There's a moose loose aboot this hoose!
For readers of a younger disposition - no one needs to write to Nicola Sturgeon and complain about any anti-Scottish casual racism. It's an old song by Lord Rockingham's XI and if you are that bothered you can Google it. I am getting off the subject which is that there is - a moose - loose - in this house. We have a fireplace in our bedroom. We never use it but the chimney is open and we were in bed reading when we heard a noise in the chimney. I thought it might be soot but I looked right to see something small and brown scurrying from the fireplace under the wardrobe. Arrrgh!
It had obviously fallen down the chimney. It's not so much the mouse itself - it's the unexpected skittering that does your head in. HOH was dispatched to find it while I did an excellent impression of the maid from the Tom and Jerry cartoons - refusing to move from the bed.
HOH "What do I do if I find it?"
Me "No idea - your problem."
I am then dispatched to kitchen to bring back something "Useful". I return with a brush, a torch and Morecambe - our Jack Russell. The torch proves to be by far the most useful. The brush only provokes "Brilliant - just what we need - something to do a little light sweeping" sarcasm. The dog is excited at being invited upstairs at night and promptly settles down on my pillow. He doesn't seem to be picking up any mouse vibes. HOH uses the torch to look at the back of the wardrobe and sees a tiny little mouse with his head down seemingly waiting for a hammer to fall. HOH is immediately in love with small creature, replaces wardrobe carefully and announces that he is going to bed. Dog is returned to his cage and is not happy about it. Only option that I am left with is to go to bed - especially as HOH has turned off the light and I am left standing on the bed in total darkness.
So the tiny, tiny mouse is still wild and free somewhere. It looked like an outside mouse to us so I am hoping it has succumbed to the call of the wild and gone back outside.
As for our resident humane mouse catcher. He, as you can see, remains unconcerned.
I'm not entirely sure how I have the nerve to just turn up here and start talking again. If you have all gone away to pastures new, I really would understand. It's not as if I have a terrific excuse. No deaths or sinister diseases. No great life changes. I was just exhausted. Not from blogging - it's hardly the most exacting thing in the world - at least the way I do it, it isn't. Just life seemed to catch up with me in lots of different ways and I sincerely couldn't think of one single bright or even not completely dim thing to say to you. So I didn't. Didn't say anything. So sorry about that. Now, however, I am well into a much needed staycation and am feeling much better. Just not going anywhere has done me a power of good. (Well, we went to London and I will chat about that at a later date)
I have tidied the blog up a bit and updated some photos. I really couldn't expect everyone to keep staring at that photo from my brother's civil ceremony which is now very old indeed. However, when you only take a flattering photo once every ten years - you like to stick with what you have. I have been writing a bit away from the blog and am putting some more work into that. I have lots of things on my mental plate at the moment. I don't ever want to feel that tired again and am looking at how to slow down - physically, mentally, spiritually. I am also doing some of your actual musing on my spiritual life - who I am as a Christian, where my church fits in - indeed where I fit in, in my church. We are neither of us encumbered by needing to attend a church with a good youth group anymore and I am not sure if I need somewhere else. We have made no decisions - we are praying. Nothing exciting may happen.
I have been particularly struck by a post by Pen Wilcock about a retreat she was leading. I couldn't attend it unfortunately - work made the weekend just un-doable but the subject matter had been buzzing round my head. She talked about women of a certain age. I suppose mid-fifties or so. we may have raised our kids, have an elderly parent to er...parent but are still working and don't feel as if it is done for us at all. Yet - what is there to do? What if you get to that age and still aren't sure you have found your place? Is it too late? I'm sure it can't be. Sometimes, I am excited by endless optimism about God's plans and my possibilities. At other times I feel he has moved on to a younger model - one who is a bit more obedient and doesn't ask stupid questions. So this is where I am - a bit. I cannot possibly take up any more of your time. I shall return - probably sooner than you would prefer - but until then I leave you with the photo of a ten year old me above. That is the smile of someone who was choosing to value hope over expectation and I will be working tirelessly to return to that way of thinking ASAP
In the absence of any life changing insights or holidays/conferences/outings with adoring friends to impress you with, I am left with just a few events (if you could call them that) to share with you. I have just finished watching the Men's Wimbledon Final and am pleased to report that Andy Murray murdered it. Some people are not so keen on Andy Murray. I am very suspicious of people who don't like Andy Murray. I have been very keen on him since I watched that documentary where he informed us all through his tears that he really wanted to give the people of Dunblane something nice after everything they had been though. This marks him out to me as someone who has his priorities sorted. I also like his wife's hair very much. Last week, I had to listen while an old person informed us all at great length that she couldn't stand him because he is so arrogant. As far as I know her interactions with Andy Murray have been limited to say the least but she still feels that she can form an opinion. Old people are weird sometimes. I have showed great forbearance and am only responding by printing up a huge poster of him with the Wimbledon trophy and pinning it to the front of my computer - rather than to an old lady's face.
I went to a garden party which was marked by light rain, possibly the best coffee cake I have ever eaten and a the presence of a smoothie bike. This astonishing piece of technology involves a glass jug,filled with various bits of fruit and ice, on the back of a push bike. Then a willing victim pedals like mad for what seemed quite a long time which made some blades work which, in turn, made a smoothie. It was all done so enthusiastically that it seemed churlish to point out that a Nutri-Bullet could have done it in five seconds but then, I never was very good at party games.
On Thursday, I took the minutes at a church meeting. It is only mildly concerning that, at the moment, I am unable to find the note book I wrote in because we are decorating in the back room and nothing is where it should be.This is very unusual for me. I am usually extremely organised when it comes to other people's things. It is only my own life that is a complete shambles. I expect it will turn up. Oh and did I mention that a lot of stuff has gone into a confidential waste bag for shredding? How do you think they will feel about holding the meeting again?
Took aged parent to Aldi on Friday. All went well. Quite quiet actually. This may or may not have anything to do with her announcing to the world in general that "her bowels were smashing now and she can really recommend that newest laxative." We are all very pleased for you, the people seemed to say. Old people are really weird sometimes.
This is the July reading plan. As usual, only a couple are bought new because I am not made of money. Some are charity shop finds and some are gifts etc. I have started already and some are already read.
Henry Winter. 50 Years of Hurt. I love a football book and Henry Winter is one of the finest football writers. He talks a lot of sense about the the England football set up and so the FA will take no notice of him at all.
Marian Keyes. The Mystery of Mercy Close. I bought this because I have seen Marian Keyes on lots of things and I follow her on Twitter and she seems really nice and funny. This is classic Lite Lit or whatever the politically correct term is which I suspect is a lot harder to produce than it seems. She is very good at page turning stories and the stuff about depression is very vivid - I suppose because she knows what she is talking about. I raced through it.
Jenny Colgan. Little Shop of Happy Ever After. I saw this recommended on the Women Alive Book Club. It is bona-fide wish fulfillment. Bookish Girl gets made redundant from Library. Bookish Girl buys big van in Scotland and makes new and entirely plausible career selling books out of back of van. Bookish girl is suddenly wildly attractive to local brooding laird type. Come On! You know you love it.
To read....
Elizabeth Goudge. The Scent of Water. Again recommended by Woman Alive Book Club. Bought it because I read a sample chapter and couldn't put it down. We shall see.
Eve Garnett. The Family from One End Street. This is a children's book. I love a children's book and this one is full of social conscience and love and family apparently.
Penelope Wilcock. A Day and a Life. I have loved every book in this series about a community of monks. And if you are weighing that up and thinking it will be boring - then kindly leave the blog - we have nothing to say to one another. The books are full of character and love and I have cried several times reading them. This is supposedly the last in the series but because I am a master at avoiding any kind of bad news. I am doing what I usually do and ignoring the facts. Play to your strengths - that's what I say.
Tony Collins. Taking My God for a Walk. This is written by Pen Wilcock's husband - himself a distinguished publisher and my slightly squished logic says that if he likes her writing, then I will like his writing. Also I am quite interested in the idea of a pilgrimage and even more interested in a pilgrimage by someone who appears to be a normal person rather than someone in bare feet wearing a shroud.
It's all very well being positive. Positive is good - no-one wants to be moaned at all the time. Counting your blessings. That's good too. I'm all for it. Most of us are a lot better off than we realise and it does no-one any harm to stop and take stock and be grateful.
Last week, I was re-reading a book that had got on my nerves a bit the first time. But, my multiple insecurities disorder always tells me that, in all circumstances, I am incorrect and everyone else is right so I tried it again. There is this bit in it where this woman realises that she is very ill - she's not dying or anything but she's definitely ill and she grasps the table whispering - with her very shallow,
ailing breath. "Gratitude to God - at all times." Well she is either amazing or mentally unwell. I would be whispering "999. Please dial. Quick as you can" but I suppose I'm just self centred.
We have to be honest I think. It is not great faith to keep saying that everything is top-notch when it quite clearly isn't. It is weird.
In Britain at the moment lots of things are rubbish. We have no Prime Minister (well there's David Cameron but he's just thinking about retirement in Cornwall now.) There is no effective opposition party. (Unless you include a Labour leader who seems to be spending all his time with his arms and legs wrapped around the nearest chair leg shouting "I won't go and you can't make me.") All the Shadow Cabinet have resigned leaving just three people to run from room to room putting different hats on quickly depending on which department they are in charge of today. There's Nigel Farage. Lets just leave that one as it is. I just can't, to be frank. And this is all before we get to your actual Exit negotiations, casual racism, Nicola Sturgeon's steely glint and the England Football Team. And people keep standing up and saying "Don't worry. Everything is fine." Well it isn't is it? If you are a praying person - our nation could do with some now. I'm not very good at praying for England. I'm better with people I know and love. (Or people I don't love which I only tend to do because God is pestering me to.) But I love Great Britain. I am grateful to be from here. And it's not good at the moment.
There's a bit in Matthew in the Bible where Jesus tells his disciples that with God they can tell a mountain to move and it will move. We take God seriously - amazing things happen. However, first you have to agree that there is a mountain. It's no good keep trudging forward and pretending it's not there - you will bump into it and have a nasty scrape on your nose. If life is awful. If something is wrong, we need to say so. Pretending is not exercising your faith, it's acting. It doesn't give God any credit either. Because it doesn't matter how bad it is - God can do something about it. We don't need to pretend that things are better than they are. God is not afraid of my problem. So we can admit it. Admit that it is a mess and we don't know how we can solve it. It's not just about national and international things - it's about you and me and the day to day. It's no good whistling a happy tune and getting on with it. Be honest with God - if necessary until snot comes down your nose. We should be counting our blessings by all means but we also need to say when it's rubbish, then pray when it's rubbish. That way, we get to see the mountain and get the privilege of seeing it move as well.
“Because you’re not yet taking God seriously,” said Jesus. “The simple truth is that if you had a mere kernel of faith, a poppy seed, say, you would tell this mountain, ‘Move!’ and it would move. There is nothing you wouldn’t be able to tackle.” Matt 17 v 20
