Bridges

Bridges, aren't they beautiful?   Have you ever seen an ugly one?

Bridges reach out over thin air to a destination.   They are a human way of reaching out to make contact.   No matter their size you always want to look at them.   They link islands, span shipping channels, cross raging rivers... and train lines.

When we were children, although there were swings and other stuff nearby, we always played in the stream;  searching out flat stepping stones, mud dams, but if we were lucky enough to find a piece of wood long enough, we would build a bridge.   Even if the pieces weren't long enough, it didn't stop us from trying.   Although there were swings and other stuff nearby, we always played in the stream.

Over the years I think of all the people I have met and wanted to keep in touch with.   We exchanged addresses and even telephone numbers.   But generally, we never quite get around to making contact.   The links we had in common are gone.  I tell myself, "I'll do it this afternoon, maybe tomorrow, on Sunday when calls are free."    How will I start the conversation?   What if they are busy?  What if I wake the baby?   All these 'what if's.'    Now I'm getting older, what if someone's died?

Facebook, Twitter, mobile phone texting and all this modern technology sometimes gets bad press.   They're no different to anything else.  Whenever something becomes popular, there is always someone there to decry it and criticise.   But these technologies are our way of reaching out and making contact with people.   Our way of saying, we are here and want to remain friends.    You can add a comment to their 'thread.'   Send them a message.   If you don't know what to say you can always just 'poke' them.   Reminds me of nodding at someone in the street as you pass by.   No need for words, just a simple acknowledgement.

Facebook et al, are our bridges, our beautiful bridges.   Lets use them, not abuse them.

http://www.newportpast.com/bridges/town_bridge/index.php

Cats, fish and other things

Quite a stressful day, yesterday, I released a rather skittish cat, Jubilee, out into our garden after five weeks of confinement.    After a minute or so she disappeared through a gap in the hedge and couldn't be found for well over two hours.
Eventually she thankfully re-appeared in the garden.   At least she knows where we live !!   But she ran off whenever I approached.
Patience, and a piece of stick to prop open the cat flat, finally did the trick, after nearly four hours.  Hunger and evening cold may have also played their part.   She proceeded to eat two dishfuls of food before curling up to sleep on the windowsill.

Cats are so independent, unlike dogs.  But that makes it all the more rewarding when they come to you and trust you.  

For the past five weeks we have been getting aquainted with Jubilee and Tia, two cats whose previous family are emigrating to Australia.   Three and four years old, they are far from kittens, and whilst one, Tia, sometimes seems as faithful and loyal as a dog, it helps that she has an uncontrollable instinct to chase small things on sticks.    Jubilee is far too canny for that.  Although she twitches slightly, she can control this urge when necessary.    However, she sometimes loses control when presented with a small ball of rolled up newspaper.

Both Jubilee and Tia love watching our tank of tropical fish.   TV is good, but the fish are much better.

An ealier ginger cat called Sandy also liked watching our tropical fish, but he had a more affectionate relationship with a goldfish we inherited.   Sandy would sit quietly alongside the tank while the fish swam towards him and they would kiss gently through the glass.

The goldfish has rather a romantic story all of its own.   Aquired from a local fair as a tiny fish in a plastic bag, he spent many years with my brother-in-law.   The fish swam around in a small tank with only a white cat curled up on the side table for company.   When my brother-in-law died we brought the fish  home in a bucket and he lived in a tank on our washing machine, for probably four years.

Then we took this much grown specimen to a friend's outdoor pond to have some space.   They called him Reg after the brother-in-law.   The first time the poor fish had been given a name.   We regularly received Christmas cards and health updates from Reg - he was happy.

Then we had the news...   Reg was Regina   - she had had babies.   I love a happy ending!!

A dark night in November

Logic doesn't come into it.   I need to focus and direct my concentration, so I open up a blogspot.   Something extra to occupy me.   I enjoy writing on a variety of subjects, so perhaps I can blog on the odds and ends that come along from time to time. 

Such as why, when I was visiting in my son's garden, did I hear someone shout "Will you leave my Mother's underwear alone!"       Of course, it could have been an instruction to an unruly dog...

Eavesdropping can be fun.   "You can have it sliced if you want."

"And she just pressed a button and she'd bought it!"    Was it her intention to purchase, I wonder...
Modern technology can be so confusing.