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Category Archives: Ramdom

Reflections…Week Forty One

canstockphoto8630797It may be time for big boy pants.

There has been very little happening this week, so like many an English gent before me, I shall complain about the weather.

I do not know what the blazes is going on this year but the weathers gone mad. One can fully understand how our predecessors thought the Gods were angry with them, with whats been going on, to be totally honest, I am beginning to wonder if they were right.

To top it all off it has coincided with the solar eclipse.

So – no sun, hurricane after hurricane after hurricane, tropical storms, more storms, red sun and a storm. Whats next frogs and locusts from the sky?

Did we ask for a sign they are upset?

Global warming is not happening, so it has to be something other than science, definitely the Gods.

Maybe it’s not the Gods, but rather one angry mother. She has given us clues as to what we are doing wrong, but we have ignored them, or made them worse, so now she is shaking us up.

Unfortunately the decision makers seem to have their heads firmly up their posteriors, making decisions that do not even seem to be making sense. So it up to all of us to make changes that will help the planet, because if we don’t, we will only have a rubbish tip to live on, if we have even that at all.

This has been my proverbial barber small talk session, weather to politics, I’m not a sports fan!

But it may be warming up next week, still warm enough for shorts?

 

www.awanderthroughthemind.co.uk/reflections-2017

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Paddle in the sea.

DSCF0934As the mid-way point of yet another Bank holiday has passed and the rush to the coast to enjoy the good weather, judging by the lack of traffic on the roads here, I have allowed a small smile to cross my lips at my choice to go a walking barefoot earlier in the week.

The weather forecast was for a sunny day, but to honest I have not been to the sea since last time I wrote, so being able to go, I would have gone regardless. There is a peace wandering down a near empty beach, the sound of the waves being the main auditory input.

Once, there was a feeling , nay, a longing, that the sea gave me, a draw unto itself if you will. I felt I understood what it was that made the first people venture forth unto the unknown toward a new destiny, the very sound of the waves calming the spirit whilst enthralling it . I revisit the coast now to try and rekindle the feeling. Walking with the hot sand enveloping my toes, a thought came to mind.

Do the people, who may have never even seen the beach, fleeing their country due to war get that same feeling?

I was a toddler when first introduced to the sea, so the memory of seeing this great expanse of water for the first time is lost. Did the sense of wonderment gradually build up, or has it always been there? Does the sea have a subconscious connection with the human brain? The sea has claimed many a life, by being what it is, no emotional drive or impulse, so we should fear it as we fear all things that can cause harm. But as a species we are drawn to it, why? It goes beyond gathering resources and materials, there is an affinity with it.

I pondered this a I wandered, my body taking its own path, no real destination for either, when suddenly I was bought back to the now with a wave splashing up my thigh. I had inadvertently been paddling in the sea, not much excitement in that statement I grant you, but I, over half a lifetime ago, stopped paddling, because the sea was too cold. And here I was knee deep in the sea and not minding the temperature one bit nor caring how long I had been in it.

The inadvertent paddle left me with a sense of familiarity and memories locked away from my childhood Holidays came trickling back, times of hours spent in rock pools catching shrimp or gathering molluscs. The feeling that the sea used to give me may have faded, replaced by a small spark of hope; hope that nature will ultimately be my guide to where I need to be, or at least the path I need to be on.

A thought also goes out to all that embark on the journey across the sea, may your journey be a safe one.

Time with Dad

DSCF0960I don’t have many happy childhood memories of my Dad, at least ones that don’t involve work. Many a memory is linked to the allotment, repairing cars, coupon rounds and even working together for too many years. Try as I may, I cannot recall ‘playing’ memories, just Dad and me.

He taught me how to fish at Talybont – that memory is gone.

He taught me how to use my first woodworking set, a set I can still recall today — also gone is building things with him.

My first go-cart was built by him — but not played on with him.

Bike riding — gone.

Sledging — gone.

Some memories have remained from holidays, teaching how-to and catching shrimps, cooking them along with other collected shellfish, but after a while it was more of sending me to get them. Getting nearly stuck in a cave trying to free some crystals is a good memory. But I don’t have the same type of memories at home.

This has led to some strange looks in therapy, so It must not be the norm. Often leading my thinking toward  ‘I missed out on something.’

Now he is old and hard work, some of the time; no, most of the time if truth be told. Heads are butted often, especially over the computer; it has now become the laptop so he can’t break it as easy. My stubborn streak is defiantly from him. And still I work on the bloody allotment.

And this is where we have just come back from. Dad has been for a number of years, ill, but he managed to keep his hobbies going. The allotment and beekeeping, sadly last year he had to give up the beekeeping as he has become allergic to bee venom, so the allotment is the only thing left, and that is now under threat. I have made some, not too radical, changes to his plot; three raised beds so he can sit and garden and one bed raised not as high as a trial. This has upset the bloke running the site, it’s not 1950s enough.

Trepidation of the change is to be expected and I have talked him trough the whole process, but he has been told no to helping himself to wood on the site, twice, and he has taken offence and is trying to start a smear campaign against Dad. But stuff him ,back to me and Dad.

Today was the third time Dad has been able to get up to the plot this year due to time spent in hospital, and the first time he has been able to plant. The long hard slog of  removing the rotten old beds and placing the raised ones on there new home, then filling each with a trailer of  horse manure and compost, eight trailers worth, is over and now there has been a reward for me. Dad managed to plant without getting on his knees and without pain, And he looked happy doing it. We came back laughing and smiling.

I may not want my son to have the same type of memories as I have of my Dad about me, and I defiantly tell him I love him,  but at the end of the day, we know we both love each other no matter the faults. It’s just done a different way is all.