Andrew MacLaren-Scott's Blog, page 60

17 November 2015

One quiet and overcast morning in 1979 I cycled past the market square in Cambridge, England, toward the university chemistry laboratory while the fruit and veg traders were busy setting out their stalls, again. “Every damn day,” I thought as I rolled quietly past. “They do the same thing every damn day,” as a sudden wave of gloom swept through me. How could anyone get up each morning to do the same damn thing every damn day, after day, after day, after day? And I now recognise that these momentary thoughts as I passed Cambridge market were the early waves of a transformative neurological tsunami. By the time I had reached the old wooden laboratory bench to continue my doctoral research, I knew that I would have to try to do something different with my life than chase the regular jobs in academia and industry that my peers were busy hunting and that I was being encouraged to prepare for. And so I did something different, and whether that was for better or worse cannot be known. Had it not happened I would not be living here, in this little Perthshire village where I now reside, and would not have been typing these words or thinking these thoughts. And now a transformative tsunami may be swelling again, I think. A welcome one, encouraged in by my deliberate opening of the flood gates in my mind to try to let it all arrive. So I may leave this place alone for a while, but I will be back, I think. But the I of today will have no control over what those of my tomorrows may decide, I reckon; so, like all of us, I must let the waves in my mind take me where they will. I am not convinced that I have, or ever did have, any control over any of it at all. I certainly don't know.

16 November 2015

Things that I think people get mistaken about: They mistake mysteries for god(s); they mistake infatuation for love; they mistake friendship for love; they mistake selfish gratification for love... but that's enough about love (although I could go on); but they mistake opinion for certainty; and they mistake bad for good; ugly for beautiful; wrong for right and false for true. Oh and deception for sincerity, oh yes... a big one that. Although of course I may be mistaken... But god(s) and love(s) are the things most misidentified by most mistakes, I suggest. But I keep making the mistake of thinking that anybody else gives a damn about what I think. And I was mistaken for a woman once, when aged 18 with wild hippy hair and wearing a long coat when a youngster approached and asked me: "Have you got the time missus?" I decided to get the hair severely cut back shortly after that.

15 November 2015

Dead flowers and leaves, clustering and tumbling beneath my rake on the wet grass. The desiccating autumn shapes of nature, leading to thoughts of geometry, and symmetry. And despite what we often say in astonished admiration, no flower has perfect symmetry, if we look close enough; but it is obvious that the rules of perfect symmetry guide every flower's creation. No star or planet is a perfect sphere, yet the principle of prefect sphericity obviously determines their shape. In the geometry of nature we see the clearly evident ruling principles of geometric perfection, yet there is not perfection is any one single case; although the trend towards perfection emerges sharply in the averaging of ever-more samples. The imperfect approximation of perfection in individuals reveals the guidance of the perfect rules throughout. Everywhere we look, we can see the pure and perfect mathematics of the universe that we discover and describe with our simple symbols, but struggle to understand. Just like everything in our universe, that we discover in ever-refining detail, but still struggle to understand.

14 November 2015

Après hier, aujourd'hui je suis Français.

13 November 2015

Sleet arrived today. The first sleet of the season, portender of snow. Soft slushy mixtures of wet water and flakes of ice in the process of melting, falling on my head and cheek and nose, and telling me that nothing and nobody can break the cycling of the planet around the sun; or of the sun around the galaxy; or of the galaxy around its neighbours; or of everything around everything else. Nothing. As sleet arrives and slides down the surface of my nose.

12 November 2015

All is quiet of the western front, and eastern, and northern, and southern fronts. The guns that are people's minds and mouths and tippety-tappetting fingers on keyboards have fallen silent. It is the first hour of the 12th day of the 11th month, and I am alone here, lying in the dark, with no other conscious mind aware of me. Alone, again, as we are all and always alone, really, even in the midst of a chat, or an embrace, or a fight. Locked in. Deep and dark inside a skull. Alone... Thank goodness. And goodnight.

11 November 2015 (II)

When interactions turn into confrontations is it due to misunderstanding or one person being cussed, stroppy, oversensitive, stupid, whatever? I have been butting metaphorical heads with the friendly enemy, who seems to take any query about almost any aspect of her responsibilities as a challenge or criticism or complaint. Another fellow rather recently cried out in exasperation at her: "For goodness sake! I was only asking you a question!" Quite. But anyway, on Armistice Day another pointless skirmish broke out, but we will be friendly again soon, I suspect. Unless she reads this, perhaps. Which she won't. But, to paraphrase Carly Simon, she's so difficult that if she does read it I bet she'll think it's about her. But then... Oh, I have suddenly realised that I know three, no, wait a minute four, ladies who might read it and think it's about them. Ah... this is dangerous work. And then there are a few men who may think I am trying to disguise them from themselves by presenting them as a lady. Would I? But anyway... The First World War eh? Why did that start? Was it inevitable? Was it all just due to a big misunderstanding or perhaps an accumulation of little misunderstandings? I don't know much, actually I know almost nothing, about it. Why should I? It's over. Everything is over. Absolutely everything that ever happened. Is over. Even that moment there, see? It's gone. Consequences, however, may arrive. Tomorrow.

11 November 2015

Armistice Day... It sets me thinking, and not for the first time, that my father killed several people in wartime; both my grandfathers killed people in wartime; and I can be fairly sure at least one male ancestor from every generation all the way back has killed people in wartime, possibly all of them. Four great grandfathers, then eight great-great, then 16, 32… as the generations of killers multiply. Like most people of my age I come from a long line of killers, but I have not killed anyone and nor has my brother, making us a generational first, I expect. And I am unlikely to have to kill anyone in the time I have left. So maybe things are slowly improving. Maybe things can only get better, overall. I hope. I will take two minutes of silence now, to ponder.

10 November 2015

We all have a cast of key people who are more or less always in our consciousness, a cast of family and established friends. For me it is quite a small group - my lady, daughter and son are centre stage, then what we could call the man who plays golf, and the man who used to play golf, the good doctor friend and… well really, that’s about all. I am a very self-contained and selective fellow in social interaction. I am generally very content to be alone. But then around that central and fairly stable cast there are the characters that flit in and out of my awareness, arriving on the stage of my mind at some point each day, including some who read these words and others whose words I read. And more dynamically, there are the ever-changing characters of the moment - the people who may be friends or enemies or neither, but who are a significant part of the current petty drama that is my life. And some key ones at present include the man who is, or was, ignoring me and the anxious girl who panics, both of whom have featured here; but then there is also the woman who is my friendly enemy - meaning we are mostly friends but sometimes metaphorically butt angry heads together, the lonely nutter that I quite like sometimes, and the man who is much more clever than me. Oh and all the poor students who have to listen to me teach, on my twice weekly forays into the world of education. I may introduce these other characters soon, if this emerging sequence of mini dramas within my pointless world should continue. And new ones come and go stage left and stage right every day, all with something to do, and something to say.

9 November 2015 (III)

And the man who was ignoring me seems to be ignoring me a little less, which I thought strange, but positive, since the "coming to a head" time may be approaching. And in my naivety (perhaps) I mentioned this to someone, only to hear her cynical mind declare, "Ah, but I think I know why that may be." And she explained why she felt that the man who had been ignoring me might be greatly needing my help with something soon, and he could hardly beg for help from someone he had been blatantly ignoring, could he? Ach how disappointing, if true, that the wheels within the wheels of human interaction should turn to such devious effect. But we shall see... Me, and the man who is, or maybe was, ignoring me.