The day to day life and thoughts of an artist,thinker and barstool philosopher

The Moments That Make Dreams

2011-09-27T09:56:00.000+01:00

The Moments That Make Dreams

There are days when you open you just realise how fortunate you are. When things just go well, or you realise how much you are blessed with good friends. For the artist these days are often linked closely to how the art is progressing. I began to realise this yesterday when I read the email I received from a friend. The email was saying that the person had not really realised how well off they were. It went something like this.

I am so rich, Silver in the Hair, Gold in the teeth. Crystals in the kidneys and sugar in the blood. Lead in the ass and iron in the arteries, and an inexhaustible supply of natural gas. I never thought I could accumulate such wealth.

Anyway back to the serious stuff of yesterday. I was looking at some pictures of marathons I had run. As I looked I noticed this group of people standing behind the finish line. They were not looking at the finishers. I started to ask myself, what are they saying, what are they thinking and doing. As I thought a picture came to my mind.

I had already started working on a canvas board but was very unhappy with the progress I was making and had washed it off. I went back to the task with my mind now full of new thoughts. Using Platho Blue and White I painted what I could see clearly in my mind.

What appeared on the canvas board was not exactly what I had in my eye but it was very close. I had only used the two colours and I felt it was ok. I took a picture of it while it was still wet. I put a copy of it on Art Wanted and I posted it on my FaceBook page.

Within minutes of it appearing on Facebook I had been made a solid offer for the work. Obviously a person who knows just what they like. This person now owns two of my works. The first was purchased two years ago but I can see the similarities of thought in both works and I feel sure they will fit in the same home.

I was feeling pleased and to add the sugar to the icing I got an email just ten minutes later saying somebody had made my painting a pic of the day.

I never knew I was so rich as the story above says.

Hope you are all well.

This Blog

2011-09-20T08:41:00.000+01:00

I Remember Summer Days.

It is sometime now since I posted on this blog. There are a number of reasons for this. First it was a hectic summer with the running and walking and the plot. I just never seemed to have much in the way of time at all.

Now when I have a bit more time, I have picked up some illness that is causing me a great deal of discomfort and so sitting at the computer is not what I really want to be about. I apologise to those, like Jerry, who followed my blog regularly. I will be back as soon as I get to the bottom of the discomfort, hopefully.

In the meantime I have been posting new art and keeping people posted about my ongoing sales of art, which never ever fails to move me. There is indeed something wonderful about people buying and hanging your art. The very thought that I might continue to give pleasure to others after I and the earth beneath me have parted company gives much pleasure.

Pleas keep in touch and if you have a moment please look to my other blog.

My Other Blog

I have added above my latest attempt at art.

What Ever happened to Good Old Service?

2011-08-17T09:30:00.000+01:00

I was in a shop yesterday where I stood waiting my turn to be served. I watched the young man as he served each customer before me, I was wondering just how long it might take him to get to the point of actually saying thank you to one of the customers. Then again maybe it is just me. Maybe people no longer want to here somebody say thank you.

Later I popped into the newsagents where I was greeted with the exact opposite. Here the lady greeted me with, “Good afternoon darling, and your paper. Is that all I can do for you today sweetie? You have a nice day now.” I could almost swear she said it with an American accent. Now please forgive me that was not intended to be at all anti American. I just have not heard that over here, but like everything else it was bound to come.

So I am never happy. The first lad seems to have lost it completely, it was almost as if he did not want to be there, the second just did not sound for minute as though she meant it.

What happened to just being nice to each other, interested in each other?

Where is all this leading to I hear you ask? Well before I get there can I apologise to those of a sensitive nature, but I just could not help myself when I was told this story. I did really laugh out loudly , and it was so appropriate after my experience in the two shops.

It was a friend asking me what ever happened to the meaning of the word service. She said she was now totally confused about what the word service meant until yesterday.

She thought about all the places the word seemed to be used but was confused why.

Internal Revenue 'Service'

Postal 'Service'  

Telephone 'Service'

Cable TV 'Service'  

Civil 'Service'  

State, City, County & Public 'Service'

Customer 'Service'

It seemed that the word service was being used out of context when you consider how each of the above respond to you. She then went on to tell me how it all fell into place when she heard two farmers having a discussion. One was telling the other how he had hired a wonderful bull to service all his cows.

In that moment she realised what the word service meant in our modern society.

I hope you see this in the humorous way I did even now I am still laughing as I retell it to you.

Please do have a nice day.

This blog is linked to my other. Where Do You Go To My Lovely

Let Us Make A Good Job Of It.

2011-08-11T09:13:00.000+01:00

All the talk of police and the events happening in England just make me feel a real sense of sadness and despair. Last night the courts were sitting through the night trying to catch up with the backlog of arrests made during the disturbances. Having been a part-time judge for over 20 years I know just exactly what those Magistrates are feeling like. How often I have had a young person standing before me aware that no matter what I do it is going to have little or no effect on the future behaviour of the person. That sense of another one of the lost generation being raised by the future lost generation on the treadmill of despair

I t stands in stark contrast to the recent show I attended of the Shaolin Warriors. This told the story of those seeking to find meaning in their lives and an understanding of the place of discipline. I am aware that I was watching a show and that is a step away from reality, but I am also aware that in many corners of the globe such lives are reality and the place of discipline and meaning has not been lost.

So it was with some joy that I heard this tale I am going to share with you today. I am assured this is a tale of a true and accounted event. It involves misdemeanour and the police but it sure does have its funny twist.

An elderly lady returned to the car park with her trolley laden with groceries. As she arrived at her car she found four males in the act of leaving with her car. She let go of her shopping trolley and drew a handgun, proceeding to scream at the top of her lungs, :I have a gun, and I know how to use it! Get out of the car.”

The four men did not wait for a second. They got out and ran.

The lady, somewhat shaken, then proceeded to load her shopping into the car and got into the driver’s seat. She was so shaken that she could not get the ignition key into the car. She tried and tried to no avail. It was only then she wondered why there was a football, a Frisbee and a 12pack of beer of the front seat.

A few minutes later she found her own car five spaces further on in the car park. She loaded her messages into her car and drove straight to the police station to report her mistake.

The police sergeant could not stop laughing. He pointed to the other end of the counter where four young lads were reporting a car jacking by a mad elderly woman, carrying a large handgun.

In the end no charges were filed. The moral of the story, if you are going to make a mistake, make it a good one but at least come clean and be honest about it.

The path to enlightenment is strewn with the mistakes of learning.

This blog is linked to my other. The Path To Enlightenment.

Before Trying To Change the World!!.

2011-08-10T09:37:00.000+01:00

I am in no doubt that you are all aware of the horrendous events taking place in the UK at present. Gangs of wild youths roaming the streets at night, looting shops, committing arson by setting fire to property. It is indeed sad to watch and to read about.

Yes there is much to be said about what is wrong with society. But I think we need to be aware that no matter how bad things are there is never an excuse for such greed and reckless behaviour. It broke my heart to watch a young lad who had got caught up in all of this sitting at the side of the road with blood coming from a wound caused by some missile. As he sat some other louts came along, rather than help him they stole all of his possessions and swaggered off.

Even as I write my heart feels heavy, where are we heading and how did we ever get here.

But it is not all bad. I began by saying taking place here in the UK. Sadly that is what is said in the press and on TV day by day. The truth is it is not the UK it is only in England. Yesterday some lout opened a webpage in Facebook here in Scotland, “ Lets start a riot in Glasgow.” Almost instantly another site opened,” Lets not start a riot in Glasgow.’ This site was swamped with people saying NO loud and clear. Today two young persons are to appear in court for trying to incite unrest, thanks to the goodness of people who still care about society. It returns you faith in human beings.

There is a lovely little story that makes a similar moral.

Once upon a time, there was a king who ruled a prosperous country. One day, he went for a trip to some distant areas of his country. When he was back to his palace, he complained that his feet were very painful, because it was the first time that he went for such a long trip, and the road that he went through was very rough and stony. He then ordered his people to cover every road of the entire country with leather. Definitely, this would need thousands of cows' skin, and would cost a huge amount of money.

Then one of his wise servant dared himself to tell the king, "Why do you have to spend that unnecessary amount of money ? Why don't you just cut a little piece of leather to cover your feet ?"

The king was surprised, but he later agreed to his suggestion, to make a "shoe" for himself.

There is actually a valuable lesson of life in this story : to make this world a happy place to live, you better change yourself - your heart; and not the world.

Have a good day and lets not have a riot in Glasgow.

This blog is linked to my other . The Mirage

The Toils of Getting Old

2011-08-03T08:49:00.000+01:00

It has been a terrible few days, feeling ill. I have been unable to run or walk. For one such as myself, for whom such exercise is a daily event, not being able to get out there is nightmare time. To have to stay at home, with the feeling that you just want to be out there.

I began to wonder is this what it is like to be old. Then the penny drops and you begin to realise that for most people you already are old. It is a bit like the old lady who was asked, “What is the best thing about being 94?’ Her immediate answer was, “The lack of peer pressure.”

Or to be like the old lady in a story I was told very recently. She felt like her body had got all out of shape. So she got her doctor's permission to join a fitness club and start exercising. I decided to begin with an aerobics class for seniors.

She said, “I bent, twisted, gyrated, jumped up and down, and perspired for an hour. But, by the time I got my leotards on, the class was over.

This morning I am feel just a bit better, and looking forward to being able to at least have a walk, if only down to the village. I know that I will not make a good old person. I suppose I should begin to look at life and rejoice in what I can do, not what I am no longer able to do.

Which leaves me with yet another story to brighten your day. Another from an old lady. Talking to her friend she was overheard to say.

I've have began to realize I have gotten old! I've had two bypass surgeries, a hip replacement, new knees, fought prostate cancer and diabetes. I'm half blind, can't hear anything quieter than a jet engine, take 40 different medications that make me dizzy, winded, and subject to blackouts. Have bouts with dementia. Have poor circulation; hardly feel my hands and feet anymore. Can't remember if I'm 85 or 92. Have lost all my friends.

But, thank God, I still have my driver's license.

Have a good day.

This blog is linked to my other where I talk of the artwork above. I Don't Like Mondays

A Visit To The Bank

2011-07-27T11:56:00.000+01:00

The holiday now seems like no more than a distant memory. I have returned to so many things that need doing. My daughter in law made a marvellous job of looking after my plot when I was away. The one thing she was so unsure about was harvesting the now very fruitful space. She was able to cut lettuce and salad leaves and pick peas, but that was it. My onions were all ready to bend over and prepare for lifting and drying. My potatoes were all ready for cropping and a marvellous crop it has turned out to be this year.

She and my son have been off on holiday and this has meant my keeping tabs on his mail for his legal business, a task that took a few hours out of each day. So one thing and another and I have as yet not managed to have a day at the paint since my return. I hope to put that to rights as soon as he returns home which will be this evening.

I have had a few occasions that have required trips to the bank over the past week. On one day in front of my in the line of people waiting to be served was a family from USA. They were hoping to change US$ into GB£. The exchange rate, as you all are aware I am sure, is not at all good for such an exchange. So he was letting me know loud and clear that this was the case. Telling me and everybody else in the bank that my lovely country was a costly place to visit.

This reminded me of the tale I was told very recently that just has to bring a smile to your face.

There was an Asian lady in the bank trying to exchange yen for dollars. It was obvious she was a little irritated ... . She asked the  teller, "Why it change? Yesterday, I get two hunat dolla fo yen. Today I only get hunat eighty? Why it change?" 

The teller shrugged his shoulders and said, "Fluctuations."

Taken aback for only a second,  The Asian lady says, "Fluc you white people too"

My apologies for that but it really did make me laugh out loud.

One last bit of news. Those who follow my blogs know that I am not a competitive sort of person!!!!! So it is with some humility that I share with you that I have just been told I have won the trophy for the best garden plot for 2011. All my work has not only given me wonderful produce but also I feel pleased and honored to have won this award.

The pic is of my first cooking of my first crop of beetroot, and that little lot is not even noticed missing in the plot.

Listen Before Speaking.

2011-07-20T11:40:00.000+01:00

It seems like a million years since I last wrote a blog or was able to make comment on one of the blogs of friends. I am just home from Spain, where I had a marvellous holiday. My holiday could be summed up very much in the words of the security guard of the caravan park I was staying on. Every morning as I ran through the gate, as I headed out for my morning run, he would look at his watch, and on my run return tell me the time I had been gone. The same happened in the afternoon when I headed off with my walking pole. After the first week of my holiday he said, “Never do I see anybody who all day every day is making exercise.” I could not help but smile.

One of the marvellous things about staying in another country is meeting people who look at life so different from ourselves. The language is not the only thing that makes life different. The Spanish have a large lunch, then late at night, and I mean late, ten o’clock, they will have the main meal of the day. The whole family gather round the table and this late night meal becomes an event.

On my first year visiting I found this difficult. I wanted to be asleep at ten o’clock, not listening to chatter I could not understand. Now after years of visiting I accept this is the way things are and I try my best to join in and be part of it.

This brings other advantages, the people of the area warm to those who try to fit in with the culture. Over the years I have made many knew friends. What a joy to see them each year, even if we are not always on the same page when we communicate. The many misunderstandings only lead to more laughter.

I painted three works. Two fairly fast paintings of the sea and rocks, and an abstract inspired by the restful things I do on holiday. More of that you can see on my other blog.

The two sea painting I actually liked on first sight, on reflection they have found their way into my bin. The more I looked at them the more I saw they had no soul.

The abstract, I did not like on completion, but it has developed and grown on me, and my family like it. I have shared it here and talked about it on my other blog. You will either like it or hate it.

Let me end today with a thought. Thinking of speaking to people in a language you do not really know brings its problems and takes much concentration and thought. Listening to what is being said is crucial, then that is also the case when you do know the language, maybe more so.

Think of this little story.

The newlywed wife said to her husband when he returned from work, “I have great news for you. Pretty soon, we’re going to be three in this house instead of two.”

Her husband ran to her with a smile on his face and delight in his eyes.

He was glowing of happiness and kissing his wife when she said, “I’m glad that you feel this way since tomorrow morning, my mother moves in with us.”

This blog is linked to my other. Crosswords

2011-06-23T15:56:00.000+01:00

It was Jan Friday the 13th, and I was in a deep and wrestles quandary. It had nothing to do with the superstition of Friday the 13^th being a bad day, it was much more simple, the next day I would be 40. I was insecure about entering a new decade of my life and feared that my best years were now behind me.

I was a parish minister in those days. I lived a very busy life of visiting, conducting funerals, visiting hospitals and all the things that make up the days of a busy parish minister.

In my parish there lived a man named Roddy. Roddy was in his 60s and he went out running two or three times a week, not great distances, but he ran. I remember asking him one day, "What was the best time of your life?"

Without hesitation, Roddy replied, "Well, Ralph, this is my philosophical answer to your philosophical question:

"When I was a child and everything was taken care of for me and I was nurtured by my parents, that was the best time of my life.

"When I was going to school and learning the things I know today, that was the best time of my life.

"When I got my first job and had responsibilities and got paid for my efforts, that was the best time of my life.

"When I met my wife and fell in love, that was the best time of my life.

"When I was a young father, watching my children grow up, that was the best time of my life.

When I was made Boys Brigade captain and I had to prepare the weekly events for the boys in the company that was the best time of my life.

"And now, Ralph, I am sixty-five years old. I have my health, I feel good and I am in love with my wife just as I was when we first met. This is the best time of my life."

And now here I am, older than Roddy was the day we spoke. Amazingly, like him I am out running, longer miles than he was and more often. I have my garden plot. And I have put some pictures of it in its present state, mainly because Jerry keeps asking. I am painting, and on my other blog is my latest, and even as we speak one of my paintings has just sold and is heading off to Germany. So in many ways this is the best time of my life.

This blog is linked to my other. the making of an abstract

Is The Truth So Difficult?

2011-06-16T10:14:00.000+01:00

It seems amazing how difficult it is for some people to just be honest. Now let me define that just a little bit further. It seems difficult for some people to admit that they are wrong or are to blame. Why do I find that so strange? We, we do seem to live in a blame culture. We are always ready to point the finger of blame. Accidents no longer happen, because somebody has to be blamed for everything. The number of ambulance chasing law firms seems to be steadily on the increase, and sadly they seem to be managing to stay in business.

Now take that and then think about this lovely experiment I heard about the other day. A student research group prepared two job application letters. The made both of the candidates have the exact same qualifications and the exact same amount of experience. The one, and only thing, they made different in both was in the section where both had to give some personal thoughts about themselves. David highlighted all of his good qualities missing out not a thing. John on the other hand not only mentioned all his good qualities he also mentioned that at times he could be difficult to live with.

The two applications were shown to a number of employers and each was asked to make comment and to state which if any of the two they would hire. Without exception all employers opted for John. When asked why, they all made comment on the fact that they were impressed with his open honesty about his weakness.

What brings all this to my mind? In the last two weeks while out running , I have had a number of occasions when I find snarling dogs snapping round my heels. There is nothing more alarming when running than a barking and bared tooth dog. When I stopped for one and asked the owner to control his dog he responded, “It is because you are wearing bright clothes and look strange.” Another owner said, “It is because you are running that they are doing that.” Another lady with three very large dog, one with a muzzle, said, “There is no sign saying I have to have the dogs on a lead.” In all cases, who was to blame? It seems it was all my fault. I looked wrong, I dressed wrong or I had the nerve to run.

Not one apologised and admitted they should at least have had some control over their dog. You know what? This morning I met a man and his dog. As I passed it headed towards me barking. Like a shot he was after it and got its collar and put it on the lead and apologised. Will I be nice to him in the future? Of course I will. I so like open and honest people. So refreshing.

This blog is linked to my other where I speak about the artwork. At The Going Down Of The Sun

Becoming a Butterfly.

2011-06-01T09:17:00.000+01:00

Yes I do some very silly things in the course of a week. In fact I often manage to do at least one really silly thing a day. I have this little watch, not a costly thing at all, the strap is made of rubber. It is good when running, light in weight and not accurate enough to have me trying to push to beat a deadline. You see it does not have any numerals on its face. It has a dot at the place where the 12 should be and that is it. So most of my times end with an “ish” Yesterday I went walking and was enjoying stravaging along in no particular hurry. Twice I remember glancing at this watch and thinking, “I can have a bit longer sitting here.” When I headed back home I was surprise to see the clock on the church tower. It was telling me a time I most certainly had not expected. I looked at my little watch, I had it on upside down.

Twice in the course of yesterday I heard somebody complaining about his or her life. How long and boring the day was , every day the same. Another person complaining about the job they had, and how they longed for something better. I, on both occasions looked at them and could not believe how young they were. Then I have to remember everybody looks young to me.

The first time I bit my tongue and said nothing, the second time I said to the person, “If you want to become a butterfly. First you have to stop wanting to be a caterpillar. You must want to fly so much that you are willing to give up being a caterpillar

You have to want to get rid of the old you and find the new you. Once you become the butterfly you can soar and fly. As long as you want to hold on to the caterpillar you better just get used to all the ground hugging and crawling it entails.

Sorry if I am back on my box this morning

I will explain the artwork on this blog on my other blog. Gadget Skins

LIfe Is Full Of Hard Knocks

2011-05-26T12:14:00.000+01:00

I so often see anxious parents, anxious about so many things that might happen to their offspring in this harsh world. I watched a mother and child yesterday as I walked down towards the village, the child beside her was wearing a harness to which the mother had a firm grip. Also, around the child’s wrist there was strap, the other end attached likewise to the wrist of the mother. Gone are the days when holding on to the child’s hand was enough.

I can fully understand the need for care but I sometimes wonder if we have just maybe become so anxious that we have gone too far the other way.

This makes me think of a recent programme I watched about the birth of a giraffe.

Bringing a giraffe into the world is a tall order. A baby giraffe falls 10 feet from its mother’s womb and usually lands on its back. Within seconds it rolls over and tucks its legs under its body. From this position it considers the world for the first time and shakes off the last vestiges of the birthing fluid from its eyes and ears. Then the mother giraffe rudely introduces its offspring to the reality of life.

The mother giraffe lowers her head long enough to take a quick look. Then she positions herself directly over her calf. She waits for about a minute, and then she does the most unreasonable thing. She swings her long, pendulous leg outward and kicks her baby, so that it is sent sprawling head over heels.

When it doesn’t get up, the violent process is repeated over and over again. The struggle to rise is momentous. As the baby calf grows tired, the mother kicks it again to stimulate its efforts. Finally, the calf stands for the first time on its wobbly legs.

Then the mother giraffe does the most remarkable thing. She kicks it off its feet again. Why? She wants it to remember how it got up. In the wild, baby giraffes must be able to get up as quickly as possible to stay with the herd, where there is safety. Lions, hyenas, leopards, and wild hunting dogs all enjoy young giraffes, and they’d get it too, if the mother didn’t teach her calf to get up quickly and get with it.

When you look at the lives of some of the great artists and the hero’s of history you notice they have two things in common. Firstly they have a burning ambition and need to achieve. Secondly they all have a hard time in arriving at the point where they can claim to have possibly fulfilled the dream.

They are beaten over the head, knocked down, vilified, and for years they get nowhere. But every time they’re knocked down they stand up. You cannot destroy these people. And at the end of their lives they’ve accomplished some modest part of what they set out to do.

In this blog I have often kept returning to the idea of dreams and hopes . I have many such hopes and dreams as you are aware. I just hope that one day I like them will feel I have gone some way to accomplishing them.

My other blog has a short poem on this theme with my latest abstract artwork based around this idea of dreams and hopes, and journeys.

One day I hope to get back from the constant desire to paint abstract.

This blog is linked to my other. Summer Dreams - The Journey.

Oh To Be Perfect.

2011-05-18T09:07:00.000+01:00

Have you ever heard of the, you could have done better syndrome? I heard of it from a very early age in life. My mother was one of those people who, no matter how well a thing was done it was never quiet good enough. She was also one who was never slow to let you know. I remember a school test. I had worked really hard to prepare for it, more than I could remember having prepared for any other test in school. On the day of the test I felt well prepared as I sat down to look at the test paper. I completed all the questions well within the set time and handed in the completed paper.

The next day the teacher handed them back out, marked and scored. I had done very well having only got two questions not completely correct. It turned out that I was second top from a class of 32. I went home proudly holding my test paper to show my parents. My mother looked at it and noted I had been second in the class. “What happened that you did not manage to come first?” This is my first remembrance of the, “you could do better syndrome.” Did it make me better? The answer to that question is simply this. I am not at all sure. What it did do though was to set in motion, “The I can do better driver.” This driver I have carried through my whole life.

So it was some surprise that I read the blog of Bonnie Heather this morning to discover my face staring from it and some very complimentary words. I find such praise very difficult and yet when artists who produce work such as she and others make comment on my work I feel very humbled and inspired.

This reminds me of the story of the man who had never married. One day his best friend asked him why he had never met somebody and settled down. He told his friend that he had wanted very much to do just that. He had looked and looked for the perfect girl. “You never found her?” asked his friend. “Yes I did,” he replied. He went on to tell his friend how he had met the perfect girl. She was perfectly beautiful and perfectly talented loving and caring. She would have made the perfect wife. “So why did you not marry her?” asked his friend. “Because she was looking for the perfect man.”

I think it is a bit late for me to learn the lesson I should have learned years ago but I have learned this. I never ever tell somebody that what they have achieved and are proud of is not the best. I strive to always encourage and inspire.

Thank you to all of you, who like Bonnie Heather, inspire me to keep on striving to reach that goal of being an artist.

This blog is linked to my other. The Summer Knows

The Spider.

2011-05-15T11:11:00.000+01:00

I watched a spider working on the repair of its web. It worked without stopping repairing the broken strands caused by the unexpected heavy shower of rain. We see these webs so often and they go unnoticed as we hurry past. In the early hours when there is frost in the air or the touch of summer dew, they sparkle like wondrous works of art capturing the eye. Such beauty, and yet also the instruments of death for the unsuspecting fly caught in them.

Life is full of traps that beckon us into their lairs. I am sure I need not labour this point we all are aware of the little traps we get caught in. This morning for me it was the lair of sloth. I got up early ready to run but for one reason or another I never got over the front door.

There is a lovely story about spiders. Spiders are usually born on the lower branches of bushes or trees. Some for one reason or another decide to stay right there in the lower branches where, when old enough they leave the web of their parents and move over to another corner and build their own web. There is the safety they catch the odd fly and have enough on which to life, not fat a full but they get by. Others decide to climb to the higher branches and build their webs on the exposed branches of the trees and bushes. These are the webs that get torn and battered by wind and rain. They are also the webs that are up there where most of the flies are, so the captures they make a re more frequent. In turn these spiders eat better, are stronger and bigger.

One day one such spider met a very small young spider on the branch of a bush. The young spider looked at the big one in awe. The large spider asked what the youngster was looking at. “Your size,” said the youngster. “Ah ,” said the large spider. The large spider went on to explain that some spider chose to stay safe in the dark lower branches while others decided to struggle to the top. At the top the work was hard but the rewards were plenty.

“So , you see,” said the large spider, “You can look up in jealousy from place of safety or you can work hard and build castles in the sky.”

It is a bit like painting really. You can potter about with the things you feel comfortable with or you can strike out and try things new and make art to delight the heart.

This blog is linked to my other. Winter is Not The End

The Old Man and The Artist

2011-05-10T12:09:00.000+01:00

I have had little time for painting recently and am now feeling bad that I seem to have less time for blogging also. What with the large garden plot my running and so many other things I allow to crowd my life. My garden is looking good and I am happy about that. I am so looking forward to being able to harvest some of the vegetables. I am running well at the present and enjoying walking.

I have been waking up in the middle of the night and hearing music in my head and seeing pictures so maybe my brain is telling me it is time to return to the paints. I sold two paintings last week, ones I thought I had sold previously but had not. The same person who approached me before and asked me to mark them has sold has come back to me and asked if I still have them, so it looks good.

Once again though the message is the same. It is not possible to do all the things you would like to, and more importantly do them all well. This reminds me of a true story.

Dante Gabriel Rossetti, was once approached by an elderly man. The old fellow had some sketches and drawings that he wanted Rossetti to look at and tell him if they were any good, or if they at least showed potential talent.

Rossetti looked them over carefully. After the first few, he knew that they were worthless, showing not the least sign of artistic talent. But Rossetti was a kind man, and he told the elderly man as gently as possible that the pictures were without much value and showed little talent. He was sorry, but he could not lie to the man. The visitor was disappointed, but seemed to expect Rossetti’s judgment.

He then apologized for taking up Rossetti’s time, but would he just look at a few more drawings – these done by a young art student? Rossetti looked over the second batch of sketches and immediately became enthusiastic over the talent they revealed. “These,” he said, “oh, these are good. This young student has great talent. He should be given every help and encouragement in his career as an artist. He has a great future if he will work hard and stick to it.”

Rossetti could see that the old fellow was deeply moved. “Who is this fine young artist?” he asked. “Your son?” “No,” said the old man sadly. “It is me – 40 years ago. If only I had heard your praise then! For you see, I got discouraged and gave up – too soon.”

Yes it is time for me to get back to the painting. If not who knows what might happen and I do have a few spaces waiting for new works.

This blog is linked to my other. Two Paintings I Hope Are Now Sold.

It Can Work Wonders

2011-05-05T10:03:00.001+01:00

It Can Work Wonders.

It costs not a thing

But it can give so much.

It fills the life of the receiver.

Without the giver losing

It but just a moment takes

But will linger in the thoughts for years.

The richest person .

Gets richer yet when it is given.

The poorest gets no poorer

By giving to the rich.

It creates happiness in the home.

In the place of work it brings goodwill.

It brings rest to the weary.

It cheers the person feeling low.

It is like a touch of sunshine on a gloomy day.

Bringing joy to the most sad.

It does all this and even more

And not just once,

but on and on.

It cannot be bought.

The beggar cannot claim it.

The owner cannot give on loan

Nor can the thief take in the dead of night

It has no value due or worth

Until the giver gives.

There are those who know not how to give.

The ones who need it most.

So as the day goes slowly on.

Give them one of yours.

As none has more need than one who has none to give.

Today I plead to you

To give a smile to all you see.

I am somehow in that frame of mind where paint is coming hard and my head is full of thoughts and words. I apologise therefore that this blog and my other now has verse on each on the same day.

This blog is linked to my other. Gone But Still Around

Gone But Still Around

2011-05-04T12:24:00.000+01:00

I have been away for another few days in my caravan. While away I did much of the usual things I do. I ran every morning over new places and hills I had never been before. I got lost one day but it was interesting seeing where I was going to end up. I walked a great deal also and had some very interesting walks, where I encountered birds that I do not see where I come from and the odd snake. I cycled. So all in all, a very interesting time.

I managed to take some good pictures that I hope will inspire later paintings.

One of the great things about new places is that it also means meeting new people. Some are very friendly, others less so. On the site where I had my caravan there was an old lad in a caravan close to me. He was a very friendly sort. He sat outside his van and tried to make conversation with most of the people who passed.

I was walking through the site one of the days and overheard a conversation. I heard a young man comment on the old lad. I heard him call him, “an interfering old bugger.” I just could not resist. Before I could stop myself I turned and said, “He is a man nearing his later years who wants to be friendly, and for all you know he may well have led a much more interesting life than you ever will.”

The man who had spoken looked at me, “you the man who runs every morning, are you not?”

I told him I was. He said he thought it was amazing that somebody of my age ran every day. I looked at him and smiled, as he took another puff from his cigarette. I laughed, “Do you think you will be at my age?” I asked.

I have said it often before on this blog, but I say it again. Old age is one thing we can never avoid. It might be wise to consider how we would hope to be seen when it arrives at our doorstep. Maybe then we will see those who have already arrived in a new light.

Oh just for a little smile, the old lad it turns out was ten years younger than me.

I hope the thoughts in this blog help to make understanding of the poem based around the pictures on this on my other blog.

Gone But Still Around

Try Again

2011-04-27T12:11:00.000+01:00

I was talking to a friend the other day that was despairing of never managing to do all that he wanted. He forgets that he is not the same age as he was last year or the year before. For that matter none of us are as young as yesterday. His complaining made me do two things.

The first, was for me to remind him of the story of King Robert The Bruce. He was a very famous person in Scottish history. When I was a boy I was told a story of him in a cave with a spider. I apologise if you have heard it before, but it did make an impression on me and stuck with me.

He had just suffered a defeat at the hands of the English and was hiding in this cave. He was thinking it was all over and that he should just retreat and go home. While he sat there he saw this spider trying to make a web. It tried and it tried until eventually it managed to begin, from then on it got easier. Robert thought, if this spider can do it so will I do what needs to be done.

I was surprised that my friend had never heard this story , and I am not sure it had the impact it did on me but he did leave with a smile.

The second thing it reminded me of was this tree I saw while away in the mountains. I know some of my fellow bloggers have a real love of trees, as have I. I could not resist this picture or two.

I remember a tree that grew in the churchyard of my last church. I took the children out of the service one Sunday morning to show them this tree, a tree they had passed many, many times and hardly noticed.

At some distant time a bird had dropped a seed and it had lodged in the crack in a stone. As the years had passed the tree had grown and grown until it had split the rock in two. The moral of that story was simple. Some things in life are not easy, but they are not impossible.

I used to say to my own children, “All things are possible, but miracles take a little longer than most.”

I have added another picture of this marvellous tree on my other blog. Enfolding Love

Chasing One Thing After Another.

2011-04-21T08:22:00.000+01:00

It seems ages since I had time to sit down and just share my thoughts. More importantly to take time to look at the blogs of my friends. There really is no excuse, saying I was away on holiday or working in my plot preparing for planting, the bottom line is we can always find time for the things we consider important. So here I am today. Having chased my tail for more than a week.

Speaking of tails, let me tell you about yesterday. I planted some new flowers in my back garden. No sooner were they in when I looked out and saw a cat lying sunning itself on top of them. I went out and chased it only to see it back in place ten minutes later. This went on for a go hour and more until at last it got the message that it was not welcome in the garden if it was insisting on that particular spot.

This reminds me of the tale of the two cats. There were two cats a very young one and a very old one. One day the old cat watched as the young one chased its tail round and round in circles. Eventually the old cat purred the question. “Why are you chasing your tail all day?” The young cat responded, “Because it helps me to find happiness.” The old cat mused for a while and said, “ I used to think that also until I learned that no matter where I went my tail followed on anyway.”

The young cat continued to chase his tail. The old cat looked and purred and went off on his way. Sure enough as he left his tail followed him swishing away behind him. He looked very happy.

Happiness is not found in chasing after it. If we get our lives in order happiness follows us.

Have a great day.

This blog is linked to my other. Cat on the Prowl

What Are You Waiting For?

2011-04-13T08:33:00.000+01:00

I have had over a week in the mountains, enjoying walking and running. There is something exciting about running over rocky surfaces and hilly paths. It is a bit like playing chess; you have to always be one or two steps ahead of yourself. Watching ahead, and preparing for where you are next going to plant your foot. By comparison running on the road is just a case of making sure you do not bump into another person or get chased by a dog.

How wise it is to be prepared and ready. My son joined me for my last day, and we ran together. As we ran I became aware of my age. I was running with somebody almost half my age. I said to him that I was aware that age was making me a bit slower. He laughed, and commented, “I have two things to say. One you will notice you are in front of me, and two, we have not passed anybody else your age out doing this.’ Point made and point taken.

Then I saw that my years had not been totally wasted. We came to a small river. I had ran this path so often before, I knew where I could, without losing stride, step over two large boulders to the other side. At this point my son said, “Come on dad just go for it.” He proceeded to make the jump , only to land flat on his face his shoes full of water. It is all about the right things at the right time.

There is a tale of another old man and his wife. They were a lovely old couple in there 80s. They had been married for 60 years and were still looking fit and well. In spite of their health they met an untimely end one day in a traffic accident.

They found themselves at the pearly gates. The angel showed them round. They were shown where they would live it was beautiful. The husband asked what the rent would be? They were told it was free. He then noticed just behind his house a beautiful golf course. He enquired what the green fees were and the membership rates. Again he was told it was all free. In the clubhouse he saw all the wonderful food. He asked where all the healthy fat free food was. He was told there was no such thing. He could not get ill so he could enjoy whatever he wanted.

He looked at all this and considered it. He turned to his loving wife and asked her, “What was all that about those awful bran flakes, we could have been here ten years ago.”

The road is in fact just what we make it. Rough or smooth hard or easy. The better road is always the one that leads to a feeling of achievement and wellbeing.

It is good to be back have a good day.

This blog is linked to my other. A Good Feeling.

Echoes

2011-03-31T10:15:00.000+01:00

I was out walking with my son and his wife the other day. As we walked we came to an underpass, not a long one but long enough to create a lovely echoing noise. I remembered running in a marathon where the route passed through such an underpass , though much longer. As the runner passed through the call went out. Uggi , Uggi Uggi and the returning call of Oi , OI, Oi. For the moment the runners were all as one, then the racing continued. As I walked the other day I found myself calling, Uggi, Uggi, Uggi , and my daughter in law instantly taking up the response, Oi, Oi, Oi. A moment shared.

This reminded me of the story of a son and his father who were walking on the mountains. Suddenly, his son falls, hurts himself and screams: "AAAhhhhhhhhhhh!!!" To his surprise, he hears the voice repeating, somewhere in the mountain: "AAAhhhhhhhhhhh!

" Curious, he yells: "Who are you?" He receives the answer: "Who are you?" 

And then he screams to the mountain: "I admire you!" The voice answers: "I admire you!" Angered at the response, he screams: "Coward!" He receives the answer: "Coward!"

 He looks to his father and asks: "What's going on?" The father smiles and says: "My son, pay attention." Again the man screams: "You are a champion!" The voice answers: "You are a champion!" The boy is surprised, but does not understand.

Then the father explains: "People call this ECHO, but really this is LIFE.  

It gives you back everything you say or do.  Our life is simply a reflection of our actions.  If you want more love in the world, create more love in your heart. If you want more competence in your team, improve your competence. This relationship applies to all of life; 

Life will give you back everything you have given to it."

YOUR LIFE IS NOT A COINCIDENCE. IT'S A REFLECTION OF YOU!"

I hope you have a happy day.

This blog is linked to my other. Towards Enlightenment

It Is Not Just About What You Know.

2011-03-29T12:39:00.000+01:00

Yesterday I bought a set of bathroom scales. So you ask what is so special in that? Well, nothing if they were just another set of bathroom scales. These are made just for a person like me who is a lover of gadgets and toys for boys. These scales tell me my weight. Nothing special in that at all! Then they go a step further and tell my body fat, and the amount of water in my body. They also tell me of my bone density and body mass. They then finish by giving a reading of what the daily intake of calories for that day should be to maintain these statistics.

So I go for a run, come home, have a bath, and then I stand on the scales and learn all this information about myself. All this information I never knew before. My first thought was, marvellous, wow. Then I began to think, I have been running all those years and I have never had to think about those things. I ran very well this morning before I knew all this. If I had not learned it I would have still prepared to get up tomorrow and go running.

You see the bottom line is not what you know about yourself, but what you do with what you know. What you know about yourself and what you know about others is only of value if you use that information with wisdom.

A nice little story.

I remember leading a retreat for a group of young people. I told them we were going to try and learn something about ourselves and how to trust each other.

They were all to stand, facing away from their partner, and fall backward, relying on another person to catch them. Most of them were naturally uncomfortable with this, and could not let go for more than a few inches before stopping themselves.

There was a lot of embarrassed laughter.

Finally, one young person, a thin, quiet, dark-haired girl whom I had noticed almost always wore bulky, white fisherman sweaters, she crossed her arms over her chest, closed her eyes, leant back, and did not flinch, like one of those Lipton tea commercials where the model splashes into the pool..

For a moment, I was sure she was going to thump on the floor. At the last instant, her assigned partner grabbed her head and shoulders and yanked her up harshly.

“Whoa!” several others yelled. Some clapped. She turned and smiled. “You see”, I said to the girl, “you closed your eyes, That was the difference. Sometimes you cannot believe what you see, you have to believe what you feel. And if you are ever going to have other people trust you, you must feel that you can trust them too – even when you're in the dark. Even when you're falling".

It is not just what you know but what you do with what you know.

It is so often the same with our art it is not just what we know we need to convey but what we feel. It is using what we know.

This blog is linked to my other. Do No LookBack

A Bad Day? Not At All.

2011-03-23T11:24:00.000Z

We all have them, bad days I mean. Those days, when just nothing seems to go right for you, and you wished you had just stayed in bed. We all have days like that. I have had those days as part of my life for as long as I can remember.

There were times when they got so bad I just did not want to be here at all. My parents used to get very angry with me when they said I was having one of my sulking moments. It must have been difficult for them, I am aware of that now. I remember my mother speaking to the minister that I had become very friendly with, and who turned my life on its head. My mother was explaining to him that I could be a real difficult person to live with, did he understand that. I do not remember what he said to her that day, but I do remember another day and another place.

In Scotland when a person becomes an ordained minister, and takes up post in his or her first parish, there is an event at which friends speak of the person. These friends tell funny stories and tell the new congregation a bit about their new ministers past. On the occasion this happened for me, my friend stood up and spoke of my dark days. He told the congregation that in me they had an all or nothing kind of person. That I would give all of myself heart and all, but that in the midst of that there would be times when I would be best just left alone.

He went on that night to say that those were my burnt out days. On those days do not listen when I complain or get grumpy. He said rejoice for what is round the next corner. What he meant was that those down days were the first days of the next cycle of creativity.

Why am I telling you this today, simple, I am on a low day. Normally I would not write a blog today, normally I would do nothing today, but here I am and I am remembering my old friend, now dead. I am remembering what he must have told my parents and what he told me. The black days are worth it, because these are the days that make you what you are.

I was listening to a track from the Rolling Stones. In it the mother rushes to the cupboard for her, “mothers little helper.” How often that is the answer now when we have down days.

I though I would share that thought with you on one of my black days. I am going to cope with this day, it will not be one of my best, but it will be the first day in the next cycle of whatever.

Things can only get better after all.

This all reminds me of the funny tale of the old lady. He husband had died. She went to the local paper to put in the death notice. She asked what it would cost. She was told it would be £1 per word. She said to the girl behind the counter, “Ok so it is a pound a word. Just write, Robert Dead.” The girl looked at her and said, “I forgot to tell you the minimum number of words is five. “Ah,” she said, “in that case write, Robert Dead, Ford For Sale.”

Even at the lowest moment we need to begin to prepare for the good days ahead.

This Blog is linked to my other. Handel - WaterMusic.

Everything Comes Round.

2011-03-21T12:03:00.000Z

I was talking to somebody very close to me who had received a gift. She was wondering how she could let the person know how grateful she was for the gift. I advised that at this moment she did nothing, other than to say thank you. I went on to tell her that there would come an opportunity sometime to repay the kind thought. That is after all the way of life.

I told her that I would write this blog today to explain my thinking.

He was walking along the road when he saw the stranger coming towards him. The stranger looked somewhat down. As he neared, he smiled to the stranger. It seemed to have an effect on the man; he seemed to brighten up. Later that day he remembered a past kindness that had on another day lifted his feelings. He sat down and wrote a letter to the friend. The friend on receiving the letter felt so good that later that day he left a bigger than normal tip for the waitress. The waitress was so surprised that she had got this tip on the same day as she had been given a tip for a horse race. She placed the whole tip on the horse to win, and it did just that.

She collected her winnings, and on the way back to work she gave part of it to a poor man sitting on the street corner. The old man had not eaten for two days and bought himself a meal. Feeling better he headed home to the hostel where he lived. As he neared the place he saw a little puppy, clearly abandoned and looking hungry and afraid. He smuggled it up to his room and gave it what he could manage, and made it warm.

Later that night when all the residents of the hostel were sleeping, a resident let a cigarette butt slip from his fingers as he fell asleep. The settle caught fire. The puppy on smelling the smoke caused a commotion of barking. The barking wakened the whole household and everybody was saved from harm.

One of the residents saw his lucky escape as a motivation for improvement. He worked hard and one day he became a doctor and went on to save many more lives.

All of this because of one smile. What had the smile cost? Not a thing and yet look at the ripple effects it caused.

I am sorry I have not been around as often as I would like to be but I have been preparing my plot and beginning the planting. I have also been digging my old pals plot so that he to will be able to get on with his planting.

I have added one of my Four Seasons paintings to this blog to let you see what they all look like now that I have them framed with a beautiful double mount. (Matt)

This blog is linked to my other. The Tempest

Little Unattached Moments.

2011-03-14T11:50:00.000Z

How easy it is to become possessive of the things we hold dear, and that in many cases can be a good thing. But there is a need to be aware of what it can do, and what it means, and how we can so easily miss out on other joys.

I remember a fellow blogger asking me what it felt like to sell a painting. The person wondered if I did not feel the loss of a part of ourselves. She felt she would end up running down the street after the person wanting her art back. It is true that our art does become a part of us, and when we say farewell to it we are letting go of something very close to us. On the other side of the coin, what do we feel when somebody tells us they do not like what we have lovingly produced? It is so easy to feel a personal insult.

Hundreds of years ago, one much more wise than I will ever be said this, “When we become attached to things we need to be aware that nothing can ever be permanent and all attachment has the potential of pain within it.”

So I may not be a guru, or full of wisdom, but can I recommend little unattachments. Yes my spell checker tells me that is not a word, but I like it, and I use it.

We can all find it in our hearts to give little things to our friends. I find it easy to give vegetables from my plot to those who live around me. We can give art to friends, they are like our art part of us, so it is not that we are really giving away a part of ourselves. What I mean by, “Little Unattachments,” is just the next step.

I have sold a few paintings recently and I feel pleased that this is the case. So last Friday I decided it was time for an unattached moment.

I had my pastels out. I had the other half of the pastel board left over from the painting I have now completed. I painted a picture similar to another one I had done recently, one that had been met with many favourable comments. I put a mount (matt) on it and placed it in a see through plastic protector, and headed off for a walk through the village, taking it with me.

I know that when people see me with a painting, whether they know me or not, they want to see what I have been doing. As expected it was not long before somebody asked to see it. As I was showing it to this person another lady came along. She looked at it and said, “Oh I really do like that , that is beautiful. Did you do that son? “

I told her I had and asked if she really did like it. When she said she did, I told her that in that case she could have it, and I hoped it brought her much joy.

As I left I saw her telling everybody around her what had happened. Did it cost me much? Not really. Was it difficult? Not at all. Did it make somebody happy? It seemed so. Did it do me any good? That is not an important question but it did help me to understand what that wise man all those years was going on about.

Go on have a, “Little Unattachment Moment.”

This blog is linked to my other. The Finished Painting

Hands

2011-03-11T08:06:00.001Z

My old friend Archie asked me yesterday if I would give him a help with his plot. He has been down most days and trying hard to get it ready to plant up. We have had a week of weather that has not been conducive to digging, or planting.

So time is catching up with him, as the time for planting seed potatoes approaches.

He said that he was struggling at the very thought of having it done. He is a proud man and to ask for help was not easy, I was aware of that. So as soon as we can I will go down and give him a hand by turning over his soil for him. He was about to go into a speech of thanks, instead I told him to remember the story of Albrecht Durer.

I was surprised that he had not heard it, so told it to him. Today I repeat it here. If you know the story I apologise, though it is always worthy of another read.

Back in the fifteenth century, in a tiny village near Nuremberg, lived a family with eighteen children. Eighteen! In order merely to keep food on the table for this mob, the father and head of the household, a goldsmith by profession, worked almost eighteen hours a day at his trade and any other paying chore he could find in the neighborhood. Despite their seemingly hopeless condition, two of Albrecht Durer the Elder's children had a dream. They both wanted to pursue their talent for art, but they knew full well that their father would never be financially able to send either of them to Nuremberg to study at the Academy.
After many long discussions at night in their crowded bed, the two boys finally worked out a pact. They would toss a coin. The loser would go down into the nearby mines and, with his earnings, support his brother while he attended the academy. Then, when that brother who won the toss completed his studies, in four years, he would support the other brother at the academy, either with sales of his artwork or, if necessary, also by laboring in the mines.
They tossed a coin on a Sunday morning after church. Albrecht Durer won the toss and went off to Nuremberg. Albert went down into the dangerous mines and, for the next four years, financed his brother, whose work at the academy was almost an immediate sensation. Albrecht's etchings, his woodcuts, and his oils were far better than those of most of his professors, and by the time he graduated, he was beginning to earn considerable fees for his commissioned works.
When the young artist returned to his village, the Durer family held a festive dinner on their lawn to celebrate Albrecht's triumphant homecoming. After a long and memorable meal, punctuated with music and laughter, Albrecht rose from his honored position at the head of the table to drink a toast to his beloved brother for the years of sacrifice that had enabled Albrecht to fulfill his ambition. His closing words were, "And now, Albert, blessed brother of mine, now it is your turn. Now you can go to Nuremberg to pursue your dream, and I will take care of you."
All heads turned in eager expectation to the far end of the table where Albert sat, tears streaming down his pale face, shaking his lowered head from side to side while he sobbed and repeated, over and over, "No ...no ...no ...no."
Finally, Albert rose and wiped the tears from his cheeks. He glanced down the long table at the faces he loved, and then, holding his hands close to his right cheek, he said softly, "No, brother. I cannot go to Nuremberg. It is too late for me. Look ... look what four years in the mines have done to my hands! The bones in every finger have been smashed at least once, and lately I have been suffering from arthritis so badly in my right hand that I cannot even hold a glass to return your toast, much less make delicate lines on parchment or canvas with a pen or a brush. No, brother ... for me it is too late."
More than 450 years have passed. By now, Albrecht Durer's hundreds of masterful portraits, pen and silver-point sketches, watercolors, charcoals, woodcuts, and copper engravings hang in every great museum in the world, but the odds are great that you, like most people, are familiar with only one of Albrecht Durer's works. More than merely being familiar with it, you very well may have a reproduction hanging in your home or office.
One day, to pay homage to Albert for all that he had sacrificed, Albrecht Durer painstakingly drew his brother's abused hands with palms together and thin fingers stretched skyward. He called his powerful drawing simply "Hands," but the entire world almost immediately opened their hearts to his great masterpiece and renamed his tribute of love "The Praying Hands."
The next time you see a copy of that touching creation, take a second look. Let it be your reminder, if you still need one, that no one - no one - - ever makes it alone! Let me apologise that I have not used his hands on this blog but rather a feeble attempt I made at painting my own hands. It does I hope emphasis the difficulty of the work I am talking about.

This blog is linked to my other. A Work In Progress 2

Lets Get To The Heart Of The Matter.

2011-03-10T08:02:00.000Z

I was listening to the young lad who lives next door conversing with his mother. In the short span of about five minutes he asked his mother more questions that I could find answers. I smiled to myself, remembering such days with my own two children.

I was reminded of a meeting I attended with parents and the morning of laughter we had as each in turn told stories about their children and some of the wonderful insights they came out with.

My own son the day he stood up halfway through my sermon and walked to the front of the church where he innocently looked up to me and in his best voice said, “ Dad I am just going to go through to the church hall to play. This sermon is too long and boring, if you are not going to chidrenize it I am leaving.” On which he did just that, his mother in hot pursuit.

Another tale is the ne I give you this morning. Is it true? I am not at all sure, but I can tell you this, if I was told it was true I would have no difficulty in believing it.

The story is of the Sunday School teacher speaking with her class. The lesson was on the concept of getting to heaven.

She asked them, 'If I sold my house and my car,    had a big garage sale    and gave all my money   to the church,   Would that get me into Heaven?'

'NO!'

Answered the class.    

'If I cleaned the church every day,    mowed the yard,   and kept everything neat and tidy,  would that get me into Heaven?'

    Again, the answer was, 'NO!'   

By now she was starting to smile.    Hey, this was fun!

 'Well, then, if I was kind to animals    and gave candy    to all the children,  and loved my husband,  would that get me into Heaven?'    She asked them again.  

Again, they all answered, 'NO!'    

She was just bursting with pride for them.  'Well,' she continued, 'then how can I get into Heaven?'    A five-year-old boy shouted out,   

The first thing you need to get to heaven is you have to be DEAD

Once again it takes the wisdom of a child to get to the heart of the matter.

This blog is linked to my other. A Work in progress

It All Comes Round

2011-03-08T08:50:00.000Z

At last I can sit down and post a blog. I have been, as the saying goes, making haste while the sun shines. We have had seven days of no rain and the sun shining, so getting my plot turned over has been my first priority. So here I am, 14 hours of digging behind me and I can say it is all turned over. What a wonderful feeling of achievement. Today the sun is again shining so I hope at some point to plant the first of many crops.

I took great pride in writing in my gardening journal that I had completed stage one. Many of my fellow gardeners said they were amazed at how I had managed that in the short time, considering it had been left to cover with weeds all last year.

Also in my little journal, over the two or so years I have had my other plot, I have been making note of some of the unspoken and unwritten, “rules”.

Here is a short version of what I have noted.

Don’t.

· Encroach on your neighbour’s space with plants animals or children.

· Let your plot be overrun with weeds that invade

· Plant anything that might cause shade for neighbours.

· Leave rubbish lying around.

· Have bonfires at busy times.

· Steal other people vegetables.

· Play loud music when others are looking for peace and quite

· Monopolise the communal water.

· Participate in allotment life.

· Share any excess plants, seeds and vegetables

· Be considerate of others.

· Keep your place looking neat and tidy.

It seems to work very well. The old barter system alive and kicking.

Reminds me of the story I was told recently by a very good friend. This made me chuckle hope it does you also.

It is a slow day in a damp little Irish town. The rain is beating down and the streets are deserted. Times are tough, everybody is in debt, and everybody lives on credit. On this particular day a rich German tourist is driving through the town, stops at the local hotel and lays a €100 note on the desk, telling the hotel owner he wants to inspect the rooms upstairs in order to pick one to spend the night. The owner gives him some keys and, as soon as the visitor has walked upstairs, the hotelier grabs the €100 note and runs next door to pay his debt to the butcher. The butcher takes the €100 note and runs down the street to repay his debt to the pig farmer. The pig farmer takes the €100 note and heads off to pay his bill at the supplier of feed and fuel. The guy at the Farmers' Co-op takes the €100 note and runs to pay his drinks bill at the pub. The publican slips the money along to the local prostitute drinking at the bar, who has also been facing hard times and has had to offer him "services" on credit. The hooker then rushes to the hotel and pays off her room bill to the hotel owner with the €100 note. The hotel proprietor then places the €100 note back on the counter so the rich traveler will not suspect anything. At that moment the traveler comes down the stairs, picks up the €100 note, states that the rooms are not satisfactory, pockets the money, and leaves town. No one produced anything. No one earned anything. However, the whole town is now out of debt and looking to the future with a lot more optimism. And that, Ladies and Gentlemen, is how the bailout package works.

Have a marvelous day.

This blog is linked to my other. Tools For The Job

I Am Losing My Marbles

2011-03-04T08:14:00.000Z

I have not been on the blog for a couple of days, not that I had forgotten or anything like that, it was simply a case of other things getting in the way.

The first thing of course is the need to dig my large garden plot. I have this week spent ten hours digging and have managed to dig two thirds of the ground.

Other things have gone to make this an exciting and strange week. I sold three paintings, simple, but with me nothing ever is. When I went to collect two of the paintings from where they were hanging and replace them, it seems somehow I had managed to sell one twice. Then I discovered I had misplaced, lost is probably a better word, my spectacles. And so it has gone on, one thing after another.

I was telling my friends about this. One of them laughed out loud and said, “Ralph, you’re losing your marbles.” It is an age thing indeed, I am sure.

Where does that lovely saying come from? Well here is one contender.

An old man relates the following event. In telling it I will try to get the Math correct.

The old man began.

The older I get, the more I enjoy Saturday mornings. Perhaps it's the quiet solitude that comes with being the first to rise, of maybe it's the unbounded joy of not having to be at work. Either way, the first few hours of a Saturday morning are most enjoyable.  A few weeks ago, I was shuffling toward the kitchen, with a steaming cup of coffee in one hand and the morning paper in the other. What began as a typical Saturday morning turned into one of those lessons that life seems to hand you from time to time.  Let me tell you about it. I turned the volume up on my radio in order to listen to a Saturday morning talk show. I heard an older sounding chap with a golden voice. You know the kind, he sounded like he should be in the broadcasting business himself.  He was talking about "a thousand marbles" to someone named "Tom". I was intrigued and sat down to listen to what he had to say. "Well, Tom, it sure sounds like you're busy with your job. I'm sure they pay you well but it's a shame you have to be away from home and your family so much. Hard to believe a young fellow should have to work sixty or seventy hours a week to make ends meet. Too bad you missed your daughter's dance recital. " He continued, "Let me tell you something Tom, something that has helped me keep a good perspective on my own priorities." And that's when he began to explain his theory of a "thousand marbles."

"You see, I sat down one day and did a little arithmetic. The average person lives about seventy-five years. I know, some live more and some live less, but on average, folks live about seventy-five years." "Now then, I multiplied 75 times 52 and I came up with 3900 which is the number of Saturdays that the average person has in their entire lifetime.  "Now stick with me Tom, I'm getting to the important part. "It took me until I was fifty-five years old to think about all this in any detail", he went on, "and by that time I had lived through over twenty-eight hundred Saturdays. "I got to thinking that if I lived to be seventy-five, I only had about a thousand of them left to enjoy. "So I went to a toy store and bought every single marble they had. I ended up having to visit three toy stores to round-up 1000 marbles. "I took them home and put them inside of a large, clear plastic container right here in my workshop next to the radio. Every Saturday since then, I have taken one marble out and thrown it away.  "I found that by watching the marbles diminish, I focused more on the really important things in life. There is nothing like watching your time here on this earth run out to help get your priorities straight. "Now let me tell you one last thing before I sign-off with you and take my lovely wife out for breakfast. This morning, I took the very last marble out of the container. I figure if I make it until next Saturday then God has blessed me with a little extra time to be with my loved ones...... "It was nice to talk to you Tom, I hope you spend more time with your loved ones, and I hope to meet you again someday. Have a good morning!"  You could have heard a pin drop when he finished. Even the show's moderator didn't have anything to say for a few moments. I guess he gave us all a lot to think about. I had planned to do some work that morning, then go to the gym. Instead, I went upstairs and woke my wife up with a kiss. "C'mon honey, I'm taking you and the kids to breakfast." "What brought this on?" she asked with a smile. "Oh, nothing special," I said. " It has just been a long time since we spent a Saturday together with the kids. Hey, can we stop at a toy store while we're out? I need to buy some marbles."

I was actually thinking about going out today and buying some marbles, if for no other reason but to replace the ones I am losing.

Have a wonderful day and weekend.

This blog is linked to my other. Bridging The gap

The Secret Box

2011-03-02T08:29:00.000Z

It is a very busy time, the digging season, so I may not be here every day, though I do promise to try.

I spent hours yesterday trying to dig the soil. I am slowly but surely getting it ready for the future crops.

I had a visit from a friend, as I toiled. He had his young son with him and I had so pleasure telling him what I was doing and why. He seemed very interested. This in turn reminded me of a beautiful story I was once inspired by.

It was the story of Jack, who spent so much of his time with his next door neighbour, but as is the way of life, college, girls, career, got in the way. In fact, Jack moved clear across  the country in pursuit of his dreams. There, in the rush of his busy life, Jack had little time to think about the past and often no time to  spend with his wife and son. He was working on his future, and nothing could stop him.  

Over the phone, his mother told him, "Mr. Belser died last night. The  funeral is Wednesday."

Memories flashed through his mind like an old newsreel as he sat quietly remembering his childhood days.   "Jack, did you hear me?" "Oh, sorry, Mother, Yes, I heard you. It's been so long since I thought of  him. I'm sorry, but I honestly thought he died years ago," Jack said.  "Well, he didn't forget you. Every time I saw him he'd ask how you were  doing. He'd reminisce about the many days you spent over 'his side of t he fence' as he put it," Mum told him.  "I loved that old house he lived in,"

Jack said.  "You know, Jack, after your father died, Mr. Belser stepped in to make sure you had a man's influence in your life," she said.  "He's the one who taught me carpentry," he said. "I wouldn't be in this  business if it weren't for him. He spent a lot of time teaching me  things he thought were important,.

I'll be there for the funeral," Jack said.  As busy as he was, he kept his word. Jack caught the next flight to his  hometown. Mr. Belser's funeral was small and uneventful. He had no  children of his own, and most of his relatives had passed away.  The night before he had to return home, Jack and his Mum stopped by to  see the old house next door one more time.   Standing in the doorway, Jack paused for a moment. It was like crossing  over into another dimension, a leap through space and time. The house  was exactly as he remembered. Every step held memories. Every picture,  every piece of furniture....Jack stopped suddenly.  "What's wrong, Jack?" his Mum asked.

  "The box is gone," he said.   "What box? " Mum asked.   "There was a small gold box that he kept locked on top of his desk. I  must have asked him a thousand times what was inside. All he'd ever tell  me was 'the thing I value most,'" Jack said.   It was gone. Everything about the house was exactly how Jack remembered  it, except for the box. He figured someone from the Belser family had  taken it.  "Now I'll never know what was so valuable to him," Jack said. "I better  get some sleep. I have an early flight home. It had been about two weeks since Mr. Belser died. Returning home from  work one day Jack discovered a note in his letterbox.

"Signature required  on a package. No one at home. Please stop by the main post office within  the next three days," the note read.   Early the next day Jack retrieved the package. The small box was old and  looked like it had been mailed a hundred years ago. The handwriting was  difficult to read, but the return address caught his attention.  "Mr. Harold Belser" it read.

  Jack took the box out to his car and ripped open the package. There  inside was the gold box and an envelope. Jack's hands shook as he read  the note inside.  "Upon my death, please forward this box and its contents to Jack  Bennett. It's the thing I valued most in my life." A small key was taped  to the letter. His heart racing, as tears filling his eyes, Jack  carefully unlocked the box. There inside he found a beautiful gold  pocket watch. Running his fingers slowly over the finely etched casing, he unlatched the cover.  Inside he found these words engraved: "Jack, Thanks for your time!  Harold Belser."  

"The thing he valued most...was...my time."  Jack held the watch for a few minutes, then called his office and  cleared his appointments for the next two days. "Why?" Janet, his  assistant asked.  "I need some time to spend with my son," he said.  "Oh, by the way, Janet...thanks for your time!"

This blog is linked to my other. Iona

I Wish You Two Would Behave.

2011-02-28T11:52:00.000Z

I was digging my plot when I heard her. The two boys were obviously clowning about and she so wanted them to behave. So in her frustration she shouted at them, at the top pitch of her voice. I laughed. She had not noticed me. She turned and said she was so sorry for screaming like that. She just wished they would behave. I told her, “There is plenty of time for that.”

I told her the story of the mother who just wanted some silence.

The baby is teething-the children are fighting. My husband just called and said to eat dinner without him. Okay, one of these days you'll shout: "Why don't you grow up and act your age!" and they will, or "You guys get outside and find yourselves something to do...and don't slam the door!"...and they won't.

You'll straighten up their rooms neat and tidy, discarded toys put away. Bed clothes tucked and smooth ... toys displayed on the shelves...hangars in the closet...animals caged, and you'll say out loud:, "Now I want it to stay that way!" and it will.

You'll prepare a perfect dinner with a salad that hasn't been picked to death and a cake with no finger traces in it and you'll say, "Now there's a meal for a company." and you'll eat it alone.

You'll say, "I want complete privacy on the phone. No dancing around, no pantomimes, no demolition crews. Silence! Do you hear?", and you'll have it. No more plastic tablecloths stained with spaghetti, no more anxious nights under a vaporizer tent, no more dandelion bouquets, no more iron-on patches, knotted shoestrings, or chewing gum hair.

Imagine, a lipstick with a point, no babysitter for New Year's Eve, washing clothes only once a week, no P.T.A. meetings, no school runs, blaring radios, Christmas presents out of toothpicks and paste. No more "Wet Oatmeal Kisses". No more tooth fairy giggles in the dark, or knees to heal.

Only a voice crying..."Why don't you grow up?", and the silence echoing ......."I did."

Enjoy the day. It might be raining tomorrow. Enjoy your friend today you may be alone tomorrow. Enjoy the love even that does not always last forever.

This blog is linked to my other. Secret places of the Mind

The Cost Of Children.

2011-02-25T09:35:00.001Z

I met with two of my good friends yesterday and spent a pleasant hour just sitting chatting. One of the friends I have something very much in common at the present time. His daughter has just opened a hairdressing business in the village, my son as you know has just set himself up as a sole practitioner in law.

We were joking that even now at this stage in life we find ourselves offering support to our children, and we would have it no other way.

What brought this to the fore in our discussion was that we had noted in the news that the government was again telling us the cost of raising a child. Once again they had the bold figures and they were so far off the mark. Morever the figures only scratched the surface of a beautiful story.

The government recently calculated the cost of raising a child from birth to 18 and came up with £80,140 for a middle income family. They did not say if that was a child who ended up going to university or not. The figure was bland and open to discussion.

But lets take that figure. It is not much more than £1000 per year, or 85 per month or £20 per week almost £3 per day.

My friend reckons that is almost the cost of his dog. I was thinking about it all as I walked home. What do I get for my money?

• Naming rights. First, middle, and last!

• Giggles under the covers every night.

• More love than your heart can hold.

• Butterfly kisses and big hugs.

• Endless wonder over rocks, ants, clouds, warm days full of laughter.

• A hand to hold, usually covered with jelly or chocolate.

• A partner for blowing bubbles, flying kites

• Someone to laugh yourself silly with, no matter what the boss said or how your day really went.

•

For the money you never have to grow up. You get to:

• finger-paint,

• carve turnip lanterns,

• play hide-and-seek,

• catch fish, and

• never stop believing in Santa Claus. You have an excuse to:

• keep reading the Adventures of Piglet and Pooh,

• watching Saturday morning cartoons,

• going to Disney movies, and

• wishing on stars.

• You get to frame rainbows, hearts, and flowers under refrigerator magnets and collect spray painted hand prints set in clay for Mother's Day,

• and cards with backward letters for Father's Day.

For the money, you get to be a hero just for:

• Retrieving a ball off the garage roof,

• Taking the training wheels off a bike,

• Removing a splinter,

• Filling a paddling pool,

• Coaxing a wad of gum out of tangled hair, and coaching a football team that never wins but always gets treated to ice cream regardless.

You get a front row seat to history to witness the:

The first step, the first word, the first bra, the first date, and  the first time behind the wheel.

You get to be immortal. You get another branch added to your family tree, and if you're lucky, a long list of limbs in your obituary called grandchildren and great grandchildren. You get an education in psychology, nursing, criminal justice, communications, and human sexuality that no college can match.

In the eyes of a child, you rank right up there. You have all the power to heal a boo-boo, scare away the monsters under the bed, patch a broken heart, police a party, ground them forever, and love them without limits.

So one day they will like you, love you without counting the cost. That is quite a deal for the price!!!!!!!

Love and enjoy your children & grandchildren.

They are worth every single penny spent.

Sadly we so often know the cost of everything and the value of nothing.

Have a great day.

See why I have put this art back on in my other blog. The Four Seasons

A Little Ice Cream For The Soul.

2011-02-24T08:51:00.000Z

I apologise that I did not post at all yesterday. It seems that this virus I have was putting up a great fight to stay with me. As a runner I am aware of things like my resting heart rate and my peak flow ( the amount of air that I can take into my lungs on any one intake). Now my resting heart is normally between 45 and 52 and my peak flow is normally over 600. Yesterday morning I could not breathe so I took a reading it was under 200. Time to phone the experts. They told me to get down to the surgery straight away and they saw me immediately.

So here I am sitting here this morning, I am sure I can here the tablets rattling around inside me. With my morning grapefruit I have consumed 11 tablets. Steroids and antibiotics. I asked the doc if this was all necessary? “Do what you are told,” he said. “If you do not like the medicine go give yourself a little treat to make you feel better.” I laughed and thanked him. He promises me that I will feel better in about three days but to take the tablets for a full week. As I left I asked him if I could have a note to take home to my family to let them know I was to get a treat each day. He laughed. My parting shot was laughter is good also.

As I came home I remembered the story of the little boy and his visit to the restaurant.

The mother took her six-year-old son to the restaurant. As they prepared to have their meal he asked if he could say grace.  As we bowed our heads he said, "God is good. God is great. Thank you for the food, and I would even thank you more if I am allowed ice cream for dessert. Amen!" 

Along with the laughter from the other customers nearby a woman was heard to remark, "That's what's wrong with this country. Kids today don't even know how to pray. Asking God for ice cream! Why, I never!" 

Hearing this, the young lad burst into tears and asked me, "Did I do it wrong? Is God mad at me?"  His mother assured him that he had done a terrific job and God was certainly not mad at him, an elderly gentleman approached the table. He winked at the lad and said,  "I happen to know that God thought that was a great prayer."  "Really?" the boy asked.  "Cross my heart," the man replied.  Then in a theatrical whisper he added (indicating the woman whose remark had started this whole thing), "Too bad she never asks God for ice cream. A little ice cream is good for the soul sometimes."   

Naturally, at the end of the main course the mother bought the young lad a big ice cream.

The lad stared at his for a moment  and then did something his mother will remember for the rest of her life. He picked up his sundae and without a word, walked over and placed it in front of the woman. With a big smile he told her,  "Here, this is for you. Ice cream is good for the soul sometimes; and my soul is good already."

Before going home from the doctors I had an ice cream. It sure did soothe the sore throat. Who knows it might have done even more than that.

Go on treat yourself.

This blog is linked to my other. Playings in Paint.

Remembered Thoughts.

2011-02-22T09:08:00.000Z

Yesterday as hard as I tried I could neither find the energy or the inclination to do very much. This cold has eaten into the very core of my being and drained me of anything. I spent the biggest part of the day just lying in bed taking warm drinks.

There can so easily be a tendency to feel very sorry for oneself when you are feeling ill. My cell phone bleeped to signal incoming emails. I almost reached over to switch it off, but did not. One email from a very dear friend carried the terrible news of the death of his 26 days old grandson. There are no words that can ever reach into the depth of such sadness, but just being there is all you can do.

Such news certainly makes you think of life in its perspective. As I lay in bed last night trying to find sleep in the midst of the coughing and restlessness I thought of all the words and all the stories and none of them fills the gap.

So I share with you some of the scribbling’s from my notebook of sayings that seemed to make some sense to me.

Enjoy life and the changing seasons, we know not how long we have them.

Avoid grand plans: just respond to things as they arise.

Push your own self to one side, as far as you are able, so you can see other people more clearly.

Instead of seeking fulfilment, seek only to be empty. This will create space for true understanding.

Do not value power, but do value peace.

It’s alright to swing between joy and sadness, glory and failure for there is not great difference between them.

Breathe slowly and listen for the order in the universe.

May today be one of peace to all those who read this and all those I hold dear.

This blog is linked to my other where I speak of the artwork used. Poppies

Anybody Could Do That

2011-02-21T10:01:00.000Z

I have had a miserable cold for the past three days that has meant that I have felt like doing very little, if not even just doing nothing. I have watched more television in the last three days that I would normally watch in a month. Some of what I have watched has been dire, but even working the remote has seem challenging.

I watched a film about a village, in which there lived an artist. Yes your typical tousled haired rather witless daydreamer. Not the kind of person you would ever call about to offer advice or help.

Reminded me of the comment made about my abstract last week that it could have been painted by a nursery child. How often have you visited an art gallery and overheard somebody commenting that, anybody could do that?

The truth is that we artists are pretty practical people. Think of the many skills it takes to produce a painting. Stretching paper, canvas , mixing colour , preparing the surface. Then choosing the mount or frame to compliment the painting, so it goes on.

It is not a case of just slapping paint on paper or canvas. You cannot just put red on top of blue, unless of course it is not red that you want.

The finished painting that viewer sees and comments on is the result of attention to detail. Mental, and physical thought, honed artistic inspiration, and much more. Also all the many disappointments when what you set out to do is not what you end up with.

To destroy the beautiful is easy, requiring only carelessness, malice or greed. But to create the beautiful, as the artist knows, requires practical and persistent engagement with many different realities.

The mystic will understand.

So today on my other blog I reveal the last in the series of my Vivaldi – The Four Seasons.

More of that on my other blog. Winter Has Come

Building The House.

2011-02-18T07:10:00.000Z

Yesterday I made a real start on my new plot. It is amazing the amount of stuff that you can get into a little shed, if you put you mind to it, or don’t. It took me more than four barrow loads to remove all the rubbish , the old rotten wood, the empty bags, empty plant containers and all sorts of other bit and pieces. After about an hour I found that the shed did in fact have a floor on it.

At the bottom of the plot were two old and rotting cold frames. Another four or five barrow loads and all this rotting wood had been taken to the rubbish, Now I could really see the task before me. Having cleared away it is now time to consider the constructive part. I measured the space, 33yards by 9 yards wide. At present it looks like a field of weeds. I hope by mid summer it is a place producing vegetables.

That will only happen with care and nurture.

My Plot

Reminds me of the tale of the man who all his life had worked in the construction business, building houses.

Now an elderly carpenter was ready to retire. He told his employer-contractor of his plans to leave the house-building business to live a more leisurely life with his wife and enjoy his extended family.

He would miss the wages he earned each week, but he wanted to retire. They could get by.  

 The contractor was sorry to see his good worker go and asked if he could build just one more house as a personal favour.

The carpenter said yes, but over time it was easy to see that his heart was not in his work. He resorted to shoddy workmanship and used inferior materials. It was an unfortunate way to end a dedicated career.   When the carpenter finished his work, his employer came to inspect the house. Then he handed the front-door key to the carpenter and said, "This is your house, my gift to you."  

The carpenter was shocked!   What a shame! If he had only known he was building his own house, he would have done it all so differently.   

So it is with us. We build our lives, a day at a time, often putting less than our best into the building. Then, with a shock, we realize we have to live in the house we have built. If we could do it over, we would do it much differently.  But, you cannot go back. You are the carpenter, and every day you hammer a nail, place a board, or erect a wall.

Someone once said, "Life is a do-it-yourself project." The attitude, and the choices you make today, help build the "house" you will live in tomorrow.

Therefore, Build wisely!

I hope you have a productive day and a wonderful weekend.

This blog is linked to my other. Lavender Fields

We Are All In Our Own Way Roses.

2011-02-17T08:25:00.000Z

My thoughts are turning to gardens today. Last night I attended the annual meeting of the Allotment Society, the meeting of those of us who have garden plots in the same place. I officially took ownership of my newer and larger plot. The plot, I am taking over, has been tended by an old man called Sandy. He has had it for the last 30 years, so there is a sense of nostalgia at his moving on.

So often, when we take over from another, we go in like the new broom and change everything. This was in fact my initial reaction. Sandy grew along the top of the plot a row of flowers. They were not the most beautiful of blooms and they were taking up enough space to grow a row of edible vegetables. Last night as I lay in bed I decided that the row of flowers would stay and I would tend them. When they bloom I will take a bunch of them to Sandy and his wife. Maybe even more than one bunch, a bunch during the flowering season, every week if I can.

While thinking of flowers I thought of the story of the man who was growing a rose.

A certain man planted a rose and watered it faithfully and before it blossomed, he examined it.

He saw the bud that would soon blossom, but noticed thorns upon the stem and he thought, "How can any beautiful flower come from a plant burdened with so many sharp thorns? Saddened by this thought, he neglected to water the rose, and just before it was ready to bloom... it died.

So it is with many people. Within the inner being of every person there is a rose. The good qualities planted and nurtured in us by parents and teachers. They grow amid the thorns of our faults. Many of us look at ourselves and see only the thorns, the defects.

We despair, thinking that nothing good can possibly come from us. We neglect to water the good within us, and eventually it dies. We never realize our potential.

Some people do not see the rose within themselves; someone else must show it to them. One of the greatest gifts a person can possess is to be able to reach past the thorns of another, and find the rose within them.

This is one of the characteristics of love, to look at a person, know their true faults and accepting that person into your life, all the while recognizing the nobility of the inner them.

We each can help others to realize they can overcome their faults. If we show them the "rose" within themselves, they will conquer their thorns. Only then will they blossom many times over.

But one little thing we must always remember, that we cannot nurture a person by only looking at the rose within for a person to really grow they need to also acknowledge the thorns that have also taken root in their lives.

My goodness here I am again almost at the preaching. Thank you Celeste for the words of encouragement on that front.

This blog is linked to my other. Cornflowers

The Answer Is Never Far Away.

2011-02-16T07:22:00.000Z

I set myself so many challenges yesterday that I was almost doomed to failure before I began. I was running with my young lad. I wanted to clean my car of all the winter grime. I had white painted and wanted to paint winter.

The car was the easy one. I had found a new product, DryClean. It cleans the car without water and polishes it at the same time. Spray it on spread it then with a soft cloth remove, it works, I could not believe it.

The run went well. For the first two miles we ran and chatted. I was aware he was saying little but still at my side. I said to him, “It is always good to run at a pace where you can still hold a conversation.” He replied, “Can we slow down then, I can’t talk.”

I painted and the result of my painting is on this blog. I will make no comment here, because I leave that to my other blog.

Before the day was over I added a final little challenge. I managed to walk for two hours.

As I sat down for the evening, I had a warm glow, of having at least something to show for my day.

How easy it is to look at the prospect of the day and think it cannot be done, and because we believe that nothing is done. Let me explain!

If you put a buzzard in a pen six or eight feet square and entirely open at the top, the bird, in spite of his ability to fly, will be an absolute prisoner.

The reason is that a buzzard always begins a flight from the ground with a run of ten or twelve feet. Without space to run, as is his habit, he will not even attempt to fly, but will remain a prisoner for life in a small jail with no top.

The ordinary bat that flies around at night, a remarkable nimble creature in the air, cannot take off from a level place. If it is placed on the floor or flat ground, all it can do is shuffle about helplessly and, no doubt, painfully, until it reaches some slight elevation from which it can throw itself into the air. Then, at once, it takes off like a flash.

A Bumblebee if dropped into an open tumbler will be there until it dies, unless it is taken out. It never sees the means of escape at the top, but persists in trying to find some way out through the sides near the bottom. It will seek a way where none exists, until it completely destroys itself.

In many ways, there are lots of people like the buzzard, the bat and the bee.

We are struggling about with all our problems and frustrations, not realizing that the answer is right there if we just raise our sights.

I hope that does not sound like me reverting to my preacher mode, I do not intend to. My young lad managed to stay with me for the six miles. I suspect he had an early night, but I also suspect he was feeling very good about himself.

Have a challenging and wonderful day. As Jerry always says, “Today will be a marvellous day.”

This blog is linked to my other. Winter Is Not The End

Pens and Pencils

2011-02-15T07:19:00.000Z

Well yesterday I was back running first time since my disagreement with the car. Today I have my first out with the young lad. It had not nearly dawned on my that this is a considerable challenge, a man of my age and a young man who even when you multiply his age by three he would still be younger than me.

But a bigger challenge awaits! Yesterday I purchased the white paint for my winter abstract. While buying the paint a paint brush shouted out at me that it wanted purchased also. So I have a new baby to nurture into my ways of working. Soon we will be close friends.

This reminds me of the story of the pencil maker and his pencils.

The Pencil Maker took the pencil aside, just before putting him into the box.   "There are 5 things you need to know," he told the pencil, "Before I send you out into the world. Always remember them and never forget, and you will become the best pencil you can be." 

 "One: You will be able to do many great things, but only if you allow yourself to be held in someone's hand." 

 "Two: You will experience a painful sharpening from time to time, but you'll need it to become a better pencil." 

 "Three: You will be able to correct any mistakes you might make." 

 "Four: The most important part of you will always be what's inside." 

 "And Five: On every surface you are used on, you must leave your mark. No matter what the condition, you must continue to write." 

 The pencil understood and promised to remember, and went into the box with purpose in its heart.    

Now replacing the place of the pencil with ourselves.

We must always remember the same things, never forget, and we will become the best persons we can be.   

One: We will be able to do many great things, but only if we allow ourselves to be held in some guiding hand. And allow other human beings to access us for the many gifts we possess.  

Two: We will experience a painful sharpening from time to time, by going through various problems in life, but we need it to become a stronger person.   

Three: We will be able to correct any mistakes we might make.   

Four: The most important part of us will always be what's on the inside.  

And Five: On every surface we walk through, you must leave our mark. No matter what the situation, we must continue to leave good marks.

Let me end by singling this down to you.  

Allow this parable on the pencil to encourage you to know that you are a special person and only you can fulfill the purpose to which you were born to accomplish.  Never allow yourself to get discouraged and think that your life is insignificant and cannot make a change. 

Have a marvelous day. I am off to get ready for the first challenge of my day. Are you ready young man?

This blog is linked to my other. Aonoch Eagach Ridge

I Cannot Ignore The Day,

2011-02-14T07:32:00.000Z

I remember from somewhere in my distant past the little ditty, Roses are Red, Vilolets are Blue, sugar is sweet and so are you.

Valentines day did not take much place in my life of school. We Scottish are somewhat reluctant to show emotion so it took a lot longer to take off as a day . The odd fellow pupil would give a card to a girl but not very many and never any coming my way.

Now we have them all including the rather meaningless Fathers Day. I say meaningless in the sense that I cannot find behind it the religious significance of all the other days. Maybe somebody can enlighten me.

So Valentines Day reminds me of a little tale that I will share with you.

Her name was Rose, and her favourite flower was of course the rose, those of the blushing types. So every valentines day they would arrive, a large beautiful bunch of red roses. The card on them would always say the same thing. I love you more this year than I did on this day last year.

The particular year I talk about the roses arrived as usual, even although her husband had died before Valentines Day. The Card said the same, I Love you more this day that I did this day last year. She assumed that before his death her husband had arranged for them to be sent as usual.

She trimmed the stems and arranged them in a vase as she did every year, and as every other year there was a tear running down her cheek as she placed them on the dinning room table.

The following year, the roses arrived again and again the same card. There must be a mistake. She called the florist to explain there must be a mistake or somebody was being very cruel to make her feel so sad. The florist asked if she had read the card. She said she had not, because they most surely were not for her. The florist assured her they were . Her husband had paid well in advance and there was enough in the fund for her to have roses every valentine day till the day she too died. He said that he had been instructed to include a special card the year after he discovered her husband had died. So this year he had.

She opened the envelope to read.

Inside the card, she saw that he had written her a note.  Then, as she stared in total silence, this is what he wrote...  "Hello my love, I know it's been a year since I've been gone,  I hope it hasn't been too hard for you to overcome."

"I know it must be lonely, and the pain is very real. For if it was the other way, I know how I would feel.  The love we shared made everything so beautiful in life.  I loved you more than words can say, you were the perfect wife.

You were my friend and lover, you fulfilled my every need.  I know it's only been a year, but please try not to grieve.  I want you to be happy, even when you shed your tears.  That is why the roses will be sent to you for years.

When you get these roses, think of all the happiness,  That we had together, and how both of us were blessed.  I have always loved you and I know I always will.  But, my love, you must go on, you have to do some living still.

Please try to find happiness, while living out your days.  I know it is not easy, but I hope you find some ways.  The roses will come every year, and they will only stop,  When your door's not answered, when the florist stops to knock."

He will come five times that day, in case you have gone out.  But after his last visit, he will know without a doubt,  To take the roses to the place, where I've instructed him,  And place the roses where we are, together once again."

I hope you all have a lovely Valentines Day. The skeptic Scot has given in.

This blog is linked to my other and please do read my explanation for the artwork chosen.

Buddleia

The Right Invitation.

2011-02-11T06:29:00.003Z

I was asked yesterday if I would help a young man achieve his goal. He need to get his fitness level to a certain standard I was told. He has been advised to run. Now I had a quandary, one that I have faced before, being a pacifist here I was being invited by a parent to help their son get ready for his physical to join the army. I know their son, he is a really nice young lad, and there is no doubt he will be better finding an ambition in life than all the alternatives. So I have invited him to join me on my daily runs as soon as I get back on the road.

I have a feeling I might live to regret this decision. He is a young lad and will soon reach a level of fitness that my youth deficiency will not longer allow me to attain.

So this invitation leads me to think about what we invite upon ourselves.

A woman came out of her house and saw three old men with long white beards sitting in her front yard. She did not recognize them. She said "I don't think I know you, but you must be hungry. Please come in and have something to eat."

"Is the man of the house home?", they asked. "No", she said. "He's out." "Then we cannot come in", they replied.

In the evening when her husband came home, she told him what had happened. "Go tell them I am home and invite them in!" The woman went out and invited the men in. "We do not go into a House together," they replied. "Why is that?" she wanted to know.

One of the old men explained: "His name is Wealth ," he said pointing to one of his friends, and said pointing to another one, "He is Success, and I am Love." Then he added, "Now go in and discuss with your husband which one of us you want in your home."

The woman went in and told her husband what was said. Her husband was overjoyed. "How nice!!” he said. "Since that is the case, let us invite Wealth. Let him come and fill our home with wealth!"

His wife disagreed. "My dear, why don't we invite Success?" Their daughter-in-law was listening from the other corner of the house. She jumped in with her own suggestion: "Would it not be better to invite Love? Our home will then be filled with love!"

"Let us heed our daughter-in-law's advice," said the husband to his wife. "Go out and invite Love to be our guest."

The woman went out and asked the three old men, "Which one of you is Love? Please come in and be our guest."

Love got up and started walking toward the house. The other two also got up and followed him. Surprised, the lady asked Wealth and Success: "I only invited Love, Why are you coming in?"

The old men replied together: "If you had invited Wealth or Success, the other two of us would've stayed out, but since you invited Love, Wherever He goes, we go with him. Wherever there is Love, there is also Wealth and Success!"

OUR WISH FOR YOU... Where there is pain, we wish you peace and mercy.

Where there is self-doubting, we wish you a renewed confidence in your ability to work through them.

Where there is tiredness, or exhaustion, we wish you understanding, patience, and renewed strength.

Where there is fear, we wish you love, and courage. Peace to you

And I do not think we can offer anything better to our friends.

This blog is linked to my other. Nature Fights Back

The Good Corn Tale

2011-02-10T08:04:00.000Z

I have this week been giving thought to my plot. It seems that some of my friends across the pond do not know what I mean when I talk of my plot. I will therefore explain before going any further. About a mile from my home is a fairly large plot of land. There is a small car parking area in the centre enough room for four cars at any one point of time. On either side the ground is divided into a number of plots, 28 in total. On each plot there is a shed for tools and on some a small glasshouse. One or two of these plots are further sub divided into half plots. We each contribute a small sum each year for the general maintenance and a large delivery of manure which is shared.

I have up till now had one of the smaller half plots. This year I will have one of the full sized ones. I will therefore be able to grow a larger variety of produce. The work of course will be twice as hard.

The thought of this almost new venture is exciting and I am already planning what I will plant and where.

This brings me to my story for today. My mind being on my crops reminded me of the tale of the farmer and his corn.

There was a farmer who grew award-winning corn. Each year he entered his corn in the county fair where it most often won the top award.

One year a newspaper reporter interviewed him and learned something interesting about how he grew it. The reporter discovered that the farmer shared his seed corn with his neighbours.

"How can you afford to share your best seed corn with your neighbours when they are entering corn in competition with yours each year?" the reporter asked.

"Why sir," said the farmer, "didn't you know? The wind picks up pollen from the ripening corn and swirls it from field to field. If my neighbors grow inferior corn, cross-pollination will steadily degrade the quality of my corn. If I am to grow good corn, I must help my neighbors grow good corn."

He is very much aware of the connectedness of life. His corn cannot improve unless his neighbor's corn also improves.

So it is in other dimensions.

Those who choose to be at peace must help their neighbors to be at peace.

Those who choose to live well must help others to live well, for the value of a life is measured by the lives it touches.

And those who choose to be happy must help others to find happiness for the welfare of each is bound up with the welfare of all.

The lesson for each of us is this: if we are to grow good corn, we must help our neighbours grow good corn. 

This blog is linked to my other. Summer Will Come

The Big Society.

2011-02-09T08:38:00.002Z

I try so very hard to keep this blog neutral in every sense of the word neutral. I have my views about religion but I try hard to keep my stories so that those with one religion and those with none will feel comfortable with the story. I have my political beliefs, even though I not longer really have any political affiliations, but I try to keep this blog so that those from all sides of the political divide might find something to think about.

This gets harder and harder at present in this land I live in. So forgive me if just for a moment I stray into forbidden territory.

These last few days I have heard very little but people talking about what our government calls, “The Big Society.” I have listened and listened to try and learn just exactly what this means. Let me rant just for a bit . You can stop at any point as long as you read the last two lines or so.

Where have we arrived and seem to be continuing to head?

We have taller buildings, but shorter tempers; wider motorways, but narrower viewpoints; we spend more, but have less; we buy more but enjoy it less. We have bigger houses and smaller families; more conveniences, but less time; we have more degrees, but less sense; more knowledge, but less judgment; more experts, but more problems; more medicine, but less wellness.

We drink too much, spend too recklessly, laugh too little, drive too fast, get too angry too quickly, stay up too late, get up too tired, read too little, watch TV too much.

We talk too much, love too seldom, and hate too often. We've learned how to make a living, but not a life. We have added years to life, not life to years.

We've been all the way to the moon and back, but have trouble crossing the street to meet the new neighbor. We've conquered outer space, but not inner space. We've done larger things, but not better things.

We've cleaned up the air, but polluted the soul; we've split the atom, but not our prejudice. We write more, but learn less; we plan more, but accomplish less.

We've learned to rush, but not to wait; we have higher incomes, but, lower morals.

We build more computers to hold more information to produce more copies than ever, but have less communication. We've become long on quantity, but short on quality.

These are the days of two incomes, but more divorce; of fancier houses, but broken homes.

These are the days of quick trips, disposable nappies, throw away morality, one night stands, overweight bodies, and pills that do everything from cheer, to quiet, to kill. Where indeed are we heading?

If we die tomorrow, the company that we are working for could easily replace us in a matter of days. Or in my case the art world would forget me.

But the family we leave behind will feel the loss for the rest of their lives.

 And come to think of it, we pour ourselves more into work than to our family an unwise investment indeed. 

So what is the morale of the story????

Yes let us think about the big society and make this a better place to live but I think we need to start thinking about closer to home. If we could get family right, society would take care of itself.

This Blog is linked to my other. Summer Will Come

A Touch of the Poor Me

2011-02-08T08:54:00.000Z

How easy it is to suffer from the poor me. Right now I am fighting very hard not to do so. But before I begin I need to explain something about yesterdays story. The character Barry was a very real person,and many people treated him like that. I remember him well.

Today I am going to keep this short because sitting here for long periods is not at all easy. Yesterday while out running in the rain and the gale force winds I had a difference of opinion with a car and it won. While trying to avoid a place in the road that was flooded a car sped round the bend under the bridge where I was. The next thing I knew I was lying in the road and the car was still speeding off. Today I can hardly move, so no walking today, never mind running.

This reminds me of the story of the frogs.

A group of frogs were travelling through the woods, and two of them  fell into a deep pit. When the other frogs saw how deep the pit  was, they told the two frogs that they were as good as dead. The  two frogs ignored the comments and tried to jump up out of the pit  with all their might. The other frogs kept telling them to stop,  that they were as good as dead. Finally, one of the frogs took  heed to what the other frogs were saying and gave up. He fell down  and died.

 The other frog continued to jump as hard as he could.

Once again,  the crowd of frogs yelled at him to stop the pain and just die. He  jumped even harder and finally made it out. When he got out, the  other frogs said, "Did you not hear us?" The frog explained to  them that he was deaf. He thought they were encouraging him the  entire time.  

This story reminds me of two important lessons:  

1. There is power of life and death in the tongue. An encouraging  word to someone who is down can lift them up and help them make it  through the day. 

2. A destructive word to someone who is down can be what it takes  to kill them.

Be careful of what you say. We have to be careful what we say. Speak life to those who cross our path.

The power of words... it is sometimes hard to understand  that an encouraging word can go such a long way. Anyone can speak  words that tend to rob another of the spirit to continue in  difficult times.

Special is the individual who will take the time  to encourage another.

I apologise to anybody I have ever hurt by saying something that was thoughtless.

This blog is linked to my other. Autumn Will Come