A Sense of Place; A Sense of Purpose ...

That is what life is all about, right?

My father left Germany at twenty-one and until he settled down in the Eastern Townships when he was in his sixties, he was adrift. Once he found his home he became a truly fulfilled man who, for the last twenty-five years of his life, painted out his love of the mountains that surrounded him. His ashes are buried in a very old graveyard near that home and the words engraved on the rock that marks his place are "At home in the mountains he loved", just those words and his signature.


When I retired I had no sense of place, and I didn't realize then how important it was to me, but I did have a sense of purpose.

The mug I made with help from Kerry to celebrate Mother's Day and Freedom (odd juxtaposition) is the bright yellow of sunshine combined with a deep sky blue. It features a naked crone pregnant with the globe, arms akimbo, hair flying out wildly as she moves through life. She is embracing a life of travel. That was my dream as a retiree. I would travel the world volunteering in developing countries.

Well, it is more than ten years since I made that mug. It is a little chipped and worn now, still usable, but it is time to retire it; keep it in a safe place to remind of that life I led. It was a good life but it is not my life now. I need to find a new purpose in life, something that is bigger than I am, something that acts as a guiding force as I make decisions.

I considered using one of my other mugs. Several feature cows placidly chewing on cuds. Debbie gave me those years ago, and they are nice to hold and drink from, but although I may give the impression of bovine contentment, that really is not me yet. Some are plain blue. I like them fine but they are tabula rasa mugs; blank of purpose. Orley gave me a thick blue mug that tells me to do what I love. The message is great but its walls are too thick for drinking tea comfortably, and I am not a coffee drinker now. Susan gave me one that I really like drinking from because of its thickness and shape, but its message reads, "He had wasted too much of her life," and that's a denial rather than a statement of purpose. No, I need to find a new mug for the next ten years. Once I discover my purpose, I will be able to choose my mug.

I seem to have lost my way.

I am no longer traveling and my writing has changed over the years. During the interval between having a purpose and having a home, that time when I was adrift, I lost my ability to read and write. Now I am finally discovering a sense of place, and, as I become more comfortable with home as my centre, my abilities to read and write are returning.

I hope that my sense of purpose will discover me as I become more and more grounded in this hermitage up here in these hills. I think it will.