Sold to a fisherman at birth

Rachel couldn't believe that the latest batch of orange juice wouldn't go out of date until January 2017. "Where is this year going?!" With no particular conviction whatsoever, I started a discussion about how they should change the system of time - we've had this one for such a long while now. Surely it's good to shake things up a bit? It wasn't really much of a discussion, though. No one else joined in, or even paid my words the slightest bit of attention. Rachel had turned her thoughts to producing a miracle over Europe (a continental wide aurora borealis, or a comet), just about anything really that would bring some cheer. I think it would be a good idea to deploy Fi-Fi. 

The conversation continued to deepen, and darken, when Rachel told of how her mum had sold her to a fisherman at birth because she got the wrong end of the stick. I should probably say at this point that I may have slightly misunderstood, or missed out on hearing some crucial words when Rachel was recounting this particular story. Oh well. I'm sure it's near enough to the truth. On a lighter note, we had a Dutch family staying at the hostel for a week - and I've never seen a car covered in so much bird shit as theirs was. 

We had quite a bit of rain on Thursday, but Rachel informed me that the weather would be better in the morning. She hadn't actually seen a forecast but had heard the builders talking. I had donned traditional Lake District attire earlier that afternoon to walk down to the Woolpack. Tom-Tom was there, and he sang to me - something about being alone and eating worms of all different sizes. It was beautiful. 

The day drew to its conclusion in a slightly more peculiar manner than usual. Mick accidentally shaved his beard off, and out of nowhere, Rachel said, "I bet The Corrs have done a reggae remix of Lady in Red, because they have no respect for anything sacred." 

Pokemon No-Go in Eskdale?

"I haven't been able to think of anything but Battenberg cake for the last three days!" Announced Rachel one evening. These are the kind of thoughts that occupy ones mind when you haven't got phone signal or wifi to allow you to play Pokemon Go. Not that the collective genius of Fiona, Rachel, and I know exactly how this game works. We did have an impromptu discussion about it, but neither Rachel nor Fiona could refute my suggestion that the hostel might be swarming with Pikachus and we wouldn't know a damn thing about it. In fact, Eskdale could be prime breeding territory for the animated creatures. If no one knows they're here, how can you catch one, let alone catch em all. I must remember to get a message to the pest control guy about this potentially dangerous situation. Seriously, just imagine the damage a pack of Vulpix could do to the Woolpack's chicken population. 

The other day I received a message/notification on Twitter from Harry. Not about Pokemon, though. He was wondering if we would be interested in an East v Central Eskdale footy match, to be played at the Woolpack. Worryingly, he stipulated that there would only be one rule. That there must be at least two females per team. There's that old saying, about being able to hack it on a cold, wet night in Stoke. But that would be nothing compared to this - one rule football in a hidden Lake District valley?! I'm picturing a more pre-traditional form of the game. The match could go on for days. As Fiona would say (or as I would say on her behalf when she forgets to sign out of Facebook).....Ooooofff! Bloody love it! Come on Eskdale East! 

In other news - I've taken to making bets about the results of my blood tests. Of course, it's probably a little unfair as I'm the only one with inside knowledge - no one else can really know how I've been feeling! It's just something that makes the whole situation a little more entertaining. And sure enough, despite another set of less than positive results, I do have a 4 pack of Double Deckers coming my way! Better than that though, is being around people who are endlessly supportive, and don't care (in a good way) if you're a little distracted/weird sometimes. Ok. More than sometimes. 

Poppadom preach

When starting a late shift, the first thing to do is open up reception - log on to the computer, check emails and bookings, etc. On one particular evening, Sunday night I think, there was an email message from the Eskdale art group. It was inviting us to the last life drawing class of the summer, and asked that we please brought something to share for lunch. I couldn't shake the image of a village hall full of people, one of them naked, sat around eating quiche. It seems that full blown nudity week might well be on its way. 

There are several jobs at work that I find incredibly satisfying, almost therapeutic in nature. These include washing pubes down the shower with a watering can, wrapping cutlery in a napkin, and portioning vegetarian chilli (or similar). On this particular evening it was chicken tikka masala that needed putting in little Tupperware boxes ready to freeze. I had been doing this for a few moments before I noticed that Fiona was starring at me. I asked her if there was anything wrong, to which she replied, "Oh no. I'm just mesmerised by your spooning skills." 

This was nothing though, compared with what I said to Rachel. It had got to that point of the day where I was still wildly excited by just about everything, but tiredness was creeping in so I started to make sentences as short as possible. Rachel was putting the lid back on the mayonnaise (without looking), at the same time as mashing a cauldron full of potato. I was super impressed by this, but rather than vocalising the whole picture I simply blurted out, "Wow! One handed screwing!!" 

Amongst all the general noise, chatter, and hilarity that occurs in the kitchen, we occasionally engineer brief periods of calm. We were having our busiest night (in terms of meals served) since probably the Easter weekend. We had taken all the starters out, when Rachel said to us...."let's just be quiet for a moment, and listen to the sound of twenty people eating popadoms!" It is strangely worth experiencing, if you ever get the opportunity. 

If I were pressed to give an answer, something to explain all that happens here - the only plausible suggestion I could offer is that we are living in a parallel universe. Most of the time it really does feel like that, but every so often something will bring me back down to earth. It's usually a question I'm asked, such as how did you end up here?Well, I don't rightly know. How do any of us end up anywhere, I wondered. But I began a condensed timeline of the past five or so years - discounting anything before that as irrelevant (such as being born). It wasn't much of an answer, but it was a darn sight better than when someone asked me what I planned to do with my degrees. The more I thought about it afterwards, the more it puzzled, and troubled me. I know the question was only asked out of interest, but it reawaken in me a dislike of the idea that we should be following a certain path, that from an early age (or from any age) we need to have everything mapped out, & know exactly what we want to do. What bothered me most of all though, was how much I was momentarily upset by it. Feeling inadequate for not having an answer other than to say; "It was a long time ago." Feeling inadequate for not having some impressive tale of ambition which I aimed to fulfil. I wish I could have responded more boldly, more truthfully. I wish I had said, "Nothing - I'm not interested in that anymore. I don't like that environment. I'm happy here, just being in this place, meeting people, cleaning toilets, and writing a blog." 

The Night of the Glow Worm (and 17 Chris de Burgh albums)

Picture the scene. 11.15pm. In bed with a book after finishing the late shift. Drifting off to sleep when.... "Pssst! K! Have you ever seen a glow worm?" It was not the start of some crazy dream, but Rachel standing outside my window. I muttered something about putting a few clothes on, to which she replied, "well, that's up to you, but I would." I went to join Rachel, and walked straight into Moss whom I couldn't see in the dark. He must have wondered what all the excitement was about. At first I was a wee bit sceptical - "are you sure you haven't just planted a glow stick in the bush?!" I really couldn't believe some little bug could be that bright. We spotted a light on in Fiona's room, and not wanting her to miss out on the fun we cooo-eeeed up to her (after Rachel said that my suggestion of throwing rocks was not a good one). Fiona was easily persuaded, and a moment later the three of us were squatting down around this Glow Worm, giggling. "I wonder what they'd think, if anyone came across us now?!" 

We do get an amazing variety of wildlife here, and one morning Mick called out, "come and look at this beautiful moth!" I uttered an exclamation which brought Fiona running. She poked her head around the washroom door, and said, "where's this mop?!" What was so funny was not that she'd misheard Mick, but that she ran so quickly to see what she thought was a beautiful mop. Cleaning that particular morning was accompanied by Chris de Burgh's love songs album. I told Mick that I had 17 Chris de Burgh albums on my iPod if he'd like to choose a different one? "Wow!" Said Mick. "Wow. 17 Chris de Burgh albums? I had no idea just how much I'd been missing out on!" (I suspect he wasn't being entirely serious. Surely everyone knows how prolific a musician C de B is?). 

Mick has been known, from time to time, to misplace things. One evening, before he was due to go away for a few days, he walked into the kitchen where Rachel & I were stood, and asked - "has anyone seen my pack of camouflage games? I've been looking for it for twenty minutes, but I just can't find it anywhere!" It took him a few moments to register the significance of what he'd said, and to realise why we were laughing so much. (Said games are still 'missing'). 

On Friday morning we had to say goodbye to Julia. It's crazy how fast a month goes - it only seems like yesterday that she broke the hostel staff record for the number of snickers bars eaten in an hour. We were in serious discussions about how to prevent her from leaving, but short of fabricating a lethal accident with the dishwasher (which would have been counterintuitive to our purposes), we were all out of ideas. Thanks for all your hard work & humour. We are missing you. Have a great summer (see you next year) x

"I just don't like wearing clothes!"

Amongst all of madness that occurs here, it becomes easy to overlook the comparatively bland moments of simple kindness. Just the other day Rachel said to me, "You know, K? If you ever lose your ear in an industrial accident, then I'll make you a new one out of bacon. And that's a promise."  She also presented me with a small red balloon, which she told me was similar to the colour of Julia's face after 7 hours of walking without suncream on (in temperatures pushing 30°C). 

The promise of a new ear kept coming to me as a reassuring thought whilst Fiona was cutting my hair. We weren't able to offer Mick much reassurance though when he stumbled across us sat by the stream performing what he thought was some odd pagan ritual. I think it was the moment when Fiona filled her hands with water and tipped it over my head that probably scared him the most. He later asked me what Fiona had been chanting, to which I replied, "erm, I think that was just her talking normally?!"  

Much earlier on that morning there was the most incredible thunderstorm. You hear it, and could hear it for what seemed like minutes after as it echoed along the entire valley searching for an escape. I imagined it, at the moment that it finally faded, pouring itself headlong into the sea at Ravenglass. The ocean was surely the only thing that could dampen it. And then there was the rain, at times so heavy it made me wonder if there could be any room left for the air. (My thoughts can get a little bit like that sometimes). I love thunderstorms, for what they are and for the moments after when everything feels so fresh and calm. 

With the summer holidays upon us, everywhere is noticeably busier. There are, however, still places to go where there is quiet, and no one else around. Mick told me of one such location, and on a free afternoon I found myself alone at a lily covered tarn. For obvious reasons I will not give too much away, save to say that it was beautiful (and would have appeared more so had I been feeling more beautiful inside). I went for a coffee afterwards, and sat there listening to a man rave on and on about mayonnaise. 

I think it must be the hot weather, and perhaps also the recent full moon. Partial Nudity Week does not seem to be dying a death anytime soon. Rachel walked in on a man getting changed in the laundry room. He said he couldn't find anywhere else - despite the next door along being a lockable washroom. Then Fiona, upon finishing work, announced that she was going to take off more layers. "It's not that I'm an exhibitionist, I just don't like wearing clothes." 

National Partial Nudity Week

There seems to be a national day or week for just about everything now - and recent events in Eskdale have led us to declare this to be Partial Nudity Week. I have no doubt it is probably a nationwide phenomenon, too. It all started at 3am on Julia's late shift when she was woken up by a woman wandering around the hostel in her undies. A few days later we had the most lovely group of five guys staying a night. They had driven a long way to get here, and spent the morning taking pictures of each other posing topless in the stream. This was then followed up by photos of them arm wrestling on the bonnet of their hire car (which was parked right in the middle of the lawn). Both of these activities should absolutely be added to the definitive guide of 'Things to do in Eskdale'. 

Another activity, which is largely hostel specific, is an adaption of the game Kabbadi. This involves holding your breath for the duration of time spent in the oppositions territory. Now transfer this idea to making beds in an excessively stuffy (to be polite) dorm room. The tops bunks in particular are quite tricky. I'm sure this sport will soon by blacklisted by health and safety though - especially when my cause of death is listed as hyperventilation.  

Rachel, meanwhile, has quietly been growing courgettes big enough to feed a small country.  The largest weighed in at five and a half pounds - surely a winner in any village show competition. I think we also have several candidates for the village idiot competition, but that's another matter entirely. When my brother, Rory, was talking about this blog he said, "the overriding sentiment I get whilst reading it, is just how sorry I feel for Mick!" No idea what he's getting at. 

PS. We raised £65 for Breaks for Kids in our Euro 2016 charity sweepstake. There was the most unlikely winner - my younger brother drew Portugal from the hat (a Tupperware box). Unlikely because Hamish has never won anything football related in his life. Although, he did once score the most impressive own goal I've ever witnessed - I literally have no idea how he managed it. Many thanks to all those who took part, especially the staff at the Woolpack who, between them, must have bought up over half the teams! You're amazing x 

Bangor Pier and the Icelandic Jesus

It might have been Sunday night - Fiona would probably remember better than most. She was with Julia sorting out the new stack of pillows that had arrived for the hostel. I grew concerned when Julia returned, but Fiona did not. I discreetly asked Julia if she had smothered Fiona with a pillow. "No. I smothered her with all 48 of them." When Fiona did walk in a moment later, Julia quickly added....."then I brought her back to life." It's definitely worrying how well Julia fits in here. The madness is increasing at some incalculable rate. 

My dad came to visit for a few days, and he'd only been in Eskdale a matter of moments before he found his way to the Woolpack (dragged along by me to watch the Wimbledon final). Tom was there, and surprised to see me, having thought I'd actually died from the female version of man flu. Struan was also around, and in between trying to get my dad drunk (good effort), he randomly presented me with a Spurs shirt from 1997. I'm not entirely sure how much he remembers about it, so if anyone hears that he's looking for it......!! Unfortunately, I couldn't stay to watch Murray win, I got as far as 4-4 in the 3rd set before having to leg it down the road for the start of my shift. 

One of the things that my dad absolutely wanted to do whilst in Eskdale, was to take a ride on La'al Ratty - the steam train to Ravenglass. He was so excited in fact, that he pushed young children out of the yway in order to get the best seat on the train (a more accurate account of this is that we got to the station an hour early). 

On Tuesday evening I presented Fiona with an early birthday present. I think she was in denial about not wanting an Icelandic tattoo on her left buttock, so I bought her some of those temporary transfer things. Five in fact. She had great plans for all of them. "I'll wear one this way up, so it's like a cross - then people will think I'm the Icelandic Jesus. And another, I'll put down that way...." Which I thought was just a little too much detail. 

I headed off early the following morning - to North Wales, and my middle brother's PhD (in soil) graduation at Bangor University. After the ceremony I gave Rory an unique graduation gift - jelly worms in a mud filled Tupperware box. I didn't quite have the nerve to act upon Rachel's suggestion - that I went dressed as a worm (wearing my sleeping bag). While Rory went to the pub I went for a wander along to Bangor Pier with mum. I was very excited by the toilet at the end, which you could sit on and see the sea through the wooden planks below. 

In search of red wine and cheese

Fiona returned from Norfolk the day after I arrived back. She didn't stop once along the way, not even to go to the toilet. "I have an amazing bladder." (Or, as Rachel added, she didn't notice the large damp patch on the seat).

I can't quite recall how it came about exactly. But one afternoon I found myself on the way to Seascale with Rachel in search of red wine and cheese. After a while, Rachel just came out with it. "Your car is not big enough to do a decent impression of a gibbon in." The whole conversation about gibbons started because of the foamy banana shower gel we had bought for Fee-I-ona as part of her birthday present.  I said it would be fun to make her wash in it, and then take her to South Lakes Animal Park to see if the monkeys went crazy for her. I can just picture the scene. 

It was an interesting experience, driving the narrow roads of Eskdale with just Rachel for company. After a while I found myself having difficulty separating reality from the wild, free flowing events of our discussions - I can never be quite sure what really happened. I had to check my car over to make sure I hadn't actually crashed into five blue BMWs (one of them driven by Gandalf the White). There was something else, about upturned umbrellas with a bit of kidney in, that I can say with unwavering certainty - I have never stumbled across in my entire lifetime. It is, I have discovered, outrageously fun when your thoughts no longer pay much heed to what is possible, when these words we have created come together in any old strung along way, and it matters not one jot whether it is real. 

Amidst the pure, mad, times, I find myself afforded moments when my thoughts are slightly more grounded in reality. When I'm grasped by the true transient nature of everything, and most especially the time we have here, the time we have with one another. I wish this would strike me more often than it does, and that I might be filled with a greater urgency for just about everything I feel to be important. I don't want to wake up in the morning not fully acknowledging that I'm alive, I don't want to wait until the end to realise how simple it all was. Nearly a year ago, I lost a dear friend to suicide. There's so much I would do differently now, spend more time chatting, walking, drinking tea - or at least I like to think I would. Death makes life impossible to ignore, and by God I need to remember that. Treasure it all, and be present in every moment. 

"There's only one Darren Gale!"

It was good to get away for a night - driving on the M6 always brings a healthy slice of perspective, and of course it was lovely to see my mum and Hamish. I was able to watch the Tour de France, Wimbledon, and the Portugal v Wales match with my brother. My mum did wander in occasionally when the football was on, and when she wandered off again she could be heard singing "there's only one Darren Gale" to herself. (Darren Gale is Wales' best player. Apparently). 

The following morning I popped into the hospital to get a blood test. The nurse was lovely, but she was so busy telling me about the tandem that her husband has just bought that I don't think she was paying too much attention to where she was sticking the needle. I also can't rule out the possibility that she is actually a vampire and took the blood that way - such is the bruising on my arm. I guess we'll all know soon enough if a Twilight style reality TV show based in Eskdale is announced.  

 Each time I come back it strengthens the desire in me to keep coming back. It's not just the scenery, it's everything about this place (& most especially the people). I cannot recall a time in my adult life that I have been so happy, and to be aware of it as these times are happening, to revel in it, is incredible. I struggle to comprehend it sometimes, such is the difference compared to past moments of depression and crippling self doubt. I never imagined I would be able to think of all that and smile. 

I love the change, from busy motorways to narrow roads crowded with sheep and cows (Wrynose Pass was particularly interesting this time around). From built up towns to the wide open, eternal fells. Then it's into the drying room to collect my laundry which carries the slight scent of thirty damp wetsuits for the next couple of days. It's good to be 'home'.

The fraping of Fee-I-ona, & Esk Fest 2016

The day after our wild trip to Whitehaven, I lost my voice entirely, and Rachel's hearing wasn't too good. I think for me, it was a message from the universe that I shouldn't sing Dolly Parton so loud (or indeed sing at all). For Rachel, I suspect it was the universe's way of protecting her ears for sweeter sounds in the future. Either way, it made communication interesting for a few days. I couldn't speak, Rachel couldn't hear, so we reverted to elaborate hand gestures (inappropriate hand gestures in Rachel's case), and interpretative dance. Rachel did have an alternative theory for my lack of voice, though. She reckons that my thyroid has grown back, mutated, and is now pressing on my windpipe. "You'll have to tell your doctor that you need more radioactive stuff, K! Or just go and drink some sea water near Selafield." Meanwhile, Mick wandered around serenely, commenting on how lovey and peaceful the world is. 

On to more serious matters - the fraping of Fee-I-ona. It started off fairly mildly. An amiable post about how much she loves Rachel and I. But she didn't learn her lesson - she left her Facebook logged on, again. What happened next was for her own good - although I'm not sure she has actually noticed yet. There's no doubt who she will blame though, when she realises that she has inadvertently proclaimed to the world that she's getting the Icelandic football team's badge tattooed on her left butt cheek.

The weekend saw one of the events of the valley year so far. Esk Fest 2016 was being staged at the Woolpack - a two day music festival, organised by the amazing Tom-Tom. Mick was due to be playing the fiddle with his folk band, until disaster struck a few weeks ago when he badly injured his finger - hopefully next year. Unfortunately, it was true festival weather, but the need for wellies and waterproofs didn't seem to dampen the spirits. It was a wonderful way of bringing people to Eskdale, and a wonderful thing to hear live music while you worked. Great job by all involved. 

Certainly since being here, I've never been so relived to have a few days off. We've all been feeling it a little after a really busy week and a bit. Fiona has gone to Norfolk (which is apparently further away from Eskdale than Poland), far away from where I can access her Facebook login.....and I'm heading south on the M6 for a blood test, and my mum's amazing cooking (beans on toast - if I'm really lucky). Just before leaving, I asked Rachel if she wanted me to pick her up anything from a shop. "No thanks, K. I'm going to get my buttocks massaged today." 

Whitehaven Nights

We spent the morning cleaning the hostel and dreaming up a wild staff outing to 24 hour Tesco in Whitehaven. The plan was essentially this: do a bit of shopping, and sit out on the harbour wall drinking cough mixture straight from the bottle. Sadly we had to leave Fiona and Mick behind. Fiona was on the late shift, and Mick was suddenly very busy doing something else. So Julia, Rachel, and I jumped into my car and headed off for the coast. If we had planned for every eventuality we could have performed a sneaky drive by water pistol shooting of Tom-Tom as we passed the Woolpack. Instead I struggled to locate the horn, wind down the windows, and wave. The journey there was filled with stories of bearded men being stopped by the police for driving too close to Selafield, and the occasional interesting revelation from Rachel. "I think I might be Lance Armstrong. I'm taking drugs, and I don't have any testicles."*

When we arrived at Tesco, Rachel (playing mum) said we all had to go round together. That didn't last long though, as she went off to sniff all the different scents of shower gel. We all bumped into each other again at the chocolate isle, and then we went to select our choice of cough medicine. Rachel tried to get me in trouble by telling the shop assistant that I'd stuffed my rucksack full of 5 pence carrier bags at the self-service checkout without paying for them. It was all lies. 

We managed to make it out of the shop, and headed over to the harbour to watch the sunset. I was super keen to have a race to the end, but no one was really up for it until Julia mentioned speed walking. It is entirely possible that she is secretly the current Polish national champion at the event. Even Rachel, with legs as tall as a house (& a 7 time Tour de France winner), couldn't keep up with her. 

On the way back Dolly Parton somehow managed to make it onto the stereo. We asked Julia if she knew who it was, to which she replied...."is it that Chris de Burgh person you love?" We shared all the Dolly Parton facts we knew; about how American life vests in the 1970s were nicknamed 'Dolly Parton's', and that Dolly the sheep was thus named because she was cloned from breast tissue. After a few moments pause I said, "I think my boobs are bigger than Dolly's....look!" Rachel didn't seem either convinced or impressed...."I'M NOT LOOKING AT YOUR BOOBS, K!" 

It's possible that the journey home was twice as long as the journey there. Nothing to do with the traffic at all, but more because I had to stop so frequently from laughing (and consequently crying) too much. Rachel served as an excellent co-pilot, though - putting the hazard warnings lights on at all the appropriate moments. Quite amazingly, I think Julia actually managed to fall asleep for a bit in the back. 

*I don't think Lance Armstrong ever actually confessed to taking paracetamol 

 

The problem with chickens

The last weekend in June saw two sporting events come through the valley. I was on the late duty Friday night, and I've never checked in (or checked out) so many cyclists. The majority were doing the coast to coast in a day, which started very early the following morning from Seascale (10 miles away). There was also the cycle leg of Triathlon X which went past the hostel before heading up Hardknott & Wrynose pass. I didn't anticipate actually being able to see any of the events, but as I wandered along to the post box after the morning shift at work, I spotted a few riders, and then another - this one wearing an Oxygen Addict kit. I knew my younger brother's coach was taking part, and although he has never met me I yelled out some encouragement (and loudly explained that I was Hamish's sister). After posting my letter I hurried back to get Rachel, and we both sat on the wall cheering on the other cyclists. Rachel actually thought that I was in with a good chance of landing myself a whole heap of men for the weekend. "While they're in such a weakened state, all you need to do is put a stick through their spokes - I'll bring the van down and they'll all just tumble in." I think she should start up a new kind of dating agency. We almost walked straight into the post van coming down the drive, but it was all ok because he's a cheery sort who does his round in a white singlet vest, and thinks Rachel lives in the hostel's drying room. 

The four of us became five on Saturday afternoon - we have been joined by Julia for a month. She is lovely and great, and didn't seem at all put off when the first thing we asked her to do was to join in a game of Hunt the Rotten Potato (a real thing, not a dodgy sequel to The Hunt for Red October). The following morning, as we all sat around eating breakfast, Fiona suddenly started to say, "The problem with chickens is that they die." We felt bound to question her about what her parents had taught her regarding the immortality of certain animals. I can't be certain, but I think she spent the rest of the day mourning the death of three goldfish and a hamster.  

Fiona seems to spends a significant proportion of her time up a ladder. Nothing really to do with her height (or lack of - she is frequently heard to say that this hostel is heightist), but more to do with the fact that she keeps locking her room key, and the spare room key, inside. The only way in then is through the window, and her room is on the first floor. It was on one such occasion, just before a school group were due to arrive, that Mick yelled a question to me to pass on to Fiona. I think something must have been lost in translation, because I shouted up the ladder to Fiona, "Mick wants to know how many armed guards you want? They're in the bell tent at the moment keeping out of the rain." 

A more serious note (more a note to self) 

A slight despondency has settled in the air, and it has little to do with England's shock exit from the European Championships. There will always be times of great uncertainty, when our jobs, our security, our way of life, come under threat. We cannot deny that many of these things are out of our control - that the ball continues to be in motion, and we have no idea where it may briefly settle, or if it will ever stop. But here's the thing - I do believe that, one way or another, everything will be alright. It is all too easy to let resentment breed, anger even, with hope for the future diminished by these things. But we must guard our minds, guard our thoughts, and not let our good will and kindness be overcome. We must not forget the impact we can have (and do have) as individuals to do good, and to care for those around us. The differences we have, the things that divide us, are nothing in comparison to what unites us. So much can be dispensed with, our opinions might not always be the same, but that does not stop friendship, respect, and community. Our fortune comes not from money but from where we are born. That we are born at all, that we are who we have grown to be - the fundamental spine of our existence is connection, unity, and never isolation. We remain a part of something bigger than ourselves, a part of something bigger than a single nation, a part of the 7.4 billion. 

Whatever the future holds, whatever problems it may bring, we must face it with courage, conviction, and above all, compassion. Let us not take to blaming others, let us listen better, and disagree more peacefully.