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FiftyFive ~ # 24
Yesterday was a red letter day, no question. A. won the U18 Girls British Masters Tennis tournament and I was extremely pleased for her because she works so hard. But at the same time, D. too declared he had a very good day and he too was happy. And this got me thinking. I think the most pleasing thing for a parent is seeing your children happy, and doing things that make them happy. For life would be a troublesome place if we couldn’t pass some of our own, adult, well earned happiness onto others – for I have come to the conclusion that I am, indeed happy. How often do we get a chance to say that to ourselves and others – actually how often do we take the opportunity to do so. Give me a banjo in the kitchen with a tune in my head, words in my breath and the old black dog disappears, whimpering. And if my banjo makes others happy too, well then, all the better. There is, according to Italo Calvino, an adjective that doesn’t exist in English – icastico, which is an evocation of clear, incisive, memorable visual images. And we have to evoke the image of happiness for we can’t see it – it doesn’t lie in a smile that could be on the scale of jouissance to a grimace, or a gesture, or a confession, and yet I maintain the idea that we have to maintain happiness in the face of suffering elsewhere, we need to keep the equilibrium and the balance of nature has to be right for fear the world will tip over into the cold war of melancholy. Therefore I selfishly, and without fear of reproach, declare myself happy for all to see and to reflect on and perhaps share… and now an antidote to seriousness:
Yesterday was a red letter day, no question. A. won the U18 Girls British Masters Tennis tournament and I was extremely pleased for her because she works so hard. But at the same time, D. too declared he had a very good day and he too was happy. And this got me thinking. I think the most pleasing thing for a parent is seeing your children happy, and doing things that make them happy. For life would be a troublesome place if we couldn’t pass some of our own, adult, well earned happiness onto others – for I have come to the conclusion that I am, indeed happy. How often do we get a chance to say that to ourselves and others – actually how often do we take the opportunity to do so. Give me a banjo in the kitchen with a tune in my head, words in my breath and the old black dog disappears, whimpering. And if my banjo makes others happy too, well then, all the better. There is, according to Italo Calvino, an adjective that doesn’t exist in English – icastico, which is an evocation of clear, incisive, memorable visual images. And we have to evoke the image of happiness for we can’t see it – it doesn’t lie in a smile that could be on the scale of jouissance to a grimace, or a gesture, or a confession, and yet I maintain the idea that we have to maintain happiness in the face of suffering elsewhere, we need to keep the equilibrium and the balance of nature has to be right for fear the world will tip over into the cold war of melancholy. Therefore I selfishly, and without fear of reproach, declare myself happy for all to see and to reflect on and perhaps share… and now an antidote to seriousness:
