A False Sense Of Security

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Often other people’s posts, or their comments on mine, jog my memory for events that should be included in ‘A Knight’s Tale’. One such was a post of The Lonely Author, read today. This is my comment on Drew’s poem: ‘A superb poem which reminds me of my Dad. Dad was not a letter writer. Once, after I had been on a week’s holiday in my teens, he presented me with an unfinished, pencilled, missive that he had not posted. It was a beautiful tribute to me as his son. I carried it in my wallet for years – until the wallet was stolen. He has been dead 31 years. I still treasure the lost letter.’ Suitably amended, it has been added to my draft.

Conversations also provide suitable triggers. One with Elizabeth, concerning alarm bells, this morning prompted a retelling of the tale of ‘A Little White Lie’. This is one of the many Soho stories from the 1970s. It has to be included in my life story.

Although Jackie has begun to transfer many of the less hardy plants to the greenhouse,

Β many geraniums,

begonias,

roses,

and fuchsias have been given a false sense of security by, despite the lack of sunshine, the shirtsleeves weather we are currently experiencing.

Chrysanthemums, Japanese maples, and the Weeping Birch leaves betray the season;

as does the winter clematis, whose cousin, on the other side of the gazebo has been fooled into another flush.

This afternoon Jackie drove me to Milford on Sea to investigate the situation at Sears Barbers during the recovery of Peter from a recent knee replacement operation. Opening days and hours are to be flexible – may my barber’s knee be equally so soon. We then drove into the forest where

the finger of King Midas stretched across the skies to begin the process of turning the leaves of our deciduous oaks to gold.

This evening we dined on Jackie’s superb pasta arrabbiata with tender green beans. The Culinary Queen drank more of the Sauvignon Blanc while Elizabeth and I drank Marco Tempranillo 2016

 

62 thoughts on “A False Sense Of Security

  1. “the finger of King Midas stretched across the skies to begin the process of turning the leaves of our deciduous oaks to gold.”
    What a fantastic line, Derrick. You are truly a man of letters.

  2. I agree about the King Midas line, Derrick.
    I also went back to read your little white lie–well done!
    I think many of our flowers are also experiencing a false sense of security, even as King Midas has been visiting the trees.

  3. I ended up going on a bit of a ramble myself through your blog this morning Derrick – I laughed out loud at the police comments when you were escorted in and the spectacular result from your little white lie. Splendidly done!! I then ended up having another look at the family tree and was pleased to see the NZ connection and Poppy have been added in. Do you still recall the wording of the letter your dad didn’t send you or is it only the feeling it invoked that stays? Whichever way, it must be such a wonderful thing to have received from a parent. I make a point of trying to ensure everyone I know and love knows what they mean to me, but I don’t necessarily write it.

    • Very many thanks, Pauline. I’m pleased, as always, to have provided some amusement. As usual, you have asked the insightful question about Dad’s letter – I retain the feeling, not the content. To know that you read my posts every day is a real blessing. Do you remember when we first made contact you said that some people don’t stay in the blogging friendships and that that was OK? I’m pleased we stayed.

      • You say the nicest things Derrick! I do remember when we had that phone conversation a while back – which ended up being not really necessary – but which was just lovely. I felt then we were really connected and the miles and irrelevant things not not actually having stood in the same room together seemed completely unnecessary. I’m pleased we stayed too. Re your dad’s letter I imagine it must have been such a wonderful gift over the years to have received those words and carried them with you for so long – to have had parents who loved, admired and cherished you and left you a legacy of self worth and security is surely the greatest blessing of all. Perhaps the letter disappeared when you didn’t need to know it was there any more.

  4. I love hearing that your father wrote you a letter…and you saved it for so long.
    My dad never wrote letters, but when I (his youngest child of 8) went off to university at age 17, he wrote me two letters. πŸ™‚

    The flowers in your garden are still so lovely. We have had back-and-forth weather (from warm, to rainy, to cold, to warm, to cold, etc.) and some of the plants and trees don’t seem to know what to do. πŸ™‚

    Love your description of King Midas gifting your skies and trees with gold! πŸ™‚

    Thank you for sharing links to some of your past posts in some of your recent posts, including today’s post. I enjoy clicking on them and reading. πŸ™‚
    HUGS for you, Jackie, Elizabeth, and your Mum! πŸ™‚

  5. I’m sorry the letter from your father was lost, Derrick. No doubt it was special for you to carry it in your wallet. I have a few letter saved that have been written by my father…they’re in a fireproof box. Your garden looks fantastic!!!!

  6. Thanks for introducing β€˜The Lonely Author’ β€”that is a moving poem that captures a lifetime of emotions in a few droplets of words. Nature is at its creative, caressing the flora with the Autumnal glory, and turning your blog into a kaleidoscope in turn.

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