The Dissemination of Thought

Just because it's in print doesn't mean it's intelligent…

Changing plans, and a tribute to the lady with the sandwiches

with 6 comments

I was going to write about search results tonight. At some stage today, someone clicked on TDoT  for the 1,000th time, so I figured it was the perfect opportunity to cogitate about some of the more amusing search engine terms that have led people here. While some of them were no doubt trying to find me, a mass seem to have inadvertently ventured into the middle of my ramblings while looking for something totally different, and often questionably disturbing. Exhibit A in support of the latter would be “boobs in a puppets stage”, while the second piece of evidence presented to the jury would be whichever of “badwrap sex” and “tattoo back 40cm dick” won a pistols at dawn-style shootout. Seriously people, I’ve googled some pretty strange shit in my time, and even I couldn’t image what these individuals were thinking – or hoping to find – when they let their fingers do the walking.

At 6:13pm, as I was scribbling notes for the piece that I was planning on writing, I got a call from my father, advising me that one of my grandmothers had passed away earlier in the day. At that moment, discussing how people had stumbled across my blog became irrelevant. Two hours later, as I try to gather my thoughts with a glass of Scotch, all I can do is write, as well as try to comprehend the numbness I that feel. Sure, there have been tears, and I’m saddened that she’s no longer with us, but there aren’t any clear emotions per se. Every idea that forms seems anaesthetised, as if the universe is using my introspection as a punching bag.

My favourite memory of my grandmother is sitting with her on the back steps of the house in East Ipswich, eating mashed banana sandwiches. I have no idea exactly how old I was, nor do I recall what we used to talk about for hours on end. What is vivid in my mind is the feeling of contentment that I had each time we sat down on those narrow timber steps for a chat. That, and how much she loved the colour green.

I’ve written about plans before, and while they’re undoubtedly important, it’s critical that we don’t lose sight of the bigger picture at their expense. I guess my grandmother’s passing reiterates that point: you can spend all the time you want planning, accumulating and wanting more than you already have, but life won’t stop while you do so. From the moment we are born the clock starts counting down. Call it a very unromantic view of life, but the stinging reality is that everything continues around us, and not usually to script. Make the most of every second, because the most ambitious, well-orchestrated plans in the world aren’t worth a pinch of shit if you’re not around to execute them.

So there you have it. The Dissemination of Thought for 25 November, 2011. A post that reflects upon the first thousand hits on my blog, and celebrates the life of a woman who made one hell of a sandwich.

Patricia Joyce Morgans, this post is dedicated to your memory.

requiescat in pace

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Written by disseminatedthought

November 25, 2011 at 21:44

6 Responses

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  1. Very well written tribute I must say. One of the most memorable moments was when we were in Sizzler and we all looked at Grandma who was trying to get soft serve ice-cream into her bowl whilst looking at us instead of where it was going……needless to say the floor copped it lol. RIP Grandma

    cjkeane86

    November 25, 2011 at 21:56

  2. Never a truer word has been typed, you are a very smart man.

    Jon

    November 25, 2011 at 22:04

  3. Reminds me of a line from, What Sara Said, a Death Cab for Cutie song…”And it came to then that every plan is a tiny prayer to Father Time.”

    Adrienne schmadrienne

    December 29, 2011 at 05:17

    • “It stung like a violent wind that our memories depend on a faulty camera in our minds”

      disseminatedthought

      December 29, 2011 at 08:52


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