From top left (clockwise) Ray and I, Frank, Alfie, Finley, Abigail , Rosie and Sam.
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Tuesday, 18 December 2018
Yep! That's Another Year Over!
From top left (clockwise) Ray and I, Frank, Alfie, Finley, Abigail , Rosie and Sam.
Saturday, 1 December 2018
Something I Can Believe In
The number of fights dropped significantly, because my genius way of dealing them, was just too tedious to repeat.
Happy New Year! Yes, really, it's the beginning of the Church's liturgical year: the beautiful season of Advent. I NEED Advent: the rush of the secular pre-Chritmas with it's intense activity and expectation of being jovial to strangers, is intensely stressful to we introverts. I revel instead, in drawing inwards to the place of quiet, to reflect deeply on the mystery of incarnation.
Do I believe the story of the Babe In The Manger? I believe in the possibility, but without a birth certificate and selfies posted on Facebook, it's impossible to be sure. (.Although, when Barack Obama showed his birth certificate, the people who really didn't want to believe him, still didn't ... Soooo...)
Putting the manger, shepherds and Kings to one side for a moment, there is a truth that I hold very dear:
"God became man and dwelt amongst us"
As a baby in Bethlehem, possibly, yes, but also as every loving word spoken, and every compassionate act undertaken, by every incarnate soul, that ever lived. Me. You. Everyone.
Tuesday, 27 November 2018
Reflection On The Centenary of The Ending Of The Great War
"Ghost Soldiers" Slimbridge, Glos.
I watched the official ceremony around the Cenotaph in Whitehall with my usual mix of immense gratitude for the men and women who died, and disdain for the political leaders who will send more men and women to their deaths, for, what? WE become Terror to subjugate Terror. How's that working out?
We're currently complicit in the slaughter of civilians in Syria, and Yemen. It's as though, mindful of the political cost of the mass-slaughter of armies, political leaders have switched to slaying women and children instead. The faceless operator of a drone has replaced the Tommy with his gun.
My war-hero is Harry Patch, who died just a few years ago at 111, the last British survivor of the First World War. He held politicians in even greater disdain than I do. Harry and his four closest comrades made a pact not to kill anyone: they shot to maim. So here's the irony: the political leaders who fawned over Harry every year on Armistace Day, would have shot him as a traitor. Yes, refusing to kill was treason. Probably still is. God help us all.
''Thou shalt not kill..''
Harry Patch Anti-War Hero
Who Am I Lord? Who Are You?
My friend Margareta would say, very emphatically on occasions, "Know who you really are!" And I thought it about time I gave the issue some serious thought.
The cause of this spiritual introspection? I am due to reveal the meanderings of my spiritual journey to the world, that is to say those members of my Church interested and brave enough to. turn out on a November evening, and I need to think about what I'm going to say.
So who am I REALLY? (Here I find that repeating the question, doesn't necessarily get me any closer the answer ... ) The biblical text that comes to mind is a rather unsettling, "I am called Legion, for we are many!"
I am enthusiastic about the self-revelation, and have been practising it over and over. I am rather startled by how different each iteration is and I have concluded that I will need to write a book.
Other News:
Margareta came very much to the forefront of my mind this week. After her death, her son, Br Loarne, invited me to take anything from the house to remember her by. I took Patricia, one of her dolls, because I would always remember where she sat in the Workroom, and recall the intense discussions Margareta and I had as we journeyed together ... and a fine china mug, because of the tea.
On Tuesday, dropped the mug. I dropped it on my foot, hitting toes that I had injured rather badly in the summer, and that still gave trouble. Here's the thing: if the mug had hit my ceramic floor, it would have smashed to smithereens, a small miracle but one I appreciate, AND a rather more significant blessing, since the blow, no pain in the injured toes! I have rubbed them and wobbled them, pressed down on them as hard as possible: not even a twinge.
Conclusion
I am no closer to knowing who God is, or who I am, but I think I'm getting there ...
Tuesday, 11 September 2018
Who Am I?
"Who do you say I am?" Jesus the Rabbi asks Peter the Fisherman, and Peter replies, " You are the Christ, the Son of the living God."
I have been ruminating on this exchange for a while. Peter had witnessed some mind-blowing encounters between Christ and humanity, up to and including the raising of the dead: he had also experienced Christ's transformation into a being of pure light, and his total control over the elements in the calming of the sea and stilling of a storm. Many who read this will dismiss this as myth, and that's perfectly reasonable, but ... What if
I don't know where I'm going with this, but there, that's nothing new.
Oddly enough today's wonderings, were not prompted by the Bible, but by the New Scientist, which features an article entitled 'The You Delusion." Here's a taste of it:
" Self-awareness may be an apparently complex phenomenon that emerges from the brain. However ... a mind cannot observe it's individual components. It can only glean the echo of billions of neurons responding to each other with electrical signals. The flow of signals is dynamic, rushing along a different set of connections every moment. But some paths are more well- trodden than others. In humans the predominant connections seem to be those used to contemplate the minds of others - the same connections used to contemplate ourselves... . To you that is your sense of self confined inside the Petri-dish of your brain."
The article then turns, with scholarly attention, to the behaviour of molluscs and am octopus, and loses me, so I set my neutrons off a-firing on the contemplation of my-self.
"Who do I say I am."
Wow! I can say ANYTHING. I can list what I do, pontificate on what I believe, relate my stories (again!) and reorder my timeline, safe in the knowledge that I am absolutely free to invent and reinvent what emerges from all of this, because, basically it's all smoke and mirrors, a rational and entirely reasonable attempt to make sense of the fact that I am a being that comprises over 99% that is empty space - to all intents and purposes a transfigured being of pure energy, despite being a biological entity, with the illusion of solidity, and the delusion of self.
I was working on this illusory self yesterday morning whilst serving tea with Joan at the Monday morning lunch for the down-on-their-luck at the Salvation Army. I was being nice (an important element in my manufactured self) whilst actually thinking how easy it would be to be impatient, unpleasant, derogatory, insulting and unkind. There are so many opportunities with Joan, who is a wonderful person, but with fixed opinions that are not necessarily mine. In fact I had no intention of being any of those unpleasant things. I was playing mind-games with myself, because I'm curious, and it's interesting, if somewhat unsettling from your point of view, to do so.
This is getting crazy. I have to stop.
My friend Carol once said, to my utter astonishment, that I tell lies, and she knows this because I said so. Looks like I may well have let that cat out of the bag: I freely admit that I am guilty of looking at life and making it up as I go along. Maybe we all do.
I shall end with a biblical quote, because I started there, and it seems fitting:
From (cosmic) dust have I been formed and to (cosmic) dust will I return.
I rather like that, it gives me a sense of purpose.
That's pretty much who I am.
Monday, 3 September 2018
Endings
I'm getting rusty. Writer's Damp? It's a while since I've sat in front of my keyboard and watched my fingers fly easily over it. Might be something to do with engaging so wholeheartedly with Twitter, my muse has gone on strike for shorter hours and 240 characters.
As the best way to finish a post, is to get started, here goes. Forgive me, it's all over the place.
There's a chill in the air this morning, the leaves are reddening on the dogwood, Autumn is steaming in.
Nearly two weeks since I returned from Canada. I have come to understand how important it is to make memories, now that Autimn is more than a change in the weather, it's a stage in my life. . Three weeks in North America with Darlene and and Steve provided a wonderful opportunity to make a few.
Eating a performance meal at a Japanese Steakhouse in Woodinville, Wa. Imagine a banqueting table for eight, that is also a sophisticated hotplate. Steak, seafood and slivers of veg tossed and spun for entertainment, before landing an eager plates. Unforgettable and quite delicious.
Winding through the Rockies on a train, subjected to first-class service, regaled on every side by stunning views of mountains, rivers, and lakes, listening to travellers takes of the old days when miners and fur-trappers came and went. Just like me.
Walking on a glacier.
A Tech Convention where art and AI came face to face, and where we met up with Jeremy, Our friends' son.
Lake Louise
Port Algeles, Redmond, Forks, Banff, Vancouver, Jasper, Calgary ... I need to write these places down before I forget them.
There is a poignancy to this trip. I have a sense of an ending, but that, I believe has more to do with the passing of summer, than any premonition of parting, besides impermanence is as much a gift as a cause for sorrow, how would a poet survive without inconstancy?
I have to say it ,or I will burst. It isn't my own passing that is on my mind, but that of my world. The planet, as I frequently remind people, is in no danger at all, it will whirl unheeding around the sun until it crashes into it, entirely unmindful of the insignificant lives lived out on it, but my WORLD is dying.
Canada is on fire. The mountains and lakes were shrouded in smoke, the glacier melting under my feet, the animals in the lakes and forests suffering from the effects of climate change, the trees In the forests stressed, millions dead.
It was possible to look away from the devastation wreaked by the pine bark beetle, and to ignore the stories of the Orca starving in the Sound, but it wasn' possible to stop breathing the smoke-polluted air and to wonder: am I here at the ending of it all?
Saturday, 11 August 2018
Friday, 22 June 2018
Monday, 11 June 2018
The Canon and The Saxon Queen ...
Monday, 9 April 2018
Rebooting Mondays
Thursday, 5 April 2018
#Glopowrimo Day Five
A stranger to all Germanic languages, I typed "Bloom" into search, and here we are:
Footpath From Taynton and Beyond
Thursday, 22 March 2018
What The Hell's Going On?
Pope Francis is in hot water again. There is even some suggestion that his alleged comment - that hell doesn't exist, and I use the word 'alleged' very loudly - makes him an heretic.
I am tickled pink by this. An heretical Pope! Probably not even possible, given Papal Infallibility ( Which, yes, I know only applies to matters of faith and morals, but I think 'Hell' is a faith thing, so I'm definitely invoking Infallibility here.)
I used to muse, amused, on the various titles I'd like to have, were such available to me. "Black Rod" "Lady of the Bedchamber" "Grand Duke" "Miss Universe" "Mistress of Ceremonies" ... The list was long, and marked by the fact that I was totally ineligible, on grounds of gender, age and/or suitability, for any of them. I didn't care, I'd let the title roll round my tongue, fantasising on the grand dinners, unlikely costumes, and number of lackeys I might accrue from any fame/status/wealth that attached to the title. It was fun. It made me laugh.
The shortest consideration I gave to any title was, Pope. Now that's a really tough gig. Palaces, castles, adulation, and the rest, offer no compensation for the burden of being Christ's Vicar on Earth. Bearing any kind of responsibility for the foibles of my fellow-men doesn't look like any fun to me, especially if you can't have a coffee and a chat with an old friend without ending up being burned at the stake. (Metaphorically. Allegedly.)
I suspect Pope Francis (See how close I got? I didn't get his title, but he pinched my name!) will brush off the current furore with his usual aplomb, and fairly soon he'll have come up with some new staggering piece of unconventional wisdom, to keep the wolves in sheep's clothing in the Vatican in an even higher state of dudgeon. Keep it up, Francis, those of us who are heartened by a bit of heresy (alleged) are praying for you.
PS: 'State of High Dudgeon'! Does it need a Prime Minister, by any chance?
Monday, 19 March 2018
Just For Fun
Saturday, 17 March 2018
Looking Ahead
Friday, 9 March 2018
Playing Catch-Up Or: "What Granny Did This Week"
Quite a lot.
On Monday, I drove in my Dacia Sandero ( Black 2014) into Gloucester to prepare lunch with my fellow Christians at the Salvation Army Citadel at the top of Eastgate Street. The drive was uneventful: I noticed the winter woods were greening up a little at floor level, and the water-meadows bordering the Severn were flooded with snow-melt.
I spent the previous day with the adorable Finley, my grandson, who is one year-old, and was sick. Today, he is better.
The snows of the previous Thursday and Friday had rendered Ray and I housebound. But as we'd heeded the warnings and shopped, we were warm and comfortable.
Children, and Carol checked up on us. We are fine. Thank you.
There were errands to run. Letter for a church friend left on the front table in the narthex. Reminder of the Cell meeting on Thursday. A letter to deliver to the Principal of the local Secondary School ( 'Principal': horrible American affectation. I was proud to be a Head Teacher, I guess now the school is planning to become an Academy, he feels the need to disassociate from teaching. In the word of Trump, Sad. )This letter is from the Labour Party, Newent Branch which I chair. We are advising him to think again. Somebody needs too. I ended up delegating this task to Ray, to save time.
Consequently, I was early to the Army and chopped carrots. Cottage pie today. Usually, frozen carrots are employed, but the supermarket was out of them. And other things too, due to the snow - but we managed. I progressed to potatoes, then slicing and wrapping cake.
Others were working on mince, onions, and sandwiches for the evening soup run.
Before the opening of the Drop-in Lunch at 12:00pm, I check that "my" tea table is fully supplied and then I join the other helpers for a sandwich lunch.
This is a highlight of the week. I get to know the homeless, the jobless and that not-coping. Hearing their stories means I can tell them, and I do, when comfortable people, innocent (or not) in their ignorance, defame them. Some people are shocked, and many hearts open with compassion. Those that don't, have trouble coming, on the day when THEIR story turns to tragedy. How can those without love, receive it in turn?
After Army duty, I head north to Droitwich to spend a few hours with another beautiful boy, Frankie. He's fit and well, I'm here to allow his mum and dad to grab a break.
Home by six. I have a meeting later which I am not going to. My apologies were made in advance and my contribution emailed in.
Tuesday
A quiet morning and afternoon. My remaining three grandchildren are arriving after school for supper and a sleepover. Rosie is ten now, and excited about moving on to High School. Abigail, aged six, informs me that she loves everyone in the world more than she loves my iPad, but might she have it now please? All questions about her day are stonewalled, but that's nothing new. Sam and Ray play "marbles on the stairs" an activity three year-old needs and loves. This, I suspect is one of the games reserved for grandparents' homes!
Wednesday
The sleepover and breakfast is enjoyably routine. The young ones go to sleep without fuss, breakfast and dressing go off without incident, and I am off again, this time to Gloucester City Mission, to serve a meal to the same friends I saw on Monday.
There are some new faces. One guy was made redundant from Carillion on 24 January, and evicted on 27th. Another, elderly, vulnerable, was evicted the day after his partner died. I wonder: what sort of country have we become?
Fortunately, both were homeless for a very short time, not brilliant accommodation, but rooves over their heads in life-threateningly cold weather.
Thursday
Ever tried too hard at something? Lesson for the day. Stay chilled. I lead a Parish Evangelisation Cell Group. I spent days preparing the worship, and presented the group with a song I loved, and which totally bombed. I am asking serious questions about why the group has dwindled from 15 to 5. Even the co-leader was a no-show this time!
I felt completely humbled. Then I listened what the group were saying. They picked the song for next time and I am delegating the co-leader to introduce it. Two birds killed with one stone. :)
Ray has headed off to Leipzig for the EUEFA Cup qualifier. I suspect Leipzig are playing, but I regret to say, I forgot to ask! He's a courier for ISG, and will return the tapes of the game to Frankie's father in Coventry, who will edit them.
So a cosy evening in. Steak and potatoes for supper and an early night. I watch an awful film about an alien invasion, and end up asking myself why. I loathe battle scenes. Has anyone else noticed how many more of them there are in films these days?
Friday
I got up early to go pray with a friend who is unwell. I think she was comforted. Now the important bit begins, walking with her through whatever comes next.
I parked in town, and set about buying flowers for Mother's Day. My mother, Trudy Pitt, much loved, much missed, died in 2002. I will place them at the statue of Our Lady of Lourdes, for ALL mothers, everywhere, every time.
I wandered through the Newent Charity Shops in search of a spending fix. I am tempted by an old fashioned meat mincer, a Style dress pattern, an oval pie dish and a photo frame. I bought nothing.
I did give in to a bottle of white wine and a tub of Ben and Jerry's ice cream.
Ray returns from Leipzig. We watch two episodes of Portello's Railway Journeys, then I take a bath and go to bed.
Caught up!
God Bless You All, Every One!
Sunday, 18 February 2018
Still Raining
Friday, 2 February 2018
Boy Meets Girl
Sunday, 14 January 2018
A Well-Loved Life
My friend Wendy and I, used to sit in The Jolly Brewmaster, a pub in Cheltenham, and chew the fat. We became Disaster Specialists.
Asteroids, Tsunamis, Nuclear Wipeout, Global Warming, we tutted over them all. We had climate change nailed before the deniers got a foot in the door. We knew which bit of Maderia was about to drop into the Atlantic and drown London, we could name the next nuclear facility that was most likely to go into meltdown, we knew the approximate location of the asteroid that would knock the planet off it's orbit. Oh yes, there was no misery-stone we left unturned. We had a ball!
You know what? Two decades on, we're still here.
Keep Smiling. It May Never Happen.
:)