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September 15th 2009

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    This time last year a line of metal fence posts was made to miraculously blend into the foreground.  The fence posts had been in place for several years.  They had patinated quite nicely, but each had a bright white tip, which gave them sufficient "look at me" to dominate the visual through the day, and into the evening.  

    I must have been present at last year's 'foreground beautification committee meeting'.  There are only two of us committee members, and measures are not implemented without consultation between members.   So possibly I am overly adept at offering an appearance of listening during these meetings, because I can still recall a sense of surprise at the sight of the committee chairwoman painting the white tips of metal fence posts with a can of mat black spray paint.

    Her reaction to my question was, "We talked about this."  Followed by a look that suggested I was unnervingly close to final forgetfulness.

    

    

    While walking the path between now and this time one year ago I have had several more occasions to reflect upon my listening skills as they appear to me in conjunction with memory.  The conundrum remains.  Either I have absolutely mastered the art of appearing to listen, or I am increasingly forgetful.  The former branch of this conundrum, would make me pompous to the point of joining the obnoxious.  The latter branch suggests a lack of those mental activities necessary for the maintenance of declining memory.

    There is of course one other possibility.  This other possibility reflects, unkindly perhaps, upon the chairwoman herself.  There is that chance she maintains an imaginary dialogue with her fellow committee member.  And if this could be demonstrated I would remain pure and full of vigor.  

    Seductive though this other possibility strikes me sometimes, I have only to reflect upon the amount of time I have spent this past year looking for my glasses, to realize the fault lies somewhere in my own dark soul.   

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tim candler

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