Did you know it's impossible to sneeze with your eyes open. And, if you could, the force of the sneeze would blow your eyes out. Quite handy, then, these eyelid things - keeping out the dust and stopping your eyes from popping out when you sneeze.
When was the last time you thanked your eyelids for being there and keeping your eyes in? And when did you last thank your feet for being down there to stop your legs wearing out, or the hair up your nose for stopping the dust, thereby reducing the frequency of sneezes and the chance of your eyes popping out should your eyelids malfunction? We all take these little bits for granted, don't we? And it's quite nice that we have full control - we can choose whether to have our eyes open or shut all the time.
And now to Arthur Batly's story, continued from the previous blog ...
Arthur opened the door to Martin. "What are you doing here, in the middle of the day?" asked Arthur, shaking his hand and leading him in to a seat. "I thought you'd be at work."
"I had to come out here, just up the road to mediate a property dispute ... oh, we haven't met," said Martin, suddenly acknowledging Emily as he sat down and stood again.
"Oh, sorry Martin. This is Emily and her daughter, Chloe," said Joan. Emily stood and they shook hands. Actually, thought Arthur, they just stood and stared at each other for the longest time, with their hands touching, not moving.
"So good to see you, Martin," said Joan.
"Uh, oh, yes," said Martin, detaching himself from Emily and the trance he seemed to be in. "I just thought I'd see how you two are, after Nana's ... ah, you know ... yesterday."
"It's OK, Martin, you can say the word funeral," said Joan. "We were all there."
"Yes, yes of course," said Martin, blushing as he ran his hand through his thick black hair. Arthur thought Emily's pale skin had taken on a slight colour recently, too.
"Would you like a cup of tea, Martin?" asked Joan.
"I could murder one, thanks Mum!" said Martin. "It's thirsty work dealing with people who won't see plain logic." Arthur, Joan and Emily all smiled at each other. "Oh, did I say something?"
"We've just been talking about logic," said Arthur, hoping the subject would go away, somehow.
"Look, I'll go and make us all a cup of tea and we can tell you about it then," said Joan. "Would you like to give me a hand, Emily?"
"Oh, yes, of course," said Emily, looking relieved to have something to do rather than sit there looking jittery, thought Arthur. Martin seemed to stir her up somehow. Maybe they knew each other from somewhere, he surmised. He watched the women take the crockery out and turned back to Martin, to discover he was on the floor, showing Chloe how to put pieces together to make a person. Martin playing with children - with a child - on the floor. Arthur couldn't believe it. He'd never seen his son show much affection or sense of fun at all before and he sat back and smiled in wonder.
"Yes, Dad, I know what you're thinking," said Martin, looking up, embarrassed again. "I never did this with my own kids. Well, I do now and I love it!"
"What's happened?" asked Arthur.
"What's happened?" asked Martin. "What's happened is that the dragon's gone and I'm allowed to play with my children. You know what kindergarten teachers are like - they think they're the last word on child development and how to deal with kids. Ruth just never allowed me to go near them unless I did it the way she prescribed. I could never get it right in her eyes."
"Oh, Martin ..." said Arthur, sadly.
"Anyway, she's so besotted with this new bloke, I don't think she cares if they exist or not or how I treat them," said Martin, with traces of anger and sadness. "She's had them for a couple of days but seems to have lost interest so I get to play with them my way and it's fun. It's really fun! It's what you used to do with me, Dad."
As the women returned, talking excitedly, trays in hand, Martin leapt as from an electric shock. "Can I help you with these?" he asked Emily, taking the tray of tea cups from her.
"Ah, oh, thank you," said Emily, obviously surprised by this unnecessary show of help.
"We were just talking, Martin. Emily's keen on car racing," said Joan. "Familia One or something, she said."
"Formula One, Mother," corrected Martin.
"Oh well, whatever it is, you used to be fanatical about racing cars when you were small," said Joan. "Remember all those cars you collected? And you knew all the drivers and everything about it!"
"Yes, I was, Mum, but that was long time ago," said Martin, perhaps a little sadly.
"But Emily's mad about it too!" said Joan in her unstoppable way. "Why don't you take her to the next racing meeting or something?"
"But Mother! I hardly know her ... Emily," said Martin, shuffling backwards and going very red. "I'm not sure if it's appropriate."
"Appropriate? Of course it is! Two enthusiasts for racing cars - why wouldn't you go together?" said Joan, with logic unassailed by feelings.
"Darling, Martin has just lost his wife," suggested Arthur. "He's probably feeling a little ... ah, raw at the moment."
"Bloody overwhelmed, actually!" blurted Martin. "Oh, sorry, I didn't mean to swear but life's a bit topsy turvy right now. I just need time to collect myself, that's all."
"But you'd enjoy yourself ..." said Joan.
"Darling, you might be right but just give our boy a little time," said Arthur.
"Oh, I thought it was such a good idea," said Joan. "And you really do need to get out and stop moping."
"I understand, Martin," said Emily gently, her quietness stilling the noise. "I went through a separation five months ago and I still find myself paralysed at times. Not moping or complaining, just uncertain and unable to act or think clearly at times. Really annoying ..."
"My God!" said Martin, sitting forward, teacup in hand. "That's just how I feel. I feel quite useless at times - one of the kids will ask me a stupid question like where's the sugar or something, and I just can't think. I think I'm so useless. I get really annoyed with myself."
"Well, it does get better, I can assure you. 'This too will pass,' I say to myself," said Emily, reaching across to pat his knee.
"See!" said Joan. "They've got so much in common. Why don't you two ..."
When was the last time you thanked your eyelids for being there and keeping your eyes in? And when did you last thank your feet for being down there to stop your legs wearing out, or the hair up your nose for stopping the dust, thereby reducing the frequency of sneezes and the chance of your eyes popping out should your eyelids malfunction? We all take these little bits for granted, don't we? And it's quite nice that we have full control - we can choose whether to have our eyes open or shut all the time.
And now to Arthur Batly's story, continued from the previous blog ...
Arthur opened the door to Martin. "What are you doing here, in the middle of the day?" asked Arthur, shaking his hand and leading him in to a seat. "I thought you'd be at work."
"I had to come out here, just up the road to mediate a property dispute ... oh, we haven't met," said Martin, suddenly acknowledging Emily as he sat down and stood again.
"Oh, sorry Martin. This is Emily and her daughter, Chloe," said Joan. Emily stood and they shook hands. Actually, thought Arthur, they just stood and stared at each other for the longest time, with their hands touching, not moving.
"So good to see you, Martin," said Joan.
"Uh, oh, yes," said Martin, detaching himself from Emily and the trance he seemed to be in. "I just thought I'd see how you two are, after Nana's ... ah, you know ... yesterday."
"It's OK, Martin, you can say the word funeral," said Joan. "We were all there."
"Yes, yes of course," said Martin, blushing as he ran his hand through his thick black hair. Arthur thought Emily's pale skin had taken on a slight colour recently, too.
"Would you like a cup of tea, Martin?" asked Joan.
"I could murder one, thanks Mum!" said Martin. "It's thirsty work dealing with people who won't see plain logic." Arthur, Joan and Emily all smiled at each other. "Oh, did I say something?"
"We've just been talking about logic," said Arthur, hoping the subject would go away, somehow.
"Look, I'll go and make us all a cup of tea and we can tell you about it then," said Joan. "Would you like to give me a hand, Emily?"
"Oh, yes, of course," said Emily, looking relieved to have something to do rather than sit there looking jittery, thought Arthur. Martin seemed to stir her up somehow. Maybe they knew each other from somewhere, he surmised. He watched the women take the crockery out and turned back to Martin, to discover he was on the floor, showing Chloe how to put pieces together to make a person. Martin playing with children - with a child - on the floor. Arthur couldn't believe it. He'd never seen his son show much affection or sense of fun at all before and he sat back and smiled in wonder.
"Yes, Dad, I know what you're thinking," said Martin, looking up, embarrassed again. "I never did this with my own kids. Well, I do now and I love it!"
"What's happened?" asked Arthur.
"What's happened?" asked Martin. "What's happened is that the dragon's gone and I'm allowed to play with my children. You know what kindergarten teachers are like - they think they're the last word on child development and how to deal with kids. Ruth just never allowed me to go near them unless I did it the way she prescribed. I could never get it right in her eyes."
"Oh, Martin ..." said Arthur, sadly.
"Anyway, she's so besotted with this new bloke, I don't think she cares if they exist or not or how I treat them," said Martin, with traces of anger and sadness. "She's had them for a couple of days but seems to have lost interest so I get to play with them my way and it's fun. It's really fun! It's what you used to do with me, Dad."
As the women returned, talking excitedly, trays in hand, Martin leapt as from an electric shock. "Can I help you with these?" he asked Emily, taking the tray of tea cups from her.
"Ah, oh, thank you," said Emily, obviously surprised by this unnecessary show of help.
"We were just talking, Martin. Emily's keen on car racing," said Joan. "Familia One or something, she said."
"Formula One, Mother," corrected Martin.
"Oh well, whatever it is, you used to be fanatical about racing cars when you were small," said Joan. "Remember all those cars you collected? And you knew all the drivers and everything about it!"
"Yes, I was, Mum, but that was long time ago," said Martin, perhaps a little sadly.
"But Emily's mad about it too!" said Joan in her unstoppable way. "Why don't you take her to the next racing meeting or something?"
"But Mother! I hardly know her ... Emily," said Martin, shuffling backwards and going very red. "I'm not sure if it's appropriate."
"Appropriate? Of course it is! Two enthusiasts for racing cars - why wouldn't you go together?" said Joan, with logic unassailed by feelings.
"Darling, Martin has just lost his wife," suggested Arthur. "He's probably feeling a little ... ah, raw at the moment."
"Bloody overwhelmed, actually!" blurted Martin. "Oh, sorry, I didn't mean to swear but life's a bit topsy turvy right now. I just need time to collect myself, that's all."
"But you'd enjoy yourself ..." said Joan.
"Darling, you might be right but just give our boy a little time," said Arthur.
"Oh, I thought it was such a good idea," said Joan. "And you really do need to get out and stop moping."
"I understand, Martin," said Emily gently, her quietness stilling the noise. "I went through a separation five months ago and I still find myself paralysed at times. Not moping or complaining, just uncertain and unable to act or think clearly at times. Really annoying ..."
"My God!" said Martin, sitting forward, teacup in hand. "That's just how I feel. I feel quite useless at times - one of the kids will ask me a stupid question like where's the sugar or something, and I just can't think. I think I'm so useless. I get really annoyed with myself."
"Well, it does get better, I can assure you. 'This too will pass,' I say to myself," said Emily, reaching across to pat his knee.
"See!" said Joan. "They've got so much in common. Why don't you two ..."
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