma you might assume that this is just an old worn out wooden spoon that should be discarded and a new one bought. But if you knew Grandma you would know why this is so special to us.

I’ve never seen a wooden spoon so worn down. I can hardly imagine the elbow grease and years of effort to so smoothly wear this spoon down. This signifies Grandmas determination and stamina for life in my view. That, and biceps like walnuts.

This spoon must be at least 30 years old. Grandma could have easily afforded a new spoon, but she chose to keep the same old spoon that she’d had for years. This reflects Gran’s make do and mend attitude to her life that so many of her generation shared. I think many of us can learn a thing or two from her. What with our shiny new cars, dvd players, PC’s ; wide screen TV’s.

We hang this spoon up in our kitchen so that we’re reminded of Grandma each day and inspired by her drive and determination to meet the challenges each day and to appreciate what we do have, rather than worrying about what we don’t.

I have so many other memories of Grandma that I will cherish. Some of them you may recall too. I’d like to share some of them with you;

* I will never forget the smell of her Sunday lunch as we walk up to Grandmas front door.

* The best Yorkshire puddings I’ve ever tasted, or ever likely to. Mind you, I won’t miss the veg so much as she would usually start cooking the veg for Sunday lunch on Wednesday afternoon.

* Making brass rubbings of her metal trays that she’d brought back from Africa of elephants.

* Playing with her little bakelite walking cow, trying to get it to walk down a book without falling over.

* Peering into her display cabinet at her delicate china ornaments and Faberge eggs, wondering if I’d ever be able to play with them. I was never allowed to. Even as an adult I didn’t dare open the cabinet.

* Always coming away from her flat with a gift of some sort. A small toy, fifty pence piece or a keepsake.

* Boxes upon boxes of her biscuits that she cooked in industrial size quantities and taking them to my work and sharing them out. People who’d never met my Gran would ask after her and ask when they would get their next fix of her ginger snaps.

* Looking through her photos and mementos from her numerous holidays. Imagining grandma on the Great Wall of China, at the base of Victoria Falls, travelling by helicopter in the Grand Canyon and taking a balloon trip in her 80’s.

* Drinking tea out of china cups and learning to believe that tea in ceramic mugs was somehow evil and ought to be a crime against humanity.

* Wondering what else she had secreted away in that huge cupboard in her flat. It really was like a tardis in there.

* Listening to her tell stories of how she cooked for royalty. Chuckling at her making egg and chips for a prince who’d never had anything like it before. And him coming back for more.

* Having grandma stay over at our house on Christmas Eve.

* Being so proud when I told people about my Grandma who, in her late eighties still lived independently and self sufficiently.

* Grandma taking care of other residents in her block of flats, many of them significantly younger than she was.


I’ve got a lock of my hair from when I was 8 months old. Grandma gave me it not so long ago. (She had it archived this in that huge Tardis cupboard.) I can remember the day that she gave me it. At the time Gran struggled to remember whether she’d left the oven on or not, or what day of the week it was, but she could still tell the story of how she cut a lock of my hair and sealed it in a little envelope for ‘memories’, back in 1972.

I realise now why she gave me this, as around that time she seemed to be constantly giving away other important things to her, including the spoon; keepsakes and items that I remember being important to her.

Grandma was giving away her memories before she lost them.

Now that Grandma is gone in body, our task is to keep these memories and experiences safe for her. By doing this we’ll keep her close.

I know all of us will miss Grandma, Elsie dearly. She was a woman of such energy, spirit and determination who had a limitless capacity for generosity and love. But Grandma dying is no tragedy. And I don’t think she would want us to think it was. I feel that Grandma would like all of us to remember her how she was;

* Sprightly
* Determined
* Funny
* Belligerent
* Stubborn
* Caring
* Generous and
* Loving

She will never be forgotten."