Wednesday 24 March 2010
Between the Generations
Bright eyes twinkling in the light, so rich a harvest of new sensation. The first tentative steps, reaching out across a tightrope toward fresh pleasure. And then the pull of gravity as knees buckle beneath. A fall from grace.
Dull eyes dimmed in rheum, a sleepy hand lifted. White haired and frail, to disappear softly into the night. The last tentative steps, framed in slow-motion as she moves to eat. And then peace descends in the pink flowered walls that hold her safe once more. Still, a hand of grace.
Dull eyes dimmed in rheum, a sleepy hand lifted. White haired and frail, to disappear softly into the night. The last tentative steps, framed in slow-motion as she moves to eat. And then peace descends in the pink flowered walls that hold her safe once more. Still, a hand of grace.
Tuesday 16 March 2010
Saturday 13 March 2010
The conundrum of memory
Random thoughts on a visit to my mother's bedside ...
The early morning sun cuts a swathe through the motorway as we talk. Three and and half hours and nearly ninety years lay between us.
My elder brother calls as we travel. She's had a fall yesterday, she'll be in bed when we arrive. We pull up outside her front door and retrieve a key from the entry safe in the porch.
The house is warm yet strangely empty, almost every memory emptied out. Just a few family photographs on a shelf in the living room. And one poignant black and white picture in a cheap porcelain frame by her bedside. A pretty young blond girl who never grew up, a long dead sister smiling down the years. Haunting.
To our joy, she recognises us, her rheumy eyes opening as we come to the bedside. Her body is so frail now. I watch her hands tremble, bent into strange but beautiful forms by the years. We talk.
"She never wanted me you know, she told me that when I was two."
My mother can't remember the names of her parents. But she remembers with terrifying clarity her own mother.
"She said if she'd seen the stork flying over she would have shot it."
Who could say such a thing to a two year old child? The conundrum of memory to an old and frail lady, now as helpless in her years as that once young life. A peace fills the room as she floats once more into sleep. Her mouth opens wide to suck in the last of the winter air.
We lock up the house, replacing the key in the safe. And the memory persists.
The early morning sun cuts a swathe through the motorway as we talk. Three and and half hours and nearly ninety years lay between us.
My elder brother calls as we travel. She's had a fall yesterday, she'll be in bed when we arrive. We pull up outside her front door and retrieve a key from the entry safe in the porch.
The house is warm yet strangely empty, almost every memory emptied out. Just a few family photographs on a shelf in the living room. And one poignant black and white picture in a cheap porcelain frame by her bedside. A pretty young blond girl who never grew up, a long dead sister smiling down the years. Haunting.
To our joy, she recognises us, her rheumy eyes opening as we come to the bedside. Her body is so frail now. I watch her hands tremble, bent into strange but beautiful forms by the years. We talk.
"She never wanted me you know, she told me that when I was two."
My mother can't remember the names of her parents. But she remembers with terrifying clarity her own mother.
"She said if she'd seen the stork flying over she would have shot it."
Who could say such a thing to a two year old child? The conundrum of memory to an old and frail lady, now as helpless in her years as that once young life. A peace fills the room as she floats once more into sleep. Her mouth opens wide to suck in the last of the winter air.
We lock up the house, replacing the key in the safe. And the memory persists.
Friday 5 March 2010
Friday 26 February 2010
Confessions of a Humble Man - the Warren Vice Interview
![](https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg3dkgSZi9eHxgaZb0vcwjEhy4v_qmhKxN0BsWi4oWlhPYNPKCNP8O4QjVHLlcTfjW7ZJZ7RvIWgqbKE4xDmb0Hdj1l7Yl_XSLITQFML6TBUjs_QsBOv3kmQ1dU-lQRkbRQtsa8SptWLLo/s400/Warren+Vice.jpg)
A Definition
"To put it simply, Taekwon-Do is a version of unarmed combat designed for the purpose of self-defence. It is more than just that, however. It is the scientific use of the body in the method of self-defence; a body that has gained the ultimate use of its facilities through intensive physical and mental training."
General Choi, Hong Hi
The House played host recently to a World Champion. He's a humble man who wakes early each morning to work in a factory. A young man who's travelled the world, a young man crowned world champion five times over. A young man disciplined in the art of Taekwon-Do. So here's the Warren Vice interview in full.
What's your first memory, Warren?
I guess my very first memory as a young boy was falling out a of tree. But my first memory of Taekwon-Do, that's special.
I was bullied at school, but Dad knew just what to do. He always knows how to look after himself and his family. I remember wearing my black track-suit bottoms for that first class, the ones with the purple stripe down the leg.
I still have the same instructor twenty years later, and I still look up to him. I knew, aged six, I wanted to be the Champion. Just like my hero, Jackie Chan - he's funny and he's good.
What do you most admire about your parents?
Family's really important to me.
My dad's always worked for everything. Something goes wrong, he buys the tools and fixes it. He sets his sights on something and he gets it, one step at a time. And mum, she's a real hard worker too. Started as a cleaner, taught at a playgroup, she works in a hospital now. And it's not just me who's into Taekwon-Do. My mum, my dad, my younger brother - they're all black belts.
I guess the thing I've learned most is respect and courtesy for people. I remember this Czechoslovakian student who joined my High School in the second year. I befriended him, and helped him to learn.
Respect and courtesy, that's what it's all about. And from Taekwon-Do ... integrity, perseverance, self-control and an indomitable spirit.
So how did you become a world-beater, Warren?
I really didn't concentrate on other things at school, all I wanted to be was World Champion. I was ten years old when I realised I had the potential, and five years later I became one.
From the age of six to ten I went into every competition, but never won anything. I didn't even get past the first round. And then I became the best junior at school. There have been times in the past when I've hated it, but once I'm there I'm alright.
I became a black belt at the age of ten, and I won everything from then on. Do you know, I'm still friends with my best mate at that club.
What does it feel like to fight?
Five minutes before the fight begins I get a rush of adrenaline. It's the 'fight or flight' thing. You either get so nervous you can't fight properly or you harness that energy so you can do anything. And I know how to control fear.
I watch people throughout the competition - the fight before and the fight after. That's how you learn. You get to the stage when you know what your opponent's going to do, and then you can put them in the position you want them to be in. I make them do what I want them to do.
And I like fighting defence from time to time, because it sharpens me up.
It's your funeral. What do you want to hear said about you?
Strange question!
I guess I want to be known as a good guy, a caring person. I want my wife to say I'm loving, my kids to say I'm loving. I don't want to be remembered about my Taekwon-Do, just about the person I am.
I might sign lots of photos and autographs, but I still have to get up early to go to work in the factory. It keeps my feet on the ground.
What's the best experience you've had so far, and what have you learned from it?
I enjoy winning.
I remember my first World Championship, and the last. I remember coming back from Australia and having three months to train. Meditating - what did I have to do to buck myself up. But I went on to win it.
It's the little things that count. Like the kid I taught, and all he wanted to do was to go to London Zoo with me for his birthday.
I love coaching people. I remember once in Australia helping an autistic child get onto a trampoline. I've coached lots of people in my time.
I know someone too who is Downs Syndrome. He's mischevious and funny as anything, and very loving. His hands are all mashed up, his fingers swell if he plays on the computer. Everyone else molly-coddles him, but I don't. I played against him once on the Wii, sword-fighting. He didn't win, and he sulked. Do you know what happened next time I saw him? He ran up to me to say he was sorry.
Respect, courtesy, integrity. That's what it's all about.
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