A Thought Filled Run

My last post was some time ago now and I left it for a bit. I have read that post more than once and felt that maybe I need to take time to think again about what it is I am trying to do with this blog, if anything at all. It started out with a few random thoughts; it developed into a thought for the day. Then I started another parallel blog to give more thought to the art.


Life was then knocked off course with my accident and not painting nearly so often. It seemed important for me to get fit again so I began to concentrate on that. Somewhere something happened that made me draw within myself a bit more and become reflective. For no obvious reason I began adding verse to my art. I became aware very quickly that less and less people were reading and I was becoming even more inward looking.

The more inward looking I became the less I had to say. Then my unexpected operation, another set back, just when I had got the fitness thing sorted. Two weeks later when I was ready to get out again I find myself in a world of snow. How easy it would be to just stay in the warmth of indoors.

Yesterday determined to not be controlled by external factors I donned my running shoes and ran. Well you could almost call it running, it was certainly faster than it took me to walk the same 6 miles in the afternoon. As I ran I thought of the story of the young boy with the withered flower. It had seemed that life was determined to drag me down. So here is the story I thought of as I ran.



The park bench was deserted as the old man sat down to read beneath the long, straggly branches of an old willow tree. Disillusioned by life with good reason to frown, for the world was intent on dragging him down.

And if that weren't enough to ruin his day, A young boy out of breath approached him, all tired from play.

He stood right before him with his head tilted down and said with great excitement, "Look what I found!"

In his hand was a flower, and what a pitiful sight, with its petals all worn, not enough rain, or to little light. Wanting him to take his dead flower and go off to play, the old man faked a small smile and then shifted away. But instead of retreating the lad sat by his side and placed the flower to his nose and declared with overacted surprise, "It sure smells pretty and it's beautiful, too. That's why I picked it; here it's for you."

The weed before him was dying or dead. Not vibrant of colours, orange, yellow or red. But he knew he must take it, or he might never leave. So he reached for the flower, and replied, "Just what I need." But instead of the boy placing the flower in his hand, he held it mid-air without reason or plan. It was then that he noticed for the very first time that the weed-toting boy could not see: he was blind.

The old man heard his voice quiver, tears shone like the sun as he thanked him for picking the very best one. You're welcome, he smiled, and then ran off to play, and unaware of the impact he'd had on the life of the old man. He sat there and wondered how he managed to see a self-pitying old man beneath an old willow tree. How did he know of his self-indulged plight?

Perhaps from his heart, he'd been blessed with true sight. Through the eyes of a blind child, at last he could see the problem was not with the world; the problem was with him. And for all of those times he himself had been blind, he vowed to see the beauty in life, and appreciate every second he had. And then he held that wilted flower up to his nose and breathed in the fragrance of a beautiful rose. And smiled as he watched that young boy, another weed in his hand about to change the life of an unsuspecting old woman.

Have a good day if there is anybody still taking the time to read this.

This blog is linked to my other  A Feather on the Beach

Those Who Serve Often Go Unnoticed.

I was walking along a really rough boulder strewn track. It was wet, having rained heavy most of the night and still it was raining. Parts of the path was thick with mud. I was well prepared, I had run this very track earlier in the day and so I was prepared. Coming towards me was a man carrying a heavy bundle of sticks. Each stick had a small flag attached to it. Every so often he would stop and secure the flag to a spot at the side of the track. He was wet, cold and covered in mud. We spoke and he told me that the next day there was to be a cross country race and that he was out marking out the route.

The next day the race took place. The runners set off at a great pace and from start to finish they followed the flags. At the finish line of the race people gathered to welcome home the runners, cheering them over the finish line. Standing at the back of the crowd clapping was the man I had watched the day before. I wandered over and said to him that I thought he had done a great job the day before. The race had gone smoothly because he, without thought of thanks had done his bit and prepared the route.

I remembered the story of the young boy and the Knickerbocker Glory, This was a large ice cream with fruit. A 10 year-old boy entered an ice cream parlour and sat at a table. A waitress came over to serve him ( do you remember the days when service was the name of the game?). “How much is an kickerbocker glory?” he asked. “5shillings” replied the waitress. ( This was in the time when that would be five weeks pocket money.)

The little boy pulled his hand out of his pocket and studied the coins in it.

“Well, how much is a plain dish of ice cream?” he inquired. By now more people were waiting for a table and the waitress was growing impatient. “Three shillings” she brusquely replied.

The little boy again counted his coins. “I’ll have the plain ice cream,” he said. The waitress brought the ice cream, put the bill on the table and walked away. The boy finished the ice cream, paid the cashier and left.

When the waitress came back, she began to cry as she wiped down the table. There, placed neatly beside the empty dish, were two shillings. You see, he couldn’t have the knickerbocker glory, because he had to have enough left to leave her a tip, and he wanted to do things right. Acknowledging the service was part of the way things were.

We have lost the art, to a great extent, of appreciating things done for us. Day in and day out the little acts of kindness go unnoticed. Because they do they also get less and less, and we all lose out in the end.

Each act of kindness acknowledged will lead to another one tomorrow.

This is the way of the Tao.

This blog is linked to my other. A Day That Only Got Worse

There Are Some Things You Just Have To Do

 I have returned from my week in the mountains. I am sorry that this blog is the first for sometime. I was able to get an internet connection but it was so slow that posting a blog would have taken so long. I did manage to read some of your blogs but posting comments was again a long and laborious task.

I promise not to bore you with all the exploits of running, at least one blogger has told me not to dare. I would though like to post one blog to put the whole week into a context and thank you my blogging friends.

Some time ago I posted a picture of me running in a marathon. Susan made a comment that day about not imagining me looking like that. I really should have been honest and admitted that at that point of time I was not. I had before me a picture of me standing in a little Spanish village, looking a long way from that picture. Another blogger had been watching me paint on webcam and commented on my ever growing tummy.

When I stood on the scale it told the same story. I was also using in halers to help my breathing; using them to such an extent my doctor was getting concerned.

So a challenge was required and I had to get back to that picture Susan commented on. The challenge for me was to run and get my weight down to a point where I could consider running up mountains again.

So here we are. I have run my mountains. I have got my weight back to where it should be 34 lbs less than it was. I am running without the aid of an inhaler and considering the maps of mountains once again.

I need to thank you all who gave me the encouragement and incentive to get here. I think I am back to that picture if not maybe even fitter.

I have put both of the pictures on this blog. This was not an easy blog for me and now I will get back to my normal blogs as of tomorrow.

Now as one or two of you have been telling me it is time to get back to the art. I will.  More of that on my other blog.Pencil Factory

Facing the Unexpected

Let me begin today by saying how overwhelmed I was to discover so many of you still here and reading my blog. I was so sure I would have to begin again taking time to meet all my friends on blogger. It was such a joy to have so many comments made on my first day back. Thanks to all of you. I would also like to take just a minute to say thanks to Jerry who emailed me once or twice and I am so happy to see you are still so positive and sounding so well. Glad you are through the chemo and you are as ever in my thoughts.


Now I am aware that there is nothing more boring that other peoples holiday tales but let me share this with you. Each day I ran first thing in the morning. I went the same route each day, unlike me I usually love to explore new routes. I went the same way for a reason. The run ended each day with the unexpected and a bit of excitement. Even at my age I love that.

I ran through a little village about a mile or so from the caravan park then headed into the nature park. There I ran a small track which eventually passed over a small wall path with water each side. Halfway along there was a small mill operated by the water. This part was tidal so gave me a hint at the possible ending of my run.

Having left the wildlife park I headed towards a village called Isla. A long uphill road led to the village dropping back down to the sea. Here was the fun part. Only when I arrived here did I know what the last part of the run would be. If the tide was fully in it meant a fairly long swim over to the beach by the caravan park. If it was coming in or going out it meant either a wade in strong currants, and that could be exciting. If it was fully out then just a small paddle and a further long run along the firm beach.

People thought I was mad, and they were probably correct about that. There was always the other alternative about turning and retracing my route backwards.

How like life and art is that? Some days life and painting can be a paddle other days it can be a hard wade making you feel like giving up. At other times there might be the difficult but possible swim against the tide. Maybe, just maybe sometimes we have to backtrack and do a rethink.

This is in fact the way of Tao. We have to take risks sometimes but we must always go with what our heart tells us is right.



I am going to add some new thoughts to the painting I put on my other blog connected to the thoughts I have here.

This blog is linked to my other. Motion and Emotion

Age Matters Not

I had an old aunt who lived in a tenement block in Dundee and a marvellous lady she was. She was of that ilk who never said die, always positive and always full of joy. She had a leg amputated at a very late stage in life and was offered a place in an old folks care home. Her sister had died at the age of ninety-four so she lived alone. Her reply to the offer was exactly what we expected from her, “Oh no I could not live there it is full of old people.” Her mind was as sharp as a knife and she insisted on her independence. She reluctantly agreed to have a telephone installed but drew the line at washing machines and all those new fangled gadgets.I still have her old washing board which she used right up until her death.

 My daughter studied in Dundee and she and my aunt became very close friends neither treating the other as if there was an age gap. Dundee boasts a nightclub called Fat Sams; she always had a notion to go there. She saw each day as a day full of new possibilities and would not tolerate people saying they could not do anything. She died aged 104.


Three sisters lived together aged 90, 92 and 94. The 90 year old went to have a bath as she was getting in she wondered if she was getting in or out, her 92 year old sister told her to wait she would come up and check. When she got to the top of the stairs she asked if she was on her way up or on her way down. The 94 old knocks her knuckles on the table and says,” I hope I never get like that pair.” She shouts up to them, “Just wait till I answer the door and I will sort this all out.”

Every day is a day with wonderful possibilities and today might be one full of surprises.

I am keeping this short today because I am up early, I have my trainers on and ready to go out for a ten mile run. Those who follow this blog and know what has been happening in my life this last week will now turn their heads and look at the calendar.

Have a lovely day and look again at my picture on the profile of this blog. Is that the little twinkle in the eye I used to see when I looked into the eye of my lovely aunt Liz.

To quote her, “Smile or I’ll kill ye deed.” For those not from Dundee that translates, “smile or I will kill you dead.”

This blog is linked to my other blog. On this other blog  I  have been looking in detail at  some of the art I have used on this blog in the past:-New Beginnings

Walking and Running

Spring brings thoughts of longer days and daylight runs. If you have ever gone running in the streets you will be aware of the many hazards that this activity brings with it. The unseen potholes ready to trip you up, the dogs that run at you and frighten the life out of you. Then there are those who either cannot run or choose not to run or who are too lazy to make the effort but still feel they have to shout comments at those who do. The favourite seems to be, “Keep on running.” It used to annoy me but no more. Now if they shout that at me I am just so happy that they notice I am not walking.


Hold that thought in your mind.

Every year the new intake of students where I taught would have heard enough about Mr. T. to know that he could take a joke, so there was always some who wanted to point out my white hair and their youth. My way of overcoming this was to lay down the challenge of a race, a short but hilly six miles. There was always the odd few who were foolish enough to try. One year was different. On my giving out the challenge a voice was heard to say, “Don’t be silly, he took my big brother out for a run and he was in bed for two days after it.”

Hold that thought in your mind.

I remember running with a very good athlete on a training run. As we ran he said, “This is lovely you should always run at a pace where it is still possible to hold a conversation.” I replied, “I hope you notice then that this is a one sided conversation.”

Hold that thought in your mind.

Now have you noticed what I have done? You are now trying to hold three thoughts in your head and wondering what one to think about first. You are now multi-tasking with the brain. I am sure you all know that multi-tasking is a female thing; men don’t do multi-tasking. So I am continually informed.

The Toa says when you walk, walk, when you run, then run. In other words, one thing at a time and that one thing to the best of your ability. Who am I to suggest that multi-tasking is not possible. But if something is to be done to the very best of ones ability it requires all of the thought process for that one action. If the artist is to produce a meaningful piece of art then it calls for the full interaction of the artist with the work in hand. Recently I was struggling with two paintings. A fellow artist said, “Lay one aside and just look at the one.” So simple but it worked both were soon completed. If this is true for the artist it is true for everything else in life. One thing at a time done well.

This is the way of the Tao.