Category : Blogs

Sub Category : Motivation

The memory of a man is a quare thing you see I met my grandfather once in 1965 I was 5yrs old and I remember every word he said to me very clear. Yet three times today I left the building I was working on to get tools from my van and by the time I got to my van a few moments later I couldn't remember what I came to get. The memory is like a willful child all her toys are broken nothing she brings to us is complete. I remember falling into a slurry pit as a young man but for the life of me I can't remember how the hell I got out of it, and if memory were to trust I could still be in it all these years later.
I remember another time the Bunty Mac and meself joined a drama school in London just to keep us out of the pub for the duration of lent. The poor awl Bunty Mac was asked to act a love scene with the beautiful, Mary Kate, but he could only remember the critical moment when I opened the door and announced, Mary Kate, you are wanted, in a tone you'd think it was the police. All the tender words she said to the poor awl Bunty and all the beautiful thing's he said to her, gone and forgotten.
We tend to remember the good bits because I don't recall the Latin verbs I learnt, I don't remember the toothaches, the heart aches and the sleepless nights, or the rejection of the times she said, she could never be anything to us but a sister, as if a man didn't have enough sisters.
The sunshine cast no shadows on the past, the road we travelled stretches far behind us. We see not the prickly thorns but the rose's along the path.
 Be done with the day's we can never have back again, work lies ahead not behind us, so keep going forward. The past is but the foundation of the present so waste no time wallowing about the past and what might have been and forgetting the maybe that lies ahead of us. Opportunities pass us by if we are sat regretting the chances we have lost, and the happiness that comes to us we need not, because of the happiness that is gone.