December 23

Now there are many posts in this chain, I believe streak is the pore appropriate word, I am fairly convinced noone is going to read these notes. Not myself, not an interested party searching for background, not even a casual passerby looking in this virtual window and with an interested engagement before deciding there is nothing to go on. Let's have festive fun.

I am still on the roundabout spinning, spinning, not sure if I am trying to get to France. The only time I have is to swap and fly, and spend a fair old wodge. Today I put in a bit of effort and travelled a fair hour each way to spend ten minutes admiring a friend's cake stand. It was admirable, and while.thw trip was a waste of time it made me feel good that my friend wass happy.

In this game the currency in which the cost needs paying is ignoring rudeness, spite and callousness. It is such a common currency it should have a name. A word for it, perhaps one day someone will go to the theatre and see the story play out and then say to themselves, I will take the name of that play as a shorthand for this agreement for while I might have agreed to the currency I would never have thought the cost would be this high.

A beautifully told story, it must be said. It must be read, it must. Here in this space we read and today I felt like I was going to get through it without too much disaster. Trying to do the things they suggest, to follow the guidelines, which is so tricky as the guidelines are not quite what I want to do. But they work, I have seen them work. Beautifully.

Then, listening to the story the scientist was regaling on the radio, I heard the throw away comment of a twelve hundred mile bike ride. There was no detail, I suspect the scientist cycled with friends, stopping nights in comfortable rural hotels. Are there always enough hotels? I would like to go on a ride today as I am feeling alone, then.

Sometimes I wonder about this dead horse, dead or not, the horse seems to have retired to the box and now, in that quantum way, perhaps the horse is both dead and thriving. What I have to work out is should I get out the whip, is this a flogging situation. And I, am I really of the flogger mould. Perhaps not, perhaps I am more of the type who just sees what happens.

There were things, motivations that were, perhaps, not disclosed. Dishonest. But it was an everybody wins situation, just not everyone knew all the facts. Just knowing the additional details would not have changed the amount you won. No more, no less, you would have won the same had you known or had you not. So what does it matter, then. What does it matter. But not everybody won, one person didn't..everybody but one won, just the thing is that one was me. And now I cannot tell if I didn't win because I hid those things at the beginning. Or was that just how it was always cut out to be.

The principle is to think the best of a person, to think the best of all persons, and to have their best interests at heart. But this is a complicated question as it is very difficult to judge if I have their best interest at heart when I don't have the same opinion or action as you, and you, of course have their best interest at heart. Either one of us could be trying but get it wrong, or we could both get it right, different rights. I don't know how to stand to show I am thinking the best of them when you think I don't. It is a bit like proving a negative.

So, this slipping by. This not taking opportunities, I wonder if your question was about us or the group. How will we make Christmas ok, and I answered for the group, but perhaps I should have answered for us. I am not sure it can be ok with us, not while I am convinced you think badly of me. Not while I think you tolerate my inadequacy rather than enjoy my company. A confusing note for confusion

And together we were reading a tale I was pretty sure I was the only one who had experiences similar to the protagonist, but I didn't say anything about my experience, all I tried to do was give my reaction to the text. But the problem was I thought the protagonist was a nob, an arse, a bit of a self-pitying, over aggrandising dick who felt himself superior for his intelligent thought, a bit like me.

Like an advert of a young slip of a thing dancing, gliding between flowers skipping down the path towards the gentle flowing river for her morning swim, so it was that I fitted like a little bee between conversations barely time to tick the ticks on my chart, or count the inventory on my list. Just flit between conversations and sell, sell, sell.

Baking cookies, carefully measuring the ingredients but then banging in a little more of this, or that, because the consistency doesn't seem quite right (oh no, too much oats, well, can't take it out now). Then setting the temperature, setting the timer and preparing the next nine. Just nine at a time as I don't want the cookies to touch. Buzz, and taking the cookies out thinking they don't look right, surely a little longer, a little more golden. But no, a minute cooling and they have settled into their shape. And taste. Yes. This is what a cookie should taste like.

If I told you about them I would say they are a conversation in my mind. While that is not a lie it is a very one sided conversation. See, what happens is I think of the things I would like to say, I go through the words, the exact words I would use. But I don't wait for your reply, I change my words, I change the last phrase. I reorder my thoughts and start from the beginning again. And again. I one sided conversation which I never hear your reply

A tiny crack opens, where, I heard, the light gets in, that ting crack perceived through these tired eyes that will not let me rest until I have finished a witty, or at least clever note, a short note will do as long as it is not only its brevity that makes you smile. Two nights without sleep and I fall apart.

This is the time of year for continuous action. Action motivated by kindness, for if it is not kindness then what is it possibly for? The fear of ignorance or ridicule? But just because this time is all action does not mean we should not believe all things should be done for kindness all times. And today I have a long way to go.

There is still kindness in the streets, and in the stores. There are still folk going out of their way, in small ways, to help. Today a woman stopped what she was doing, left her purchase and offered to show the confused woman where the toy shop was. It was only five minutes of her time, no big deal, but still she did it. I don't know if I would have done it. Maybe.

Patience, now there's an interesting thing. Those good things that are said to come to those who wait, I'm not so sure that it isn't just the left overs that come to those who wait. That much is taken by those who seize the day. So if I am not going to seize the day I must be sure I am enjoying the wait, for the reward at the end might not, in this higgle-di-piggle-di mixup metaphor, be a whole hill of beans.

Try, try to ensure they understand what you think, not what you think they want to hear but what you think. Of course always be kind in sharing your honest word. I think a lot of the mess I find myself in now would have been avoided if I'd just said what I thought as kindly as I could. Instead the pinched face as I withheld my affection in the same dam that withheld my criticism is the pinched face that made it all turn to muck. Mucky muck.

There is an intimacy working at the checkout, casting an eye over the products can, sometimes more than others, give an insight into the customer, or the customer's day. It can give an opener to a conversation that is simple and intimate in a way that, quite often, customers, sadly, can miss out on in their day to day. So is this intimacy a good thing to pursue?

I seem to be quite insistent on running on empty. Well, not empty, but I keep myself up at night fiddling or watching a television show that is not going to make me a better or more fulfilled person. Or even if it did there is still not reason not to do all the fluffle in the morning or the following evening or next week Sunday. Get a grip.

A little laughter, it is good for a lot of things, I wonder if it is indeed a good medicine. I think there are certain occasions where I would rather have modern medicine than a little laughter. A little silliness and a little tipsy-ness both have a fine effect on laughter. Love it.

When I was young I expected I would matter, specifically, I would matter in a way that is remembered. A long time into they future they would remember me, longer than for great deeds, it would need to be profound words. Like Confucius, I don't know Confucian but I know Confucius says... I wonder did he really say. Anyway, now I am older I get that none of us say words profound enough to be immortalised. All we do is love life and maybe the storytellers will conspire to create a tale in our likeness.

Is the end of the year a good time for resolutions? Is this when we should be making changes? When we are all tired, miserable and broke from the winter feast and gift giving? Surely the better time to change our life would be spring when the weather and the light is set for the better. Let's do that then.

It wasn't me that said this but I agree with it.

Does a sunny day a summer make? Certainly a windy day at the seaside has made for a fantastic divergence, a distraction with art most profound: the portraits done with their windrush documents, the frivolous sculptures of dancing barriers, and of course the illusion of the art and the surface. Let's just enjoy this sunny day.

There is this tricky problem that I haven't solved again this year, perhaps I should set it as my task for solving it next year. The problem of being cheerful and happy together after the interjection. The interjection that throws everything off kilter, a little, off balance because my reaction and yours are so different. The best I have done so far is pretending it doesn't matter until it doesn't. Fake it till you make it, but faking it can be so tiring.

The wind is gentler now, it still makes a sound in the trees outside the window but not as constant as it was earlier. And the tappity tap on the rain drops is more of a patter than a flowing drum but the cars, few as they are now as it is late, the car tyres still make a washing sound on the street. It is a good winter storm, a nice day to be indoors, reading a good book.

Goodbye, farewell, so long and all that. It has been a merry old time, another 365plus sketch year, some of which I liked a lot. As for reading, not much worth noting this year. Perhaps I will notice more next, next year. As for resolutions, let me always seek out times when I can be that better person I aspire to be.

Wobbling, perhaps even stumbling into this new year, without much of a plan other than an idea of trudging along hoping the bad is bottoming out and the good still has a fair way to climb. It is a balance, not so? It is always a balancing trick.

Friend
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