May I live simply that others may simply live.
Gandhi
Friday, December 22, 2006
Christ Ma’s Lights
Week Twelve: Sunday 17 December – Saturday 23 December
Every time I walk along the street where we live it feels less and less like Christmas. Yet the street is lit and decorated with ‘Christmas lights’. So why doesn’t it feel Chrismassy? Because the street resembles Blackpool with the amount of flickering, twikering multi-coloured lights hanging from here, there and everywhere.
What’s that all about? Christmas? Behave. We celebrate Christmas in the middle of winter. Winter is a down time in the calendar; when it is cold and dark and the earth is still and quiet.
So should we all be: settling down with family, warm and still; food and drink in the cupboards, some treats around the tree.
Housebound, family time. Have a good Christmas.
Every time I walk along the street where we live it feels less and less like Christmas. Yet the street is lit and decorated with ‘Christmas lights’. So why doesn’t it feel Chrismassy? Because the street resembles Blackpool with the amount of flickering, twikering multi-coloured lights hanging from here, there and everywhere.
What’s that all about? Christmas? Behave. We celebrate Christmas in the middle of winter. Winter is a down time in the calendar; when it is cold and dark and the earth is still and quiet.
So should we all be: settling down with family, warm and still; food and drink in the cupboards, some treats around the tree.
Housebound, family time. Have a good Christmas.
Monday, December 18, 2006
Walking In A Winter Wonderland (aka Why Cars Are Bad)
Week Eleven: Sunday 10 December – Saturday 16 December
One of the nice things about being a student is the holiday time. Granted I have a lot of work to do for my course over the next four (three now!) weeks, but being around without classes or work has meant that I have been able to do other things. Money may be scarce, but it doesn’t stop there being plenty to occupy my time.
The nicest thing I’ve done this past week is take my daughter to nursery, and collect her too. That’s when you get a sharp realisation that you really are a father.
Women, well my wife for one, know they are mothers from the moment they find out they are pregnant; probably before. In fact women are born to be mothers, so they know. But men? We’re slower to things generally than women. I mean, I know I am a father; but you really know when you take and collect your daughter (or son) from nursery for the first time.
Along with that moment of no less than profound realisation was an enormous sense of satisfaction. What can be better than walking along the road with your child, taking them to nursery? I don’t get the whole ‘kids are such a hassle thing’; if you feel like that, don’t have them.
I love being a father and I love being with my daughter. If I was economically secure I’d hang out with her as long as she wanted me too. Children are the greatest thing going; you’ve can't not love being with them. You learn so much and they are great teachers.
I enjoy the pleasure of my daughter’s company immensely and our relationship is extra special because of the father-daughter dance that we play on a daily basis.
The first time I collected my daughter from nursery school last week she was insistent that we walk home. I was fine with that, although Falmouth is a hilly town and can be a tiring walk for an adult never mind a not yet three year old. So, of we set.
I decided to take her a different route from the one her mama usually takes her, so we made a detour through some back streets and ended up at the top of Jacobs Ladder steps. Steep and slippery as they are, we tramped down them, counting them as we went. One hundred and thirteen!
The steps take you into the heart of Falmouth town: The Moor. Before I could say a word my daughter had her bearings and was leading me to a café where I had taken her a couple of weeks previously to see the switching on of the Christmas lights. Can we go inside for a drink she asked me; how could I refuse? So, in we went. Orange juice for her, latte for me.
It was starting to get late, dark and chilly by the time we left the café; my wife would be starting to wonder where we were, so best get a bus from here I thought. My daughter thought differently.
She wanted to go and look at the stalls that were set up in the centre of The Moor, so off we went. We stopped at a lovely stall selling beautiful Italian produce from ‘the boot of Italy’. We sampled olives, olive oil soaked in Italian bread, cheese and salami. I also sampled some sixteen percent proof wine from the same region as the food and poured from a five litre plastic water bottle as it is not a wine that gets bottled. We chatted to the Italian running the stall, learnt about olive oil and made a purchase.
Now it really was getting dark and cold and I really did think I should get my child home; but again she had other ideas. Let’s go to the library and you can read me a story, like mama does. So, the library it was. The Italian had topped up my glass of wine before I left the stall, so I walked into the library with a full (plastic) glass of potent red wine, sat down with my daughter and read her two stories. Nobody batted an eyelid; they just smiled.
When we left the library and got outside I was tempted to go back to the Italian stall for another glass of wine (why is it that home grown, local wine, served from a large plastic container tastes better than anything out of a bottle?), but again my daughter called the shots.
The art gallery is next door to the library, and you can draw pictures in the art gallery. It seemed silly not to! I phoned my wife at that point to let her know I was being led a merry little dance by our daughter, and loving every minute of it. And off to the art gallery we did go.
Nearing half five by this point, having been collected at three-thirty, we left the art gallery only because they were closing. Best get home I thought. My daughter agreed, but first a trip to the health food shop. We didn’t have anything specific to buy, but she loves it in there. Why not?
When it came to the big hill you have to climb to get to our house my daughter was finally beginning to tire. Up on my shoulders and off we went, eventually getting home just after six o’clock.
All the while we were on our journey, from the moment I collected my daughter from nursery, we chatted, sang, laughed, played and joked. It was a priceless few hours having simple fun with my daughter; money couldn’t buy it, nothing could compare to it.
If I was working I wouldn’t be around to have times like that. If my wife was working she wouldn’t be around to have times like that (albeit diluted) on a daily basis – an all three of us would be worse off emotionally and spiritually.
If we were a little better off and had a car, I might have picked my daughter up from nursery, but she’d have been straight into the car and straight home. We’d have missed out on our walk in winter wonderland, and again would have been worse off for it where it counts.
These are the good times!
One of the nice things about being a student is the holiday time. Granted I have a lot of work to do for my course over the next four (three now!) weeks, but being around without classes or work has meant that I have been able to do other things. Money may be scarce, but it doesn’t stop there being plenty to occupy my time.
The nicest thing I’ve done this past week is take my daughter to nursery, and collect her too. That’s when you get a sharp realisation that you really are a father.
Women, well my wife for one, know they are mothers from the moment they find out they are pregnant; probably before. In fact women are born to be mothers, so they know. But men? We’re slower to things generally than women. I mean, I know I am a father; but you really know when you take and collect your daughter (or son) from nursery for the first time.
Along with that moment of no less than profound realisation was an enormous sense of satisfaction. What can be better than walking along the road with your child, taking them to nursery? I don’t get the whole ‘kids are such a hassle thing’; if you feel like that, don’t have them.
I love being a father and I love being with my daughter. If I was economically secure I’d hang out with her as long as she wanted me too. Children are the greatest thing going; you’ve can't not love being with them. You learn so much and they are great teachers.
I enjoy the pleasure of my daughter’s company immensely and our relationship is extra special because of the father-daughter dance that we play on a daily basis.
The first time I collected my daughter from nursery school last week she was insistent that we walk home. I was fine with that, although Falmouth is a hilly town and can be a tiring walk for an adult never mind a not yet three year old. So, of we set.
I decided to take her a different route from the one her mama usually takes her, so we made a detour through some back streets and ended up at the top of Jacobs Ladder steps. Steep and slippery as they are, we tramped down them, counting them as we went. One hundred and thirteen!
The steps take you into the heart of Falmouth town: The Moor. Before I could say a word my daughter had her bearings and was leading me to a café where I had taken her a couple of weeks previously to see the switching on of the Christmas lights. Can we go inside for a drink she asked me; how could I refuse? So, in we went. Orange juice for her, latte for me.
It was starting to get late, dark and chilly by the time we left the café; my wife would be starting to wonder where we were, so best get a bus from here I thought. My daughter thought differently.
She wanted to go and look at the stalls that were set up in the centre of The Moor, so off we went. We stopped at a lovely stall selling beautiful Italian produce from ‘the boot of Italy’. We sampled olives, olive oil soaked in Italian bread, cheese and salami. I also sampled some sixteen percent proof wine from the same region as the food and poured from a five litre plastic water bottle as it is not a wine that gets bottled. We chatted to the Italian running the stall, learnt about olive oil and made a purchase.
Now it really was getting dark and cold and I really did think I should get my child home; but again she had other ideas. Let’s go to the library and you can read me a story, like mama does. So, the library it was. The Italian had topped up my glass of wine before I left the stall, so I walked into the library with a full (plastic) glass of potent red wine, sat down with my daughter and read her two stories. Nobody batted an eyelid; they just smiled.
When we left the library and got outside I was tempted to go back to the Italian stall for another glass of wine (why is it that home grown, local wine, served from a large plastic container tastes better than anything out of a bottle?), but again my daughter called the shots.
The art gallery is next door to the library, and you can draw pictures in the art gallery. It seemed silly not to! I phoned my wife at that point to let her know I was being led a merry little dance by our daughter, and loving every minute of it. And off to the art gallery we did go.
Nearing half five by this point, having been collected at three-thirty, we left the art gallery only because they were closing. Best get home I thought. My daughter agreed, but first a trip to the health food shop. We didn’t have anything specific to buy, but she loves it in there. Why not?
When it came to the big hill you have to climb to get to our house my daughter was finally beginning to tire. Up on my shoulders and off we went, eventually getting home just after six o’clock.
All the while we were on our journey, from the moment I collected my daughter from nursery, we chatted, sang, laughed, played and joked. It was a priceless few hours having simple fun with my daughter; money couldn’t buy it, nothing could compare to it.
If I was working I wouldn’t be around to have times like that. If my wife was working she wouldn’t be around to have times like that (albeit diluted) on a daily basis – an all three of us would be worse off emotionally and spiritually.
If we were a little better off and had a car, I might have picked my daughter up from nursery, but she’d have been straight into the car and straight home. We’d have missed out on our walk in winter wonderland, and again would have been worse off for it where it counts.
These are the good times!
Thursday, December 14, 2006
Quote Of The Week – # 7
The word politics is derived from the word ‘poly’ meaning ‘many’, and the word ‘ticks’ meaning blood sucking parasites.
Larry Hardiman
Larry Hardiman
Roots Rock Reggae
Week Ten: Sunday 3 December – Saturday 9 December
If music is the universal language, then reggae is its most widely spoken dialect. So says ‘Putumayo Presents World Reggae’ in the blurb that comes with the cd. How do I know? Because I bought the cd.
Term had ended, the course night out had left me with a head that felt like my brain had been used as a football, and I was out getting some fresh air and doing some grocery shopping.
I popped into the Natural Store to buy some organic and Fair Trade goodies and before I knew where I was my feet were tapping and my hips were swaying to the beats playing in the shop. Possibly still under the influence from the previous nights partying, but, be that as it may, the music had me.
Sashaying on up to the counter to pay for my goods, a sign greeted me that said ‘Now Playing – Putamayo Presents World Reggae. I had been sure that the tunes I could hear were reggae tunes, but they had an unusual sound to them so I wasn’t sure. But I was sure that I was sold on the sound.
The blurb also says, ‘reggae’s bouncing bass lines seem to compel listeners to join in the groove.’ I couldn’t agree more and my reaction in the shop is testimony to that fact.
I love reggae music: it plays a big part in my life and has done so since I sat listening to Bob Marley sing Exodus some fifteen years ago; the immortal lines, ‘Open your eyes and look within, are you satisfied with the life your living?’ resonated deep within my psyche and changed my life forever.
I devoured Marley after that; listening to as much of his music as possible, reading about him and watching documentaries on him too. The more I listened, read and watched the more I came to love the man with the coolest named backing band in the history of music –The Wailers.
Apart from the obvious delights of the sound of reggae, what drew me in were the words of the songs, the messages and intent. Reggae comes from the heart and has meaning. Again the blurb that comes with the World Reggae cd confirms that: ‘but while reggae has an engaging beat you can dance to, the music alone is not the sole reason for its worldwide popularity; reggae has also long been a tool for social and political discourse. The irresistible offbeat shuffle and powerful social messages of reggae have earned it fans around the globe.’
Again, I’m in complete agreement. Stumbling across the World Reggae cd is a true serendipitous event for me. There was a time, after I first got drawn into the world of Bob Marley & The Wailers, that I only listened to Bob. It wasn’t long though before I gravitated to other reggae artists: Pete Tosh, Jimmy Cliff, Toots Hibbert, Leroy Sibbles, Bunny Wailer, Gregory Issacs … and so the list goes on.
And now I’ve gravitated on to world reggae. Reggae got soul!
If music is the universal language, then reggae is its most widely spoken dialect. So says ‘Putumayo Presents World Reggae’ in the blurb that comes with the cd. How do I know? Because I bought the cd.
Term had ended, the course night out had left me with a head that felt like my brain had been used as a football, and I was out getting some fresh air and doing some grocery shopping.
I popped into the Natural Store to buy some organic and Fair Trade goodies and before I knew where I was my feet were tapping and my hips were swaying to the beats playing in the shop. Possibly still under the influence from the previous nights partying, but, be that as it may, the music had me.
Sashaying on up to the counter to pay for my goods, a sign greeted me that said ‘Now Playing – Putamayo Presents World Reggae. I had been sure that the tunes I could hear were reggae tunes, but they had an unusual sound to them so I wasn’t sure. But I was sure that I was sold on the sound.
The blurb also says, ‘reggae’s bouncing bass lines seem to compel listeners to join in the groove.’ I couldn’t agree more and my reaction in the shop is testimony to that fact.
I love reggae music: it plays a big part in my life and has done so since I sat listening to Bob Marley sing Exodus some fifteen years ago; the immortal lines, ‘Open your eyes and look within, are you satisfied with the life your living?’ resonated deep within my psyche and changed my life forever.
I devoured Marley after that; listening to as much of his music as possible, reading about him and watching documentaries on him too. The more I listened, read and watched the more I came to love the man with the coolest named backing band in the history of music –The Wailers.
Apart from the obvious delights of the sound of reggae, what drew me in were the words of the songs, the messages and intent. Reggae comes from the heart and has meaning. Again the blurb that comes with the World Reggae cd confirms that: ‘but while reggae has an engaging beat you can dance to, the music alone is not the sole reason for its worldwide popularity; reggae has also long been a tool for social and political discourse. The irresistible offbeat shuffle and powerful social messages of reggae have earned it fans around the globe.’
Again, I’m in complete agreement. Stumbling across the World Reggae cd is a true serendipitous event for me. There was a time, after I first got drawn into the world of Bob Marley & The Wailers, that I only listened to Bob. It wasn’t long though before I gravitated to other reggae artists: Pete Tosh, Jimmy Cliff, Toots Hibbert, Leroy Sibbles, Bunny Wailer, Gregory Issacs … and so the list goes on.
And now I’ve gravitated on to world reggae. Reggae got soul!
Wednesday, December 06, 2006
Quote Of The Week – # 6
You can achieve anything you want in life if you have the courage to dream it, the intelligence to make a realistic plan, and the will to see that plan to its end.
Mark Twain
Mark Twain
Always Take The Weather
Week Nine: Sunday 26 November – Saturday 2 December
The wind has fairly battered Falmouth these past few days; the rain has been in close attendance, taking advantage of the all angled gales to give everything a good drenching.
It would appear that Falmouth has actually gotten off lightly compared to many other parts of the British Isles. Dumfriesshire, where we were living prior to moving to Cornwall, has been hit especially hard; the banks of the river Nith, that runs through Dumfries town, burst and flooded the one of the mains streets.
So, all in all, we haven’t done too badly down in this little nodule tucked away in the south-west. But that hasn’t stopped it feeling quite horrific at times.
I am one of those sleepers who take a fair bit of wakening once I’ve found my dream like space and am happily in the land of nod, waltzing through my subconscious in search of a peaceful place. Although I have become a lighter sleeper since I became a father, preparation for the days to come when my daughter is creeping in at ungodly hours, trying to disguise how late and how drunk she is, it still takes a lot to wake me up once my head is well and truly down. But I’ve been woken by the storms every night for the last four nights.
Each time I’ve woken it has been a little disturbing. The first night I woke I thought for a second or two as if I was in New Orleans, such was the ferocity with which the wind was hurtling down, round, up and down the street where I live, with the rain literally lashing every crevice it could find.
Having gathered my senses and remembered where I was, I couldn’t get back to sleep for a while; first of all just listening to the power being exercised by nature, and then thinking about just how bloody tragic and frightening it must have been to actually have been in New Orleans.
How lucky we are, not just to be protected from the worst the weather has to offer but to actually have a roof over our heads. We take so much for granted in this life; it is such a tragic flaw of the human creation that we don’t spend our time grateful for what we do have, instead bemoaning what we don’t.
The other nights I have been woken, and kept awake, by the storms I have lain in bed and wondered just what nature makes of the human abuses of the planet these last 250 odd years, and just how much it intends to reek it’s revenge now or in the not too distant future. Time will tell.
One thing for sure, after finding out how battered and bruised the rest of the British Isles has been, my wife no longer feels that she always takes the weather with her. After spending the first 38 years of her life in southern Africa, she has spent the last five with me in Portugal, Scotland and now England. In both Portugal and Scotland we were told upon arrival that the weather was the wettest/coldest/windiest for many a long year and my wife thought she had a bad weather curse. She was beginning to feel the same about England when the wind raised its ugly head; she doesn’t any more.
The ‘curse’ has been broken and we are happy, and grateful, to be alive.
The wind has fairly battered Falmouth these past few days; the rain has been in close attendance, taking advantage of the all angled gales to give everything a good drenching.
It would appear that Falmouth has actually gotten off lightly compared to many other parts of the British Isles. Dumfriesshire, where we were living prior to moving to Cornwall, has been hit especially hard; the banks of the river Nith, that runs through Dumfries town, burst and flooded the one of the mains streets.
So, all in all, we haven’t done too badly down in this little nodule tucked away in the south-west. But that hasn’t stopped it feeling quite horrific at times.
I am one of those sleepers who take a fair bit of wakening once I’ve found my dream like space and am happily in the land of nod, waltzing through my subconscious in search of a peaceful place. Although I have become a lighter sleeper since I became a father, preparation for the days to come when my daughter is creeping in at ungodly hours, trying to disguise how late and how drunk she is, it still takes a lot to wake me up once my head is well and truly down. But I’ve been woken by the storms every night for the last four nights.
Each time I’ve woken it has been a little disturbing. The first night I woke I thought for a second or two as if I was in New Orleans, such was the ferocity with which the wind was hurtling down, round, up and down the street where I live, with the rain literally lashing every crevice it could find.
Having gathered my senses and remembered where I was, I couldn’t get back to sleep for a while; first of all just listening to the power being exercised by nature, and then thinking about just how bloody tragic and frightening it must have been to actually have been in New Orleans.
How lucky we are, not just to be protected from the worst the weather has to offer but to actually have a roof over our heads. We take so much for granted in this life; it is such a tragic flaw of the human creation that we don’t spend our time grateful for what we do have, instead bemoaning what we don’t.
The other nights I have been woken, and kept awake, by the storms I have lain in bed and wondered just what nature makes of the human abuses of the planet these last 250 odd years, and just how much it intends to reek it’s revenge now or in the not too distant future. Time will tell.
One thing for sure, after finding out how battered and bruised the rest of the British Isles has been, my wife no longer feels that she always takes the weather with her. After spending the first 38 years of her life in southern Africa, she has spent the last five with me in Portugal, Scotland and now England. In both Portugal and Scotland we were told upon arrival that the weather was the wettest/coldest/windiest for many a long year and my wife thought she had a bad weather curse. She was beginning to feel the same about England when the wind raised its ugly head; she doesn’t any more.
The ‘curse’ has been broken and we are happy, and grateful, to be alive.
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