When first I translocated across the galaxy, one of my gravest concerns was that not all the natives would be friendly. And though my fears were realised in some ways, I'm happy to say that most of the aliens I encountered on the New Planet, were most friendly indeed and I have come to count them now as my closest friends.
But as in all life, there comes a time when farewells must be said as life continues in its circle of birth, life and death. Recently I had to say farewell to one of the ancient aliens that I have come to love. He began as merely my provider of accommodation, gave me somewhere beautiful to live and over the past 13 years we became close. He was an alien with a mind that worked a little differently from most, and in a sense was way ahead of his time in terms of inventions and ideas, a trait that did not always go down well with those he knew. Nevertheless he and I had many an interesting discussion, both philosophical, religious and tractor related.
If ever I had a question about how a particular piece of agricultural equipment worked, he was sure to explain it to me in detail. Extensive detail. And yes, from time to time I have needed to know how a digger or tractor works and he was always willing to assist me in my quest for knowledge about all matters agricultural. I, in turn, provided him with much information about life in the Southernmost Colony and shared my views on life, death, the universe and beyond. I think it's fair to call him an eccentric, and I have a wonderful memory of going for a walk in the field one day, rounding a hedge and seeing his digger parked close to said hedge. The bucket was raised (see, I know what a digger bucket is), inside the bucket was a wheelbarrow and standing in the wheelbarrow, with shears in his hand, was my 85 year old landlord, pruning. Now, after catching my breath I politely inquired what he was thinking of - well, perhaps I yelled something like, 'What on earth are you doing up there? Get down at once or you'll fall and break a hip!', to which he replied, wobbling precariously, 'I'm perfectly safe, look, it's steady and safe.' whereupon he did a little jig in the wheelbarrow, which rocked and almost toppled over. He burst out laughing at my feeble female fancies and continued pruning. I waited nearby, then called his wife who shook her head knowing that nothing either of us could say would convince him to come down. We waited all afternoon for a crash that never came.
He was one of those men that picked up things he saw along the way, took them home and cleaned them up 'just in case' he could use them one day - anything from a rusty nail to a piece of string or perished pipe, he took it home. Long before wind turbines became popular, he decided that having one on the farm would be a good idea, only the council would not allow it, posturing that the narrow lane leading to the farm would not stand the weight of the truck that would need to carry it. A few days later he called me over to ask where he could buy a large wok. Not a little wok, a LARGE wok. I directed him to the famous Swedish labyrinth of a shop nearby and he returned clutching four enormous woks. He then spent several very happy (and loud) months hammering pieces of sheet metal into gigantic blades, which he attached to a metal base with a generator, soldered the four woks on top and proudly announced that he had built his own wind turbine. Okay, it looked sort of like a turbine, and the blades certainly spun round madly as the wind blew - the woks were apparently to give it more torque - but what it actually did I have no idea. I think he planned to use it to generate power, but then solar panels arrived on the scene and he moved on to the next invention.
I have so many memories of him striding around the farm clutching a piece of pipe or plastic or riding around on his mower and cobbling together a 'solution' to a problem. My boiler is secured by a few pieces of twine, some bits of pipe that don't quite fit together but are bound securely with duct tape, a couple of lengths of wire and I wouldn't be surprised to discover, a piece of chewing gum or two...Nothing in my cottage is perfectly right. The roof leaks, the taps in the bathroom don't match, the carpet has a big seam where he joined two bits together because he had some left over and didn't want to waste them, one of the 'windows' is a piece of sheet plastic that gapes and allows the wind to howl in during Winter and the washing matching has to be thumped emphatically before it starts, the power sockets are in such inaccessible places I have to employ the moves of a carnival acrobat, contorting my body unnaturally to reach them (not always easy to get up afterwards) and there's a huge fake fireplace/nook/old manger as I live in a converted stable, in my lounge. I love it.
Not always an easy alien to get along with, for some reason he and I hit it off from day one. We had many chuckles together as he repeated the same jokes over and over, but he 'got' my sense of humour, which was wonderful and I'm so glad I could make him laugh. When he suffered a series of strokes I was happy to assist him and his wonderful wife (my now dearest friend) as best I could, though he always refused my offers to take him swimming. The last few years were difficult for him, his mobility limited and eventually gone entirely. Even going for a ride at high speed on his mobility scooter, cornering on one wheel while we all held our breaths, became impossible. For such an active man, with a brain bursting with schemes and ideas, it was very hard. And more so on his family as his mood became darker by the day.
Chris finally shuffled off his mortal coil two weeks ago and though it was a relief for all, him most especially I imagine, there's a funny old hole here now. I was so touched to be called to his bed a few weeks before he died, and asked if I'd read a poem at his funeral. We had another one of our long talks, tears were shed, but for me it was a special time. I got to say my goodbyes and read the poem, The Lake Isle of Innesfree, at his funeral as requested. Life carries on of course, and now the hard and difficult times of his illness can fade as we recall the good times and appreciate the funny old boy that he was. I will miss him.
But as in all life, there comes a time when farewells must be said as life continues in its circle of birth, life and death. Recently I had to say farewell to one of the ancient aliens that I have come to love. He began as merely my provider of accommodation, gave me somewhere beautiful to live and over the past 13 years we became close. He was an alien with a mind that worked a little differently from most, and in a sense was way ahead of his time in terms of inventions and ideas, a trait that did not always go down well with those he knew. Nevertheless he and I had many an interesting discussion, both philosophical, religious and tractor related.
If ever I had a question about how a particular piece of agricultural equipment worked, he was sure to explain it to me in detail. Extensive detail. And yes, from time to time I have needed to know how a digger or tractor works and he was always willing to assist me in my quest for knowledge about all matters agricultural. I, in turn, provided him with much information about life in the Southernmost Colony and shared my views on life, death, the universe and beyond. I think it's fair to call him an eccentric, and I have a wonderful memory of going for a walk in the field one day, rounding a hedge and seeing his digger parked close to said hedge. The bucket was raised (see, I know what a digger bucket is), inside the bucket was a wheelbarrow and standing in the wheelbarrow, with shears in his hand, was my 85 year old landlord, pruning. Now, after catching my breath I politely inquired what he was thinking of - well, perhaps I yelled something like, 'What on earth are you doing up there? Get down at once or you'll fall and break a hip!', to which he replied, wobbling precariously, 'I'm perfectly safe, look, it's steady and safe.' whereupon he did a little jig in the wheelbarrow, which rocked and almost toppled over. He burst out laughing at my feeble female fancies and continued pruning. I waited nearby, then called his wife who shook her head knowing that nothing either of us could say would convince him to come down. We waited all afternoon for a crash that never came.
He was one of those men that picked up things he saw along the way, took them home and cleaned them up 'just in case' he could use them one day - anything from a rusty nail to a piece of string or perished pipe, he took it home. Long before wind turbines became popular, he decided that having one on the farm would be a good idea, only the council would not allow it, posturing that the narrow lane leading to the farm would not stand the weight of the truck that would need to carry it. A few days later he called me over to ask where he could buy a large wok. Not a little wok, a LARGE wok. I directed him to the famous Swedish labyrinth of a shop nearby and he returned clutching four enormous woks. He then spent several very happy (and loud) months hammering pieces of sheet metal into gigantic blades, which he attached to a metal base with a generator, soldered the four woks on top and proudly announced that he had built his own wind turbine. Okay, it looked sort of like a turbine, and the blades certainly spun round madly as the wind blew - the woks were apparently to give it more torque - but what it actually did I have no idea. I think he planned to use it to generate power, but then solar panels arrived on the scene and he moved on to the next invention.
I have so many memories of him striding around the farm clutching a piece of pipe or plastic or riding around on his mower and cobbling together a 'solution' to a problem. My boiler is secured by a few pieces of twine, some bits of pipe that don't quite fit together but are bound securely with duct tape, a couple of lengths of wire and I wouldn't be surprised to discover, a piece of chewing gum or two...Nothing in my cottage is perfectly right. The roof leaks, the taps in the bathroom don't match, the carpet has a big seam where he joined two bits together because he had some left over and didn't want to waste them, one of the 'windows' is a piece of sheet plastic that gapes and allows the wind to howl in during Winter and the washing matching has to be thumped emphatically before it starts, the power sockets are in such inaccessible places I have to employ the moves of a carnival acrobat, contorting my body unnaturally to reach them (not always easy to get up afterwards) and there's a huge fake fireplace/nook/old manger as I live in a converted stable, in my lounge. I love it.
Not always an easy alien to get along with, for some reason he and I hit it off from day one. We had many chuckles together as he repeated the same jokes over and over, but he 'got' my sense of humour, which was wonderful and I'm so glad I could make him laugh. When he suffered a series of strokes I was happy to assist him and his wonderful wife (my now dearest friend) as best I could, though he always refused my offers to take him swimming. The last few years were difficult for him, his mobility limited and eventually gone entirely. Even going for a ride at high speed on his mobility scooter, cornering on one wheel while we all held our breaths, became impossible. For such an active man, with a brain bursting with schemes and ideas, it was very hard. And more so on his family as his mood became darker by the day.
Chris finally shuffled off his mortal coil two weeks ago and though it was a relief for all, him most especially I imagine, there's a funny old hole here now. I was so touched to be called to his bed a few weeks before he died, and asked if I'd read a poem at his funeral. We had another one of our long talks, tears were shed, but for me it was a special time. I got to say my goodbyes and read the poem, The Lake Isle of Innesfree, at his funeral as requested. Life carries on of course, and now the hard and difficult times of his illness can fade as we recall the good times and appreciate the funny old boy that he was. I will miss him.
