The Mover of the Tides (eBook, ePUB)

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Some small items about noticed things. Oddities in our midst, in some ways. When space permits, what do we notice?

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I live in the middle of my country.

I was born at the edge of it, by the sea, but now I live in its middle.

And the names by which I am generally known have followed a similar journey: I started with a first name and a last name at the ends of my identity and spent most of my years being known by these. In the middle of these names are Antonio and Albert. A saint name and a family name.

Is it the same for you, if you have middle names? They are as much you as the public face of a first name and a last name but hidden.

Nowadays, as the looking inward becomes my more constant companion than looking out, I notice the two names which I always had, right in the middle of me, rather more fully than in my youth. Where they came from and where they could go.

Losing sleep over whether I am part this nationality or part that background seems pointless. I have sailed through life with stories in my head about my identity and for what? A 'cross-breed' is not a fifty-fifty affair, and the glorious mongrel which I know I happily am is far too interesting to start limiting to divisions of character and identity born out of the poor eyesight and imagination of the body's tenant. But some facts may help unravel things, because they do matter, after all.

My first middle name comes from where my mother came from and my second middle name comes from my father's name, and he told me that way back our family through his father came from Switzerland or Austria or Germany, somewhere in the Germanic Alps. My last name comes from there I found when I was there.

I have always liked both my middle names but never used them. Antonio is my saint day, though I have never been baptised, but he seems to have been an admirable fellow in many ways. And Albert is a good name for a good person. It is nice to have the name of a saint and the name of a good person given to me, and I now look at them as welcome guides.

Like you, I am hurtling toward the end of my life at neck-breaking speed. It feels like it is all getting faster in proportion to how more slowly I look at things and live with them. An interesting see-saw, I reckon. Early life's full speed ahead-ness while life stretches out into an impossibly long infinity giving way to a slalom last stretch where you notice the trees and the taste of fresh air and the eyes of a lover more richly and fully than ever before only to have all of it snatched away, bit ...