Tag: lifetime

Re: Finite

Some things end. Some things are irreplaceable. Some things are lost forever. Our planet is finite: It has an expiry date. We mere humans do not know when the world will end but it-will-end. Memento mori needs to be part of a school board’s curricula.

In art class I used to enjoy inspiring my students with the thought that their ideas could create infinite possibilities. I never had the heart to tell them to get on with it because their life, in the grand scheme of things, is very short. Procrastination might be something to avoid but it’s easy to get a manyana attitude. A recent film titled The Life of Chuck points out that reality. Here we are shown how preciously fragile humans are, compared to natural processes of more cosmic proportions.

I believe death is absolute; it is final. You may leave pieces of you in your will, your legacy, or in the hearts of others, but otherwise you will vanish. You can only exist for so long: That is what finite means. I had a German-born childhood friend who used to announce the end of things by using a Spanish sounding word: Finito. My mom used to be amused by his casual dismissiveness. Once as we were enjoying P&J sandwiches in my childhood kitchen, and as we came close to the end of the jam Mom said, “When it’s gone, it’s gone!” I like the simplicity of the French word Fin to indicate the end of things. At the end of an artsy film with subtitles, I’ll get a certain comfort when the credits scroll to a completion and FIN is displayed in bold letters telling us it’s over now, time to go home.

Many natural resources can be renewable with the right degree of stewardship. In our nonchalant attitude to climate change we forget that many things are non-renewable. Species themselves are finite. When a certain type of living thing becomes extinct that is a clear end-of-the-line. Despite tales of harvesting DNA to clone bygone beasts as in Jurassic Park filmology, the likelihood that our declining planet can even support another T-Rex is improbable.

My best friend advises me to not squander my time. I know I’m finite. In art, science or politics there is room for your work to live on after you have ceased to be, but we are not immortal in the sense of the roman or greek gods. Historically some cultures have theorized an afterlife. Some had tombs built and their bodies carefully preserved, like the ancient Egyptians, to enable transport to the great beyond. Viking folk believed Valhalla would let them live eternally. I wonder if there are still cryogenic chambers available for 21st century billionaires who imagine a flight to infinity and beyond.

We can’t predict when we’ll expire. Sadly some of us will go before our time, leaving others in shock while they commiserate and consider what the rest of their lives might hold for them. We have a shelf-life. Hopefully we won’t just sit there wondering what comes next.

Re: Claudia

In any journey to understand words, in whatever language you use, I feel that emotion often supersedes meaning. For instance, some of us might have trouble even saying a word like Love, let alone trying to define it. The word Love is rich with meaning within the context of a sentence and exquisitely profound when used to understand the depth of a relationship. Let’s face it, some words are utile only. Other words are magical enough to carry a spirit.

Proper nouns are amazing in that regard. The naming of someone immediately makes the qualities of that person unique. Claudia is a Spirit Grandma to three beautiful grandchildren who were born after she died. I love the way her being is honoured with this evocative title. Claudia was once my best friend, my wife and a mother to three precious sons. She and I shared a quarter of a century together before she succumbed to a quickly spreading cancer. To the very end, Claudia was resolute that she had had a good life; one filled with activities, challenges and people who mattered.

Claudia is an uncommon name, befitting a woman unusual for her time. She loved things that resonated with the past. In a time when being a homemaker was losing its efficacy, even looked down upon as a career choice, Claudia enrolled in a University program focussing on Home Economics subjects. In the early seventies, the Macdonald Institute at Guelph University was often derided as leading to a Mrs. Degree. One of the first things that fascinated me about this woman with an old fashioned name was that she made her own clothes. She had been doing it since elementary school, won several contests, entered many fashion shows and was now specializing in the textile arts. I met her at a party, hosted by her friends, where she told me all this as I fell in love with her. Later, when we were planning our marriage, she stated emphatically that she aspired to being a homemaker. I couldn’t have asked for a better mate in that regard. Our house was a very, very, very fine house.

I wonder when a word becomes more than a word. A person’s name is an extraordinary use of a single word. It’s when a noun becomes a proper noun, almost giving it more value. When parents struggle over what word to use to describe their child no wonder there is much to debate and decide. Claudia is indistinguishable to me. Probably because I loved the person attached to that name. I’m sure there are other folks with the name Claudia, but none come to mind when I think of that word.

On paper, in text, Claudia is just a word. It is hard for me to type this word without all sorts of sights, sounds and feelings tumbling out of my brain. Before her death at age fifty, Claudia told me that she had lived the life she wanted, however short. Others, who knew of this particular Claudia, could tell you their own marvellous stories.

Re: Uncle

I make a point of talking to my uncle every month. I use my computer so I can see him and because it is a free way to connect since he lives way across the Atlantic Ocean. He’s the only uncle I have left, so I feel a certain responsibility. He is my auntie’s husband after all. But that doesn’t really explain things.

As kids we sometimes cry out “Uncle” when we are in a wrestling hold. It might be a universal safe word that tells our playmate/opponent that we’ve had enough and we give in before further damage is done. Once during an overnight adventure with my scout pack I got into a bear cub like scuffle with another boy. Saying Uncle to his aggression made me feel ashamed. I remember leaving the scene shouting that he would be sorry, “Just you wait! I’ll be famous one day!” I screamed.

I showed him.

Parents who had children in the fifties would advise their kids to call family friends Uncle or Aunt to somehow distinguish them from untrustworthy strangers. Even as a kid this creeped me out that I had an Uncle Frank even though he wasn’t a REAL uncle. From my parent’s point of view I suppose this might be an innocent bit of labelling in the name of ranking a friendship. Such confusion of terms and association has led to child abuse all in the effort to show familiarity. Sticks and stones eh.

My authentic uncle in England has been an important addition to my life even though we have only been together about a half dozen times. He was a buddy to me when I had a brief solo adventure in Europe that went bust in my late teens. I learned how to sail under his tutelage. Once he travelled to Canada while I was raising a young family of my own. I took him on his first fishing trip, we travelled together with my dad and eldest son on a northern train trip. During this time, I hosted a backyard salmon bake with gallons and gallons of wine and we talked about Shakespeare’s impact on the world until the stars above our heads astounded us with their brilliance.

And now I watch him getting old on Skype. I want him to remain as he was but he gets forgetful even amidst a short conversation. I’m not getting any younger either and my uncle is a reminder that life is finite. Covid has shown us that no one lasts forever. As long as we have a present we don’t have to rely on memories to buoy us up. So I call him to remind him of the fun we had together and to thank him for being the elder in my life. I wonder to myself how the past can invade the present, grasping us, like in a wrestling match.

I’ll say Uncle to death’s embrace at some point. For now, I’ll surrender to the joy that is mine, today. https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=eaCDXcXnpVI