||[Nov. 12th, 2017|09:42 am]
We sit my mother down in front of the Act of Remembrance at the Cenotaph but I don't think she knows what she's watching. I drift in and out of the room, allowing my nerves to be twanged by what I 'm mean-spirited enough to think of as the National Festival of Self Pity. Next year, perhaps, I'll manage to be more zen about it all|
This story came back to me.
Two monks arrive at a river to find a woman waiting at the brink wondering how she's going to get over. One of them hoists her on his shoulders and carries her across.
A hour later- several miles down the road- the other monk turns to him and says, "I can't believe, you just did that. What about your vows? You're not supposed to have anything to do with women."
And the other says. "Oh, that woman. I'd forgotten. I left her behind on the bank, but I see you're still carrying her."