Stan up the garden path


Stan was sweeping the garden path.He had a stiff broom with a small head that was useful for cleaning the edges of the steps.Emile, his beautiful cat was sitting in the old apple tree gazing down on Stan.
“Is it time for coffee yet,”Stan asked himself.He had forgotten to put on his watch.
Suddenly he heard a shriek.He peered through a hole in the fence.His neighbor Annie was lying on her back in some mud.
“Hang on, I’ll come round!” he called.
There was a gate in the old fence which was rarely locked since Annie loved to drop in on Stan.
“Oh,Annie, how are you feeling?” he asked her anxiously.
“Bloody annoyed.I’ve only just bought these,”Not your daughter’s jeans” and now I’ve torn them,” she replied politely.
“But you don’t have a daughter!” he informed her loudly.
“I know that.It’s just they are better cut for the mature figure.”
“Your figure is not mature.You are quite dear,” he murmured lovingly.
“Well,I never feel happy with it!” she said mutinously.
“Whereas I am very happy feeling it,” he responded romantically.
Tears came into her green eyes lined with purple eye shadow.Alas, it was not waterproof and purple rivulets ran down her cheeks across the peach blusher with which she had valiantly decorated herself earlier.
“Can you get up?” he asked tenderly.
“Yes, but it would be nice if you picked me up.”
He leant over her and licked the purple streams of tears off her cheeks.
“I hope it’s not poisonous,” she murmured.
Then with the aid of Emile, his cat, he lifted her to her feet and helped her into her large trendy kitchen.
The kettle switched itself on as they entered and a robotic voice asked if they’d like coffee.
“God in heaven, what the hell is that?” he cried confusedly.
“It’s my new computerised hot drink maker.After that fall I think a double espresso would be good.”Emile ran in and asked for coffee too.”Emile, you usually have milk,” Stan reminded him softly.
“Well, coffee is a new taste for me but I like a little.” the cat whispered sweetly.
“I’ll give you some of mine in a saucer,” Stan replied.Emile began to sob.”Why Emile, whatever is wrong?”
“I want a cup and saucer just like you” the cat howled.
But you have no hands, Emile,” Stan reminded him.
The poor cat was crying loudly now.So Stan rang 999.
“Can you please send the emergency ambulance round.the cat’s crying and all his hankies are in the wash.”
Soon Dave, the transvestite paramedic appeared.
“I love your light teal kitchen,” he informed Annie,
“And your eyes look like two deep pools in a coal mine.”
She slapped his cheek naughtily.
“Have a look at Emile” she ordered him sweetly.
I got you some Kleenex for Cats in Sainsbury’s.” he said gaily.”I want a real hanky,” cried Emile
.Dave took a clean hanky from his own pocket and dried the cat’s tears.
“What made you cry.Are you feeling bad.”
“Yes, I want to go to Cafe Nero,” Emile mioawed.
“Who told you about that?”
“Another cat down the road has been and he said it’s lovely for people watching.”
“The town is not safe for cats like you, Emile.”
Dave urbanely replied,
“But when summer comes I’ll take you to the out of town
Marks and Spencer’s.They have a cat’s coffee corner upstairs.”
“Wow,isn’t it amazing,”Stan wondered out loud.
So Dave poured out the coffee and they all sat down and discussed Ray Monk’s Life of Wittgenstein.Ray has discovered that Wittgenstein liked cats but as he moved around quite a bit, he never owned his own cat though Elizabeth Anscombe let him play with her three cats now and then.


We may all be different but most of us value the love of a good cat.Even boiling their hankies and ironing them is very nice.We all have this problem though.
Where can a cat carry his own hanky?
Do cats need shoulder bags?
What would Wittgenstein say?
And how about all of us?

Till a strange loud voice called out,”Ah! Men!”

I learned a hymn in our old  grey chapel
I realized then God ate that apple
Eve took the guilt and asked no,Whys.
Since then all women need to cty
Yet we went to church and we all sang.
The organ played and the big bells rang.
But we never heard the  answer then
till a strange loud voice called out,”Ah! Men!”
I’m not sure if we were made to sing.
Yet, what but joy can we each  bring?
The psalms will comfort us at night.
And in the dawn we see the Light.
Then we rise up and our songs float out.
The cats miaow as they run about.
The dogs join in to bark and growl.
And from the sky we hear God howl!

In the bed

I slept right in the centre of our bed
Instead of in that mouldy sleeping bag
I slept so near the edge it wore away
And I slid to the floor one night last May

In the middle all the space seemed large
No-one there to hold me in their arms
I did not read a book,I was worn out
Pondering on the means and on the doubts

I’ve been lonely like a little child
That mother sent to Office in a file
Waiting for the “open now” command
Will I get to heaven or be condemned?

The file is cold,the Word has little shame
Not guilty of my lack of love and name
I got Office 35678
I can ‘t make attachments , it’s too late

The world collapsed upon me like a cliff
I fell down this dirty yellow rift
Nobody could hear my screams and yells
Perhaps being truly dead may be less hell.

I crawled into my bed as into arms
Solid reassuring, warm and calm
I lay there in the middle , tried to pray
I can’t believe you’ve really gone away

I pray for all my family by name
My sister, brothers,cousins and the lame
I pray for readers who send notes to me
And for that random apple on the tree

I pray for friends who don’t believe in God
I pray for others ,mentally down-trod
Then I feel at loss and dream of you
Polishing my old black boots anew

Still I feel the emptiness inside
When I wake I know I feel your smile
Yet it’s not the same as being enrobed
In the arms of one who has great love

I guess we change but slowly and with pain
Like the folk who marched, their hope Remains

A blessing

You mean no more to me now than if I find

an old stone in a graveyard with faint traces of your name etched there

And all the love between us is cold and hard as that stone

That the love itself is dead and a barrier.not a connection

I could kick that stone with my foot with no more feelings than if it were a pebble

someone has brought back fom5 the seaside

A long time ago go and they don’t want it.

Yes my heart became a stone but I’ve got a new one now.

It’s been many years but my new heart is better than my old one.

So thank you very much for your performance.

I’m going to throw this pebble far away so the pebble can have a new start in life.

I’ll send a blessing with it it for everyone

I must not live with h

Too Much Mindfulness Can Worsen Your Mental Health

It only happens in a small number of cases if it’s worth doing now the meditation and mindfulness is being pushed as a cure for everything. If you feel uncomfortable stop and go for a walk through the park instead

Take a friend with you for a walk in the park

Knitting for calm and connection


Knitting puts me in the moment. As someone who has failed every attempt at meditation, or even at mindfulness, knitting calms my mind and brings me to the table, real or metaphorical. My hands move, I am aware of their movement. The yarn moves through my fingers, around my fingers, and I am aware of the tension (tension is another term with a technical meaning in knitting, and also, of course, a certain metaphorical importance).

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