He sat across from me, drumming his fingers on his desk as he looked at my driver’s license and then at me. Your hair is longer…
No charge.
A lawyer that performs a service for me as I navigate through the mess of bureaucracy – no charge?
What a nice person…
My long time friend Lyncee sent me this picture from her neck of the woods - I like it as I’m across the country at a location that could be called the middle wing as it’s not exactly in eastern Canada. I’m a bit envious of her as she is on the west coast, is cute as a button and I’m pretty sure she has an iPhone.
The west wing
danger?
I notice that I am near to a manhole cover adorned with the single word danger. This is worth a look I think.
A manhole cover? Perhaps one would surmise that Charlotte has spent a wee bit too much time in the sun without her parasol?
Nope, the warning on the manhole cover is very interesting – very ironic. How many dangerous things that we walk over are left unmarked? I’d offer that all manholes (heh) are inherently dangerous yet they are not marked.
This one is marked and the words that should serve to protect me also act as bait – oh how I want to know what is underneath the cover.
Danger.
How nice it would be if all dangerous things were clearly marked. I’d simply avoid them, skirt around them or face them head on should I wish. A rock face is dangerous yet is not marked, I do however, instinctively recognize that it is dangerous and have learned how to attach a rope to an anchor and my harness and ascend or descend the face.
How boring life would be if all dangerous things were marked. Read and heed the signs and you are safe, just like following a well marked trail through the forest. Life would become a dull dance at best I think.
I don’t believe in the happy medium and I don’t believe in happily ever after, but geebers, I can not believe the callous way that our society deals with dangerous things – heck, it’s a loosing battle though with professional wet paint sign touchers such as I. I’d appreciate a few more well marked dangers in my life, simply so I would recognize them and explore in a safe and controlled manner.
Danger. A lot of dangerous things that I now know about have been pricey discoveries – thankfully I have not fallen off a cliff, have not tripped and tumbled to a sudden stop at the bottom of a ravine.
Danger. Charlotte is thinking…
If beliefs are based on myth and folklore rather than couched in reality they are none the less real to those who believe, and they determine perceptions of physical phenomena and animal and human behaviour.
They are more flaws in the execution than defects in the design.
I am a female with a birth defect – there was a flaw in my execution. Borrowed from a poem penned by Sam H, these few words stick in my mind and give me pause to reflect upon where I am in life.
I often refer to myself as a scared girl – that’s scared, although scarred would also be appropriate given that I am have been making my mark on the face of the earth for over a half century. Scared as I don’t yet know who I really am after so long a time accumulating the physical and emotional scars that I now must make excuses for.
I am a triathlete. I was in combat. I was, I was, I was until I want to cry out in distress – “leave me alone – let me be”.
To many people I am just Carly – the girl with the rock hammer, the library of Jimmy Buffet songs and the ability to tie knots. I’m the girl who is not afraid to jump on the bow or stern of a sailboat to lend a hand with the rigging – the girl with the wicked sense of humour and a camera in hand.
To these people I am just me – a smiling person who can walk in the mud or navigate the social nicities of receptions. No excuses, no explanations – just Carly.
The design was correct.
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