The First Birthday

Today (or rather yesterday, considering that it is past midnight) it was Gi.'s birthday. When he and Ge. came home from school, Uncle Pu came up the stairs with them, and had a nice visit. There were two large bowls of candy and one of cookies that gradually diminished in the course of the day. In the evening Papa prepared two birthday cakes, with chocolate chips in them and melted chocolate on top, of which the first rapidly disappeared. Then Papa prepared two delicious broiled chickens with bread stuffing. I also made a salad with avocado and egg (Mama used to make it on special occasions, and this is my second and more successful attempt to recreate it) and tomato. And, to transcend the merely gastronomic aspect of the feast, we were all mostly in a good mood today -- with the sadly ironic exception of the "birthday boy," whose cold made an unpleasant return in the evening -- and talked and laughed together rather than sitting apathetically in front of our respective computers. Besides, there were at least two phone calls for Gi., and an evening visit from uncle W.

J., for whom Mama and I just sang "Happy Birthday," spent much of the day reading The Count of Monte Cristo (which we unfortunately only have in an abridged version). He found it gripping reading, though he couldn't pronounce any of the names properly (T. and I didn't mind correcting him, anyway). (c: Earlier on we did a few Math questions together; the Spanish homework, which is (so to speak) a bête noire where J. is concerned, somehow failed to materialize.

As for my studies, I did read the caption of a 13th-century map of England in my English Literature textbook, and spend some time looking at it. It was peculiar how completely absorbed I became in it. The proportions of the map were rather off. For instance, the Caledonian Channel, which cuts a deep groove in Scotland, was shown as being much broader than it is, whereas the Wash was a shrivelled appendix of the North Sea instead of the generously-sized near-lagoon it is now. The rivers were rather crude, indiscriminately broad, blue squiggles. Towns that became prominent later, like Oxford, were nowhere to be seen, but London and St. Alban's were distinct. There were no dots that marked the exact location of cities, just the names with a box around denoting a castle or cathedral, I think. The sea was, as is usual with old maps, a nice subdued green instead of the modern blue. On northern Scotland the map-maker had written a comment in Latin that ran more or less like this: "A mountainous and wooded region inhabited by an uncivilized people." I thought it was interesting that the concepts of "civilized" and "barbarian," which I last heard of in connection with the ancient Greeks and their Persian foes, should come up here too. I guess it's a sort of propaganda that works in any age and nation; if I were to read any books on mass psychology I would probably come across something about it.

So, I'm not sure how far I am getting toward my aim of devoting myself to studies. The best scenario is that I am building momentum. But the true test is time, and the next lazy/depressed mood that comes up. What I'm guessing is that I'm truly tired of idling now, and that for the rest of my life I will be continuously active. Even when I'm being idle, I do try to develop certain habits, because it is likely that I will be in a situation again (e.g. retirement) where I won't necessarily have many outside stimuli and I'll have to rely on myself to occupy my time and mind properly. But I've decided, already a long time ago, that I'm not going to retire to the countryside when I'm in my seventies and eighties. That's basically the surest way to get the brain to degenerate, I think, in my case; though I do think that there are many admirable, intelligent people whose brains do not suffer in the least from being in a pastoral environment. Anyway, to return to the subject announced at the beginning of the paragraph, I think that there is no harm in beginning to learn things slowly again, if that means that I remember them better and don't attempt to do more than I have the energy and interest for.

I guess it's peculiar that I should be so fixated on studying and the mind, but to me it means more than a rabid interest in knowing dates and facts. It means seeing the world in a more rounded and clear way, getting to know what occupies people in the present and what occupied them in the past, and above all to avoid ever again being confined to learning and doing as little as I did during my later school years. And, as I discovered in university, the more one learns in books and from other people -- learns facts and learns to use one's mind --, the more one can grow to appreciate and understand one's real-life surroundings. I find it liberating, and also a sort of pure thing because it takes one beyond oneself.

As for the piano, it went partly badly and partly very well today. It's easy now to get into the spirit of the music and to play each note with a proper expression, if I put my mind to it. And to a great extent this is nicer than when the good playing just comes automatically, which is pleasant when it does happen but which doesn't lead to any real improvement. I'm resigned to not having a teacher now, because I see that there are still many things I can work out on my own, in a way where the music is not driven out by intensive work on the technique. And, quite frankly, my playing is in such a rough state (I should really play scales again), that I doubt that any teacher would want to attempt the task of bringing order into the chaos. That may sound like false modesty, but in this case it isn't.