Cole's first Christmas card from 1843
Is it only me, or does everyone find the sending of annual Christmas cards a strange and quaint idea? The yearly task of writing and posting cards to an ever growing list is one that ends up becoming a lifelong habit. From a young age we’re taught (mainly by our mothers) of the need to send a season’s good-wishes card to our nearest and dearest. Our lists even contain people that we never hear from outside this end of year postal ritual. These acquaintances remain on our list simply because we’re not willing to be the one to not send a card this year thus breaking the cycle. All of which leads me to the question; are Christmas cards a form of spam, and if so, was the first Christmas card the spam originator?
The first Christmas cards appeared in 1843 when a certain London public servant and businessman, Sir Henry Cole commissioned the design, production and release of that first card. His idea it seems, was to develop a way to send season’s greetings to family, friends and business acquaintances. Within a few years the idea had so caught on that many cards were being printed in England and made available to the general public for sale. Adding to its legitimacy, no lesser a person than Queen Victoria herself began sending out family seasonal portrait cards, lifting the Christmas card from a novelty into the realm of officialdom.
Well might we ask what Cole really had in mind when he instigated that very first of season’s cards. It should be noted that 4 years earlier, he was instrumental in the development of the uniform penny post, the first prepaid regular postage system in the world. Sir Henry is even said to have had a hand in the development of the first postage stamp, possibly even being its designer. It’s not much of a leap then to imagine that the gimmicky idea of a Christmas card could have been launched to increase usage of the fledgling national postage system. And to whom did Cole wish cards to be sent? Business acquaintances and contacts, people whose connection was loose but accessible…. hmmm, doesn’t this sound a little like the principles that our modern day spam runs on? What is spam after all other than a network of contacts that would-be sellers or stirrers use to further their own enterprises or mischiefs?
And I haven’t even touched on the topic of e-cards yet. Those impersonal mailbox clutterers that hum dreadful tunes accompanied by silly animations. I think I’d rather have a finger nailed pulled out than read or send such a generic xmas greeting.
This year my Christmas card list is smaller than before. Some of you may recieve a card from me, sent with the best of wishes and the knowledge that I’m actually thinking of you. Others of you maybe won’t recieve a card from me as you might of previously…. rest assured that I’m still thinking of you but decided not to clutter your postbox this year. And next year…. who knows?
there’s something nice about lining up
independence is over rated
looking the same helps
it might be described as teamwork
all for one and one for all
sorry, I mistook you for someone else
birds of a feather flock together
what will they be wearing next season I wonder?
red legs
stand by me, won’t you stand by me
Driving for 2 hours to the airport yesterday made me think about our road system, the endless asphalt and concrete ribbon that unites and divides us. Roads permanently settle into our landscapes, becoming lines of demarkation in every city, town and rural area. Almost by default, and unthinkingly perhaps, we devote great swathes of land to build an infrastructure that supports the use of motor vehicles to the exclusion of all else. Areas that once were green and available for all have now become no-go areas for everything except those in possession of the hurtling metal cans that busily move us around isolated from our surroundings.
It’s true that good roadways have brought huge benefits to our society. For instance, yesterday I was able to estimate within a few minutes, how long it would take me to travel 120 km so as to arrive at the airport in time for a flight to Adelaide. No other generation has been able to move such distances in such short timeframes and with such predictability. We’re able to access services and goods unimaginable to those from earlier times simply because the network of roads has made it so easy to transport things from one place to another. And we’re no longer confined to the surrounds and company of our local village. Whereas 100 years ago someone might have been restricted to an area defined by a 2 hour walk, we’re happy to drive an hour to visit friends covering the distance that walker could have covered in 4 or 5 days.
There are some negatives though as well. Roadways are a hostile environment for us as people. In fact, despite the roads being public land we have lost the right to access them at will. They have no human scale, the size and speed of the passing vehicles creates a barrier to us, leaving them as human deserts. We’re taught from a young age to stay away, to be careful of these places. The road takes on the form of an enemy to human existence, a territory held by occupying forces that must be crossed with a wary eye and fear of the consequences. It leads me to ask, when exactly did we choose to surrender to such forces, why did we allow the car to dominate us in such a way? We seem to have capitulated so easily to the notion that the car has a right of way above the humble man or woman on foot.
Despite these musing, I won’t be forsaking the car any time soon. I must confess to being a creature of comfort who rejoices in the convenience of the age in which we live. Perhaps those car users amongst us could take some moments to think about the impact we’re having on our surroundings and on those who choose to go on foot. We’ve been provided with a huge benefit that we sometimes take for granted in terms of the infrastructure around us. But most importantly… we mustn’t forget to hold mother’s hand as we cross the road.
Hollywood is fascinated with the world’s end. In just the last two or three years alone I’ve seen no less than a dozen films that depict some form of global catastrophe or event that signals the end of civilization as we know it. We’ve had destruction by aliens, devastating wars, retaliation from nature itself and climate change driven weather systems that have wiped out millions before our screen goggling eyes. That romantic metropolis New York, seems perennially destined to bare the brunt of our visual entertainment destruction having suffered inundations, ice storms, monsters from the deep and above in almost monthly succession. This is not a recent trend either. As a child I remember a parade of disaster films from towering inferno’s to city crushing earthquakes and science gone wrong. And each time we’ve followed the lives of a set of people who somehow manage to survive against incredible odds to reform or restart life in the aftermath.
Recently my thoughts on this topic were provoked while watching the much awaited movie: 2012. The movie itself, like most in its genre, was entertaining enough. It followed the well loved formula that is built on the notion that factual probability and reality should never get in the way of a good story. Story? Did I say story? Well, at least facts and reality should never get in the way of good special effects even when a real storyline is less than evident.
There is however something powerfully attractive about cheering on ordinary folk depicted in the most impossible of situations. Our emotions are pulled into alignment with the characters, offering us a vicarious experience as we are moved to feel ourselves in their shoes, pinning our hopes on their survival (and therefore our own) against all odds. How elated we feel when they win through, remaining ordinary in their superhuman survival.
Have you ever noticed though, how we’re lured into imagining ourselves as those heroes rather than the untold multitudes who didn’t make it, perishing in their weakness or misfortune? Maybe this is because we all have an inbuilt belief that somehow we may beat the odds, that we’re different, more resilient than those around us and that we will survive beyond what is normal. Unfortunate as it may feel, the truth is that our world will end and our lives are finite. We probably won’t be around to witness the end of our planet (I certainly hope it doesn’t occur in my lifetime or the lifetime of those I love) but there will be a personal world ending of sorts as our life concludes.
It’s hard to imagine a world without us, to picture life beyond our own existence. But it will happen, as it has happened to every preceding generation. And eventually we’ll be forgotten, most likely within a few generations. I can’t for the life of me remember anything factual about my great-grandmother despite having vivid memories of her from 40 odd years ago. Research has shown that even our names will be forgotten within a few generations and that our great-grandchildren will have no idea of who we were or what we did – just as I have no idea of what my great-grandmother was called. Some have suggested this erasing of one’s existence may change with the amount of data we are leaving in our electronic trail; but I somehow doubt it. The question is this: why would anyone take the time to wade through countless data searches to view some old pics or scrawlings that we leave behind? Even if we achieve fame or fortune during our lifetime, those that follow will only be able to access information about us. The true essence of who we were, what we felt, our emotions, the depth of our love or pain will remain a mystery in many ways.
This shouldn’t be a depressing thought to us though. On the contrary it’s a comforting part of the normal pattern of life and is a process common to us all. And besides, we can always indulge ourselves in some way as we watch a glowing screen believing, even if just for a few moments, that it is possible at least in the dark, to beat the odds.
7 things I dislike, sometimes, maybe
1) Carrots – Carrots are inedible. They’re orange and taste of dirt. Maybe that’s because they are made of dirt. Carrots are a soil conditioning plant, they take minerals from the sub-soil with their long tap root and deposit those minerals in the top-soil as they rot away. Let’s leave them to that.
2) Tourists at airports - Airports are made to move through… as quickly as possible… they may be better places if everyone realised that.
3) Advertisements on TV that are louder than the program - That’s probably every ad then. Do programmers think we’re deaf? Or are the ads purposely made so loud so as to drive us from the room to make a cup of coffee? If that’s the case…. it’s working.
4) Loud ringtones - Actually all ringtones. There is a silent vibrate function people. After all it’s your phone, not mine.
5) Wi-Fi costs - I view wi-fi as a human right. It should be made free worldwide, all the time. That would go along way to making the world a better place.
6) Statistics - Ever noticed how many people try to baffle us and win arguments with statistics? Don’t people realise that the numbers can be made to say whatever point we’re pushing at any moment? And really…. we all know 83% of statistics are made up on the spot, don’t we now? 
7) Lists - Endless lists about likes and dislikes, tips and things to avoid and more, made by people who have nothing better to do. I advocate a list free world.
“Manners are the glue of our society,” my Dutch language teacher pronounced one morning a decade ago. Els Gosselaar was a stickler for driving home the need to oil our actions with a dose of please and thank you’s. And thinking back on it, she was right in that old fashioned sort of rightness that is easy to dismiss in our modern hasty world.
Manners are being relegated to the slower, older world that many of us seem in such a hurry to leave behind. Those little social customs and conventions that smooth out our interactions have become somewhat unfashionable in our fast moving world. As we hasten everything we easily lose sight of what it is to take the time to engage each other. Instantism threatens to reduce our lives to a succession of random exciting moments and events in much the same way that take-away food eaten on the run has replaced the sit down meal. And yes, there actually was a time when people would stop to enjoy good food cooked slowly at home in each other’s company, odd as that may seem.
Don’t get me wrong here, I’m not advocating a return to an old way of life or bemoaning the trends of our online instant world. I’m as online as you can get. I tweet and MyFace with the best of them. I’m googled and appled and up for the latest and greatest in online life, just as you probably are if you’re here reading my blog. I love the pace of our world and the way everything is now at my fingertips, a click away. I wouldn’t go back even if it were possible and eagerly await what lies ahead.
But I do wonder where it’s all heading sometimes. I noted today that the new operating system chrome being developed by Google promises faster internet access for our computers. No more forty-five second wait as our machines load cumbersome programs, we’ll be online and ready within ten seconds of booting up. I’d love someone to explain how much more instant ten seconds is compared to forty-five in reality, but I imagine that those thrity-five gained seconds will make a huge difference to a generation whose catch cry is I’m bored and who dismiss everything with a casual whatever.
The more instant we become the more careless our actions become as well. Watching a Jane Austen period piece the other day made me realise how casual we’ve become with our words. We seem to take little time considering what we’ll say in our haste to just say something. In Ms Austen’s day conversations and replys were crafted; there was virtue in holding one’s tongue, in not betraying a confidence and in sparing others from our unfounded opinions. But today we’re happy to click send or tweet without consideration, the impulse of the moment directing our words and response. Who of us has not regretted an email or comment sent in the heat of the moment? Unable to be withdrawn they remain forever dangling in someone’s inbox or cyber space waiting to come back and bite us. A good maxim may be: never do or say anything online you’d not be prepared to have your mother see or read, because it is distinctly possible that maybe she one day will.
So what’s to be done? To be honest, I’m not sure. Maybe it’s just time for us to stop and think about how life is. Remembering to say thank you or thinking about how others will feel about what we say might help as well. Even just being aware that although we’re all individuals with our rights, tastes and impulses we remain part of something bigger together, a thing called community where some cohesion is needed to maintain the mutual benefits we gain. And Els might still prove to be right in the end when she said that thoughtfulness and a sprinkling of good manners could just make the world a more pleasant place to live.
As I watch I become convinced that his legs are too small to do that. Boney and spindly, surely they’re engineered wrongly for what they do. They act like springs or maybe like dainty pins suspending the azure bobbling bird in his hopping food hunt.
The colour is too much. Van Gogh couldn’t have done it better or in stronger contrast to the background. The sun reflecting off iridescent feathers, these are certainly not camouflage colours… there’s no hiding in the bushes for him unseen. I see now that he, the male blue wren is a dandy of a bird, strutting his stuff in the most mundane of tasks unafraid, his brown drab girl eagerly yet shyly following him in the background.
And he has a purpose. He plucks offending grubs from my garden, like a small guardian angel, ever there, ever active. He takes my breath away every time I see him. He makes me stop, and think, and reflect. He makes my day.
Since arriving on my Island I’ve been fascinated by the place names both here and in the surrounding district on the near mainland.
If I’m truthful however, I have to admit that this fascination with names goes back a lot further, even to my childhood. Growing up in Australia, I was always intrigued by the odd thought that many of the suburb and town place names in my New World home seemed to have name sharing twins in the Old. I found it odd, from the perspective of a young partisan Aussie child that the United Kingdom in particular was singularly uncreative in its usage of obviously Australian place names. Sydney suburbs like Liverpool, St Ives and Cheltenham, together with far flung cities such as Perth and Launceston all seemed to have spawned copies on those green Northern islands. Why was it that people would be compelled to recycle what was obviously already a well used and loved name? Wouldn’t that only cause confusion and a sense of competition? It seems not, indeed the practice is so widespread that it becomes almost expected, as if we’d be lost without the familiar.
Now that I’m older I realise that those names I believed to be so Australian were copied by settlers, homesick or reminiscent, thinking of loved ones and home. The practice is universal it seems. Right around the globe, wherever people have traveled and settled, their greatest desire was to name their new home after something they’d chosen to leave, even if they’d left to escape corruption or to discover new horizons. The world is brimming with New’s, an odd combination of a new start and an old well known friend. Take for example New Zealand, named after the Dutch province of Zeeland, the city New York or New Caledonia, the French speaking South Pacific echo of northern Scotland; these all have names that straddle two worlds, embracing the new while invoking the mystery of ancient traditions and peoples.
My Island and district holds names that hark back to European roots. Cowes, San Remo, Rhyll, and Inverloch huddle around this part of the coast, their names a reflection of those who were drawn to call this place home. We could have been more inventive in our namings but then again, why should we have? Can’t we credit those who pioneered and ventured out into the new with foresight and a belief in what could be? And can we blame these pioneers for clutching to something familiar in their search for new horizons? I for one admire their choices and feel for the tug their hearts must have felt for what was left behind. And anyway… what’s in a name after all?
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