A man and his dog

Last week, I went to the corner shop and as I stood waiting to pay, a tall, elegant man with silver hair stood beside me. He held a little Yorkshire Terrier in his arms, and after he’d paid and left, another customer commented that the dog was “A girl dog, not a guy dog.” He was not referring to the sex of the animal.

Now, I understand the laughter behind his comment, for I too have made joking judgments on similar things (i.e. calling Toyota Solera a hair stylist’s car, not a man’s car), but what threw everything into perspective as I stood in line behind the counter was that I happened to know the elegant silver haired gentleman and knew also that the little dog was not his, but his girlfriend’s. She died of a brain aneurysm at the age of 38 earlier this year, and since her death he has diligently cared for the animal, taking it for walks twice a day and taking it along with him on errands.

I did not say anything to the man who made the comment, but the situation did make me think about how we look at people from the outside and often make comments and judgments without fully understanding what is going on in their worlds. And of course it’s not possible to fully understand their lives completely, nor is it possible to completely avoid passive judgments that are circumstantially unwarranted, but it’s important to acknowledge our incomplete information and our misunderstanding of people as we go forth and make judgments about them.

Nose Picking Art

It has long been a source of amusement to me, or is it disgust,
how people publicly pick their noses. I do understand that
there are times when a handkerchief is not at hand, or the act
of blowing into one, does not necessarily clear out the debris
that gets stuck in the little crevices. However, to gouge so
blatantly in public is unnecessary, to my mind, as surely one
can find a little corner somewhere to discreetly search with
a finger, if one has to.

I really do not need to watch as people elevate their digit ready
for attack, and then drive it home, the end wiggling around the
passages. Combined with the excavation, is the contorted face,
the eyes circling as if they can see inside to act as a guide,
the head leaning this way and that, the eyebrows roaming around
the forehead and the mouth forming different shapes, all in an
effort to dislodge and retrievethe offending matter that refuses
to leave.

I observe all this at LAX airport,as I wait
to board my flight home to Boston. I know I could look away and leave him to it but, one has to admit, disgust or not, it can, at times, be compelling to watch, as you think to yourself,"Does he think he is invisible"!?
Oh well, it passed the time.


With Love

Flying

Living in the west, I take it as given that all airplanes are air worthy, irrespective of their age or if they are a little tatty around the edges in terms of presentation. This is important to me as I fly quite a lot.

If I have a choice of airline on a route, what influences me is Service; not the food or drink or even its delivery, but how the attendants and pilots communicate with me. I like to be welcomed by the person in charge of the plane, and for them to tell me what to expect, a few bumps here, a few bumps there, an apology after the fact, if it was bumpier than expected; to explain where we are on route and point out things of interest, even if it is cloudy or you can't actually see the things of interest at 35,000 feet.



All this reassures me, I feel a part of their world, a team member, that we are in this together and everything is going to be ok. It costs nothing and the return is enormous, as I will continue to patronize those airlines that make me feel good about flying with them.

My top 3 in no particular order

Jet Blue
Alaska Airlines
Virgin America

With Love

True Love

Or so it seems!

Tiger Woods

I do not want to waste much time on this, or indeed comment or moralize on it, except to say, that when the press and TV news spend so much energy on subjects of this nature and it dominates our listening and reading lives, I am comforted that the world is a much safer place

Reality TV

Reality Television has a lot to answer for seeing as it's become a substitute for the myriad of entertainment that can be found in the real world. As one sits in front of the TV ridiculing the participants of such contrived BS, don’t forget that just outside your front doors there is a much richer and more entertaining world, full of real people to ridicule and laugh at, without being disturbed by commercial breaks or benign “words from our sponsors.”

On Sunday afternoon, Kate and I sat on a bench by a reservoir in Chestnut Hill. Circumventing the reservoir was a gravel path, exploited by people walking on their own, in small groups, cycling and dog walking or, in one particular case, dog running, in an array of different exercise garb.

A couple walked casually in front of us chatting and then stopped, “Ready” she asked, and then they proceeded to position themselves, arms set in running mode with fingers outstretched and palms flat. They both then placed one straightened leg behind whist the other was slightly bent in front, and with a little rock backwards, they were off, bouncing along the path together, arms cutting the air robotically. Shortly after, a man wearing long navy coloured chinos, a greyish short sleeved polo shirt and brown non-running shoes, scuttled past us, upright and with a pained look on his face. We wondered what he wore when he was out with friends at a bar. And then there was the girl with pink shorts; she glided along and seemingly, the only part of her anatomy that moved was her pink bottom.

I do sincerely admire joggers, or maybe it’s the commitment and determination required to run nowhere in particular that I admire. I have tried on a number of occasions to emulate them. Sadly, I am just not built that way, and my attempts usually end with me, red faced, puffing, panting, and bent forward, hands resting on my knees for support, with nausea negotiating with the contents of my stomach, and my chest pleading with me to seek alternative methods of entertainment. I am definitely a short burst running sort of person, and save this talent for emergencies.

The following evening we were at a bar, a couple sat close to us and it was obvious from their body language and strained attempt at conversation that their relationship was in its very early stages. It was hard to hear what she was saying, but he certainly made up for it as he boomed out question after question and statement after statement; is it difficult to buy clothes for your body size? I like good teeth, you look very nice by the way (30 minutes into the conversation), and then declared that the shirt he was wearing was his “second date shirt.” Apparently, pink is not the colour to wear on a first date- it gives the wrong impression, I suppose.

As they became more comfortable with each other, the clipboards came out and they went through the checklist together, “what I like and don’t like in a mate.” Once this was completed, they then proceeded to clarify their understanding to the answers of said checklist by talking about past relationships and declaring why they did not work out.

I am not being critical by commenting on such matters, as I appreciate that in someone else’s world I am the butt of jokes and ridiculed for the way I am, all of which is good and confirms that that there is an abundance of entertainment to be found outside of the box that dominates most living rooms.

More Ist's

Itoldyousoist
keepupwiththejonsesist
badmannersist
negativeist

Unconditional Love

I can recall clearly that, as I matured into an adult, my Mother never once told me what to do. I would sit with her and discuss any concerns I had or decisions I had to make, and she would proceed to ask me questions, motivating me to challenge my own thinking. By the time we concluded these discussions, I usually always found myself in a comfortable place, confident that I knew what I was going to do or how I felt about a particular concern I had raised.

It was never about right or wrong but more about choices and learning about oneself. If any of the choices I made did not work out as well as I thought they would, or indeed hoped, we would regroup and review the situation. She supported every choice, knowing that she had instilled in me intrinsic values which would ultimately withstand the rigours I put on myself; after all this was not about her life, but her helping me through mine.

One of her mantras was independence; she believed that one had to be comfortable with oneself in order to successfully grow as a person, to be authentic and to embrace what life delivers, or indeed what you are able to pluck from it, with fervour.

She also had a great love for other people that entered her life, and displayed exactly the same attitude and support for them as she did to my brother and I. Shortly before her death, and before the cancer in her brain restricted her ability to articulate, we sat together and talked. I was feeling jealous that her friends were taking precious time from me. Selfishly, I told her how much I would miss her and she smiled saying that she would miss me too and we both laughed, with tears streaming down our faces. During that same conversation, she explained that she had changed her mind and that she no longer wanted to be cremated; she now wanted to be buried instead. I asked her why, and she said “I am not sure David, maybe I am just hedging my bets” and we both laughed again.

My Mother was not religious; though she did make sure my brother and I were exposed to it so we could make our own choices later in life. Having said that, she was, in terms of fundemental Christian values, one of the most Christian people I have had the honour to spend time with. Being cremated or buried is irrelevant when it comes to such matters I am sure, and I doubt that her last minute change of mind would hold sway with the final decision maker. I would hope though, that how she led her life and the unconditional love that she demonstrated to so many people did.

She was buried as she requested, and in the last 21 years since her death, I have only visited her grave twice. I doubt I shall go back again as it is unimportant, as I carry her with me always. It is at times like these, when I recollect the conversations we had and I see her face vividly smiling at me that I realise how much I miss her.

I hope that I have the courage to support my children in the same way, to provide them with values that enable them to choose how to live their lives and that we too have many conversations which will affect their lives positively, so they enjoy life fully and pass on this legacy to their children- if they choose to have any.

I also hope that that Tom & Ben respect the choices I have made in the past as well as the ones I am making now.

With Love

Coffee & Tea

This morning, at an ungodly hour, I powered up my blackberry to see what time it was, it was 5.35 am. A text appeared which had been sent just under 4 hours before, asking if I flossed. Hmm! An interesting question to be greeted with at that hour, and to which I replied, occasionally.

I tried to get back to sleep but, as is often the case, my mind sprang from that one question to other, related matters, which had previously been discussed with the sender of the text, and on this occasion it was about the English and their teeth.

This subject has been part of other conversations I have had with other Americans during my time here, and it did make me wonder why, as I have seen as many Americans with a mouthful of strangely arranged teeth as I have English people.

However, I have come to the conclusion that the difference is related more to what hot beverage one drinks and as a result, the colour of the teeth, rather than how they are organised.

Since moving here, I have taken to drinking coffee rather than tea, as in strong English tea rather than the fancy stuff you can now buy, and have found that my teeth have stained far less.

I have no idea though, what beverage the woman in the picture above may have drank, but she looks happy and I, did not get back to sleep.

With Love

Ism's and Ist's

Racism abhors me, as do many other ism's, but I did wonder if I am an ist of any kind, and came to the conclusion that I am, a;

Miserableist
Grumpyist
Nagist
Moanist

Creating markets for useless gadgets

My friend Brian brought this to my attention. It’s fantastic! The RETRACTABLE HOSE, Central Vacuum System. Until reading the advert that he passed me, I did not even know these things existed. I am so excited, I want one.

So, here’s how it works;

Behind a convenient wall in your house you hide a huge container; attached to this container is very long hose (apparently they can cover up to 2,300 sq.ft.); the hose is used, with the help of your cleaning wand, to suck up the dirt in your house; to access the hose, a hole (outlet) is drilled into the wall and the end of the hose lies there, willing and able at any time, day or night, to be pulled out and extended to the required length, so you can vacuum your house.

When you have completed your vacuuming, you detach your wand and the suction from the central vacuum power unit, retracts the hose from whence it came. Simple!

User Testimonials exude compliments. “This system is the coolest thing in my new home, and because it is more convenient we clean more often, so our home is cleaner and healthier. My friends are very envious!!!”

I want to meet you, oh great user testimonial. My life feels incomplete now and I desire to be fulfilled like you. If an enormous hose that leaps from the wall at the touch of a button, ready to do your bidding does it for you, then I am missing out on something. I can only imagine the power that such a hose produces as it sucks away. I want my friends to envy me; to gather at my home and watch with amazement as I take my wand in hand; for their eyes to widen as I skip up the stairs, my lengthy hose in tow. Where would you hide your hose?

I bet you have great parties.

With Love

Head Shots - Dont judge a book by its cover, people do, get over it

I was on a flight from Las Vegas to Seattle, passing the time by flicking through the in-flight magazine. As usual, adverts littered the pages with articles on various travel related issues. One advert in particular jumped out at me. "Psychiatric Counselling for Executives". It was not the subject matter that grabbed my attention, it was the photograph of the, I assume, service provider, Dr. Whatever-His-Name-Is.

I have always found it strange that people would place a photograph of themselves on their advertisements, as if it is some sort of hook to get people to think "Hey, I like the look of that person, that's the kind of person I want to deal with." They are everywhere and more noticeably on giant billboards as you drive along urban highways. These huge pictures of people, smiling invitingly, trying to give out reassuring vibes of trust and solidarity "Like you, like me."

I remember listening to one of those self help CD's many years ago and a section dealt with this issue specifically. The advice was, if you are going to use a photograph of yourself, make sure its one that's not that great- after all, you want people to be surprised on the upside and not on the downside, when they actually meet you. WHAT!!!? I would have thought that if you were going to display yourself in that way, you should make it look great!! you want people to come to see you surely, don't worry about how surprised they are going to be when they do.

Dr. Whatever-Your-Name-Is, change that photograph or better still, leave it off altogether. I am sure you are very nice person and good at what you do, but your photograph does not reflect well on you. In fact, it represented to me what an executive with psyciatric challenges may actually look like. STOP!

With Love

White socks and shoes

I shall never understand people who wear polo shirts, long shorts and shoes with white ankle socks. It has nothing to do with each constituent but the combination, and especially white socks and shoes.The fact that ones fashion sense insists on ensuring the shoes coordinate with the color of your shirt is really not an excuse.


Unless you are Michael Jackson (RIP), my advice would be to rethink your wardrobe, or at least stand in front of the mirror before you step outside, and ask yourself, "does this look good?" If the answer is yes, then go for it, as the world does need balance and laughter is a good medicine.

Also, please do not consider that by placing a baseball hat, with the peak facing any direction, on your head will detract from your feet. A misconception of the highest degree, for you are the ultimate of court jesters.

If you are reading this and thinking "yeah man, too true, too true. That's why I wear trainers with my socks and shorts." Oh! God help us.

With Love

The simple things in life (Coffee, a cigarette and recollections of Derek and Clive )

This morning, after waking, having a shower and dressing, we walked down to get the car and then drove across Boston to buy a coffee at Peet’s Coffee and Tea in Brookline. Sitting on a bench by the road, we lit up a cigarette and sipped the coffee as we chatted. People walked by, cars took their occupants to their destination and the sound of the odd horn polluted the air. I love how aromas have the ability to spark thoughts in ones mind of things that you had long forgotten and, just by mentioning them, a conversation develops traversing different subjects.

The only reason that “Derek and Clive” are in the title is because they were the final part of the conversation.

“I’ll email you a link so you can listen to them”
“Great! See you later”
“Bye”

Listening to them again when I got home through YouTube was brilliant and induced a lot of laughter and smiles. I have provided a link here so that you can listen if you wish. However, If you are offended easily, then I think it best you stay clear, as the recording contains a significant amount of swearing and vulgarity. I have also provided for you an explanation of the “reason for swearing” by Billy Connolly to help you get over your problem.

The point of this blog however, has nothing to do with swearing or Derek and Clive and all to do with “the simple things in life”. You may well have written down your “50 things to do before I die” list, and are currently planning how to achieve them all. I wish you the best of luck and hope that you do, however, stop for a while, light a cigarette, sip your coffee and indulge in conversation, as it is these moments that will enrich you.

With Love

Day 1

This is my first blog and I have decided, that as an introduction, I shall set out my stall and provide an inkling of what is to come. I was inspired to start after reading someone else’s blog, and, having exchanged a few emails with the author, come to the conclusion that it will be fun, if nothing else. I say all of this with the knowledge that at the point of writing, there are around 112,000,000 bloggers, and therefore the chances of someone actually finding it in the first place and then choosing to read it, are pretty remote. Having said that, the purpose of me starting one is not for it to be read. This is for me and whoever I choose to share it with. If other people come across it then so be it, and they can take from it what they choose.

Yes I know, this is all very self indulgent but do you really think that I give a fuck? I believe it will be cathartic and possibly even therapeutic. I read a book recently which, using scientific tests, condemned some of the methods recommended to improve ones life, and in a lot of cases were possibly damaging. In one chapter they explored how writing can help to positively improve ones state of mind, and so I tried it, and it did!

So, maybe it is self indulgent but if it helps to win the struggle with those internal mind demons that visit us all occasionally, I shall be exploiting this digital world for a long time to come. For those who do read self help books, please do not take what I have said the wrong way, as I have read a lot and enjoyed many; the thing is though, however much I visualized being George Clooney or Brad, whenever I opened my eyes all I saw in the mirror was me.

With Love