Monstrous Ingratitude

I have stolen the title for this post from a poem I read a long time ago, by Boris Parkin which appears in The Faber Book of Christmas. It describes a situation which i'm sure most of us have found ourselves in, where getting the wrong gift from someone who should know better, is almost worse than getting nothing at all.

And so it has been for me this weekend, when I received a late birthday present, which rather than extend my rather wonderful 40th birthday just a little more, has left me feeling at best resentful, and at worse, rather empty. It has been one of those times which spawns a plethora of thoughts about the ways of the world, and how microcosms reflect macrocosms, which boil down to profound statements that could actually describe what is wrong with many aspects of humanity, and it has prompted me to examine quite closely the type of person that I think I am, or would hope to be.

I think I am quite a simple person really. I have what may be considered to be 'alternative' beliefs, likes and dislikes, which sometimes make me appear different or perhaps even difficult , but at the bottom of everything, despite my penchant for glamour, there's no place i'd rather be than at home in the bosom of my family, wearing wellies in the allotment, or flip flops in the kitchen. My little home is as chemical free as I can make it, cleaned with vinegar and water for the most part, my bathroom cupboard contains one shampoo bar without the trimmings and a batch of home made soap. Our TV is small and covered most of the time, I don't have expensive taste but appreciate quality. I love nature, I want to live lightly. We dont eat processed food, nor do we pine after luxury holidays or cars or other goods, in the way that many people do. And this is how it's been around here for the last 20 years. Simple. I could probably write a whole new blog about it, and have included many references to my way of life and my ideas about things, right here on this one.

And so when something arrives which is neither appropriate, nor particularly nice, with lots of hand wrung excuses and a request not to open it in the giver's presence because 'it's a bit embarrassing', I wonder what fuels the motivation of that person.

Intention is the fuel of motivation. Intention is born from the first spark which lights the fire in our bellies. It's what makes life tick. It comes from the darkness of our phsyche, and manifests itself in our actions, for better or for worse. Hence the saying, "Actions speak louder than words". This is one of the key beleifs of my existence. I try to live with an egalitarian outlook - and although I may be over critical sometimes, I try never to judge and endeavour to treat people the same as I would be treated myself. Prince or pauper it doesn't matter, we are all human souls finding our way through the winding paths of life as best we can.

My way is through creativity. An aspect of myself which has always been there, but now, at the grand old age of 40, has become an absolute necessity for life and one which I have delved deeply into for the last 18 months, still with the feeling that i'm not even skimming the surface yet.

Like all of you who create and who are lovely enough to read my blog and look at my work, I don't make gifts to save money. Who does? It's often much more expensive in every way - materials, time, emotion - to create something perfect for a loved one, or a family member. And too often the things we create for the unenlightned are seen as 'cheapskate' because they are home made. What do they suppose all their designer gear is if not 'home made' at some stage in their origin? Haute Cotoure clothes are hand sewn by skilled people, and whilst I do not have the skill or resource of a French Atelier, the things I create are made with just as much care and attention. I once read a statement which sums it up - "When I give you something I have made with my hands, I give you my heart".

I do not give to receive, but still it is particularly sad, when all the time and devotion spent creating bespoke gifts for a person and their family, is acknowledged with a gesture that is not motivated by lack of finance, or lack of time - such as the excuses which were given - but lack of care.

And that is the crux of the matter.

It's lack of care which hurts the most.

Monstrous Ingratitude
by Boris Parkin

Gifts as gulfs ...
Thoughts prompted by one
from ice ages ago:
a lime-green cardigan,
a garment I've never worn
and never will wear
I hid it in a drawer
and mainly it stays there,
except when, as today,
on the trail of a lost sock,
I dig it up and feel once more
that sundering shock.

With kept creases
and buttons still done,
it invariably releases
the same terror as when
tearing the posh paper,
I saw at a glance
how little she understood me.
Well, I covered my inner silence
with mumbled thanks;
yet the rift persists
and even now
pride prevents me
from trying the thing on, somehow.