Skip to main content

Wake up calls

I see him most days.  He sits there.  Unassuming.  Undemanding.  Yet he captures my attention, and my imagination.  Who is he?  Who was he?  How did he come to be there? 
 
Sitting outside Sainsbury's, he passes his day it would appear deep in thought.  Pensive.  Considering what, I often wonder? 
 
We've had only the briefest of interactions.
 
I do not usually give directly to individuals, choosing instead to set up Standing Orders which leave my bank account each month.  I review these annually, selecting charities whose mission appeals to me in some way. 
 
This, I find, is a straightforward way of giving.  But not, I think, a terribly engaged manner in which to do so.
 
 
We make a living
by what we get
But we make a life
by what we give
Winston Churchill
 
 
 
I've noticed a great many more prompts to give on the Underground of late.  Right beside the ads for online dating, and the suggestion that carrying a bottle containing a particular brand of water filter will remedy even the worst of hangovers, there are calls to action from several Human Rights movements. 
 
These reminders seek to mobilise their audience by use of shock tactics.  The messages they contain hit hard, making an impact quickly and succinctly (perhaps penetrating even more sharply when the commuter on the Northern line is feeling lonely and hungover). 
 
I can see their effectiveness - it takes very little to send a text, and confirm a gift.  But it allows us to do so from a comfortable distance.  SMS sent, we can move on, and away from the issue or cause brought to our attention, which quickly leaves our consciousness perhaps only moments later. 
 
I wonder how much this really does in terms of awareness raising, since the awareness cultivated is perhaps only fleeting.
 
And he who sits so quietly, presenting his remaining copies of the Big Issue, is a staunch reminder that whilst we might have texted on command as we emerge from the Tube, the issue is unlikely to fade as the doors close... 

 


 
 
 
 
 

Comments

Popular posts from this blog

Table. Apple. Penny.

Whilst there were several places I might have been that morning, I wouldn't have been anywhere else.  The practitioner from the Memory Service arrived promptly.  I liked her instantly.    Mum was nervous.  I think I was a little, too.  It's been a difficult year.   "It's Friday, it's the fourteenth of December and I'm at home..."   No problems there.  CAMCOG, or the Cambridge Cognitive Examination is a thorough assessment tool used to assess the extent of extent of dementia, and to assess the level of cognitive impairment.  The standardised  measure assesses orientation, language, memory, praxis, attention, abstract thinking, perception and calculation.    "Table.  Apple.  Penny."   Three everyday items that were introduced at one point, and then referred to again later on.  Again, Mum was able to recall each.      I am reminded that the...

Glass half full? Glass half empty? Or perhaps the glass is broken

I am, constitutionally, a glass half empty gal.  I will always first acknowledge what I don't have, what I have lost, and what it is that I am seeking.  I tend to overlook my strengths, concentrating only on those bits of me that are underdeveloped or weak.  I refer to myself as a realist, but in doing so compliment myself and insult those who genuinely are simply realistic.  My modus operandi is to identify what's not working and acknowledge this before seeing more clearly what functions perfectly well.  This has its place: I edit others' written work pretty well.  My fastidious attention to detail serves me, and the author.  Accuracy counts, for me and I have an excellent memory.  I can remember a great many of my sessions with clients verbatim.  Even this asset is something I can, and do, diminish the true value of, by concentrating on 'I should have said...' or 'why didn't....  occur to me during the session?' Earlier this we...

Pausing in the sunshine

And so, chemo is over.  My best friend's diary has been chocker...  Line cleans, blood tests, scans and 18 weekly doses of the gruelling treatment itself.  Summer seems at last to have arrived and with it, we hope, some time, peace and space. She is, we acknowledged over a rather yummy luncheon served to us beneath the beautiful canopy of creepers and climbers at Petersham Nurseries, an inspiration. A small group of us gathered to celebrate her forthcoming marriage.  The sun's rays joined the warmth we all have for this very special woman.  Warmth and, in my case at least, pride. It is the greatest privilege to call this woman my best friend.  She continues to epitomise my understanding of grace.  Our bodies are fragile things.  Our minds are frailer still.  In her composure and wisdom, she possesses an outlook I can only aspire to adopt.  From you, dear Charlotte, I learn and I learn and I learn.   The ...