Andrew MacLaren-Scott's Blog, page 44

Water under the bridge

To be able to walk effortlessly and completely pain-free beside the river, when many of the preceding days had to be spent unable to walk... unable even to lie without pain, unless staying utterly flat and still... when the battle just to rise up to use the toilet rather than confront the messy indignities of the bedpan involved an agonising struggle assisted by sticks and supports after long thought-out plans for steeling oneself in preparation for the torture that would come... when a mere sneeze felt like a skewer piercing through the spine... To be able, after all that, to walk effortlessly and completely pain-free beside the river again is to be awestruck in wonder at what muscle and nerve can achieve with barely any conscious intervention, when they are all working properly again, and to appreciate how casually we accept the almost miraculous machinations of a functioning body, which we generally expect unthinkingly to be there for us while we stress and obsess about other and so often more trivial things. My spinal cord, imperfectly arranged in its malformed canal, is 61 years old, or 62 from its moment of conception, and with good care and good fortune, it may carry me around and by the river for a few years yet, it seems, and with a more grateful mind perched atop it than the casually expecting beast it has supported until now. I think the nerves and the muscles may have conspired in an act of hot rebellion to inform me that their support should not be taken so lightly. So now, with their help, and with my gratitude, I seem able to move on.

Rest, recover, restart...

Each day is a lifeand each evening I dieit's hard to rememberbut I really must try

Away for a while

Away for a while

I am going away for a while, walking on a long road

I am going away for a while, walking on a long road

Tide out

Teal

The man has died

The man died this monthHe was 86I was sad, in a way, but acceptingBut those relatives who are religiousare still distraughtAnd yet at his funeral they spoke of him being with GodIndeed they spoke of him still existingYet they are distraughteven though they apparently believe they will have eternity with him againI don’t understand why they are distraughtwhen I am the one who thinks he is gone, foreverand they just think he is in “a better place”
and to be met again soonSo why are they distraught?I just don’t understand

Hello (but no comment)

From time to time I receive emails asking me why I do not allow comments on this blog, including one recently that said, "A blog without comments is just stoopid" (sic), and another that asked, given the absence of comments: "Why do you bother to blog?"

Short answer: I blog because I want to and because I enjoy doing so, with no further analysis required.

Additional info: I know, because some of them tell me, that there are people out there who enjoy looking at my blog.

Further info: My blog offers online access to details of my silly books, and a slow but steady tick, tick of sales fills me with joy (well, with mild moments of minor satisfaction).

Appendix: I find myself increasingly drawn to withdraw into my own private world - the one inside my head - popping out only occasionally to interact with those around me, partly because when I do directly interact with those around me I generally end up offending someone, and I don't like doing that.

Addendum: I find it mildly disturbing that so many bloggers seems to exist in an online world obsessed with getting comments, and commenting on other blogs just to try to attract comments to their own blogs, in a spiral of mutual self gratification (if such a linguistically illogical concept is feasible) focused on numbers accumulating in the dark depths of a microchip beneath a glowing screen.

Appendix: My email address is available on the blog for anyone who wants it.

Simple serenity

A day thinking "restart" - yet again, and it seems to work every time now - while walking many miles around the fine old town of Edinburgh. Walk, think, coffee, think, write, walk, think, beer, think, write, walk, think, write... A good day of simple serenity, expecting nothing from it but ending up gaining much.

She said it

"There are many women who can make themselves appear to be very busy while actually doing nothing much at all," said my lady.

I will avoid passing any comment.