Pens-iveness

Pre-Amble: Yesterday (which was actually yesterday regardless of what blogger says on account of me having the time set to the wrong global time dimension), I saw fit to post pictures of my new pens and thought it relevant to mention that I had purchased them. The former was because they are indeed prettily decorated and the latter because it was relevant to the post for today, this, which I had in mind the day before yesterday when it was advertised that tomorrow, which was yesterday, there would be free gifts, apart from the blessing that good news commentary is, with yesterday's/tomorrow's papers.

The Point: 'Dumbing Down' is a much commented upon phenomenon, not least by me (apologies for self-referentiality) quoting Howard Jacobson on the 'Celebrity Big Brother Ignorant Racism Debacle 2007'.

As a keen but amateur (so ignore, unless otherwise substantiated by other credible sources) observer of cultural trends and frequent buyer of traditional, real, live, paper newspapers, I have noticed that there have been attempts by certain news-hawkers to improve our brains. It started at the beginning of the year, probably to coincide with the New Year's Resolution Period of Goodwill. The only example I have to hand, though I know there were other rival papers with freebies of a similar
improve-your-brain nature, is The Independent's 'Train Your Brain in Seven Days' free giveaway book (there was also a CD).

And now I look at it the back cover does indeed state "Upgrade your brain with The Independent. It may be the best new year's resolution you'll ever make."

This flurry of beseeching to improve one's mental faculties, as opposed to going on that diet or joining a gym, the intention to use which would last as long as it takes for the bank to send their first request for the first month's direct debit instalment (the road to good intentions is paved with hell!), reminded me that it was time to take up arms/pens again in the battle against idiocy.

I say "again" because I did something last year of which I am very proud and which I have let slip for which I feel regret, as I do at the fact there are three whichs in that sentence which can't be right. No matter.

I read a book called, simply and without obfuscation, "How to do The Times Crossword". Perhaps it was cheating, but really, having gone through the process of looking at such crosswords 'uneducated' and drawing a blank (or blanks) and then after having read the pointers provided by such a book and being able to (almost) complete them, I came to the conclusion that, without such guidance, the human brain, as currently exercised in this society, wouldn't automatically be equipped to come
up with such lateral answers as are required by such oblique questions.

Cheating exonerated, being able to sit in Sainsbury's/Costa/Starbucks cafe with a pencil and The Times and a latte and be able to 'get' just one or two of The Times Crossword clues/answers is a multi-layered achievement for me. Completing such a crossword is believed by some to be a yardstick of some kind. And, blow me!, is there not a memoir on the subject which I obviously just have to read.

My father had schizophrenia. I can spell that word fluently and without reference to dictionary or spell-checker. He was also quite clever. I don't want to lapse into the cliches of the insane sage but another friend of mine used to quip about needing a PhD to get into the 'mental' wing of the local hospital.

Anyhow, since my father was the brains of the family and I was showing some signs of intelligence, he used to be co-opted into helping me with my homework. Unfortunately, his interpersonal skills were somewhat impaired and his help always descended into chaos, shouting and tears.

In calmer more rational moments he did use to sit me on his knee and explain how he did his crosswords. It didn't make any sense to me but I was nonetheless enthralled and appreciated this limited opportunity to connect.

People who have schizophrenia are sentient beings like any other and should have all the rights and opportunities and dignity that life allows but the particular combination of My Father and schizophrenia meant that there came a time where it was no longer possible for us to live together as a family. That was 1979.

I bought 'How to do The Times Crossword' several years before I actually read it and it lay there, useless, gathering dust. I don't know what made me finally do it (it was 3 years after my estranged father died) but there was a sense of forbiddeness as I opened the pages. Perhaps I was afraid that what little respect I had for my father would be demystified.But not.

As I proudly get (some of) the answers it is as if I am engaging in a form of natural selection. All the negative things my father contributed to Me were set aside in this act of making good from bad.

I remember in a therapy session in later life (yeah, yeah, I have *Done Therapy* -not without good grounds, mind!) the psychotherapist suggested I 'write a letter' to my deceased father. I told her sceptically, and not being one for self-indulgent emotional excesses, that if I was to do such a ridiculous thing, and at that point I began copiously weeping as I am now, that I would apologise to him saying that although I had been absent and unable to cope with him in his later life when he was at his worst, I knew it wasn't his fault, he was ill. It wasn't his fault, he was ill. That realisation, never addressed and buried beneath many years of straightforward eschewing on my mother's say-so (she did what was best for us at the time), was the tear trigger and the root of the problem. I was accessing the guilt in my inner child, the role reversal thing whereby child has to emotionally-parent parent. I, small child had to understand him, parent, but couldn't on account of being a small child. Doing a cryptic crossword (what a metaphor!) reverses this and tries to make use of the moments where he tried to parent me -imparting the secret that some crosswords were cryptic.

And the flowery pens? Well as I mentioned, I have let slip the doing of the cryptic crosswords. The braining-up freebies prompted me to start again (I owe it the universe and to him to preserve the positive bits of him) but I found that non-practice does indeed make imperfect. So as an interim measure until I can get back into the swing of it, I have been doing the quick crosswords (I also do sudoku but definitely in pencil). I have been doing these in pen and in particular in gel pen. The quickness of the ink in a gel pen and the doing of answers in it is the mental equivalent of a brisk walk on a crisp but sunny winter morning/day. A sharp but refreshing breeze through the brain. The fact that it cannot be erased puts a confidence before the thought thus tricking the mind that one is about to be clever. It often works. Or there is great creativity in penning a wrong letter into a right one.

Dumbing Down's defenders will dismiss the valuing of intellectual capital as snobbish and elitist but I, yes, me, I say let's bring back 'self-improvement'. Self-improvement -which does have a long history within the working classes- is open-ended. You are neither dumb nor clever, cannot be separated into Jades and Helenas, there is no need for any conflict here, but start where you are at intellectually and go forward, learn something. One proviso to this is that 'emotional intelligence' must be built first or alongside. There is nothing worse than educating a narrow-spirited person. A lot of knowledge in a little person can be a dangerous thing.

This weekend's free offerings in the papers are a CD to teach yourself mandarin chinese conversation and in The Guardian there are instructions and fancy paper to fold 12 origami animals.

I will make something for my dad.