Hi all.

Thank you all for visiting my blog over the past years. Now that I have completed my MA,  I am moving to wiseprose.com: A Writers Notebook and will no longer maintain this blog:

https://wiseprose.com

Wiseprose.com

I am often asked about book quotes and what my favourite quotes are. As far as nonfiction is concerned, one of my notebook quotes is the introduction to John Hersey's Hiroshima:

What is special about this quote is that the author outlines the normal mundane, everyday routines that Japanese people were carrying out the second before the bomb was dropped.

A Letter from Norway

It was 1971. I wasn’t in the mood for two periods of music.

You glanced around the class. I could see you summing up this new class. This wasn’t the career choice you envisioned. Teaching sacred classical music to Clydeside kids who were only interested in the Beatles and the Stones was not why you spent those years at university.

But here you were with your flannels with turnups and a Harris Tweed jacket thinking you better make the best of it. I’m sorry, Sir, I don’t recall your name.

You went over to the record player and removed a ’78 from its sheath.

            “Let’s go on a journey, boys,’ you said.

            “Journey?” I wondered.

“Allegretto pastoral is what this music symbolises. Absorb the sound of the countryside; the sound of the flutes as they liaise and resonate with clarinets in fluid harmony saluting the rising sun. Listen as the flute and the oboe sing like two morning birds; the bassoon as it brings morning to a close and a new day begins.

You stood there whilst Morning was playing and observed each one of us being caught in the moment. It was spiritual. Apart from the gentle music rising in a lazy, sustained crescendo, it was the first time I heard such silence in a classroom.  After school that day, I scampered to the library to find books on, Norway, trolls, Peer Gynt, The Hall of the Mountain King, and Edvard Greig. You made me believe I was born in the wrong place. I’m still convinced I was.

            You, the unknown teacher with the tweed jacket, you changed my life in ways you never dreamed.

 Tusen takk from Norge 1999.

“The mediocre teacher tells. The good teacher explains. The superior teacher demonstrates. The great teacher inspires.”― William Arthur Ward

When I think of the German word Fingerspitzengefuhl, I think of Mr Abbot, our science teacher at St Gerard's in Govan, Glasgow.

Academics were in 3A. Girls were 3B, and we were in 3C. Whilst 3 A were absorbed into the more scholarly curriculum that included subjects like Latin, French and German, we, 3C focused on technical subjects like metalwork and woodwork. We were the offspring of hard drinking, macho shipbuilders. We were destined for the shipbuilding yards like our fathers and forefathers.

With that in mind, Mr Abbott knew we would never be Nobel Prize Winners in science, so, he taught us to make fishing rods. Every Thursday, with our two periods of science, we would get out the fiberglass, glue and twine, and skilfully make seven-foot fly rods. They were works of art and it engendered self-esteem in us teenagers.

When the project was completed, he would take us all in the minibus over to the Clydebank canal to catch 1-to-3-pound goldfish. Yes, you read correctly: goldfish.

During the war, families could not obtain food for the pet fish, so they did the humane thing and poured them into the canal. The warm water emanating from the nearby Singer Sowing Machine factory allowed the fish to thrive and reach considerable sizes.

Fingerspitzengefuhl (literary finger-feeling) describes someone who has the finger on the pulse. Someone who can assess human nature and bring the best out in them.

Mr Abbott changed our life. Every weekend, Sammy, Tam and I would hop on the bus with our rods and fish in the Barrhead Dams and Loch Libo in Neilston. Many young people in those days adopted a life of gang violence and crime and I often wonder, what if I, we, never  experienced Mr Abbot’s Fingerspitzengefuhl?

Clarence Darrow, the 19th century lawyer who defended the school teacher in the Scopes "Monkey" Trial is reputed to have lit a cigar in court before his opponent summed up his case. Allegedly, Darrow inserted a long wire into the cigar and as the lawyer for the prosecution was summing up the case, the jury was distracted. Mesmerised by the long gravity-defying ash that failed to drop from his cigar, they failed to give the prosecuting lawyer their full attention.

However, with the absence of documentary evidence regarding this anecdote, the jury's out. Interesting that the story may be, I guess it's an urban myth and Darrow is innocent until proven guilty.

I'm off to the Philippines for a few weeks. See you all mid Feb

I first read about Gustaf Frederik Hjortberg in an essay called ‘People reluctantly on their way into the shadows.’ It was written by the Swedish crime writer, Henning Mankell (1947-2015). Being a bit of a Swedophile, I endeavoured to do more research on Hjortberg.

Tucked away in the commune of Släp on the west coast of Sweden hangs a painting like no other. Long before the invention of photography, prosperous folk commissioned family portraits. Jonas Durchs was the artist. His painting of the Hjortberg family hangs in the local church but online copies are available on the Wikimedia Commons’ website.  Gustaf Frederick Hjortberg was a local clergyman. The portrait features him and his wife, Anna Helena, and their fifteen children. As a son of the enlightenment, and a member of the Royal Swedish Academy of Sciences, he has his foot in two worlds it would seem to the modern observer: In the background there’s a crucifix with 1 Timothy 1:15 written underneath. On the table, lays all his scientific and navigational instruments with a large world globe at his side. He holds an academic paper in his hand, emphasising his studiousness. As a student of Linnaeus, the Swedish botanist, Gustaf displays sample jars on the bookshelf in the background. As a former ship’s pastor, he shows evidence of wide travel: A row of African spears stand erect like Terracotta soldiers ready for action. A lemur’s tail is embraced by one of the boys as it walks with considerable freedom on the floor. Behind, and hanging from the ceiling, are various stuffed animals, including a tortoise. And on the right, a servant’s bell hangs at the ready.

Unlike British Victorian portraiture, where subjects are stiff with constrained facial expressions, Gustaf displays a kindly, patriarchal posture with an impish expression. There’s a sense of playfulness as one of his discarded shoes is laying on the floor, which may explain why the boys are informal in their half smiles. The females are slightly reserved in facial expression. Perhaps manifesting the ‘modest’ Biblical expectations of Lutheran women of the 18^th century. However, there is nothing suggested in my profile of this artwork that would disabuse this family of their happiness, except for one important detail:

The family portrait includes not only those children in their midst, but the six that have passed away. Child mortality was high in Europe at the time. The main causes being cholera, typhus, typhoid and other air and water borne diseases. The deceased children float in the shadows, neither here nor in the nether world, but seemingly soliciting an invitation back to the physical realm. No other piece of artwork portrays more the human drive not to be forgotten, nor forget. Which comes back to my analysis of why I write: I wish to be remembered. My desire is to leave a written record to say, ‘I was here.’ It’s my way of defying mortality.

“People die from lack of shared empathy and affinity. By establishing social connectedness, we give hope a chance and the other can become heaven. ― Erik Pevernagie

I was watching a documentary last night about the “happiness” paradox in the Scandinavian countries. I say paradox because despite the level of happiness, there is a considerable reliance on antidepressants.

One factor for this is the lack of shared empathy and companionship. Scandinavians by nature are reserved. Look at the following image on Quora and you will see this played out (Enter the link into the search bar): https://qr.ae/prsTkh

If there was ever an opportunity to have a social chat, this would be it: when people are standing in a line.

Due to the high suicide rates in Denmark in the past, the nation addressed this by recognising that loneliness was a major factor. Houses are designed to encourage neighbours to socialise. Many Danes are members of several clubs. The work/leisure life is carefully balanced, and suicide is now at a low.

There's a lesson in empathy for all of us: Say hello to the stranger. Invite them for a coffee. Talk with your neighbours. Put a smile on someone’s face. Give hope a chance.

I was thinking of yesterday’s post and wondered if the theme of death is worth a blog.

A friend, who was a charity worker that looked after the needs of refugees had a Chinese man walk into his office one day. The man never spoke English, so, with a video link to a professional translator they were able to answer the man’s query.

“Can you tell me, what happens when we die?” was his question.

The Chinese man is not unique. We all ask that question and believe me; the thought becomes more frequent as you get older.

Why is there something rather than nothing? Why is this lump of matter and electrical charge we call the brain aware of itself? Why are we so unique that we can explore these matters? This is the boundary of science. These are questions that will never be answered by science. Despite the grandiose claims, we are nowhere near answering these questions.

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=IF54xqYhIGA&list=WL&index=17&t=29s

There cannot be a God, there’s too much evil. However, why is there so much good? And think of the statement, “There’s too much evil.” Where do we get that moral absolute? Where does this invisible standard of right and wrong come from? If we are products of blind chance, then why is there the demand for justice? Justice has no place in a blind universe.

I will return to this question tomorrow.

When I say trolls, I don’t mean The Hall of the Mountain King, Solveig, Peer Gynt and all those characters that appear in Ibsen’s Peer Gynt. No, I mean Internet trolls. Although both types have something in common: Ibsen’s trolls would hide behind rocks and cyber trolls hide anonymously behind their identities.

The modern word troll comes from the idea behind fishing trolling. The vessels troll along the sea looking for a catch.

The same applies with the cyber troll, they cast a bait and wait for a response. They are really creatures to be pitied. Behind their aggression and hostility is the need for attention. Therefore, they are best ignored is the advice that most sources recommend:

However, if I was ever faced with one, and I haven't on any of my websites , I would consider just being kind to them and ask they Why are you being so hostile? It may just help them self-reflect. That would be a good thing; helping another human to be human.

However, there is the option of contacting the organisation hosting and reporting them. You can also make light of the situation. Or just don’t give them a platform. Most blogs allow you to instantly delete them. On my website I have to "approve" comments before they appear on it.

However, matters can become more serious and involving the law when trolls cross the line. This would be the case with harassment, hate or threatening speech, cyberstalking  as in the case of dragging sites.

I began writing to explore the more positive example of human nature, but here I am exposing the negative, ugly side.

Request: These little excerpts at times form the basis of some of my larger articles that are being compiled. Feedback is most welcome. If not here, then on my email toxoscot@gmail.com

“The Swedish he knew was mostly from Bergman films. He had learned it as a college student, matching the subtitles to the sounds. In Swedish, he could only converse on the darkest of subjects.”
― Ann Patchett, Bel Canto

My daughter's Swedish pen-pall invited herself over for a holiday in the eighties. The following year. her family reciprocated the hospitality and my son and I spent the year learning Swedish from Linguaphile cassettes and watching a Bergman film (The Best Intentions: Den goda viljan) and a Swedish copy of Dances With Wolves (Danser Med Vargar). Like Ann Pratchett's experience, I had pulled out Swedish phrases that were dark, or downright strange and to the amusement of the encountered Swedes.

I miss Sweden now.

I've two quotes on my office wall: one the reminds me of what it means to be human, and the other, the first paragraph from Richard Selzer’s essay, The Knife. It’s the best piece of writing I have read. I always read the essay's first sentence before starting a new project. It reads, ‘One holds the knife as one holds the bow of a cello or a tulip — by the stem.’ I’m not sure why this is such an invitation to read on, but it is — always.

“We meet so many people in life, but we connect to the heart of very few!”

― Avijeet Das

Walking in Scotland’s fine places, one realises you don’t have to travel the world; the world comes to you. But many fine opportunities are missed by not having the courage to commune with our fellow man.

Corvid had restricted this for the past few years, but four nights of camping in Aviemore recently confirmed that things are going back to normal-if there ever will be normal.

Some of the joys were those I met on my trip. The Native American Indian and his wife. The couple from Canada. The Scottish couple we met at An Lochan Uaine (The Green Loch) in Aviemore.

In all cases we conversed for some time. People I will never forget, But, in the hustle and bustle of life, it is difficult to keep in touch; to give one’s heart to all we would like to

I agree with Mary Wollstonecraft, who made many trips two centuries previously, a soulmate, like me, who found separation of newfound friends as a most melancholy, death-like experience.