Tag: love

How does death change your perspective?

Posted on Posted in catholic, family life, mental healthTagged , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , Leave a comment

WordPress, like most companies, wants to create wealth, especially for WordPress.  One way it does that is to create advertising that it will place on the sites that allow it.  IE you go on a page and every time that you click on the ad, the advertiser gets people to its page and pays WordPress for this privilege.  I’m not into advertisements on websites, and like some old-timer surfer, believe that they are a mighty pox that should be eradicated, like world poverty, and poorly made cups of tea. 

But I digress.  That last paragraph has nothing to do with death, I hear you say, and you know what, Dear Reader, you’d be right!  But I promise I will get back to death, but back to ads first.  WordPress has decided that they want to sell ad space.  Nothing has changed since the newspapers, apparently.  Ads to pay the ink and the journalist that writes the articles.  If, however, the articles in the newspaper are dismally awful, then you might not want to read the newspaper in question, and therefore WordPress wants you to “create content” that is interesting or meaningful.

They have found a sneaky way of doing this.  The buggers!  On my dashboard for this site, yes that one that people seem to keep reading despite me writing everything, WordPress gives you subject hints about what to write about.  Some were about what would happen if you won the lottery, another about describing your first computer, and then I saw this one. How does death change your perspective?

Soooo, let’s see what we write about death.  It’s like those essay titles you used to get at school in English, French, or German, etc.

It is, of course, a very loaded question, and it would be easy to play to the clichés about death.  As a religious person who is fortunate to have been blessed with a certain amount of faith and instruction, I know that death is part of life, and with taxes, happens to everyone, at least one day in their lives, usually at the end of their lives of course.

My first experience of death was at primary school, where a classmate’s brother was killed whilst crossing the road.  It certainly made me aware of the dangers of crossing the road.

In 1979 my Great Grandmother died.  This mother, grandmother, and Great Grandmother was the kind of lady that would wait for the milkman to deliver the milk with his cart and horse and pounce on the horse poop with a dustpan and brush to use the poop on her roses.  Apparently, it was a savage competition.  All this for a bucket of shit! 

At the age of 13, my grandfather died.  I was with my grandmother who had just lost her husband. I was crying and there she was comforting me instead of the other way around.  With 70 years of age difference, we certainly had a different perspective on death.

In 1987, my uncle died prematurely, and I remember seeing the family walk up the aisle in the church behind the coffin that contained his body crying.  In 1989, it was my grandmother’s time to leave this world behind and enter the next world, and it took me six months to cry.

In the last twenty years, I have lost school friends, a cousin, four aunts, two uncles, and a nephew, and when going through depression, I could have been next on the list.  Statistically, I am closer to death than my children, but death can come at any time.  Now, at 51, I am not afraid of death.  I have accepted that this has happened and can happen, and although not something I would wish upon anyone, you know it becomes more and more likely. 

It is always saddest for those left behind, and we feel the part of the deceased took in our lives, missing from us, and this missing part hurts like bloody hell.  So, if death is inevitable, then how do face it?  Some atheists have told me that you live, and then you die and you cease to exist.  How can that be?  The dead mentioned earlier in this article are still in my heart and therefore must still exist somewhere.  As a Catholic, I believe in eternal life, not for my body, but for my soul. That soul lives in my body, but there is no way of identifying it.  The soul makes me, me.  It is like talking about my spirit.  When I die, my body will die, and my soul will be judged by my creator.  What happens to my soul will depend on how I spent my life preparing myself for my death.  This death that is part of life…  If I have rejected my God, then my soul will be separated from Him and will spend eternity in hell separated from God forever.  If I have merited heaven but my soul still has the stain of sin on it, then it will be purified in the fires in purgatory, and once cleansed of sin, may enter Heaven, or if I die in a state of grace, then I will enter Heaven directly and spend eternity with my God.

So, does death change my perspective?  And if so on what?  On my life?  On the way I chose to lead my life?  Possibly.  I will die one day.  It will happen.  I hope I will be prepared and I pray for those who have died and have gone before me.  Some will say that I am delusional for believing in a big guy in the sky and that it ends when you die.  The difference between me and that person is that I have hope, faith, and love.  And yes, it changes the way I try to lead my life.

Well, that was an interesting exercise, and I might try it again.  I hope not to have been morbid or overdone the whole thing, but I have been honest with you.  Those who believe, and who accept Catholic doctrine, pray for the souls in purgatory, as they pray for us, even more so when they are delivered into God’s Presence in heaven.  It’s good to have people on your side.

Sorry

Posted on Posted in mental health, UncategorizedTagged , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , 4 Comments

Hello Dear Reader from a rather sunny corner of France! My mood is like the weather. Warm and blue skied, and my disposition as sunny as you could wish.

I have had it said to me that my last few posts have been far too inward looking and intopestcive. So if you’re reading this then it means you have been patient with me and I would like to thank you for it. One person even said that “I had flogged it to death!” Again fair criticism and with hindsight this is probably true. Thank you for being honest enough to tell me. Tough love…

I would however like to try and explain myself. To start off with this blog was going to be about photography and showing photographs from when I went out every week with my camera. It was going to show the photography that doesn’t get shown anywhere else.

Like most creations it seems to evolve and change over time. The Covid19, the crazy bat fuelled light beer disease came along and changed all our lives. The writing, as a creative experience, evolved too. Then I wrote my first article with no photos. Wow, what a rebellion against my original goal.

So, when writing, one can have a tendency to write what one knows the most about. Well,for me, that would be me, my past and present and what I hope my future might look like. Stuff came out of my head and onto the screen. I would write with no censorship. It became a therapeutic exercise.

The article I wrote in November was a liberation for me and a new experience. Ok, a bit dark, darker even than he dark side with their cookies. But over the next articles, with some ever so important therapy, it has allowed me to heal and has given me so much peace of mind. I would even say it has helped me vanquish my inner demons, that have been there for far too long.

It’s like I’m so happy that I want to share this happiness with you too. It’s new for me so just let me get over the novelty value of the whole shebang, and then we can go back to boring photos of cats, Nantes, and other places. I might even share some of my photographic processes with you.

When this person told me all this, I was furious, although calm. But in retrispection she wasn’t all wrong. We all have issues, all of us. The past always creeps up on us and can shout “Boo!” at the most inopportune of moments. And let me assure you, this has happened. But, evacuating and exorcising these troubles has been a revelation to me. I have been told, “we don’t do therapy.” And I get that. Smile and the world smiles with you, cry and you cry alone. I’m lucky. But you don’t have to cry alone, I had help, and this help has changed me, and I like who I am right now. Not perfect, but perfect enough for me.

Thank you for bearing with me up to here. Again I would like to offer my apologies for making anyone uneasy, or even shocking you. It is my story, and I accept each and every detail of it. I possess it and it no longer posesses me. Let’s hope my story can have a happy ending, but get this people, it’s not over yet. And that’s great.

The obligatory bike shot in the streets of Nantes

Posted on Posted in bikes, Black and White Photography, Café Culture, France, Nantes Photography, street photographyTagged , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , 4 Comments

To start off with this was just going to be a short preparative article before I publish my the photos from my night time article about night photography in Nantes. I was going to start off by talking the pubs opening in England and Ireland tomorrow. I wanted to show you the way that the new normal isn’t like the old normal but it’s still OK and that you can still enjoy meeting up with friends and rediscovering each other after lock down. Our bars reopened on the on the 11th of May so we’re kind of used to the whole thing. We put on our masks if we have to move around the bar. I might be half English and half Irish, but after a certain quantity of ale we all have to visit and inspect the plumbing. Just put the mask on and don’t forget to wash you hands afterwards;

So I’d finished work at 11h45, and was free for the whole afternoon. When I go to Nantes I always park in the same place. I’m a creature of habit. So, I park, and as soon as I come out of the car park I put my camera to my to check my settings. To start with I had the Helios M44-2 55mm lens on the XT2. It’s a lens famous for its swirley bokeh, but on the APS-C captor it’s more tricky to get, but it’s still a beautiful lens. I take a few shots of Bouffay. The bikes, the tramlines.

I wanted to capture the textures of the street. In black and white one can’t capture colour even if that colour information is present in my RAW files. I was looking for repetition of patterns, wanted to to get depth of field, wanted to play with the light reflecting off the street and capture people coming through the pool of light.

Strangely the pub isn’t very far away from these photos and I strangely I found myself sitting down with a Guinness in my hands… I had my mask on, and my hands have never been cleaner. It’s good to be amongst “my people” once more. I think that’s what I missed most about lock down. Having this social group of people who are good to me and make me want to be good to them. They know their names, and I love them dearly!

Well I wasn’t expecting that to go there… I’m such a sentimental old fool. I have hugged them and have made a real special effort not to break their ribs whilst hugging them.

So here are the photos of the pub where my “people” seem to congregate.

So it was already a great night, but I wasn’t there just for a good time despite rumours in certain quarters that I will always deny of course! I wanted to take even more photos. I had the Fujifilm XT2 and the 7 Artisans 35mm F1.2 lens which turns out to a be a manual focus, 50mm equivalent. I usually like to go wider, but that’s my little secret!

When I’m next in Nantes, hit me up! I’ll usually tell people on my Instagram and come up and say Hi! I might even buy you a beer. If we talk, be ready to talk about photography and this fair city of ours. If you have any questions about the photos in this article then just ask! I don’t bite.

My daughter

Posted on Posted in Black and White Photography, portraitTagged , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , 1 Comment

So as in the last post I’m just going to let these photographs just speak for themselves. It was the same set up. My daughter instead of my wife. She had been promised a film on Netflix if she posed for me. A fair exchange in my view!

My wife…

Posted on Posted in Black and White Photography, portraitTagged , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , 3 Comments

Not much text today. I’m just going to let the photos speak for themselves. My wife posing for me, using the Canon 6d Mark ii, 50mm F1.8 lens, and natural light coming through my bedroom window.

KISS. Keep it Simple Stupid! Slowly becoming my new ethos…

Letter to my daughter

Posted on Posted in Black and White Photography, UncategorizedTagged , , , , , , , , , , , , , , 1 Comment

I have a daughter.  Those of you who have followed this blog for a while will have seen pictures of her.  She is a thousand things to me, and more.  A muse, an inspiration, a little mother, my child, a force of nature, an enigma, a reminder of her mother, a little person turning into a young lady.

I think, like most ten year olds, she puts up with me but allows me to take her photo, but I didn’t expect these two photos.  They sum her up quite well.  She has that look that can kill at a thousand paces.  She has that look that says, that’s enough!  Stop please.  But she’s not just a killer.

When you were born, I was going through depression. I was still doing shift work. My constant companion was Insomnia, and was leaving me in a dreadful state. I wasn’t much of a father during that first year. I had moments of lucidity and of course loved you deeply. You changed my view on women. I’m not saying I was a Trump who wants to grab small cats or anything, but I think the moment you become the father of a daughter you change your perspective so quickly. I mean I’ve always tried to give my son a good example to follow, and to teach him that just because a person can’t write their name in the snow without their hands, it makes them no less of a person and must be respected as such. Any woman must be treated as a lady, even if she is not one. We have a duty to protect women. It might a little old school of me and possibly even patriarchal, but that’s the way I roll.

You reminded me what the word tenderness meant. At the time Killian was 11 and I felt that I had to harden him up to affront this world, where not everything is rosy, and I had forgotten. Any small child has the ability to melt your heart, especially when they belong to you. I remembrer laying next to you when you were on your play mat, and looking at you in wonderment. I remember you being a toddler and always trying to give me your bottle and make me drink. Obviously afraid that I wasn’t eating enough. I remember making biscuits with you and seeing your little face light up when you would eat the still warm biscuits with milk. I remember you coming in to see me when I was hiding in my room, hiding from the world when I couldn’t affront it. Depression is a bitch. You would give me the best cuddles ever and reminded me how much you needed your Papa d’amour chéri.

You always were a strong willed child, and this has not changed. You love spending time with me and having days out in Nantes, or elsewhere. We get in the car and you tell me exactly where I am to drive. Everything is planned in your mind ahead of time. Now and again I am allowed to bring my camera, but as soon as I get the look I know it’s time.

The look!

At the end of the day you allow me to go to the pub. I’m allowed to have a pint of Guinness, and you have a coke and a packet of crisps.

Despite being a force of nature my protective nature has surfaced. I want to defend you against all agression, especially as you become a teenager. Luckily you are the little sister of a big brother and knows how to fight. But every time you get hurt, my whole being hurts. Thank heavens there are no “boys” yet. You dare to be different and already are learning to pay the price at school. I worry about the Collège years. That awkward age… I know you will come out of it on the other side, and that any suffering will form you, and help you to become the woman you are destined to be.

I hear tales of women being cat called in the street, and being harassed. I have known victims of rape. I have known women who have been given grief for wearing the “wrong clothes” and “asking for it!” What kind of world do we live in? To all men out there, remember to act as gentlemen. Try and be more than an animal. A woman in the street is somebody’s daughter, sister, mother, and has as much a right to dignity as you do!

Kate, you have been my daughter for ten and a half years, and I have grown as a person. You have taught me to be gentle again. You have taught me to love. You have given me a reason to keep going despite the hard days.

I love you.

Ton petit Papa d’amour chéri.