Well, today has been a day.

I know we do not ‘control’ any of our days – we are dependant on so many varied variables, but today has been distinctly different.

My normal routine had already been knocked for six because a man was coming to fit a sump pump in the house (another story why we need this), and I needed to be in attendance and consequently, as my normal morning routine was superseded. This being the case, we arranged for a man who can install central heating systems to come and appraise our flats and produce a quote.

Consequently, I went for my morning constitutional at 08:00 – the time I normally give to practicing the guitar.

Just to complicate things, we had anticipated some visitors arriving on the previous day in the afternoon – but in the event, they actually arrived at 11:30 – er that is 23:30… a time that I call night.

A brother from Diyarbakir, in the east of the country, was shepherding them on their desired tour – they themselves visiting from South Africa.

In spite of arriving late the night before, they were leaving by late morning today – an exceptionally brief visit.

Over breakfast there had been a discussion of the work that the small Christian Fellowship here is involved in with the Syrian refugee field workers. They were interested to learn more, and see a bit of the work. Hence, in my absence, it was decided that I was drive the church vehicle and lead them up the valley to some of the Syrian refugee encampments that we labour amongst.
As I was scheduled to be at the house to ‘attend’ as the man was to fit the sump pump, he was rung and we cancelled the appointment – to be rescheduled for another day.

It was also suggested that rather than having the ‘man’ dig the pit for the sump pump, that I dig a hole 1 meter deep by about 80 cm square before we call the man to come back… Okay…

With these changes in play, we also rang the central heating man and arranged for him to come in the afternoon…

My plans for the afternoon have now been dealt a blow as well; my normal routine had been suspended and now the alternative plan (attending the sump pump man) was superseded.

I climbed into the church’s ten passenger Volkswagen Transporter and began my hour long drive up the valley to where we do our aid distribution…

There were about ten or twelve people in the other van.

On the way up the valley, I was leading, when, unexpectedly the following van overtook me. Now in front, he promptly pulled over to the side of the dual carriageway, stopping in front of a small shop. It seems they wanted to get some refreshments of some sort.

When they were ready, I headed out again – faithfully holding to the 80 kph speed limit. I utterly detest speeding tickets and paying money for, well, nothing really, just a certificate of speed attained.

We passed through the first police check point with no problem. But, further up the road, I was selected to be checked by the Gendarme at their security checkpoint.

I dutifully pulled in and stopped – the other van, not being so selected, carried on. I rolled down my window, greeting the soldier and then turned away to turn off my phone which was playing music to accompany me whilst I drove. The soldier looked in the empty van, looked at this late middle aged, white-bearded foreigner and when I finally turned from my phone, he told me to carry on.

Off I went, rejoining the traffic on the dual carriageway and powered up the valley – holding to the 80 kph speed limit.

Then ahead I spied the other van, moving slowly along on the side of the carriageway. Now the vehicle I’m driving is a rather distinctive black Volkswagen Transporter, so when I over-took them, I ‘assumed’ they would see and recognise me. The driver knows our vehicle.

After overtaking, as I pulled away, I checked my mirror and they seemed to be continuing to drive slowly along the side of the road. I assumed they would speed up.

I carried on… at 80 kph.

When I arrived at the turn-off point – there was still no sign of them – I stopped.

Now, I rant and rave against people using their mobile phones whilst driving; so I had purposed to neither initiate a call whilst driving, nor to answer any incoming calls. Stopped as I was now, I was still loath to ring the other van as they are most likely driving.

So, swallowing this, for me, rather bitter pill, I rang and the first question was “Are you still at the Security Control point?”

“Er, no, I was there very briefly, I am awaiting for you at the turnoff point”.

A few minutes later they roared up, and our convoy, now duly reconstituted, departed, me again leading the way to where the Syrian refugee encampments are situated.

We travelled up to Kırıkhan, and turn off the main road and headed towards the border. The encampment I had selected was not the first, but at a bit of a distance, but it was a good, all-round example of the encampments we deal with. Additionally, there is a real gaggle of children there and the visitors had purchased some sweets to give the children.

We call this encampment ‘The Grove’, not because there are trees in the encampment – there aren’t any – but because there is a grove of trees across the road from the make-shift encampment. This encampment is on a bit of a rise, and now, well into summer, baking hot. As I said, no trees within the encampment, everything is exposed to the unrelenting, scorching sun. Water at this particular encampment is provided by a water bowser which is topped up from time to time.

Sweets were happily received by the children.

After this encampment we swung by another encampment – but this was wholly redundant, and, as one of the visitors commented to me, “They all look alike”, to which he added, “You’ve seen one, you’ve seen them all,” – let the hearer understand, he was politely declaring ‘No need to show us anymore.’

We powered back to the main road – the other van turning right to carry on up the valley and then back to Diyarbakır. I turned left to return to Antakya.

It had been stressed to me that I needed to be back by 13:00 as the van was required. Today was a deferred time for the team to go to one of the encampments where we do a children’s work – their departure time was slated to be 13:00.

So, in one sense, I was racing the clock. When we departed we had three hours for me to complete the journey, there and back.  I thought this was easily adequate amount of time for the task. However, in fact, it was taking more than three hours to complete.

I did not exceed the speed limit, if I arrive late, I arrive late.

I was patient at all the red traffic lights.

I think I made a record for the number of red traffic lights I encountered on the return journey.

Being impatient at a red traffic light profits me not at all; being patient, however, and remaining calm, blood pressure abiding where it ought to be is both profitable, pleasant and absent of stress.

I had been told that if I was late, then they would take Ö’s vehicle – it would not be the best solution, but it was a viable and a ready solution.

My better-half, T, can monitor where in the world I am as I have ‘shared‘ my location via my phone with her. Hence, I hoped that they would have an idea where I was and, roughly, how long I would be.

Again, I had determined that I would not ring T whilst driving, and I would not answer the phone if it rang.

Driving the speed limit, waiting patiently at all the red lights, I arrived at our home about ten minutes later than their planned departure time.

Happily, my ever-changing location had been monitored; consequently they knew where I was and about when I would arrive.

They had opted to wait.

I didn’t park up; I just stopped in the street in front of our house – which given how narrow our street is, I effectively blocked the road. But I knew they would be departing posthaste.

Personally, I was done in… being diabetic, I can not play loose and free with my meal times. I had grabbed some bites of my sandwich whilst up the valley – only whilst stopped, not whilst driving.

Now at home, I finished my meagre meal.

Immediately after the meal was my first opportunity to practice the guitar this day, but after just ten minutes, the man for the central heating system arrived.

Now, I thought he would come, do his investigation, make his measurements, and calculate the cost all before I would depart for my guitar lesson, which was fully two hours after his arrival.

Indeed, I even entertained notions that I would have time to practice some before the lesson.

The man and his helper came and examined the space we had identified as a potential ‘furnace room’.

It is not ideal, but, well, it is the only space that could be remotely converted into a furnace room.

It took quite a while to determine where the chimney could go and then to decide where it would go. The chimney will begin on the ground floor, pass through a disused stairway which is covered and made into a wee balcony area on the first floor and then pass up through the roof and then, it will pass through our neighbours roof which overhangs ours. All in all, it is proposed to be eleven metres of plastered, cement block chimney, reinforced with angle iron.

Just to make things more interesting, this is on the side of the house that is subject to our neighbours rather disturbing subsidence….

After sorting the furnace room/chimney out, they came into our flat to measure for radiators, decide where they would go and how the various challenges identified could be and ultimately, would be addressed.

Then we went upstairs to the elder’s flat and did the same.

For me, the clear priority is the upstairs flat as my motivation in going to a furnace system was to alleviate the labour and work load of the elder’s wife, E.

In Turkey, if you have a wood/coal fired, pot-bellied stove, it is the lady of the house’s task to operate it (fuel, light, maintain, empty ash) – it is a cultural imperative and, really there are no practical alternatives.

But when it comes to furnaces, however, they are primarily a man’s responsibility – it is a big piece of equipment that needs a man’s touch.

Interestingly, emptying the ash is still the ladies task – but I have been sold on the idea of a wood-pellet furnace which produces very little and very light ash – or so we have been assured. So the labour requirements for the elder’s wife will be greatly diminished – which is the goal.

Then, over a demitasse of strong Turkish coffee, he did his sums.

I, as seems to be my nature, complicated things.

I wanted a sum with the second-hand furnace, a sum with a new furnace, and a sum with the top of the line, fully automatic furnace.

I also wanted a sum calculated without doing the radiators in our lower flat, in an effort to save money.

However, this last request is extremely strange and a rather odd kind of request for Turks, and in the end, it seems, he just ignored it.

We got our prices.

We drank our Turkish coffee.

I buzzed with the effects of the potent caffeine hit.

I had been surreptitiously monitoring E.’s location (she has shared her location on her phone) and I knew they were well on their way back from the children’s work.

Before we were done, she arrived, and so, we began explaining everything we had determined, what could be done and what we suggest should be done – if we decide to have a system installed.

Then the elder, H, arrived from his secular job.

So, we began explaining everything to him.

It was in the midst of rehearsing all the salient facts, problems, compromises and solutions that my guitar teacher rang, wondering where on earth I was… because I clearly was not at my lesson…

Time had totally escaped me.

Profuse apologies, following profuse apologies… things really are not going according to any plan that I am part of today.

In the end we finished all our explainations.

We need to inform the central heating man by the morrow if we want to install any system and especially if we desire the second-hand furnace.

Today, nothing went to plan and I was bounced from pillar to post by various events…

But, life is like that… we constantly need to respond to events, assess, appraise, decide what we can and should do in the circumstance and all the while, to be true to who we are and our principles.

In the old section of Antakya, the pathways and byways are convoluted, narrow and, at times, rather Byzantine.  Many are impassible by any form of motorised transport.

And so the question arises: “How does the city council provide the basic services necessary in the 21st century?”

The solution is found inthe time honoured, tried and tested method of accessing and servicing these areas – let me introduce you to the city council donkey.

These determined, strong and dour creatures can navigate the narrow ways, and when you come to the houses pearched on the mountainside, they can climb the rough stairs and can reach all the properties situated there.

Of course you do not send out the donkey on its own, it is accompanied by and lead by the Council ‘donkeyman’.  Maybe that is not his title, but it does describe what he does.

Teams of men and their donkeys go out every night, collecting the trash and detritus of life set out in front of the dwellings in this, the old quarter of the city.

The rest of the city is serviced by your typical rubbish lorries – but here, in the old city, the new has had to give way to the old.

The technology of yesterday is helping to maintain the standards of today.


 

Ah, the mystery and the power of culture.

Culture is difficult to define because, well, it is ‘culturally defined’.

Culture is, I believe, a gift from God.  It relieves us from many mundane decisions in life.  We just ‘know’ what is acceptable and what is not… without thinking.

People sometimes query me on some aspects of Turkish culture:

“Why must you uncross your legs when you pray?”

“Why are crossed legs inappropriate?”

“Why is blowing your nose in public profoundly rude and offensive?”

“Why, when I have a cold, is it acceptable, a non-event, to continuously sniff, sniff, sniff?”

The simple answer, is “that is the Turkish, (cultural), way”.  But so often people are reticent to comply until they understand the ‘why’ and even then, I suspect that if the reason is not convincing enough, that they will feel free to reject the prevailing culture, opting, interestingly, for their own cultural norm.

Culture, generally, by-passes our conscious minds.  It is behaviour and values that we have learned as children and have become embedded in our hearts and minds.  They are not the result of reasoned thinking, deduction or conscious decisions.  They are, if you will, subconsciously inherited.

And they are powerful.

Culture is extremely persuasive and operating as it does underneath our conscious mind, the result is that we are more often than not, blissfully unaware of its very existence and yet all the while living according to its dictates.

For an inadequate example: if someone asks me what time it is, my natural answer will be a precise: “It is 10:36”.  My culture calls for and honours accuracy.

And then I come to this culture that seems to paint ‘word pictures’ that describe the scene, and include ancillary information but tend to be woefully inaccurate.

To the question of what time is it, the respondent, feeling it is late in the day and time is flying by, may well respond “It is 11:00” or if they feel there is much of the morning left, they may reply “It is 10:00”.  Broad-brush accurate, but patently and profoundly fuzzy and, well, inaccurate – after all it is 10:36 exactly.

So, when I ask a question, I prepare my heart for a non-accurate ‘word picture’ which both answers the question (generally) and gives an insight to the speakers feelings about it.

Now, when I am asked a question, my culture demands, requires me to answer ‘specifically and accurately’.  That is the way my culture was formed and it has an inescapable influence over me.  My reply will be highly accurate and utterly devoid of any emotional content, that part which gives a hint of how I feel about it.

Do I communicate?  Yes, but after a fashion.

Do I understand?  Yes, but there are times of frustration and struggle as I am stumbled by the patently obvious inaccuracies declared.  For the speaker, they are not ‘inaccuracies’ but the part that declares their feelings about their answer.

I have a question: “If smartphones are so smart, why do people act so, well, simply put, ‘dumb’ when they are using their smartphone?”

Since the advent of the smartphone, simple life tasks, like walking, talking, interacting, driving have all become more intractable and fraught with danger and difficulty.
It is uncomfortably common that when I am out, driving somewhere and I encounter a vehicle being driven in an erratic, unpredictable, inattentive, distracted manner – slower than other traffic, drifting one way or another, stopping at profoundly inappropriate places, it is most likely that they are engaged on a smartphone.

Recently I watched a video on Facebook whereby the driver of an intercity coach was engaged on a smartphone – regrettably not uncommon – but what stood out was the fact that he was looking something up on his second smartphone; all whilst charged with the safety of all souls on board as he ‘drove’ the coach down the motorway.

Even a mundane task such as walking down the pavement can be fraught with hitherto unknown challenges. You often encounter an individual who is walking slowly, apparently unaware of where they are, where they are going and yet they are not stationary but are walking – after a fashion. They are going somewhere, and they have a phone glued to their ear, or are head down, intently staring at the screen of their smartphone.

Motorcycles are used to move a vast array of things about. Sometimes they are over-loaded with goods or people. But, just to make things more, er, interesting, often the motorcycle operator will have pushed his smartphone up between his helmet and his head so he can engage in a conversation whilst driving his over-laden, motorcycle in traffic. This is the ‘positive scenario’.  You will also witness others who do not have the benefit of a helmet, holding the smartphone in place, so they have one less hand on the steering apparatus.

This is true for those who move about by bicycle as well.

Another phenomenon that is observed, again with great frequency, is the sight of two, three or more people, physically in the same room, be it a sitting room, a restaurant, anywhere basically, and each one, head down, intently transfixed on the small screen held possessively in their hands. Maybe they are ‘Messaging’ one another, or are Facebooking their exciting time to others on the web, or writing up a blog on their encounter with their friends – I do not know.

However, it seems self-evident that they could perform the same level of human interaction if they were in separate locales as much as being together.

Sad doesn’t begin to describe it, and yet, I, too, can succumb to the temptation to check my phone.

I find it rather ironic, bizarre, that the thing that routinely reduces mankind to a distracted, dangerous, wandering, discourteous, individual, behaving in a dumb state, is the use of the so-named ‘smartphone’.

On my morning constitutional, I noticed that in spite of it being a significant holiday in Turkey, the water company was out with a JCB and parts and things.  

It seems there was a water leak.  

As I continue my walk, I came past the bottom of the hill below where the JCB was parked and noted that there was a large quantity of water freely flowing down from the leak – a good thing they are working to make things right, even on a holiday. 

The next day, there was just a gravelly spot on the road to declare where the leak had been. The hill was liberally decorated with dirt and dried mud from the overflow.

On the following day, I am sitting in a wee coffee shop at the bottom of the hill when I see horizontal water spray flying down the hill.

Now this caught my attention.

Slowly a Fire appliance came into view; a tanker truck – it carts the water to accompany the other fire fighting appliances and ensures a constant source of water.

Today, in service to the local council, they were slowly driving down the hill spraying the road with a set of high pressure water nozzles at the front of the lorry.

Slowly coming down the hill, they drove all the dirt, dust, stones before them. The roadway is left free of debris; clean and spotless.

The appliance then stopped in front of the coffee shop and released a fire hose. With this the two firefighters began spraying the street, driving the accumulated dirt, mud and stones along the road and towards the storm drain.

They cleaned in front of the coffee shop, they cleaned the pavement in front of the shop. They sprayed, with diminished force, the ten or so planters full of colourful flowers in front of the coffee shop.

They were diligent, hard working, pressing on to make all clean and ship-shape.

I found the process reminiscent of the circle of life. They were called out because of a water leak which had besmirched the roadway. They cleaned the road by driving the muddy, soil laden water into the water drains; where, in the fullness of time, they will become clogged requiring a crew to come out and clear the drain, soiling the street which will require the Fire Brigade to once again come and clean the street.

And after all this diligent, hard work… the two firefighters (er, street cleaners?) came into the coffee shop for their full Turkish breakfast          

The street is clean… until the drain needs to be cleared… and then the cycle will repeat itself.

No action, no activity seems to occur in isolation.  

Actions need to be seen, to be assessed, in their context. The activity that I am about to engage in: what are the natural repercussions; what will naturally result; what are the responsibilities; what are the consequences.

Hmm, I need to bear that in mind…

I enjoy history, old photos, old travelogues, old stones, basically, things that are old and the older the better.

We have come across some old photos of Antakya which clearly depict the extent of the old town, pinned up tight to the skirt of the mountain rising to the south and hemmed in by the Asi (ancient Orontes) River to the north.

In days past – throughout the history of the city – buildings were constructed to the best of local knowledge of construction, and as is always the case, according to  available resources.  Many of the older buildings made liberal use of, shall we say, pre-existing building materials.

It has been a constant throughout history that old, decrepit, abandoned or damaged buildings have formed a source for building materials – suitable stones, arches, door lintels and supports being readily retrieved and re-purposed.

This ancient tradition goes contrary to our new, modern sensitivities to maintain and preserve these examples of the former.  But, throughout history, old buildings were viewed as valuable resources to be exploited.

A stroll through the old quarter of the city of Antakya will amply demonstrate this practice over centuries.  Many building will have lower courses of finely finished large stone blocks, superbly fitted together.  Then, as you look further up the walls, you see a change to less well finished stones which are not well set together, and, often, the upper sections will be formed from uncut, unfinished field stones mortared together.

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If I try to ‘read’ such a building, I may be forgiven for hypothesising that the lowest parts are the remains of the oldest building (maybe 100 years, 500 years, a thousand years….), and people reused the extant old walls in-situ, then, building on top with whatever other stones could be scavenged and reused and finally, the upper courses in the wall consisting of field stone, unfinished and simply mortared into place in the wall.

That is common among the old buildings of Antakya.  However, for the past sixty odd years or more, the modern inclinations of the inhabitants has been to abandon these old stone built houses constructed around private courtyards and to build with concrete and to go up in three, four, five, or even six stories, forming modern high rise apartment buildings.

A generation has turned their backs on the old, stone build courtyard houses preferring these ‘modern’ concrete boxes.

Of course, it is possible to accommodate many more people in the same building plot when you build up.

Okay.

I understand this.

However, when it is considered that this is an active earthquake area and for the past sixty years these buildings, these modern high-rise buildings, have been constructed, er, well, using the knowledge and building methodology adapted from single story buildings, we come to a point of concern.

These high-rises were built to meet an ‘aspiration’ to be modern.

They were built to meet a housing need.

Many were built, simply to turn a profit.

They were built to look nice.

They were built with a form of reinforcing steel, but of a smooth, outdated style which is not now used; the concrete was generally created by a pile of aggregate being dumped in front of the building under construction, water was added and cement dumped on top of the pile of aggregate and then the pile would be hand shovelled and turned over until it was considered ‘mixed’.  Then the cement would be shovelled in to old tin cheese containers, and then hand carried on the workmen’s shoulders to wherever the ‘pour’ was happening.  If on the top floor, they would lug all the concrete so mixed, trudging up the stairs to where the pour was happening.

There was no quality control on the cement mixture nor the effectiveness of the ‘pour’.  It is a sad fact that often insufficient steel was employed and the steel that was used was of the wrong style.  When you combine that with the poor quality cement mixes,  the result is buildings which looked good (plaster is a master of disguise) but are structurally suspect.

In those days there was less awareness of the building requirements which would enable a building to withstand the powerful forces of earthquakes which, from time to time, rock this particular part of our terrestrial ball.

These apartment buildings were built.  People moved in.  A generation has been raised within their walls.

But now the modern question is: “What do you do with these extant, existing, occupied structures which are inherently defective and vulnerable to earthquake damage and even catastrophic failure?”

There was an earthquake in 1997 which violently shook Antakya and reminded all citizens abiding here that Antakya has been utterly destroyed by earthquakes numerous times throughout its long history.

This was followed by the 1999 earthquake near Istanbul, which was centred near the town of Izmit, and devastated tens of thousands of houses, high rises and buildings – with over 17,000 fatalities.  The images of this earthquake exhibited scenes of rows upon rows of high rise apartment buildings collapsed, leaning over, pancaked and others  left standing but being inherently uninhabitable.

What was truly shocking was in the midst of this general, extensive destruction there would be the odd building, built to the building code and standing proud and true in the midst of the great devastation and death.

This highlighted that in many ways this was a man-made disaster.

Especially since that devastating earthquake of 1999, building methodology and practices have been brought into sharp focus.

Consequently, there has been a greater emphasis on the building code (which was good) – and the enforcement thereof (which was lacking).

Additionally, considering the vast amounts of old, substandard housing stock, there has been a real concerted effort to replace the worst, the most vulnerable buildings, with new proper, sturdy, strong buildings.

This national programme is called ‘Urban Renewal’ and it is a government scheme to assist in the tearing down of older, vulnerable  buildings and replacing them with new high-rise buildings, built to modern building codes and able to withstand – as much as anything built by man can – the effects of earthquakes.

Of course this is a costly business.  All the occupants must leave and be housed elsewhere.  The old concrete monolith must be totally torn down and then a new building erected in its place.

Often, from what I’ve observed, a four story building is rebuilt as five stories (five stories rebuilt as six and so on), the contractor having possession of the extra flats created and sells them as part of their fee in doing the work.

Sometimes the existing flats are rebuilt, but smaller, allowing the creation of additional flats that the builder can sell as part of their remuneration for the building work.

And I notice that the age-old process of stripping a building of the valuable bits continues.  Near where I am sitting a five storey building has been emptied and is about to come down.  There are men removing windows, any and all metal – basically anything of value – before the process of reducing the building commences.

Once the ‘recyclables’ have been reclaimed, then the work of reducing the building in earnest begins.

As this is occurring in many places in the city as I write, I have a general picture of the process.

Firstly the building is isolated by a high fence; a basic metal frame and sheets of corrugated metal.

After the scavenging, men enter the building and, using jack hammers, open up large holes in the floors of the larger rooms – creating voids to allow building debris to fall through the building.  They sometimes jack-hammer some of the balconies away.

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When the building has been thusly prepared, a tracked JCB with a hydraulic jackhammer fitted on the boom is hoisted to the top of the building.  I’ve never been present at this stage, but I assume a very large crane is brought in to lift the JCB to the pinnacle of the building.

Once there the operator sits in the cab and systematically jackhammers the floor out from underneath the machine he is operating.

How they move down to the next floor, I do not know.  I see the machines on the top floors.  I hear them hammering away.  I see the upper floor shrinking as they destroy it from above.  And I see the building getting shorter and shorter.  I’ve never been there when the JCB made the transition to a lower floor.

However it is accomplished, in this way the debris falls down, around, in and through the openings in the building.  When the building is reduced to a mound of debris two or so stories tall, the smaller machine is replaced by a very large, tracked JCB with a huge hydraulic jackhammer which continues the demolition process.

Finally, they replace the jackhammer with a big bucket and load the shattered debris into dumper lorries and cart it off.  The reinforcing steel is separated, collected, and compacted as much as they can with the JCB and then loaded into lorries for recycling.

At the end of the process, a new building plot has been created.  The old is gone.  What can be recycled, as in the ancient tradition, has been redeemed and removed.

After a suitable passage of time – is it for permissions, or checks or, well, I do not know, planning permission… the rebuilding process commences.

Modern, proper reinforcing steel, modern curtain walls and other structural principles are all diligently applied.  The cement is all proper, ready-mix, made to order and quality controlled.  The cement is  pumped up from ground level with massive concrete pumping lorries to wherever the pour is happening, ensuring a good, continuous pour.  Workmen with vibrator devices ensure the cement flows and fills all voids and is a good pour.

The new buildings will be substantially stronger and more resistant to the violent forces released by earthquakes.

When the process is all said and done, the former owners take possession of their new flats.  The builder takes possession of the new flats created and sells them.  And a neighbourhood which was slowly becoming dowdy, being amply littered with older, sadder, shakier buildings is slowly rebuilt with new, taller, smarter, stronger, stylish buildings.

True Urban Renewal transpires.

This causes me to think that as a follower of the ‘Way’, I have embarked on a process which doesn’t attempt to clean up and strengthen what was in my life, but like ‘Urban Renewal’, actually calls for the removal of the old, the substandard, the weak, and like the rusted and inadequate steel and poor quality concrete – it all must go, it can not be redeemed, can not be strengthened, can not be made right.  The only recourse is to demolish right down to and including the foundation and then to rebuild, correctly, from below ground level upwards.

My life is not subject to renovation or improvements – but the absolute removal of the weak and defective and a rebuilding, a making new, from below the foundations all the way up is underway.

With ‘Urban Renewal’ things do always go as planned.  If you would like to read a bit more of this blog, there is more below… or you could stop now.  The choice is yours…  Click Here for a wee bit more…