Sorry it's been a long time since my last post but I have bee busy in the garden and the workshop.
Remembering how it was back then, the tales I was told from the characters in the town and their wisdom that they passed onto me.
The language they used intermingled with sayings that had developed over time, all perhaps with a subtle moral behind the phrase or yarn, to be passed on to my generation and then the next. Their correctness was never discussed or criticised, but the swearing of today in all media I read and listen to, seems to me a lack of knowledge of our language and disappointing for our children to have to listen to and read, because the joy in listening to my elders tell their stories, especially the fisherman and bargemen around the harbour, seemed to be all about communicating and they made me laugh at their accents from far away places.
I read once, from where I can’t remember, that, ‘we exist in a bubble of our own making, in the time we have in that bubble, that incidentally needs searching for, is a peace that each of us feels as ideal, and we should revel in it! We shouldn’t judge what happened in history, be it a week a year or decade or even a century ago to what we have now, but definitely we should learn from the mistakes that were made.’
...I draw strength from reflecting on what a privilege it is to be alive and what a privilege it is to have a brain that’s capable in its limited way of understanding why I exist and of revelling in the beauty of the world and the beauty of the products of evolution. The magnificence of the universe and the sense of smallness that has been given to us in our little tiny space in time, very humbling, but in a strangely comforting way, it’s nice to feel you’re part of a hugely bigger picture...
The bitterness of some of the comments I read makes me sad for those that feel it necessary to write in such a way using language that, to me belittles the human intellect.
It’s easy to criticise, and each of our opinions differ because everyone’s circumstances are different. To feel sorry for yourself because others have what you consider to be more than their fare share of wealth or possessions is wasting your time, that precious time you have been given to enjoy the wonders of life around you.
Such a breath of fresh air to read and view the pictures in Pat’s post, the blossom bursting on the trees on her walk through the town. The chalk cliffs, forever majestic, keeping watch over the shores of home. I could smell the salt sea air mixed with coffee beans being roasted in the shops of my childhood, the fish being unloaded on the quay, the timber and coal from the barges. Simple pleasures, to walk in the sunshine with the breeze in your hair. Thank you Pat.
Looking out the kitchen window this morning I was greeted with a marvellous sight that would raise the spirits of anyone to start the day. Many years ago my dear dad helped me one Christmas plant two small baby cuttings, no taller than three foot high of two apple trees, everyone telling me they wouldn’t take at that time of the year and would die of the frost. How wrong they all were, how beautiful each year the two majestic trees that have grown over the years to full maturity treat us to the splendour of their blossom each spring. This year as the pictures show, (see below ) take your breath away and it gives me the feeling that my ‘Pop’ would be smiling down, nodding his head in silent approval as he always did if something went right.
But those comments, some quite unkind that we received all those years ago as we dug a little hole for each one and planted the saplings on Christmas Day (1983/ 1984) have since been the source of satisfaction to me when those same people ask for an apple as they pass, I never refuse them, they had their day all those years ago, now its my turn.
Thanks for stopping by, please call again.