We take traders for granted. We hardly talk about the people who are often highly skilled and confident in their particular field. The term traders doesn’t sum it up but must do, since ‘crafts’ has come to define rare and often vanishing artisan work.
I’m talking of plumbers, heating-engineers, electricians, carpenters, construction workers, farm workers, roofers bricklayers, plasterers, waste collectors, sewage workers, tree surgeons, gardeners, transport personnel, car mechanics, fire fighters, nurses, cooks, carers, postal workers, IT engineers … and many, many others …
basically anyone who upholds the functioning of everyday life for us.
There are some cowboys, and I had my share of them, but mostly they’re well trained people, dedicated to their job, know their stuff, and serve everyone with sophisticated practical and theoretical knowledge.
I’m talking about hands-on work … work with the elements and under innumerable atmospheric conditions. These people deserve praise and should be given medals. Our lives would be severely disrupted without their expertise, and, frankly, societies would come to a standstill.
My experience with a skilled and highly intuitive heating engineer prompted this post. Combining a new boiler with an old pipe system is never straight forward. After many anxious months, John has solved a long-standing problem by exchanging misaligned pipes. I’m immensely grateful for a warm Christmas, thanks to my angel John.
You mayor may not have noticed, my blog site is now called http://www.courseofmirrors.com only. No more silly adds, thanks to my son’s sanguine advice and expertise.
Though we can’t take it for granted, I’m wishing you, my readers, warm and joyful festive days wherever you are, and whatever your tradition.
And a little peace from the virtual world.
When not actually engaged with it every single day, at least contemplating the in-depth editing of ‘Shapers,’ is my daily routine.
The wind blustered cold though, and I was grateful for the hat I brought along, and the tissues to dry my runny nose and watering eyes.
The 39 meters long fog tunnel took me by surprise. I hardly saw anything beyond a meter around me. Space became mysterious and unfathomable deep. I had a sense of being totally lost while also feeling held, though assured in the knowledge that my son was near, and that I could call him and reach out for his hand.
In one room, a kind of Plato’s cave, our back-lit bodies made colourful shadows ahead that shrunk or grew in size as we stepped forward or backwards, or overlapped and multiplied as we moved sideways. The magic was achieved through a row of primal coloured light beams projected onto the wall we visitors faced. Thing is, we are more intrigued, animated and comforted by reflections than the light itself.
Here is a ceiling looking back at me. When ceilings fill the frame of our perception, the only landmark we catch is our own image.
Course of Mirrors 