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Wednesday, 30 March 2011

Gentle Reader. . .

A largely irrelevant picture 

A bit of a strange collection of thoughts here, but come with me, if you will, out of the city, up the path and over the hill and down to the water’s edge.

I try to imagine you; as you read, eyes jumping from word to word. Outside the window, maybe a city, or a lake, or a desert or perhaps a small town near the sea. Who knows. . .

I wonder what questions you have and what brought you here, and where you are on your journey. Your journey is always and only your journey, and this is mine and mine alone.

My room is a dark one in the centre of the house, but light filters in through the music room and is diffused by the curtains Clare has put up. I have a fireplace and a mantelpiece. Two reclining leather chairs, a worn out rug that needs chucking away and a load of boxes containing lights, cameras, electrical junk, magazines, photos, and . . . well a lot of junk I suppose; stuff I find interesting.

I wonder what kind of room you read me in. What sounds seep up the stair or in from the street, or out of your computer. I wonder what questions you are trying to answer, or what function reading a blog can have for you?

Some people must get here by accident and others are specifically searching. Some seeking to buy a hunting knife may suddenly find themselves here and wonder what all this crap has to do with the adventure they plan. Others may be seeking answers questions like what is life like after a colectomy, what is butt burn, what is surgery like and how do you deal with it. Some may seek an optical device with very sharp focus.

I read other people’s blogs as you can see from the side panel. Speaking for myself, at first I read them for information, scouring the net for signs and clues as to the path that I would take. I now realise it is not for information. It is to visualise other people and understand how others – you – deal with the dread disease.

In our separate journey’s I look for something common to us, some sign that we can survive and overcome and step forward.

I think it is mostly for connection. I think that’s why I read them. That and the fact that I’m a bit nosey to be honest.

Anyway you see the question I pose

“What are we looking for?”


  1. I look so that I don't feel alone
    I look to cheer myself up sometimes
    I look to see if others have gotten better
    I look for hope
    I look for confirmation

    I hear cars and sirens and people speaking.

    I sit in Aix en Provence, France..home to 140,000 it isn't a quiet last day here and wonder at the world and how it works...but also I'm nosey about other people's lives :D

  2. Paula,

    Is it really your last day? Wow! I guess if it is that is a BIG day. New things await you.

    You have articulated this thing very well.Thank you for that.

    Good luck to you; I hope to hear what happens next.

    A bientôt for now.

  3. yep, back in Australia now :D - let's see what happens next :D - hope all is good with you...I'm waiting to see what you decide to do next. I had always just thought that if I had the op I'd have the reversal...but you made me rethink that one...the power of reading and rational thought eh?

  4. Trying to understand... I have very little of it right now. I'm not the one dealing with it, my six year old daughter is... Trying to make sense.. Yes trying to find hope. We just recieved the diagnosis 2 weeks ago, just left the hospital 2 days ago... It's all still very surreal.
    I find comfort in your journey, good or bad, it's candid and I appreciate you sharing.

  5. AnonymousJune 01, 2011

    I look because i am being nosey tonight, checking out the blog of a blogger who comments on the blog of the blogger most close to me.and you have interesting things to say so i have read now for longer then i expected.
    My room is a music room/library/home office of sorts,a little stuffy and warm, bookcase not so much full of books as it is heaping with them and a floor lamp that has been dutifully lighting things for almost a century casting along with its light a multitude of shadows, i have always loved that lamp, guitars hanging in the corner,a didgeridoo i bought at a fair and now think is ridicules in another,a keyboard under the window, i hear the sound of the lawn sprinklers outside, sort of a hissing and skittering and at this very moment the sound of skateboard wheels on the sidewalk,I'm in an American city, in a house with a green lawn in front and two cars in the drive.

  6. Wow!

    I've only just seen this comment. Thank you.

    Anonymous, I could make that into a film. An it is so nourishing of you to describe it all so well.

    Connection and shared experience.

    I remain

  7. Nadine,

    Only just read YOUR comment too, I wish your daughter and you all the strength and tranquility I can.

    Thanks for commenting. I really appreciate it.


I'm always interested to hear any thoughts or stories of your own. Please do comment.