Introduction
This brief reflection serves to remind us how the things which, when they happen, embarrass or even shame us, seem serious or reason for despair, later may appear comical or ridiculous.
Reflection
As I sit wondering why my builder’s Belle concrete mixer is parked, like a cuckoo, in the cosy dryness of my garage while the expelled chick, my car, sorely in need of protection from the elements, lies outside facing up to the cold and rain, I also wonder about the nature of how life deals its cards to us. Watching my mother-in-law searching for the right moment to wince when she stands up from her chair; remembering the terrible rescue attempt on my father-in-law when he had fallen, seemingly irretrievably, from the commode shortly before his death; recalling how my friend Frank spent three days in hospital and never got fed—anxiously leaving the ward to smoke, he either missed the menu sheet or the meal that, although un-ordered had been sent in the vain hope of finding a hungry patient. Or, I recall instances in my life which have been embarrassing, ridiculous, confusing—events which have sprung out of nowhere only to surprise, happenings that were entirely unforeseen, problems which could never be solved—and I realise there is more than a hint of humour to the whole thing. Indeed the worst moments seem, on recollection, to be the funniest, the most absurd, and they are the bringers of the greatest joy. In itself that is strange. I do not think that grief in funny. I do not think that tragedy should be laughed at, but in grief, in the grip of tragedy, there is still the ever-present absurdity of it all, still recurring sources of amusement, that is what life is. I remember, as a child, sitting at home eating my tea, having been sent home to see, just see, if the watch I claimed was lost might just be at home, while the rest of the class stayed in as suspects until my return. It was a three mile walk home and my mum would not let me go back on such a dark, rainy night (particularly as the watch was indeed at home). I can still see the despairing face of the bedraggled classmate at the door who was eventually sent by the teacher to ascertain if I was going to return with news of the watch. Is that terror? And I recall with a shudder, being sent to a junior school, road crossing ‘lollipop’ on hand, to conduct a road safety lecture when I was nineteen. ‘You can see the first three hundred and fifty before break and the second three hundred and fifty after break,’ the head teacher told me as the keenly expectant teachers lined the walls to listen to my, as yet unprepared, words of road safety wisdom. Is that more terrifying than life itself?
Comments
There are so many adages which support the view that when things seem at their worst they are also at their most absurd—‘it was so bad, I just had to laugh’. It may be that the nature of the absurdity is captured by the terrible or ridiculous behaviour of mankind towards its own species, or it may be in the form of ‘tears turning to laughter’ as our grip of misery gives way to cheer. And this is not a bad thing. Sometimes, we must ask ourselves what we think we are living for. Are we alive to be beset by misery and the horror of it all? Is that what our one and only opportunity for individual existence amounts to? Or is it to do with cheer and joy? Is life in truth a recipe for happiness which is released as soon as we open the door of seriousness which too often locks it away.
