On being a Man

Sunday 5.01pm

I have a bit of an on off relationship with shopping. It all depends what I am shopping for. Grocery shopping is a planned affair with a list to be gone through. Put me in a delicatessen though and I’ll linger and browse, but then they are very much toy shops for grown ups. And clothes? well it depends on who it is for. For myself it is very much a hit and run affair, apart from the long periods spent in the changing room getting just the right pair of jeans. But if I am with Nicola and she is buying clothes for herself then that is a different story. As long as I can wander off to a bookshop occasionally I am quite happy tagging along. But my most favourite type of purchase is jewelry. Not for myself, I do not wear any, not even a watch, but for Nicola. We share the same taste in things, the same love of the handmade item made by a real craftsperson somewhere whose name is on the label and whom you could go and visit and talk to if you wanted something special. Of course jewelry is made to be worn and always I love how good Nicola looks when she wears these things.

Recently I was tagging along with Nicola as she bought a cardigan (I think). This was in her favourite store where she is quite well known now. As she came to pay she could not find her card so she looked at me and said “you’ll have to pay of course” so I did. This obviously impressed the woman behind the counter who’d watched me wander aimlessly around the store, hang around looking lost while she was in the changing room and then finally encourage Nicola to buy the cardy when she was unsure and pay for it as well. Turning to Nicola she said “ When you write that book about how to train husbands, can I have a copy!” 

We all laughed and left the store, but later on that day I finally decided to buy something that I have been thinking about for ages, what every man should have - a chainsaw.

Ever since then though I keep wondering - is there perhaps a connection between these two events?

Drawing again, at last

Sometimes you have to pay attention to what is nagging at the edges of your consciousness. And in my case for a while now it has been drawing. Or rather not drawing. Computers are great and I could not be without mine . . . but I miss getting my hands dirty and dusty and the fun of just scribbling away, the feel of chalk on paper and the sound of scissors as they cut.

So I have spent this weekend doing just that. 

Mist

Saturday 9.46am

There is something comforting about a misty day. Some days I want to look out upon distant vistas full of possibilities. On other days the world seems just too big, too full of insurmountable problems, and on days like these I need to be cocooned and feel safe from it all.

Coming home does that and I get the same feeling when walking surrounded by mist. The world becomes much smaller as I walk protected within my little bubble of light. Sound is muffled and all I can see are faint shadows, hints of what might be out there. There is a childlike innocence here as well because the ethereal shapes out there could just as easily be fairy castles as trees and rocks.

Within my bubble there is a brightness as the light is diffused and comes from all around, the colours yellow and green glow as if lit from within. Gone are the harsh shadows of reality. Here in my little patch of Scottish Autumn or New Zealand Winter I feel as if I have stepped off the train of life for a while and can draw breath, relax a little and gather myself ready to continue on with life . . .  




“So what becomes of the little boys who run away from home. The world just keeps on gettin’ bigger when you get out on your own.” Tom Waits