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 A tentative blog to test the temperature. |
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Ten years ago I was writing several blogs on various subjects - F1 motor racing, Music, Classic Cars, Great Romances and, most crushingly, a personal journal that included my thoughts on America, memories of England and Africa, opinion, humour, writing and anything else that occurred. It all became too much (I was attempting to update the journal every day) and I collapsed, exhausted and thoroughly disillusioned in the end. So this blog is indeed a Toe in the Water, a place to document my thoughts in and on WdC but with a determination not to get sucked into the blog whirlpool ever again. Here's hoping.     |
| Inheritance It’s true that we all become our parents as we get older. In my seventy-seventh year I have ample evidence to prove the theory. So many of the things I say with regularity are echoes of my father’s outdated and sometimes mysterious sayings. An example is, “Nobody here but us chickens.” The reason for that one came out when I was watching a Laurel and Hardy movie on the television. There’s a scene in which they hide from the sheriff in a chicken hutch. When the sheriff arrives and calls out, “Anybody here?” one of the guys answers, “Nobody here but us chickens.” It’s not only my father that shapes my old age. I realised very early on that I’d inherited one of my mother’s most irritating features. She would listen to whatever explanation (usually long and complicated) I was giving her and then gradually her eyes would glaze over. I could tell she’d stopped listening. This happened so often that we’d accept it without comment, finish whatever we were saying and rush off without bothering to hear any reply she might invent. I have the same tendency. I’m not sure how noticeable it is but I’m often just thinking of other things when someone is droning on about something or other. It’s rude, I know, but I can’t help it. The old brain just refuses to hear any more and wanders off into its own pursuits. So, if I get that glazed look in my eyes when I’m supposed to be hearing your latest theory, I’m sorry but it’s all my mom’s fault. Hey, are you still reading this? Word count: 270 |
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