My holiday begins as I step outside of my front door and not when my destination is reached. Every tiny thing is pure gift!
Home in bed now with laryngitis. No talking. No singing either. Silence is golden.
Talking with dear John about God’s divine gift of detachment. ‘Yes’, he replies gently; ‘To be unbothered no matter what’. True! Self preoccupation is the equivalent to misery!
Seemingly, guy one time, near here, earned himself the nick name; ‘Optician’. His conversations beginning and ending with ‘I’ every time and without fail.
‘I had a little tea party this afternoon at three. T’was very small - three guests in all, I, myself and me. Myself ate all the sandwiches, while I drank all the tea, t’was also I who ate the pie and passed the cake to me’. (Jessica Nelson North).
Derm’s childhood school poem. Fond memory. I could only recall the first line. Kind Google!




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