The Milk of Human Kindness

The milk of human kindness has not gone sour in my books.

As well as looking after two small children I play in a band and yesterday we had a gig. My husband was taking the girls to a birthday party so I made sure that there was a present, card, drinks, spare outfits and other sundries before getting my things together. I kissed the family and headed out.

It was only after we, the band, had set up and were about ready to play that I discovered that I had forgotten one small but vital part of being a clarinetist- the clarinet itself. I am blonde so this is excusable but felt utterly stupid as I normally remember so much each day. I quickly asked in the pub where we playing if anyone knew of anyone who had a clarinet that we could borrow.

Calls were frantically made to people all over town. People were entering the pub asking if a clarinet had been found and were most concerned that one hadn't and had I tried this person and that. By now I was recognised as not just as the clarinetist with the imaginary instrument but a person in the community who needed help and after a few red herrings an instrument was found three songs into the first set.

I hugged the gentleman who had procured such a venerable instrument and walked into the hall with the liquorice stick raised over my head. I think the instrument's appearance garnered its own applause! Alas the reeds were beyond salvation but that was not the point; we had worked together and a complete stranger had been embraced into the fold of the community.

So often society is criticised for not taking care of its members but I often wonder how many incidents like the one recounted above happen but are ignored as they do not have the sensationalism of negativity. This act of kindness has made me think again about the nature of community and family. We all need each other and have so much to offer and give.

I look forward to going back and playing to say thanks and to see if I can help someone else out or at least spread the word that this community will take care of you.

All a matter of perspective.

It has been an odd couple of weeks. A very dear friend's father died suddenly having been diagnosed with an incurable brain tumour; he lasted a mere 3 weeks. There was a funeral for a 17-year old at the neighbouring church where my eldest daughter has ballet lessons. Two lives snatched away and I was fretting over an excessive 5 pounds! My God I really need to start focussing on what is important rather than being swayed by media images of what is or is not acceptable. Get a grip!

As I get older and am faced with more death I find myself somewhat hardened. Naturally I grieve in my own way but rarely do I shed tears. When my own grandmother died 2 years ago, I did not cry. I had accepted that the little old lady she had become was not the strong matriarch she once was and I wanted to remember as somewhere between Atilla the Hun's mother and Miss Marple. I had said my farewells when last I saw her a year previously, living 5,000 miles away from family makes family visits less frequent, and accepted that she had gone long before I got the phone call to tell me of her passing.

I suppose that I can rationalise when people go. It is sad to think of them never being around again but I feel lucky to have met them and known them in whatever capacity. My heart goes out to all those who grieve at present.

There is so much for which to be thankful: beautiful days, the sound of the ocean, the hugs of the family and the promise of dreams, I just have to remember what really is important.