Bredonborough Rising at A bright
09.32
Bredonborough.
Rising at 06.50. A bright and sunny day.
On the street for MinxReading of the Sunday variety I...
II...
Gentle reading…
… including Michael Billngton on the decrease in audience attention…
Reflecting: if we examine the particular, eventually the larger speaks back. Another way of expressing this: the principle of structure is such that each part is connected to another. (Ask why, seven times! will also lead us to this). One particular level is connected to another, albeit in a subtle way.
This morning, I am leaving. What do I feel about this? Loss: I am leaving my Wife and home, where I am established, know my way about, and am happy. Yet, I am on my way to something else. At the end of a life, it is the same as this. A good life, well lived, is a triumph. We are established, we know our way about and, in my case, I am happy. So, I am leaving – if only to the next room. What waits for me there? What new possibilities, excitements, opportunities? An older man, at a distance from his birth, and a closer distance to his death, is experiencing a little-ahead-of-time what his leaving this-time-round-the-planet might be. Not good to dwell on death; good to dwell on dying as a creative, participatory opportunity and birthing process.
Well, what does all of this mean? An old goat wittering on and closer to the end of the set than the beginning.
By the front door…
14.12 Weatherspoons, Heathrow Terminal Five.
At ten, delivering morning tea for the Minx (with love sprinkles). T arrived back c. 24.30 and turned the light out at 02.00.
Minxie She: You don’t have to go!
RF: Yes I do.
And in this simple exchange, much of the human condition.
Walking down the stairs, leaving my Wife, tears fell. Connecting to the morning’s reflective moment: being in touch with our dying, our living acquires a greater resonance.
Into the KevinMobile…
… and a swiftly-journeying to T5.
A little confusion over passports and ESTA, soon resolved, and through security to a full Weatherspoon’s…
… with computing and a baked potato.
21.56 EST.
Camp Caravan, Royalston, Massachusetts.
To the gate…
… a packed flight…
… with acceptable seat.
Landing c. 17.35, arriving at the gate 17.45. One hour to reach an immigration officer. Then problems getting bags off the ‘plane. My first bag arrived early, the second bag one of the last off and arriving as fear was setting in. Ninety minutes to get baggage and another ten to clear Customs.
Victor was in the hall, having his own adventures-in-driving to reach the airport parking.
Leaving Logan c. 19.08 I…
II...
… arriving Camp Caravan c. 21.12.
Door to door: fourteen hours and three minutes.
