Size matters

I sat, yesterday, watching a Mum walk to the bank, walk to the dentists, walk back to her car.  She walked with easy stride, a casual walk with purpose.  And holding on to her hand was, one presumed, her little son, with legs so short at 3 or 4 that for every step she took in leisure he had to take several, at a run.  Why do parents do this?  Why do they scoot along and make their children run and run to keep up?  Why not slow down a little, walk perhaps at the child's pace.  Would it be so bad?

And so I supped my tea and read articles in The Times.  A man dead, two men arrested, much scandal, and then, settled in inner pages, slid in gently amongst gossip, a report on the growing hunger in South Somalia, with the word Famine being suggested.  For the dead man, who will grieve?  Some?  Many?  Is there a parent to weep?  And for the thousands who lay their children out to die, themselves out to die, for no food.  Who weeps?  Are we more affected by the one death that we see locally than by the very many, far, far away? I ate my toast and pondered.

One of my offspring is sad.  Not a great sadness like a tornado wiping out an entire family, nor one that faces cancer with no cure, nor have they become addicted to cocaine, nor caught for armed robbery.  The pain is caused by the coldness of another.  And this pain of theirs, my loved one, it seeps into every bone, every pore, every fibre until my whole of who I am is agonised by it.  And I feel for the parents of others, but today, for me in my moment, for me here and now, it is the magnitude of sorrow in my little world that overflows.

Left turn

Why do we notice some junctions more than others, why do we look down some side streets and not others.  Some days I want to take the left turn I never take and just drive and drive, but I dont know if I am driving towards or driving away.  I think maybe away.  And towards a new adventure.  A left turn untaken signals a possible escape route, an exit.  Some days I want freedom from my work, or maybe a worry, or a stress, or a row.

I sometimes look at people who are busy working in exotic places, or someone ordinary running an orphanage they just happened to start up in some african village somewhere and wonder how they got there.  And how come I never did.  Did they take that left turn?

They found the body of a soldier who was missing and I had to think of his parents grief, the tearing of their world.  And maybe today my road is fine just the way it is.  Today I am not in the lane they are in.  

I have laughed today, and been loved, and eaten, and driven home.  I have drunk water, and have clothed myself.  I have talked and shared my love.  I have looked into eyes of friends.  I have watched TV.  I have swallowed chocolate.  This is my journey.  Just today.  And all is well.