Attempting to keep my thoughts elsewhere
It's getting a little easier, but life is still hard going.
Yesterday I just did not want to be at work, though at the same time I acknowledged that I needed to be doing something, preferably with other people around, to stop my mind dwelling on my father's death. My colleagues had been told the news at the weekly staff meeting on Tuesday, thus making things very much easier for me, yet trying to be cheerful in my dealings with customers was still an incredible strain. One of the CDs I put on (a compilation claiming to be designed for relaxation) did not help either - the second movements from Beethoven's 7th (Beethoven being my father's favourite composer) and When I am laid in earth (from Purcell's Dido and Aeneas) had me crouching down behind the counter while I tried to regain my composture before deciding I had to go straight to the next track. Neither come under the definition of "relaxing" in my book: the first has a touch of a funeral march about it, while the second is a harrowing piece if ever there was one.
Today was a slight improvement, despite being caught off-guard on many occasions by minor incidents which brought my father to mind. In due course I decided to confront my feelings in a more constructive way by drawing a list of his favourite pieces of music, with the intention of celebrating his memory one evening by playing them all at home. (It had been my intention to do this tomorrow in the company of my friend Don, but in all honesty it's far too soon, the funeral hasn't even taken place.)
I'll need to check with my mother that I've not left anything crucial out, but here, for what it's worth, is the list to date:
- Beethoven's Triple concerto, probably his favourite piece of music;
- Glinka's Grand sextet for piano and strings, rather less known but nonetheless another keen favourite;
- some piano duets by Schubert, preferably played by Paul Badura-Skoda and Jörg Demus; and
- Mussorgsky's Pictures at an exhibition (in Ravel's orchestration), the main item in the first big concert I remember my parents taking my brother and me to.
I'm away from Monday afternoon to Sunday evening - my flights are now booked - and in the meantime, I'm making sure I have something to do every evening, to save me being left alone with my thoughts. Yesterday I was out with Paul and Rob, tonight I had choir rehearsal (an odd affair, as everyone knew of Father's illness, which was mentioned in Sunday's prayers, but not of his death); tomorrow I'm off to see The corpse bride - it's likely to be a bit macabre, but I adore Tim Burton - and on Saturday my neighbours and I are having a quiet get-together. On Sunday and Monday I have Luke's company to look forward to. Dear friend that he is, he's cleared his diary (unprompted) for those two days to visit me.
I have some truly wonderful friends.
Yesterday I just did not want to be at work, though at the same time I acknowledged that I needed to be doing something, preferably with other people around, to stop my mind dwelling on my father's death. My colleagues had been told the news at the weekly staff meeting on Tuesday, thus making things very much easier for me, yet trying to be cheerful in my dealings with customers was still an incredible strain. One of the CDs I put on (a compilation claiming to be designed for relaxation) did not help either - the second movements from Beethoven's 7th (Beethoven being my father's favourite composer) and When I am laid in earth (from Purcell's Dido and Aeneas) had me crouching down behind the counter while I tried to regain my composture before deciding I had to go straight to the next track. Neither come under the definition of "relaxing" in my book: the first has a touch of a funeral march about it, while the second is a harrowing piece if ever there was one.
Today was a slight improvement, despite being caught off-guard on many occasions by minor incidents which brought my father to mind. In due course I decided to confront my feelings in a more constructive way by drawing a list of his favourite pieces of music, with the intention of celebrating his memory one evening by playing them all at home. (It had been my intention to do this tomorrow in the company of my friend Don, but in all honesty it's far too soon, the funeral hasn't even taken place.)
I'll need to check with my mother that I've not left anything crucial out, but here, for what it's worth, is the list to date:
- Beethoven's Triple concerto, probably his favourite piece of music;
- Glinka's Grand sextet for piano and strings, rather less known but nonetheless another keen favourite;
- some piano duets by Schubert, preferably played by Paul Badura-Skoda and Jörg Demus; and
- Mussorgsky's Pictures at an exhibition (in Ravel's orchestration), the main item in the first big concert I remember my parents taking my brother and me to.
I'm away from Monday afternoon to Sunday evening - my flights are now booked - and in the meantime, I'm making sure I have something to do every evening, to save me being left alone with my thoughts. Yesterday I was out with Paul and Rob, tonight I had choir rehearsal (an odd affair, as everyone knew of Father's illness, which was mentioned in Sunday's prayers, but not of his death); tomorrow I'm off to see The corpse bride - it's likely to be a bit macabre, but I adore Tim Burton - and on Saturday my neighbours and I are having a quiet get-together. On Sunday and Monday I have Luke's company to look forward to. Dear friend that he is, he's cleared his diary (unprompted) for those two days to visit me.
I have some truly wonderful friends.
posted by Anthony at
23:38
1 Comments:
Hi Tony,
Me being me, I thought I'd reply to your latest posting with a poem (though, alas, not mine).
As you know, I am not a religious person; however, one of my favourite poets is George Herbert and one of my favourite poems (below) is "Peace".
Given what you've been going through these past few days and weeks, and given what you will continue to go through in the coming weeks and months, words like these are of scant value - however, the subject matter and theme of this poem are, I think, deeply cathartic and soothing.
I hope to see you in person soon.
Yours in ducking and diving,
Peter
x
------
Sweet Peace, where dost thou dwell? I humbly crave,
Let me once know.
I sought thee in a secret cave,
And ask’d, if Peace were there.
A hollow winde did seem to answer,
No: Go seek elsewhere.
I did; and going did a rainbow note:
Surely, thought I,
This is the lace of Peaces coat:
I will search out the matter.
But while I lookt, the clouds immediately
Did break and scatter.
Then went I to a garden, and did spy
A gallant flower,
The crown Imperiall: Sure, said I,
Peace at the root must dwell.
But when I digg’d, I saw a worm devoure
What show’d so well.
At length I met a rev’rend good old man:
Whom when of Peace
I did demand, he thus began;
There was a Prince of old
At Salem dwelt, who liv’d with good increase
Of flock and fold.
He sweetly liv’d; yet sweetnesse did not save
His life from foes.
But after death out of his grave
There sprang twelve stalks of wheat:
Which many wondring at, got some of those
To plant and set.
It prosper’d strangely, and did soon disperse
Through all the earth:
For they that taste it do rehearse,
That vertue lies therein;
A secret vertue bringing peace and mirth
By flight of sinne.
Take of this grain, which in my garden grows,
And grows for you;
Make bread of it: and that repose
And peace, which ev’ry where
With so much earnestnesse you do pursue
Is onely there.
By
Anonymous, at 21/10/05 12:38
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