Walking along the seafront yesterday afternoon in sporadic sunshine I stopped to take a picture. What I saw afterwards was an old man who was and is hurting and the glories of nature. After it reminded me of Ernest Hemmingway's Nobel Prize winning novel The Old Man and the Sea.
There are many things that are unremarkable about me. Approaching 55, no family or partner, living alone in a small commuter town. Yet it has been a storied life. As my unofficial therapist often remarks "you've led a very rich life".
So what am I? Story teller? Mentally ill? A former world class musician? An author? A cook? An opera lover? A reader? A failure?
The last couple of years have been so tough. Losing people I love and care about really hurts.
But on this sunny Sunday morning on the coast I'm doing what I do every day. I survive, I cook and I entertain.
In two hours there will be roast rib of beef, Yorkshire pudding and horseradish, strawberries after then cheese and grapes. The wine will flow and once again I will be home with my dad and my friends.
I Heard a Voice.
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