I was just beginning to grasp the concept of a Million, when Billion replaced Million as the number of the time.
Once when my children were small, one of them asked me if I could count to a thousand. I told them I could, but that I never had. They didn't believe I possessed such a skill. And so I began. We were trapped in the car on our way back from the cottage. And so I droned on....... 134......283.....299...... 307.......... on and on and on and on. At some point they conceded that they believed that I did indeed possess such a skill. By that time, I had invested so much time into the effort, I wanted to complete the task. The car was filled with some mighty irritated occupants. ......842...... 875.......899. My intention was not to be irritating, though I was, I wanted to discover how big One Thousand really is. We don't really deal with a Thousand THINGS in everyday life, though the the number flies through a day so easily.
I can remember when the concept of One Hundred ruled. There were those Hundred bottles of beer forever on the wall. What were they doing there anyway ? How were they attached to the wall ?
Before One Hundred there was Ten. The now politically incorrect Ten Little Indians, as well as the Ten in the Bed with the Little One.
I guess Two was the jumping point of numeracy in my life. Two said there was more than One.
One just is. But sometimes One is too many.
Zero is the giant conundrum. This concept continues to fuel Doctorates in Mathematics, Science, Philosophy and Theology.
I don't want to go into the Negative.
For now I just want to stick to a Million and a Billion.
At some primary school somewhere children collected and brought together One Million bottle tops. This made for an impressive display. Being the sceptic that I am, I regretfully question the authenticity of this reality. It is hard not to imagine of all those little hands, One hand sneaking out One favourite bottle cap or adding just One more to the to the humongous pile. How many times did they count them ? Who was the Counter in Chief ?
I have decided to try to give up worrying about a Billion.
Although, what confuses me the most is there are two sorts of Billion. There is One Thousand Million and One Million Million, both Billions. Apparently One is British and the other is American. Perhaps some fine Scholar of Etymology should focus in on this discrepancy, as a pathway to Doctoratedum. Perhaps someone already has. This must be important to some people.
Oh well, I think it best for me to leave the Billion Thing behind, maybe even the Million Thing too. Biblical scholars tell us in the bible Forty means many. That is why there are so many Forties.
I prefer to look forward to lying on the grass, drinking up the beauty of the night sky, this summer without attaching those infinite numbers to the magnificence.
My self has a finite capacity to understand it all.
Monday 21 May 2012
Friday 11 May 2012
My Mother Myra 1907-2008
Myra, this Mother's Day is for you.
Except for those flowery cards you wanted so badly, you made Mother's Day easy. I would stand for a long time in the card shops, going through card after card trying to find the perfect card. Humorous wouldn't do. It wasn't your style. I could not bare to put my name to the sentimental fantasies you and your compatriots loved so much. I remember you and my aunts swooning over the words on cards that belonged on bygone cards in bygone times. I inevitably purchased a beautiful wordless card, in which I wrote "Happy Mother's Day, I love you." Communication is between two people. We each had poetry in our hearts. The deep rhythms were the same but the words flowed from different times and different experiences.
However, buying a gift for you was always a joy. The only request, I remember you ever making was to go to the Mackay farm, to go for a walk in the bush to gather wild leeks. I often go for those wonderful walks, as I drift through the quiet of soft nights. I am growing wild leeks in my wild garden. There are not enough coming up yet, to pull up and eat one. There are times ahead. Each spring they rise, brings strong memories of you. What fun we had feeding them to the uninitiated.
The first present I really bought for you, was a set of coloured facecloths, I bought at Tim Clarke's store on Main Street in Markham. Those were the days when a little girl could walk down street with her little purse of coins to make a purchase, by herself, at a very young age. I was thrilled with my purchase. You were thrilled with your present. As I remember, when I was able to cross the road and venture further along the street, I bought collections of bright coloured sponges at Sinclairs, Five and Dime. All I know is that there was never a shortage of fresh sponges, under the sink.
Of course there were breakfasts in bed. Being too small to boil the kettle, your tea was made with hot tap water, your shredded wheat biscuit was softened in the same hot tap water. I am sure the tray was covered with a linen table mat and a tiny bouquet of johnny-jump-ups and blue forget-me nots from the lawn. Really presentation is everything, isn't it?
There were so many years that followed.
One year, I bought you a small burlap bag of hibernating lady bugs and a regal praying mantis - good aphid control for your organic garden. I stored them in my neighbour Karen's fridge. Of course the inevitable happened. Her children opened the bag and we spent an afternoon searching for them in an overloaded fridge.
Another year I bought you a fancy plastic system to house your Niagara Red Wigglers. The reality is it wasn't as good as the old wooden worm box. I still have the worms' descendents.
There were the pretties - rose bushes, handkerchhiefs, nighties and blouses; the edibles- Jordan Almonds, cherry filled chocolates, hoarhound and perhaps a fresh salmon steak or two from Healy's.
But the greatest gift I gave to you was a gift no one can really give. Children belong to the universe. When I became a mother, you became a grandmother. There wasn't anything in your life that gave you more pleasure than being grandma. You were an outstanding grandmother.
I am now a grandma, so I know the dimensions of such love. Two little girls and now a bouncing baby boy are your great grandchildren. Somehow I know you know all about them.
I don't miss you. One hundred years were so many years to live. You went happily. Thankfully you left so much of yourself behind for us.
Except for those flowery cards you wanted so badly, you made Mother's Day easy. I would stand for a long time in the card shops, going through card after card trying to find the perfect card. Humorous wouldn't do. It wasn't your style. I could not bare to put my name to the sentimental fantasies you and your compatriots loved so much. I remember you and my aunts swooning over the words on cards that belonged on bygone cards in bygone times. I inevitably purchased a beautiful wordless card, in which I wrote "Happy Mother's Day, I love you." Communication is between two people. We each had poetry in our hearts. The deep rhythms were the same but the words flowed from different times and different experiences.
However, buying a gift for you was always a joy. The only request, I remember you ever making was to go to the Mackay farm, to go for a walk in the bush to gather wild leeks. I often go for those wonderful walks, as I drift through the quiet of soft nights. I am growing wild leeks in my wild garden. There are not enough coming up yet, to pull up and eat one. There are times ahead. Each spring they rise, brings strong memories of you. What fun we had feeding them to the uninitiated.
The first present I really bought for you, was a set of coloured facecloths, I bought at Tim Clarke's store on Main Street in Markham. Those were the days when a little girl could walk down street with her little purse of coins to make a purchase, by herself, at a very young age. I was thrilled with my purchase. You were thrilled with your present. As I remember, when I was able to cross the road and venture further along the street, I bought collections of bright coloured sponges at Sinclairs, Five and Dime. All I know is that there was never a shortage of fresh sponges, under the sink.
Of course there were breakfasts in bed. Being too small to boil the kettle, your tea was made with hot tap water, your shredded wheat biscuit was softened in the same hot tap water. I am sure the tray was covered with a linen table mat and a tiny bouquet of johnny-jump-ups and blue forget-me nots from the lawn. Really presentation is everything, isn't it?
There were so many years that followed.
One year, I bought you a small burlap bag of hibernating lady bugs and a regal praying mantis - good aphid control for your organic garden. I stored them in my neighbour Karen's fridge. Of course the inevitable happened. Her children opened the bag and we spent an afternoon searching for them in an overloaded fridge.
Another year I bought you a fancy plastic system to house your Niagara Red Wigglers. The reality is it wasn't as good as the old wooden worm box. I still have the worms' descendents.
There were the pretties - rose bushes, handkerchhiefs, nighties and blouses; the edibles- Jordan Almonds, cherry filled chocolates, hoarhound and perhaps a fresh salmon steak or two from Healy's.
But the greatest gift I gave to you was a gift no one can really give. Children belong to the universe. When I became a mother, you became a grandmother. There wasn't anything in your life that gave you more pleasure than being grandma. You were an outstanding grandmother.
I am now a grandma, so I know the dimensions of such love. Two little girls and now a bouncing baby boy are your great grandchildren. Somehow I know you know all about them.
I don't miss you. One hundred years were so many years to live. You went happily. Thankfully you left so much of yourself behind for us.
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