Epiphany at Salisbury

Readers of my other blog will know that this week has also been peppered with visitors from home - always something of a double-edged sword, because invariably we (okay, 'I') end up talking abot Mikko, and often I end up in uncontrollable tears and feelign like a goose the next day. So I was wary of that. Especially this week, of all weeks.

As part of our adventures, after visiting stonehenge I took Rod and Lissy to Salisbury cathedral, to see the Magna Carta (the political geek in me stands in awe of how much this document shaped England for centuries to come, and just how much we owe William Marshall and is peers, for their contribution to democracy. But I digress).

I will always remember Mikko's delight at discovering the born traveller - the "citizen of the world" - within me. I know now for myself how exciting it is, showing people around and seeing their faces light up, knowing that I looked exactly the same when I first saw the same things. And I understand that look he used to give me, because now I 'pass it forward' too.

Anyway, I had a moment of a very different sort in Salisbury Cathedral.

Despite being 'no longer particularly christian', Mikko always used to light candles for people in cathedrals - all over europe, in memory.

So I light one for him - wherever I go. So I'm headed up to the chapel behind the altar, usually 'the lady chapel', trying to make sure Rod neither sees nor hears me crying. Suddenly I realise that the particular shriney thing before me is actually a memorial for prisoners of conscience... So of course that got me thinking about all discussions we all used to have about human rights and giving something back.

It reminded me that all the Mandelas and Bettancourts and other people who aren't allowed to say what they think have, at times, had to rely on nothing more than love and warm memories to get through much tougher times than anything I have to face. And that helped. A lot. So now I don't feel nearly so lonely this week.

Remembering the finn

Four years on, and today it feels like nothing has really changed in the year since I wrote this piece.

I've had counselling, I've fallen in a heap, I've been to the unit we set up with his bequest. I've silently raged against people who, in their grief, have behaved in ways that I would have been ashamed of - but who am I to judge anyway.

I've tried to focus on the positive, to resolve the grief and the anger and the sheer bloody waste of a life. I sometimes wish I could hate him for throwing it away - but I stopped being angry with him a long time before he died.

None of it changes the fact that I still miss Mikko. Daily.

Bush don't live there anymore...

I can think of no-one who would be dancing harder over Obama's win over McCain in the UK Presidential race. It's long overdue - and the jokes have already started.

One sunny day late in January 2009, an old man approached the White House from Across Pennsylvania Avenue, where he'd been sitting on a park bench.

He spoke to the U.S. Marine standing guard and said, 'I would like to go in and meet with President Bush.'

The Marine looked at the man and said, 'Sir, Mr. Bush is no longer president and no longer resides here.'

The old man said, 'Okay' and walked away.

The following day, the same man approached the White House and said to the same Marine, 'I would like to go in and meet with President Bush.'

The Marine again told the man, 'Sir, as I said yesterday, Mr. Bush is no longer president and no longer resides here.'

The man thanked him and, again, just walked away.

The third day, the same man approached the White House and spoke to the very same U.S. Marine, saying 'I would like to go in and meet with President Bush.'

The Marine, understandably agitated at this point, looked at the man and said, 'Sir, this is the third day in a row you have been here asking to speak to Mr. Bush. I've told you already that Mr. Bush is no longer the president and no longer resides here. Don't you understand?'

The old man looked at the Marine and said, 'Oh, I understand. I just love hearing it.'

The Marine snapped to attention, saluted, and said, 'See you tomorrow, Sir.'