Tickling Fish

Wandering and wondering has always been a pastime greatly enjoyed; you never know what you are going to come across or even imagine. Each walk was an adventure with many possibilities; I could be a warrior, hunter or explorer, just as the fancy took me. Every tree was different, with shape and character all of its own, blown by wind and weather.

A frequent walk would be as far as low buildings, and the wood just beyond; Granny’s farm, now owned by my uncle and his family. This was the place where my Mum was born and I spent many a holiday with my cousins. There was always something to do: collect eggs, take the milk cans on, potato picking, hay timing and fastening in the hens. You might imagine it was all work, not a bit; rummaging among the old stuff stored up in the stable chamber, jumping off bails of straw and making dens in the wood.

We always knew there were trout in the beck, but I can’t remember the first time we realised they were big enough to catch and eat. Imagining ourselves as Robinson Crusoe, we would plan how to catch this wild tasty delight (we didn't consider the preparation at this stage). A rod and a float seemed quite impractical in such a narrow stream; a net might be a plan.

Sunday lunch followed the church service, but straight after the service was also a ritual, as men folk would gather over the road and to the left. The women would be just outside the gate and we kids would be over the road to the right. There was a progression for us young lads, as we increased in years we would move closer to the men; conversation moving from games to farm work, joinery and such like. Family was wider than just a name, for it stretched out within a group of names, associated with each family. Groups extended to neighbours and shared work relationships, a community network spanning distance and time; a sense of belonging, and fitting in to the way of things. It was one such Sunday morning, one of the older men suggested we tickle the fish with our hands and hook it onto the bank side; we wondered if he was pulling our legs. My uncle was a man to be believed and he verified the art, saying that tickling hypnotised the fish so you could grab it.

This new found skill had to be put to the test, so all seven of us set out down the beck that Sunday afternoon. Our eyes were glued to the water; we had seen fish here before. Talking was reduced to a whisper and it felt like we were walking on tip toes. “There”, said Chris, “there’s one”. I had never heard silence like it, apart from the rippling stream as I approached the edge. I rolled up my sleeves and laid flat, face down. The water was so cold as I moved my hands slowly toward the undercut bank; my heart skipped two beats as I touched the fish. Wiggling my fingers in a tickling motion, the fish seemed quite content; I smiled and nodded my head to the others. At that moment there was a flash and he was gone, the disappointing sigh from those stood around said it all.

We walked for a few hundred yards or more and came upon a likely spot, the bend in the stream had created an overhanging edge and there was the biggest fish we had seen. Chris was straight in; my fingers were twitching, imagining what he was feeling. A moment later, Chris jerked and it was as if half the stream had come out with the fish, we all got showered; but where was the fish? It had to be here among the grass but was nowhere to be seen. Then Bernie, the youngest of the group, frozen to the spot said “it’s down me wellie”, the fish was head first down his wellie, flapping its tail fin against his leg. There was a deed to be done with a stone that was carried out without a word; the procession back to the farm recounted the excitement over and over again, even the one that got away.

There are no fish in these becks today and the stream is barely a trickle, but the skills and how we learned them, became a template for much more than just tickling fish. Remembering the old ways, and how often things that seem impossible, turn out to be great fun.

The old man's song

The old man climbed long and hard with all his strength till he reached the top, encouraged by those below; unable to hold on to the sheer edges. He shouted out all that he could see, but the crowd below could not hear. He began to sing loud and clear, his voice carried on the wind. He sang of clear air and fields of green, trees, fruit and berries of plenty, and cool streams of quenching water. Those below took up stone from the ground, and fashioning tools began to hew foot holes into the steep face; soon every one of them, were free from the darkness.

Loud discontent as they saw, all was not as the old man had sung; very little fruit, no berries but good soil and water. The crowd were about to turn on the singer when a young boy said; “if he had not sang that song; we would still be in darkness”.

A Quiet Listen

To achieve great things, begin by doing nothing.
From nothing comes everything and everything amounts to nothing.

Take time to discover you, then everyone becomes familiar.
Notice the things around you and you will see your next step.

Step into the quiet, and wait just long enough; to hear the small voice of clarity,
refreshing, like a mountain stream.

Practice makes perfect, so my father taught me; but also to be satisfied with what I have.
To forgive myself is to forgive others, so my freedom rests with me.

Note to morning office: Create some quite this day.

The original King

How many times we must have copied and shared this track - as recorded live with Alan Andrews. The King is among us and his glory shall be seen; as we learn to touch each other. ...

The King

Written by Alan Andrews and shared among many, this wonderful song was re-worked by Andy & Lynn  who worked with Zion Community. Choreography by Andy Raine and friends, this has been danced all over the world from streets to Churches. Very emotional just listening to it again.

Andromeda galaxy

If it were dark I would take you outside and with the aid of some optics, show you the heavens. Stars, Nebulae and galaxies spread out to infinity, light displaying energy from the beginning of time, reaching us here and now. Andromeda galaxy is about two and a half million light years away and as we look at it, we are looking back to the age of the dinosaurs. Andromeda was formed out of the collision of two smaller galaxies between 5 and 9 billion years ago. These scales of measurement are often outside our natural thinking and take some understanding.

In the beginning was God and nothing had its being without Him, God in the brightness and God in the darkness; Gods presence in all things. We focus and see easily the brightest of these stars and in the density of the galaxies we see form and movement; God in the immense and God in the smallest of detail. To see into deep space, it is necessary to have the darkest of skies.

We see things in black and white, left or right, right or wrong. Our evolution has been a sequence of choices, one way or another. Our opinions and behaviour is decided by these choices, one way or another. Our human need is for direction, we create a structure for how things will be; this will suit some, but not all. Differences cause friction when they could produce harmony, an orchestra consists of many instruments, musicians, a composer and a conductor; a symphony could be likened to a galaxy. Many of these structures exist; cultural, political and religious.

To return to the beginning is like looking out to the many galaxies; to the reference point of Gods presence in all things. Our reference is unity not separation.

The Travel Chest

It was a windy afternoon and following Sunday lunch when all was put away, my Mother and Father would take an afternoon nap. I went upstairs to find a comic but that was not what I was looking for. From the top landing there are four doors, well actually there are five, the fifth, taking you up the back stairs to the attic rooms. All houses have an attic of sorts, a place to store the stuff you don’t use but don’t want to throw away; and that was where I found myself, that windy afternoon.

Grandfather’s wooden chest (that’s my great grandfather) was standing under the skylight. Grandfather had made it himself, an intricate piece of furniture with many drawers and compartments; this would have travelled with grandfather through Europe and across to Asia; father had told me many stories about grandfather’s expeditions.

The locks were strong but soon the great lid was lifted; I loved to poke around in the chest to see what I could find. Some old medals, a compass, a pocket knife, spare buttons and a dice. I played Kim’s game, closing the lid and trying to remember all I had just seen. Opening the drawers and lifting out each separate tray, a set of drawing pencils and an old notebook. I sat back with the notebook and read how grandfather had planned his expeditions down to the finest detail (there were no mobile phones in those days).

An old envelope had been caught between two drawers, upon which had been written a simple message – Tom, write on this paper your hopes and dreams; illustrate your imaginings. Tom would be grandfather’s son (my grandpa). I opened the envelope and took out a small piece of paper, still blank, not a mark on it; perhaps it had always been lost?

I took the paper and one of the pencils and began to write and draw. It was not long before I had filled the page and it was then that I noticed, the paper was unfolding; twice, as it became four times it’s original size and now the creases had vanished, I continued to write and draw.

After a number of days and more writing, again the page was full, and again it unfolded twice (without creases) to become sixteen times it’s original size; now this gave me something I could really explore on. I kept this to myself as no-one would believe me, I had no evidence and I could not reproduce this phenomena.

A weekend away at grandpa Tom’s house and we were busy with a jigsaw, just the two of us. I asked him if he remembered an envelope from his father, which referred to hopes, dreams and imaginings; he said he couldn't remember but grandfather had brought many things back from his travels. I explained how the paper, when full, opened twice with no sign of creases, and this happened twice. I now had a very large sheet of paper but didn't think it would open again.

Grandpa thought for a while and then went to his desk; he brought out a beautiful pen, polished wood with ornate carving. He said, I think that big sheet of paper was meant for you, and if ever you get round to filling it, then this pen will enable you to go off the page. You will write upon people’s lives with the things you have to say; that’s how change is brought about. I asked if the pen was magic; he laughed and said, no, the magic is inside you and it has already begun to unfold.

The Vine

Lent lunch last week - I was asked do a short meditation based on the reading John 15: 1-10.

I am going to tell you a story about a community of people, ordinary people who together shared extraordinary experiences. These were people who were from a number of churches, often families; young people, parents, grand parents and from a range of backgrounds.

The common ground here was a love of God and a willingness to reach out.

The community formed around very simplistic values – Availability, Vulnerability and Openness, a wanting to belong. The catalyst was a young boy who had a gift of dance – expressing the message of the Gospel through emotional movement; this inspired his parents and their friends. The Gospel was not only being reviled to those who watched but very much to the community as they experienced the emotion within these stories.

The community grew to around 30 and weekends away on mission became frequent; even to one week missions in London, Ireland and America. These were as I said ordinary people; they had regular jobs, families, homes and responsibilities. Their time together was special, quiet prayer, sharing visions, growing in the trust of God and each other. Learning about each others strengths and weaknesses – commitment to each other – shaping the community.

It would be nice to hear compliments about the dance and ministry; it would be a privilege to be involved in the healing of another. But the point I want to make is not about the remarkable things that happened around this community. It was something very simply said at a day event at a Methodist church hall one Saturday afternoon. “You guys are special; it is the way you are with each other that stands out”

The name of that community was The Vine. The first dance choreographed by the community was I am the Vine you are the branches – a song by John Michael Talbot.

                     In accepting that we are the branches – we are community and part of the vine.

The Magicians Gift

Every good story begins with once upon a time and our stories are no different. Our stories are fiction but there are many truths for those who listen carefully. I am the signalman, I work here in Saltburn and live only a stones throw away from here. I was born in Middlesbrough and moved here only a few years ago. I have always been a signalman following my father on the railway. I love the railway, the smell of the engine a mixture of oil coal and fire; the sound of the steam and the iron wheels on the tracks, to see such power takes your breath away, you can travel direct to London from here.

It’s a lonely job, sitting in the signal house waiting for the next engine. The bell rings to tell me she is on her way, I pull hard on the levers to set the points, drop the signal and send the return signal bell. Every passing engine has to be logged into my book and I check it is showing all its lights. The signals operated by my levers are in semaphore and tell the drivers when the lines are clear. When all that is done I go back to my chair, waiting for the next signal bell. There is time to think, to read and allow the imagination to wander where it pleases. The signalman’s job is very small but so much depends on it.

We are going on a journey this evening, a walk around my town. I ask that you bring your imagination, for the story I have for you is about ordinary people and extraordinary events; taking in some of the popular landmarks and some of the less known places. I will lead the way and we will stop form time to time to continue the story.

 

I begin my story here at the railway station because it was here that our main character first arrived late one evening with the wind driving rain in off the sea, a cold November evening 1911. No one was waiting, no one expected him – Matthew was returning home after being away for several years. Matthew Smithson was a magician and illusionist; he entertained lords and ladies on the south coast and astounded his audience with illusions, producing items from seemingly thin air. His slight of hand was quicker than the keenest eye. No one knew Matthew by name or anything about him; his stage name was ‘The Great Illumine’ Matthew had found a way to create light without flicker or flame.

People would claim to know his secrets that it was achieved with many small mirrors and a lamp hidden offstage but the truth was they had no idea at all. It had something to do with the way he held the light that enabled it to be visible.

Matthew was always a quiet boy when growing up here in Saltburn choosing to draw and to write than play in the streets with the other boys; in later years he transformed with brightness when performing his illusions on the stage. The house he had called home was left to him by his mother who had passed away that summer; his father had died when he was just a small boy and he had no other siblings. The neighbours Mr and Mrs Watkins who still had no idea of this late arrival had kept the house in order. Matthew carried but two suitcases, the rest of his belongings were being sent on - this was to be Matthew’s homecoming, leaving behind the glamour and status that followed his aura of mystery.

Matthew pulled up his coat collar and walked quickly toward the house. Over the next few weeks he became re-accustomed to the town and took time to appreciate the belongings of the family home; the only people he spoke to were the Watkins. Warrior terrace was built in 1865 and named after the recently launched HMS Warrior, a totally new design of warship; this new town wanted to be associated with everything new.

Matthew and his mother had moved from Newcastle to Saltburn just as this new town was being born, a new start for them also in this growing town.The house was nothing special but it was in a position to see across to Huntcliff between the streets; this great cliff, standing so tall and defiant against time and tide, providing protection for the town. Often as a young boy, Matthew would walk out to the very top of this great cliff and imagine that he was on top the world, a powerful king who could command the elements it was there that Matthew felt truly himself and that nothing was impossible.

It was on one of these walks; Matthew was in his own world that day, his imagination was running away with him. He was high up and close by the old Roman signalling station that had only recently been discovered. It was as if all the energy in the ground, laid down over thousands of years was coming up through his body. His hands began to shake and a small light glow began to emerge from between his fingers. Matthew was frightened and excited both at the same time, he had always believed that strange things can happen, but this was beyond his imaginings. The shaking stopped and over the space of half an hour, Matthew was able to control the light, turning it on and off at will.

Matthew was only 9 years old when he moved to Saltburn in 1871, Britannia place was a mere four years old and the cliff lift was a wooden tower structure with water counter balance weights. The pier also built by John Anderson stretched far out to sea.

The creativity and newness of this town fascinated Matthew; he was living in an inventive time and he took all things in, picking up the creative drive of the fathers of this town.

Matthew’s gift of light was something he felt he needed to keep hidden, people wouldn’t understand, so this was to be a game of hide and seek.

Matthew would decide on something he wanted to achieve, not knowing if it was even possible; he would keep going until he came up with a solution, then he would build a disguise around, it so creating an illusion.

The gift was safely hidden behind Matthew’s illusions and he went on to create many more through his ingenuity and swiftness of hand. At the age of 23, Matthew left for the big cities and the south coast as “The great Illumine”.

We stand here at the top of Amber Street, looking down Milton Street and again we can see Huntcliff in the distance. A boy from Emerald Street, one of our jewels was up on Huntcliff one evening as the sun was just fading; he was playing hide and seek with an imaginary friend. Behind a bush he suddenly slipped and fell towards the sea below; his fall was broken by a small ledge and he managed to hold his balance.

As the young boys scream went out Matthew was also walking close by; he ran to the edge, lay flat on the grass and peered over. There was no thinking, just instinct as Matthew began to scramble down to the boy.

Soon they were side by side and it was only then that Matthew realised, that there was no way back to the top without help and a rope. Matthew applied the strength of his mind to the problem but there was nothing he could conjure up on his own. He would need to attract attention but to be heard or seen from that distance was very unlikely. Somehow, a signal had to be sent.

It was becoming cold and the young boy was trembling, Matthew reassured him and decided what had to be done. All these years Matthew’s gift of light had been hidden behind his illusions, carefully concealed to entertain and dazzle the audience. Matthew spoke to the boy “do not be afraid lad, hold on to me; I’m going to do something magical”. He held his hands high in the air and light proceeded from between his fingers, brighter than ever before; there was no hiding this light as it shone out far and wide. Matthew began to move his arms in semaphore signal, spelling out SOS ROPE – SOS ROPE, he kept going till he could hardly hold his arms, but the light kept shining brightly.

Just at that moment, shouts came from above and a rope was lowered down. Matthew and the boy were brought safely back to the town and a celebration in the streets, for the signal had been seen by many homes that night.

Meditation

I walked on a little further and left the path to my right, approaching an edge I heard the river below, my intake of breath was sharp as I realised just how high up I was. Deciding to rest for a while I took out my flask and something to eat; there was a sense of timeless peace, right here where I was resting, it came over me slowly as my body leaned into the place I had sat. My breathing slowed and I became aware of many different sounds, each bird had its own location and purpose, the sounds of the branches moving in the breeze provided the background frequency to this new concerto. The river roar was interspersed with flashes of crisp sounds as it collided with many rocks; I felt my eyes beginning to close as my mind did not want to be distracted by visual content. I don’t recall how long I stayed at this place; it was a time in itself, seeming like an age, yet over too soon, a place on the edge, between one thing and another. I had experienced things before when in meditation, but that was usually in the quietness of the chapel; I wanted to know what was special about this place or was it just about my thoughts that day?  It was as if the volume control of my senses had been turned up high and I had been drawn into the reality of my surroundings, almost like entering from another world. I knew that I wanted more of this.

Star gazing for beginners

Moon 31/12/2012

For as long as I can remember, the stars have held a fascination beyond anything else. Being told by the gas works night watchman, their names and which ones were double stars, grew my fascination. Drawing pictures in the sky that told stories of Castor & Pollux, Orion the hunter and Cassiopeia. Discovering that stars are not just bright lights in the darkness, but different colours of reds, blues and yellows. The observer book of astronomy soon became a close friend and it was not long before a Christmas present unwrapped a small telescope; this was probably the biggest turn off as it revealed very little compared to the books. I wanted to see the horses head nebulae, Andromeda galaxy, double stars and pick out craters on the moon.

This was the mid 1960's and soon we had satellites, moon landings and pictures from a telescope in space. I have to admit that witnessing the Mars landing and landscape views are very low down my Buzz range compared to views into the vast cosmos. Measuring distances in light years we find ourselves trying to grasp the fact, we are watching something that happened millions of years ago; in a strange way, we are also looking into the future, for what has happened out there will happen to our solar system.

There is a science and there is a beauty regarding the cosmos and our existence; it is for some to understand the far reaches and others to marvel at the unknown that draws us into a familiar echo.

I attempted yet again to see the markings of Jupiter and a close up of the moons craters; with a borrowed Sky-Watcher 130 mm I wanted to capture an image of the moon at least. Camera attachments and a slight modification to improve in-focus; I managed the moon. Even with the best of equipment we at at the mercy of cloud and weather conditions, light pollution and spare time; these do not often seem to match up. I am encouraged by the Internet and Sky Google Earth, many images provided by the Hubble telescope; also images such as the one below, capturing just what we see without the gadgets. Android apps provide us with how the sky looks in real time (with or without clouds) even in the day time, everything is around us.
I guess it is about belief - and seeing only confirms what we felt we knew; understanding is not always necessary.

borrowed from Cloudy nights web

Moment to Shine

18^th June 2012 and the Olympic flame came through Redcar & Cleveland. My part in this flames journey was to carry it just 300 metres through the town where I work, Saltburn.

It is very difficult to explain in words just how I felt (excited just didn’t come close). The bus behind me had a banner “Your moment to shine” and it was just a moment but packed with pride and so many people cheering through the streets.

This flame had started its journey in Greece and ignited from the rays of the sun; this was a very special flame that was not going to be allowed to go out. Coca Cola called us Future Flames and I felt that was right as I work with young people and they are our future today. The torch is beautiful and holds 8,000 holes; one for every torch bearer and for the 8,000 mile journey this flame makes to the Olympic games in London. The triangular shape of the burner holds two Olympic mottoes:

1. Stronger, Faster, Higher – in our endeavours
2. Respect, Excellence, Friendship – for each other

The second of these calls for respect in how we compete/ live. Then to do everything with excellence, which is not always to be the best but to do what ever we do, the best we can. Often I am asked if I will sell the torch and how much it is worth, we usually reach a point in the discussion when it is agreed that the torch is valuable beyond just money. Money cannot buy friendship and we should treasure our friends because their value is priceless.

Soon it was time to pass the flame to Gerry who came rushing up to meet me; he was so excited and shook my hand firmly. This was the end of my time with the flame; someone else must now carry it further. There was learning to be had here, that for something to go on – I had to let go, to pass it on to the next man; my moment to shine was over but the flame can and does live on within all torch bearers; we just love to tell the story. The Olympics are about inspiring a generation and working with young people, I would like to think I can play a part in inspiring them to achieve their dreams, do what ever they do with excellence and value their friendships.

The best way to predict the future – is to create it.

Nothing

It is often in the simplest of tasks, thoughts emerge that become challenges, ideas or solutions; where do they come from? I know most of my best ideas for resources, teaching or preaching, tend to formulate early in the morning while shaving. 

Clearly nothing comes from nothing so there must be a seed of thought, something that kicks it off. A word or phrase heard, an observation questioning, why does that happen that way? Listening to our mixture of emotions and wondering why they are knitted this way? There is a spiritual dimension too that seems external, yet personal at its core. If nothing comes from nothing, then our thoughts have purpose and should not be disregarded as random nonsense. 

I immerse myself in the quiet, appearing to be deep in thought; expecting at any minute a revelation that would drive me forward. I am now learning to continue with the practical and to be more aware of my thoughts, a little bit like solving a crossword puzzle.

Stillness

Runswick Bay N Yorks

The evening is still and as I stand in the quiet, distant sounds are clear to me. It is as if there is a circle of silence, that stretches for a mile or so. Beyond that, sounds are coming through the stillness; this whole experience, which is out of the ordinary, prompts me to be part of the quiet.

It is within the stillness, that the noise of the day begins to make sense and I recognise I need the quiet, and the solitude, to balance the turbulence each day brings.

Pearl

Value comes at a price.

A Pearl is created from an irritation; a grain of sand, an errant particle of food or a worm. The irritation is coated with nacre (mother or pearl) as a defence mechanism; to produce a pearl of great price.

“The most beautiful pearl is nothing more, in fact, than the brilliant sarcophagus of a worm.”

Raphael Dubois

Value comes from the least expected, not rejected.

Stress free pockets

Find stress free pockets.
Train journeys, buses, walking to-from meetings, washing up (haha).
These pockets of stress free air are provided for us to step into with an awareness of their purpose; without that, it just becomes another process.

Waiting for buses or trains, queues no matter how small - where do you go in your mind; coming up for air may be the freshest air you have inhaled because you have time to taste it.
You are knowing the benefit to your well-being of each breath - blowing out the stress and breathing in the peace.

In the balance

Age advances and as it does, the number of things we want to achieve grows. The space around us is littered with half started projects and interests; books, models, art and practical. The drawing board is so full, it is difficult to distinguish one item from another, until our gaze rests for a moment in one place; the guilt of non-completion. The drawing board extends to many places, cupboards, drawers, boxes and envelopes; it is as if they appear of their own accord to point out our limitations and weaknesses.

If I were to feel different about the unimportant things I have not completed or thought about starting and never got round to it. Is it just my head that is full of wanting to know more about everything; what would it profit me to know so much? Discarding the unimportant to focus on completion of what is important, seems a better plan.

It is difficult, perhaps not impossible to balance two round pencils, one across  the length of the other; the round surfaces are permanently on the move, rolling this way and that. [try it]. Six sided pencils are much easier to balance once the centre is found, we balance on the flat surfaces. The round surface has an infinite number of points, each one pushing the other as the challenge of balancing becomes an impossibility.

Life should become slower and my experience should be working for me, to be effective in the areas that are most important and content in not being active in others.

Note to morning office: Lord - help me find the flat areas in my life that support my balance in all things.

Olympic Torch

A few months ago now, at an inter-church meeting, a lady announced she had nominated me to run with the Olympic torch (me, run)? I hesitated and said yes that it was OK.
Time went by and the voting process went in my favour; this was starting to get worrying. You see, I am not an athlete and in everything I do, I like to be in the background; I have always said, I prefer to be behind the scenes, not a front man. The day came when my email confirmed I was to run with the flame and in the town where I work, people seemed so happy for me and I would not want to let them down.

I was thinking this morning how God has a sense of humour, throwing me into a place where for a short while, all eyes will be on me. As the day itself draws nearer, I am actually getting more excited and really looking forward to it (what a change). I enjoyed so much talking to year six recently in the local primary school; they had such wonderful questions and again it centred on me with the torch. I asked them if they ever got birthday cards from uncles or aunts far off? Almost all of them put their hand up; I asked what was important, the card or the postman? Also, what was important, the picture on the card or what your uncle wrote inside; children know the answers.

A bonus to this run (walk) is that I get to keep my Olympic torch as it is the flame that is passed from person to person; strange how such a simple act of sharing this light, draws such a large crowd of people. I have been invited to talk to young people at the youth club of my old parish next month (with the torch). Can't wait now - so excited - so much to share - haven't we all?

One thing I know: ... ...

Lindisfarne (Holy Island)

 Another few days spent in Northumberland; just wonderful, then back to work.
I was closing up the project tonight and a young person hung back, he said he had a question. It was the kind of question that he already knew the answer but wondered if I knew too. I was able to answer honestly and I saw the surprise on his face when I said I had never heard of that before. I smiled and said, despite my age, there are many things I do not know; I went on to quote Socrates "as for me, all I know is that I know nothing"; he looked blank at me so I tried to continue.

If I understand that I know nothing, then that puts me in a better position.
Listening to someone's opinion or subject of conversation, I try to make a match from my knowledge database and when I do, I lock onto it and then assume I know all there is to know about the subject and promptly switch off to the other persons dialogue. The result of this natural process is that I learn nothing.
I tried a few ways to explain this but the young man still looked blank, perhaps one day he will grasp these words of wisdom.

Oh yes, the question was regarding a fairground item by which one could win a cigar and the term I also had never heard - "Close but no cigar".

Note to evening office: Keep me empty so I may receive.

Beadnell Bay

Self reflection

A time this week for some more writing and progress with the book. The main character has journeyed into his past during the course of the day and brought forth a statement that will be the kernel of change, challenging his core belief structure.

There are more things that puzzle me, than that which I understand, and often I know that I know not; but I choose to continue in my not knowing, rather than delve into the why of it all.

A view into life

Edward Pearson (granddad) wrote this card to his daughter on the occasion of her birthday; he sent it from Cologne July 3rd 1919. The words at the bottom of the picture "Ein Blick ins Leben" (A view into life). The post card was among items gathered from mums house, like many more they were not in one particular place but interlaced with cards and photos of past and present. I really can't remember where the WW1 field compass came from, I am sure it does not have a family connection and more likely to be something I picked up in a shop when a boy.

Though these items are bound by the year 1919, they have not been left frozen in time but included in our moments of review. Our spirituality should not be frozen but warmly interlaced as part of our present moments, enabling completeness. Reading the words to Edwards dearest daughter brings out a warm glow and a view into life we would not normally see.

Each day we have opportunities to view into life and see people, situations in a different light. The picture above was composed for a photography competition around the subject Something old; I got more than just second place as it gave me the possibility to view life from different perspectives and that it is better to interweave than to segregate.

Thanks Granddad.

Change.

Springtime and change is all around us, ponds laden with frog spawn new buds on the trees and faint brush strokes of green among the hedgerows. It is difficult not to notice change on this scale, the whole of creation it seems to be on the move. I think I was around 7-years old when I first caught a frog and kept it in a bucket in the back yard, eventually my parents encouraged me to let it go and on our way to Ugthorpe, Freddy was released into a small stream at Guisborough. The photo above was taken while walking through Guisborough woods last weekend; who knows? it may be one of Freddy's descendants.

I have been suffering with back pain recently and our housekeeper Mrs Johnson suggested a long soak in the bath with some herbal bubbles; I usually shower so the thoughts of a bath never enter my head. Mrs J prepared the bath and called me when it was ready, a room full of steam and the smell of lavender was quite inviting. It was during this long soak that i began to wonder when did I grow so tall? My toes just under the taps and my shoulders resting securely at the other end; now I am only 5foot 4inches but thinking back I was always known as shrimp, so when did I grow? Growing up in Warwick Street Middlesbrough, we didn't have a bathroom and each Saturday night the old metal bathtub would be brought in and filled with hot water. I had my own enamel tin bath (the one that was used to carry the washing); bath time was great in front of the fire. But the question is still there, when did I grow?

We respond to change, generally after the event; how would it be if we were able to live the changes?

The old man

The action was a self portrait for a photo competition; nothing to do with creative writing, and here we are approaching another Easter and so little progress with the book. I have to point out quickly that the title of this post is not referring to me (though it certainly could) but to the writing desk/ bureau and book case. Throughout my memory years this piece of furniture has been referred to as "the old man". My paternal grand father (Edward) was a cabinet maker and served his apprenticeship at Harrison's Grosmont; his father (David) was an engine driver and lived by the river at Egton Bridge North Yorkshire. The old man can be dated as grand dad signed and dated the bottom left drawer October 1909. Harrison's had their own woodland in Grosmont and I expect that is where the timber would have originated.

The old man has purpose apart from being a thing of beauty, I always felt important and that I was doing something special, writing at  the desk when a small boy (one way at least to get my homework done). I wonder what grand dad would have thought about a laptop resting on the desk? He was a particular man, paying close attention to detail, the dovetail joints are as strong today as they were when he put them together; ageing has only added to the character even to the splashes of blue from the ink pots. Time spent in creation, be it wood working or writing is never wasted and serves purpose into the future.

Time has been invested in producing a piece of work that will be used in schools and youth centres; it is a piece of software entitled Life-SkillsLabyrinth (it is easier to give you this link than to begin to explain). In our work with young people, it was felt that many had missed some of the basic stepping stones of life and this is an attempt to replace them.

Note to morning office: Do not be afraid to put yourself into that which you create, that's how we get the best results.

Its for the birds

To be as free as a bird with all that sky, how must that feel? To rise on thermals and hold just one position, with only the slightest movement of the wings; to glide and turn effortlessly. Much more difficult for me to capture that with my camera, let alone imagine how it must feel. The truth of course is that this gull, is busy looking for food to sustain him, and spends most of the day doing just that. If we are honest, we probably have more free time than he ever will. I hear people say, "just give me 5-minutes" - "I never have time to myself" - "sorry I'm tied up at the moment". Trust me, life is not much different in the friary.

I love this picture, its all happening, taking to the air, landing, checking out the neighbours and the two at the bottom look like they are chatting; where do you figure in this group?

Brother Cyril is just standing, deep in thought, not sure even if the incoming tide will move him. Brother Michael however is the one at the bottom (facing front) probably giving instructions to the other who is trying not to hear. Where am I? I guess I would be the one at the edge left; swooping down and trying to decide whether to land or not.

Freedom is more a state of mind than a place to be, it takes practice, and it helps to have a place in mind. These birds gather at the waters edge, changing position with the ebb/ flow of the tide and maintain manoeuvres through land sea and sky.

Alignment

Jupiter, Venus & Moon

This evening saw a clear sky, revealing the wonders of the heavens. A special night as Jupiter and Venus draw close together; joined by a new moon and within a hands-span of each other.

I try not to get too technical with my interest in astronomy, just to enjoy the splendour of these distant jewels is sufficient in itself. Its good though, to know their names, as we become familiar with their positions and the shapes; we interpret these as giants and beasts. Stories are brought together and shared through generations; such a shame that our new understanding leaves behind these colourful mysteries.

Looking at these bright giants and immediately behind us, Mars is rising over the horizon. Some will tell us of the significance of this alignment and how it will impact on our lives; how much time we spend in such discussions each day, and miss the beauty of the event itself.

Note to morning office: Each day to value the brightness of others.

Friends

Its good to visit friends, especially when you have not seen them for some time. So much catching up to do, much of the conversation is in blocks of random information mixed with intense emotion; desperately trying to share everything at once. With very close friends, the process is a little different; often it is just about looking at each other and knowing. Catching up with Pete & Catherine at Northumbria Community was just that.

The added bonus of this weekend was to meet up with folk not yet known and coming away feeling I had found yet more close friends; there is something special about Nether Springs that exist not in the bricks and mortar, for they have not long moved into their new aboding. The tree above is in the adjoining field at Nether Springs and looked magnificent in the early morning sun and we can only imagine the extent of its root structure, invisible to the eye though source of all that is necessary to sustain its reaching branches.

All Saints Church Skelton in Cleveland

 Closer to home we are caught up in our normal routines, friends and acquaintances take on a different role, and their value is often diminished.

The tree is of two parts and one cannot exist without the other, drawing nutrition from both the earth and the sun and divided only by a thin surface layer.

Foundational archive

I am inspired by Dana's blog (Awareness) this morning and ponder on her term foundational archive. Similar thoughts were already swimming in my mind even before I read her wonderful piece, about the silver link between our senses and memories; being sparked by sights, sounds or smells and transported back to a memory.

The memories that made a difference, if I were to group them together, would almost certainly be about family and those close who were "always there". Uncles, great aunts, friends of our family that I grew up alongside; there was a knowledge that much of what happened had a purpose and was dependable. When things went a little off balance, there was a root to hold onto a branch to shelter under, something to climb and see things from a different place. So many people are already flooding back into my mind, times and places of togetherness, happy events; but even the sad times, there is peace.

How do we teach this to our young generation? Have we lost the skills or the will to share these moments, to build foundational archives for generations to come. It seems to me that there has been such a gap in time when this way of living has been left to one side, we can blame the technological age, materialism or pressure of work; it still comes down to us. I also believe that the giving of self in this way, being there for those around us, provides us with a vitamin that cannot be purchased over a counter; a different kind of energy that you will not find in a gym. So remember those times, value and treasure them; it is our turn to be those people.