tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6496460488742488789.post8088371027584549345..comments2024-03-18T10:29:46.055+00:00Comments on Ken Armstrong Writing Stuff: Grannies and GranddadsKen Armstronghttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07775956557261111127noreply@blogger.comBlogger4125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6496460488742488789.post-47630572855206053952013-10-19T18:09:09.254+01:002013-10-19T18:09:09.254+01:00My grandpa died recently, so this resonated with m...My grandpa died recently, so this resonated with me. <br /><br />I learned a lot about my grandpa after his passing than our relationship permitted during his life. There are things you know simply because you learned them as a child and your understanding will always be filtered as such. Then there are things you learn as an adult that make you question those previous understandings.<br /><br />My grandpa did a lot of tough and heroic things in his life. He meant a great deal to many people. He lived his life with a keen sense of adventure and he took time to do the things he loved. It's a harsh reminder that I have spent so much time focussing on the wrong things, but an affirmation that it's never too late to invest in the relationships that matter most.<br /><br />Thanks, Ken.R. Brady Frosthttps://www.blogger.com/profile/16926505633531944151noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6496460488742488789.post-23000640073586885442013-10-19T14:30:52.588+01:002013-10-19T14:30:52.588+01:00Just a small thank you for sharing Ken.
That's...Just a small thank you for sharing Ken.<br />That's it really.<br />Thank you.Jeffwhttps://www.blogger.com/profile/13727923475881903056noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6496460488742488789.post-56743795172036553922013-10-13T12:31:04.053+01:002013-10-13T12:31:04.053+01:00Hi Ken I remember your granny well. What always st...Hi Ken I remember your granny well. What always struck me about what she did that day was the sheer lack of fear involved. An elderly lady dashing into flames to save those trapped in the blaze,with no care for her own safety,words can't truly<br />express the impact & bravery of her actions. May have run in your family tho Ken One Wednesday in the mid 90's very heavy snow & thick ice I was walking toward riverside talking with your Mum.<br />A neighbour of yours came meeting us on her bicycle. The bike slipped on the ice and the lady was dumped on the ground, myself & a passerby made to help her, but your Mum got there before us. The stricken woman didn't want aid , probably thru embarrasment, she was quickly talked round by your Mum ' Sure wouldn't you do the same for me' she said to her, aid accepted and we all went on our seperate ways take care Ken<br /> GHseoirse mac enrihttps://www.blogger.com/profile/11894305600071657649noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6496460488742488789.post-45269496271147218362013-10-13T11:58:28.843+01:002013-10-13T11:58:28.843+01:00My parents were cremated. I don’t ever recall eith...My parents were cremated. I don’t ever recall either of them expressing a preference so that’s what we did. We left their ashes to be dealt with by the crematorium staff in whatever way they saw fit. There are no markers anywhere to say they ever lived. We didn’t even plant a tree or anything. It wasn’t that my siblings and I weren’t caring but we were never brought up that way. I expect my remains to be dealt with in similar fashion. I don’t even want a service. <br /><br />I have never visited a grave. I’ve wandered through graveyards but never to visit anyone I knew when they were alive. I’m with Beckett who opened his novella <i>First Love</i> with the lines: “Personally I have no bone to pick with graveyards, I take the air there willingly, perhaps more willingly than elsewhere, when take the air I must.” Great line. Only once have I ever accompanied someone—no, scratch that, it was twice, the same person, twice—and it was interesting (from a writer’s point of view) watching him but all it did was affirm my desire to vanish without any trace; if my daughter wants to remember me she can just remember me.<br /><br />So I’ve never visited any of my grandparents’ graves. I’ve only met one of them and that was only the once, my maternal grandmother. I can’t even remember what she looked like. Whenever I remember her it’s from the single photo my mum had of her and that wasn’t the woman I met. I’ve never met any relatives on my father’s side. My parents came from Lancashire, Oldham as it happens. Work brought mum and dad to Scotland—the firm Dad was with relocated which is why I ended up being born in Glasgow—but the rift between us and them was as a result of what happened when they took me down to show off their firstborn to Mum’s family. (Bear in mind they’d waited twenty-one years for me.) Apparently my gran showed more interest in a neighbour’s little black baby than she did in me and so Dad vowed he’d never go back to see them again. And my dad stuck to his vows. I don’t know what happened with him and his family. I know that his mother has been married three times before and was actually living with my grandfather out of wedlock so my dad only had half-brothers and sisters. I couldn’t even tell you what any of their surnames were. He never talked about them. He’d answer questions but I’ve forgotten all his answers. All I can tell you is that his dad was called John. Wonder why that stuck. <br /><br />The thing is I never felt I was missing out on family because we belonged to a congregation that took a lot of interest in each other. We were always in their houses or they were in ours. So I had proxy uncles and aunts—although we never adopted the Scottish way of calling these people ‘Uncle’ or ‘Auntie’—and cousins and grandparents. Family has less to do with your bloodline than the ties that bind you. Since I turned my back on my religion I don’t see any of those people anymore. And I miss many of them. But I guess I’m like my father in that respect. You make your bed and you lie in it.Jim Murdochhttps://www.blogger.com/profile/12786388638146471193noreply@blogger.com