Thomas W. Devine's Blog, page 13
November 5, 2016
Euthanasia/Assisted Suicide
I’ve posted before on this topic, expressing concern about the risk of elderly people feeling obliged not to become a burden.
Annemarie Treadwell died in Wellington, New Zealand, on June 6 this year. She was seventy-seven. She suffered from chronic pain, arthritis, clinical depression and short-term memory problems (The Dominion Post, October 29, 2016).
Five months earlier, she wrote: “I did not and I do not want to be a burden to my children. Not for them the worry whether mum has fallen down the stairs at home or worrying phone calls from neighbours. No feelings of stress or guilt for the family members who scarecely have time for their meeting their own needs. Just the peace of mind that mum is in the right place for the support she needs at this stage of her life. And peace of mind for me to know that I will not have to go on suffering for many more useless years.”
A selfless woman, you might say – a woman who had a right to decide if she wanted to carry on or not. There’s another way of looking at it, however.
If her family made her feel she was a burden, I can understand why she suffered from depression. I didn’t know the woman but, if someone had cared enough to make a difference in her life, could she have been convinced that her life wasn’t useless after all?
It was such a sad death.
Will your life mirror hers in your twilight years?
Think about it now before you support euthanasia/assisted suicide.
Annemarie Treadwell died in Wellington, New Zealand, on June 6 this year. She was seventy-seven. She suffered from chronic pain, arthritis, clinical depression and short-term memory problems (The Dominion Post, October 29, 2016).
Five months earlier, she wrote: “I did not and I do not want to be a burden to my children. Not for them the worry whether mum has fallen down the stairs at home or worrying phone calls from neighbours. No feelings of stress or guilt for the family members who scarecely have time for their meeting their own needs. Just the peace of mind that mum is in the right place for the support she needs at this stage of her life. And peace of mind for me to know that I will not have to go on suffering for many more useless years.”
A selfless woman, you might say – a woman who had a right to decide if she wanted to carry on or not. There’s another way of looking at it, however.
If her family made her feel she was a burden, I can understand why she suffered from depression. I didn’t know the woman but, if someone had cared enough to make a difference in her life, could she have been convinced that her life wasn’t useless after all?
It was such a sad death.
Will your life mirror hers in your twilight years?
Think about it now before you support euthanasia/assisted suicide.
October 28, 2016
A STEP ON THE WILD SIDE
This week, to see a relative, my wife and I visited a neighbourhood we don’t often frequent. (Like going from Manhattan to Harlem in New York, say.)
There, we happened on an incident at the end of a quiet residential cul de sac.
We’d just parked at the kerb when a big dark-coloured Mercedes saloon pulled up behind us.
‘Curious place to see a vehicle like that,’ I thought.
I got out, minding my own business, and went round the passenger side of our car to assist my wife (she is partially disabled and, at 72, we both walk with canes).
Then I heard a loud burst of expletives coming from the Mercedes. A man (the victim to be, so I’ll call him Vic) was standing at the driver’s door and the foul language was coming from the driver (the aggressor to be, so I’ll call him Ag).
Vic reeled back out of the way as the car door flung open. Ignoring us, Ag kept shoving Vic in the chest until he was out in the middle of the cul de sac.
Then, with both arms, Ag threw a cartwheel of fisted blows towards Vic’s head. Though Vic was passive, they all missed.
I couldn’t figure it out. Was Ag visually impaired? Then he started punching Vic’s chest, first almost lightly then with increasingly forceful blows. Again came more feints at Vic’s head, then real punches delivered back to his chest.
Vic was like an inanimate punch bag. The air was full of expletives as Ag continued his assault.
The few other angry words I heard implied that Vic was supposed to be somewhere else and hadn’t shown up. It seemed, from what Ag said, that Vic owed him money and hadn’t paid.
I just hoped a knife or gun wouldn’t be pulled.
It was all over in a moment or two. Ag gave Vic a final shove and Vic retreated silently to his car and took off at speed with a male passenger who’d stayed inside and had taken no part in the incident.
I turned my back on Ag, hoping he wouldn’t take any interest in me and my wife as witnesses of the assault. He’d ignored us up to that point, as he had a woman who’d come out of her house during the incident and shouted “Hey!” then retreated back inside.
My wife was out of our car by that stage and I aided her, at a slow pace, towards the house we were visiting. All the while I was hoping that Ag would just drive off.
When he did, I didn’t turn to see his Mercedes’ departure. Eye contact, I thought, might provoke him.
What had gone through my mind in these few short moments?
Would the woman phone the police? Should I? Should I intervene? Either action on my part could lead to my being beaten instead of Vic, and perhaps bring my wife harm. It wasn’t as if I could defend her, or myself, against a young man with violent tendencies. Blows to my chest could rupture the aortic aneurism I bear and even bruising could cause dangerous internal bleeding because I’m on blood thinners. Then there was my heart condition, which deprives me of stamina for any exertion. Despite all that, I felt bad that I had decided not to react heroically.
I’m a relative stranger to violence; an ardent pacifist in my teens. I was bullied a little at high school, physically, so I knew how Vic felt, but my only other encounter with a violent situation was at an office party when an inebriated colleague decided he wanted to punch my lights out. Other colleagues pulled us apart before things deteriorated into a punch-up. Also, I exchanged blows with my oldest son once. It taught us both a lesson, though I’ve wished ever since that it had never happened. (Though we are not estranged because of it.)
Maybe Ag had thrown punches at Vic’s head that missed because he didn’t want Vic’s face to be marked. Maybe Ag was a drug dealer or an enforcer for a gang.
In the heat of the moment I didn’t look at either man long enough to subsequently describe them nor did I even think to record number plates, so there was no point in making a report to the police. I feel bad about that too.
There, we happened on an incident at the end of a quiet residential cul de sac.
We’d just parked at the kerb when a big dark-coloured Mercedes saloon pulled up behind us.
‘Curious place to see a vehicle like that,’ I thought.
I got out, minding my own business, and went round the passenger side of our car to assist my wife (she is partially disabled and, at 72, we both walk with canes).
Then I heard a loud burst of expletives coming from the Mercedes. A man (the victim to be, so I’ll call him Vic) was standing at the driver’s door and the foul language was coming from the driver (the aggressor to be, so I’ll call him Ag).
Vic reeled back out of the way as the car door flung open. Ignoring us, Ag kept shoving Vic in the chest until he was out in the middle of the cul de sac.
Then, with both arms, Ag threw a cartwheel of fisted blows towards Vic’s head. Though Vic was passive, they all missed.
I couldn’t figure it out. Was Ag visually impaired? Then he started punching Vic’s chest, first almost lightly then with increasingly forceful blows. Again came more feints at Vic’s head, then real punches delivered back to his chest.
Vic was like an inanimate punch bag. The air was full of expletives as Ag continued his assault.
The few other angry words I heard implied that Vic was supposed to be somewhere else and hadn’t shown up. It seemed, from what Ag said, that Vic owed him money and hadn’t paid.
I just hoped a knife or gun wouldn’t be pulled.
It was all over in a moment or two. Ag gave Vic a final shove and Vic retreated silently to his car and took off at speed with a male passenger who’d stayed inside and had taken no part in the incident.
I turned my back on Ag, hoping he wouldn’t take any interest in me and my wife as witnesses of the assault. He’d ignored us up to that point, as he had a woman who’d come out of her house during the incident and shouted “Hey!” then retreated back inside.
My wife was out of our car by that stage and I aided her, at a slow pace, towards the house we were visiting. All the while I was hoping that Ag would just drive off.
When he did, I didn’t turn to see his Mercedes’ departure. Eye contact, I thought, might provoke him.
What had gone through my mind in these few short moments?
Would the woman phone the police? Should I? Should I intervene? Either action on my part could lead to my being beaten instead of Vic, and perhaps bring my wife harm. It wasn’t as if I could defend her, or myself, against a young man with violent tendencies. Blows to my chest could rupture the aortic aneurism I bear and even bruising could cause dangerous internal bleeding because I’m on blood thinners. Then there was my heart condition, which deprives me of stamina for any exertion. Despite all that, I felt bad that I had decided not to react heroically.
I’m a relative stranger to violence; an ardent pacifist in my teens. I was bullied a little at high school, physically, so I knew how Vic felt, but my only other encounter with a violent situation was at an office party when an inebriated colleague decided he wanted to punch my lights out. Other colleagues pulled us apart before things deteriorated into a punch-up. Also, I exchanged blows with my oldest son once. It taught us both a lesson, though I’ve wished ever since that it had never happened. (Though we are not estranged because of it.)
Maybe Ag had thrown punches at Vic’s head that missed because he didn’t want Vic’s face to be marked. Maybe Ag was a drug dealer or an enforcer for a gang.
In the heat of the moment I didn’t look at either man long enough to subsequently describe them nor did I even think to record number plates, so there was no point in making a report to the police. I feel bad about that too.
October 24, 2016
FROM MY FIRST NOVEL
PROLOGUE
In his bedroom, James Vallence woke with a start. He froze. Something hard and metallic had pressed against his ear. A female voice hissed, “If you’re in any doubt this is a real gun and I’ll use it without a second thought.” The end of the barrel jabbed against his temple to emphasise the threat.
In the darkness he could only see the silhouette of the woman but he could smell her perspiration and sense her tension. She had spoken French as if it was her native language, though not with the Mediterranean patois of the local villagers.
He figured he was dealing with a professional burglar; a male accomplice, if she had one, might be prowling the villa. He’d find there was little worth taking. But what if he stumbled on Kim in her room and decided she could be a consolation prize?
James tried negotiating a way out, “Are you after money?”
The gun barrel tapped the bridge of his nose hard enough to hurt. “If you speak again you won’t look pretty when you wake up.”
They waited. The light over the landing came on abruptly, splashing through the open doorway and onto the woman. She was pale-skinned. Her cold eyes stared back at him out of a dark ski mask.
A male voice came from the landing in accented French, “I’ve got her.”
James realised instantly that the intruders had come to kidnap Kim, not to commit burglary. He panicked, blurting in English, “Leave her. My parents are wealthy. They’ll pay a ransom if you take me instead.”
Disinterested, but wary, the woman stood up. The rough male voice ordered, “Let’s get going. Just knock him out. The girl’s all we want.”
James was too slow. The woman reacted instantly to his lunge for her gun. There was a blinding flash of light, an explosion, and an impact that threw him violently back on the pillow.
tsw.createspace.com/title3340898
In his bedroom, James Vallence woke with a start. He froze. Something hard and metallic had pressed against his ear. A female voice hissed, “If you’re in any doubt this is a real gun and I’ll use it without a second thought.” The end of the barrel jabbed against his temple to emphasise the threat.
In the darkness he could only see the silhouette of the woman but he could smell her perspiration and sense her tension. She had spoken French as if it was her native language, though not with the Mediterranean patois of the local villagers.
He figured he was dealing with a professional burglar; a male accomplice, if she had one, might be prowling the villa. He’d find there was little worth taking. But what if he stumbled on Kim in her room and decided she could be a consolation prize?
James tried negotiating a way out, “Are you after money?”
The gun barrel tapped the bridge of his nose hard enough to hurt. “If you speak again you won’t look pretty when you wake up.”
They waited. The light over the landing came on abruptly, splashing through the open doorway and onto the woman. She was pale-skinned. Her cold eyes stared back at him out of a dark ski mask.
A male voice came from the landing in accented French, “I’ve got her.”
James realised instantly that the intruders had come to kidnap Kim, not to commit burglary. He panicked, blurting in English, “Leave her. My parents are wealthy. They’ll pay a ransom if you take me instead.”
Disinterested, but wary, the woman stood up. The rough male voice ordered, “Let’s get going. Just knock him out. The girl’s all we want.”
James was too slow. The woman reacted instantly to his lunge for her gun. There was a blinding flash of light, an explosion, and an impact that threw him violently back on the pillow.
tsw.createspace.com/title3340898
October 15, 2016
A Product of America
The American economy and its foreign policy can affect the whole world so, unsurprisingly, its presidential contest is of interest to even small countries not only nearby but even half way across the world, in both directions.
No wonder then that, in New Zealand, the editor of The Dominion Post, in his 11 October editorial, expressed a view that Trump is not the solution for fixing what Right-leaning Americans suspect is something profoundly wrong with America.
The editor asserts that racism is widespread in the USA and, after financial crisis, disillusion, despair and anger also.
He comments: “This is the dark place where Trump can flourish, just as Hitler flourished amid the rage and despair of Weimar Germany. In this circumstance, the usual democratic restraints fall away...” and “...extremism and madness go not just unpunished but politically rewarded.”
This is my plea to Americans: that they not let it happen.
No wonder then that, in New Zealand, the editor of The Dominion Post, in his 11 October editorial, expressed a view that Trump is not the solution for fixing what Right-leaning Americans suspect is something profoundly wrong with America.
The editor asserts that racism is widespread in the USA and, after financial crisis, disillusion, despair and anger also.
He comments: “This is the dark place where Trump can flourish, just as Hitler flourished amid the rage and despair of Weimar Germany. In this circumstance, the usual democratic restraints fall away...” and “...extremism and madness go not just unpunished but politically rewarded.”
This is my plea to Americans: that they not let it happen.
October 14, 2016
Boys Will Be Boys
The New Zealand Rugby Union currently has a PR crisis on its hands over a cluster of revelations about sexual abuse of women and other poor conduct by a small number of its professional players.
It seems that some rugby players still have the mentality of rampant teenagers. Maybe that's why so many of them, when interviewed on TV, refer to their fellow players as "the boys".
Maybe if they grew up, and started thinking of themselves as men, their behavior might improve.
Sport is otherwise not something you'd see me blog about.
It seems that some rugby players still have the mentality of rampant teenagers. Maybe that's why so many of them, when interviewed on TV, refer to their fellow players as "the boys".
Maybe if they grew up, and started thinking of themselves as men, their behavior might improve.
Sport is otherwise not something you'd see me blog about.
October 9, 2016
Becoming Contented
A year or two ago I found, somewhere on the Internet, a beautiful piece of self-talk by an anonymous author, entitled “Lessons Learned in Life”. I saved it as the screen-saver on my PC and I read it daily.
That habit has brought a newl level of contentment to my life.
Here’s what it says:
“I’ve seen better days but I’ve also seen worse. I don’t have everything I want but I do have all I need. I woke up with some aches and pains but I woke up. My life may not be perfect but I am blessed.”
What better way to focus on the positive than being grateful for what you already have rather than be driven by dissatisfaction?
That habit has brought a newl level of contentment to my life.
Here’s what it says:
“I’ve seen better days but I’ve also seen worse. I don’t have everything I want but I do have all I need. I woke up with some aches and pains but I woke up. My life may not be perfect but I am blessed.”
What better way to focus on the positive than being grateful for what you already have rather than be driven by dissatisfaction?
September 30, 2016
Uphill Battle for Fiction
A new survey of New Zealand attitudes towards domestic fiction commissioned by the NZ Book Council shows that even before NZers open the cover of a local novel, many have woefully low expectations...
“Whereas New Zealand non-fiction sells well compared with its international counterparts – Nielsen Book Scan data puts it at about a third of the total non-fiction sold – New Zealand fiction comprised a mere 3% of all fiction bought in this country in 2014” – NZ Listener.
NZ fiction writers have sensed that poor share from their own sales/bank accounts for many years.
Not that NZ fiction writers in general have anything to be ashamed of. On a level playing field, most could successfully compete with their overseas counterparts . I, for one, recently got the unsolicited compliment from a male reader of my latest novel, “The Assyrian Girl”, that it was “up to international standards”.
Domestic attitudes have to be changed to allow equal competition, but NZ fiction writers certainly aren’t making enough money to pay for a sustained promotional campaign which would do that.
“Whereas New Zealand non-fiction sells well compared with its international counterparts – Nielsen Book Scan data puts it at about a third of the total non-fiction sold – New Zealand fiction comprised a mere 3% of all fiction bought in this country in 2014” – NZ Listener.
NZ fiction writers have sensed that poor share from their own sales/bank accounts for many years.
Not that NZ fiction writers in general have anything to be ashamed of. On a level playing field, most could successfully compete with their overseas counterparts . I, for one, recently got the unsolicited compliment from a male reader of my latest novel, “The Assyrian Girl”, that it was “up to international standards”.
Domestic attitudes have to be changed to allow equal competition, but NZ fiction writers certainly aren’t making enough money to pay for a sustained promotional campaign which would do that.
September 29, 2016
Is it time?
Those of you who follow my blogs will know that I don’t make a habit of quoting from the Bible and I can tell you that, in a debate, I could never quote chapter and verse. (I’m not that familiar with the book.) I did, however, randomly open a copy yesterday to pass a few waiting moments.
This is what my eyes were drawn to (in 2 Esdras 9:
Verse 3) – “So when there shall appear in the world earthquakes, tumult of peoples, intrigues of nations, wavering of leaders, confusion of princes” these are the signs of the end. And (in verses 19-20): “...but now those who have been created in the world ... have become corrupt in their ways ... I saw that my earth was in peril because of the devices of those who had come into it.”
Prophecy and End of Days aren’t something I’ve ever given attention to in the past, and probably won’t in the future, but this accidental reading in September 2016 has certainly made me wonder: is it time?
This is what my eyes were drawn to (in 2 Esdras 9:
Verse 3) – “So when there shall appear in the world earthquakes, tumult of peoples, intrigues of nations, wavering of leaders, confusion of princes” these are the signs of the end. And (in verses 19-20): “...but now those who have been created in the world ... have become corrupt in their ways ... I saw that my earth was in peril because of the devices of those who had come into it.”
Prophecy and End of Days aren’t something I’ve ever given attention to in the past, and probably won’t in the future, but this accidental reading in September 2016 has certainly made me wonder: is it time?
September 16, 2016
Marriage Long Term
Having celebrated my Golden Wedding Anniversary (being wed at 19 in ‘the swinging sixties’) I still struggle to put into words what a couple need to do to hold it together.
I've just come across it beautifully articulated by Louise and Mike Kelliher in an article in “Welcome” (September 2016):
“We must let go of past disappouintments, forgive each other past hurts and nourish the trust and love which has grown over the years.
"We have spent much energy over many years polishing and refining our unique relationship; now is the time to draw together spiritually and to spend our remaining days together content and happy in the knowledge that our journey has been grace filled and blessed.”
I've just come across it beautifully articulated by Louise and Mike Kelliher in an article in “Welcome” (September 2016):
“We must let go of past disappouintments, forgive each other past hurts and nourish the trust and love which has grown over the years.
"We have spent much energy over many years polishing and refining our unique relationship; now is the time to draw together spiritually and to spend our remaining days together content and happy in the knowledge that our journey has been grace filled and blessed.”
September 12, 2016
Trump This
“You are without a doubt the most limited politician I have ever encountered. Only in America could a moron like you make it to the top” [become president].
I came across this topically prophetic passage in John Grisham’s novel “The Broker”, which I'm currently reading.
I came across this topically prophetic passage in John Grisham’s novel “The Broker”, which I'm currently reading.
