Bumping Into Flash

A tooth broke on Friday whilst crunching down onto a hunk of  pork crackling. This did not go down well with the family auditor, as the possibility of having the tooth drilled, secured and crowned was not exactly budgeted for this side of Christmas.

But, a gap in my charming smile, was not in my lifestyle plan either, so an emergency appointment was made to visit the dentist, which to my surprise happened today. I was prepared for a long wait. 

My wonderful dentist is a very competent and very personable young Spaniard. 

' Are you anxious about pain?' Asks Fernando.

' Uh, No.! I smile, toothily... I have given birth. This is a walk in the park.' 

'That is interesting - many women tell me that having a tooth drilled is worse than that!

'Ha!' I reply, with feeling, 'They must have had epidurals.'

Pleasantries over, Fernando, quickly, efficiently, proficiently, reconstructed the damaged tooth with amalgam, beautifully, for a fraction of the cost of the crown. 

I smile and smile, lifting my left upper lip, ever so slightly, to reveal the beautiful new tooth.

Fernando's efficientcy enabled me to present myself at the bus station early, for the 13:37 Number 32 bus to Ross on Wye. 

Waiting in line was Flash. With Paddy, his dog. Flash  is a rough sleeper and a beggar. We met last Wednesday at the Day Centre for the homeless. Where I gave him coffe and a sausage roll, and he gave me his life story. 

Which would fill a book. Far too incredible a tale for a sensible blog.

'Flash! ' I give him a kiss and he hugs me back. 'How did you get on? 

Flash was due in court last Tueday, but there was an adjournment. I forget the reason why.

Flash doesn't dwell on his summons for attacking a policeman, which was, as I was quick to point out, 'A Bloody Stupid Thing To Do.'

Flash has his own opinion on this. ' Six months bed and board, and the opportunity to get off THIS,'he said, waving a can of beer in my direction. 

Well I Never!

I have laboured under the illusion that I wrote this blog for a handful of people, most of whom stumble upon this by accident, and I find to my surprise that I have entertained over 1300 viewers from ten countries. Now I know viewing isn't reading, and I know too, from my idle clicking on the next blog button up there ^, that casual and brief acquaintance with someone six thousand miles away  is part of what this is about - but I am thinking 'audience'  now, and I feel a sense of duty coming on.

You see, I thought most of the page views were mine, as I tinkered with my prose, and agonised over my punctuation, for no particular purpose except to while away an hour with the possibility of, perhaps, letting my children see it just before I died, so they get an insight into my more colourful side...

 Just look at this:

Entry              Page views

UK.                 550
US.                  502
Switzerland.    132
Russia.               49
Poland.               41
Germany            27
France.                 9
Ukraine.               8
South Korea.        7
Iran                       6

Wow! I have gone global and I didn't know it!  Thank you all for your interest, and if you would, just leave a smile and the name of your country, I'd be so thrilled!

'It's not about...

Our grandchildren, ' Frances said, 'They'll do well anywhere, ' It's about the kids we used to teach.'

Five retired head teachers, chewing the fat (not literally, 'Coco's Bistro' in Cheltenham serves excellent food) and doing what you might expect. Bewailing the fact that education is not what it was it was in our day.

I could go on about the stress that teachers are under to raise SATS scores (which fools think is synonymous with raised standards) and how these stressed teachers do stupid things, like cheat, or yell at kids, but I won't, because that will soon become evident, and the see-saw will hit the pendulum, and softer voices will be heard again...

I am incensed at the possibility that in the pointless pursuit of the higher grade, lasting damage is done to children NOW. We five  know that time and space for listening to music, messing about with paint, and working with the raw material of experience ( the REAL science experiment, not the video clip, for example) where real, permanent,  learning occurs, is being reduced,  robbing the child of the opportunity of the point of education. . To grow a brain.

Longer days, fewer breaks, little time left to dream, to imagine, to stare into space and wonder... Many of the ' kids we taught' live in areas of social deprivation, where the school is a haven of  normality. These children are undernourished morally, intellectually and spiritually, as much as nutritionally. Fed fast food in their homes, they are now offered the education equivalent  in school. Instant pap - hours and hours of extra 'tuition', that amounts to endless drill,  to give the correct Pavlovian response to key words on a 45 minute question paper. This isn't a programme for the future, it's the return to the nineteenth century. It's not education, it's theft.

Soul Food

Sometimes I give myself over to thoughts that have little to do with being a diplodocus - which, in truth, was just a passing fancy - and I think about The Meaning Of Life. Now if I'd found The Key, or even A Clue, I'd be raking it in, having written A Book and I'd be fronting a tv programme asking you for lots of money.

Keyless  and clueless then, with barely the audacity to expect you to read any more of this, I offer Fr Richard Rohr's Daily Meditation, and my take on it:

Conservatives look for absolute truth; liberals look for something “real” and authentic. Spouses look for a marriage that will last “’til death do us part.”  Believers look for a God who never fails them; scientists look for a universal theory. They are all on the same quest. We are all looking for an immortal diamond: something utterly reliable, something loyal and true, something we can always depend on, something unforgettable and shining.

There is an invitation and an offer for all of these groups from John’s very short Second Letter, when he writes: “There is a truth that lives within us that will be with us forever” (2 John 2). But most of us know very little about this, so we end up as St. Augustine admits in hisConfessions: “Late have I loved you, Beauty so very ancient and so ever new. Late have I loved you! You were within, but I was without.”

(Www.cacradicalgrace.org)

Jacob wrestled with God and got a limp and a new name for his trouble (Israel: ' Struggles with God')

I think the writer of Exodus was on to something, and Fr Richard is holding a torch to it -  this 'journey out of certainty 'doesn't feel like a walk in the park, it feels like mud wrestling.

You're in there to get hurt (which you will) and when you think you have grasped something, it's as likely to slip out of your grasp as not.

I think for fifty years and more, I avoided the fight. Who wouldn't? Certainty is safer. Makes no demands... And it seems to me, as it did to St Augustin, St Catherine of Siena, and others who got it, that the fight isn't with anyone else, or found anywhere else, it's with myself. Within not without! That's it.

So take the 'mystery of suffering' . As I tried not to in conversation with a friend last week. Why does God allow suffering? Who knows? We'll  never know. The quest in the question is, 'Why do I allow suffering? Why do you?

Struggle with THAT, and you'll know you walk with a limp too.