Devenish

Over the past few days, I've been thinking a lot about my father, Gordon Duffield, who died earlier this year, far too soon, before we had a chance to talk. You might think that in nearly fifty years, we would have had a proper conversation, but though I told him about myself (too much at times, at times too little), and though he always listened, he only rarely shared his innermost thoughts, his personal beliefs as a man apart from his parental role, as a father and breadwinner; even then, when he revealed anything of himself, it was only in writing, never in conversation. My father was the kindest man I have ever known, the most forgiving of others, the hardest on himself: in all my life, I only once saw him lose his temper, and it was not with me. (If I can get through a single day without berating one of my children, it is a rare achievement.) He was a good man, without a trace of self-consciousness, generous and tolerant to a fault, and—until his last weeks—optimistic b

Click here to play the first track [Youtube] When I was young/My father said Son, I have something to say And what he told me I'll never forget Until my dying day... ( Cliff Richard, Bachelor Boy, 1963) Since just after Justin's birth, I have tried to be positive and optimistic about our future, and particularly about the challenges presented by his condition. Sometimes, as will have been clear from other posts, this positivity is aided by an ostrich-like refusal to contemplate future eventualities, but mostly, it's because I feel we've been really lucky: he had no postnatal medical complications; he's loved and accepted by his brothers, he's growing well; there's even a hint of a smile on his face... There are some days, though, when optimism seems like an overwhelming challenge,  days when I almost lose the will to move forward, and when I look around for a large tub of sand (something, like litter bins, that is in desperately short supply in u

Click here for the accompaniment Last Autumn leaves at Julian's nursery When it's not always raining there'll be days like this When there's no-one complaining there'll be days like this Everything falls into phase like the flick of a switch Well my momma told me there'll be days like this When you don't need to worry there'll be days like this When noone's in a hurry there'll be days like this When you don't get betrayed by that old Judas kiss Oh my momma told me there'll be days like this When you don't need an answer there'll be days like this When you don't meet a chancer there'll be days like this When all the parts of the puzzle start to look like they fit Then I must remember there'll be days like this Van Morrison (Days like this) On the face of it, yesterday was not one of those days, as we took Justin to the Children's hospital for his one month check-up—as I mention

A relevant book by my former History teacher (CCB 1975-1980) Over the last few weeks an old post, Expatriotism , has been attracting some attention. So I thought it might be of interest to re-post another, which I was nearly as happy with. (At least, it may be of interest to those who happened to grow up in East Belfast in the 1960s). You can read it here too Scents and sensibility Dreadful pun though it may be, the title captures the theme of this post (I was going to say essence, but that would compound the sin). I'm losing my sense of smell. This is not some private affliction, though its loss to me is certainly personal; it's less a symptom of aging than of the age itself. With regard to other cognitive faculties we are told to "use it or lose it", but my nose hasn't got a chance, really. It's not for want of trying, but for lack of stimulus, that the sense of smell is gradually giving up its ghost. The same homogenisation of popular culture th

Fruit tree in December: Are these lemons? On my academic website , under Current Research projects, I've written the following: No-one with young children, and an appreciation of human history, can reasonably prefer social over biological determinism, unless they are incredibly optimistic about society, and I'm not... The line was written with regard to three closely-related 'big questions' that most of us professional linguists care about: (i) how much of Language is innate?; (ii) are there Language Universals, or can languages 'differ from each other without limit...and in unpredictable ways (Martin Joos)?'; (iii) does the language you speak materially affect the way you think? At first sight it might be thought that the first two questions are different ways of asking the same thing: if significant aspects of language are innate, then there must be Universals; conversely, if languages can vary without limit then it would seem that no aspects of Language

“Nothing worth doing is completed in our lifetime; therefore we must be saved by hope. Nothing true or beautiful makes complete sense in any immediate context of history; therefore we must be saved by faith. Nothing we do, however virtuous, can be accomplished alone; therefore, we are saved by love.” Reinhold Niebuhr. I've just found this, by the "God, grant me the serenity to accept the things I cannot change..." man: perhaps it is well known, but it was not to me. It is brilliant, I think, and a neat preface to a re-post of an article I wrote a few years ago, when I was struggling with parental responsibility: the sentiments expressed there, I feel more intensely now, yet the realization that we can be 'saved by love' is no small comfort. Parenthood (originally posted on Inishmacsaint, 2007) People say that I am a good father. It may be true, but it does not reflect any strength of character or personal virtue. Quite the opposite: it is a symptom of lo

Saturday evening/Sunday morning. As more people hear about Justin, so I've heard many stories about friends whose own experience of parenting has been so much harder than ours. Some people, my mother is one such, wonder why this is a comfort: does it make you feel better knowing that others have faced more tragic situations? For me, it does: first, it's chastening to realise that ours is no tragedy, we are not specially chosen, and that other parents can cope with so much more, but also to know that many people care and sympathise—if I didn't think much of social networking at the beginning, it's because I didn't realise how much it could help. So thank you! And then there's this picture, taken earlier this evening: far from being in any difficulty, we are so lucky to have moments like this...

Realizing that it's a week since the last post, I've resolved to spend a few minutes catching up on odds and ends. First, the weather: not only because it provides such a dramatic contrast to Sheffield: until about 1am this morning, it had been another beautiful week, with clear skies and warm temperatures (up to 16 degrees down the hill). The following pictures were taken on the road from the cable car to home, and at Kobe College in Nishinomiya (where we'll both be teaching fulltime for a year from next Spring). Sheffield offers a slightly different view, I understand: I'm grateful to Sue Vice for sending me the picture below of the Botanical Gardens. If you happen to be stuck in the snow, take comfort from the fact that this is just a seasonal aberration for you: no doubt after a week or so, it will be back to 6 degrees with blustery winds and extended showers in time for Christmas (which is, curiously enough, how it is here today: looking out on the mountain, I can