We Raise a Glass
"The past is a foreign country; they do things differently there" is the opening line of Leslie Hartley's book The Go-Between and has become almost a proverbial expression. The book was made into a memorable film starring Julie Christie and Alan Bates in 1971, which, for many of us, is part of that past which now seems distant and different. 1971 was the year Ginny and I married.
Hartley's phrase is now proverbial because it captures something that many feel as we get older. It has come up for us as we prepare to move from Leatherhead after nearly twenty years. As you empty the cupboards and the loft, suddenly the past lies at your feet. What are we going to do with all this stuff? Hence the Garage Sale we are having on 14 February. We hope that there are some other people out there that might like to take on a bit of our past we can no longer find room for, or want to carry with us. Well, you never know, there might be!
Some of it is toys we seem to have spent far too much on when our kids were growing up. The thing is that the toys remind us of what was in its way a special time in family life. And, yes, there are the letters we wrote to each other before we were married, bundled up in a shoebox. Dare we read them now, dare we dispose of them, dare we leave them for others to read when we are dead and gone? Life's full of these little dilemmas!
Because we have been fortunate to live in a large house some of it is just more than we will have room for in retirement. There is some relief in having a sort out and making life simpler; travelling light. I have sometimes preached on living more simply so that others may simply live. Now here is a chance to do just that and it feels a relief. If you are a hoarder, like me, the light gradually begins to dawn.
What is the point of keeping all these things? Most of them will not come in handy, and many of them we will never use. It's just that they somehow invoke past events, or people, at a time when we were younger and nearer the beginning than the end, what now seems like a foreign country but one that beckons sometimes irresistibly.
God takes a delight in the planet he has made and kept by him all these years, so perhaps it isn't surprising that we do the same. I wouldn't want to advocate jettisoning everything you have ever owned. It is natural to enjoy the treasures we carry with us. But part of what seems to be going on is that we liked and knew about that foreign country, which is our past, and it was safe there, it was different there, but we knew where we were. At least we thought we did. The past is the past now, but it was the present. We may look back with nostalgia but at the time, I seem to remember, it wasn't any easier, or harder, to get out of bed in the mornings than it is now.
So really it's about travelling on, from the old to the new. You have to be a bit brave because loss is involved, and somewhere inside you are letting go of that foreign country, and venturing into new territory. For us, as for many, it's called retirement, although there are plenty of other similar rivers to cross in life. It's disturbing as loss always is, but it's full of promise too; who knows what lies ahead, the next adventure?
So as that adventure begins we raise a glass in thanks and farewell, we get the tables out for the Garage Sale and wish all our friends God's richest blessing. It's been great to travel together and share each other's company.
Now, where's that packing case?
Canon David Eaton, from the February 2009 Parish Magazine