The Destination Can Be Better Than The Journey

Tuesday Morning – Fox thoughts on exercise.

The GP looked over his specs at me and he said, “I prescribe for you – more exercise! … More exercise or you’ll die!”

Well, I can take a hint.

But he is a nice man, the Dr., he isn’t one of those rabid neo-exercise-tastless-lycra-gymjunkie-sweat nazis … he is a man of taste, a man of culture, a man who likes Dr Who – he understands the ageing body. “Walk … walk long … walk steadily” he said.

So I am walking morningly, longish and steadyish.

I even purchased a pair of walking shoes – a hard purchase for someone who despises exercise as much as I despise all forms of unnecessary exercise (except for mental intellectual exercise of course … and that and physical exercise so often seem to be mutually exclusive things, alas.)

So I walk … one walking shoe on each arthritic foot – one arthritic foot in front of the other.

It’s not all sweat. There are birds to watch … magpies to annoy … flowers to smell … small dogs to pat … large dogs to avoid.

And then, after the weary kilometres there is the destination … always the same destination.

The smells and sounds of a favourite cafe – the welcoming chairs, the clean tables, the luxurious brew.

Espresso in a double shot.

Ahhh.

Dr, your prescription isn’t all bad.

“Cold winds can never freeze, nor thunder sour The cup of cheer that beauty draws for me”. (William Henry Davis, not Fox)

At 5 in the Morning

5am and fast asleep.

The doorbell rings …

The rough-sleeping man, tall and bearded, is back in town.

He’s hoping for coffee.

Possibly he is hoping for money, but I think he believes me when I say I don’t keep cash around – it’s true.

I give him two cartons of chocolate Get-Up And Go milk drink, two packs of breakfast biscuits, and a pair of socks.

Year after year he is back.

He says that he has been going through rough times – and I am sure he has. But it is his life – his career … I think now that he actually likes rough times. Spare him a prayer.

But “Lead me not into temptation” – keep your doors locked, lest you get him into trouble.

No chorus yet – just a distant pair of carolling magpies, black and white in a monotone pre-dawn.

The Lord Of Misread

It’s 5 in the morning and I’m reading a novel on my iPad.

Isn’t it amazing how a letter or two can radically change the mental images we build.

The sentence “… the big horses that overlooked the park.” sent me off into a waking dream of sunny springtime fantasy.

When I returned my eyes to the page, I discovered that I had misread it. It actually says “… the big houses that overlooked the park.”

Interest lost, my fancies dissolved.

Reading continues.

My Saturday Thoughts On Religion And Humanity

7-8; a.b.a.b.c.d.c.d

Springtime morning steeples ring,
The preacher smiles and makes the sign
Music plays and singers sing
White linen, candles, bread and wine.
Up the steps to speak up clear
– Speak so strong when he wants to sigh
They look, some listen, some hear
He speaks and prays and wonders why.

I can’t remember if I have posted this poem before, but I’m too lazy to check.

I have a degree in Theology. That doesn’t make me good, virtuous, or clever, but it does help me ask questions I feel the need to ask.

Sadly, I know by experience that most religious people don’t think or question. They simply accept the stories that should inform their questioning minds as being literal truth rather than aids to understanding our humanity.

We all need myths and legends and religion – Creation Myths, miracle stories, ethical practices, good living, hope and so on.
But if we use these good things to build a fantasy universe, we are robbing ourselves and our kids of our humanity and potential … so …think!

*Edit – I left a line out … if you liked it before, please read it again – just in case 🙂 

Hengist Dreams Of Alice

The Back Of The Paper (note the charmingly unintentional error)

Today’s scroodling exercise …

🎨 “Oh How They Laughed When Hengist Said, ‘Someday Alice Will Look At Our Bones’ “

Pigment marker pen and watercolour on paper (A4).

.

Dedicated to Prof Alice Roberts, my favourite anthropologist / historian / bone-person.

I wonder how those people of old would have felt if they’d known that centuries later people would look at them in wonder and long to know more of their lives.