Newspaper

"A newspaper?"

Yes, humans are similar to a newspaper.

"You're crazy!"

Indeed I am, permit me to explain the newspaper metaphor. I believe the following:

When we first meet people, we offer our front page, bold headlines, images we want them to notice. The "I am OK, let's be friends" or "don't even think about smiling at me, let alone speak to me" image.

It's how we survive in this world.

On the next few pages there are stories written about us. Some we are proud of, stories we have written that we like, and some stories we don't want to own.

Further into the newspaper there are pages of items lost and found, be it love, be it people, be it material goods.

There will be celebrations, marriages, births, deaths all stored neatly in our hearts and minds. Some we may have shared or spoken about, some may be stored in our secret code, giving only ourselves the permission to access those memories.

Some parts of the newspaper may be creased, tiny lines of print worn out, not yet uncovered by anyone but ourselves.

These are our hidden ingredients. Stories we have not yet told.

Having time to share some of the stories we keep in those creases, some we may even feel unimportant, means we don't leave our families with unanswered questions.

We can avoid the case of the missing secret…. ingredient….

Father’s Day

Is it really only 12 months

since I celebrated you in person

playing together on the burnt summer grass

hard cracked soil

littered with withered weeds

sun too much for the land

unlike our love for each other

Is it really only 52 weeks

since that summer Sunday lunch

where we sat at low wooden table

blending gravy into softly mashed potato

after chopping chantenay carrots

elbow by elbow

at your kitchen sink

you secretly adding

your magic ingredients

which I shall never know.

Share your secret ingredients, I'll help you find the words.