Scary Faces

 We here we are, All Saints Day, or as we now in Scotland say Halloween. Although more and more we are hearing the Trick or Treat version being bounded about as we import another tradition from over the pond. I now have a number of children living round about me so yesterday I bough a large bag of goodies just in case.

They will though have to look more scary than Archie does in yesterdays blog picture. Now I do not even have to wear a mask to do that.

I do remember when the children were young and we helped them dress up. All of the costumes were thought up and made in the homes, now the stores sell ready made costumes. The spirit of creation has gone from it altogether. Now they knock on the door, tell you a little joke you have heard a million times and want cash and treats. No more, dookin for apples and treacle scones on strings. But no doubt each generation enjoys things in its own way. As I was out running early a Halloween party for adults was still going on in a garden with the noise of people inebriated, changed days indeed.

Now talking of scary faces. I think I told the story of my daughter on who seeing her nephew for the first time was asked who she thought he looked like. She was meant to consider and say mother, father or both. She looked and declared he looked a bit like Gollum. She has never been allowed to forget that comment but it has not stopped her having a wonderful aunt and nephew relationship with him. She speaks of him so often with a real sense of joy and pride.

This reminds me of another story of a father meeting his son for the very first time. He had not been present at the birth so the first him he met him was on the ward of the maternity wing. He was wearing a yellow and black stripped baby grow and had those big eyes new born babies have. The father looked at him and without thinking said, “He looks like a bumble bee.” Just at that the nurse appeared beside the bed and said, “Ah you must be the new father you son looks just like you.”

A bumble Bee indeed the father must have had a real scary face.

Have a good day and beware of ghosts.  The picture is one taken while walking yesterday. This island is in the river Forth not far from where I live. As a young man I had a vision of rebuilding that abbey on the island and using it to help rehabilitate addicts. The dreams of youth.

My other blog has one or two more pictures taken yesterday.  The Wonder Of Autumn.

Laughing In The Rain

Yesterday was one of those day, It started with a bang. My wife woke me calling for help. She had gone to get the bread toaster from under the unit that covers the boiler in our kitchen, only to discover the toaster was in fact holding the full weight of the unit. It had decided to part company with the wall. What a great way to start your day.

Once things were in a condition that I could see to getting help later, I prepared to go out for my morning run. The rain was pounding into my face and a strong gales force wind was blasting my face. I asked myself, “Can this day get any worse.”

The answer was forthcoming very soon. It did get worse but I will not bore you with the details. One way or another it looked as if it was to be one of those, “I wish my Aunt Liz was still alive ,” kind of days.

Now let me explain what I mean by that. My aunt Liz was a marvellous old lady. She lived to the ripe old age of 103. In all the time I knew her I cannot ever remember her complaining about anything. No matter how bad things ever got she would always say the same thing, “Ah well if you don’t laugh you would want to cry.” What a marvellous saying that is.

She believed that laughter was the cure for all things, and for her it most certainly did seem to work. She lived alone, her sister died at the age of 93. She was independent by nature and loved to have people round for afternoon tea and scones. She lost a leg due to illness. Did that get her down, not a bit. It slowed her down but did not get her down.

She always had a great many friends and her afternoon teas were never taken alone. Because she made people laugh. So on bad days I often hear myself saying, “I wish aunt Liz was alive.” The very memory of her and her laughter usually works.

She is no longer with me, but I am blessed with her memory and with two dear friends who live by the same attitude. Laughter is the name of the game. Yesterday they both in their way helped me though my day.

One of these people I told you about yesterday and showed you his portrait, Archie. When I saw him yesterday he said to me, “My man your looking awful serious. You need to laugh a bit.” I turned my back for a moment and he had got hold of some stuff the shop was using for Halloween decorations and stuck it under his hat. When I saw him I could not help but laugh. I laughed all the way home and I am laughing even now as I think of him.

So no more words look again at my picture of him. He is 21 years old going on 84, he tells me, but he is just laughter on the hoof.

I hope you agree it is a good Halloween picture and that he manages to spread his laughter to your heart.

This blog is linked to my other. Portrait

Now What Was It I Came Up Here For?

When I am at home I spend a great deal of my time moving between downstairs and upstairs. My study and computer live upstairs and my art materials downstairs in the garage, where I have made a painting space. Now that I am fit this does not cause me any real problems in terms of getting up and down the stairs. I can in fact do that with ease. Nevertheless it still does from time to time cause me another problem. Sometimes I make my way to the study, stop, look around and wonder why I am there. I knew I came up for something, but I cannot for the life of me remember what it was. I have those senior moments.

I once had an old lady, a member of my congregation, who would appear at my door at all sorts of times of the day and night. I got to accept that she had wandered out of the house and now did not where she was. A cup of coffee a chat and off back home and she was as right as rain. At least she always seemed to remember the way to the manse. She was a lovely old lady, and even as she was, a good golfer. Her friend often took her to the golf course and they played nine holes of golf had something at the clubhouse and returned home. She would often ask her friend, “Remind my who you are again, because you seem like a real nice person.”

It was sometimes frightening to think she might come to harm, but almost everybody knew her and she always either ended up at the manse or home. She was fortunate in managing to see out her last days in the familiar surrounds of her own home. She died having had a long life and almost the whole village turned out for her last farewell. And we all took her to her last resting place.

I was told a lovely story that reminded me of this old lady.

The old man had arrived at the hospital to have stitches removed from a cut in his finger. He kept looking at his watch as he was assessed by the nurse. He told her he had a very important appointment at 9am. It was now 8.30 and there seemed little chance that he would make it.

The nurse seeing his concern spoke to the doctor and it was agreed she would remove the stitches put on a clean dressing and let him go. As she did so she enquired about his important appointment, was it with his doctor? “Oh no,” he said, “I have to go to the nursing home to have breakfast with my wife.” The nurse asked him if she would mind if he was just a little bit late. He explained that she would not; she did not even remember who he was as she suffered from Alzheimer's disease. The nurse looked at him and asked, “You still go to see her every day at the same time, even though she does not know who you are?”

The old man patted the nurse’s hand, looked her in the eye and said, “She does not know who I am but I know who she is.”

True love is neither physical, nor romantic.



True love is an acceptance of all that is, has been, will be, and will not be.

My old friend Archie is 84 there was a time when I would not have been able to run alongside him he was so fast now he has difficulty walking from the shop to the inn. I still talk to him as a runner and I know he loves that that is how I still see him. Because when he looks in the mirror each day that is who he still sees.

This blog is linked to my other. The beauty of Age

The Motorway Apple Tree

I have noticed it all summer as I ran and walked over the bridge that crossed the motorway. Growing on the banking an apple tree. During the summer it had an abundance of tasty apples now its leaves are falling and the last remaining apple far out of reach clings on. Where it is makes it plain that somebody having eaten an apple has thrown the core over the edge of the bridge where one of the seeds has germinated and the tree has grown.

It is actually special this tree, because apple seeds are not so easy to germinate and grow as it would seem. So many apples have fallen from this tree but the chances of another growing are small. The tiny seed needs nurtured and cared for. The conditions need to be just right for it to grow.

The number that manage to germinate is few, the number of saplings that are not eaten or trampled or knocked out are fewer. So the fact that this tree has made it is something marvellous.

As I viewed I thought, it's quite often so with people's dreams. Wonderful ideas come to our minds but they die too soon - we don't tend to the little saplings, we don't protect them as we should. And then one day we wonder what happened to our dreams - why did they never come true?


Maybe the seeds of your dreams did not automatically grow. Like planting an apple tree it might take many tries. Like the hundreds of tries to have that book published, you might send your manuscript out two hundred times before it is accepted. You might meet dozens of people until you met the true friend. You may have to paint many paintings till you stand back and feel you have produced something you truly like.

But if you keep on sowing the seeds of your dreams, one day you will succeed.

And after that others will comment on how lucky you are to be successful - when in fact you have probably failed more often than you would like to count. But you were good at failing, you learned, you adapted, and then with your new knowledge you tried again.

And again.

And again.

And one day success is yours.

I am sorry I am posting my apple again but it seems to fit this story so well. I have shown it completed in a mount and believe it or not signed. Yes I do like it.

I hope that today you dream dreams and that one of then becomes reality.

This blog is linked to my other.  The Apple, Can I Tempt You? (Complete)

Oh My Goodness Look at That

It was good to arrive home after a long and difficult journey. I was bringing my caravan home after allowing my son and his wife the use of it for a week to give him a much needed break. He had spent his honeymoon in this part of Scotland a time full of good memories and also some bad. it was while on honeymoon he discovered the lump that turned out to be cancer. So four years on they were back and they seemed to have enjoyed their time there.

So although it was long drive and in windy and cold conditions it was good, but good to be home.

As I unpacked my bag I looked out the bedroom window. I live in a nice part of the village a quiet cul-de-sac with good neighbours. I was therefore surprised to see so much litter lying around the street. I was aware that the schools were on holiday but it was unusual to see litter in our street.

I listened to the inner voice and all the things I was about to say. Young people etc. etc. But I also heard the voice of the wise old sage who hundreds of years ago said, “Do not complain about the snow on your neighbour’s roof, if you have an untidy doorstep.”

I also remembered the tale of the shopkeeper who every week at the trades meeting complained about the dirty windows of the shop next door to his. One day a fellow trader said to him, “I was passing your shop and I noticed the windows you complained about. I also thought the answer might be for you to give your own a clean.”

The trader was upset but nevertheless he did clean his windows. The next day the owner of the shop next door had his cleaned. They shone like his. So both windows ended up sparkling and clean.

So tired though I was I put on my outdoor shoes, took a bin bag and collected the litter in the street and put it in my bin. Some of the young people said hello as I did it. I wonder what their inner voice was saying to them.

It is easy to criticise it is harder to look at ourselves. Among the litter was a paper bag from where I had just driven. It must have blown from the boot of my car as I emptied it.

This blog is linked to my other.A Painting In Thought