'Seabirding.' Do give us a thought next weekend, when, if all (and First Great Western) goes well, I shall be 'renewing.' Should newer wibblers wish to know what on earth I'm rabbiting on about, look here tssf
Little M heartily disapproves of my choice of birthday present for his little cousin, aged 3 next weekend. He fears that 'Satuday Night at the Dinosaur Stomp' http://www.walkerbooks.co.uk/Saturday-Night-at-the-Dinosaur-Stomp-0744563453/Look-Inside might lead J off the straight and narrow. Good grief - it even has an allosaurus and stegasaurous dancing 'spike to spike!' "What next, Mother?" he says. " No doubt we'll be getting 'Dinosaur Stomp II - Dinosaur Hangover.'" Not that he's speaking from experience, of course. Oh no! ;)
And after all that it wasn't really too bad. After several agitated texts from Mr M (whose credit was running out) 'Little' Miff and I managed to find where he'd hidden our Easter eggs. And Little got up for his Easter bunny hunt (now limited to the top landing on account of cat and dog) if not at crack of dawn, but before lunch at least.
Ms Miff arrived safely in New York to do her tourist college bit, and we expect her back later in the week before my birthday.
Churchwise - Much better than I'd thought. I was tickled to read in the visitors' book this morning - 'The heating is working again. Hallelujah!' Hallelujah indeed! Thought I gather it didn't do the organ much good; the latter having managed to accustom itself to the freezing temperatures we've all been suffering through during Lent.
Still it's fixed; that's the main thing. And long may it last. Just in time for Good Friday as well - rendering my rush to M and S's thermal undies department unecessary. Still, I have my complete black ensemble now. I only ever wear black from head to toe for choir and as I'm only an occasional singer, this lot should last me for years. I enjoyed (in as much as one can enjoy) Faure's Requiem -although as we returned our scores directly afterwards I do hope somebody though to remove the pencil markings before returning them to the library. If not, come next Easter, some poor person is going to be puzzling the theological significance of the instructions to do a 'post-natal clench!' at the high point of the Sanctus. (My interpretation of our conductor's directions to we more inexperienced sopranos to prevent our 'Hosannas' sounding more like umpteen balloons deflating than a pean of praise to the Almighty.) It works, as well.
And talking of balloons, at the last count, there were still eleven helium balloons left over from Easter morning, nestling up in the church rafters. Rather pretty, I thought.
I'm wondering what to wear into church tomorrow. This must be the first Easter in known history that we've had snow. O.K - flurries, not exactly worth calling the snowploughs out for, but you know the U.K - one flake and the newspapers announce gridlock - as I explained to one of Ms Miffy's friends over visiting from the States.
It's also a bit of an odd Easter from the family POV, as there's only myself and little Miff in residence at the moment. Mr M flew to France earlier today for a cycling trip. Ms M and friend paid a flying visit on Thursday - left us a lovely homemade Simnel cake, and hopped back up to London prior to leaving for the States tomorrow. Ms M intends to spend the time - or some of it - trawling round the various colleges, having had such a good time during her term at FIT last year, that she's considering doing her masters out there.
Our area is one that's separating Easter from the school holidays as well. A good thing in a way for those in our church schools as it gives them a god given opportunity to focus on Easter that they wouldn't have had otherwise (we still have nearly a fortnight of term to run yet).
My niggle is more personal; one of those self-pitying niggles that from experience are best acknowledged but then stopped from taking over the shop. Easter's one of those strange festivals for me, given that I'm the only practising Christian in our household. The religious side means absolutely nothing to the rest of the family. So on the one hand you have the build-up over Lent, the excitement and anticipation of Easter Day - He Is Risen - and I'll come home after the morning service and .... Paradoxically, because the festival has been far less secularised than Christmas - it's not nearly such a big deal if you're not aware of the message behind the season.
On the other hand - It's great not having to get up at crack of dawn for four days!
So, gripe over. Somebody over on my other blog was asking after me as I haven't been updating much these days. It wasn't intentional to go blog lite over Lent; it just happened - due to my usual mix of inertia and angst! I'm reading Jack, Tractor Girl and Fineline's thought on vocation with interest, as vocation - questions about and discernment of, have been looming large lately. Lent's been a weird mixture of progress and stuckness, as I've taken so many steps forward, then so many back - interspersed with several episodes of tripping over my metaphorical shoelaces. One of these 'blips' has been hanging over me for whole of Lent: the proverbial slap in the face or slamming door on something that I'd (probably mistakenly) really hoped might be a small step toward something bigger. Resolving it isn't going to happen without other peoples' input which hopefully, I may get over the next couple of weeks.
That I've not let all this pull me down as I once might have done is a good sign, I think. Whilst some matters have had to be put on hold for reasons outside my own immediate control, others haven't. Some 'strands' that have been around for a long time, but which I'd neglected have come to the fore. And with these, when I've gone in for the proverbial door pushing, said door has actually started to open. Which has got me thinking now. Can this be held within the framework of my 'Seabirding?' Can the other matters which I've been puzzling about?
Like Mr M (see his cycle blog), I consider the internet is wonderful...most of the time. Except when the Lambeth Conference is in session. Like the run-up to Christmas when I avoid all magazines with screaming headlines like 'Take it easy! Your 100 point countdown to a laid back festive season!' I intend to anticipate the Lenten season by fasting from The Church Times (except for the caption competition), all the broadsheets, all the tabloids (which is easy as I rarely read them anyway), and all television (ditto). Honourable exceptions being this site and the Cartoonblog. Oh, and Blogging Anglicans and ..... and.....
Anyway, another honourable exception might be Bishop Alan's blog, whose 'Ten rules for cooking up gay schism' has brightened up a dull Tuesday afternoon no end. Especially Rule 9 :
"Ecclesiology is a very long word. Don't go there, except for the anoraks on your blog. You have to pretend that the Church of England is a reduced form of the Roman Church at all times, because in fact autocephalous churches are structurally incapable of having schisms in the Roman sense. If that got out the game would be up. Dust over the line between “province” and “diocese” at all times — like Iran and Iraq. For most of the public, what the hell's the difference anyway?"
Great stuff! Plus a chance to Improve My Word Power thrown in. Let's see...'ecclesiology?' Yes, got that. Does that make me an anorak, though? Oh dear!
It's 'autocephalous' that's got me beat. As a good upstanding Anglican, am I in an autocephalous church? If so, why? And if not, why not? 'Auto' - own? automatic? 'Cephalous?' Something to do with heads? Automatic heads? Single heads? Talking heads?? Some obscure term to do with car maintenance? Is Lambeth maybe running a joint drive-thru episcopal car and cassock washing liturgy?
Help me, somebody! Our church is having a grand quiz next weekend and I'd like to go for gold.
Mr M came in from the garage last night and announced that he'd spent the previous couple of hours 'fartleking.' What exactly had he been up to out there? Guesses on a postcard please. Or if you can't contain yourself any longer go to 2008/01/farte.html and all will be revealed!
Banner headlines. After much soul-searching and prayer, (of course ;)) I have finally succumbed to the siren call of social networking. Last week I finally took the plunge and was dragged kicking and screaming into the 21st century. Yes, (cue trumpet fanfare); I've signed up to Facebook. To the eternal shame of my offspring. When they find out.
Quite how this sits with the simplicity and self-denial sections of my rule of life remains to be seen. This is the person who leaves her mobile phone unchecked for weeks at a time, don't forget. And who has to find her reading glasses before she's able to text. (Works of art which offspring have been heard reading out to each other with howls of hysterical laughter).
My motives? You'll be glad to learn that this is in no way linked with the current state of the Anglican Communion. I am not intending to join blog/2008/01/04/anglican-bloggers . My HTML coding isn't up to it, for a start. Who knows what horrors might be unleashed with a carelessly placed / or www? The entire Lambeth Conference lassoed by a stampeding herd of https. perhaps? What a vision!
For Christmas, Mr M bought 20 pairs of socks. Ten pairs marked 'B' for little M, ten marked 'M' for himself. He intends to clear out all existing lost, orphaned items of hosiery. Odd socks will become a relic of the dim and distant past.
Yes, Miffcat MkIII has landed! IRL, 'Chopper,' a little old lady of the tabby persuasion is currently lurking down by the washing machine in the utility room. Now what shall we call her online? We've had Goth Cat , Viking Cat...Suggestions in a stamped addressed envelope, please. It's wonderful to have a female in the house again, Ms Miffy still being away across The Pond, and we don't count the birds. More later, once poor Choppy meets Miffdog properly.
Other news? There's been plenty to blog about, therefore, with my usual Miffyesque cussedness I've been struck down with one of my habitual attacks of acidie. Typical. During a church weekend away last week, the visiting speaker asked for volunteers to stand up and answer a few simple questions. This was by way of showing that we're all different and that in the global scheme of things, it really doesn't matter that we are. Boy was I glad I'd remained superglued to my seat. For one of questions was 'Name one thing you're good at.' As I whispered to my neighbour, the only thing I could come up with was 'procrastination.' Not quite what was being looked for, I think. Never mind. Judgement Day is at hand. God Moves in Mysterious Ways, or to quote Blackadder 'God is VERY quick these days!' More than that I will not say, and, if certain other wibbler/Ship folk should chance upon this, NOT A WORD! Keep your lips sealed and your favourite choclate will be mailed to you forthwith. ;) Oh, and if it makes you feel better, I woke up yesterday with a stinking cold. Not fair!
At time of writing Ms Miffy and BF are spending Thanksgiving in Canada. The three of us spent a busy but enjoyable few days visiting her in New York a couple of weeks ago. A first for myself and little Miff. My, is the place huge! I'd not been quite sure what to expect, my picture of the city having been gleaned almost entirely from films and literature. And to be honest, if it wasn't for the fact that Ms M is living there, it certainly wouldn't have been way up on top of my list of places to see. Still, I was pleasantly surprised. We whirled around and saw all the sights, mastered the subway (at least the others did; I never quite mastered swiping my ticket!) and ate a lot, and generally enjoyed ourselves.
Highlights? For me, don't laugh - a snatched ten minutes on my own in Starbucks early on our first morning, people and dog watching. And talking of dogs, little M and I are still slightly shocked at spotting some 'teacup' dogs for sale in a shop in Greenwich Village. Maybe it's simply a matter of different cultures, but still... We have pictures of ourselves atop the Rockerfeller Centre; little M resplendent in his first ever proper winter coat. Trenchcoat, Beatle-style. Not so little M now, either. The dreaded UCAS application is finally on its way in. With a personal statement that makes him out to be a cross between the Poet Laureate and Bob Dylan, our youngest has announced his intention to read English; a surprise I must admit.
Any other blogworthy bits from the last few months? For me, as ever, my annual retreat, now an 'immovable' booked a whole year in advance. I've said a little about that over on my other blog. And related to that, the 'Seabird' business is moving along, slowly, with not a little puzzlement on my part. Am I called, am I not? Am I being a self-centered, pretentious prat? What is 'calling,' anyway? And, on reflection, aren't I fortunate to be able to be in the position to be able to consider pursuing these kind of ponderings, in any case? There are a whole load more worrying things I could be lumbered with.
That's all for now. The kettle calls and I need to check on Choppy.
Mr Miff comes down of a morning and switches to Planet Rock. Half an hour later, Little Miff (17) descends, cuts Alice Cooper off in mid-stream and changes to Terry Wogan on Radio 2! Have I missed something. In My Young Days, back in the Swinging Seventies, R2 was the province of cosy, middle-aged, slipper- sporting, cardigan- wearing middle-aged oldies.
What about Miffdog and myself, you ask? No question. 'Carsick FM' wins every time! We're cultured, we are!
'Miffy knickers' and 'Hope and Greenwood,' (Purveyors of exceedingly fine confectionery). When you get stuff like that coming up in your stats, it's obvious that a 'sensible' blog entry is long overdue. Some might say - ANY blog entry is overdue. Pure laziness on my part, I'm afraid. My excuse being that it's not that I've nothing to say, but that my potential blog material is so action-packed and exciting that the effort involved in coding the numerous links and pics involved is simply too much for this technically-challenged bunny to cope with! As any Ship readers will have deduced recently from my struggles with UBB code. All in a good cause; I was trying to link my sig to both here and my Greenpatches blog. (The latter gets most of my erudite theological obervations/sick-making fluffy stuff/pretentious waffle; tick appropriate box). Still, thanks to the infinite patience of one shipmate in particular, all is well, and, hopefully, I may have generated some traffic over to wibdom.
So, sensible, in-depth blogging. Yes...well... Let me see. The baggage we carry around with us. I arrived in church this morning carrying a big, black box (borrowed powerpoint projector) and left with another one, (son's cornet which we'd lent out). The first wasn't the main church equipment, unfortunately, otherwise the temptation to do some discreet meddling would have been overwhelming. Though not possible with powerpoint (shame). This modern technology is just too clever for its own good. Had it been good old-fashioned OHP, I could have done some surrepticious changing of acetates. Oh the joy of seeing 'Hail Thee Festival Day,' (all ten verses of it!) coming up in place of the latest worship potboiler! ;) A girl can dream....
I don't score much on the stats front, but if I say so myself, those that I get are...err..'interesting.' The latest - someone googling for 'Ten Ton Ted from Teddington.' I'm sure some Benny Hill fan will have been fascinated to read about my sleigh ride with the milkman that never was!
I wrote a notice for this week's church newsletter. I handed it in before the deadline...for once. (A minor miracle) . They published it. (An even greater miracle). There are no typos. No part of my piece of incisive journalistic reflections strayed out of the textbox to be lost for ever in the overflow zone. It stands clear, crisp, a masterly example of DTP. An ode to the wonders of Times New Roman. Come Sunday morning, my impassioned plea for the return of my copy of a provocative and challenging manifesto for the postmodern, missional Christian by a Rather Well Known American Pastor with hirsuite tendencies will be there for the Whole World to see. (Well, for several hundred fellow congregants, anyway).
There's just one teensie fly in the ointment. A couple of hours ago I stirred myself from my Thank God It's Friday torpor and went to load the washing machine. And there in the ironing basket, betwixt a pile of T shirts and some M And S knickers nestled...yes...you've guessed it - Brian McLaren's 'A Generous Orthodoxy. Why I Am A missional - evangelical - post/protestant - liberal/conservative - mystical/poetic - biblical - charismatic/contemplative- fundamentalist/calvinist- anabaptist/anglican - methodist-catholic-green-incarnational-depressed-yet-hopeful-emergent-unfinished[and hopelessly disorganised ;)!] CHRISTIAN.' Still in its plastic bag from when I brought it home from church last week.
Long time no blog, I'm afraid. My stats are a disgrace - the only visitors having been myself en route for everyone else's blogs and Rosamundi. Thank you, Rosamundi! I've no excuse for the gap, unless you count the lure of the 'other blog' where my blogging has reached new heights of pompous pontification. Never mind, I'm back. Given that Mr M is in Geneva on a cycle tour, little M has gone to see 'Transformers,' and Ms M is at the pub, I've no excuse not to catch up.
So, what's up chez Miffy? What's in the pipeline? Well, the Big One is, of course, Ms M's imminent departure 'cross the Pond for her term in New York. She goes on Wednesday, and, provided she passes the mandatory drugs/alcohol awareness test, (roll eyes from Ms Miffy. It's a 'dry' campus, much to her disgust!), should be enrolled in FITS - part of NY state Uni, shortly afterwards. The past week since she stopped work has been filled with planning, shopping, packing, and hurtling round catching up with her friends. The BF has been with us, and we all went out for a farewell meal yesterday, that being the last chance we had to be together before Mr M's departure for the Dolomites. Then on Monday evening a group of them are doing a BBQ for her, and that's it, at least as far as Little M and I are concerned, as she leaves for London the next day to follow a lead for a possible house share for when she returns to the UK in December.
I think it's just dawning on Ms M that departure is imminent. (well, going round the house with her camera snapping everything 'just in case something happens to it while I'm away!' sort of gives the game away, don't you think?!) Me, too. Copies of vital documents have been stored where we can access them, we're fitted up with skype, I've been charged with terminating her phone contract. It all seems terribly final, and, I'm sure, come Wednesday there'll be more than a 'wobble' or two at either side of the Atlantic.
Luckily, next week is quite busy for me, and, of course, we'll barely have time to breathe after Ms M goes, before little M's As Level results arrive. Not so little, now, of course. Cue more wobbles, as I realise that my little 'angel' who used to sport a golden 'halo' haircut, and run around in baggy shorts and cute little arran sweaters 'A L'Heure Anglaise' style, is in Year 13, is heading towards the 6 foot mark, and will be , if all goes well, heading collegewards in a year's time. Sniff!
Me? I'm plodding on, as usual. The same weird hours, of course, as the nursery stays open throughout the year (oh joy, I don't think!). I'm really looking forward to our week's break in Scotland once Mr M gets back. We do need to get away more - the which is quite tricky as he has far, far more annual leave than myself. Never mind, we'll work round it, and we already have a few plans for next year. These include a 'second honeymoon' in Newquay (where we spent our first nearly 25 years ago!), and Greenbelt, (yes - you heard aright). We may even get me on to two (or more ) wheels. Though mercifully, I'm assured I won't have to wear skin tight lycra! Shudders! Watch this space.
Inquisitive wibblers (well, Rosamundi anyway), might have wondered what's happening on the 'Seabird' front. It's plodding along, as am I. As I blogged a while back, two of us have started a two year 'novitiate' and are starting to formulate a rule of life. It all sounds a tad vague and woolly put that way, but rest assured there's a lot of musing and pondering going on underneath all my ramblings. Some of which can be found over on my other blog.
It's been nearly two months! During which time son has moved on from Lynyrd Skynyrd to The Beatles, Mr Miff has embedded half of Yorkshire in his person and is a walking advert for the efficacy of carbon fibre cycle helmets. Ms Miffy - safely back from her sojourn in Bosnia with BF - is with us part time until she departs for her term in New York. Me? I'm my usual cheerful, sleepy self. Miffdog ditto. One sad note: poor Miffcat MK II had to take that Last Trip to The Vet a week ago. More about that in my other (Greenpatches) blog.
I caught little M (17) playing Lynyrd Skynrd's 'Freebird' this morning. It only seems 5 minutes since I was off out buying it myself. Nor was I much older than he is now.
I forgot to mention the object of the bus trip; to reach the pub in New Cross. Which we did...after taking the picturesque route. Any subsequent stirrings of the Spirit which I may have experienced back home at church later in the evening will sadly have to be put down to trying to down a large bottle of Samuel Smith's organic cider in about 15 minutes flat. That and the sugar-free sweeties.
If you look ever so carefully you can JUST glimpse the dome of St Paul's in the distance. Wandering around Nunhead Cemetery of a Sunday morning was a whole new experience for us. As was lunch at whatever place it was in Dulwich. And the scenic tour of Peckham, Nunhead, Dulwich and New Cross on the top of a double-decker bus. Wanderings round various gift shops. Another visit to the Purveyors of Fine Confectionary - Hope and Greenwood (beware their sugar-free sweets. I'll leave you to guess why!).
Nevertheless, a good time was had by all. At least, we had a good time. I assume Ms Miffy had a good time also. Although we're still awaiting notification that she survived her subsequent perilous journey into central London dressed as a pirate for that night's fancy-dress party.
Pull up a chair, invite your friends, help yourself to biscuits. Basically I need (correction - I WANT ;)) to try and bump up my stats. If this fails, I might be forced to enrol on that How To Blog Anglicanly course that Dave mentioned.
It's the little things that make all the difference. This week hasn't exactly been the easiest, what with Mr M away in The States for a fortnight and both little M and I suffering with nasty, chesty coughs. I was off work for two days, and only struggled in for the remaining three as I had a vaguely important ;) event coming up at the weekend. Namely the novicing of myself and another lady, both aspiring 'Seabirds.' We've both had our own problems with family and ill health recently, and certainly, there was one point during the week when I was feeling so grotty that I began to wonder whether it might be better to ask to pospone until such time as I was able to make my pledge without sounding like somebody audtioning for a Budweiser ad. Hardly the most auspicious leadup. Never mind, all went well on the day. We both went to an event at my church beforehand, then after nearly missing our train because of the arrival of the local secondary school's Morocco trip just as we were trying to buy our tickets, and our experience with The Bus That Would Not Stop to pick up its passengers, we made it to our destination with time to spare.
In the event, all went smoothly. X, my fellow would-be seabird - had kindly supplied me with the requisite envelope in which to place my rule of life prior to its presentation. (She's more organised than me, I fear.) And I double-checked before sealing it to make sure that I'd not inserted something like my shopping list in there by mistake! Well, copious draughts of expectorant medicine aren't the world's best aids to clear thinking at the best of times. On the other hand, the combination of that and a head full of slime so preoccupied me that I forgot to be nervous. So, as we said afterwards...we've done it! 'Til the next time...
But anyway, why the wild witterings and photos? Well, there I was before the service this morning, feeling a bit 'bleah' and washed out. TBH, my feelings about my own home church have been, to put it politely, 'ambivalent' lately. Then up comes Y - totally unexpectedly, with this beautiful little butterfly bookmark for me. To say I was gobsmacked would be too crude. Touched is far more apt. She'd not known anything about the Seabird business, but just that little, thoughtful action gave me just enough 'oomph' to get through the service that followed.
One of the First Order Franciscan sisters once said to me that it's the little things, the small, often unoticed acts that really matter. A smile, a quiet word of encouragement, perhaps. So very true. Remind me to remember that next time I'm tempted to overindulge in the proverbial navel-gazing.
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