Tag: writing
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I wear my rue with a difference
I have so many questions about things nowadays; maybe I always have, but perhaps the questions were held down, drowned beneath the sea that encircled my working life. In the days when I worked in a big city hospital, my life was hectic, so maybe my mind was hectic then as well. Retrospect is difficult…
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Most people are other people
Do I really have a true self? There was a time when it seemed obvious that I, quite apart from being an individual and not a replica of my neighbour, possessed a unique identity; or at least it was something that I would eventually have, because, as the philosopher Sartre wrote, existence precedes essence; I…
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The art of our necessities is strange
Do you ever miss things you thought you never would? Or details so obvious that when they are pointed out suddenly surface like children playing hide-and-seek? A bus that just left the corner where you usually catch it; the snack you often grab from the fridge when you’re feeling a little peckish but didn’t buy…
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The powers that be
When, if infrequently, I stop to think about things, it is apparent to me that most of us possess rather special powers: we can often predict how things might affect each other before they actually do. I mean how do I know that I may fall prey to the same virus as my friend if…
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Uhmm
Now that my summer leaves are falling, I suppose it’s not surprising that I have renewed my interest in the words that have remained faithful to my denuding branches -not just words, though: conversational words; words that used to drip like water from the leaky faucet of my mouth -on command, or not… Sometimes though,…
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Call me a fool; trust not my reading nor my observations
Lately -well, since I retired anyway- I’ve been noticing that I’m not retaining as much when I read; I find that I often have to re-read a paragraph to make sense of it: sometimes, the tense seems incorrect, sometimes a name I’ve just read escapes me; and occasionally I skip parts of sentences like words,…
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Are you telling the truth, the whole truth, and nothing but the truth…?
I’m confused about a lot of things I suppose, but lately I have been vexed by the removal of ‘offensive’ books from the shelves of libraries both here and in the USA: books disguising themselves as ‘nonfiction’ when their detractors are convinced they are actually fictional (and hence not to be believed). I used to…
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Age is an imperfect vessel
Have you ever been trapped in a drive-through lane at MacDonalds? Would you ever even admit it if you had? I mean some things, like sweat stains on the collar of your favourite tee shirt, or the rip in the crotch-seam at the back of your sweatpants which a friend points out as you stand…
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Aye, there’s the rub
When I was very young, my older brother played in a minor role in his high school’s production of Brigadoon, a musical written in the 1940ies. He made it sound like a real but faraway place he hoped to visit one day. He was older than me, so I believed him, but I wondered what…
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