Greetings!
In today’s Start the Week I’m sharing a very funny interview with Frank Carson, a poem by Amy Hickenbottom, a conversation with my father-in-law and a eulogy to my mother. Plus some affiliate newsletters.
As I write this I am enjoying a rest after doing a lot of cycling in the last couple of days. After this, I need to read 160 pages of a novel by tomorrow.
But enough of this persiflage!
On with the newsletter.
Terry
Frank Carson interview
Frank Carson was an Irish comedian, whose catchphrases were “It’s a cracker”, “It’s the way I tell ‘em” and, occasionally, “I’m too bloody good for this dump!”. In this interview Clive Anderson, a chat show host, is rendered almost completely superfluous while Carson just carries on like a careering truck. The act he mentions, Cannon and Ball, was a comedy duo with the usual arrangement: one straight guy and one funny one. Enjoy!
A conversation with my father-in-law
A poem by Amy Hickenbottom called Turn Off the Radio reminded me of a conversation I had with my father-in-law a few years ago. Amy’s poem is about, in part, the relentless march of “progress”. At least, that’s how it seems to me.
Father-in-law: So how does this digital camera thing work then? I mean, how do you get the pictures out?
Me: Well, the pictures get stored on a card, and when you get home you take the card out and put it in the computer. Then you open the photos on the card with a special graphics program, then you choose the one you want, and then you print it.
Father-in-law: Hmm, such an improvement on the old Polaroid cameras then.
And then we both collapsed laughing.
A eulogy to my mother
A few days ago we spent several hours burning confidential documents. I’d been meaning to shred them for the past year or so, and I was getting more and depressed looking at this pile because of (a) the enormity of the task, (b) it was just draining energy from the room and (c ) it made me feel bad about myself for not having had the time to deal with it. Thus, when it was a pleasant day with no wind, we took the whole lot into the garden and set about being pyromaniacs.
As we were getting onto my late mother’s bank statements, I turned to Elaine:
Me: Just think. My mother lived and died, and all there is to show that she existed are some bank statements, which we’re destroying.
But then a few minutes later we came across the eulogy I wrote, and which a cousin of mine read at her funeral. I thought I’d share the gist of it here so that she occupies a little corner of the internet as well.
The background is that my sister was very ill. My mother had dementia1 and was in a home, so in order to not distress her we didn’t tell her about my sister. On the evening of my sister’s funeral, my mother fell into a deep sleep and even when she was woken up periodically she wouldn’t eat or drink. She passed away five days later.
My mum was born in 1920, the second from youngest of seven children of Polish immigrants. She did well at school, but plans for a Pitman’s shorthand course had to be abandoned when her father died when she was ten, resulting in financial hardship for the family.
Despite being very hard of hearing, she went on to enjoy several successful careers. Whilst single she worked as a milliner and dressmaker, then during the War she repaired aircraft radar and taught the American pilots based in England how to use it.
After getting married, she worked in the family's business, which she successfully expanded.
Her skills at knitting and tapestry were admired widely, and even won prizes, and her ability to do such work without a pattern or instructions were legendary.
Despite suffering from dementia, right up to a week before she died she was loved for her sense of humour, outgoing nature and sheer determination. Indeed, I believe that I owe my own achievements to the values she inculcated in her two children, of whom she was very proud. She also loved her grandchildren dearly.
Sadly, despite not being told of my sister’s untimely death last week, she fell into a deep sleep on the night of the funeral, from which she never really awoke.
—
I did not burn the eulogy.
Further reading
Here are a few referral links to newsletter directories. If you click through and sign up to these services, you’ll be sent links to other newsletters you might be interested in. And the people who run these services will promote this one too. So it’s a potential win-win-win situation.
I find this one especially useful for discovering newsletters and articles concerning leadership matters, which I’m quite interested in.
I very much like the variety served up. I receive one suggestion a day, and have subscribed to a few of them.
This has links to long reads. I haven’t really explored it yet, but it seems quite interesting. If you sign up using that link apparently I’ll get $4 credit towards an advertisement. I’ve no idea how much an advert costs though.
Finally…
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If you value my work, please consider upgrading to a paid subscription, which is currently just $45 a year (aka under 87c a week) or $5 a month.
Or share this newsletter, so that more people let to hear about it.
Or recommend it, to make yourself feel good and to build up a stock of good Karmic points (not guaranteed, I’m afraid: you could be a mass murderer for all I know).
I wrote about her descent into dementia here: The Long Goodbye
Oh Terry, so sorry to hear about your mother and sister, but thank you for sharing on this. I'm glad you've left a mark of her life on here, as well as the fact you didn't burn the eulogy. And as you say, you are in part your own mark of your mother, leaving an aspect of her through your own life and your wonderful writing.
Dementia is an awful thing. My father-in-law has suffered a progressive decline over the last few years and is essentially non-responsive in a home -- sometimes an eye opens and some mumbles come out, but mostly we're just left questioning what life it is he is living, if any. Terribly sad. I'm glad he is in a home that cares for him well, though. He somehow hangs in there, despite two events in the last few months (one this last weekend) when it was a scramble because we thought he was in his final days.
Thank you for sharing your mother's story. It was a pleasure to read and it made my heart feel full, thinking of her good life full of love and creative mastery. There are never adequate words for loss, as they always miss the mark. But I am compelled to say that I'm sorry for the loss of your mother and sister. 💙