Questions and Answers

Listen! Can you hear it?
It’s ‘the clapping of one hand’.
Well that’s what passes for profundity these days I understand.

And if a tree falls in a forest
And there’s no one there to hear,
Does the forest still resound with sound?
If there’s no one there – who cares?

The theatre! Now there’s a cause worth championing,
Although the last time I was there
It was two men – ‘Waiting for Godot’?

I worry for the world, I do.
The questions people ask
Seem not inclined to answers
As though answers were a task

Their not inclined to tackle
As though questions were an end
In themselves – it drives me round the bend.

I like questions you can answer
I like answers you can trust
That put the meat on life’s lean bones
Say ‘now you know, you must!’

That move you into action,
Commit you to a course.
Say ‘This is the way, walk in it’.
And you do with all your force.

Did I tell you I’m a Christian?
Well I am, and what is more
You can keep your empty questions
‘cause my answers make me sure

That if a tree fell in a forest
And a bloke with just one hand
Is walking there and hears it
And starts clapping He can stand

And wait all day for Godot
And not learn a thing – but me?
‘Cause my questions looked for answers
I know the bloke who made the tree.

Be Careful What You Ask

We have been married for thirty four years and, I agree, a man of such long experience should know better than to ask a direct question. Any married man will tell you that any married woman will always meet a direct question with – a direct question. For instance, you are at the theatre, the play is dragging and you sense that she is not enjoying it any more than you are. At the interval you stand in the lobby or at the small and crowded bar (why are theatre bars always so tiny?). Out of concern for her you turn and ask, “Why don’t we give the second half a miss?” Suddenly, she is very interested in how the play turns out, even though it’s The Mousetrap and you have seen it three times before, and replies, “Do you want to go home already on our first night out together for months? You never take me anywhere.”

“But I didn’t mean…”

But what you meant is not the point. You asked the wrong question.

I should explain that I am a “househusband” while my wife is the “breadwinner”. Very enlightened. However, no matter how long this swapping roles business goes on, there are some things to do with the nature of men and women that never change. As we approached the penultimate day of the year I knew my wife was going to be in work on New Year’s Eve. The question was, did she plan to finish work early and return to hearth and home, Sparkling Perry, Trivial Pursuit – and foreshorten “my day”, or would she dutifully press on to the bitter and belated anti-climax that is New Year’s Eve at the office?

I was tired. It had been a busy Christmas (you don’t know how busy until you have to organise it yourself because, “that’s your job”). As we sat up in bed, she reading a Science Fiction novel, me reading the latest Kathy Reichs forensic science adventure and thinking about who of my acquaintance might look good on a slab, when the words just – slipped out. “Are you finishing work early tomorrow, sweetheart?” It sounded so right in my head but as soon as it was on my lips I knew I had blundered and could have wished myself on that slab.

I was simply seeking information. I had no views on the matter. It mattered not at all to me what her answer would be, so long as it was a straight answer. I thought of Henry Higgins in My Fair Lady, “Why can’t a woman be more like a man?” he sang. Ask a man a straight question and the fellow will give you a straight answer. He understands the need simply to know, the problem-solving nature of questions, the worth of the direct route to a solution. To a woman a question is an opportunity for adventure, a chance to elicit something from an unexpected happenstance, to be complimented or, if she can catch him out, to be rewarded by her poor, dumb, placating husband, “No, dear, I really didn’t mean…?”

She turned and smiled in that inscrutable way they have and asked – asked mind, not answered, “Would you like me to finish early?” Oh, the fiendishness of it! The utter cunning of her gender. This would be tricky and, what made it worse, I had walked into it with my mouth open ready to receive both feet. I felt the panic rise in me like a flowing tide and my will to defy the fickle fates ebb away. I thought of how busy my day would be; how solitude in the kitchen would be so much more – salubrious than the occasional interruptions to, “come and see this on the TV, dear”, or, “Do you know where such-and-such is dear?” I love my wife, but I like my kitchen. It is my domain now. I know where everything is - I am in charge. It is the only place where I at least have the illusion of being king of my own castle. I spend hours in there, preparing food and listening to BBC radio 4, the Today programme, the News Quiz, “I’m Sorry I haven’t a Clue”, with Humphrey Littleton. I am reluctant to come out of it until I am ready.

Steadying my nerves I took a deep breath and said, “Of course, my love, I would be ecstatic to see you home early. I would look forward to spending more time with you. However, I mustn’t be selfish, and I know how you hate to leave loose ends. You are getting on so well at the office I would hate for you to blot your copybook for my sake. If you need to work through I don’t want to get in your way.”

We compromised. She finished early but late enough for Radio 4 to lose my attention and the lounge sofa to gain my undying loyalty. If you are already kicking yourself for breaking your New Year’s Resolutions let me make you feel worse still. I have, so far, kept mine – to never ask a direct question.

Bridge of Reason

Death of a Salesman

Well, the old guy's gone. On Sunday Gordon B Hinckley, CEO and consummate travelling salesman for the Mormon Church,  stepped from time into eternity and now he knows... Hell of a time to find out you're product wasn't all it was made out to be all along but then a lot of people wait until this point to find that out.

Bridge of Reason is the Reachout blog, it carries some thoughts on the old man's passing, as well as on his legacy, and there's a link through to a really good and helpful piece by Mormonism Researched Ministry, a first class resource for those who want to understand what really goes on, as they put it, Behind the Zion Curtain. Go Bill!

Bridge of Reason

The Fall: a ‘glorious necessity’?!

What Mormons believe is, as I have already said, a hot topic. The Mormons are doing their best to put their own spin on it all but here is an excellent treatment of what Mormons believe about The Fall. Put briefly, "Adam fell upwards, towards the goal". Read on:

The Fall: a ‘glorious necessity’?!

Who are Mormons?: Mormon Open House in Alabama

Now the Mormon Church doesn't do politics - fact of life, common knowledge. And the fact that when Mitt Romney, Mormon Republican candidate for the 2008 presidential election, rolls into town it is just an opportunity to hold an open house to explain to people what Mormons believe, and nothing more! If Mitt happens to benefit from the event that is just serendipity - right?

The world seems awash with Internet sites, newspaper articles, TV programs and PR initiatives designed to tell us all "what Mormons believe". With such blanket coverage of Mormon doctrine, culture etc. one has to wonder if there is anyone left in the world, let alone the USA, who doesn't understand Mormonism. Yet there are those out there who are not thinking correctly about Mormonism and until they fall into line and learn to repeat the received orthodoxy we are just going to get more and more of this stuff. So, for all our sanity's sake, repeat after me:

"Mormons are good Christian folk just like me - except they have more books than I do; believe that all other churches are an abomination to God and their members corrupt; that the Bible is not altogether to be trusted; that there are many gods and one day, with a bit of luck, a strong following wind and a big hammer, every Mormon male will also be a god; that the Garden of Eden was in America; that Christ atoned for our sins in the Garden of Gethsemane; that not all sins are covered by the blood of Christ and that one day a Mormon will be president and save us all from ourselves - and, apart from these little things they are Christians just like me, and anyone who says otherwise is a trouble-making anti-Mormon out to make millions of dollars in building their faith by tearing down others' - so help me Mitt."

Now don't you feel better, cleaner, washed anew by making such an honest confession? Welcome to Stepford!

Who are Mormons?: Mormon Open House in Alabama

In Memorium

I went down to the Cenotaph today and thought how you would have enjoyed the walk down to the seafront past the park where the small concert hall stands to where a group of people were gathered to remember the dead of war. We would have talked of many things on that walk, from anticipating the turnout; through the way the place has changed since you were young to those comrades you would personally remember at that emotive 11th hour, of the 11th day of the 11th month.

I looked across the bay and thought you would have appreciated the view of the distant headland, and I remembered how you always seemed to thrill at the promise the sea brought of distant lands, romance and adventure. And surely you would have pointed out the late autumn dog-walkers nervously eyeing each other’s dogs for signs of trouble, the kind of quirky detail you would be bound to notice and chuckle about.

As I stood with the crowds I saw a late and solitary bee land on a beautiful white flowering shrub and kicked myself because I couldn’t remember the plant’s name. I knew it would be familiar to you though and had a wager with myself that you would probably have had the Latin name on the tip of your tongue. Your critical eye would have passed over the small, neat flowerbeds and found some small fault as well as plenty to generously praise.

As the hour approached I saw the uniformed men and women, boys and girls with their flags and regimental colours and recalled the Remembrance parades of my own boyhood with the local silver band, the families standing self-consciously outside the parish church because they were chapel but just this once they sort of forgot about all that and stood around dutifully. The self-conscious church-goers would walk out into the autumn sunshine, the silver band would strike up again with familiar military marches and then all would parade through the town to the humble Cenotaph and memorial garden typical of a small town - to remember. I learned then that no place is insignificant that has given of its best for the future of its children.

Just as the hour was upon us it began to rain a fine drizzle given greater force by the wind that blew the rain into our faces. I thought how you would have enjoyed that rain on your face and how you would have stood with a ramrod back and determined look, “getting your priorities right”. Then, when the wreaths had been laid and a piper had struck up to mark the end of the official ceremony the rain stopped and the sun broke through the clouds and I pictured you looking up into the sky, as you often did, as though a promise was about to be fulfilled.

But of course my walk to the Cenotaph was solitary; my gaze across the bay accompanied by memories alone; Came the hour I stood alone in the crowd, with a straight back and determined look that I hoped you would have been proud of. Alone because it was you I had come to remember. You, who mattered so much, made my world better by being in it, and then made “the ultimate sacrifice”.

At the going down of the sun, and in the morning we will remember