Sharpen the saw

Charlemont

Every now and then I need to remember what I am doing on this blog.  Refocus on the original purpose to remind myself what I am doing.  This blog is the journey of my mind.  MY MIND.  It is a selfish journey because it is all about me.  I am the Master of this Ship, I am Captain and Mate, Coxswain and Boatswain, AB, OS, Steward and Galley Boy.

You are here as my guests.  Nothing more than supercargo.  Sit back, relax, enjoy the view, complain if you wish.

This blog is not a quest for followers.  If you enjoy what I do that’s nice but changes nothing.  If you hate my blog I don’t care a whit.  If you thrive by expressing your hate of blogs you will gain no satisfaction here.

I have sailed this ship for almost three years.  I can go back in time and read the log and re-engage with the me of that time.  That is a very productive process on a personal and spiritual level.  I enjoy those meetings with myself.  My only regret is that I did not begin this process earlier.

My blog is an emotional snapshot.  I do my best to capture my emotional state at the time of writing the blog.  This is the primary purpose of the poems, and sometimes of the images.  For me it works.  Returning to past posts I don’t just remember the emotions, I feel them.

This week was my last in the Charlemont Place offices of Hostelworld.  The office is now closed and when I return next week it will be to Leopardstown.  For the coming week I will work remotely from home.

Yesterday Gavin returned to secondary school, kicking off third year in Rockwell.  He got the usual round of teachers speeches.  You know the ones.  “Summer is over – This is when it gets serious – Sorting the men from the boys – Time to grow up and take responsibility – yadda, yadda, yadda“.  We had a good laugh about it in the car on the way home.

Thursday I brought Jerry to UCC to check into his student dorm.  My office move pales in comparison to that journey.  It reminds me of a scene from the movie “The Sundowners”.  Sean is the son of the protagonists played by Robert Mitchum and Deborah Kerr.  He is becoming a man and decides to leave the family wagon and sleep with the men in the bunkhouse of the sheep station.  Peter Ustinov, who plays the part of mentor and sage, notes that it is the greatest journey the young man will ever make.

Sean:  This is the first time I was ever away from home.

Station Hand:  With your mom and dad not 50 yards outside that window. You call that being away from home?

Venneker (Ustinov):  Being out in the world’s a state of mind, not of geography.  Distance between that tent
and this bunkhouse……is the longest journey you’ll ever make in your life.

Thursday also saw Louise head to Dublin for research training.  It is her first real foray back into the workplace since the birth of Gavin.  The highways of possibilities emerging from this step are broad and exciting.

Finally Esha will return to UCT next week and begin fifth year.  She is now on the final push to the leaving cert having completed a truly excellent transition year.

The final week of August 2015 is a ripened gourd, turgid with possibilities, tumescent and feracious.

There is no frigate like a book; by Emily Dickinson

There is no Frigate like a Book
To take us Lands away,
Nor any Coursers like a Page
Of prancing Poetry –
This Traverse may the poorest take
Without oppress of Toll –
How frugal is the Chariot
That bears a Human soul.

Book Frigate

Wings

pandoras-box

Happy Birthday to Emily Dickinson, December 10th 1830! Woody Allen wrote a book called “Without Feathers”. It was an homage to Dickinsons poem on Hope. Was Woody suggesting he was hopeless? If you haven’t read “Without Feathers” then you are in for a real treat. It is fantastic.

I once acted in the play “God” from the book “Without Feathers”. I don’t know if we were any good, but it was a lot of fun. I laughed a lot.

And so to Hope. Hope is the thing with feathers. It is also a charity.  Give freely for Christmas, or for not Christmas, either will be welcome;  Hope Foundation Ireland

Hope is also the thing that emerged last from Pandoras box. Another great story!

Hope

Hope is the thing with feathers
That perches in the soul,
And sings the tune–without the words,
And never stops at all,

And sweetest in the gale is heard;
And sore must be the storm
That could abash the little bird
That kept so many warm.

I’ve heard it in the chillest land,
And on the strangest sea;
Yet, never, in extremity,
It asked a crumb of me.