I have watched too many friends over the years create unnecessary angst in their lives due to trying to fulfill that ‘bucket list’ they dreamt up for themselves.  At this stage in life, I can’t be bothered losing sleep over unfulfilled dreams, so I’ve made an all-important list of all the things I DON’T want to do again, ever.  I call it my ‘fuck it’ list!!!

Oh, well…I don’t know about you but as I age I notice that my train of thought sometimes leaves the station without me.  Enjoy your weekend.
Hugs,
Fi

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This reflection, dear Reader, resonates deeply with the understanding that moments of profound reckoning, whether personal or planetary, are inherent to existence. Like the mythical Armageddon stripped of its purely religious vestments, these junctures represent an unavoidable confrontation with the stark realities of what lies ahead. The past, regardless of its brilliance or good intentions, yields to the undeniable present.
The world, as it always has, is in flux. Structures crumble. While the human instinct may be to assign blame or see these shifts as deserved retribution, the more profound truth is the universality of this experience. None are exempt from the eventual vanishing point, however diligently we attempt to delay its arrival.

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Armageddon, apart from its end-of-world battle and religious significance as the confrontation of good and evil, is most popularly known as a critical moment of reckoning. The application is as narrow as that of an aging person or as broad as that of a declining empire.

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Conversion to electrification from a mechanical mode is not without its challenges. Getting the two – manual and electronic – to merge is the goal because neither excludes the other. Amusingly I am writing these words while sitting in my car in a subterranean garage with no WiFi connection. Indeed I am uncertain whether this composition will survive my experience here. The reason for the uncommon choice of writing desk is that I am waiting to see whether the charger for my new tricycle works as it should.

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Per Gemini:

What a truly lovely day it was! With the sun shining and a brisk northwest wind carrying the faintest promise of spring – even a hint of green returning to the fields – the conditions were simply begging to be enjoyed. And that’s precisely what happened. Now, being a septuagenarian, my “grand” adventures might not involve scaling mountains or traversing continents, but within my comfortable range, it truly felt like a day brimming with possibility!

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With nothing to do today but enjoy the weather, that’s precisely what we did. Sunshine, an invigorating NW wind and a very palpable hint of spring (including the faintest record of green in the farmer’s fields). Though I will moderate the gusto by reminding you, dear Reader, that the enthusiasm is that of a septuagenarian. This means of course that the boundaries are limited and the enterprise reeks of facility not diversity or magnanimity. Nonetheless it spoke of a grand day! And limitless inventiveness!

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One cannot read almost anything historic about England –  and certainly not anything medieval – without speedily encountering two principle features: heraldry and war. The two – conjoined with exotic terms of feudal rank – seem to identify the very fibre of the community, both top and bottom. One appeals to my artistic side; the other, not in the least.  In fact combative superlatives are just another perversion of masculinity in my view. I shall for example never understand the appeal of pugilists who devote themselves to bashing one another’s brains.

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I’m taking a holiday today.  It’s Easter Monday – so that qualifies as a legitimate holiday to my thinking. I know I haven’t a particular need to declare a holiday, given my unobstructed state of retirement and general indolence.  Nonetheless I have duties, daily obligations from which from time to time I prefer to distance myself.  Foremost of those commitments is my daily cycle.  But I am now awaiting the production of a replacement tricycle of my current defective model. The retail agent advised the day before last that I might expect something by Tuesday (tomorrow) – though regrettably I’m inclined to think it may be later in light of the agent’s expressed staff illnesses.  For today however I prefer not to contaminate the existing trike, leaving it under lock and key so to speak (it’s a padlock) until its removal.

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Music, as you know, Dear Reader, can stir the soul. When entwined with long-forgotten, heady visual memories, its effect is impassioned—almost anthemic. While sitting on a deck chair in the brilliant morning sunshine this Easter Sunday, spirited by the singing of Requiem by Rebecca Noelle, I drifted in my absent-thinking mind to another bright day.

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