In a Word

Our lives begin and end with a word.

I do, I will, I promise, I give. Amen.

The Greeks would know whatI mean:

Beginning and end. Alpha and Omega.

Crystal and clear. Nothing absurd.

Life is a quest for words plucked from time.

I love, you love, he, she, it loves.

Only words will spell you what I mean,

Something simple, Amo, Amas, Amat.

A mixture from another tongue

Andlife goes on because of that.

Eli J. Finkel is not a name I am familiar with. An American psychology professor he's an expert on successful marriages and has written a book about it.

The path to true happiness liesin going overold arguments, apparently. (Yes, I think I've got that right.)Analysing the disagreements will reveal the cause of them. Sounds good, yah! Not your averagefun- guy,perhaps, buthe has statistics behind him.

I know someonesimilar to him, though.Any family disagreement is recordedin her diary so, if the matter is brought up again, she 'knows exactly' who said what.(I don't know what herhobbies are).

Peter and I never analysed our arguments - I doubt we could haverememebered them, anyway, and I have always held to the dictum"Bury the Bones".Although we do not think alike in any way, we rarely disagree. It might bebecause we know each other's views on things.

Despite the fact everything was stacked against us: I was very young, (sixteen), my parents were divorced, Peter was an only child and he was nine years older than me, we have survived. Studies carried out on these factorspointto a white knuckle ride that can only end in disaster.

We are two very different people. (If Peter banged his head on something, my first reaction would be to laugh, because that's how I am. If I banged my head, he'd worry that my brain had stuck to my skull or something equally awful.We cannot change our personalities. He's an introvert but I am Pisces andcan be quiet or gregarious.

So what steered us away from divorce, apart from the obvious things like love and attraction?

I remember one incident, which he has forgotten, butwhich was pivotal for me. We had been married two years and were invited to adinner/ dance.I wanted to go, he did not (he hates that type of thing). I can't rememberwhat I said but I was annoyed.

Later that evening I feltworried about what I'd said and asked him if he was going to divorce me because of it.

He wasastonished and saidhe would never divorce me, no matter whatI said or did. 'And don't mentiondivorce again', he added, 'we've only had a disagreement.'

Although we'd promised for 'ever and ever' when we married I did know, young as I was, that things went wrong for people far more mature than myself.

Peter'swords were like a renewal of our weddingvows after we'd 'road- tested' our marriage. Theygave methe security to express my opinions without fear.Ialso understood that ifwe disagreedwe were able to come toa compromiseabout it.Both sides give a little, yes?

There's a new homework 'guru' attracting publicity in the papers at the moment, Noel Janis-Norton. Shehas rules that help pupilsknuckle down totheir homework. In three weeks she can re-set bad habits, apparently.

The expert wants an hour's homeworka night for junior children, which I think excessive. Half an hour is surelyplenty after a day in school. Older children do have to work harder butI don't agree with week-end homework for any one.The rules include parental guidance and involvemen.

(This remindsme ofwhen I was inthe third form. My mother'sfriend reeled off all her daughter's exam marks from memory and thenmy mother asked me how I'd done in Latin.I toldher I'd 'dropped' it at the end of the first year and opted forFrench becauseI found iteasier. Ah, well, no harm done.)

I used to teacha Creative Writing module attended by (grown-up) students.The first time we met I asked themabout their aims and what they hoped to achieve. Then I showed themsamples of famous writers' work and askedif Icould see some oftheir workthe followingweek. This request was met withhurt and surprised looks. I soon discovered they disliked actually writing and sowe had to do it in class. Idon't know what they had expected- (a night out with a cup of tea, the warden told me.)

The class wasin a Portacabin and one night there was a parents' evening in the school to which we were attached. I'd seen parents rushing into the school eagerly and recognised some from years ago, the very ones who had shown no interest as pupils but were brimming with hope and expectations for their children.

The paradox with some parents is, that while they did not enjoy school themselves, they look to their children to give them a sort of second chance, even becoming 'pushy' parents.

My two children had different attitudes to homework. My older daughterwas a worrier and I had to tell her to put her books away. We both enjoyed poetry, not always school work, andwe often read a poem together atnight. I particularly liked'In Xanadu did Kubla Khana pleasure dome decree'.

My younger daughter's approach was different. Homework was tackled lying on the carpet, books in front of her,watching television. There was no poetry. She held to the opinion that there was no need for a long word when a short one was adequate. (I think she had a notebook with that inscription on it and it suited her style admirably.)

Whenexam revision was necessary we used a baby intercom, from her bedroom to mine. I'd get a buzz on the intercom to alert me to start asking the questions. In this way Ilearnt quite a bit about Boudicca, the warrior queen.

There is a programme on UK televisionthat I'veonly seen a snatch of, on one occasion, called 'Loose Women.'

I find telly tiresome - I watch antique valuation progammes, property makeovers, quiz shows (I'm selective about which) and some BBC 4 music programmes. I don't watch cooking because I hate seeing the contestants demeaned by some of the judges. My tastesmay below brow, but I want to be entertained, not worried, soI don't watch the news, either. It's too horrific. I prefer reading it in the paper the next day whenI can turn the page if I want.

But this talking shop show, 'Loose Women' reminds me of my daughters and myself, when we get going. No subject istoo tricky for us, no holds barred, either.

A friend's son has been appearing in a musical in the West End and I congratulated her. She shrugged.

'He could have been a lawyer, if I'd made him.' I asked if he was interested in the law and she said it didn't matter. He'd have done whatever shetold him.

Rousseau, the French philosopher, thought along those lines, too. He believed a child's mind was like a tabula rasa, a blank slate, that an adultcould do anything with. (We won't bother too much with Rousseau for the purposes of this blog, because he dumped his own children in an orphanage.)

Similarly, the Jesuits believed that ifchildren were tutored before the age of seventhey could be moulded to the teacher's will.

'They'd have had a jobwith my two', said my older daughter. 'Those two know everything. You can't tell them a thing.'

We have holidayed in the north of Majorca many times, in a little place called Pollensa. There aren't many shops there but the countryside has an appealingroughness, with scraggy goats jumping around the olive trees. We stay in avilla close towhere an architect has his office in a small house nearby.

My grandsons used to admire thearchitect's old bicycle, chained up outside the house. Often, when we passed by,(each time), I'd ask them if they'd like to be architects. They were non-commital, surfing, skateboarding andlife-saving, as in Lifeguards, being their main interests.

My daughter told me to let them choose for themselves what they wanted to do, but following my friend's theory we began to wonder if you can influence your child's future career.

I've noticedthatchildren often follow intheir father's occupation: doctors, dentists, bakers, butchers all have children brought up 'in the shop', as it were. In our family, we have all taught, andI wonder if it's possible to pass on a work 'gene.'

My younger daughterhas another theory.

'Children who findhome life uncomfortable are more adventurous than others.We'dhave been kick-ar** hot shots somewhere exotic now if we hadn't liked it at home,' was her conclusion.

Could bea PhD thesis in there for someone.

The Italian film actress, GinaLollobrigida, says it's not easyfor a woman to attendsocial events withouta partner. This is why she has been escorted for a number ofyearsby a much younger man.

Nancy Reagan and Jacqueline Kennedy, too,had professsional'walkers'when their husbands were unable to accompany them.

Iknowthe feeling when enteringa large hall, full of couples,alone. First everyone stares, which doesn't bother me,but when the waitressesignore me I get mad. Am I invisible, or something?

I shall explain. I went to a 'talk' (I'd had an invitation in the post) and paidtwelve pounds for the buffet, to include an alcoholic drink.

The Queen arrives last minute, I know, but I prefer going a little earlier. The taxidriver insisted on dropping me right outside the main door as it was drizzling. Everyonepeered asI got out and made my wayto the main hall. So what?

I waswaved in by an official butnot invited to geta drink (perhaps there was a specific time when the drinks began, I don't know).I don't drink alcohol, anyway, so went to a separate bar,bought a juice, returned to my 'do' and walked around, looked at the pictures on the wall, then sat down to sip the drink.

As the place filled up,three waitresses appeared,carrying trays of canapes. Each one sailed passed me and went straight to the middle of the room where the tallest and loudest guestschattered. Two waitresses came back with empty trays, not once glancing my way. I stopped the third one - I sound like theAncient Mariner - 'He stoppeth one of three'- desperate to tell my tale to anyone who will listen.

There were five scrappy biscuits left,no larger than the size of an old penny.

'I was wondering if I might have something?' I said boldly.

Deploying a social lie, the young girlsaid, though she hadn't looked at me, though she was passing right by and though I'd had to raise my hand to signal to her, (showsI was a teacher in a past life) that she hadintended bringing me a fresh biscuit.

Refraining from saying 'Yeah. Whatever', like my grandsonswhen they hear a whopper,I waited for her return and thentook three biscuits. (They were four pounds each, for goodness sake.)

Theevening came to an endandmy taxi, from the same firm, arrived shortly afterwards.The young driver wanted to know what the event was about.Iskipped through that andunloaded aboutthe buffet.

He listened intently.'Did the biscuits have something sugary on the top?'

'Only tiny scraps of cheese, tomato and peppers', I explained.

'Ask for your money back', was the first suggestion.

It wasn't the money that was annoying me, I said, it was being totally ignored. The money was secondary.

He breathed in deeply: 'You hungry? I knowa very good curry house. I take you. You get a lot of curry for twelve pounds.'

I started laughing, though I'd not touched a drop. The taxi driver had turned the night around, though I didn't have any curry, either.

I'm a fan of Roy the 'Orb' - ('Cry- ah- ah- i-ying over you').It's a private passion and Peter's

probably relieved; we have different tastes in most things, which does not necessarily make us incompatible.

Roy is full of rainbows, dreams, lost loves, mean women, good-byes, tears: he's singing heartbreak andI love the tremble in his voice, the octave range.

I was thinking of Roy this morning. Know the song 'When it's right, it's so right, but when it's wrong, it's all gone'?

There'sa bitter divorce battle, labelled 'toxic', inthe newspapers this week. They're rich, they're powerful and she's gonna get him, whatever it costs (and it's cost him half a million so far). In her own words'I'll nail him'.She loved him once andthey have children but though'it's all over, all over' she can't see that it is.

In the US you may not haveheard of Chris Huhne, the ex-MP who left his wife andchildren for another woman. They'redivorcingandhis wife sayshe forced herto take his speeding points.

They bothheld highly paidjobs but seemcompletely lacking inemotional intelligence. Texts from their teenage son, revealed in the newspapers, show he sides with his mother, not wanting to see his father again. 'Experts' have jumped into print, freely throwing intheir advice about howthe divorce should be conducted, bearing in mind the needs of the children.

One person I know, with a Cambridge degree, was forty when her parents divorced and her father quickly took up with someone else. The forty year old did all she could to cause trouble in his place of work, so furious was she with him. It took her years to forgive him, if she ever has really.

Recently, another couple, both lawyers with two young children,fought each other through the divorce courts until they had spent most of their million pound fortune, leaving them homeless and penniless.Granted that most marriages are a power struggle, how big are these people's egos? Are they completely bonkers?They seem to forget the financialsecurity of their children,leave alone their professional integrity.

OK. I'm not divorcedso I can't advise.I've been married for more than fifty years and I'm no expert on staying together, either. I hope Peter's not thinking of leaving mebut if he did, I'd remember my mother's words when someone wouldn't play with me when Iwas young:

'If they don't want to play with you, you don't want to play with them.Go and find something better to do.'

In short, walk away andsay, likeEdith Piaf, 'No, no regrets, no regrets,rien', becausethen you won't look a pathetic saddo.

I sometimes believe that the term 'Chaos Theory' shouldbeapplied to my brain, rather than mathematical concepts - not that maths was one of my strongest subjects -how could it be-the brains of girls whose parents divorce have been found in tests to do less well in maths. than other girls, but on the other hand I worked in a finance department of the Civil Service for three years and was promoted andwhen the milkman's bill in school varied by a pint,I was calledto do the mental arithmetic, so?

My mind has been particulalrly mashed lately, hence the following jumble:

Dr Brian Cox, a physicist, explains complicated complexes in a simple way. (He's popularon UK television.) On Sunday morning Iread, between checking the slow roast shoulder of pork, which had to beturnedbecause it cost 10 and I wanted it to be succulent, and Peter would look at it from all angles and prod the beautiful flesh suspiciously before he started slicing it, tied up inhis striped apron thatI bought him for the purpose of carving,that Prof. Cox believes the earth formed overbillions of years, and will crumble away, thus disproving T.S.Eliot's assertion in 'The Hollow Men' that the world will end'Not with a bang but a whimper'. In other words, it will crumble, like a fresh cookie in your mouth, or cinder toffee from the County Show, of which I am particularly partial to, not caring over much for chocolate, but Ilove Montelimar Nougat, too, the way you have to work your jaws, but I'll keep off it for now, because Ionce pulled a new filling out with a Mintoe and the dentist laughed, redrilledit and charged me full price again and yesterday I had a seventy pound filling, so I'll go easily for now..

I'd heard in Sunday School, when I was about seven, that 'Heaven and Earth shall pass away', soIcould have savedEliot and Cox a lot of bother but I couldn't linger on the thought because there werecarrots topeel and chop, to go with the pork, plusthe apple sauce to prepare (with cloves, of course), sage and onion stuffing, too, andPeter doteson potatoes and I insist on a green vegetableand he can't eat brassica because he has thyroid problems and they interfere with his tablets, and then there's the gravy,(Manna from heaven for him), gallons of gravy,so I multi-tasked and jumped into the Time Machine, back to my College Days, where I read Saul Bellow, who read Koestler,who wrote that every society moves from spring to winter. And then I took another quantum leap, still in College, to the recruiting sergeant from Papua, New Guinea, whowas looking for teachers.

I watched the faces of the other students, straining to hear everything, their eyes bulging, cheeks moist with the excitement of new opportunityandthe only place I wanted to be, right there, right then, was on my way home, to cook chops and chips for tea for Emma and Kate. (I was a 'mature' student, or that's what we were called anyway, and I was thirty three.)

Thepsychology Lecturer,who was with us, read my thoughts. When the speaker stopped for water, the lecturer caught my glance, acted smartly and and said: 'Students with other lectures to attend may want to go now'.

I gathered my bags, apologised and ran for it.

My grandsons are taking a 'gap' year. (Peter was surprised-'How many "gaps" have they had already?' he asked.)

'Last year does not count because they were on anArt Foundation course', I reminded him, but he only snorted.

One twin, Ollie, isstarting an architecture course in September. (My daughter, Emma,tells menot to hold my breath: we'll see how he goes.)

The other, Harry, is off on the 'Grand Tour', not of Italy and the Swiss Alps, but he's following the sun, Australia first stop.

The boys arenot an entirely idle pair. They arefull-time LifeGuards, in between relentless partying. At the moment they operate on the principle 'Money In -Money Out', as in 'out most of the time'.

When Iwas theirage, nineteen coming up to twenty, I had been married for a while. I worked to have moneytosave fora house and we had rent to pay andfood to buy.

Harrythought for a moment when I mentioned my teens: 'Don'tworry.I'll keep a diaryand send it to you each month. Then you'll know I'm fine.'

He enlarged on his theme:

'After Australia, it's Hawaii. There'sthis manwith a boat. For ten pounds he'll take you out -about three miles? -and the waves'llbe big.' (Yeah, the surf boards are going, too).

I was getting the hang of the conversation now, while Emmawas listening but pretending not to, anxious to know the plans.

'And, then?' I prompted.

'You know Papua, New Guinea?' (I nodded, not that I knew the place. There was something, once, about head hunters but if I'd said anything I would only have been wrong.)

'I'll head there then.' (The intrepid traveller again and I was glad I hadn't mentioned the heads.)

'Isn't this going to cost?' (Me)

'Not really.' (Oh! the confidence of youth, the joy of certainty, knowing you are always right.)

'What if the money runs out?' - (Silly old me.)

'I'll find a temporary job or Mum can lend me something till I get back.'

(Emma pursed her lips rather tightly).

That night I wrote in my diary:

'Life is really simple but we insist on making it complicated' - the quote is Confucius's, but it might have falllen from Harry's lips if he'd lived in another age.

I shall keep you posted.