All is Often Not What it Seems, You Never Stop Learning.

I have done around two hundred blogs. This has turned out to be one of the strangest. Let me tell you why.

I came across a piece of writing that impressed me. 'The Rule of Life' a homily apparently originating from the Old Saint Paul's Church in Baltimore and dated 1692. (I discovered it in a 1972 book called 'Top Pops' Book of Common Sense' by a Mr Neil Prendercost.) I marvelled at the wisdom emanating from all those years ago. I viewed American history in a new light.

Unfortunately I discover the 'poem' is actually Desiderata, by lawyer Max Ehrmann (1872-1945) of Terre Haute, Indiana, written probably in the 1920's ( Desiderata is Latin and means 'things that are yearned for'.) Used by the Reverend Frederick Kates in 1959 to 'inspire' his congregation, the myth concerning its origin gained credence when it was found amongst the personal papers of a deceased American politician, Adlai Stevenson in 1965. (Evidently Star Trek creator Gene Roddenberry kept a copy in his office. It was also the words used in a 1971 hit pop record by Les Crane for which he received a 'Grammy' for 'best spoken word recording'.)

I also noticed this work highlighted in a rather right wing Christian American blog, obviously accepted as an original piece. (quoted as from 1693.)

In a way I am pleased that I was initially gullible enough to be taken in concerning its authenticity. For cynicism in life is to be avoided where possible. But it does make you wonder where exactly we draw the line when we are given information. (Is it a coincidence that Mr Stevenson was a politician or is that me now being cynical!)

Another strange twist to the story. I found the original recording by Les Crane. I thought some of you might like to hear it so I pasted it from Utube onto the rough copy of this blog. Lo and behold, it has been removed from both Utube and my rough copy blog by the powers to be, something to do with copyright. (My reproducing it had no financial application plus I marvel at the ability to do such a thing. Amazing, and not a little alarming, this modern technology.) But I found at least two more interpretations you may or may not like. One at least was totally irreverent and I would not wish to offend though neither am I particularly into censorship. Of any case I finished up with two playing simultaneously and unstoppably so! I swear there is something eerily haunting about Desiderata. Hopefully one remains on this blog for your bemused perusal. All in all this blog has been an eye opener for me. Any comments very welcome. I would also love to know how many of my readers, particularly in the USA knew Desiderata was not all that it seemed.

And despite everything I consider 'Desiderata' well worth reading, despite its checkered history.

Don't make a Hash, when disposing of Ash.

I'm not feeling morbid, honest but a family bereavement set me thinking. An old family friend died recently and his ashes were scattered at Filey. Evidently he spent much of his childhood there. Now I've nothing against Filey but it won't be my choice. Which begs the question, where would you choose.
I'm a lifelong Derby County fan and have a brick set in the floor outside the ground. It reads' The best of times, the worst of times.' (Dickens, Hard Times.) I have thought of Pride Park as a last resting place, somewhere near the penalty spot. Only the groundsmen go round at half time with garden forks and prod the ground. I don't fancy that one bit. How unsightly, bits of me on the end of a fork, on a windy day the possibilities are endless. I'm serious, honest.
The friend of a friend of mine died young. He had during his short life a love of Combe Martin in Devon. And what are friends for. His friends drove all the way down to Devon, urn between passengers feet for a last scattering of his ashes. Only Combe Martin beach is draughty at the best of times. A walk to the waves, lid off and whoosh, ash was everywhere. Mothers who had just bought their children ice creams were far from pleased, I can tell you. Funnily enough, Harry, the deceased would have found it hilarious. He was always one for a practical joke.
I was brought up a Moravian and attended a little chapel in the village of Ockbrook. In my school teaching days I once took a minibus of what was then called remedial children to the chapel in the hope of educating them. Several had never been out of the town, never mind inside a religious establishment. Only about fifteen minutes into a somewhat laid back trip one youngster presented me with a small quarter full container he had retrieved from under a seat at the back of the church come chapel. A container I doubt we would have ever seen again had it been of any value. It was of course an urn containing someones ashes, placed in a safe place, ready for a memorial service and scattering of ashes in a day or two's time. Only, as Jim Royal would say, 'safe place my a***.' Mind you, it didn't take us long to top up the urn. Remedial they might have been but never call the kids I taught daft. We had the urn topped up in minutes, no one ever realises how much dust there is in the world until you really look. Mixed well and full to the brim, the urn was hastily returned to its original resting place. Well done lads. It was only on the way home that it dawned on me perhaps the urn was never full in the first place! Thank heaven I was not there to see the urn retrieved.
Its a problem to be sure. How many urns plus ashes finish on the mantle piece. I know of at least one case where this is so because the relations cannot agree on a last resting place. But in this technological age there are possibilities not available to 'ash scatterers' of past eras.
Scotty (James Doohan) of Star Trek fame had his ashes sent up into space on Rocket Falcon 1 courtesy of Celestris Inc. (Along with 208 others.) Only nothing on earth, and seemingly in space is ever simple. The rocket failed and finished up in the ocean. As good a place as any, I suppose.
(Its not as if only ashes can be a problem if you don't keep an eye on them. The story goes that Thomas Hardy's heart was placed on a table prior to internment and his favourite cat, Cobby carted it off.)
If you want your ashes close to hand (or heart, or ear for that matter) there are some intriguing possibilities in this ultra modern age. Possibilities certainly not available to your great granny.
One enterprising firm suggests turning the ashes into a diamond. Remember, folks, 'A diamond is forever.' No, then how about a piece of jewellery 'to keep near to your heart.' ( a locket with space inside to keep a few ashes. With the bonus of 10% off orders of five or more. The mind boggles with possibilities we won't go into.) And if you're used to being useful in this world and don't fancy doing nothing in the next life, how about being turned into something decorative; a paper weight for instance. (Engraved on the base free of charge.) I kid you not. Who was it who said there's no peace for the wicked. My apologies to anyone my irreverence offends but honestly, if you didn't laugh you'd cry.

So there you have it, the choice is vast, the choice is yours. But words of advice. Whatever you do, get relations or friends to keep their eyes on any ashes prior to decision making. And don't under any circumstances place them in the care of any of the worlds airlines. Emirates Airlines had a case containing ashes stolen on a stopover in Dubai. (I would love to have seen the thieves faces when they opened it up.) Plus Ryanair also lost an urn plus ashes travelling from Australia to Ireland. No wonder when the world's airlines apparently lose 10,000 items of luggage a day. Perhaps I'll opt for burial after all.