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