tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6496460488742488789.post1979784957591872994..comments2024-03-18T10:29:46.055+00:00Comments on Ken Armstrong Writing Stuff: Embracing the Finite ThingsKen Armstronghttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07775956557261111127noreply@blogger.comBlogger5125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6496460488742488789.post-68182758821796208782017-09-04T23:41:44.721+01:002017-09-04T23:41:44.721+01:00Chris - You are as old as the game you play. You&#...Chris - You are as old as the game you play. You're doin' okay. :)<br /><br />Julian - It's a valuable lesson to learn but a high price to pay to learn it. Ken Armstronghttps://www.blogger.com/profile/07775956557261111127noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6496460488742488789.post-51850501468146909442017-09-04T21:27:14.276+01:002017-09-04T21:27:14.276+01:00You're spot-on about Summer - first it's e...You're spot-on about Summer - first it's endless and then it's gone. The same with youth. And with passion, very often. I think all of life needs to be regarded as a soon-exhausted resource because it is becoming increasingly apparent to me that everything and everyone I've ever taken for granted is only with me oh-so-briefly and every moment needs to be treasured.Juleshttps://www.blogger.com/profile/10282029770260743079noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6496460488742488789.post-90679900713361123502017-09-04T20:36:23.342+01:002017-09-04T20:36:23.342+01:00I am not getting old, I am old. Well physically at...I am not getting old, I am old. Well physically at least.Anonymousnoreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6496460488742488789.post-17577672798457475892017-09-04T18:34:18.450+01:002017-09-04T18:34:18.450+01:00I *am* getting old, Jim. I can feel it in my bones...I *am* getting old, Jim. I can feel it in my bones. I had a photo taken with my two boys last week and how much taller and straighter and 'vertical' they are than me. I am getting increasingly 'horizontal' these days.<br /><br />Get you, sitting up to listen to The Rite of Spring. That's pretty cool. <br /><br />Your scrap sounds good. I hope that blogging energy can be deflected into new and exciting creations on poetry, prose and whatever else catches your fancy. Ken Armstronghttps://www.blogger.com/profile/07775956557261111127noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6496460488742488789.post-74937768324912603302017-09-04T06:02:47.066+01:002017-09-04T06:02:47.066+01:00You’re getting old, Ken. The kids you talk about s...You’re getting old, Ken. The kids you talk about seeing in the street already think you’re old. But you’re starting to <i>think</i> old. I had to look up ‘Cat’s in the Cradle’. I remember the song well enough but I couldn’t recall who sang it. In the process I learned Johnny Cash <a href="https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=41ycV487WxE" rel="nofollow">covered it</a>. It’s far more upbeat than I would’ve expected from the man who recorded ‘Hurt’.<br /><br />It’s September. September’s when I call my daughter and book a visit; I see her four times a year, literally seasonally. I’m always the one to ask when we’re going to meet up. There’s a rather sad man inside me who wonders if I didn’t drop her an e-mail when she’d notice. She’s thirty-seven now and has a busy life. I know she has a busy life but I always feel as if I’m imposing. Gone are the days she turned up on our doorstep three times in a week basically because she was lonely. I miss those days but I wouldn’t know what to do with her if they came back. I’ve moved on too. <br /><br />Have you ever looked up “middle-aged”? The OED defines it as “The period between early adulthood and old age, usually considered as the years from about 45 to 65.” How many people do you know who’ve lived to 130? Life expectancy for males living in the UK stands at about 80 at the moment. I’m not a kick in the pants off 60. Is that when I get to be officially old? According to the UN, yes. I certainly don’t feel middle-aged.<br /><br />I read about John Ashbery’s death this morning. He’s not a poet I know well and what little I’ve read I’ve not been that impressed with although someone posted a poem on Facebook I didn’t hate but now, of course, can’t find. I’ve always been aware of famous people dying—Stravinsky was the first I took note of and begged my mum to let me stay up to listen to a performance of <i>The Rite of Spring</i> because it seemed the right thing to do—but the most recent deaths have been people who’ve been part of my life, who made me the man I am today. So it’s like a bit of me has died. And every day I become smaller, a little smaller and one day there’ll be nothing left.<br /><br />What to do with the time left, eh? Since I stopped blogging I’ve been allowing myself to become bored. I wrote about boredom a while back and about the positive side to it. Certainly it seems to be working for me because scraps are forming. This is one from this morning:<br /><br /> Another has gone.<br /> Seems like they're going every day now.<br /> One and then another and then another one.Jim Murdochhttps://www.blogger.com/profile/12786388638146471193noreply@blogger.com