On the move...
Past and future posts for this blog have been integrated in http://frothyfilosofy.wordpress.com/ under the category "wistful". I hope you will continue to follow my wistful and wry observations on life.
A river of thoughts snakes through a strange landscape under a pale moon, and that river is me: Sometimes deep and fast, sometimes slow and dreamy, with secret currents that can warm or chill. Spend a while on my banks and dangle your feet in my waters. I am also the snake and the moon. And maybe a poet.
Tuesday, April 10, 2012
Monday, January 30, 2012
Perseverance
The early morning sun had not yet gathered the strength to begin melting the icicles that adorned the town hall. At the far end of the deserted market square the man carefully and meaningfully lifted his shovel and pick. He took a moment to adjust to this new posture, his propioceptors working hard to establish exactly his place in this icy world. Once established, the shovel and pick rested on his shoulder. He was ready. Step by careful step he began his slow trek across the snow-covered square. Each step was the outcome of a decision, maybe not always a good decision, and one that was subject to revision by the following step as he tried desperately to remain both upright and moving at least in the approximate direction he intended. Who knows to what use this man, intoxicated so early in the morning, would put his shovel and pick? Who knows this man's or anyone else's private battles?
The early morning sun had not yet gathered the strength to begin melting the icicles that adorned the town hall. At the far end of the deserted market square the man carefully and meaningfully lifted his shovel and pick. He took a moment to adjust to this new posture, his propioceptors working hard to establish exactly his place in this icy world. Once established, the shovel and pick rested on his shoulder. He was ready. Step by careful step he began his slow trek across the snow-covered square. Each step was the outcome of a decision, maybe not always a good decision, and one that was subject to revision by the following step as he tried desperately to remain both upright and moving at least in the approximate direction he intended. Who knows to what use this man, intoxicated so early in the morning, would put his shovel and pick? Who knows this man's or anyone else's private battles?
Sunday, January 22, 2012
Stranger in the Village
I walked down the narrow lane to the village. On the edges of snow-caressed fields, skeletal trees stood forlornly in their long wait for spring. Two chickens crossed the road towards me, unaware of the joke. Dogs began to bark. You know you are a stranger to the village when the dogs start barking in the still afternoon. There is something lonely and isolating at this canine betrayal of your "otherness".
I walked down the narrow lane to the village. On the edges of snow-caressed fields, skeletal trees stood forlornly in their long wait for spring. Two chickens crossed the road towards me, unaware of the joke. Dogs began to bark. You know you are a stranger to the village when the dogs start barking in the still afternoon. There is something lonely and isolating at this canine betrayal of your "otherness".
Friday, December 30, 2011
Snow is Now
There came a time during my walk that the fields of snow seemed to merge with the sky. There was a sense of unity, with no horizon. It felt that the loss of a physical horizon mirrored the loss of our metaphorical horizons, because without a view of past or future we can only exist now. I realised within this white bubble of melded land and sky that it is now for everyone and everything - it always has been and always will be. Snowiness is nowness.
There came a time during my walk that the fields of snow seemed to merge with the sky. There was a sense of unity, with no horizon. It felt that the loss of a physical horizon mirrored the loss of our metaphorical horizons, because without a view of past or future we can only exist now. I realised within this white bubble of melded land and sky that it is now for everyone and everything - it always has been and always will be. Snowiness is nowness.
Sunday, June 20, 2010
Contemplations on Father's Day
We drove to the edge of town, the distant lights twinkling in the clear night. We found a suitable place to stop from where we could view the sky. It was to be away from the lights that we came here, to view a far more distant and ancient light. The glowing head of a comet, so cold, so far away. It was warm in the car, protected from the chill of the night. There was also a closeness between father and son. A shared moment. I also felt a strange sadness. The comet, so alien and alone. A cold and distant object.
We drove to the little bay with a view of Southampton water. Father and son in another shared moment. This time it was father in the role of son. We saw the huge ship make her way majestically - appropriately so, because she was the Queen Mary II - towards the port. A distant object, silent from where we stood.
Motifs for cold, silent and distant objects abound. We must create warmth, break the silences and embrace closeness.
We drove to the edge of town, the distant lights twinkling in the clear night. We found a suitable place to stop from where we could view the sky. It was to be away from the lights that we came here, to view a far more distant and ancient light. The glowing head of a comet, so cold, so far away. It was warm in the car, protected from the chill of the night. There was also a closeness between father and son. A shared moment. I also felt a strange sadness. The comet, so alien and alone. A cold and distant object.
We drove to the little bay with a view of Southampton water. Father and son in another shared moment. This time it was father in the role of son. We saw the huge ship make her way majestically - appropriately so, because she was the Queen Mary II - towards the port. A distant object, silent from where we stood.
Motifs for cold, silent and distant objects abound. We must create warmth, break the silences and embrace closeness.
Sunday, April 25, 2010
Mending Fences and Saying Goodbye
The rain has returned, such a contrast to recent days that felt more like late May, a warm prelude to summer. The magnolia tree is in full glorious bloom, the precious few short weeks that remind us why we keep it. Two weekends ago saw me mending fences with my neighbour, in a literal rather than metaphorical sense. It was one of those jobs that had been lurking around for a while, sometimes catching me unawares, the fence panels leaning against the wall seeming to taunt me. Followers of my other blog - "my other blog is just a little weekend run around, this is my posh one" - will know that DIY and I do not sit comfortably together. In fact, if it was about sitting comfortably rather than struggling with strange tools in strange positions, then it might be higher on my list of delights. For me, DIY stands for "Don't Involve Yourself". One of the challenges is that before you can do one thing you have to do something else. In this case, I had to paint the shed first. But before then to buy the paint. Before then to choose which product...and so forth (or backwards). And then there is the clearing away....anything involving me and products that have to be applied to a surface is like letting Jackson Pollock loose in a paint factory - it is by sheer good fortune that anything finds itself applied to the intended surface.
On a more serious note, the goodbye was for someone I knew but sadly never got to know better. Sunshine streamed through the stained glass windows to the sound of a bagpipe lament. There is no more to be said.
The rain has returned, such a contrast to recent days that felt more like late May, a warm prelude to summer. The magnolia tree is in full glorious bloom, the precious few short weeks that remind us why we keep it. Two weekends ago saw me mending fences with my neighbour, in a literal rather than metaphorical sense. It was one of those jobs that had been lurking around for a while, sometimes catching me unawares, the fence panels leaning against the wall seeming to taunt me. Followers of my other blog - "my other blog is just a little weekend run around, this is my posh one" - will know that DIY and I do not sit comfortably together. In fact, if it was about sitting comfortably rather than struggling with strange tools in strange positions, then it might be higher on my list of delights. For me, DIY stands for "Don't Involve Yourself". One of the challenges is that before you can do one thing you have to do something else. In this case, I had to paint the shed first. But before then to buy the paint. Before then to choose which product...and so forth (or backwards). And then there is the clearing away....anything involving me and products that have to be applied to a surface is like letting Jackson Pollock loose in a paint factory - it is by sheer good fortune that anything finds itself applied to the intended surface.
On a more serious note, the goodbye was for someone I knew but sadly never got to know better. Sunshine streamed through the stained glass windows to the sound of a bagpipe lament. There is no more to be said.
Friday, April 02, 2010
This is the week that saw me being awarded a certificate of appreciation for my 25 years in the NHS. Actually, it is close to 27 years continuously because I was employed by Lothian Health Board during my 2 years of clinical training in Edinburgh. The story starts long before then, in February 1972 when I started work as a nursing assistant on the princely salary of £669. I know everything was much cheaper then, but allowing for inflation that represents a salary of £7000 in today's money, almost half of the lowest starting salary in the NHS now.
The afternoon event involved sandwiches and cakes, a chance to reminisce, and a formal presentation.
It has been a week for cakes. Our new Foundation Trust came into being on Thursday and we had a share of the celebratory cake. And I celebrated 14 years with the specialist substance misuse service on the same day by bringing in a selection of cream cakes and pastries for my colleagues. I am all caked out - but have left room for hot cross buns today and a slice of Simnel cake on Sunday. Is this what it has come to? A life revolving around reminiscence and cake?! My first day with the team was appropriately spent in a pub - well, a hired room in the pub, without alcohol - as a team-building event. Only myself and one of the admin team survive from those heady days, but whether I will be celebrating 15 years there is a moot point given the major changes and uncertainties that lie ahead. We could certainly do with some more team-building, if only to have another day in the pub.
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