The Love you get is Equal to ...

My wife doesn't care about precious metals and precious stones in jewellery. She is afraid that it would tempt thieves. Anyway, she says that when it comes to presents, what counts is not the actual present you get, but how much time has been spent shopping for it. And she is the expert.

So no more gold and gems for her. I go to the shop, where they make their own jewellery. Not the one in our town, but in a town an hour's drive from home.

Suits me fine - Diesel's cheaper than Diamonds.

And I agree with the philosophy behind. Why go for the best, why go for perfection? Being born as a twin, I learned right from the start that 50 % was an acceptable result. Who cares if it is genuine, as long as it looks genuine?

 

I was not at home when she had her last birthday. But I had gotten her some jewellery with semi-precious stones from the shop in the neighbouring town.

 

I had left it on the desk as a birthday surprise for her.

 

In the evening a had an sms from her: "Thank you for your lovely present, my semi-precious!".

 

A New Path

The local authorities have had a new section of bicycle path constructed along the river. It was opened to the public this spring. Last Sunday was a glorious summer's day with a blue sky, green grass, water flowing, birds singing etc., and as nothing much interesting happens on such a day, the local television had sent a team to report on life on the new path.

I was sitting at home watching television together with my uncle Jack.

The report was from the middle of the afternoon. There were lots of people on the path. Cyclists, dog-walkers, families with small children, skateboarders and all shapes and forms of small four-wheeled contraptions.

Coexistence between cyclists and other users of the path did not seem easy. The television showed examples of cyclist shouting at children crossing the path without looking out for passing cyclists; dog-walkers at one side of the path, the dog at the other side, and the two connected by a thin almost invisible leash across the path; family groups walking very slowly and taking up the whole width of the path. There were some near-accidents, and you could see that tempers were sometimes running high.

Then they zoomed in on a man approaching on his bike. First he had to stop because there was a dog-leash across the path. You could not hear what he said, but you could see that he stopped, smiled, talked to the owner, padded the dog and continued his ride. Then a family group blocked the road. He approached very slowly. The group slowly made way for him, and you could see that they all smiled and made gestures of greeting to each other.

He then reached the reporting team and was stopped for an interview.

Did he like the new path? He certainly did. Had been there almost every day since it opened a few months ago. Beautiful nature, nice surface for cycling etc.

"Aren't you annoyed by inconsiderate users of the path. Groups taking up the whole width of the path. Dog walkers not in control of their dogs?" the reporter asked.

"The path is for everybody", he answered. "I'm here almost every day. And normally there are only dedicated cyclists out training. The other users only come out on a day like this. You only have about ten of these days a year. Maybe two of them fall on a Sunday. And those people do not make it to the path until the middle of the afternoon. So there are plenty of opportunities to come here without being bothered by other users."

"We were watching you", the reporter went on, "you did not seem to get angry with the other users, even when they got in your way?"

"You know", he answered, "cycling is fun. You get fit, you get healthy, you get rid of your stress and you can afford to be nice to other people."

The reporter concluded by saying "so cycling is good for you, it is good for your health, it is good for your well-being, its is even good for the people around you, and it is good for the environment. There is every reason for you to get out here on your bike."

I looked at my uncle Jack. "Nonsense", he said. "It is not good for the environment. That man will live at least ten years longer that the rest of us. If we all lived ten years longer than we do now, it would be a disaster for the environment."

I don't know. I think I will get my bicycle out as soon as uncle Jack has left. After all, when it comes to choose between yourself and the environment there's only one choice.

Where did they go?

My youngest daughter was philosophising over life and death the other day.

"Is it true that good people go to Heaven when they die?" she asked me.

"It is", I answered.

"Is it true that bad people go to Hell when they die?" she asked me.

"It is", I answered.

"But Grandma says that she's old enough to know that there is something good and something bad in everyone", she said. "Where do they go?"

I didn't know what to answer. No one stays here forever, so they must have gone somewhere. Is there a place in between?

I told her that those who are mostly good go to Heaven, and those who are mostly bad go to Hell. She promised she would try her best to be mostly good.

So 49,5 per cent good, and you go to Hell. 50,5  per cent good, and you go to Heaven. What a difference one per cent makes.

My Dog had Mail today

Writing is one thing Man can do, but no other living beings can do. Writing is communication with someone who is not present. Someone who is at another place. Only Man can do that.

Or so I thought, until I read this very interesting book by John Bradshaw In Defence of Dogs. There is a brilliant chapter on the dog's sense of smell and how it is used. The scent-marks left by dogs contain a lot of information that can be picked up by other dogs. E.g. the identity of the dog, which can then maybe be matched with a dog, that your dog already knows. It may tell something about when the other dog was at that particular place etc. And there may be other information that we are not able to imagine because we do not perceive the world or communicate by means of odours.

We can only guess. Tonight, on my evening walk with my male Retriever, there were many such scent mark-messages left there by various dogs. One in particular aroused the interest of my Retriever. My guess is, that it was from a bitch telling other dogs passing by that she was ready for mating here and now.

"Pee-mail" is a catchy word for these kind of messages left along the roads and in the fields. Written in a secret language that only dogs can decipher.