How do you want to be remembered? Is it something you worry about?
Once you are gone, does it even matter?
We spend our lives (or I spend mine ...) worrying about what other people think. And at the end of our lives ... maybe we worry about how people will remember us. Some want to do something monumental like become the first female prime minister, win a war, and leave the world with a political '-ism' while others are simply happy if they live on fondly ... in a few people's memories ... for a while. Ever Googled yourself? It's soul destroying, unless you are an actor or famous author or politician or sportsman or ... or .... or ... but if you are just plain old you, you might get a couple of mentions if you have been in the right place at the right time and are very lucky, or you may just not be there at all.
I suspect that most of us would like to leave something. Something solid, tangible, something that shows you mattered. What would you like to leave?
A book, an invention, art, a sporting record, a beautiful garden, trees, a piece of music, a computer programme ... or is this too much like chasing rainbows? Why not be content with what we have? And concentrate on that. We can take our loves and frienships with us (in the sense that our love lives on and continues in those we leave behind) but we can't take any of our possessions.
So on 'Death, dying and legacies,' if we live well now, we will have something to leave behind, and we won't have to worry about it because we'll be too busy living well and that in itself will make a legacy that is good enough.
Where do the 'lampshades' of the title enter this argument? If you were waiting for a light-bulb moment, I am sorry to disappoint. Except, that I had time to ponder all the above because of a lampshade, and the very slow amble that I took round the garden in the company of the lampshade.
The "lampshade" is Littlest's name for the collar around Bertie Baggins's neck, which is there to prevent him licking raw his immensely swollen nether regions, after his "nappy" was removed by the vet.
I now know where the expression 'hang dog' comes from - Bertie spent much of the morning standing, shoulders hunched, back slightly arched, hind legs widely spaced, tail curled between his legs, with his head hanging forward and nose pointing at the ground = pure dejection. Whenever he moved, he got stuck. He appeared unable to see his front paws, walking with an exaggerated high step. When we took him outside, it was windy and he became a wind sock. It took him 'til lunchtime to figure out that he could lie down. Walking hurt, sitting hurt. Eating however was okay - grass, bits of bread out of hands, a funny hard thing (anti-inflammatory pill) wrapped in ham, and food from a bowl, held a few inches above the ground.
Particularly perplexing was the moment the bowl levitated, stuck on the edge of the lampshade, with the food out of reach of even Bertie's long tongue:
Once you are gone, does it even matter?
We spend our lives (or I spend mine ...) worrying about what other people think. And at the end of our lives ... maybe we worry about how people will remember us. Some want to do something monumental like become the first female prime minister, win a war, and leave the world with a political '-ism' while others are simply happy if they live on fondly ... in a few people's memories ... for a while. Ever Googled yourself? It's soul destroying, unless you are an actor or famous author or politician or sportsman or ... or .... or ... but if you are just plain old you, you might get a couple of mentions if you have been in the right place at the right time and are very lucky, or you may just not be there at all.
I suspect that most of us would like to leave something. Something solid, tangible, something that shows you mattered. What would you like to leave?
A book, an invention, art, a sporting record, a beautiful garden, trees, a piece of music, a computer programme ... or is this too much like chasing rainbows? Why not be content with what we have? And concentrate on that. We can take our loves and frienships with us (in the sense that our love lives on and continues in those we leave behind) but we can't take any of our possessions.
So on 'Death, dying and legacies,' if we live well now, we will have something to leave behind, and we won't have to worry about it because we'll be too busy living well and that in itself will make a legacy that is good enough.
Where do the 'lampshades' of the title enter this argument? If you were waiting for a light-bulb moment, I am sorry to disappoint. Except, that I had time to ponder all the above because of a lampshade, and the very slow amble that I took round the garden in the company of the lampshade.
The "lampshade" is Littlest's name for the collar around Bertie Baggins's neck, which is there to prevent him licking raw his immensely swollen nether regions, after his "nappy" was removed by the vet.
I now know where the expression 'hang dog' comes from - Bertie spent much of the morning standing, shoulders hunched, back slightly arched, hind legs widely spaced, tail curled between his legs, with his head hanging forward and nose pointing at the ground = pure dejection. Whenever he moved, he got stuck. He appeared unable to see his front paws, walking with an exaggerated high step. When we took him outside, it was windy and he became a wind sock. It took him 'til lunchtime to figure out that he could lie down. Walking hurt, sitting hurt. Eating however was okay - grass, bits of bread out of hands, a funny hard thing (anti-inflammatory pill) wrapped in ham, and food from a bowl, held a few inches above the ground.
Particularly perplexing was the moment the bowl levitated, stuck on the edge of the lampshade, with the food out of reach of even Bertie's long tongue:
Am I still feeling guilty?
Umm - yes.
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