A Day Well Spent

 Today I will be spending the day with the love of my life, my pride and joy, my daughter. We are to attend the Gallery of Modern Art where they are showing an exhibition called Another World. It includes some great works from Dali and the other surrealists. Then we head back to the book festival to listen to one of our favourite crime authors, Mark Billingham.

So it looks like today will be a day when I will be full of pride and together we will have a good time, and once again she will lead me off the straight and narrow. In other words I may have an ale, let me say that again I may have two ales.

We are very alike, my daughter and I, we both love to let our hair down and we both love to debate and discuss.

She has always been an independent person, once her mind was made up it was hard to make her shift. If she decided that wellington boots and a summer dress was what she was wearing it was best just to go along with her. At a very early age she insisted on going to the shops herself, with her trollybag and purse. This involved me phoning various friends along the route to look out and make sure she was safe.

When she got older, and left home to go to university, I told her I would rather not know what was happening. She laughed and said. “Dad I will share the edited version with you.”

The truth was I never really worried about her. Unlike the mother who got the following letter from her son when he was away from home at scout camp.

Dear Mum



We are having a great time here in the highlands. Mr Ross, the scout leader, is making us all write to our parents in case you saw the flood on TV and worried. We are OK. Only 1 of our tents and 2 sleeping bags got washed away. Luckily, none of us got drowned because we were all up on the mountain looking for Barry when it happened.



Oh yes, please call Barry’s mother and tell her he is OK. He can't write because of the plaster on his arm. I got to ride in one of the search & rescue jeeps. It was neat. We never would have found him in the dark if it hadn't been for the lightning. Mr Ross got mad at Barry for going on a hike alone without telling anyone. Barry said he did tell him, but it was during the fire so he probably didn't hear him.



Did you know that if you put gas on a fire, the gas can will blow up? The wet wood still didn't burn, but one of our tents did. Also some of our clothes. John is going to look weird until his hair grows back.



We will be home on Saturday if Mr Ross gets the minibus fixed. It wasn't his fault about the wreck. The brakes worked OK when we left. Mr Ross said that a minibus as old as ours you have to expect something to break down; that's probably why he can't get insurance on it. We think it's a neat van. He doesn't care if we get it dirty; and if it's hot, sometimes he lets us ride on the tailgate. It gets pretty hot with 10 people inside. He let us take turns riding in the trailer until the police stopped and talked to us.



Mr Ross is a neat guy. Don't worry. He is a good driver. In fact, he is teaching Terry how to drive. But he only lets him drive on the mountain roads where there isn't any traffic. All we ever see up there are forestry trucks.



This morning all of the guys were diving off the rocks and swimming out in the lake. Mr Ross wouldn't let me because I can't swim and Barry was afraid he would sink because of his cast, so he let us take the canoe across the lake. It was great. You can still see some of the trees under the water from the flood. Mr Ross isn't strict and moany like some scoutmasters. He didn't even get mad about the life jackets.



He has to spend a lot of time working on the car so we are trying not to cause him any trouble. Guess what? We have all passed our first aid merit badges. When Dave dove in the lake and cut his arm, we got to see how a tourniquet works.



Also Wade and I threw up. Mr Ross said it probably was just a touch of food poisoning from the leftover chicken. He said they got sick that way with the food they ate in prison. I'm so glad he got out and became our scoutmaster. He said he sure figured out how to get things done better while he was doing his time.



I have to go now. We are going into town to mail our letters and buy bullets. Don't worry about anything. We are fine.



Love, David.



I hope you all have a great day Like I will surely have. Yes I know I am suffering the pride of a father.

Forgive me I will not be reading any blogs today. Ha ha.

This blog is linked to my other. Autumnal Abstract

It Is Never Too Late To say I Love You

Every so often somebody thanks me for this blog and I feel overwhelmed. I am a very fortunate person to have so many lovely people reading this and leaving comments. I read all of your blogs and some days make comments but every day I leave this computer to face the day uplifted from reading what others are saying and doing.


This thought, and some comments I read on a blog yesterday brought back many moments from my past where I have just smiled. Let me explain. Somebody was speaking of her husband and how he is so different from her and how sometimes she wish he was more thoughtful and deep in discussion. In the next sentence she said how much she loved him. This brought a number of comments from readers saying something similar. I laughed.

The number of times in my ministry I heard husbands and wives telling me little such secrets. Ignoring the shortcoming, and confessing the love. I always had the same response, “You really should be telling your husband/wife this not me. Do it before it is too late.”

Let me tell you a lovely story, well it moved me.

There was once a man and woman who had been married for more than 60 years. They had shared everything. They had talked about everything. They had kept no secrets from each other except that the little old woman had a shoe box in the top of her closet that she had cautioned her husband never to open or ask her about. For all of these years, he had never thought about the box, but one day the little old woman got very sick and the doctor said she would not recover. In trying to sort out their affairs, the little old man took down the shoe box and took it to his wife's bedside. She agreed that it was time that he should know what was in the box. When he opened it, he found two crocheted doilies and a stack of money totalling £15,000. He asked her about the contents. "When we were to be married," she said, "My grandmother told me the secret of a happy marriage was to never argue. She told me that if I ever got angry with you, I should just keep quiet and crochet a doily." The little old man was so moved; he had to fight back tears. Only two precious doilies were in the box. She had only been angry with him twice in all those years of living and loving. He almost burst with happiness. "Honey," he said, "that explains the doilies, but what about all of this money? Where did it come from?" "Oh," she said, "That’s the money I made from selling the doilies."

I wonder what it is that my wife keeps in that big chest hidden in her wardrobe

This blog is linked to my other. Too Late To Crow Today

Dear Dad

There is the story of the father who came home from work one day to a real surprise. Normally the music would be blaring from the son’s bedroom window, he would have to go in and ask him to turn down the volume. Today there was silence. He entered the house and climbed the staircase, opened the door to his sons room. It was spotless, everything in its proper place. There on the bedside cabinet lay a note, addressed to him. He sat on the bed and began to read.






Dear Dad,

This is a letter to explain my absence. I have met an older woman and we have fallen in love. Recently she told me she was pregnant and the pending child was mine. I know you would not approve of this relationship so we have decided that for all concerned it would be best if we left. She has a small place in the woods where we will not be disturbed. She has assured me, that marijuana is not at all harmful, and that we will be able to make enough money to live on if we grow our own crop. She is even sure that we will be able to sell enough to be able to purchase our preferred option of cocaine.

Once we are settled, and the child is born, it is out hope to have two; we will contact you and arrange for you to meet your grandchildren.

Your loving son

James.

PS all of the above is not true, but I hope you will see that things could be a lot worse than the report card you will find in the top drawer. Once you have read it and calmed down call my cell phone and I will come home.

How often, without any help from others we mange to make things into much greater problems than they really are. We fret and concern ourselves and in the end the solution comes without us even having to think about it.

I hope you all have a carefree and creative day.



This blog is linked to my other where I tell the tale of the artwork:-  Hi Daddy

Finding Self

Thinking about what I said yesterday about my father reminded me of the times I was given homework from school. I never asked my mother to help me with homework; it always ended in a mini battle of wills. I never did it well enough I would ask my father to help me with the homework.


I would ask him a question, and he would say, 'Well, what do you think.' I always got really frustrated because I thought that if I was asking him then I didn't know the answer myself. But he was right, with some gentle prodding I always came up with the answer. More important I always left feeling that I had done my homework on my own and I had learned something.

A distraught student approached his Tao master. "Please, Master, I feel lost, desperate. I don't know who I am. Please, show me my true self! “But the teacher just looked away without responding. The student began to plead and beg, but still the master gave no reply. Finally giving up in frustration, the student turned to leave. At that moment the master called out to him by name. "Yes!" the student said as he spun back around. "There it is!" exclaimed the master.

There are times in life when we bring grief and frustration to ourselves because we spend so much time trying to analyse what has gone wrong. For the artist it is called painters block. Having also had to write during my life I am aware this does not happen just to artists, it happens also to writers.

Having just been through such a period with my art, no painting for more than two weeks, I am aware how frustrating it can be. Sadly no matter how often it happens I never learn from the last time, accept it, leave it for a bit and get on with preparing for the next painting. I was out walking the other day along a path I used to walk with my father in my youth. I was watching the yachts sail in the River Forth. I heard his voice saying, “What do you think, could that be a painting?” (I am not advising listening to voices other than the inner voice of self).

Sometimes we try too hard and in the process and get lost in the muddle we create. The painting I did yesterday is not the best I have painted by along way, but it is better than all the others I have done in the last two weeks. I can hear my father say, “Well what do you think?”

This blog is linked to my other where I discuss the artwork it can be seen at:-The Race

The Wooden Coffin

An old farmer had worked his fields for years, providing food and home for himself and his family. It had always been very hard work and he had worked long hours. Each season had brought its different tasks, but he had worked in harmony with nature and the farm had provided well. When his son had grown they had worked together. The son had got married and tighter they had built a home on the land for him and his wife. With additional mouths to feed they had worked harder bringing more land under cultivation.


The old farmer had grown older and older and with it came the frailty of old age. Now the son worked the farm and the old man spent long periods sitting on a chair at the door of the house watching the son working in the fields, gathering the lavender, drying it and taking it to the perfumery.

One day, after a very hard day in the fields the son had thought, “He is of no use to anybody anymore, sitting there all day waiting to be fed.”

So he went to the barn and he made a wooden coffin. He dragged it over to the door of the house and told the father to get into it. The old man did as he was told and lay in the coffin. The son put the lid on and dragged it through the fields to the edge of the farm where there was a very high cliff. Just as he was getting ready to push it over, he heard a tap coming from inside. He lifted the lid and looked at the old man lying there peacefully.

The old man spoke and said, “I know you are going to throw me over the cliff because you consider me of no value. I have no worries about that,” said the old man,”but before you do take me out of this box and just throw me over. Keep this fine coffin because one day yours sons might have need of it.”

The old man might have lost the physical strength of his youth but he still had the mind that was active and nimble of thought. We live in an age when as we get older we often seem to become less visible.

I have an old friend, yes I may be suffering from youth deficiency, but I have a friend much older than me who still has much to teach and there is much wisdom for those who are willing to listen. Which one of us cannot learn from another? There is so often words of wonder pour forth from the mouths of babes.

This blog is accompanied by another that gives the story of the art it can be seen at:-Archie