« No man is an island »

         Yet we are all alone.

We are born without choosing to whom,

We live, mostly by our own choices, but

Mainly influenced by first our parents, our friends,

Our cultures, our friends – and then our own

Choices: good, bad or indifferent, shape what

We become.

 

But within whom we become, we can change,

We can become more educated – it won’t change

Whatever intrinsic intelligence we are allotted at birth.

We can become kinder; we can become the listener,

The family member or friend with whom one can

Simply be oneself.

We have the potential for great evil, but also the

Same potential for tremendous good.

Our choices are our own.

 

John Donne’s poem came to mind this morning, for

Some unknown reason, but then in my life, there is seldom

Something so random so there is a meaning: up to me

To find it.

 

For those who need it today:

 

“No man is an island,
Entire of itself.
Each is a piece of the continent,
A part of the main.
If a clod be washed away by the sea,
Europe is the less.
As well as if a promontory were.
As well as if a manor of thine own
Or of thine friend's were.
Each man's death diminishes me,
For I am involved in mankind.
Therefore, send not to know
For whom the bell tolls,
It tolls for thee.”

John Donne, 1624

The poem was published in 1624 as part of Donne's collection of essays and meditations, "Devotions upon Emergent Occasions".

Last steps

   

They took their last steps – walked their last trip.

First hoping on a bus into town, changing on the lake into a bus to the train station. Walking along the corridors and up the stairs to the train level, into train number one where they relaxed a couple of hours before getting off that train and into another one across the way: they had to run for the last 20 feet as the train was much shorter and had stopped much further up the track. They disembarked after a ride along another lake and walked the small village in search of noon sustenance for their owner. Back to the train station and another smaller train through the passes and down to another lake. A run at that train station from an outer track to one well down the way and relaxation again on their next ride. A couple more changes, the final rest and final walk from train to bus, to bus, to down the street to home.

 

Having enjoyed a lot of walking and hiking in my life, I now have a few minor problems with my feet: tonails that have been pushed too hard, too often, spots that get more wear so develop the odd corn and the like.

 

I no longer even think about wearing heels – why would I be so silly as to risk falling and I do have rather elegant flats for those rare occasions when my usual mocs don’t work.

 

I still have some very good tennis shoes, but on a day-to-day basis lacing and unlacing every hour or so doesn’t suit my lifestyle (here we still take off our shoes when we enter the house).

 

Several years ago I stumbled up the “moc”, a slip on shoe with a thick sole, one with a profile that allows walking on all surfaces, one with a higher back (my foot doesn’t have a very good back bone and other shoes slip off way too easily), one with a slightly larger base (my instep is very high), but not too large, and so it goes. Also my left foot is longer than my right which often meant that if the shoes was comfortable on that side, it was too big on the other.

 

One learns: I found about 10 years ago the perfect shoe for my foot. I won’t mention the brand as I don’t believe in providing free advertising, but this is it for me. I now have them in black, gray and navy blue. I wear until worn.

 

The last trip for the black pair saw them seeing a lovely bit of the country. They walked through at least 6 trains stations, around a couple of villages and got me home. Faithful companions, they are now being retired for their replacement – exactly the same.

 

 

Surviving

   

Sometimes just getting through the day is an achievement.

 

As a child, life often seems tough – we can’t quite physically do what our older sibling, cousin or schoolmate does.

 

As a teenager, everything is tough. We deal with life, friends, family all under the impulse of wildly swinging hormones.

 

As a young adult we struggle: again friendship, first, or permanent loves, putting a foot into the working world – or studying on in the hopes of achieving one’s life’s dream of becoming a doctor, a lawyer or any other profession taking years of studies, of concentration of “keeping one’s eyes on the goal”.

Then comes the middle years and the reponsbilities of not only jobs, but of spouses, children, aging parents, a fast-changing world. Of trying to foresee and prevent catastrophes, then having to deal with them anyway.

 

Then, all of a sudden, the career is 10 or 20 years old, the kids are starting to leave home, the spouse and oneself coming back together, or growing further apart due to the years, the attitudes, changes.

And then there’s the big leap into retirement, or not as more and more work well beyond. All of a sudden, if one retires, life is again kind of free, until the children marry, and start their own families.

Then the real worries begin: those of an ill spouse, those of those beloved grand children. Or the death of one’s parents, a sibling, close friends.

 

But, would I have it any other way: no! Life is worth living: sometimes, at the end of the day it is enough to have simply survived.

 

 

 

Circles of Friendship

 My life has had so many coincidences, so many friends or friends, friends of family, friends of... that it has been rich.

Lately I made the acquaintance of yet another friend. Friend of a nephew, introduced by my sister. He is a university teacher, of English, and writes 55 word paragraphs (for want of a better word) most days.

He does this with another friend.

Recently said friend-of-the-friend (are you following me here) chose as his mantra

Joy Fix.

It had me reaching for pen and paper: here's the resultant Haiku

The world in turmoil,

Shades of gray, shadows of dark,

Solution: Joy Fix

 

 

 

Days best forgotten,

   

Or avoided.

 

Today is one of « those » days, one best ignored or forgotten.

 

Nothing particularly wrong with the day itself as it started off sunny

enough and fairly warm considering that we are in winter still and that February is usually the month of snow.

 

There was a lot to recommend it, other than the fact that it was a Monday, that I was meeting my younger son and wife for lunch, that my doctor’s appointment, although late yet again, was “normal” or what can be deemed so when one gets to my age.

 

But then the date hits: the second of February. This takes me back 26 years and although one would expect the loss to become less strong (and it is), a loss is still a loss and the persons left behind still notice the absence.

 

Most of the year, one ignores quite easily: the day of, not so much.

 

However, this too shall pass, to quote one of those much-used, who’s author is long forgotten, quotes.

 

R.I.P beloved husband, father, brother, friend 

Forget not!

 

" Forget not that the earth delights to feel your bare feet and the winds long to play with your hair." -Kahlil Gibran, mystic, poet, and artist (6 Jan 1883-1931) 

One of my all-time favorite sites is A.Word.a.Day by http://wordsmith.org/

 

The above was today’s thought for the day.

 

And in this world, I greatly needed Kahlil Gibran’s reminder that sometimes the simplest of things are the most necessary.

 

Disasters surround us on all sides, the world seems to become a more dangerous place by the day, but we should always keep in mind that, for me, one of the main things, as long as we are alive, is to enjoy the fact; to enjoy those around us, to help others less fortunate, to empathize with those having struggles, in short to be “human”.

 

And what better to keep us grounded than to connect with nature. If I choose not to follow Gibran’s words today, it is because it is -1° Celsius outside and the wind would only freeze me. Still, isn’t it always the “thought that counts”? I can relive in my head moments where I was able to go barefoot in the grass or feel the wind in my hair on some mountain peak.

 

In with the Old!

My son asked me this morning “what are your wishes, your ideas on this New Year? Where do you want to go, what do you want to do or change?

 

But even before he asked the question, one of my first thoughts upon awaking this morning was I will get back to blogging.

 

I have not blogged for over a year: why? Who knows. But since it isn’t an obligation, let’s just say that life got in the way.

 

Now however, perhaps with the passing of the years, I find that instead of wanting to say “In with the New and out with the Old”, that although new is sometimes, perhaps even often, a positive, neglecting the old can be harmful.

 

So, no resolutions. I have never done New Year’s resolutions.

But rather, I would like to bring back more of the old into my life. More reading, more writing, more photography, more actually doing those photo albums that have lain way too long here on my desk, more sorting, more getting rid of the unnecessary.

 

As to the “new”: a continuation of the old – family, friends, the things that make a life worth living.

 

So, whatever you choose, may 2026 be a Good Year, old and new combined into something unique to oneself.

 

January 1, 2025