Chapter 126
What? You didn’t enjoy last year? What planet were you on? Ah yes, this one. Not to worry, it’s bound to outlast the lot of us if we don’t make too much of a hash of it… proofing this article the day after the chaos down south of us, one wonders what will happen next?
Back to my world: I confess, I indulged in much end-of-year online viewing not usually available to me. This resulted in a fabulous immersion into classic British comedy from Morecambe and Wise. Such a blessing to have grown up with the calibre of humour we had in M&W’s Christmas Specials and the long list of performers who bridged that transition from the Variety Show Hall circuit to radio and television. The 1978 M&W Christmas Special was watched by over half the population of the British Isles that day. Nostalgia and great humour, yeah.
The comedic British heritage of the 20th century forms a bedrock for much of the humour that keeps us ‘sane’ – who hasn’t been exposed to Monty Python or Goon Show humour? Even if you’re not aware of it, it’s a bit like the Beatles… subtly and not-so-subtly altering the face of popular music and influencing all those who come after. Not only music, but the influence of the British Invasion headed by the Fab Four permeates all levels of society and will continue to influence music, style, art and thought for decades if not centuries to come. My global travels have made me realize just how far and wide and deep such influences can journey.
While we have the ability to create or enjoy music, stories, laughter and new ideas, we remain free.
I am lucky enough to have my freedom. After three years of mostly solitary isolation, learning to say no, and giving up so much of what I thought was essential for my existence, I am lucky enough to have most of my health back. This fragile existence holds a bunch more wild and wonderful adventures yet and I’m not ready to go marching out for a dose of COVID-19, I’ve seen thelong(ish)-termeffectsofthatonsome folk and it holds no attraction for me.
But I have my freedom. I can choose to open the door and walk outside, to breathe our stunningly clear mountain air. I can choose to read a book, learn how to knit in three different ways, do all the repairs I’ve been putting off… or just think about doing them and enjoy doing nothing instead. I take what work I can find and enjoy, to make ends meet, and spiced by the grace of the universe, the ends are still managing to meet in some fashion or another.
I have my freedom. I moan about some things and bewail the lack of others, but I am able to do that. I can usually carry on a half-sensible conversation with another human and often remember to call folk in other countries and maintain relationships that may otherwise wither and die. I gripe about things that bug me, I let things bug me. I let things go. I engage in many internal conversations where I annoyingly take the position of the devil’s advocate, so one way or another I always end up thwarting myself and conceding my position.
My freedom. An ability to travel beyond inner boundaries, fuelled by the genes, lives and shared wisdom, experiences and love of my parents. This past 18 months we have talked pretty much every day. Despite a fifth of a globe between us I travel the narrow streets of their Spanish village, ramble the rocky ravines beyond their house. I meander up the twisting mountain road as they make their daily promenade of fitness and activity, watching goats and a Hagrid-like herder. Flashing images of glorious rainbow-hued bee-eaters and hoopoes with their extraordinary crests, swifts swooping and diving above the glassy, fly-pocked surface of a lake. I am there again, yet my feet plough through nearly two feet of snow, snugly wrapped in homemade socks and, almost homemade (duct taped) Sorrels anchored by YakTrax in the slipping snow.
Freedom. That which is in us all. Within our cognitive abilities at least… if we can dream, envision, love, share. Mine gets mighty muddled at times, but it’s still there… glimmering in the darkest nights, thriving in the early light.
On the other hand, my friend whose cognitive abilities have deserted him… as age creeps through his body in interesting ways, his freedom has shrunk to that pinpoint star and little more. Without the ability to fend for himself, or the prior ability to make oodles of cash, he is, at the end of his life, somewhat restricted in options. In a facility that does a great job of catering to the endless variety of needs and wants of its residents, he is of necessity prevented from leaving alone.
For the past three weeks and possibly many more to come, no-one leaves or enters at all other than essential staff. His life suddenly crashed from one of independence to one of utter confusion. How to transition from what we take for granted? Daily exercise, bike-riding, walking, fitness routine… social events and music everywhere, the freedom to come and go as he pleased. How did his life seemingly switch over from that to ‘incarceration’? Followed only months later by the utter confusion of COVID-19, it is a small miracle that as of this date, he’s in relatively good spirits. Update… now another statistic with a positive COVID-19 test.
So we talk occasionally and whether time perception holds water or any other metaphor, is a matter of etheric imaginings. What we have is what we have. We might as well enjoy it.
With gratitude and love, Kat Dancer
bodymudra@gmail.com
www.kat-dancer.com
415.525.2630, ph/txt/wtsp
