the ramblings of a perambulent and often distracted sojourner
Bloganuary asks “Do you have a memory that’s linked to a smell?”
Aromas, bouquets, smells, scents and odours
All jockey for attention in my memory-like modus
Which one is strongest? Which to the fore?
I travel a labyrinth to track down a spore.
Suddenly it hits me with unmistakable sensation
A soothing pale fluid of strongest olfaction
On lobster-red sunburn from time down by the ocean
Dabbed all over, it’s the Calamine Lotion!
Image via Creative Commons: npicartoons.deviantart.com
“What fear have you conquered?” the Bloganuary prompt teases.
Some remain unconquered. A childhood incident triggers aquaphobia. As a result, I’ve gotten through life without learning to swim. For an Ozzie, this is an anomaly! I have concluded that my other bête noir, acrophobia, is just plain vertigo. Air travel is a breeze, even though I get dizzy standing on a step to change a light globe.
My temperament is one that seems naturally tuned into threats, real and imagined. The radar is constantly scanning the horizon, ready to react whenever an unwelcome blip appears. In counterphobic fashion, I am the zebra that protectively circles the herd, keeping an eye on the long pampas grass that conceals stalking predators.
Some commentators describe this persistent low static state of fear as existential dissonance. It is an inherent inability to trust the wellness of things. The antidote seems to be courage cultivated by awareness and paying attention.
The Apostle Thomas is my patron saint. He had the courage to name his doubts and ask his questions. Even though he feared the worst, he was the first to urge his peers to accompany their teacher back to Lazarus’ deathbed, where danger and mortal threat loomed.
I don’t know that one really conquers fear. One becomes aware of it, studies it, and reflects on it. In the process, its grip weakens and it almost becomes like an old friend. It’s no longer fear – it’s something else.
What is your preferred mode of travel?
I was a youngster when introduced to Shanks’s Pony.
“How are we going to get there?” I had asked.
“Shanks’s Pony” was the dry reply that totally escaped the scope of an innocent six-year-old who, nevertheless, quickly discovered that this was the cheapest and easiest means of transport.
Ever since then, Shanks’s Pony has served me well. Of necessity, I often use car, bus, train and, occasionally, plane, but Shanks’s Pony offers me the most leisurely ride.
This slow mode of transport is helpful when orienting to a new place of abode, whether shifting house or visiting an unfamiliar area. There is something about claiming the way one is treading to make it one’s own, even if it’s experiencing being there.
The shanks still get a good workout after almost seven decades and still remain a favourite mode of travel.
I resort to pedantry in order to avoid or stall a direct answer to this albeit common question, which I, along with many, must have mulled over many a time. I note the direct USA reference and how I am not sure now which countries use the short scale (10 to the power of 9 ie 1,000,000,000) or the long scale (10 to the power of 12 ie 1,000,000,000,000). It makes quite a big difference, thus discombobulating thoughts on how such a large sum might be distributed.
I would find it such a headache that, whether short or long, I would employ some trusted administrator to set the moolah up as a philanthropic trust for health and education where most needed.
What chore do I find most challenging?
Right now it’s responding to this question!
Each day this month I hang on tight
For when Bloganuary prompts next session.
Eight PM rolls ’round each day
And I hang on tight to my seat
Will the prompt be fair? Will it stretch me tight?
Will I taste sweet victory or smell foul defeat?
Is it possible for chore to be delight?
It depends on what is offering
A call for memory, thought, or voice
Determines what I’ll be proffering!
Success is the state or condition of meeting a defined range of expectations. It may be viewed as the opposite of failure. The criteria for success depend on context and may be relative to a particular observer or belief system.
Wikipedia
That gets the definition out of the way! Now let’s reflect on it.
“Meeting Expectations” often disappoints. “Cultivating expectancy” on the other hand raises a plethora of possibilities.
“Opposite of Failure” – well, in my humble opinion, failures have led me to experience greater understanding, a more comprehensive capacity for compassion, and a more profound place of contentment.
And it is thus that context and belief system cast their relativity. One person’s success can be another one’s perception of failure – and vice versa.
I have been known as a bibliophile. As a child “bookworm” might have been my middle name. When I retired I culled my library, disposing of hundreds of books. I also kept hundreds and am culling again – only to make room for more.
Reading has changed my life, but no book in particular – not even the sacred texts that might be expected of me as a pastor! After all, the materials which make books are merely paper and ink.
Behind each book, however, is an author with whom one can enter conversations – agreeing, arguing, wondering, questing conversations. This is what changes – even transforms us.
I am glad for the thousands with whom I have dialogued over the years and who continue to challenge me in transformative ways.
What memorable gift is a pilgrim’s boon?
From years of sojourning on this planet so small
When one looks over life and discerns its tune
One hears a melody that threads through it all
Of what does life sing and what is its lyric?
Is it symphony, ballad, fairground or rock?
Does it dowse my senses or is it something more pyrrhic?
Perhaps all of these as my memories flock.
Wherever I’ve lived the gift has been there
Where I grew up in Adelaide, then further afield
Melbourne and Perth, then Canberra fair
Then encore in some; the gift always did yield.
The gift is the stories that we can’t help but receive
From fellow pilgrims as life’s wonder we weave.
“Don’t brag about your ancestors; give your descendants something to be proud of.”
This was the sage advice on the back of a tram ticket when I began some tentative digging around in our family story. Genealogy was expensive and laborious back then, considered a bit of an oddity, an eccentricity. To build a paper trail that confirmed and authenticated our extended family narrative was beyond the resources of this impoverished theology student of the 1970s. A different cry now following the advent of ancestry.com and the rise of enthusiastic research by other family members who have even submitted DNA for testing to affirm ancient roots.
How far back can we go? Links to a well-known personage in our line take us back to Northumbria and the Domesday Book, which apparently records our earliest-known progenitor, Rodney the Rude (nothing to do with a certain contemporary and bawdy stand-up with a similar monicker!)
So there we have it – a line that includes, bishops, bankers, silk merchants, inventors, lord mayors, politicians and industrialists stands on the shoulders of Rodney the Rude!
“Write of Rain!” urges the Bloganuary Muse
It’s not a theme I’d ordinarily choose
‘Tis a tender topic within the land I dwell
‘Cos there’s either too much or it’s parched as hell.
O’Brien’s Hanrahan watched the changing skies
“We’ll all be rooned!” were his constant cries
Whether far too much or not quite enough
That fickle rain had them doin’ it tough.
Right now the floods spread from north to east
Further south and in the west – the sun is a beast!
As El Niño and La Niña perform their dances
Our stewards of the land assess their chances
So to write of rain is a task quite daunting
When such weather seems bent on lots of taunting!
