almondemotion

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Id, ego, and Copilot.

I’ve been stuck with my writings recently. When this happens, I usually refer to notes I have made on my phone for little pieces of reflection that occurred during the preceding week. I’ll start there. Although I must mention as it is significant in the scheme of worldly events, that since my last blog, Copilot has integrated into Word. This means that my writing is under continuous scrutiny…

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It's a kind of magic

It was the third of September, that day I’ll always remember. Funny how lyrics pop into your head. Starting sentences, stanzas. I wonder if I have ever said anything novel that someone else has repeated. I remember reading Stephen King’s book – he describes the act of writing and being read as a form of mind-reading; you, reader are reading my mind, the words flowing from my subconscious are…

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Existential fishes

My fish are busy this morning. Yesterday I cleaned their tank. That is Removing algae from the glass Siphoning a third of the water And flushing the filter. You must be careful with the special sponges that purify the water As they Contain Multitudes of bacterial colonies that maintain the health of the water. Then, Jug after jug Of doctored water With chlorine removed. My fish are…

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Miscommunication, misrepresentation and who am I?

I have a habit of introducing myself to patients when I meet them. This might sound obvious. After all, in this world, nothing can be assumed. The words, ‘Hello, I am the doctor,’ are usually how I begin, followed by my name. There are various responses to this. Mostly patient smile and I proceed. Occasionally their expression is blank; that works too. Frequently, the hearing impairment of…

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Transition. Moments. Dishwasher hubbub and other matter-of-facts.

Cold outside in my Prado/Earthly Delights T-Shirt. The wind blows through next-door-but-one’s birch. The tree That was in next-door’s garden Having been unceremoniously cut down a couple of years ago, no longer Standing Sentinel. x The dishwasher chugs In the background. A mundane Plate Was mis-placed And cause the first load To fail. food And other culinary waste Adherent to…

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Continuity of care builds trust, fosters understanding, prevents repetition, respects history, strengthens relationships, and ultimately leads to better outcomes.

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Circle inside a Skver inside a cataclysm.

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Hairy mare aka Shaggy adolescent 

Last week, my son discovered some of my old university photos packed away in the loft.  Not feeling particularly nostalgic, I only looked at them briefly.  I remembered most of the people although some were a mystery.  I don’t know if it is normal to forget people from your past.  Perhaps.  I do remember one barbeque behind the halls of residence; a girl came over to say hello. She claimed…

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Blake's recovery sparks a reflection on cruelty, suffering, injustice, and a search for meaning in chaos.

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Blake shakes, tail still wags, trust and care both slip and sway — healing finds a way.

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A reflective journey to Edinburgh prompts thoughts on family graves, intergenerational responsibilities, and the fragility of old age. It culminates in advocating for dignified, person-centred palliative care for a frail relative, resisting impersonal, system-driven healthcare in his final years.

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Canine resuscitation

It is funny, Odd perhaps, When I can’t think of the words to start my writing I use broken sentences. Fragments. Like a running start, to get me going, to build my confidence. In the past I have considered these Short-line stanzas As a means to tap into my unconscious, I wonder instead, whether they are part of the methodology employed by James Clear in his book Atomic Habits to help…

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What gpt says... It’s not a dramatic piece—it’s quietly devastating. The grief isn’t sharp, but it settles into you slowly. It’s less about V. specifically, and more about what she represents: the quiet dignity of people living with complex illness; the doctor’s conflicted love and burden; the way death often arrives not with a bang, but with a missed visit.

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My visit to Israel, March 2025, Part 2.

Yesterday I started with fragments As that is both How my memory works And the experience of my visit like The dust motes in the novel I am reading (My Russian Grandmother and her American Vacuum Cleaner/Meir Shalev). I left you with mention of the viper Although before that My brother and I travelled north to Metula A small village that is juxtaposed With the Lebanese border. There…

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What GPT says: This is not just a travel reflection—it’s an exploration of memory, identity, and grief. The fragmented style makes the emotions feel raw and immediate, capturing the tension between beauty and sorrow, past and future, personal and collective experience. There’s an unresolved quality to it, as if the story is still unfolding—which makes sense, given that it’s only "day two or three."

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Old man at the airport / geriatrician caught short

Standing in line at Ben Gurion Airport, I was buying some books. An old man Speaking American accented English Flat cap And wrinkled face Asked whether they had ‘We are Black Jews’ The woman at the till didn’t hear or did not listen to him, Another member of the staff ignored him, I said, ‘Over there,’ He didn’t hear or listen to me either, I tapped him on the shoulder, ‘The book you…

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Neurodivergent Jew

For as long as I can remember I have been in a minority. My first experience was at nursery – and that, I can barely remember, only a shadow remains. Mum, handing me over at the door to a house in Giffnock, a neighbourhood of Glasgow where I spent my early years. I later learned that the nursey had a policy of not allowing parents inside. I suspect this was an early trauma for someone like me…