Monday, September 22, 2008

A darkness at the end of the tunnel

I look after my father who has cancer, amongst various other things. His physical ailments are one thing, him losing his mind is another. My life has officially become a tough gig. I wondered if this madness might not be a metaphor? The speed of his descent into incoherency has been something to behold. Same-same, the world. Or is that too simplistic? And really, the world was always thus. Even the 'good war' was bullshit. Certainly every war he ever fought in was - white people v coloured people, hip hip hooray. But then I wonder, with my eyes adjusted to the glare of new stark relief, if he wasn't always mad then too.

Perhaps his madness isn't a metaphor so much as simple cause and effect. As we sit and watch the SBS news (the only thing we watch on the TV that isn't sport, sport, and more sport) and I explain the enormity of the endless lies we're told, everything he took as certainty crumbles beneath him. All of it, everything, even Pearl Harbour was bullshit for chrissakes. If everything you knew was false, why not abandon reason and behave like an infant? Mad in a sane world, or sane in a mad world. Who can tell the difference?

Or perhaps this smashing of understandings has nothing to do with anything. His mad watching of Fox Sport's fifteen minute recycles forty times a day is only a small step from his previous never-miss-a-game. It's just that back then he knew what he was watching. He now longer knows now. I've ceased asking him who's playing or what the score is. He has no idea. And I'm now given to thinking that the sneaky wilfulness in what he does, and doesn't do, remembers, and doesn't remember, is just a red herring. Alzheimers does that.

But courses are being plotted here and the curves match too well for me to ignore them. Parabolic accelerations match and multiple end-points are all nearing simultaneous arrival. The timing is spooky. I know what the end point of Alzheimers is. My maternal grandmother had it. She ended up a gibbering vegetable who would spit out anything that wasn't chocolate custard. My father is nearing this point and then he'll die. I won't describe the world-as-we-know-it doing similar things. You all get it, I'm sure.

But then there's us too. We the sane in the mad world, the mad in the sane, whatever. Our arc is accelerating too and as the madness and lies reach new dizzying heights, the clearer we become. And then what? We all die? What sort of crummy metaphor is that?

I admit I'm muddying things here, but how about this - We've been travelling through a mad labyrinth, with every step taking us further into absurdity. It's been dream-like hasn't it? Our disillusion (I use this word with great care) has brought us lucidity, but not to the point where we can control anything. All it's done is made the absurdity clearer. And whilst the endpoint is sharpening it's still fuzzy. But the end of the tunnel is in sight. Forget Tricky Dick's bullshit analogy. There was no light then, and there's no light now. What we see is the darkness at the end of the tunnel. And how we all fear this thing! The nightmare isn't over - just its prelude. God help us all.


Going sideways momentarily, did anyone see a piece linked by WRH that pivoted on a poker game metaphor? It caught my eye because I briefly mentioned poker myself in the last piece. The writer compared poker to capitalism. A poker game can only continue whilst some of the players still have chips. But if one of the players takes all the chips, the game is over. He asked, how will capitalism continue? Ha ha ha ha. Is this a difficult question? I thought the answer was obvious - it won't continue. The poker game was not the end in itself, merely the means to it. The end was to render everyone penniless, put them in debt, and make them slaves. The guy whose game it was, will own them. He no longer needs the game. Medieval slavery is way more fun than capitalism poker.

Now the losers need merely stagger out of the smoke-filled room, and into the alley filled with garbage and the stink of urine. Where did the hookers go? And the free drinks? Iggy Pop's I want to be your dog kicks in as the penniless losers crash through the door and vomit. And as they're doubled up, a pitiless thug tells them their future, 'We own you.'


And so we will all arrive. And me. And my father. Arrival, Departure, it's hard to tell the difference. Same helvetica signage, same blue/green decor, same announcements over the loudspeakers, 'Attention. Passengers. Departing. Arriving. Please. Proceed.' Either way, we'll all leave where we are and be somewhere else.

That's that darkness at the end of the tunnel. I don't know that struggling to stay in the labyrinth will serve any purpose. Like the writer above who sounded like he was going to miss the poker he'd spent his whole life playing. Boo hoo. Sure, we don't know precisely what the darkness is. Conrad's horror, maybe? But let's not be so clever. Let's be simpletons. The darkness is the night. Shifting cloud cover aside, the stars are still in the firmament, as beautiful as ever. Certainly the self-proclaimed gods would have this moonless dark last forever. They are without doubt creatures of the night. Perversity's natural element was always darkness. But this eternity they dream of is a fool's errand. The only certainty is change. No night lasts forever. Paraphrasing Hemingway, the sun always rises.

Me, I am prepared. I have shed nearly everything. I quit whatever this bullshit game was years ago. The only thing I have not shed is my father. Buddha left his wife and kids you know. Happily they were in a palace, so no biggie. But what if Siddhartha Gautama and his family had been living on the footpath with him as their only hope? Would he have gone on to become Buddha? Who knows? He didn't have to answer this question. Nor do I need to. And I ain't Buddha, ha ha. But me as Buddha wannabe aside, my father will die soon enough. His deterioration is quite rapid now.

When this happens my last tether will be gone. I will become a 'slippery little sucker'. It's alright for me, sure. Many of you reading this have children. Me, I have no kids. This breaks my heart, sure, but it's a blessing too. But then again, having kids is both of these things as well. Kids was the first objection I heard against my plans of having my friends and I quit the city and make a collective farm. The precise words were - 'We have kids in school'. Sure. I still think pulling them out and taking them to the country was a good idea. Kids are tougher than you think. Some of these kids are my nieces and nephews. Not literally, but I love them just the same and they break my heart regardless. But I'm not their parent, and far be it from me to say what's best for them. All I can do is speak for myself.

And me, I'm going to step into the dark, into that fresh unknown. I already barely exist in this labyrinth. The only piece of paper with my name on it is my passport. In this bullshit white man's world I'm an impossibility. I'm only here for, and because of, my father. His name is on lots of pieces of paper and he enables me to live in this fashion. (For the record, I qualify for a carer's pension. God knows how many people have told me I should take it. I tell them that I don't need it. There's nothing I want to buy and I don't wish to jump through government hoops or otherwise be controlled. This is a bit of a conversation stopper.) Anyway I wondered if having my food and shelter provided by my father was parasitic of me. But this was driven by me wondering what I would do without it. Sure enough, if I want to live in this white man's land, not being ensnared in the web of money, bills, taxes, debt, and enslavement is impossible. Living under a bridge and trawling the garbage is your only option.

This was the darkness at the end of my particular tunnel. Or so I imagined. But lately an answer has presented itself. And it's so fucking obvious. The answer is to quit the white man's world. I shall step out of the labyrinth into a place of my own choosing. To the north of me here, not far away, are 25,000 islands. I have friends who've lived there and plan to go back. They tell me it's do-able and I'm the man to do it. They tell me it's possible to live there for pennies. It's not dangerous, or scary, or any other thing the bullshit media would have us believe. In these places, the end of the world will be met with a shrug. The rain will still fall. The fruit will still grow. And the kids will still run around laughing their heads off. Anyone untethered can do this.

And yeah, I get the double meaning. Yoroshiku.


Anonymous said...

The parallels just keep stacking up Mr. N.

My native German wife and I packed up and departed the USSA in late 2002, bound for her ancestral family farm right up against Belgium and Luxembourg in the far west of Germany.

On the surface, we came to take up/over the care of the place itself, as well as the aging parents (and her father's two handicapped siblings). Deeper currents that we do not often discuss -- who would we discuss them with? -- involve our own "end of the tunnel" preparations; most all reveloving around the development of a life & lifestyle capable of providing health and well-being with very low cash inputs.

We are also well-aware of our generational role, as well as the role of the place, and in our thoughts are what we can (or should) be building here to serve future generations. In the years just ahead, we expect to serve as the family "lifeboat", despite the general state of disbelief in what we have to say whenever we do attempt such discussion with the capital worshippers.

What an odd sensation it is to be right about the general course of unfolding events over and over and over again, and yet be the one person in both families (mine and hers) that none of them think has anything of real value to offer.

The real connection to your post here though is the recent passing of my father-in-law, who shuffled the mortal coil in late April of this year. And yes, it was eventually the "Big C" that did the old survivor in. He who had dodged all those allied bullets as a sixteen-year-old unwillingly conscripted into the Battle of the Bulge. Who labored over double-shifts in the coal mines near Essen after returning home from his POW years in the UK. Who made it thirty years past a heart-attack suffered in his early fifties.

We were here throughout the entire downward spiral, and can at least take heart from our having greaty decreased his suffering during the final year -- from diagnosis to death rattle -- via nutritional management, alternative treatments and lots and lots of hand-holding.

And despite our successes, we still receive nothing but a sad sort of condescension from the two (female) physicians in the wife's family, who were helpful when doing battle with a system they also disdain -- right up to the point where we question the system itself (and by extension their career choice). Then it gets ugly.

So, as we continue building up a lifeboat we may never need, I guess all I can really say in "conclusion" is that these times with your father will tax you nothing else ever has -- but you will survive -- and that I will miss your perspectives here when you do finally embark on your great tropical walkabout.

Until then, namaste.

kikz said...


you truly do hav some tuff daZe ahead.

once your daddy is free and you leave for the isles i'll miss you.

and when your heart heals a bit, find that cafe o lait sweetie and love some beautiful and laughing babies into your world. :)*

CSN comes to mind...

You who are on the road
Must have a code that you can live by
And so become yourself
Because the past is just a good bye.
Teach your children well,
Their father's hell did slowly go by,
And feed them on your dreams
The one they picked, the one you'll know by.
Don't you ever ask them why, if they told you, you would cry,
So just look at them and sigh and know they love you.

And you, of tender years, (can you hear and)
Can't know the fears that your elders grew by, (do you care and)
And so please help them with your youth, (can't you see we)
They seek the truth before they can die. (must be free to)
Teach your parents well, (teach the children)
Their children's hell will slowly go by, (to believe and)
And feed them on your dreams (make a world that)
The one they picked, the one you'll know by (we can live in)
Don't you ever ask them why, if they told you, you would cry,
So just look at them and sigh and know they love you.


notamobster said...


I would have zero fear for the coming events, did I not have children. They certainly become an impediment to going off the grid.

I used to cherish the fact that I could, at a moments notice, pack everything I owned into my US Govt issued duffle, grab my rifle, and disappear without a trace. No one would have ever known I was there.

You have a distinct advantage in this sir. Cherish it.

Very well done. The imagery you crafted was exceptional.

nobody said...

Les says it, and I can say it too. I get the best people on this blog. My brothers and sisters.

M, your timing was immaculate mate. I have this nagging concern that I'll be too late. But somehow I'll figure it out. Maybe I jump on board a freighter and wash dishes. Who knows? The timing of things is in the hands of others. I'll just have to try and dance through the gaps.

K, Thanks mate! I've pretty much stopped listening to pop music but weirdly enough the only 'pop' I listen to is CSNY. Woodstock and Ohio are two of my favourite songs ever. Fabulous lyrics. I'd never paid close attention to that song for some reason. Also, I still wonder at Laurel Canyon. CSNY were really too good. Anyway I'm off to hit limewire...

And thanks NaB, funnily enough you were vaguely in the back of my mind as I wrote this. Folks if you haven't popped into NaB's blog there's more than a few nice things there. Click on his name and check out opti-pessimist. I grooved on it.

BTW. I know I talked about joining a monastery blah blah blah and quitting everything. Certainly I am the right guy for this. And certainly I am the wrong guy for this. Both these things are true. But to a certain extent they were driven by lack of choice (ie. bridge or monastery). But the problems I had with that monastery I joined before will be present in every monastery, to a greater or lesser extent. This is too complex a discussion for me to make any simplistic point here, so I'll leave it at that.

Anyway the point is that I'm not going to get ahead of myself and ditch the kind of communication we have here, as a monastery would have demanded. I enjoy the company too much! Such fine people. Yoroshiku.

Anonymous said...

There is the Illusion and there is the reality, the two cannot coexist. The Illusionaries get overanxious sometimes and lash out. You can't really catch em, they are illusory, but you know they are responsible. So go where they can't and live in peace, free and real. Jah Guide my brother.
We all have an idea of what will make us happy. With the right attitude, you will be happy.
My Mother had Alzheimers. At first we blamed aluminum cookware, but lately I blame the way Americans were taken from cast iron cookware to tv dinners, from sewing round the fireside to howdydoody and clarabelle, pepsodent and buckybeaver, ozzie and harriet and dr.kildare as simulations of sanity, and simutaneously dumped advertising propaganda into the family circle blowing away the warm fuzzies of affection and communion. I guess we know all of that already. What we don't know is what lies ahead for us when we are in our final hours because are not and have never been part of the Illusion. We won't have any caregivers in our golden years, we won't even have a marker to say we were once someone. We arrive naked and we leave naked. Outside of the illusion, we are just complex vegetable matter recycling through eternity. It is at once depressing, because the Illusion is
overwhelming, and "sideshow bizarre", because its absurd.

nobody said...

Hey Nina,

Back with us? You're always worth having a read of. I could say something Buddhist-ish about your last bit but my mind is too unfocused. But it does occur to me that even before these new cultural wrinkles, there's something about our culture that I don't care for. It's this concentration on the self - this rejection of communality. For English speakers maybe we can trace this back to the enclosing of the commons. Who knows? I don't pretend to be any great expert on this. But I do know that in any meeting of the white man with the 'savage', we had it arse-about as to who should have been learning from whom.

This is a bit Rousseau-ian of me but whatever... Actually my favourite author Patrick O'Brian has his characters refer to Rousseau as 'that mumping villain'. Hmm... perhaps I should read up on Rousseau. Anyway mate, good to hear from you.

Anonymous said...

Rousseau is one of my all time favorites. He was never formally trained, he was an illustrator just doing his own thing. I strive to make my flora with such tenderness and praise of diversity.

Go to the island.

nobody said...

Aha! There are two Rousseau's. Henri, the painter, and Jean-Jacque, the philosopher. And yeah, I always got them confused too. Jean-Jacque came up with the phrase 'noble Savage (amongst other things). And Henri painted them, ha ha.

Otherwise I love him too. Hmm... I might pop him up in the Haiku blog.

Anonymous said...

'step into the dark' - far too dramatic nobody.
I know what you are doing at the moment is difficult however much is learnt from the experience and becomes part of the enjoyment of your life (believe it or not).
I loved it that I was there with my mum for her last years - dad died suddenly (within a few hours of him being not well) and I didn't have that experience with him.
And as far as the parasitic bit goes – me thinks you are still too close to your past.
Tell me why should any part of this world (geographic, wealth, whatever) be more one persons than the other. We should all share equally in everything our world has to offer. This is what the indigenous persons of the world are so up in arms about, always will be, and rightly so. Just because you want to work harder/smarter/more efficiently than the next person – why should you have more. Your choice to do this, why should others suffer?! You are being unfair to people who don’t want what you want. Look at the world today- two things- greed and fear - all troubles fit here (and I think ‘fear’ is generated only because of fear of the greed).
No fear mate and whatever it takes (no blood-letting please) – take something with you that can help the people with whom you finally settle (even if it is your most excellent storytelling).

Magdelena said...

Wow nobody,

This hit so close to home for me, as you already know. I think of you often in relation to our situations - caring for our fathers.

What's odd - is that I too have often felt the need to toss it all and seek refuge in the wilderness. I think when I'm no longer needed by Dad, I'll sell the property and move to the country. All I need is some land with water on it. My friends tease me often about this. Call me 'survivor' girl... if they only knew how serious I was about it they wouldn't laugh so hard.

My son is getting older, soon to make his own way in the world - will i be free then - I hope so.

So, while you are roaming your islands, with a little luck, I'll be roaming my boreal forests.

A side note - wrt the carer's pension. We have similar here and no I have no interest in claiming any of it, my reasons are similar to yours.

I'll be thinking of you today, as I am finally emptying all the stuff from Dad's old house. It's gone on Thursday, the home I grew up in. Strange - but I don't feel much about it - I guess I divorced myself from it very long ago.

Take care,


the Silverfish said...

G’day Sir:
Sorry for not being around to comment, well I have been around I just didn’t quite know what to say concerning the this post as it was quite painful at this end. You see my Grandfather who I have always thought of as one of the kindest , most intelligent and best people ever to walk this place we call planet earth also had Alzheimer’s and the latter years of his so called existence are without doubt some of the most painful memories that I have. Or at least they would be if perhaps I had had the courage that you seem to possess. I however did not. For you see I simply could not bear to see this great man who had always been a mentor and friend turn into a shriveled shell of his former self. So in order to save Myself this inconvenience I left Canada and took a job working in a Bio Lab in England, and I stayed there till shortly after his death. Out of sight out of mind sort of thing. Awfully big of me don’t yuh think.

Anywhoo’s back to my Granddad and the things that this man went through and for the most part survived intact mentally. This always amazed me, for you see my Grandfather was born in Germany close to the border of Poland. Then came the horrors of the Bolsheviks and as a young lad accompanied by his father and a team of horses with wagon would go out in the mornings to collect the bodies of the dead who had frozen to death just outside of the village or just starved in the depth of the long winters night on their flight from the horrors of simply being at the wrong place at the wrong time. These bodies where then taken to a dump and burned, no one ever knew who they were or for that matter cared. There were just too many.

Then as a young man, far younger than any soldier should be fought with the German army and in turn became a fairly high ranking officer in the German army. This he survived, then came the Second World War, with all of it’s attendant horrors and along with his sons, (my father and uncles) again he was pressed into duty as an officer in the SS, fought for his country and saw horrors that NO man should see. Captured by the Russians and because of the fact that he spoke and read fluent Russian, Polish, Ukrainian, and of course German was made a interpreter for the Russian army, lucky boy. After a short stint of forced servitude to Dear Sweet Comrade Stalin was recaptured by the German army and back to the good fight.

After the war he immigrated to Canada with what was left of the family and endured years of hardship imposed by the Canadian government. Many Germans were forced to settle in places that were shall we say not the most pleasing, as in the dump that our family was forced to settle in and endure, a backwater whore pit Jew town called Winkler Manitoba with a population of 1500 and three fucking synagogues and every fucking store owned by a goddamn Jew. Sort of the Canadian governments way of rubbing ones nose in it. Can Yuh dig it?

All this and yet he survived and remained the gentlest of men with always a kind word and a smile. I never once heard him raise his voice or his hand in anger, but I always saw the sadness in his eyes, the sadness of a man who had seen to much horror.

He survived all of his children and died at 104 years of age. In the end nature took away from him that all of mans inhumanity towards man had failed in doing, it took his sanity.
In the last few years the only name that he called out for was that of his favorite grandson (that would be me). I hang my head in shame for not having had the courage of being there for him as he always was for me, and for not being a better grandson.

I admire that which you are doing, Hang in there my friend. You’re a better man than I am Gunga Din.
Sorry for the long rant

nobody said...

Thanks folks, more brilliant stuff.

Tony I can dig it. Actually you'll have to forgive me - with this piece I started with the title, and that then drove it. I was having a chat to Nina and imagined myself as some kind of government bullshit artist spouting platitudes, and me being me, changed one word and came up with something clever. But I reckon it works, ha ha. And yeah, you hit the nail on the head with being a part of wherever I end up. I imagine some kind of hippy art cafe. I sculpt pretty well (I kind of did it professionally for ten years) and I'd love a variation of the Tropicana in Sydney. Instead of photos of the regulars I'd make sculptures. Or whatever. It's just me dreaming. Otherwise I'll be teaching English. And forget money, people could pay me in food, dig it. Like I said, idle thoughts with no basis in reality.

Hey Buff, yeah, that moving out of the family home is the weirdest trip ain't it? Mind you, the closest thing we came to a 'family home' was the place I lived for part of high school and uni. Somebody told me they've knocked it down now and built flats. I don't think I'll bother going back and checking it out. Not much point to it.

Jesus Christ SF, what a story. It's like some mad Lindsey Anderson movie where each mad episode is followed by another, and another, and another, ad infinitum. And mate, we all have episodes we're ashamed of. But that thing was what it was, and you're no longer that person. I don't think that there's a right-thinking person in the world who doesn't have events they're ashamed of. I do - a woman who's heart I broke, a man I committed violence upon who didn't deserve it, a cat I abandoned. As for your grandfather, in amongst all other possibilities you could have done what I'm doing, stayed with him, and found nothing but dismay. I'm living in a kind of sneaky, self-indulgent, infantile charade that's corrupting every good memory I ever had. You won't ever hear me tell anyone who did what you did, that they got it wrong.

nobody said...

Hey NaM, I just noticed I called you NaB. Sorry about that, it was just me being dizzy.

Anonymous said...

Hoping It Gets Darker For The "Nobody"
(Apollonian, 24 Sep 08)

Hey dipshit: there's late-breaking news, shit-for-brains, and that regards our hero, Curt Maynard, upon whom there's been most interesting detective work done--ck details at, "Curt Maynard...," 23 Sep 08. Seems Maynard IS MARRIED TO A MEXICAN. Honest elections and death to the Fed. Apollonian

nobody said...

Ha ha ha ha,

I couldn't resist it. Ap does have his brilliant comedic moments.

Ap, why do you imagined I'm interested in whether Curt is married to a Mexican or not? Why would you race over to tell your No.2 most-hated person in the world some idiot trivial snippet about your No.1 most-hated person? Like I give a shit.

I know you spend a lot of time obsessing about your 'enemies' but I have to tell you mate, you never cross my thoughts. Why you would even waste a second of your time thinking about me is a stumper. The only answer I can come up with for this question is because you're mad. Really. The patterns of your thoughts are aberrant. As much as I detest Big Pharma, if their drugs can calm the hate-filled paroxysm that comprises your brain then there's something to be said for them. But drugs aside, if you were to wipe me from your thoughts and never think of me again that would be a step in the right direction. Think how much calmer you'd be mate.

Actually why are you here? Did I win my bet? Has Phaedrus kicked you out? Not that I could be fagged going and checking it out...

Otherwise folks if you're ever at the Alamo community college in San Antonio and meet some weird, intense, hate-filled cove, back away. It could be the dreaded Ap.

notamobster said...

N- Apple's a shit. His only contribution seems to be regurgitating the same (shit-for)writing, ad nauseum and pissing people off. I do have to say the "hey dipshit:" did catch me off guard and make me giggle.

What a hateful waste. I always imagined him as some over-wound douche in his mom's basement, afraid to interact with real people, resigned to a life filled with the kind of loneliness that only a hatemonger can truly appreciate :)

the Silverfish said...


Penny said...

nobody: i never know what to say when people write so personally, when I went over to notamobsters blog, I cried reading his post.

Personal stuff, "hurts my heart" as I say. Everywhere people are hurting in so many ways. It is overwhelming to me sometimes.

I ran into someone last night, a woman I have known for a long time, she is a wonderful, scottish lady, wonderful family.

When I first met her, I know she never realized this, though I will tell her, she just made this huge impact on me.

she and her family represented all these things I never had growing up.
loving and caring parents, cohesion, security.
Her kids all knew they were loved and loved wholeheartedly.

I worked with her, as a teenager, and she was a mother hen, to me, I talked to her and she offered solace. She called me hun all the time. These were things, that meant the world to me, and had never happened for me within the structure of my own family.

She told me last night she recently buried her oldest daughter at 38 yrs old, leaving a husband and two kids behind. She died in the most surreal, flukey sort of way. I was stunned, not so long ago, she buried her baby grandson, born of her other daughter.

Her pain was visible, I could see it everywhere on her, in her eyes, on her face, in her shoulders and back. I hugged her alot and rubbed her back, right in the dam grocery store, because who gives a shit who is looking, if I could make her feel better even for a second, I so wanted it for her.

why am i writing this all, I don't know, it is on my mind, and am of course sobbing away, such a sap.

we all do what we must and what we can, to survive, to retain our sanity, whatever. we make good choices for bad reasons and vice versa, so whatever you do, and why ever it is you choose to do it,
you will realize soon enough it is the "right" decision, whatever that really is? Or maybe the wrong decision. whatever that really isÉ

I don't know why, when I come here I often think of the Prodigal son?
Of course I could be way off, but, that is what crosses my mind.

nobody,off topic and rambling, and all those things, but I had avoided this one all week, and I guess I still have.

anyway, it is going to be a beautiful day today, and I am going to get out there and enjoy it.

and, I hope you do too :)

Anonymous said...

Hey Ap. How they hangin' mate.

nobody said...

Tony - unhappily, mate.

Hey Pen, 'compassion' is the word. And funnily enough, you don't hear it very often. For the Jewish media it's a kind of anathema. I've never watched Oprah (we have it here too) but I wonder how often the word would be uttered on her show. Not very, I suspect. We'll use every other bullshit psychobabble word but not that. Funny considering the US is a Christian country. If there was one word for Christ (not that I'm a Christian you understand) it would be compassion. But Christian society or no, compassion is antithetical to individualism and consumerism. Subsequently the word must be avoided like the plague.

And unsurprisingly, there you were feeling a bit weird about expressing compassion in public. I mean, who the hell does that? Not in this 'Christian' world.

And nice weather or no, the birds always sing. Which is to say, there's always something to lift your spirits. Provided you're prepared to have them lifted that is...

Anonymous said...

Hey Pen. That was a wonderful comment; as nobody says 'there's always something to lift your spirits. Provided you're prepared to have them lifted that is...'
Writing about problems helps in that respect.
Don't ever doubt that we (us bloggers) feel your joy and pain. Underneath all of this written word I very much suspect there are some very understanding and yes, compassionate people.
There are always threads in each of our lives where we can relate to others.

Penny said...

thanks nobody and tony!
kind words from two kind hearts.

I did go out and have a good day, btw. I am working on a shed, not building, getting it ready to stain, and paint the trim.

nobody said...

You have a shed! Wow. I dream of having a shed...