Archives for August 2015

Is a signpost helpful if the pole it is mounted upon has been turned around?

How do you know which way is…which way?

It is best to follow signs only when you need them, or choose to do so, and it is most valuable that sometimes you just go…that way, over there, yes down that lane.

A planned route may produce the good result of helping you reach an expected destination, but it will never provide the delight of surprise and discovery.

Happy directions!

Traditional busy signals and LP records (commonly known as “vinyl”).

These are things that will mean little on a day to day basis, in the next few days.

Healthy life expectancies and swallow-a-pill-learning are more likely to be familiar.

Will wisdom, the kindness of strangers, warm welcomes and the happy coincidence thrive?

Let us make it so!

When traveling there are those glorious conversations.

I wrote about the journey I took the other day. My notes.

It was local travel, but there were many characters, personalities and tones. Many voices and ideas expressed and that, was only from the people I had conversations with. Noticing others, imagining for interest, who they were really, where from, what they did, who they spent time with or did not…

Sometimes these small sorties can throw up an assortment of new considerations, a sort of meditation on human variety, it refreshes in ways nothing else can.

But then, I have always loved to travel. Second best, but a close second, is writing about the adventures or relating them afterwards.

The day began with encouraging signs.

Bright light shot into the room as the curtains were pulled apart.

Sending a letter, the old way with envelope and stamp, seemed to be a good idea.

But to whom?

Who to speak to, write to, call or visit if you have no plan?

First rendezvous can be with ourselves.

Adjust your clothing first, at least put something to wear on, then venture out. Unless you want to be arrested !

The old bus still made it to its appointed destination every day.

This was largely due to the drivers who were all sympathetic to the engine, the gearbox, the axles and tyres as they might be to a child. A wayward child. They listened, they coaxed, pushed or tenderly encouraged, as appropriate.

So how could the drivers tolerate the complaints of their passengers, worse the totally ignoring attitude toward them and these machines? Some passengers seemed kinder to the bus than to the driver who they appeared to consider part of the operating equipment.

What the passengers didn’t know was that when the drivers retired after years of devoted duty, they all became members of a casual society of fellowship which guaranteed peace of mind and a sense of satisfaction.

I never knew that either!