Between the Darkness and the Light ...

It was very quiet and dark on the second floor tonight. Only the gentle sounds of, seemingly contented souls, snoring gently, oblivious to the roaring chatter stampeding through his head. This was the second night that he had slept in a bed that was not his own.

He likes his own bed. The familiar smell of the brown, checked woolen blanket, the new red curtains, occasionally, brushing his arm as he tries to turn, the shufflings of the dog in the kitchen, as he attempts to make a comfortable bed for himself on the narrow bench. The monotonous tick- tick of the clock in the hall, chiming the hour and the half hour, relentlessly signaling the passage of each day and night. Sometimes, when sleep is slow to arrive, he finds himself counting the ticks, wondering if he will be able to count himself into a new day. His mind usually wanders and the shadows from the soft light in the hall, left on to light his way through the darkness of the night, throw up forms and shapes that spirit him to a world where he is the man he was, and still wants to be. The man who faced his world with an unquenchable enthusiasm, who charged through life with a gentleness of spirit, loved and loving, impatient with fools and foolish to the charms of children. Independent.

The night nurse, a petite, pretty girl, appears, silently at his bedside.
“Are you still awake Larry? Are you having difficulty getting off to sleep? Is there anything I can get for you?” she whispers.
“What time is it?” he says, none too softly. He has never really learned the art of whispering. The army life.
“Oh sure tis the middle of the night Larry, you really should try to sleep … have you any pain?”
“No, no pain …I’m o.k”.
“Alright then, just press the bell if you need anything, we’re just up the corridor .. Goodnight” she says softly, with a light pat on his arm and leaves the room as quietly as she had come in.

Angels of mercy, they call them.

How did he get here? When did he come to need other people to just live? He could feel the remnants of some age-old anger lurking in his soul. Raging against his God. Why him? Why not him? He wished he could still run. He dreamed of running . Of feeling his legs powering him forward, strong and unbeatable. King of his world. He hadn’t run for 20 years. He hadn’t walked independently for 5 years. The betrayal of his sleeping mind was unbearable. Since the first stroke, 15 years ago, his life had changed, slowly. Always, the hope that things would go back to the way they were. They never did. He watched himself become the man he didn’t want to be. Old. Dependent. He knew he was a lucky man. They kept telling him so. He had a loving, caring family, all his needs catered for, patience and compassion abounding. Why was he still alive? Did God have a reason for slowly stripping him of his dignity, his sense of humor, his capacity for enjoying life to the full? Was he too lucky?
Fifteen years is a long time to be learning new tricks. A long time to be wrestling with anger and impatience.

As he lay there, watching the morning light creeping through the curtains, he thought of the day ahead … What would it bring? Would they find anything in the scan they had planned for him? Or would it show up negative, leaving them scratching their heads unable to find a definitive reason for his inability to stand?

Apart from old age, that is.

He was tired now.

Tired of the struggle. The struggle with his body, his soul, his torment.

Maybe he should pray?

To a God he did not understand.

He yearned for the familiar sound of his hall clock.

Ushering in a safe new day.

Really ... It's easy to learn English ....

A friend of mine sent me this recently ... Enjoy!

Let's face it. English is a crazy language. There is no egg in eggplant, nor ham in hamburger; neither apple nor pine in pineapple. English muffins weren't invented in England or French fries in France. Sweetmeats are candies while sweetbreads, which aren't sweet, are meat. We take English for granted. But if we explore its paradoxes, we find that quicksand can work slowly, boxing rings are square and a guinea pig is neither from Guinea nor is it a pig.

Ship by truck and send cargo by ship? Have noses that run and feet that smell?
How can a slim chance and a fat chance be the same, while a wise man and a wise guy are opposites? You have to marvel at the unique lunacy of a language in which your house can burn up as it burns down, in which you fill in a form by filling it out and in which, an alarm goes off by going on.

English was invented by people, not computers, and it reflects the creativity of the human race, which, of course, is not a race at all. That is why, when the stars are out, they are visible, but when the lights are out, they are invisible. Why doesn't 'Buick' rhyme with 'quick'?

You lovers of the English language might enjoy this. There is a two-letter word that perhaps has more meanings than any other two-letter word, and that is 'UP.'
It's easy to understand UP, meaning toward the sky or at the top of the list, but when we awaken in the morning, why do we wake UP? At a meeting, why does a topic come UP? Why do we speak UP and why are the officers UP for election and why is it UP to the secretary to write UP a report?

We call UP our friends. And we use it to brighten UP a room, polish UP the silver. We warm UP the leftovers and clean UP the kitchen. We lock UP the house and some guys fix UP the old car.

At other times the little word has real special meaning. People stir UP trouble, line UP for tickets, work UP an appetite, and think UP excuses. To be dressed is one thing but to be dressed UP is special.

And this UP is confusing: A drain must be opened UP because it is stopped UP. We open UP a store in the morning but we close it UP at night. We seem to be pretty mixed UP about UP!

To be knowledgeable about the proper uses of UP, look the word UP in the dictionary. In a desk-sized dictionary, it takes UP almost 1/4th of the page and can add UP to about thirty definitions. If you are UP to it, you might try building UP a list of the many ways UP is used. It will take UP a lot of your time, but if you don't give UP, you may wind UP with a hundred or more. When it threatens to rain, we say it is clouding UP. When the sun comes out we say it is clearing UP. When it rains, it wets the earth and often messes things UP. When it doesn't rain for awhile, things dry UP.
One could go on and on, but I'll wrap it UP, for now my time is UP, so. Time to shut UP!
Oh...one more thing: What is the first thing you do in the morning and the last thing you do at night?
U-P

September

Its been a while.

A hectic, mind-bending while.

A while of happiness and joy, of heartbreak and worry, of irritation and self-doubt.

But now its September, and as is my wont, I take myself aside at the start of this month every year, and give myself the luxury of starting anew. The self-indulgent luxury of thinking that I can change the way I am on this planet. That I can take the slightly less than meandering path through the maze of family, work, hopes and dreams and undergo the metamorphosis that is essential to my journey.

The cynic in me whispers "not again, why bother? Aren't you doing just fine the way you are? You can't change the world on your own."

But the relentless optimist roars in my ears, demanding to be heard. You can change. You can make a difference. You can be a better human being.

I can't hear myself think but I am listening. Intently.

I am also gathering my marbles, those that I can find, and I am preparing to play the game again.

I hope the gods are smiling.

What Colour is the Wind?

Today is a typical April day in this part of the world.

Some very wet rain, a little watery sunshine, breath-taking winds, squally showers, bright spells and a couple of horrendous downpours. Everything that a body could need to dispel any seasonal blues that might be lurking around. The excitement and suspense of not knowing whether one is going to make it safely through the next hour without being soaked to the skin or, whether, the powers that be will smile benignly on the ant-like creatures scurrying about their oh-so-important business and spare them the ignominy of the drowned-rat masquerade.

It helps to be an optimist.

On with the running shoes and the dreaded raingear. Off with the ill-concealed pessism and reluctance. "We'll feel great afterwards" we mutter. Heads down, loins girded, we brace ourselves for whatever Nature can throw at us.

Character building.

I like the wind. Her noisy roar whispers seductively in my ear of immense power and incumbent humility. "My way or your way" she sings ... "Come dance with me..."

Three miles down the wild river bank we meet a lone walker braving the elements.
We regularly meet this man. He is always alone. Now. He used to have an old, far from handsome, dog that smiled. Just like the man.

Each time we meet, we exchange weather impressions, opinions on the state of the country, the world, and always wish each other well as we shuffle past. Today, he said, in passing, "Its like an orchestra out there .. the wind ... mother nature indulging her passions ... Do ye remember that story about the little blind boy that asked his dad ... what colour is the wind?"
All the time striding along. "Have a nice run, ladies".

This man, with a few sentences, lifted my heart, releasing my spirit to soar and swoop through a rainbow of wind. I wanted to sing, to shout, to roar my gratitude to his soul.

I can't explain why his words had such a profound effect on me.

I am just so very grateful to him for awakening my senses, for showing me the way to a different reality.


photo credit: www.digalist.com

Whats Normal Anyway?

Isn't it amazing how time flies? One minute you're gathering up the detritus of Christmas and the next thing you know its Spring.

Rather alarming.

Admittedly, after the festive season, it was a manic couple of weeks. The kind that make you wonder about life in general. What its all about. Where we are all going. But once February arrived and the dust settled, I thought " YES, life IS going to swing back to "normal" mode". My naivete shocks even me, sometimes.

February saw the brightness of 2 young men slowly putting the pieces of their lives back together. Like sad little plants in the garden that you thought were lost forever. It also saw the optimism of youth, dreaming dreams of faraway lands, planning and scheming to make their dreams a reality. And he did. Beloved No. 1 son packed a small rucksack, organised his previous life and headed off into the unknown. Armed only with a passport, some money, a sunny disposition and an unquenchable thirst for life. There is a crack in my heart but thats where the light gets in. I suppose.

Early March saw a trip to London with Daughter No. 2 to see Daughter No. 1 who is planning wedded bliss. There's a lot to be said for living "in sin". My eternal reward is looking a little dodgy for that blasphemy, I suspect. March also saw 2 weekends away from home in a strangulated effort to finish a Yoga Teacher Training course that I foolishly embarked on 2 years ago. It saw GB playing with ice-axes and crampons in the snows of Scotland and also skittering his bony frame down the slopes of some remote Austrian ski slopes. It also saw youngest son dealing with the pain of losing a friend through suicide. A difficult time for him.

Normality.

The Royal Residence remains as ever. In dark moments, of which they're are few, thankfully, I wonder are they going to live FOREVER.

So, in my head, its still January and I'm fired with the enthusiasm of a new year. No matter that 3 months have passed me by. In my heart, I'm an optimist. I will make time to do the things that I want to do. Like sleeping. And reading. And blogging. Sometimes, I wish for a slow life. But then, I realise, I'm the one in the driving seat. Its easy to rationalise yourself into a corner.

In recent days, I have been skulking around various blogs, catching up on lives unknown, rarely commenting. I feel I have no right. Just when my conscience reappeared is a mystery.

I suspect guilt has something to do with it.

And now .....

Thank you all for your comments on my last post. My apologies for not updating sooner. Its been busy around here, to say the least.

Against all the odds, the 2 lads pulled through and are now back in hospital in this country. Thankfully, the prognosis, for both of them, is good. There is a palpable sense of relief for everyone affected by the accident.

Incidents like this, and we've had more than our fair share since Christmas, bring home to me the utter futility of planning ahead, of wasting today because tomorrow will surely be so much better.

Now is the only time we can be sure of ...

I find it quite difficult to live every moment in the present.

But I'm getting better at it.

I think.

Any spare angels hanging around looking for a project?

Change

Its the skiing season.

The cold, wet, white, sometimes slushy stuff, that inspires normally sensible people to purchase wearable lagging jackets, lurid pink woolly socks and impenetrable mirror shades. All in the pursuit of the THRILL.

"Its SO exhilarating" they gush.

"The change of scenery is SO invigorating".

"And its SUCH a marvellous change from the normal, humdrum, da de da lives we all live. You MUST try it!"

Hmm.

Six young lads from my daughter's circle of friends decided to bite the bullet. They duly girded their loins and ventured forth into the alluring world
of snow.

They were having a ball. The apres-ski was particularly to their fancy.

Last saturday night, 3 of them accepted a lift back to their lodgings from a local man. The other 3 decided to walk.

Now 2 of these vibrant, young men are on life support, 1 is seriously injured and the other 3 are severely traumatised.

Their lives and the lives of everybody who knows them, are changed.

Forever.

Maybe there will be positives from this change.

I am praying.