Michael Louis Hedley

I came across a lovely comment by Philip Pullman about Kolymsky Heights by Lionel Davidson, namely "The best thriller I've ever read." On the strength of that I read it myself and wasn't disappointed, an excellent piece of work, thoroughly enjoyed it. The story tore along at a fair old pace. On the back of that I dipped further into Lionel Davidson's works and have read A long way to Shiloh, The Rose of Tibet and latterly The Sun Chemist and from that book I came across a Yiddish proverb that has given me plenty of  cause for thought. -Gott shickt die refuah far der makke - God sends the remedy before the affliction.

If you have forgiven yourself for being imperfect, you can now do it for everybody else too. If you have NOT forgiven yourself, I am afraid you will likely pass on your sadness, absurdity, judgement, and futility to others. What comes around goes around.  ( From Richard Rohr's Daily Meditation)

A little bit more from Ernest as I promised yesterday. 'Tell them about when I was little,' young Tom said, rolling over and taking hold of David's ankle. 'I'll never get to be as good in real life as the stories about me when I was little.' (page 61)

I've been revisiting an old friend these last few days. Ernest Hemingway and his Islands in the Stream. Isn't it funny how something jumps out from the page that didn't when I first read it in 1971. I suppose all manner have things have changed in me and about me, whereas his word remains constant. Two bits to reflect on The main character  Thomas Hudson has his three sons come to stay with him. He is living on his own, everything neatly ordered till the boys arrive. '...every sort of gear they owned was scattered over everywhere. Thomas Hudson didn't mind it. When a man lives in a house by himself he gets very precise habits and they get to be a pleasure. But it felt good to have some of them broken up. He knew he would have his habits again long after he would no longer have the boys.' p.56. I'll add the second bit that leapt out at me tomorrow.

A bit of whimsy, perhaps more than that --- by lack of understanding we remain sane.

The power of the word. Uncle Tom's Cabin by Harriet Beecher Stowe. In 1862 as Civil War raged between the Union and the Confederacy President Abe Lincoln met her and said, ' so this is the lady who started the Great War,'

If everything isn't going right, go left!

Some words of Francis of Assisi came to me this morning as I was busily organising myself.  He offered this, 'start by doing what is necessary, then do what is possible and suddenly you are doing the impossible.

It would have been Albert Einstein's birthday today, 14th March, it seemed appropriate to remind myself of something he said, 'the most beautiful thing that we can explain is the MYSTERIOUS. It is the only source of true art and science. All those to whom this emotion is a stranger - those who can no longer pause in WONDER or stand wrapt in AWE - they are already dead: their eyes are shut.' The emphases are his.

That extraordinary incredible Sci Fi novel, The Book of Strange New Things by Michel Faber, came to my mind this morning for no particular reason and especially the observation on p.59 ..in human relations kindness and lies are worth a thousand truths. I thought  of the  wonderful little, but big, story of Spit Nolan by Bill Naughton at the same time  and the generosity of a white lie. The whole issue of truth, lies, false news, morality engulfs our world right now.

Just finished Becoming by Michelle Obama, what an impressive read, thoroughly engaged with it. I think it will make an excellent book club choice, plenty of issues to chew over. How important like minded people are to support a vision and how sad when so much that is so good can so easily be kicked into touch when somebody comes along and doesn't get it. I don't know why it should come into my head at this point but 'by lack of understanding we remain sane' seems apt.

The key to finding happiness in modern times is simplicity.

Following on from my most recent remembrance. I was thinking about a piece a priest, Hugh Lavery wrote about holidays and people sending cards saying wish you were here to friends and colleagues, hiding the fact that they genuinely wished it because they didn't know what to do without friends and work mates around. I don't know whether that's true or not , but how he ended the piece resonated with me. 'It's not rest we need, its recreation, to play again with the abandon of children.'

It came to mind this morning, for some reason, sorry don't know where it came from originally, but I like it. We don't stop playing because we grow old, we grow old because we stop playing.' keep playing.

'It doesn't matter, too much, generally speaking, a human life; it can be summed up in a small number of events - his father had just relived for the last time, the hopes and failures that formed the story of his life.' This made me shiver when I came across this piece that I had written down from Michel Houellebecq's book The Map and the Territory. page 149 if you are interested. I remember  at the time being troubled by that as I was reading the book and as I read it again this morning in my notes about the book I realized that I still am.

A couple of threads I pulled from somewhere today. ...paid the price for living too long with a single dream..  don't know where I conjured that from and something from St. Francis following.. Start by doing something which is necessary, then do what is possible and suddenly you are doing the impossible. Now perhaps there is a connection between the two.