Ray Erwin and his 1958 Chevy Impala.

Texas. 2016

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Ken Stork. Pain-free.

An extraordinary and caring flickr friend who made others feel special...even when he wasn't feeling so physically great himself.

Ken would wonder whether he had done enough good on this planet Earth when his time had run out.

An incident about which Ken had written me:

'One day last week, a teen- age boy came to my door, and started to recite the spiel,which they have to when trying to sell. Across his jacket was a very large identification badge, which said "Young Offender".

He rabbited on how good his Probation Officer was and so on.

This lad at my door was clearly anxious I would buy nothing and he was afraid. I bought a car cleaning glove, knowing there were at least two at the entrance of my garage unused.

An "offender" is not some hardened criminal, or someone who has done something seriously wrong. Community service, like helping to tidy town litter, or assist in maintaining elderly peoples' gardens is a more positive approach. But to make a young person go to strangers' homes with a stigmata writ large across his chest is a step back into the Medieval Ages.'

This was Ken.....you are missed, my friend. You did enough good.

Ken had two photo streams:

www.flickr.com/photos/78522451@N00

www.flickr.com/photos/143580806@N03

******

Flickr friends, if you read this far, you did good:)....enjoy the weekend.....Pat....xo

I'll be upfront about this. Friday for me, isn't the yesterday that GMT says it is. But this sculpture is physically in the GMT timezone. I've been honest, so don't argue!

Lost, wandering in space and time, non-stop since Singapore I bounced down Plymouth's Castle Street not knowing what was at the other end. It could have been the fantasy Mayflower Steps — the originals have gone — or plaques erected for this or that historical matter. Instead, there was this. I found it far more engaging, and it seems, more than a bit controversial. Deal with it. "They" mightn't think it's art. But in my dislocated state, it matches my awareness making it either art or an hallucination. Given that this is a photograph and it has persisted for a year, it's less likely that it was an hallucination.

Officially The Leviathan, named for the ancient sea monster of mythology passed up from a more ancient past into Middle Eastern religious dogma, this confection of metalwork has been cruelly termed the Barbican Prawn by its detractors. Standing on cormorant feet, with the tail of a plesiosaur, fins styled on those of a John Dory, claws borrowed from a crustacean and a head modelled on an angler fish it is all nightmare and no prawn at all. It perfectly matches my deranged state.

The work is attributed to an artist from Glossop, in Derbyshire. Knowing that Derbyshire is landlocked may help to understand the artist's understanding of piscine anatomy! This recalls that glossop, (n), is defined in the seminal Meaning of Liff as "A rogue blob of food. Glossops, which are generally steaming hot and highly adhesive invariably fall off your spoon and on to the surface of your host's highly polished antique-rosewood dining table. If this has not, or may not have, been noticed by the company present, swanage (q.v.) may be employed." The authors, Adams and Lloyd, also observe that Plymouth is a verb meaning "To relate an amusing story to someone without remembering that it was they who told it to you in the first place". I haven't told you this before…have I?

Anyway, I'm off to Plympton in a couple of days. Those same authors observe that plympton (n.) is "The (pointless) knob on top of a war memorial". Curiously, I wandered down here passed the Plymouth Naval Memorial with its triumphantly spherical plympton glowing greenly in the evening light.

“Whatever you are physically...male or female, strong or weak, ill or healthy--all those things matter less than what your heart contains. If you have the soul of a warrior, you are a warrior. All those other things, they are the glass that contains the lamp, but you are the light inside.” ~ Cassandra Clare

[94/365]

Worn. Damaged. Broken. Frayed.

Thats what we are. We're unable to hold ourselves together.

We physically and mentally do not have the strength to do it.

What have we become? Where has our innocence and childhood gone?

What is innocence nowadays? We're are exposed to things they shouldn't have to deal with until later in life.

Is it so hard to be who we truly are without the judgement? Without the hatred?

When will we truly figure out who we are and what our purpose is?

And it hurts more than anything ever has.

- Words by my best friend.

#White

Milwaukee. 2016

© All rights reserved. All my images are copyrighted. Any unauthorized use is strictly prohibited. No image can be copied, reproduced, shared, altered or used in any way, both physically or electronically, without my prior written permission.

The Meridian Building, with its distinctive brick exterior and centralized location, has been a landmark in Downtown West Palm Beach since 1926. Recently designated as a Historical

Building, The Meridian first opened as the Southern Bell Telephone & Telegraph Company Building, housing the original phone network for the area.

The building is still physically attached to the large

AT&T Switching facility servicing the entire Caribbean and the BellSouth Cable Vault is located in the basement.

The building is set up with an expansive fiber-optic network, heavy-duty high-grade electric power, and a substantial structural design making it an ideal facility for any telecommunications and/or high tech companies needing unique access to telecommunications and fiber optic connectivity.

Last but not least, the architectural aesthetics of the interior are awesome with high ceilings, huge window openings, and large open floor plates. Similar to what you might see in NYC and Chicago but very rare for South Florida.

In summary, the Meridian Building offers a very unique office opportunity in a great Downtown

location.

Fantastic centralized location in Downtown West Palm Beach. Two blocks from Clematis Street, two blocks from CityPlace, two blocks from the Intracoastal Waterway.

Credit for the data above is given to the following websites:

www.emporis.com/buildings/261530/the-meridian-building-tq...

www.loopnet.com/Listing/14031958/326-Fern-Street-West-Pal...

www.apartmenthomeliving.com/apartment-finder/Alexander-Lo...

www.trulia.com/p/fl/west-palm-beach/326-fern-st-west-palm...

www.loopnet.com/Listing/17569743/326-Fern-Street-West-Pal...

© All Rights Reserved - you may not use this image in any form without my prior permission.

Esmerelda / Come What May sailing in the Sound of Bute, Scotland. Inchmarnock and Arran in the distance

Log of the Dinghy Esmerelda or Come What May

Three seasons learning to sail (1998 - 2000)

May 1998

For years, it seems, it has been at the back of my mind that, when it was convenient, I would learn to sail my own boat. Life being such as it is, I have spent the last nine years living within ten minute's walk of the sea but have not been in a sailing boat in all that time. Last weekend, I answered an advert in the local paper. Now, I am the proud owner of a 14ft Lark sailing dinghy! Ian, the seller, kindly offered to teach me to sail her. She’s a modest little boat, but seems worth the price. Adam (my elder son) is delighted and is raring to have a go.

****

Yesterday evening was our first time out on the water, not on the tide, but on West Kirby marine lake in the Dee estuary. I felt very much an incompetent land-lubber. I have a whole new set of coordination skills to learn, certainly more than when learning to ride a motorcycle or drive a car, but this is part of the challenge. I think it helps to have the limbs and bodily plasticity of an octopus.

****

Ian took me out in the boat for the second time yesterday evening and it was beautiful! - sun sinking in the west, warm blue sky, a gentle breeze and the boat gliding effortlessly through the water. If I am not yet completely hooked, then I soon shall be. My aspirations are modest: I'd be thrilled simply to learn the necessary skills and gain the confidence to navigate the Wirral coast.

****

This sailing has really got a grip on me. I spent last Thursday night in Manchester so that I could start earlier on Friday in order to be home by 5 p.m. to take the boat out. It was wild! The wind was approaching force 4 and we managed to capsize twice, (although we were the last boat on the lake to do so). It is a wonderful activity which, like mountaineering, is completely absorbing both mentally and physically, and which, if you're not actually doing it, then you're thinking about doing it or pottering around with the equipment. I'm pleased, because it has restored a dimension to my life that has been sadly lacking for a few years. Alix and I have decided definitely to withdraw our house from sale and stay put here on the coast, at least for the foreseeable future.

Inanimate objects

I hesitate to consider my boat an inanimate object. She has several traits suggestive of animation, and female at that:

a nice shape,

moves gracefully,

behaves wilfully,

demands attention,

requires sensitive handling,

and on two occasions has been quite upset and ditched me.

Friday 12th June 1998

Stimulating, thrilling, absorbing and therapeutic.

We went out last Saturday and plan to again this Saturday. It is time I took it out on my own though, or rather with someone I can't rely on to take the initiative in a tricky situation. After all, the whole idea is to sail this boat myself. With this in mind, I persuaded my German colleage Tobias to come over on Sunday to join me. He has never sailed, so it'll be the blind leading the blind, but it has to be the quickest way to learn.

Sunday 14th June 1998

Achievement!

I took the boat out truly as 'skipper' this evening (with Tobias). The wind was northerly, gusting force 4, and slightly intimidating - I nearly called the whole thing off - but once we'd cast off it was magical!

Suddenly after all the flapping and palaver of rigging, all is quiet and smooth as we glide downwind. A slightly anxious moment ensues when I realize we'll have to gybe before we run out of lake, but this manoeuvre works smoothly and I realize with relief that I can actually tack back against the wind.

After an hour, despite some interesting moments, we have managed to avoid capsizing and are still relatively dry. We are rewarded by the sun peeping out from under the clouds just before it vanishes below the horizon.

Clynnog fawr, Lleyn Peninsula, north Wales, July 1998

Wonderful holiday! - the best I think for several years. Brothers Martin and Chris and our three families (15 of us in all) staying in a farm house together. Best of all was to see all the kids together (eight cousins and one half-sister) - how the older ones looked after and amused the younger ones, and also how the younger ones amused the adults, and how the adults are actually kids at heart and behave as such when they are all together. It was invaluable to have so many young cousins for Adam to play with, and to be able to let Ricky trot out into the large green spaces around the house and to play in the sand, knowing that there were nearly always three or four others keeping an eye on him.

The farm itself was in a beautiful location on a magnificent length of coast, north west facing, catching the best of the sunsets. The whole area is delightfully quiet and unspoilt (and only two hours drive from home, even towing the boat). The weather was not ideal, but we still managed to spend a large proportion of the time outside.

At the beginning of the week high winds, cloud and some rain made it quite unsuitable for sailing but we managed some hiking and some went horse riding. By Wednesday, the forecast was slightly better and we'd discovered relative shelter and what seemed to be a nice launching site at the northern end of Llanberis Lake, so we decided to sail come what may. [At this moment Come What May suggested itself as a name for my boat. Only later did I discern the name Esmerelda almost completely faded written on the hull.]

It turned out to be a delightful, sunny and warm afternoon, the shore had trees to climb, sticks and stones to splash in the water and soft grassy spots for picnics. We launched and I was able to take everyone out in turn. For Adam and Alix it was actually their first time, the complexities of child care being what they are. Adam was fairly excited but not a hundred percent confident, he finds it a little intimidating but hopefully that will change. It was the perfect day for him - gentle and warm.

The next day started fine with a light breeze. Majority interest however determined that we go riding again followed by a pub lunch, but in the afternoon I was determined to get the boat out. The tide was up and three of us succeeded in handling it down a steep track to the shore and then over small, slippery, seaweed-covered boulders to the water's edge.

I still find it miraculous how, once rigged, with a quick shove and hop in, we are gliding through the water as if by magic (hoping a freak gust doesn't turn us round before I grab hold of the tiller and get the centreplate down!)

Caernarfon Bay, and first time on the sea! The swell was a little daunting as we sailed into deeper water, especially with four adults aboard (not sailed with that many before), but I practised a few tacks, sailing up-wind and down-wind, and she seemed to handle alright without shipping water, albeit a bit heavy at the tiller, so I was happy. It was a delight with the rhythm of the waves and the late afternoon sun sparkling through the spray and sea to the open horizon; with our course set for the open Atlantic I just wanted to keep going. Fortunately, I didn't. All of a sudden there was no more resistance on the tiller and we swung round into the wind: the rudder had torn off its mounting! I was glad that I'd invested in some oars as a precaution with which we were able to turn about to face shoreward; then, by holding the rudder (fortunately still attached to the boat by the uphaul line) and leaning right into the water astern, we were able to hold a course back to the shore. I since realised that the reason the rudder felt so heavy in the first place was because it was not engaged in its fixed down position but trailing horizontally behind; the extra leverage combined with the weight in the boat must have sheared the two mounting bolts. I've now repaired it with four new reinforcing bolts. It was a learning experience and exciting at the time. The others all seemed to enjoy it and seemed to think it was all in a day's sailing adventures.

7th August 1998

Last weekend was wonderful. Summer finally seemed to have arrived: it was comfortable to spend dawn 'til dusk in shorts and T shirt and to sit out late in the garden for dinner with a bottle of wine after the kids were in bed. Adam and I went onto the beach on Sunday and spent a good hour just splashing in the sea and being crabs and sea-monsters wallowing in the deep soft sand. Simple happiness!

More exciting still, I took the boat out twice. First, on West Kirby marine lake completely on my own for the very first time. I was out on the water by 7.30 a.m., it was a gorgeous morning and I had the whole lake and, indeed it seemed, the whole estuary to myself. Second, again on my own, on the high tide for the first time. Two significant achievements which have given me such a thrill that I can't wait to do it again! In fact, I can now say that I have achieved my long held ambition of being able to sail my own boat on the sea, albeit in very easy conditions: a smooth surface and barely a breath of wind. I sailed for three hours on the high spring tide and was really chuffed to be out there on my own, but it would have been nice to have had some good company too. I feel this is only the beginning: my curiosity is already drawing me to peruse the second-hand yacht sections of the sailing magazines!

17th August 1998

I had my sailing abilities stretched this weekend when I took the boat out on the tide in a breeze that was slightly too strong for me (also my muscles and parts of the boat were well stretched). It was a humbling experience:

On the sea front, the breeze felt rather intimidating. The lifeguard on duty hailed me, having seen me with my boat the previous week,

"Going out today?"

I confided my reservations to him, but he replied, presumably intending to encourage me,

"Only way to learn, by experience!"

This was a challenge I felt bound to accept.

Having rigged and launched, all there was to do was push off and hop in. It was that moment of hesitation that reminded me of the feeling I had as a novice skier on the lip of my first black run: the point of no return. Hesitation over, the first few seconds I spent struggling to lower the rudder, which for some reason would not go down (because, I found out later, I'd hitched the uphaul too tight), while keeping an eye on other boats at their moorings skimming past me at an alarming rate even before I'd trimmed the sails. In the excitement, I forgot to lower the centreplate, which meant that having covered about half a mile in what seemed like about ten seconds I tried to come about into the wind but couldn't. Hemmed in by a sand bank on one side and an approaching groyne on the other, there seemed to be little room to manoeuvre and all I could do was gybe, but this didn't work properly either and I capsized. I realised the centreplate wasn't down when I tried to stand on it to pull the boat back upright, it then took me a few moments to lower it because first I had to untangle the anchor warp from the centreplate uphaul, the two having become intertwined. The boat then righted quite easily and I tacked back against the wind with the water gurgling reassuringly out through the self-bailers; I was determined not to be defeated.

Eventually though, the jib became wrapped around the forestay and I capsized again trying to unwind it. At this point I felt I was doing everything wrong and it was time to come in so I limped back to the slip still half full of water where by now a small group of spectators had gathered to watch me, including the lifeguard and two old sea-dogs who'd obviously been passing comment. Later, the lifeguard told me that the old sea-dogs were "impressed" that I'd got back without assistance. But really I don't suppose I impressed anyone much. I clearly have much to learn.

7th September 1998

I took Adam out in the boat on Saturday. There was almost no breeze: we seemed to spend long periods just playing with the sails trying to detect what little air movement there was. Adam had a go at the helm which quite thrilled him, and he even tacked. He was pretty good at holding a course when I told him to steer towards particular landmarks.

The dissipated remnants of hurricane Danielle have been lurking off the coast of Ireland these last few days and forecast to be moving across the British Isles; on Sunday the wind got up and there were gales forecast in the Irish Sea and I chickened out of going out on my own although several boats did sail on the high tide.

14th September 1998

Sunday was too windy for sailing. I'm going to have to experiment with techniques for reefing the sails, or sailing on the jib only.

18th September 1998

I saw a centre page pull-out guide in one of the yachting magazines this week entitled, "Your guide to crossing the Atlantic" - I dream.

9th October 1998

It's been cool and windy here but with a lot of bright sunshine interrupted by occasional showers. The leaves are starting to thin on the trees and most of the apples are in, except the late ripening ones. I was hoping there might have been a chance to take the boat out, but the weather really wasn't suitable. Most of the moored sailing boats are coming in onto dry land for the winter now.

I did get some useful clearing done in the garden and managed to build up our supply of fire-wood. Richard was following me behind the wheelbarrow and he managed to tumble into the pond!

It is simply beautiful being out in the garden. There is something very special about this time of year: the colours, the earthy smells and the sound of the wind in the trees.

20th October 1998

Autumn has set in a big way: chilly, grey and wet, and particularly dismal now that the nights are drawing in. Definitely time for the wood fire in doors. It was beautiful though in the garden on Sunday: I got a lot of clearing done and generated much material for bonfire night; also, I came across a hedgehog - not so rare in our garden but unusual in broad daylight and nice to see. Adam insisted I tell stories to him about hedgehogs for the rest of the day.

3rd November 1998

At 11 p.m. there was a 10 metre tide bursting on the sea wall with a strong northwesterly wind behind it and a full moon. I never saw such a high tide here. The sea was all over the road. I felt a strange, pleasant, almost terrified excitement because there is one recurring nightmare that I have occasionally had in adult life which involves standing on a foreshore and seeing the monster of all waves rising up and bearing towards me and the growing realisation that I won't escape it in time.

Our bonfire party is tomorrow. As usual, a huge pile of wood has appeared as though by magic in the night, the local contractors see it as an opportunity for free rubbish disposal and it will take four of us half the day to built it into burnable shape tomorrow, but this is all part of the fun. Adam is looking forward to it and so am I.

2nd December 1998

We like too much where we live: our wonderful garden, horses over the fence, lying in bed listening to the waves on a summers night, the crashing surf of a winter storm, opening the door to the tangy smell of sea air in the morning, sunrise in a crispy dawn sparkling on frost-covered sand, and the pink rays of setting sun over the water glowing off the distant Welsh hills. It's a clear, frosty night with a full moon. There's a thin, misty vapour over the water as the tide silently slides past the sea wall and the oyster catchers make their eerie call - I love it!

***

26th April 1999

Out sailing again - first launch this year. Saturday was a beautiful day and I took Adam out on the high tide in the evening while the sun was lowering in the west. It was neap and there was virtually no wind - very still, we moved like a whisper. It was so still that we went aground (neap tides don't leave much room to manoeuvre between sand banks) and didn't even notice that we were stuck for about a minute! It was good to be on the water again.

28th April 1999

The sun is a great red orb above the horizon. The boat is all set for launching at the next available opportunity - this weekend. It is a long weekend with the May Day holiday and there are high spring tides around midday - perfect!

14th May 1999

Sailing has been wonderful! Especially yesterday, when conditions were perfect and I spent three hours exploring some of the far reaches of the sand-banks several miles up and down the coast. I'm looking for the best route across the shallows that will allow me to circumnavigate the islands in the mouth of the Dee estuary on a single high tide. The timing is important in order to avoid being left high an dry.

18th May 1999

Sailing is good exercise: strong on the back and arms hauling the trailer along the road to and from the slipway, and then on the tummy muscles when leaning out to balance the boat when it's heeling over.

I had an embarrassing little incident two weeks ago in front of the lifeboat. It was a perfect day for sailing, sunny with a gentle breeze. I'd been out for about an hour and was starting to think about coming in for some lunch when I saw the Hoylake lifeboat coming past. This is a big, powerful, offshore boat with an experienced, sea-going crew. It pulled up close to our slipway, and the crew having passed some lines ashore set about some rescue exercises. Meanwhile, I thought I'd better make a good impression. I gave them a wide berth and tacked cleanly round to make my approach to the slipway in such a way as to avoid any risk of entanglement with their lines. Gliding in smoothly, I reached aft to raise the rudder to stop it grounding, but instead managed to pull the tiller off the rudder stock: the boat slewed round out of all control and, before I could do anything about it, heeled over wildly and capsized, right in front of the life-boat! What's more, a crewman was recording the whole incident on video! I righted the boat without assistance and then sailed out again to allow the self-bailers to empty the boat of water to avoid the embarrassment of having to do so ashore. Afterwards, our local lifeguard, who was also there on duty, remarked that I couldn't have chosen a better moment: the lifeboat only comes down here about once a year!

We've finally booked our holiday cottage for this summer: a house on the shores of Loch Torridon, way up in the north west of Scotland. I'm really looking forward to it. It is in one of the most beautiful parts of Scotland and a superb area for mountaineering. Everything is literally on the doorstep. There is access to the loch to launch the boat and the cottage lies at the very foot of one of the most spectacular mountains in Scotland, Liathach, the crest of which, soaring to 3,456ft directly above the sea, is considered to be one of the four classic ridge routes in the country. Of course, scope for serious mountaineering will be limited, but at least we will be four adults to share child minding. Unfortunately, the cottage was only available for one week and not two, but we plan to take the tent and tour for a few days after. I'm already really excited.

10th June 1999

Sailing, it is completely absorbing and I love it! This was my diary entry last weekend:

Onshore breeze, about force 3, which seems plenty strong enough for me single handed. The question arises how to launch at a right angle to the breeze with the sails up; hoisting the sails once afloat would be the better solution but with no means of holding the bow this could be awkward. I wheel the boat on the trolley half into the water then swing the trolley to head the boat into the wind, hoist the sails, rig the rudder, then manoeuvre the trolley so as to allow the boat to float, holding the bow. I'm glad Alix then turns up to retrieve the trolley. Which direction to cast off? Try to avoid the embarrassing and awkward situation of being blown back onto the sea wall before making way, but to make good way, must lower the plate and sheet-in immediately but can't lower the plate until in deeper water. Conundrum. Oh well, try it. Here goes. Shove, hop in and grab tiller. Impetus of shove already gone, drifting back on shore into small party launching rowing boat; sheet-in sheet-in: yes! now 45 degrees to wind and making way, miraculously avoid sea wall. Rudder down, plate down - no, not enough depth for plate, grounding on sand bank; half raise plate, can't tack, bear round with wind, avoid moored boats, must gybe - tricky in confined space, risk of capsize. Steady gybe by holding vang as boom swings across. Success! Now on course with clear water ahead.

It takes a few minutes of lively sailing to convince myself that I am really in control. The swell is slight but riding the waves is exciting as every other crest bursts on the bow, shooting spray up my bum leaning out over the windward gunwale. Shortly, the rhythmic plunge and rise through the waves works a very soothing effect, my senses become fully attuned to my immediate surroundings and all else seems a world away.

Hoylake Sailing Club Regatta, 15th June 1999

I actually took part in a race this weekend. The local sailing club held its annual regatta. While I was launching on Friday evening one of the officers of the club introduced himself and invited me to take part. It's quite an event locally, with a lot of visiting boats from the region and open to non-members.

So there I was on the water on Sunday morning with only the vaguest notion of what was expected. I was confused by the order of buoys and posts that marked out the course, which ones to pass on which side and in which order. Then there was the gun. There were meant to be six minute and three minute warning shots but I'm sure there was an extra one, and on which side of the line was I supposed to be? At the last moment but too late it suddenly became clear and the start gun found me on the wrong side of the line going the wrong way! The other boats were racing towards the first buoy whilst I having recrossed the line lagged hopelessly in their wake. For a while I was able to follow them, but as the wind got up and the sea became grey and choppy the field spread out and even some of the more experienced boats appeared to become confused and eventually I had to admit that I really didn't know where I was supposed to be heading! Oh well, I'll know what to expect another time.

I appreciated the opportunity to make contact with the sailing club. They seem to be a friendly and pleasantly informal lot and I may consider joining, partly for access to their rather nice clubhouse with bar overlooking the sea, but partly also because it represents a chance to get to know people whose company I might enjoy and who share an enthusiasm for sailing. It is not a sporty, highly competitive dinghy racing club, although they do organise racing on some Sundays. I have the impression that the competitive aspects are not taken too seriously. It is more a group of people who enjoy sailing in all its forms, which suits me. The attractive clubhouse is an added bonus.

It was not a competitive streak that induced me to participate in the race on Sunday, but an exploratory streak to see how I might enjoy it, and a sense of curiosity to see how my sailing matched up to others. I realised that racing is a good way to hone one's skills because I did a lot more manoeuvring and trying to maximise efficiency than when out on my own. I can see how racing could be enjoyable because it involves optimizing your performance, which can be thrilling and satisfying (and it would be nice to win sometimes too) but I can't yet see myself wanting to race regularly. Like skiing, I see sailing as a means of exploration rather than a competitive sport.

Tuesday 6th July 1999

We were sailing on Sunday, all of us together for a change. Rick was very excited before he got in, then once underway he kept saying, "Tip over!" and looking worried, but he got used to it for before long he was scrambling to the stern to grab the tiller saying, "Have it, Ricky do it!" Meanwhile Adam was intent that I tell him a story about some limpets who make friends with some ammonites. I am learning that taking the kids out demands additional skills to normal sailing competence.

We're soon away to Scotland for a fortnight. I actually bought myself a fishing rod and some tackle just in case the wind drops while out on the loch, as if I won't have enough to occupy myself with a boat and kids and magnificent nearby mountains. It telescopes down to 18 inches so it won't take up much space. I thought it might be fun for the kids too (good excuse, eh? Of course I'm just a big one.) I have fished exactly twice in my life and caught one trout about four inches long, so the family probably shouldn't rely on me for food.

Torridon and Kishorn, July 1999

[Monday 2nd August 1999, back home.] It is hard to be back after such a lovely break. Tragic actually. I suddenly see all the things that are wrong with my life here and what an effort it is to try to force myself to put up with them. Especially I see how drab, ugly and over-crowded are the areas where I live and work, even our little patch on the coast holds no magic compared with the northwest of Scotland.

While we were away it was wonderful to be able to spend so much time continually with Richard and Adam and coming back I realize how unnatural it is for a parent to see so little of his children as I normally do here. I have no illusions that we have a right to a perfect life - there is no reason why working for a living should be easy - but some things need to change.

The northwest of Scotland would certainly have limitations as a place to live, the principal of which would be an acceptable means to make a living, followed by the distance to secondary schooling for the boys. Also, family visits would be much less frequent, the midges bite terribly and the weather would not be as reliably good as we had it at least in the second week. But as for the rest of it - city life - I don't need it.

We spent the first week on the shores of Loch Torridon nestling at the foot of two of the principal mountains of the area. Torridon is rugged country - one of the last places in Britain to have glaciers as late as 9,000 BC - but like the whole west highland seaboard, sublimely beautiful. Other fjord-scape coastlines in the world are certainly more splendid, but Scotland has a special charm that appeals to me personally.

The peaks of Torridon rise straight out of the sea to over three thousand feet and are composed of thousand Myr old sandstone, which in the larger corries takes the form of sheer, dark grey precipices of giant masonry blocks, and on the tops, precariously placed boulders like part-melted stacks of huge dinner plates. Many of the peaks are capped with silver-grey quarzite which when wet glints and sparkles in the sun. The whole is founded on much older bed-rock (up to half the age of the earth) which shows itself in places as contorted swirls of intermingled shades of pink, orange and fiery red streaked with white. The region has remnants of the original Caledonian pine forest still undisturbed after eight thousand years. But the principal charms are the play of cloud and light on the hills and sea, and the unhurried style of life, where people still leave their house doors unlocked when they go out.

We had a fair bit of drizzle and overcast days in the first week, during the course of which ours was the only boat we saw afloat in the whole of Upper Loch Torridon. In fact, one afternoon, Martin and I were sitting in the boat in the middle of the loch, with the clouds low on the hills and the rain dribbling down the sails, awaiting any movement of air that might get us back to shore before tea, and I did start to wonder what it might take before I started to question my enjoyment!

Another day Martin and I thought we'd make the most of any time when the breeze died by trying my new fishing rod and three hundred piece fishing kit. Out on the water, the sails lolling impotenty, I gave Martin charge of the helm, should any light air arise to stir us, while I sorted hooks and fiddled, trying to remember how to tie them to the line. All of a sudden, there were ripples on the water, the sails filled, the boat heeled wildly and we were creating a creaming bow wave, covering the distance across the loch in a couple of minutes that it had taken us a whole afternoon the previous day, while I scrabbled to prevent fish hooks from littering the floor around our bare feet and at the same time tried to give instruction to Martin who'd never helmed a dinghy!

Come the weekend, the clouds evaporated and there followed six days of glorious hot weather when we were out everyday in T-shirts and shorts, even on the water and up at 3,000ft late into the evening - very unScottish! We found accommodation slightly farther south, with magnificent views from our living room window up into the majestic corries of Applecross and out to Skye, in a secluded bungalow just outside the small village of Achintraid on the shore of Loch Kishorn. Alix, Adam, Rick and I spent a couple of days of idyllic sailing when we were out for the whole day with picnic and cans of beer, mooring on uninhabited islands and remote beaches for long lunches, lounging in the sun, exploring the rock-pools for crabs and sea-anemones and swimming nude (there simply was no need for swimming costumes because no one was there!), although not for many minutes because the water was chilly. I love to abandon the trappings of civilization as much as possible on holiday - radio and television, swimming trunks, combing my hair, etc. I go happily for days washing and bathing only in salt-water with my hair gone wild, I like the feeling of it.

The Highlands can be extremely bleak and dreary ("driech" in the Scotch dialect) but only in some places and in certain weather. The atmosphere is often fresh and invigorating or imbued with a remarkable softness. Part of the beauty is this softness and the wonderful cloud-scapes. During our hot weather spell, although I wouldn't have wanted to change it, some of the distinctive charm was lost: it reminded me more of the Alps or the Sierra Nevada than Scotland.

I think we've all felt slightly down since returning, we had such a gorgeous few days. Sailing off the sea front here in Liverpool Bay has (at least temporarily) lost its appeal.

***

Sunday 19th March 2000

First launch of the year. It was wonderful to be on the water again! It is something very special to me. On the water, I am happy: life is as it should be and I don't want for anything. I was out at 8:30 a.m. for nearly three hours, and there was no one else.

28th March 2000

Summer time

We switched to British Summer Time this weekend and today the temperature has dropped to 3°C - it feels like January again! I did get out in the boat though, both on Saturday and Sunday. Good thing is, the kids have not adapted to the time change yet, so we get to sleep slightly later, but I wonder how long it'll take for them to catch on.

Sunday 2nd April 2000

Hoylake Sailing Club first dinghy race of the season.

It rained the whole weekend: a pretty much continuous light sea-drizzle which hardly let up even once. Alix took advantage of child-minding by parents and agreed to join me in the boat on Sunday (rare that we are ever in the boat together). At 9 a.m. there was a sea mist and hardly a breath of wind, and we really wondered whether we were silly, sitting bailing the rain out from where it collected from dribbling down the sails as fast as it came in, and feeling the wetness slowly creeping in down our necks. At the starter's gun, the few other boats all managed magically to coax some movement out of the still air, while it took a good two minutes before we managed first to point in the right direction then get underway, bringing up the rear. It was all quite amusing really, and in the end we were glad we'd made the effort to go out. Afterwards, all of us including the boys went into the clubhouse for a drink, then returned home for proper Sunday lunch of roast lamb, a good bottle of Rioja and an afternoon cozily by the living room fire. A near perfect Sunday.

Hoylake Sailing Club Regatta, Saturday 3rd and Sunday 4th June 2000

There were around 70 boats racing offshore, so quite a spectacle. I didn't race. I'm not convinced that racing is where my interest lies, I simply like to be out on the water and go where the whim takes me rather than jostle with other craft around buoys. The lifeguard introduced me to Billy who offered to take me out in Magnetic, his Cygnet cruising yacht. We walked out over the sand to his mooring in the outer channel. The tide comes up here with a rush; it is impressive like a fast flowing river, one minute you're lying aground and the next you're bobbing around floating free. It was interesting for a change and novel to be able to brew tea en route in the cabin, but it struck me how sluggish and how restricted in manoeuvring over the sand banks is a boat like Magnetic compared to my dinghy, so on Sunday I was happy to be back under my own sail.

Alix took the boys to the Millennium Dome in Greenwich at the weekend. It has been billed as a festival of Britain to match the great ones of the past but has had bad press and accusations of waste of public money. Alix thought it was accurate in presenting an impression of the state of Britain today in that it was confused and didn't seem to know what it was trying to be, and it had an abundance of what this country is famous for abroad: its queues.

12th June 2000

I'm considering an over-night sailing and camping expedition to Hilbre. The tides were right this weekend but the winds were too fierce for me, force 4 - 5 the whole time, and I didn't get out in the boat at all (I feel deprived). Beautiful sunny weather for the garden though; however, I had to use some of it on afternoon naps as, first Adam, then Richard, were sick during the night and left us very short of sleep.

16th June 2000

I went out on Tuesday evening just after I got home and it was gorgeous in the late light, sailing into the sunset. There was a significant breeze and I was even surfing in on some waves. This weekend the weather looks set lovely and, wind permitting, tomorrow we will all go out and perhaps anchor somewhere for a picnic.

19th June 2000

We are enjoying a heat wave; that is, I am enjoying it, but many are not. I wouldn't be surprised if some of the inner cities reached 90°F this weekend. We have a south wind, but plenty of breeze on the coast to be bearable. We all sailed on Sunday, cruising out to the far edge of the sandbank (about a mile offshore) where we beached, ate picnic lunch and had a swim; it is good to have a break to provide variety for Adam and Richard, otherwise they get restless just having to sit. After we returned, we all went to the beach again (with swimming costumes this time) to cool off while the tide was still up to swim in. Adam and Richard loved it. Later Alix and I were eating dinner on the lawn until 10 p.m. I love weekends like this and count it a great privilege to have the wonderful sea on the doorstep. Being back at work is definitely dull by comparison, but it is what I am paid for.

Monday 26th June 2000

We are in the 70s today, warmer than at the weekend with its brisk northwesterly breeze - too windy for sailing, unfortunately, which we’d been looking forward to as Alix’ sister and family were here to visit. We were a bit downcast from sadness that our visitors had to leave. The kids were so excited the whole time to have each other as playmates and they were all devastated when they had to part. They all shared the same bedroom and around seven each morning we heard the "gentle" patter of feet as they trooped down stairs, trying to be quiet but not quite succeeding, to organize their own breakfast before any of the adults appeared. On Sunday morning they even let themselves out of the house to play in the garden and in the lane before we got up - two of them still half in their night-clothes! And Adam was revelling in showing them around his home territory.

Sunday 30th July 2000

It's been a good weekend for sailing. Thursday evening was looking gorgeous and Adam decided to come with me (partly I suspect as a means of delaying his bed-time); unfortunately shortly after we launched some grey clouds coalesced above and released persistent rain for an hour. Friday really was gorgeous though: what little rain there was had cleared during the course of the day leaving a few fantastic cloud shapes and sparkling sunshine. I was the only boat out and I sailed until just after sunset in only my shorts and T-shirt. The breeze was very light and at one point I let myself hang backwards over the side with my hair almost dabbling in the water becoming almost dizzy from the huge upside down vista of red orb sun and pink tinted clouds gliding passed at water's-eye view. It was very pleasurable.

This morning Richard and I went out together. First time I've taken Richard alone. He was very good (in doing what he was told when told) and seemed really to enjoy and remain interested for the whole of nearly two hours that we were out (in perfect summer weather). He caused some amusement upon landing when he insisted in helping me by pushing the boat from behind with all his might up the slipway!

Saturday 5th August 2000

We are leaving for the Isle of Bute next Saturday and I feel there is a lot to rush to do before we go. Preparations for holidays these days are no longer a simple matter of organizing a rucksack on my back, boots on my feet and money in my pocket. There's the boat trailer to load - do the lights work? - need a new registration number plate to match the new car, grease the wheel bearings, where are all the straps and cords I used last year? Adam, Rick, where have you hidden xyz since I last saw you playing with it? Where are all the tent pegs? Does the camping stove work? etc. Alix tends to organise food and kids' clothes, which is a relief. All I've done is had a case of wine sent to the friends we're staying with for the first week (definitely essential provisions). I try to tell myself that this is a holiday and we're supposed to enjoy it, but I know I've worn myself down because I've succumbed to respiratory infection and my back is playing up (doesn't help to have to lift the boat trailer). None of this stopped us all going out sailing today though. We pottered along the shore to Leasowe beach and landed for the kids to build sand castles for half an hour (they like the break), then headed home before the tide went out. We saw lots of birds and a couple of very brightly coloured jelly fish.

Wednesday 9th August 2000

The boat and equipment is now loaded for the road and ready to go as soon as we can get out on Saturday morning. I avoid the check-list syndrome as much as possible and usually get by with a single pencilled sheet of paper scribbled a week in advance; I do what I consider necessary to avoid wasting time when we are actually away. High tide is about an hour before sunset and there is light air movement: if I feel I've worked well by the end of the day I'd be tempted to go out, although I'm not sure I want to face all the unloading and reloading again!

Isle of Bute and Argyll, August 2000

Our holiday was really wonderful. August Scottish weather again proved remarkably fine. There were only two days in nearly a fortnight when rain deterred us from doing what we had planned, and we had several magnificent days. Of our eleven days spent actually in Scotland, we sailed on six of them.

We enjoyed our time on the Isle of Bute spent with a long-standing friend David in his parental house. His parents are now dead but his sister lives there still. David lives in Switzerland, but returns every couple of years to supervise (and pay for) necessary structural upkeep as it is a large, rambling Victorian property. He generally invites a house-full of friends for the duration, which makes for a lively week - ideal for the kids, because there are other kids to play with, and for the adults too, who have the stimulus of each other's company.

The island is relatively close to Glasgow but, on its western shore particularly, it is quiet and has much of the character of more remote Hebridean islands. We had some fine sailing off the beaches in magnificent scenery and crystal-clear water. I also took some of the other guests out - I enjoy sharing their pleasure in it.

For the second week we moved farther westward and found a delightful camp spot on the shore of Loch Sween. It was a perfect, level, grassy platform a few yards above the shore, facing the sunsets. We had words with the local farmer who let us stay there and gave us access to a water tap, and who also offered to launch our boat from their adjacent field, enabling us to keep it moored right below the tent. We actually used two tents on this trip, letting Adam and Richard share the small backpacking tent together, which they enjoyed, thus leaving us some peace and privacy in the larger dome tent. It was very close to idyllic: we were completely secluded, I was able to read The Hobbit to Adam snuggled up to the campfire for his bedtime story, and we were very little harassed by midges, which is unusual for the Scottish west coast in August.

Upon arrival, it had been a hectic day travelling in the car, the kids had been fractious and were finally in bed, it was a beautifully placid evening with perhaps half an hour left of sun before sinking behind the hills, and I took the boat out. Ghosting along the middle of the loch with barely a whisper, making myself comfortable with my head resting on the thwart staring backwards up at the sky, I was so absorbed that I turned with a start when I suddenly realized I'd nearly bumped into an island full of seals! About a dozen of them on a craggy rock, about twenty yards long and four wide, breaking the surface of the water by about three feet. The rock was actually marked on the 1:50,000 map as a small blip but I hadn'd noticed it. It lay only about 500yd offshore from where we were camped, so we all returned there together in the morning for a closer look. There were several pups among them looking very cute.

Our nearest shop was 4 miles away by boat up the loch at Tayvallich on the opposite shore, but a 20 mile trip around by car, so we experienced the novelty of a family grocery shopping expedition by sail, making a fine day trip, with a good sea-food pub dinner thrown in.

Kilmartin Glen, not far away, is a centre for some of the earliest known settlements in Scotland, so on non-sailing days there were five thousand year old stone circles, burial sites, iron age fortresses, and also near by, tiny ruined churches dating back to the early Roman missionaries of the 6thC AD, some with original 12thC stone carvings still intact, as well as Castle Sween to explore. But I must say that I loved the sailing most: exploring the little islands, anchorages and unfamiliar harbour entrances. It is completely absorbing, demanding a wonderful combination of attention to physical coordination and judgment. That is what I find immensely satisfying about mountaineering too: this combination of physical challenges together with the continual need for reassessment of the situation in the light of one's knowledge of one's own abilities and of the objective dangers.

Tuesday 29th August 2000

I picked up a book from the library recently about how to build a wood and canvas kayak. I am wondering whether I could sustain the motivation and determination for such a project. This came after casually browsing for some information on glass fibre boat repairs: the boat could benefit from a little attention this year. I would like to paint her name on the hull. The word Esmerelda is just discernible written large on the side but so faded as to be almost invisible except in certain light. I'm still in two minds as to whether to call her this or Come What May, which refers to a remark made in conjuction with a decision to sail one day. To me, Esmerelda is the name of an elderly lady, and as time goes by I realize that she deserves the according level of respect.

Brother Martin and family came over the bank holiday and we sailed. Then today Adam and I happened to get the perfect combination of clear sunshine, fine breeze and high spring tide that allowed us to cross the sandbank and circumnavigate Hilbre, a feat that has been my aim since the beginning of the season, but from which I had been deterred either by too much or too little wind or insufficient tide. We spotted a dozen seals on the way, a pair of which followed us at close quarters for up to half a mile (Adam was thrilled).

Wednesday 13th September 2000

This day I was at home working, ostensibly, but there was mild, balmy sunshine and sufficient breeze to tempt me out onto the tide at midday. It was gorgeous and I made good way into the gentle south westerly air, ploshing pleasantly through the wavelets. Out of the distance, suggesting itself as a destination, appeared the HE2 East cardinal buoy that marks the east side of the West Hoyle Bank, beckoning me like a siren to go farther offshore than I have ever been, two and half miles out from the mouth of the Dee estuary. I decided I ought to be able to round it and return with the breeze behind me in time to cross the bank before the tide receded.

It was eerie being alone and so far out, with the buoy and its apparently resident population of perched seagulls on its large scaffold superstructure behung with lights, bells and other navigational symbols; the boat seemed small and fragile compared to its robust iron bulk.

On the way back the breeze became lighter. A seal investigated me closely, surfacing and blowing noisily just off the stern and rolling tummy-up as if to get a better look. Shortly afterwards the wind died.

I tried with the oars to get as far as possible, and then towed and hauled on the painter as the ebbing tide left me with barely enough depth to cover my ankles, but eventually had to deploy the anchors, abandon my vessel and walk home, some fifteen minutes back to Hoylake promenade.

Next high tide was not until midnight so I would have to walk out and wait for the flood two hours before, then row back in the dark. My main concern was to locate the boat on the vast expanse of sand in darkness; I had taken a compass bearing and, fortunately, noticed that the iron railings on the promenade caused the needle to deviate by about 30°!

Come What May / Esmerelda finally appeared as a ghostly white shadow in the torch beam. Waiting on board for the tide was a quietly serene experience, reclining quite comfortably in my 8mm wet suit in a slight drizzle. It was rather beautiful: wet but warm in the dark, with the night full of the sounds of oyster catchers and imagining the gurgling trickle of advancing water becoming louder by the minute, and a hint of moonlight behind the clouds.

20th September 2000

The season is distinctly about to slide into autumn. The apples have reached full ripeness and are starting to drop, and there are widespread hints of leaves starting to turn colour. The sunshine is warm during the day, but last night the temperature dropped nearly to 50°F for the first time probably in months. With the shorter days, the number of high tides potentially suitable for sailing becomes restricted; that combined with the higher probability of poor weather means sailing will be sporadic (I've been out only twice this month). But I love this season.

22nd November 2000

I'm enthralled with a book at the moment. It is a description of three seasons spent sailing up the eastern seaboard of North America, from Florida to the St. Lawrence, in a 16ft Wayfarer dinghy by Frank Dye. It is about exploration by sail stripped to its bare essentials, the idea of which appeals to me enormously, and is exactly the sort of sailing I'd love to do on this coast, although without some of the author's more hairy adventures. Among other things, he has opened my eyes to what an enormous and varied coast North America has - like distances on the land, the size of the coastline is difficult to conceive compared to this country.

This is is. The rail physically extends another mile or two but is impassible.

Today is November 11, Remembrance Day here in Canada. Today we commemorate and honour those who have served Canada and in particular those who failed to return or who returned damaged either physically or mentally. We owe them so much. Never take their sacrifices for granted.

Niagara-on-the Lake is a charming town located in Southern Ontario at the mouth of the Niagara River. It is one of the oldest European towns in Canada and as a result it has a museum to house artifacts related to the town’s history. But this year, the museum decided to participate in the Niagara-on-the Lake Poppy Project for the November 11th 2021 Remembrance Day ceremonies by draping hundreds upon hundreds of poppies over the lawn, the entrance tower and a tree. Volunteers were recruited to knit or crochet poppies or to make them from silk. The result is this spectacular display augmenting the Fall colours with a sea of red, a tribute to all those who served. Lest we forget. - JW

Date Taken: 2021-11-11

(c) Copyright 2021 JW Vraets

Tech Details:

Taken using a tripod-mounted Nikon D800 fitted with an AF-S Nikkor 24-120mm VR 1:4.0 lense set to 24mm, ISO100, Daylight WB, Aperture Priority Mode, Centre-Weighted metering, f/8.0, 1/250 sec with an EV-0.67 exposure bias. PP in free Open Source RAWTherapee from Nikon RAW/NEF source file: set final image size to be 9000px high, slightly brighten image overall by setting Exposure Compensation to EV+0.34, enable Tone Mapping at default settings, slightly boost Contrast and Chromaticity in L-A-B mode, slightly boost Vibrance, sharpen (edges only), save. PP in free Open Source GIMP: use the Tone Curve tool to slightly darken the top 1/3 of the curve to better bring out highlights in the window trim, sharpen, save, scale image to 6000 px high, sharpen, save, add fine black-and-white frame, add bar and text on left, save, scale image to 3000 px high for posting online, sharpen very slightly, save.

Some campers are more physically active than others at Kohler-Andrae State Park.

Sufi whirling (or Sufi spinning) is a form of Sama or physically active meditation which originated among Sufis, and which is still practiced by the Sufi Dervishes of the Mevlevi order. It is a customary dance performed within the Sema, or worship ceremony, through which dervishes (also called semazens) aim to reach the source of all perfection, or kemal. This is sought through abandoning one's nafs, egos or personal desires, by listening to the music, focusing on God, and spinning one's body in repetitive circles, which has been seen as a symbolic imitation of planets in the Solar System orbiting the sun.[1] As explained by Sufis:[2]

In the symbolism of the Sema ritual, the semazen's camel's hair hat (sikke) represents the tombstone of the ego; his wide, white skirt (tennure) represents the ego's shroud. By removing his black cloak (hırka), he is spiritually reborn to the truth. At the beginning of the Sema, by holding his arms crosswise, the semazen appears to represent the number one, thus testifying to God's unity. While whirling, his arms are open: his right arm is directed to the sky, ready to receive God's beneficence; his left hand, upon which his eyes are fastened, is turned toward the earth. The semazen conveys God's spiritual gift to those who are witnessing the Sema. Revolving from right to left around the heart, the semazen embraces all humanity with love. The human being has been created with love in order to love. Mevlâna Jalâluddîn Rumi says, "All loves are a bridge to Divine love. Yet, those who have not had a taste of it do not know!"

Wikipedia

I think it's all back. Reignited. Rekindled. Whatever you want to call it. My passion for it all, I guess.

I thought I had to physically stay away from my photographs or start a whole new series, but all I needed to do was to come back. Come back to this. Along with many others.

I've been trying to wrap my mind around this process: shooting, bringing them back home, going through 'em all, editing, and finally getting them out there (here).

You might give me a frown on this idea (me being the non-reproductive gender), but it's almost like carrying a child in your womb. You care for it, you feed it, and you walk around with it (mentally).

And then time comes. Unpredictably so. Time to give birth. Even you as the sole creator cannot foresee it, because when it's ready, it is. And once it's out there, it ceases to belong to you the same way it once did. You no longer "own" it in its truest sense.

But at the same it keeps growing. Under everyone's scrutiny. Some makes you feel proud. Some makes you wonder if you could've done better. And it’s feeding back to your next (best) shot. It sounds much understated, but for lack of a better word, let me just say how fascinating that is.

Today, i felt like this. Not physically, obviously. (All of that make-up is gonna take sooo long to wash off *cry*)

More mentally, and not quite as extreme as this. Infact nowhere near as extreme as this, i just wanted it to be obvious since my last few pictures i've kind of had to explain them.

I started college today, i'm doing an ND in photography. I was really nervous, but to be honest it wasn't half as bad as i thought but i really get too worked up over these things.

This isn't edited apart from i cross processed it on Picnik a tiny little bit (faded it so it wasn't so obvious), and yeah that is it really.

I'm going to try and wash all of this make-up off now...

I hate this.

Oh, P.S: ignore how awful i look.

I'm tired.

And have eye shadow on my nose and chin. I have decided i am infact a complete gorm :)

P.P.S - View on black pleeeeeeeeeease!

Not every bull elk that is physically capable of breeding earns the right to do so. The bulls bugle, spar and posture and most of the dominance is sorted out like this. Physical size and antler size also increase a bull's status in the herd. But, a herd bull with a harem of cows has almost always fought to earn his breeding rights. There were three other mature bulls in the area of this bull. If one ventured too close, all he had to do was stop grazing and take a step or two in the direction of the interloper. Our beautiful world, pass it on.

I believe there comes a time in ones life in which they must no longer fear being naked and exposed to the world.

Not physically, internally.

To bear ones soul and beauty marks. To no longer fear the rejection or obsess over the acceptance of others.

To bear yourself, which expresses who you really are.

And when the judgements come and the rocks are thrown, you cannot run from them. Because they will always come when you are living on the edge of the cliff.

Its okay to be there, because if you stand too far from it, you will never know the immense glory of the sea winds that blow up your body, through your tangled hair, past your shoulders and over you, through you, to cleanse you of all your comfortable fears that you so strongly held close to your heart.

You have to stand firm there.

You have to know that you will not fall, but there will always be a possibility.

You have to breath that ancient wind and know that only those who stand on that edge will ever breath it fresh, anew.

Its the embodiment of all who have cast their fears aside and given up comfortable circumstance for truth and life.

You know you are in the wrong place, at the right time, and you need to run to that cliff, to that edge of it, you need to shed your skin, you need to let down your hair, tear off your clothes, you need to breath the air that has traveled around this earth for thousands of years, you need to let it all go, and you need to start over.

I need to start over.

Our poor little boy’s arthritis is getting worse. The BOF sent me a link from the UK to look into an injectable treatment. Problem is that we don’t have that treatment available here in the states. He’s not that old considering the breed can live in their 20’s. He’s currently on Carprofen, (canine ibuprofen) and it’s somewhat effective for a little while. So long as he’s laying down, you would never know. I’m not sure how long he will be able to get around and I don’t intend to let him suffer. We talked about getting him a strong papoose to carry him around with for the time being.

Above the Wall positions humans, physically and symbolically, above a barrier constructed around the lifeguard stand at Woodbine Beach. In the current global political climate, the idea of a wall as a literal physical boundary between countries is reemerging as a nationalist tool to prevent migration. This installation contests the wall as a productive assertion of sovereignty. As visitors walk between installations, they are encouraged to ascend the staircase along their walk and engage with others that have approached from the opposite side. This unifying experience can help us overcome the physical thing that is meant to divide us.

Source: www.canadianinteriors.com/2019/02/15/new-winter-stations-...

Description:

Markarian’s Chain is a striking formation within the Virgo Cluster, a vast collection of over 1,300 galaxies approximately 50–60 million light-years away. The chain itself is named after the Armenian astrophysicist Beniamin Markarian, who in 1960 identified a group of galaxies moving coherently through space. Though the alignment of the galaxies may appear coincidental, many of them are physically associated, bound together by the immense gravitational forces governing the Virgo Cluster. This image contains two Messier objects, M86 and M84, two giant elliptical galaxies dominating the right side of the frame, 27 NGC-IC members, including prominent galaxies such as NGC 4435, NGC 4438, NGC 4473, and NGC 4461. It also includes 181 PGC members, showcasing a vast array of background galaxies and smaller interacting systems. I may have missed some galaxies with my quick counting, hopefully others can correct me if I did!

Captured under the semi-dark skies of Kuwait’s Salmy Desert (Bortle 4 or so), my home away from home, this deep-field image of Markarian’s Chain is the result of around 34-hour of total integration, revealing the vastness and complexity of this iconic region of the Virgo Cluster. Using two 140mm apochromatic refractors, I’ve attempted to presents a detailed look at the galaxies that make up this famous structure, with a particular emphasis on the delicate hydrogen bridge between Messier 86 (M86) and NGC 4438, a rarely imaged feature that speaks to the violent past interactions of these galaxies. The dataset consists of 21 hours of hydrogen-alpha (Hα) integration, unveiling the faint intricate filamentary structure linking M86 to NGC 4438. This feature is a relic of high-speed galactic encounters, where the gravitational forces and intergalactic medium interactions have stripped and reshaped material over millions of years. It was a challenging undertaking to carefully subtract the red signal and it took multiple attempts to achieve the final Hydrogen Alpha continuum that was later added to the broadband data.

M86, an enormous elliptical galaxy, is one of the few galaxies in the Virgo Cluster moving toward the Milky Way, rather than receding due to cosmic expansion. This movement, combined with its high velocity through the intracluster medium, results in significant ram-pressure stripping, a process where the hot gas of the Virgo Cluster removes material from the galaxy, creating faint ionized structures. Meanwhile, NGC 4438, a highly distorted spiral galaxy, has undergone past collisions, most notably with its neighbor NGC 4435. However, recent studies suggest that M86 may have played a role in further disrupting NGC 4438, pulling material from its outskirts and contributing to the formation of the hydrogen bridge visible in this image. This faint structure is evidence of past close encounters, as tidal forces and intracluster gas interactions have sculpted the surrounding interstellar medium.

This image is not just about Markarian’s Chain itself but also the vast cosmic environment surrounding it. It stands as a testament to what can be achieved with dedicated astrophotography efforts, using high-quality instrumentation under desert skies. From the sweeping arcs of elliptical galaxies to the tenuous filaments of ionized gas, this image provides a rare and scientifically valuable look at one of the most iconic galaxy chains in the night sky.

Equipment:

Imaging Telescope: 2x Askar 140APO

Imaging Camera: 2x ZWO ASI2600MM Pro

Mount: 2x ZWO AM5

Filters:

- Chroma Lum 36 mm

- Antlia Red 36 mm

- Antlia Green 36 mm

- Antlia Blue 36 mm

- Chroma H-alpha 3nm Bandpass 36 mm

- Antlia H-alpha 3nm Bandpass 36 mm

Accessories:

- Askar 0.8x Full Frame Reducer/Flattener

Acquisition details

Dates:

Feb. 27, 2025

March 22, 2025

March 25, 2025

Frames:

- Chroma Lum 36 mm: 81×300″(6h 45′)

- Antlia Red 36 mm: 28×300″(2h 20′)

- Antlia Green 36 mm: 28×300″(2h 20′)

- Antlia Blue 36 mm: 28×300″(2h 20′)

- Chroma H-alpha 3nm Bandpass 36 mm: 122×300″(10h 10′)

- Antlia H-alpha 3nm Bandpass 36 mm: 130×300″(10h 50′)

Total Integration:

34h 45′

Position:

RA center: 12h27m40s.100

DEC center: +13°16′25″.99

Pixel scale:

0.994 arcsec/pixel

Orientation:

-56.608 degrees

Field radius: 0.983 degrees

Locations: Al Salmy Desert, Al Jahra Governorate, Kuwait

God couldn't be physically with us so he gave us dogs...& notice Dog spelled backwards is God & they both show unconditional love.

Written in 1949.... 'The adjective Orwellian refers to these behaviours of The Party, especially when the Party is the State:

Invasion of personal privacy, either directly physically or indirectly by surveillance.

State control of its citizens' daily life, as in a "Big Brother" society.

Official encouragement of policies contributing to the socio-economic disintegration of the family or any other close relationships.

The adoration of state leaders and their Party.

The encouragement of "doublethink", whereby the population must learn to embrace inconsistent concepts without dissent, e.g. giving up liberty for freedom. Similar terms used are "doublespeak", and "newspeak".

The revision of history in the favour of the State's interpretation of it.

A (generally) dystopian future.

The use of euphemism to describe an agency, program or other concept, especially when the name denotes the opposite of what is actually occurring. In 1984, the department that wages war is called the "Ministry of Peace"; in reality, departments responsible for engaging in offensive military action are named the "Ministry of Defense".' en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Orwellian

en.wikipedia.org/wiki/George_Orwell

Southampton University - 1984...

If physically capable, this feat is beyond worth it. From the entrance there's a fifty meter curved walkway to a platform of steep wooden stairs, then the most narrow and longest tunnel, before reaching this wooden ramp along the Grand Gallery. After one more small entrance you're in the King's chamber and able to witness 4,500 year old ancient Egyptian history.

Who a dancer is physically feeds into character for me. Always has.

- Twyla Tharp

On occasion, in this rather crazy and serendipitous world of ours, you may be fortunate enough to meet a person who shares with you a number of characteristics or traits, whether they be a soulmate, or just a like minded soul.

Well, thanks to Flickr, I have "met" (not physically but mentally and spiritually) a number of such like minded souls (since I already have my soulmate). If you follow my photostream you will know that I am blessed to be surrounded by a number of artists, including the artisan who gave me this present, and more so, a gift that goes far beyond the present itself.

I am one of those people who really enjoy Christmas. I enjoy it for many reasons, not least of all because I get to give gifts I have gathered throughout the year to my family and friends, and I get to wrap them up in beautiful papers and bows. I don't do it for the accolades, or even for a word of appreciation. I do it because I really get so much pleasure from the gift of giving, and the art of gift giving. This artisan friend of mine is exactly the same, and to quote her Christmas card to me this year, she is a "rare individual who truly appreciates the art of giving and sharing ART." I feel exactly the same when giving gifts. Often it is far more than the gift itself, but the experience of receiving the gift and the delight, joy and anticipation of carefully unwrapping a piece of art, to reveal a piece of art that I am giving.

Imagine my excitement and sheer delight when my artisan friend from half way across the world sent me the most wonderful gift of a handmade tassel. This collage is made up of images I took when I received it, with the tassel in the centre, details of the tassel to the right of the central image and details of the wrapping to the left.

The present came presented in pink tissue paper affixed with a small pink star to hold the folds. As the tissue paper fell away, it revealed an ornately decorated silver box upon which was a carefully thought out layout of graphics and images inspired by my stories, likes and interests that came from the magical drawers of her studios: eclectic diners at a table, jenny Wren reading a book (doubtless of faerie tales), a pink seal featuring a feather with a real blue tinged feather sticking out of it! Inside was a pretty piece of blue and cream Regency striped silk, held in place by a tiny antique crocheted doily (the perfect size for my 1:12 miniatures) underneath which was some silvery blue tissue paper with a scalloped edge carefully cut with pinking shears, the folds of which were affixed with a small paper cartouche featuring my initial in beautiful calligraphy. Beneath that was a second layer of the lustrous paper, upon which was a Regency image of Beauty and the Beast, once again connecting to my love of faerie tales and children's illustrations.

Unfolding another layer of blue and white regency striped silk, I found the tassel, made up of ribbons and laces, mostly in shades of blue (my favourite colour), decorated with the most remarkable collection of silver charms, all of which are connected to me in a personal way: teddy bears and a brolly, a beautiful and ornate chair and a teapot!

As you know, if you listen to my teddy bears, I'm an old softie - even more than they are - so by the time I reached the tassel, I was a blubbering mass of tears, not because I was unhappy, but because I was so touched that my artisan friend took the time to create a gift of art, so deeply faceted with layers of her careful observations of me, my likes and passions, that it quite stunned me!

This year has been a very difficult, stressful and painful year for me personally, and this Christmas, some of my dearest friends, several of whom I have never even physically met, have made me feel so well understood and loved through their kindness, care, love, good wishes and in some cases the judicious selection of gifts that really are ones of a kind and that are gifts that go far, far beyond the present itself!

I shall be forever grateful to this small and select coterie of friends who have helped brighten my year and make me smile (and cry tears of joy) when I have needed.

Merry Christmas to you all!

There was a sign at the parking lot that said something like: "This trail is not for the physically challenged." But it turned out to be one smooth wheelchair ramp all the way to the viewing platform. ;-)

To my surprise, the platform and boardwalk was planned well, so it did not get into the way when shooting various angles. Unfortunately that's not the case with many "touristy" locations, because planers don't seem to consult photographers ever.

Marsh Lake to Watson Lake, Yukon

Sometimes, something physically nearly impossible just happens. Time for miracles...

please note: Kiera is a *fully grown* *fully developed* adult, both mentally and physically.

Physically, it was a very difficult picture to take. My muscles ached for days after carrying around all those heavy rocks.

Lately, I am drawn to very simple elements. I have a series full of ideas dancing in my head, some very simple and some so complicated that I have no idea where to begin :) But that is a good feeling.

What could be better, than trying to figure out how to combine rocks as strangely as possible for example:)

Happy Sunday!

Website

Facebook

and parking as close to the stadium as possible :-)

Bill Vaughan

I see this same phenomenon in the gym parking lot as well ;-)

HPPT!!

many petalled star magnolia, 'Chrysanthemumiflora', j c raulston arboretum, ncsu, Raleigh, north carolina

I was physically unable to NOT give her her wings. It feels so god to see her with her very own fullset outfit *_* And it suits her soooo well…

All three photos posted this morning were taken two days ago, on 6 August 2016. As you can probably guess from this scenic shot, it was a very dull morning with light drizzle and the forecast was for thunderstorms in the afternoon. This is a view from Rod Handfield's acreage, taken nearer the start of our mushroom foray. Shortly after this photo was taken, we entered the forest and spent the rest of the morning in there.

I found the whole day physically and mentally exhausting, and I'm still feeling the effects two days later. It was a great day, too, thanks to friend, Sandy! She very kindly picked me up around 8:15 am and we drove SW of the city and SW of Millarville to Rod Handfield's acreage. For a number of years, this has been one of my favourite places to explore, as Rod's forest tends to be full of all sorts of beautiful finds. It is one of the two best places that I know for mushrooms, the other being Brown-Lowery Provincial Park. This year is turning out to be great for fungi, thanks to all the endless, torrential rain we have been getting the last few weeks, apart from the scattering of sunny days. This year has so far had such weird weather - a very mild, dry winter, a spring that was as dry and hot as a summer, and now a wet, thundery summer. We were expecting this year to not be good for mushrooms.

We met a group of other interested people, most of whom we didn't know, and we searched the land for fungi. Right at the start, I was telling Sandy that on the last visit there, maybe four years ago, we had seen a beautiful Amanita muscaria mushroom growing just a few feet from the start of the walk. Sure enough, there were several growing in exactly the same spot, which was so exciting. Later in the walk, we saw two other patches of absolute beauties of this poisonous species. The rain was spitting during our walk, and the forest was so dark, but amazingly, some of my photos came out well enough. Thanks so much, Karel, for organizing and leading this trip and for sharing your knowledge with us!

Sandy and I left the group around lunchtime, to go looking at vehicles at one of the dealerships. In the last year and a half, I have had to put far too much money into repairs for my poor old 17+ year old car and finally, I knew that I had no choice but to replace it. The muffler and a few other things died several days ago and instead of spending a fortune on repair, I decided I would rather put that money towards a new vehicle. I had been thinking about replacing it the last few years, but now, enough is enough! Just hoping that my car lasts long enough for the drive to the dealership. The noise it makes is just awful, from the faulty muffler and from a dreadful rattling noise, so it will be a most embarrassing ride, lol. I'm down to deciding between two models and it is not an easy choice. However, after doing hours of research again yesterday, into the early hours of this morning, I'm not so sure I am going to be able to get the car that I think would suit me. It has proven to be such a popular car and very few are available. The only ones that the dealership has are not safe colours to drive and not colours that I would buy and they also don't have the particular features that I want. So, now, I am more confused than ever and have no idea what I am going to do - and I have an appointment with the salesman in a few hours' time! I might even have to get my old car repaired (almost $5,000) after all and then wait months to get hold of the car I want/need.

Chicago. 2018

© All rights reserved. All my images are copyrighted. Any unauthorized use is strictly prohibited. No image can be copied, reproduced, shared, altered or used in any way, both physically or electronically, without my prior written permission.

Since the Canterbury earthquakes, Christchurch has rebuilt itself physically and artistically. A little exploration will reveal street art spanning building walls, public squares and alleys, in all colours, sizes and styles.

At 12.51 p.m. on Tuesday 22 February 2011, a magnitude 6.3 earthquake caused severe damage in Christchurch and Lyttelton, killing 185 people and injuring several thousand.

The earthquake’s epicentre was near Lyttelton, just 10 km south-east of Christchurch’s central business district. It occurred nearly six months after the 4 September 2010 earthquake.

The Zamarons are an immortal race of warrior women having the ancient tradition of choosing physically identical mortals from across the cosmos to serve as the host body for their queen.

The woman chosen to serve this queen is called Star Sapphire. She is given the queen's symbolic weapon: a crystal resembling an actual star sapphire that grants the user powers similar to the power ring of Green Lanterns.

Some notable women have at times carried this title, including Wonder Woman, an Amazonian warrior and princess chosen to be a deputy member of the Corps.

A duplicate of Carol's ring is able to free her from the influence of a black power ring by using the intense feelings of love in her heart, her love for the creation and her love for the light.

After her subconscious mind interacted with the ‘deceased’ Batman (Bruce Wayne), Diana finally freed herself from the black ring’s influence. Aphrodite, the goddess of love in Olympus, is depicted as aiding Diana in accepting the ring.

Wonder Woman is later discharged from the Star Sapphires, following her final battle. She would briefly rejoin the corps some years later to help lead the Star Sapphires in defense of Zamaron when it was attacked by a dark god of love from another dimension.

⚡ Happy 🎯 Heroclix 💫 Friday! 👽

_____________________________

A year of the shows and performers of the Bijou Planks Theater.

Secret Identity: Diana Prince

Publisher: DC

First appearance: Blackest Night #6 (February 2010)

Created by: Geoff Johns (Writer)

Ivan Reis (Artist)

The brick houses here comprise Axleton, built for workers of the Liggett Spring and Axle Company. Today, I've heard this area more often referred to as East Monongahela. While this area has a Monongahela address (being on a postal route for the Monongahela Post Office), it is physically located at the southern tip of Allegheny County in Forward Township.

More information on Liggett Spring and Axle can be found here at the Lost Monongahela blog: monongahela.wordpress.com/2010/02/05/a-brief-history-of-l...

www.monvalleyphotoworks.com

Peek-a-Boo Gulch

Peek-a-boo Gulch is a short slot canyon in the Dry Fork area of the Grand Staircase- Escalante area, located on the Hole-in-the-Rock Road, 26 miles south of the town of Escalante. Peek-a-boo is not very long, or physically demanding, but it requires some navigational and rock-scrambling skill in order to get through its twists and chutes.

In order to reach Peek-a-boo Gulch, visitors should drive the 26 miles down the Hole-in-the-Rock Road off of Highway 12, until they find the Dry Fork Road, heading northeast into the desert. The Dry Fork turnoff branches after only a few hundred yards, and visitors need to stay left in order to reach the Dry Fork overlook.

Peek-a-boo can be combined with Spooky Gulch to make a fun loop hike. The recommended route is to actually take Peek-a-boo Gulch first, scrambling north up through its depths, and upon exiting, hiking overland to the east for half a mile until the wide streambed above Spooky Gulch is reached. From there, follow Spooky back down to Dry Fork, and then hike back to the overlook. The total loop route is about 3.5 miles long.

(utah.com)

Peek-A-Boo und Spooky, zwei Slot Canyons der Extraklasse, bieten nicht nur tolle Fotomotive in Hülle und Fülle, sondern auch Abenteuer, Kletterspaß und Nervenkitzel - vorausgesetzt, man ist körperlich einigermaßen fit und hat keine Angst davor, sich durch extrem schmale Ritzen und Felsspalten zu zwängen. Wer die Wanderung noch etwas verlängern möchte, kann sich vor oder nach der Besichtigung von Peek-A-Boo und Spooky auch noch die beiden anderen Canyons ansehen, die zur Dry Fork Coyote Gulch gehören. Dies sind zum einen die Dry Fork Narrows, die ein wenig breiter und nicht ganz so spektakulär sind wie die beiden anderen Slots sowie der weiter südlich liegende Brimstone Canyon, den man aufgrund einiger schwieriger Passagen allerdings nur mit entsprechender Ausrüstung und Erfahrung im technischen Canyoneering auf ganzer Länge erkunden kann.

Wanderung Peekaboo Slot Canyon

Distanz: 1,3 Meilen one-way

Höhenunterschied: 83 Meter

Vom Ende des Parkplatzes folgt man nun dem schmalen, gut erkennbaren Fußpfad in Serpentinen steil bergab, zunächst über Erde und Sand, später über leicht abschüssige Felsplatten, auf denen man aber mit entsprechendem Schuhwerk gut Halt findet. Unten angekommen, wandert man noch ein kurzes Stück in einem Wash, bis man schließlich das breite, ausgetrocknete Bachbett der Coyote Gulch erreicht, von dem aus die verschiedenen Seitencanyons abzweigen.

Geht man in der Coyote Gulch angekommen nicht nach links, sondern etwa 100 Meter nach rechts in Richtung der gegenüberliegenden Felswand, gelangt man zum Einstieg des Pekaboo. Hier muss man zunächst einen etwa 4 Meter hohen, etwas abschüssigen Felsabsatz überwinden, was durch einige in den Stein gehauene Trittstufen erleichtert wird. Dahinter folgen mehrere übereinander liegende rund ausgewaschene Felsbecken, die von einer ganzen Reihe wunderschöner Felsbögen überragt werden.

Hier sollte man ruhig ein wenig verweilen, denn dies ist der interessanteste und fotogenste Abschnitt des Pekaboo. Es folgen unzählige schmale Windungen und Spitzkehren - ein Streckenabschnitt, der besonders Kindern viel Spaß macht, denn hinter jeder Biegung, hinter jedem Felsvorsprung wartet wieder eine neue, interessante Entdeckung. Gegen Ende wird der Canyon dann langsam flacher und geht schließlich in einen Wash über.

(usafotos.de)

Ok, I was just out walking my dog and a disabled man, physically and mentally, wanted to pet my dog. Not weird. After a minute or so she grew tired and walked away. Again, not weird. He said, 'Bye Mike'. TOTALLY weird. No one here at this apartment complex knows me. At all. I've introduced myself to NOT ONE PERSON. (yeah, yeah, probably weird)

How would this man know my name? My name isn't on my door or my mailbox. There's no freakin' way this dude should have known my name. Do you guys think that the office would let him go through the books and look at the names of all the residents? Could it be someone I once knew that was disabled in an accident or something? I've only known a few people from PA in my life and he didn't look in the least familiar. Is it possible that he has ESP or something? Is he a government agent tasked with tailing me & he just let it slip? Help me guys, I'm starting to freak a little.

It is physically impossible for me to pass this building without taking a photo

This photo was taken eight days ago, on 6 August 2016, when I went on a mushroom foray at Rod Handfield's acreage. Though this was a fungi day (well, morning), we also came across a few wildflower species, too.

I found the whole day physically and mentally exhausting (a mix of excitement and stress). It was a great day, too, thanks to friend, Sandy! She very kindly picked me up around 8:15 am and we drove SW of the city and SW of Millarville to Rod Handfield's acreage. For a number of years, this has been one of my favourite places to explore, as Rod's forest tends to be full of all sorts of beautiful treasures. It is one of the two best places that I know for mushrooms, remembering that I only get to a few places anyway, the other being Brown-Lowery Provincial Park. This year has turned out after all to be great for fungi, thanks to all the endless, torrential rain we have been getting the last few weeks, and are still getting, apart from the scattering of sunny days. This year has so far had such weird weather - a very mild, dry winter, a spring that was as dry and hot as a summer, and now a wet, thundery summer. We were expecting this year to not be good for mushrooms.

We met up with a group of other interested people, most of whom we didn't know, and we searched the land for fungi. Right at the start, I was telling Sandy that on the last visit there (or one of the last), maybe four years ago (17 August 2010, so six years ago - how time flies!), we had seen a beautiful Amanita muscaria / Fly agaric mushroom growing just a few feet from the start of the hike. Sure enough, there were several growing in exactly the same spot on 6 August, which was so exciting. Later in the walk, we saw two other patches of absolute beauties of this hallucinogenic, poisonous species, including ones that were at a younger stage. The rain was spitting during our walk, and the forest was so dark, but amazingly, some of my photos came out well enough. Thanks so much, Karel, for organizing and leading this trip and for sharing your knowledge with us!

I have to admit that I always find a walk like this rather frustrating. It doesn't work too well when you have people who are photographers and people who are interested in picking mushrooms to eat : ) The latter tend to always be ahead and by the time you catch up to them, you can't see what has already quickly been picked and of course it is usually difficult or impossible to get a photo. This was private land, not a provincial or national park, and some of us know the owner, Rod Handfield. In places like the national or provincial parks, one is not allowed to remove anything from the area - but some people still do. You see people with large baskets full of mushrooms picked for cooking! This is especially an east European 'thing'. They have grown up with this tradition and seem to know which fungi are edible or not. Some poisonous mushrooms can look very similar to edible ones, which is why the warning is to never, ever eat any kind of fungus unless you are an expert! As our local Naturalist always says: "All fungi are edible, some only once!"

Sandy and I left the group around lunchtime, to go looking at vehicles at one of the dealerships. In the last year and a half, I have had to put far too much money into repairs for my poor old 17+ year old car and finally, I knew that I had no choice but to replace it. The muffler and catalytic converter had just died and, instead of spending a fortune on repair (estimate was $4,999), I decided I would rather put that money towards a new vehicle. I had been thinking about replacing it the last few years, but now, enough is enough!

Update re: car. Yay, I am finally picking up my new car tomorrow, after waiting three weeks. I feel very grateful and lucky. Thank you, again, Sandy, for helping me through this highly stressful (to me) ordeal!! It made an enormous difference .... THE difference. Guess I have to gradually break it in and then I will be all set to go!

The old bell still works. A physically fit person can ring it by pulling a rope.

Going walk about.

A trip by bicycle in Australia.

Depicted by David Gulpilil in an Australian classic movie Walkabout, was, a “walkabout”, if you don’t know what it is, that is fine, it is a not so unfamiliar tail despite what the trailer might have you believe. Here is a link to the official trailer, www.bing.com/videos/search?q=walk+about&docid=6034988... please note that the trailer has dated much more than the movie, and that the trailer does not do the movie credit. It is about the test of a young man, that is regardless of origin or race, a story that is universal. In general, it is as some Europeans call it, a bildungsroman. The formative years of an individual’s life that are spiritual in nature. And like a monk’s pilgrimage it works best when you do it alone. Well, at least for a period anyway.

While riding my bicycle around exploring the city I once lived in Melbourne, I met a pair of Austrians or Swedes at the Carlton bar, in Bourke Street, (here is a link to the map, of where to find it www.bing.com/search?pc=W145&q=carlton+bar&form=BW... ). It was somewhere in the nineties. The Carlton, l was informed before l went there, was meant to be a bit of a dive. But despite that, it was a Melbourne institution, as, when everywhere else was closed, you could always go to the Carton. It was an institution that had run down a little around the edges. Financially as drugs took over the neuro stimulus trade, it reduced the ability for a proprietor to sell a beer at a profit. Despite this, the two Austrians, or Swedes, were enjoying their beer in moderation. They were not impressed with me so much; as, and to be specific, with my process of self-destruction, one that l was applying at the time, well, it was the nineties and grunge was a lifestyle, not a genre of music. Despite a few differences they had imparted their tales of their own walk abouts on me.

One was a carpenter; a highly skilled trade, and I would latter go onto find out via a documentary on another European carpenter, about how hard it is to become a carpenter, of actual standing, and, or gain the qualification. He told me that he produced houses with no nails, it seemed like a foreign concept to me. No nails in a roof? He was talking about the frame, and he informed me that the buildings were incredibly strong. I presume that they, the houses he built had to be incredibly strong, to withstand the winds and snow that occur in the mountains of Europe, and his indigenous country.

While broaching the subject of carpenters, it should be said, that, I apologize to European carpenters especially Swedish ones. I am apologizing, for saying in an essay, (an essay that become a part of my bildungsroman), an essay that I failed at university, one that, I stated and to quote, “that although the Swedish flag carried the cross of a carpenter”, as in the cross of Christ, “they had superseded carpenters with Ikea”. I said, and to paraphrase, that, “yes, the Swedes, the Swedes had made carpenters redundant”. It seemed highly ironic on many levels, and the inference was that Christ was, and his people were, no longer required. I was not trying to be crass; l was not trying to be obtuse, it was a real observation, one that l had aligned with an abandonment as far as l could see for some Austrians and Swedish of their heritage. I may be wrong, and to be sincere, l hope l am.

The documentary I watched, talked about carpenters from the region having to leave their homes or areas and work in foreign parts. The travels where no less than as practiced by males of other countries, as would have been exhibited, and or experienced by people like Gulpilil before and after colonization. Like Gulpilil in Walk About, they had to survive, and, or earn a living by themselves. At the beginning of their journey, they would take only rudimentary money, and possessions. Relying on their trade to supply them with all they would need to survive. It seemed no less than a walk about, one that l had heard of, and or learned of through Gulpilil as a child. It showed, and displayed respect, for both teachers, the trade being taught, and the student. It was a measured risk, by those that set the young men on their journeys, and for the young men.

On my journey aided by my bicycle, I met these two young men, they were respectful young gentlemen. One a carpenter, and the second a younger man, informed me was the descendant of a European scientist. A scientist of such standing, that he was on his nations bank notes. I can’t remember what he did for a living, but he seemed to be of money, in a way that the carpenter was not. Despite having studied science, and its history, both in an academic setting, and on my own time, for the life of me, I cannot remember his last name, or if he was Swedish or Austrian exactly. It is something that vexes me to this day. Because where I excel in memory, l have a savant like ability to forget names. I make up for my deficiency in the detail, or an ability to remember, what l am interested in, and to recall what I speak, or spoke about. This type or level of memory recall has its issues. I have joked before that I will not remember your name, but every detail of your life’s history you impart upon me. It has had me labelled weird, not normal, and after having my IQ tested, it is not, nor would l hope, be ever normal.

We spoke about his trip, and his Australian rendezvous, with a young woman, who he knew from Austria, or Sweden. They were to, and did meet, on Australian soil. Like him, she was also on a rite of passage. We spoke about his grandfather the scientist. We spoke of his love for a young woman he hoped to marry, and we spoke of his deep appreciation of her. He described in detail his night with her on a New Year’s Eve, gazing into the southern sky of Australia, a visual not seen in the northern hemisphere. He spoke of his total trust, in the fidelity of their friendship, as they walked different paths, and experienced various times in Australia. He was very decent, and the conversation imparted on me, a respect by a young man for a woman that no other man young or old ever has, it wasn’t despite his innocence, it was because of it. Despite his polite nature, he felt at liberty to correct me on my observations of women. Right or wrong the conversation went stale, I thanked the men for their conversation, and wished them well. I wished them well, for both for their trip around Australia, and on their trip through life.

My observations are that a walkabout for the man who has the talent, i.e., talent enough to be a man, can, and is, a mutual exchange between the areas or countries involved. Like the carpenter l had left home with little money, and while getting an allowance of 25 dollars a week for food and tram tickets, I soon realised early on, after doing some rudimentary accounting, that my mode of transport, would be a poor man’s alternative, that of the bicycle. I bought it, my Japanese Lotus chrome molly Mountain bike, from a man who used to race the Sun tour. I scrounged up the money for it. It was a bike that would last me approximately ten years, before an accident with a car, where l was nearly killed and maimed. My bicycle had given me a freedom from trams, and cars, and although it came with the potential of death, l could at least afford to eat, and have a roof over my head.

It has been said that the area I come from, (Shepparton, Victoria, Australia), that it has produced more than its fair share of world champion level cyclists, of which, I would never be included even closely in the ranks of, due to lack of talent. This was despite passing two young men, a state champion and a future world champion who rode several tour de Frances. I passed them with no hands on the bars, during a race, or during their attack to be more precise. It was a bold move, and it still makes me laugh, it was utterly shameless. The small city and the area had, an amazing history when it comes to cycling. One local even went on to open a hotel in Flanders, Belgium, here is a link for its page flandrienhotel.com/ A hotel dedicated to cycling, and cyclists. He became a masters world champ while at it, he was a bit of an over achiever, to say the least, and it made me wonder why this area had been so productive, in the production of cyclists. I can only really speculate on it, as I looked from the not so distant outside at these brilliant athletes, that changed, or altered the world of cycling forever. Their names etched into cycling immortality, I speculated that like Flanders it was the persistent winds we get here, the great people, the long straight roads, and the close rolling hills. The roads make you into an accustomed sufferer, like all men, as even the hard men of Flanders should be, or outright must be. A right of suffering minus the cobbles, one that enables them to ply their trade, and be considered men. You learned to work, because every corner is 5 to 10 kilometres away, you learned to work as no one gives any quarter as to how good you are, or cares what your reputation is. You learn to work, because being dropped from the peloton, or pack, makes the ride home a sobering process, one of personal introspection, about your abilities, and your capacities as a man, when compared to others. And just like Geppetto, an elderly wood worker who carved himself a boy, a cycling community with many kind and gentle old men produced champions from unlikely wood stock. Imparting on them not just about riding bicycles, but how to do it like a man.

Despite not being such a great cyclist, one area, that I never had much issue with was memory. It has both been a boon, and a mysterious problem for those that have never met me before. It taught me the frailty and fear that some people have, when it comes to others. I recall while speaking to a bar maid at the Carlton hotel, (yes, that was the historical name for her profession), she was an Islander woman from the pacific, and somehow l had managed to distress her. She thought l was stalking her, when I recalled a conversation. A conversation we had had a couple of weeks earlier. I understand now why she felt that way. I, as part of a research program, with one of Australia’s elite universities, had my IQ measured. It was found, that in some respects, of the IQ equivalency test, l could nearly not be accurately measured. One of these areas was memory. In our earlier discussion she spoke to me about her and her partner’s band. I raised it in the conversation we had weeks later, and she asked security to have me removed from the pub saying l was a stalker. It was a disturbing accusation, and I never went back to the pub for years after it. As it turned out, it would not be the last time this scenario would play out. It also happened, when at another pub in Malvern, I spoke to a librarian from a university, we spoke about her dog, and her job, it was quite a cordial conversation. But several weeks later, I spoke to her again, and she could not remember me at all, she did not seem that drunk when I first met her, but she freaked. I had recalled the breed of dog she had; a Labrador cross, I still can. I tried to speak to her about her job as a librarian, because she had seemed quite interesting the first time we had met, but she weirded out. I did not think she was interesting anymore. I realised she was probably a bullet dodged, to use a euphemism. She had become part of my walk about. Part of my walk about, was to be confronted by males and females protecting women with no memories of the conversations they held. It dawned on me that they may have never had a male listen to anything they had ever said. That they had never genuinely, met a man interested in what a woman had to say, let alone recall it weeks later. And like Gulpilil in his iconic movie, I just moved on.

A bicycle is a gift. Using my bike to go on my walk about, enabled me to cover more ground than actual walking. And just like a trade, to do it well, takes skill. As a child, or a new teen going to high school, I would ride 20-kilometre round trips on a new type of bicycle, a mountain bike, to visit friends. People laughed at my bike. A bike that was neither a road bike nor a BMX, yep, l am that old! Some people joke about being older than Google, but as far as mountain bikes go, l am older than them. I now have grey hairs in my beard to prove it, and at around the same time as Google had come about, l had stopped programming. I stopped as my programming career was as successful as my cycling racing. I would, with good reason, never go on to be a professional. But in my bildungsroman of a walk about, my bicycle enabled me to be free. And like all freedom it comes from suffering or work, it is a lesson learnt, and l found it was applicable to all my endeavours, or enterprises in life. I explored and went places that l could never afford to go, because I road there. And although not being in the league of Indian artist PK Mahanandia who when he met Charlotte Von Schedvin, road from India to Europe to find her on a second-hand bicycle, I would go onto find love, and use a bicycle like him to facilitate that love. I would use the education of discipline in life, that l had gained while riding it. I would suffer both physically, and from the broken heart it helped give me. As a result, I seem to be a lot more introspective as l get older, and looking back in hindsight, it was the thing that chiselled a boy into a man.

“Whatever you are physically...male or female, strong or weak, ill or healthy--all those things matter less than what your heart contains. If you have the soul of a warrior, you are a warrior. All those other things, they are the glass that contains the lamp, but you are the light inside.” ― Cassandra Clare

My first photo from a beautiful couple days away in the peaks, on a workshop with the incomparable Rosie Hardy. We shot loads of different looks, and ate a load of pizza, pouring our hearts out to each other in our own little hidden castle in the rocks. Will have many more photos to share from this amazing experience soon as I begin to work through them all! <3

Model: @gracebowker

Dress: @joflemingdesign

Styled by @georgiarosehardy

What I say is not literal, because it is not physically possible for me to have wings. However, although I may not have literal wings, my imagination can soar like the birds to take me anywhere I can think of. I will tell you of my soaring imagination because it is what I know, and what I hold close to my heart, which is how I can fly away. I soar in my mind to smell the morning air, to meet the sun as it arrives, and smile. I know the days are to be lived in the sweetest possible way. Each telling a story to me and working with love I do what I can, sharing a smile while out shopping, being kind, respecting all people, even the young ones that do not require me to do so. I touch a child’s head and wish them the best, hoping their smile never fades, and that they find a friend to hug, and know that I am there for them if they need me. So for me keeping these kind of inner wings is a Herculean task, but is worth it because each day is beautiful to me, knowing that I am alive and I exist. This is one of many sweet feelings that I experience.

photo by Melter Weatherwax