I Remember Days

I Remember Days

I heard a song that reminded me of days spent both as a youth and in the past. Summer days with summer thoughts. I cannot even remember the name of the song or the singers, I heard it as the backing song on an advertisement. Yet this snippet of song made me think.

My thinking was not of the days spent with other people, the games played or the moments shared. Rather it was about happy times of peace and quiet in places that I was alone and yet at peace. Solitary moments, happy moments. Most of those were in times of holidays and warm places.

I had many thoughts of how I could express this and in the end this was what came of the thinking. When the colours were there before me this was what happened.

I painted this first as a little acrylic on a sheet of acrylic paper and put it in a little mount ( Matt).  MY friends who shared it with me all said the same as I was feeling, they liked it but could not say why.

Yesterday I got bold and painted it on a large canvas board 16" x 20" The scale meant making some small changes. Does it work? I am not sure, but i have put it in a nice black and silver frame and put it behind glass and each time I pass it and look at it I do feel some sense of peace. That is actually something, because right now I am in considerable pain, from what i do not know, and for a painting to bring some peace and comfort is saying something.

Memories of Summer ( The Small Version of the Painting Above.)

I Remember. ( No More)

Today I felt so alive as I ran in the snow. I could almost hear the beating of my heart and each breath I could see as it left me. It made me remember the first ever hospital visit I made as a minister. It was very near the end of my degree course in divinity. The church I was going to be apreacher in had organised a conference for new ministers to be. During it we were to make a pastoral visit to an hospital patient. A number of patients had been asked if they would agree to such a visit. It was to last about fifteen minutes, and we were to report back to the group.

I was to visit a young lady who had been in the hospital long term. That was all I was told. I met her, and instantly we seemed to feel at ease. An hour later I left. She had shared so many memories with me. The next day I returned with this poem. It was read at her funeral a few weeks later and given to her sons.

I do not know why, but today I remembered that event, I share it with you. I do not know why but I do.

The Poem.

I Remember (No More)

I watch the drops of rain run down the window pane.

Small river following their unmapped course,

I have watched this window day by day

for long and weary months.

I saw the man with the mower in the summer sun,

and remembered the stacks of grass we threw

in other summer suns.

I remember other things we threw,

the stones that crashed against the glass.

I hear again the sound and feel the fear

of being caught.

Running breathless – hiding.

I have watched the leaves falling from yonder tree.

Watched as the last one held on.

Willing it to stay for me.

I remember the smell of dying leaves kicked with joyful rustle.

Through this “pain”, this pane.

I have watched the changing seasons go.

spring became summer and then autumn

to this the winter of my life.

I remember sledging with children,

laughing, cold, yet full of fun.

No more for me the things of life.

No more to lie and hold my lover fast.

No more the sounds of summer joys

or children’s hugs.

No more, for life is swiftly ebbing on.

But, no more do I fear

for things to be, tomorrow or the next.

For through the pain

I have caught a glimpse.

And seen beyond the morrow.

My heart has heard a whispered voice.

That talks of more to be.

I will be remembered, cherished , loved

By the boys who are yet to be.

I am aware this can be a sad poem but as you can see, I hope it comes back to me in moments of intense joy. The young lady still inspires me and fills me with hope and courage, even though it was some 40 years and more I met her.

This blog is linked to my other.  Living in Difficult Situations.

Coming Home To Roost.

Coming Home To Roost.

I was told that it would not be possible to upload to blogger at the time that I normally write my post. So I will not be able to share with you the marvellous gates I came across yesterday on the new running route I found. I was so sure Jerry would liked to have seen them. The artistry was amazing.

As I was talking about living in the past on my other blog I added this painting about coming home to roost.

I often watch the birds return from the sea to roost overnight. Or the starlings in their hundreds gathering together to roost in safety.

But our past can often come back to roost and haunt our present. It was this that I was trying to think about on my other blog.

This painting was a very large painting. I thought it was never going to sell and was giving thought to using the canvas again. Thank goodness I took ages to get round to doing it because it did in fact sell and the person who purchased it has had many hours of pleasure from it he assures me.

This blog is linked to my other. Let Us Not Dwell In The Past

The Wee Burn

The Wee Burn

Let me start by giving a very fast translation of the title of this blog. I am sure you all know the Scottish word for small is the word wee. Burn in Scots has two meanings, the normal one meaning to set alight and burn with flame the other mean a little river. So anything really not large enough to be given the name river we call a burn. When I was young I remember getting my fishing net and heading off to one such burn to fish for minnows.

Yesterday I retraced my steps to the wee burn. My, how it had changed. There were trees where there had been no trees before. I saw no sign of children with nets trying to catch minnows though I did catch sight of a few of those. If I had just had a net.

It was not so warm yesterday but I still determined to do a small quick sketch. I could then go home with the sketch and another memory to put in my little magic box. (To learn about my magic box see my other blog).

The place was already full of memories for me so I opted to try and portray this seen as fast as I could trying to capture feeling rather then reality. I opted for the abstract approach. I can hear all you pencil lovers laughing. Yes I know layer on layer.

The finished product is very haphazard and has a very unfinished look to it. Maybe one day I might turn it into a full canvas abstract, in the meantime it made me feel good as I walked away to head home.

This blog is linked to my other.  The Empty Box

The Dam

The Dam

My thoughts were back to that difficult time in my life when I had to do a total rethink of what I was doing and where I was going. A minister with no voice was no minister at all. This prompted my other blog on Saturday. An email about this blog prompted further thoughts. Yesterday I returned to the place where this episode of my life took place. Strangely I do not live all that far from that place now.

When I was unable to speak I used to run each morning taking a route round a reservoir. Oddly enough although it is a reservoir it is called Gartmorn Dam. It was a beautiful run about two miles to the start of the path round the water, three miles round and two miles back. At one point a platform looking like a small harbour had been built, sadly no longer there. At this small decked area I stopped and did 20 minutes of Tai Chi looking out over the water to the Ochil Hills. Then I ran the return journey home.

Yesterday I went down memory lane and walked the route, taking my pencils with me.

Here is the result. A bit rushed and just as I was finishing this little sketch a family arrived with a dog. The young boy looked over my shoulder and asked his mother to look at what I was doing. Meanwhile the dog had run into the water jumped back out and shook himself depositing drops of water on my bad.

It seems that maybe this part of Scotland does not like me too much in spite of the fact I love it.

The blog is linked to my other.  What Kind of Person Am I?