Following two reactions to my last post, infinitely more than |I usually receive, I thought I should explain where I was coming from.
Like I said I saw the picture, minus its frame, waiting with stuff to be chucked out. I was aware that it had been in the loft gathering dust for a long time. I have no idea what became of its frame. I could have reclaimed the picture but had I done so I would have had to hang it in my bedroom or store it somewhere. It would not have suited our bedroom decor and I couldn't imagine Ali wanting it, or where would I store it and for why? In any case I didn't want it for myself - except as a memory. So I cemented the memory by photographing it and let the substance go.
I don't know where it is now. I could ask, and would if it were seriously wanted, but I don't want to make whoever disposed of it feel bad. Like I said, I am not sentimental about it. I myself chose to let it go.
20180121
20180120
Initiation rites
Now there arose up a new generation in the community which knew not Aunt Mary. And behold they found the picture she bequeathed us and consigned it to the rubbish heap.
Mary purchased this picture as a gift for us because she it tickled her fancy and I guess because the Dove is iconic. And so it became in a little way "a part of her". For many years it occupied a prime location on the first landing until Those In Control replaced it with something of Their choice and it was relegated to the loft. And then there was a grand loft clear-out.
It used to be said that there were three initiation rites for those who would become members of this community. The first was to endure turkey plucking, yea verily to actually enjoy it. Every Christmas a team would go to a neighbouring farm and pluck untold numbers of turkeys. Some of our young people could pluck several per hour. I went a just couple of times: the stench was diabolical, I could hardly stand it. My contribution was not more that one turkey in the whole day. Otherwise I did my best to be very busy with other stuff when turkey plucking came around.
The second was to endure our annual convention and the third was to endure a visit from my Aunt Mary. But she wasn't all bad. Just a little embittered around the edges from life's experiences. The war that took the man she loved, and in her later life her subjection to her parents which ended in nursing her mother until she died of cancer. After her parent's death she continued to live in the family home... well, you can read about the gory details here.
I found the picture sans frame in a pile on its way to the trash and managed to take a few photos, but on inspecting them realised I needed to try harder to reduce reflections. But when I went back the picture had gone. Such is community. A good thing I am not sentimental about such things.
You will see the glass is mirrorred around the border, and the picture itself is embossed so that the reflection changes as the viewer moves position. So here's the best I can do as a testimony to Aunt Mary's life. I can only apologise for the bit of me (holding the camera) that is visible.
Mary purchased this picture as a gift for us because she it tickled her fancy and I guess because the Dove is iconic. And so it became in a little way "a part of her". For many years it occupied a prime location on the first landing until Those In Control replaced it with something of Their choice and it was relegated to the loft. And then there was a grand loft clear-out.
It used to be said that there were three initiation rites for those who would become members of this community. The first was to endure turkey plucking, yea verily to actually enjoy it. Every Christmas a team would go to a neighbouring farm and pluck untold numbers of turkeys. Some of our young people could pluck several per hour. I went a just couple of times: the stench was diabolical, I could hardly stand it. My contribution was not more that one turkey in the whole day. Otherwise I did my best to be very busy with other stuff when turkey plucking came around.
The second was to endure our annual convention and the third was to endure a visit from my Aunt Mary. But she wasn't all bad. Just a little embittered around the edges from life's experiences. The war that took the man she loved, and in her later life her subjection to her parents which ended in nursing her mother until she died of cancer. After her parent's death she continued to live in the family home... well, you can read about the gory details here.
I found the picture sans frame in a pile on its way to the trash and managed to take a few photos, but on inspecting them realised I needed to try harder to reduce reflections. But when I went back the picture had gone. Such is community. A good thing I am not sentimental about such things.
You will see the glass is mirrorred around the border, and the picture itself is embossed so that the reflection changes as the viewer moves position. So here's the best I can do as a testimony to Aunt Mary's life. I can only apologise for the bit of me (holding the camera) that is visible.
Community is...
... sharing viruses.
A nasty cold and a flu-like virus has been ravaging the community. How can anyone escape? If this is unity I'm not sure I want it!
A nasty cold and a flu-like virus has been ravaging the community. How can anyone escape? If this is unity I'm not sure I want it!
20180109
The day I almost killed a little boy
This morning I was on the BBC news web site and happened on a true story entitled The day I accidentally killed a little boy. I read it all and cried. Because of what that woman suffered and my being able to identify at least in part.
Long ago when I worked in London I was part of a car pool and one morning I was driving my friend and myself to work. I was in a built up area, cars parked tight either side, I was thankfully within the speed limit. A boy darted out between two parked cars on my right. I slammed on the brakes but even so could not avoid hitting him and he was thrown across the road. There was the mother, the police, the ambulance, a lot of hanging around until we learned the verdict - a few bruises and that was all. The relief! But I was still in shock. At what might have happened. It was not my fault any more than it was the fault of the woman in that story.
Long ago when I worked in London I was part of a car pool and one morning I was driving my friend and myself to work. I was in a built up area, cars parked tight either side, I was thankfully within the speed limit. A boy darted out between two parked cars on my right. I slammed on the brakes but even so could not avoid hitting him and he was thrown across the road. There was the mother, the police, the ambulance, a lot of hanging around until we learned the verdict - a few bruises and that was all. The relief! But I was still in shock. At what might have happened. It was not my fault any more than it was the fault of the woman in that story.
Alas, how easily things go wrong
A sigh too much or a kiss too long
And there follows a mist and weeping rain
And life is never the same again.
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