Forgotten - and forgiven?

Some years ago my mother-in-law was visiting. She was living far away, so we only saw her a couple of times every year. She was then in her late 60’s but bright and intelligent and interested in everything going on in the world.

 

One wintry afternoon she went out into the garden through the kitchen door. Five minutes later she was knocking on the window pane of the patio door. I unlocked it to let her in. She was fuming with rage: “why do you lock me out in this terrible cold?”. I tried to explain that she had gone out through the kitchen door, which was still unlocked. She wasn’t convinced. We were not always on the best terms.

I forgot about the incident.

I didn’t see her for a long time. My wife worried about her. She was getting forgetful. Didn’t remember where she put things.

Then one day we went to see her. When she came down the stairs towards me, her arms wide open and a genuine, warm smile upon her face, saying: “I’m so happy to see you!”, I knew something was wrong.

When she then added: “What’s your name?”, I knew it was serious.

She was diagnosed with Alzheimer. I would prefer to have had an argument with her from time to time.

A stone on the road

It was back when austerity was reality in Denmark, not just a concept. I was just twelve years old then, and I was earning my first money delivering bread for the local baker - before school and after school.

One morning I was heading back to the bakery with more baskets that could safely be secured to the bakers bicycle. I had only one hand on the handlebar, the other busy holding on to the baskets on the front of the bike. I was riding downhill. There was a stone lying on the road, and I saw it too late.

The crash was unavoidable. I found myself lying in the middle of the road, while the heavy bakers bicycle had rocketed across the road to bang into a motor car parked on the other side. And not just any motor car. It was the fishmonger's brand new delivery van, appearing in the street for the first time just a few days ago. The name of his shop was marked in glossy letters on the side of it. Now it didn't look so fine anymore.

Some kind people in the street helped me get back on my feet and inquired with concern whether I was hurt. I wasn't. Meanwhile the fishmonger had come out from his shop. He wasn't pleased.

"You better go back to the baker and tell him what you have done", he said, his head all red with anger.

I did. I was trembling. Would he be very angry? It must be costly to have the car repaired. Would I not be paid my money? Would my parents have to pay for the repair of the car? Would I loose my job?

"Are you hurt?" the baker asked worriedly. Having ascertained that I wasn't, he laughed scornfully. "What a bloody idiot", he said. "What a bloody fool, parking just there in the trajectory of your bicycle. That serves him well."

The baker didn't like the fishmonger - not one bit.

His wife did - but that's another story.

 

You say potatoes, I say kartofler .....

A multilingual society. We all know the problems involved here. Not only can't you understand those of your co-citizens who speak a language different from yours, but - much worse - they can't understand you.

 

If you think that's bad, then try to imagine a multilingual marriage. Only the consequences can be much more devastating. One spouse with one mother tongue, the other with another mother tongue, communication taking place in a shared foreign language.

 

The marriage of Mrs. Christensi and me is one such marriage. Our language of (mis)communication is English.

 

I remember an exchange of words from the early days of our marriage:

 

"I'm the boss, OK?" I said.

 

"OK, you're the bus - and I'm the bus driver", she replied.

 

And since then it has been like that.

Roll Over Beethoven

My youngest daughter had to write an essay for school. "Why is it important that we know the great men and women of the past?" was the assignment.

She asked me what she should write. I thought of all the great men and women. The scientists, the writers, the philosophers, the composers and the poets. I tried to find a common denominator for all of them.

If there was one, it must be something like this: they all said "those before me were wrong, I can do better than them! I can take mankind a step forward!" That's what the essay should be about.

I imagine Beethoven discarding the music of Haydn. That ain't the way to do it. I'll show them what real music is like (only later to have Mr. Berry tell him to roll over). Copernicus, laughing of the old fools who thought that the sun was revolving around Earth - what were they thinking about? too much church and too little serious work. Einstein taking science a step ahead with his Theory of Relativity. Dylan Thomas finding a new way with words. They all discarded what went before them and took mankind a step ahead in their particular field.

My daughter didn't buy it. "I don't think that's what my teacher wants", she said.

She went to her Mum for help. They came up with something about standing on the toes or shoulders or heads or something of really big people, so as to be able to see farther ahead.

She got a very good mark for the essay!

tell Tschaikowsky the news

So far no young minds have been depraved

Sport stars have to behave well. They have to set an example for the young. Their bad behaviour may deprave the minds of their young fans. They have a responsibility.

One evening one of these stars, far away from home in a foreign town, has decided to stay overnight and booked into a hotel. He goes out for a meal. His is recognised by some fans and agrees to go with them to bar for a drink.

(NB! So far no young minds have been depraved).

They, of course, all want to tell him how much they admire his accomplishments, and they all want to buy him a drink.

(NB! So far no young minds have been depraved).

Actually he had not done to well in the competition that day. He had been training hard for the event. He is disappointed and feels a low.

(NB! So far no young minds have been depraved).

It’s comforting to hear the praise of the supporters. The next event is well into the future. He makes an exception to his normally very strict way of living, and accepts the drinks he’s offered.

(NB! So far no young minds have been depraved).

He has more drinks, that he should have had (we all do once in a while, don’t we?). It’s getting late. Only him and his supporters are left in the bar.

  (NB! So far no young minds have been depraved).

At last he gets in a taxi and goes back to the hotel. The drinks are hitting hard now, and his has difficulty finding the right button to press in the lift.

  (NB! So far no young minds have been depraved).

Another hotel guest helps him. And he recognises the young star. This is something, and the posts a note about it on Facebook for his friends to see.

  (NB! So far no young minds have been depraved).

Unfortunately, the other guest is a semi-public figure, and a journalist gets the story. The next day the story hits the headlines. And the star is admonished for setting a bad example for the youth.

Shoot the messenger!

(This little story is inspired by, but not based on, a real story).

Reality Shows

I met an old class mate the other day. In a cafe in the small town where we both grew up, and where we went to the same school, sat in the same class for several years.

We were never really close friends. He was a bit of a bragger. His dad’s fancy car, his uncle’s boxing career, his new electric guitar and his rich record collections with records brought home from the USA by his sister. In fact, to put it bluntly, he was a pain in the ass.

We talked about the old days, of the old friends, what happened to them, et cetera. He seemed quite sympathetic now. You know, people can change. I couldn’t help asking, if he remembered how he used to brag about himself.

“Yea! I remember”, he said. “It must have been quite terrible. I realised later how ridiculous I was. But I have changed.”

He was home visiting his old mother. His father had died a few years ago. He was now living in the big town. Had actually done quite well. A beautiful wife and four kids. They had just been to the Caribbean for three weeks. Chartered a boat and went around the islands. It had been difficult getting time off from work, as he was the only one in the company who had any real understanding of their new market in China.

I would have liked to have heard more about it, but he had to leave. His chauffeur was waiting with the Bentley round the corner. It was only after I had finished my coffee, that I noticed that his wallet was lying on the floor. It must have slipped out of his jacket. I picked it up. It was too late to get out in the street to try to follow him. I opened the wallet to find his address. It was there on his bus pass.