Old Dogs and Fish

I have had reason lately to think about the saying, “You can’t teach an old dog new tricks”. You see I’m a natural born story teller, and gifted teacher but for reasons that are both tedious and romantic depending on my mood, I’m able to do neither.

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Not just furniture, but a concept…

We ordered a table. We have never “ORDERED” furniture – food yes, furniture no. We’re more the: ┬ábring it home yourself and have a mini hissy fit when you can’t find the screwdriver kind of people. But we lost it, freaked out like a couple of manic folks who have given the prosaic the old heave-ho for the week, only we didn’t buy a Porsche, we bought a TABLE.

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…That stillness that creeps over a house when the children are tucked into bed, the laptops are opened and there’s the quiet thunk of the keys remunerating great, quiet thoughts.

An old, comfortable quiet that gets interrupted with the request for a cuppa tea and brief exchange of news as the lull of the radio starts to over take the conversation and the house settles into itself for the night. The stillness creaks as the children shift in their beds and the stray jingle of the cats’ bell as he makes his nightly patrol of the house.

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Childhood, the Age of Reason

I don’t do meditation, it drives me nuts. I’ve never found the point of clearing my mind; organising it… ok, fair enough, but clearing it? Meh. I need purpose and a good reason to do most things.

When I was in grade school we were taught to work out nifty paper grids, follow the grid and you have every answer to your multiplication tables. So easy, so quick, so simple. I could not be convinced that there was any reason to bother to commit those self same facts to memory. My parents could not convince me. My teachers could not convince me. My sister on the other hand, was scary.

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