Skip to main content

Walking, wondering and not walking at all

We all walk.

I walk every day. I also lie. I don't walk every day, as in I don't take the dogs for a walk every day. Poor boys, in this season of tax returns and desperate seeking of extra work and working to pay the tax bill, they are the losers. Four-legged-friend was looking distinctly skinny in his hind legs, when I brushed his coat while he wolfed down his supper this evening (he tries to eat the brush if I take it near him at any other time, so meal times have become grooming times). Oddly, I lose out on the walking too, but this fails to have the same effect on my 'skinniness'...

Anyway, we all walk.

We walked on Christmas day -

Littlest and I walked at the weekend -


Time to appreciate the trees. Time to encourage the smelly boys into the freezing water. Time for the sun to go down. Time to walk very, very slowly - Littlest's finger phone was engaged throughout in deep discussion with the zoo warden - daddy bear apparently - and in giving him instructions to feed the giraffes and heffalumps. And to check his cupboard for hot chocolate powder. Imagination is a wonderful gift.

So I walk, Littlest walks, Bertie Baggins and Four-legged-friend walk. We all walk. Most, if not every, day.

But we don't. My 'all' ignores those who can't walk. Those whose limbs don't work. Those for whom exercise isn't something to choose whether or not you have the time or can be bothered to do, but is instead a dream. A dream that would allow them to be as free as the rest of us. That would liberate them from a lonely life at home. In the developed world, those of us who can walk can rest fairly comfortably in the knowledge that those who can't do have access to the aids that make their lives and the journeys through their lives possible. But in the developing world, those who can't walk face a bleak existence. Where transport is hit and miss at best and often dependent on jumping onto a 'matatu' or taxi-van and holding on, with no nod to any thoughts of health and safety or disabled access, and health care is both limited and distant , being unable to walk is a life sentence to isolation from community, friends and tragically family. Unless ...

Unless you are a teenager with a dream. Yes, that isn't a typo - I do mean teenager. And specifically you dream of setting up a charity to take wheelchairs to these 'people who can't walk'. And in the Oriana Project your dream becomes a reality.

Loads of things make me cry: the last ten minutes of Notting Hill do it every time, the end of the Lumpy Movie (a disney version of Winnie the Pooh plus heffalumps), Les Miserables (I'm reaching for the tissues with the first note), when the internet collapses half way through submitting my tax return and I have to start again and it's too early in the day for a gin, when my children sing 'Castle on a cloud' to me (I have a thing about Les Mis) - all these and the story of the Oriana project. Read it. Cry perhaps. And be inspired.

And wonder at how until now you took walking for granted.


Popular posts from this blog

Life in the slow lane - Part One.

Recent hypothetical text message from parent to adult son -

Been in the garden all day. Time for a bath first then I'll leave, with you by 8. Chilly here - have you had snow? See you soon. Lots of  love xx
PS. Bought too many aubergines yesterday - would you like some?

All very mundane; boring even? Hmmm.

In an effort to save time or appear somehow with-it or hip or whatever term is used now to mean 'not ancient', the parent could instead have sent this -

Been in the garden all day. Time for 🛁. Chilly here - do you have ❄️. 
PS. Would you like some 🍆? Lots of X

Yes, I punctuate my texts.

Punctuation, however, isn't the point here. Or rather it's not the only thing unmasking me as someone who is not hip/cool/sic or lit (which list, of course, proves without a doubt that I am none of these things).

No. The point is that with the insertion of a few emojis, I changed an innocent message about gardening, the weather and vegetables, into something x-rated and made myself …

#2019 Connections, characters and a stone ball.

Half-way into January. A small step into a new year. And I am another year older. How did this happen?

I could answer part of that by reminding myself that as I was born in January and have just had a birthday I am a year older. But half-way into January (over half-way now - several days have passed since I started this blog) and a small step into a New Year; how did these happen?

Time doesn’t stand still. I've said that before. In November's blog. I called it out as a cliche then too. It is. But if cliches can be good and I think this is a good one. Time is animated. Time moves. I wittered on about this at length. In November. Two months ago. Two months filled with frantic present hunting; over-eating; over-spending; under-sleeping; and wrapping (always late on Christmas eve - so late that I risk Father Christmas finding me sitting on the floor surrounded by paper and string - the sellotape always runs out at about 11.57pm on Christmas Eve, doesn't it? - hot chocolate insul…

Time and dreams. And a mountain or two.

Time doesn’t stand still. Not for any man or woman. Time is physics. It proceeds and there is nothing that we can do about it. Not yet anyway. Probably not ever.

While perhaps it's not great writing to start with a cliche (or even a few), the standing still of time, as sometimes observed in a moment of awe, is something we can perceive. Sometimes. Okay, time doesn't actually stop. But it feels like it does. Insert here any moment when for you time 'stood still'; that moment, perhaps, when you had raced to summit a mountain and - with your feet standing on the highest point, your body in that state of elated exhaustion - you watched as the rising sun crept long pillars of light above the distant horizon. And you realised - literally standing still - that you were holding your breath. 

The sun of course went on rising and time did not actually stop. At moments like these, we tell ourselves that it did; just for a moment. But that is an illusion. A mere mistaken perception.…