What are your morning rituals? What does the first hour of your day look like?
A gentle breeze kisses my cheek.As I open my eyes, I see the floor-length feather-light billowing curtains part. A ray of sunshine lets itself in.
Stretching like a cat feels good. I rise and slip into a swimsuit, tightening the belt of my robe around my waist. Downstairs freshly brewed coffee sits ready on the marble surface.
Heading outside to the infinity pool, I feel the sun has warmth in it already, but the tiles beneath my feet hold just a hint of a chill.
The tide is out and the beach is quiet.
The water wraps around me, caressing my skin and time stands still.
Hunger pangs arrive, and on the balcony, I find my breakfast laid out. Watermelon juice, and more coffee. Olives, labneh, za’atar, avocado, olive oil, lemon juice, markook, and eggs. Bliss.
The Reality
Patch roughly nudges me awake. It’s still a little dark. It is a lot cold. I get dressed quickly in the first things I can find, pull on a coat, put on a hat, and head out. The End
We all agree, I reckon that it’s our genetic make-up, our DNA, that is the mother of our uniqueness?
After that, it’s pretty much the wildwest-I was going to say where do we start? But I guess the beginning is a good place as any.
We were created by and from two souls who brought a whole bunch of baggage to the table.
Our upbringing and could on the surface be similar to a sibling, but there will be differences from the off. And dont forget, identical twins will have different fingerprints.
The conditioning that is absorbed and that rejected. An inane sense of self may begin quite young. There again, maybe sometimes that never develops.
Does a child feel supported, guided, safe, and loved? Is it well fed and nourished in all ways every single child should? Everything that happens around them will affect their way of looking at the world. Or do they look the other way in denial, shutting down their developing brains for safe keeping?
Personal life experiences, triumphs, failures,challenges,perspectives, perceptions, values, beliefs, morals, passions, natural abilities, goals,authenticity, and choice? It all has an effect.
Our ability or inability to express ourselves with so many varying communication styles. Or unable to at all, causing innumerable issues.
Where does self-reliance and strength of character become a thing?
When/how is an honest or dishonest person formed?
What makes a human being kind, open, friendly, and compassionate?
Why are some folk cold, hard, remote?
What makes us unique is a topic worthy of a thesis. Methinks
If you could have something named after you, what would it be?
The building would not have my name, but a nod in a way, to someone from my past or present, whom I hold in my heart.
A space where people can go to be heard. Be listened to.
Men, women, elderly, young, I think there are probably many who would welcome being able to slip into a hub and speak freely, without interruption or judgement. And be able to leave feeling lighter, less burdened.
A while back, I pretty much gave up all the Socials, and I’ve found that I really do miss the things that made me laugh whilst scrolling. Usually, it was animals doing crazy things. Cats v dogs are always funny. Not so funny for the dogs, though, as they generally come out worse.
Years back, I lived and worked overseas, and together with one workmate/close friend,Mary, we would often find ourselves falling about laughing. I loved it, and I miss those days.
In fact, as I write my blog piece this morning, I can clearly see that I need to bring some joy back into my life. Oh dear, poor me, lol.
Edit. What I have failed to add is that there is a lovely blog here on WP. They often post jokes, which never fail to make me smile. Thank you
When you were five, what did you want to be when you grew up?
The Lost Generation are those born between 1830-1900 and include Ernest Hemmingway, F.Scott Fitzgerald, T.S Elliot and Eleanor Roosevelt.
Currently, we are atGeneration Beta. Those born between 2025-2029
A.A.Milne, the creator of Winnie the Pooh wrote for adults too. Today’s DP brought this little poem to mind. There is also a book of the same name. ‘Now We are Six.
When I was One, I had just begun. When I was Two, I was nearly new. When I was Three I was hardly me. When I was Four, I was not much more. When I was Five, I was just alive. But now I am Six, I’m as clever as clever, So I think I’ll be six now for ever and ever.
A.A.Milne (1886-1956)
The following poem The Lost Generation was published in his book Behind the Lines, in 1940
YOU were the Lost Generation, decadent, nerveless, slack,
(Bom to the sound of the guns and of death dropping down from the air) ;
You slouched to your casual dates with a languorous curve to your back.
And we didn’t admire your manners, and loathed the length of your hair.
We stood in front of the fire-place and eased our stiffening hocks
(Wc who had fought in Flanders, we who had flown in France)
And damned the whole generation — you and your girlish locks ! —
Poor effeminate creatures, boys who had had no chance.
We pitied you more than blamed you ; what could you hope to be.
Born to the fear of war by frightened women, and then
Living your life with women whose men were over the sea ?
Taught to be men by women — how could you grow to be men ?
Youth of the Lost Generation, sons of the men that were.
Taught to be men by women who made you all that you are.
How could you grow to be men, who have grown to be gods of the Air,
Who have set in the skies for our nerving a flame of Faith like a star ?
Each night we crouch by the fire-place, and listen with tight-held breath,
Humbled to tears in wonder, strengthened to tears in pride,
As the Youth which we dared to pity makes casual date with Death,
“And, fired by a spirit we know not, goes off on its deathless ride. With which salute to brave men I close. It is June now ; one of those lovely, still, country evenings, blue and green and golden ; such an evening as almost compels faith in the doubting, courage in the fearful, by the calm and steadfast assurance of its beauty. Italy is in the war. France has fallen. Well, we are alone. Much will have happened before these words are in print, but, be it good or ill, may we live and die as gallantly as those happy few, upheld by something of their spirit.”
Behind the Lines was a collection of poems written during the first nine months of World War II, serving as a sort of diary of the war’s early days. The poem “The Lost Generation” specifically praises the generation that was “raised by women” and made fun of during WWI, but went on to fight during WWII.
Okay WP, I have given this DP some thought and have decided to change the word Understand for Remember.
I think maybe peeps really don’t often remember that they have no idea what may be coming around the corner. How their lives can totally change in a split second. Perhaps it’s a positive thing that they forget sometimes, else they may exist in a constant state of dread or hope. Neither a healthy option.
But around that corner could be many things. Are you ready?
IN THE BOOMER PIGEON HOLE? 
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