Francis Gay: Douglas is adopting an earthier outlook on life

DOUGLAS told me he wants to be more like dirt.

Seeing my confusion, he explained.

He and his wife inherited a patch of concrete in their garden when they bought the house.

Just recently, he decided to break it up, remove it and build a play-area for the grandkids. It was tough work but he eventually got it lifted.

There was a wee delay while he got the materials organised so the soil was left bare and, straight away, weeds started sprouting.

“That dirt has been down there for years,” Douglas said.

“It’s been buried under rubble and concrete, cut off from the sun, yet the first thing it does when it can is nurture life. The next time I am weighed down by worries, I’m going to remember that dirt… and be more like it!”

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GRACIE has been looking after her mum for the past couple of years at a time of life when the older woman can do little for herself and isn’t always aware of who is helping her. I suggested Gracie was doing heroic, heartbreaking work but she would have none of it. “What else could I do?”

Her question stuck with me and the voice in my head replied: “Say you were too busy or pretend it was nothing to do with you or leave it to the health care professionals or complain at how unfair it all was and wallow in self-pity.”

Because those are all options at a time like that and people do choose them.

But the good hearts, the heroes who refuse to see themselves that way, keep on loving, caring, and doing what needs done. And they genuinely can’t see any other option. Which is part of what makes them heroes in my book.

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I’M told it’s not polite to listen in on other people’s conversations, but…

The man in the caf was talking about an old book he’d bought. The pages were all slightly different sizes, sometimes the borders were off-kilter, a chunk of the book near the middle had separated from the rest and the spine was so threadbare you couldn’t read the title but the story was wonderful!

“The pages and the binding aren’t the essence of the book anyway,” he said.

“It doesn’t matter how it looks. What matters is the message conveyed by the writer and the response of the reader.”

“So ” I could see his friend grappling with the thought. “Like people? It doesn’t matter how they look like on the outside, it’s what’s on the inside that matters?”

I mentally apologised for my eavesdropping, but I made no apology for the imaginary cheer that went up.

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BRIAN asked how my day had been. I was able to tell him a few interesting and funny things that had happened, then I asked how his had gone.

“Oh, just an ordinary day. Quite boring really. Nothing much happened.”

By way of explanation, Brian volunteers in a food bank / soup kitchen.

When he says nothing much happened he means there were no emergencies they couldn’t deal with, and by an ordinary day he means that many hungry people got fed and took away supplies for families facing the toughest times of their lives.

If that’s an ordinary day then Brian and all the people doing similar work are just ordinary folk. But it isn’t. And they aren’t.

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“HE came up to me when I was standing here,” John said.

“He had a scribbled map with the words ‘short stay hostel’ on it and asked if I knew where it was.”

I could see the hostel from the bus stop John was standing at and I’d just seen him arrive from that direction.

“You took him there?” I asked. “You could have just pointed it out.”

“Well, I figured he was walking a tough road,” he explained.

“I thought I could provide friendly company for at least part of it and see him on his way with an encouraging word and handshake.”

A wise person once said: “We are all just walking each other home.”

In John’s case quite literally.

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Dark nights are with us once again,