Monday, January 18, 2010

Thanks, David

There are those who believe that David Allen's evangelism for the labelling machine is misplaced: absurd even. They are wrong.

My boys can frolic with their chums, picking up any horrible diseases of the chin  they may choose. I will be perfectly safe!

Friday, January 15, 2010

Do it now, or...

I just laid out the key points of a post. The subject is important. I grubbed up a good picture and some relevant, amusing and wise links. With a little work on the wording, it could be a nice, solid piece of work.

The idea had come to me as I tramped the snowy fields of Berkshire with my dog at lunchtime. I've let my subconscious noodle away at the key themes, and I think it's done a good job. It feels smug and self satisfied.

Unfortunately, I have clean forgotten what gave me the idea. And suddenly I feel very uncomfortable with the idea of blogging it. Why? It's still the bones of a good post - might even be useful to someone one day. BUT it doesn't seem to belong here.  It needs some link to my life to come alive itself.

Or it could simply be insurance against banality. ("What, you had the same thought yourself? Seth Godin said it better? How nice! I'm just jotting down some bits of my little life - move along: there's nothing happening here.")

Perhaps it'll come back to me, or I'll conquer my scruples. Meanwhile, the draft is there. Waiting. Patiently.

My subconscious is very cross with me. And rightly so.

Sunday, January 10, 2010

Must Try Harder

A kind great uncle recently took the trouble to find me and pass on some family papers. These included pictures of two grandparents I never knew: my paternal grandfather, who died when I was two, and my grandmother, his wife, who died when my father was eight.

There were also two letters.

One from my grandfather in 1939, just after his wife had died. The words of a strong, honest man coming to terms with his pain and groping for the strength to go out and minister to his parishioners. Which he did for the next twenty years.

One from my parents at Christmas 1986. This was a routine, chatty update including the throwaway line: "William only had a couple of days off over Christmas, this year, so so he didn't come up from Reading and we weren't enlivened by the patter of grandchildren's feet."

That was the year my first marriage broke up. Does it show that I wasn't trying hard enough at home and taking refuge in work? Or that I was lost and dazed? Bit of both.

How can I compare the tragedy of a marriage torn apart by a horrible lung disease and my own grubby misery? Although cursed by events, Harold was blessed with a clear mission and the resolve to see it through. He conquered his grief and carried on with a life of meaning.

I drifted.

Compare the steely focus in the first picture above with the vacant gaze from the scruffy stripling below.

I feel (a) resolution coming on.

Tuesday, January 5, 2010

The Dog Ate My Home

You really don't want your Irish Wolfhound puppy to get bored.

Or he'll help with the mail

And sculpt the walls

The defendent showed no remorse:

Lumberjack essentials...

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