A Round Tuit

Greetings good people-

After my last blog, which ofcourse should not have been read for the following reasons. Nah...Stop it!
Life is about priorities. So many times I put my own issues, that needed to be addressed, firmly into the background of 'to do' lists. Heck, I wanted to be active, I wanted to be a part of something, something special. So I have started to achieve this. It has been most empowering to get involved with causes I feel passionate about. "Must not let anyone down" I thought. My physical symptoms would magically disappear tomorrow. Right?
Your car's engine is making strange noises, you suspect something is wrong. So to pretend their is no problem, you turn up the volume on the stereo. No more puzzling engine noises, situation solved? Or is the problem only going to get worse? Well now, I have finally realised that I must turn down my 'inner-stereo' and do something about my own 'engine problems'. It is time to get 'a round tuit'.
I have been to my G.P. on numerous occasions over the last couple of years. I was in physical pain every time I went to see him. Yet I neglected to mention my physical concerns. No, I preferred talking about my medication. Should I stay on it? Should I change it? Look Doc, see how well I am doing challenging my negative environment.
Well, enough is enough. The pain has not subsided, it is constant and I am kinda' scared. I have tried to concentrate on my activities but I can't think straight. These are vital times for 'Mind Bloggling' and I want to do my bit to help. Yet during the busy times lately, I have not been able to give this fine Organisation my total commitment. My concentration as a Coordinator at Changes meetings has also suffered and I hope that the good people who know me will understand.
The 'ghosts' of a self-inflicted past are starting to haunt me. I have not consumed alcohol for over nine years. However, some of the symptoms I experienced in hospital have resurfaced. Compounded with the vulnerable state of my physical being, other ailments have also started. I will stay calm, for I am optimistic. Now I'm getting 'a round tuit', I'm confident that there will be a positive way forward.
So if I seemed somewhat aloof, somewhat distant recently, I am very sorry. Please understand that I do care very much about others. I want to continue to be involved with these worthy causes. I just need to know what is happening to me and what can be done about it. So now I am going to the doctors, I will reveal the truth. At last, no more excuses, I am getting ' a round tuit'.
I hope, no matter what it is in your life, that you also, will get 'a round tuit'.
Warm wishes Klahanie.

Please Stop! Do Not Go Any Further.

You're not still here are you? Please do not read this blog for the following reasons. There will be absolutely nothing worth reading in this blog. This blog will continue onwards into a random collection of disjointed, totally unrelated series of silly observations. So now that I have not got your attention, I shall carry on typing.....typing, safe in the knowledge, that you have most likely stopped reading this blog.
Right then, lets continue. Nobody is reading this blog now. Right? Wait, who are you? Has curiosity got the better of you? Okay then, 'prick up your ears'. (now that sounds like a pretty painful proposition). I thought you were not going to read this blog. This blog has no value to mankind and will not make the world a better place.
I have been watching the highlights of the Women's Football World Cup. Large, enthusiastic crowds cheering on top-quality womens football. I have been most impressed by the high standard and superb skills. Although I am a bit gutted by the fact Canada got knocked out of the tournament by the Australians. I am puzzled that one football tradition has not caught on in the ladies game. At the end of a game in the World Cup, men exchange tops. So come on ladies, why aren't you doing the same?
Now here's a bizarre scenario. Can you imagine having that movie 'voice-over' man as a family member? Here's a typical morning in the house of 'voice-over' man. "Breakfast is ready dear" yells his loving but very bewildered wife. Cue voice-over man: "BREAKFAST...a new beginning. See the rebel sausages unite with the free-range eggs in their battle to destroy the evil force that lurks under the cereal bowl. Who will win this breakfast battle?" ("BREAKFAST BATTLE..coming to a theatre near you).
Some folks have said that I'm seem to be getting quite upset recently. "Why don't you take an 'Anger-Management' course?" they suggested. Say what? Now I reckon if I take one of those 'Anger-Management' courses, I would lose my job. I mean really, why would I want to 'anger management'?
If you are still reading this blog..and for the life of me..I don't know why you would. I warned you that it was going to be a random collection of disjointed, totally unrelated series of silly observations. (Please refer, that's if you are still here, to paragraph one, which you shouldn't have been reading either...you will notice that the preceding sentence has already been used).
I saw an advertisement in the newspaper. It was promoting something about a 'Reading Festival'. So I thought: "hey cool, that seems like a good idea, I'll go to that." So I headed off to the Reading Festival, which was, coincidently, in the town of the same name. Imagine my surprise, that upon my arrival, armed with a bunch of my favourite books....I saw before me, loads of people rolling about in mud and listening to that evil rock n' roll.
If you have been reading this blog. I did warn you , I have been wasting your time. Then again, you may have skipped the rest of the blog to get to this part. Either way, you could not resist checking out how this blog ends. Well it ends like this...please read the title of my blog...

A Photographic Memory

Warm greetings. I have been sorting out some old photographs. Pictures that had been left to gather dust. It was finally time to arrange them into photo albums. Looking through the photographs dredged up many memories. As I looked at them, I experienced a wide variety of emotions. It was painful, yet, at the same time, it was cleansing.
Amongst the chaotic collection of past memories, I came upon a set of photographs that impacted me in a profound, deeply moving way. For before my eyes were pictures of my little boy. The last pictures of Tristan before his Mother took him away to start a new life. How was I going to react?
I looked at them with fondness, for bitterness at what had happened, would have been negative and emotionally exhausting. So, instead I reflected upon how much I have tried to be a good, loving Father. That caring for him over the last six years has helped give me a sense of being needed. I embraced the challenge of raising my son. Despite the fact that I am ill, I do remain undaunted. I shall continue to try and provide him with a warm, safe environment. I stay focused on seeing all that can be positive.
Those times when he was hardly in my life were painful. Christmas was emotional agony. What really hurt were the Christmas cards that my former spouse sent me. "Merry Christmas" from my ex-wife, her husband, their son and Tristan. The pain from receiving those yearly cards is difficult to describe. I felt like I was on the outside looking in. Christmas was a day of solitude, a day that was spent alone.
With my inner-strength, I have moved on from those desperate times. Yes, I felt undermined and dismissed , but I will never give up. I think of all the amusing situations that occur. Ofcourse I embarrass him. It's in the 'Father's Rulebook'. I demonstrate to his mates just what a 'cool' old dude I am? "Your Dad's well ace Tristan!" The response from my son, somewhat predictable, I suppose, is jovial outrage. I mean, really, can a Dad be cool!? (hey watch me dance!).
My 'little boy' is becoming a man. The role I play in his life is slowly changing, slowly evolving. Tristan has had his own personal trauma to contend with. The pain of seeing Mum and Dad no longer together. The sadness of knowing that the rest of his family network are so far away in Vancouver.
Yet he appears to be strong, to be resilient, he is a remarkable lad. Oh there are moments when his 'guard' comes down. When he is so overwhelmed by it all and the tears stream down his face. It is during those heart-wrenching moments that I truly sense his pain. This makes me more determined to demonstrate just how much I love him. I will always be there to give him support, encouragement and reassurance. I must stay strong.
So for the last two days, I have been walking about with those cherished photos. I look at them now and I smile. I think back to the time when they were taken. Fondly remembering that this was when he first started School. I recall how all the girls used to chase him around the playground. "Oh Tristan has such beautiful eyelashes" they would scream. He was embarrassed but those girls were right.
Now it is time to put those pictures into a photo album. My mind revisits those magical moments. A photographic memory, how wonderful. It inspires me to continue towards a more positive life. I do this for both of us. My son, I dedicate this blog to you.