Busy but happy.

This morning I had to catch up after missing a day yesterday. For a start it doesn't actually feel like Saturday at all. All these holidays have conspired to make it feel out of sync, a bit like jet lag!
I usually write the bulk of the sermon on Friday but not this week. So I set off feeling virtuous and motivated this morning but the interruptions stopped all that. Tesco delivering the food was a welcome intrusion but it took a while to put away and then to resume the thread.
Phone calls came through and it took me till lunch time to get the sermon printed off.
This afternoon I did a wedding rehearsal for a couple who are marrying tomorrow but not by me. My colleague will get back in time to do the business.
They were a lovely couple and it was a pleasure.
On the way out of church there was a couple waiting in the porch that I married three years ago, complete with tiny baby..just three weeks old. Many hugs and kisses later I arrived home very happy , reflecting on the goodness of God. The sun's out. The garden's watered and I've done all the prep for tomorrow which turns out to be Sunday.
I start at eight am.


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Where was the joy?

It was a new experience this morning watching and twittering at the same time. I became aware of this peculiarity last year at election time but I was not then really into twittering as away of communication. This morning was very strange...it was a conversation between people I only know on Twitter apart from a small select group. But it was very interesting how our reactions differed according to our convictions or lack of them.  The grumpy, critical ones were  in the minority and the clergy were all sharing notes.
I loved watching the wedding and equally I enjoyed the comments coming through from every angle.
The music was lovely with specially written pieces and sung by a really good choir. The words were almost familiar but not quite. It was a BCP service from 1928 I believe and it wasn't the really archaic language used in the old Prayer Book which is  the one I got married by almost 6 years ago.
I am  loathe to admit this but I did say "Obey" I hadn't said it the first time when Bill Vanstone married me...being still a stroppy young thing but this time when my friend Julia arrived to marry us I actually wanted to say "Obey" believing that it put the onus on the husband not to ask anything difficult of me. And of course he never has.
The thing that was missing from all of it this morning was the joy. Weddings are of course solemn undertakings but they are also moment of huge joy and  of love for each other. Love should be apparent not just with the bride and groom but the parents, the siblings, the extended families.  Some trepidation about what lies ahead is natural but the overwhelming emotion should I think be joy, happiness, delight in each other and the commitment you are making.  I try to fill all the weddings that I conduct with this emotion,   and if its lacking I have failed.

Why I shall watch the wedding.

I am vastly amused by all the disgruntled comments on the Royal wedding coverage. Until I made one myself of course, but then I often take up my stance a little belatedly.
When I was a young stroppy teenager who didn't believe in the Royals at all, to the point of not singing the National anthem on principle, life was simple.
I've come round since then for the most part.
I avoided the Coronation by going to watch Lancashire play cricket at Old Trafford and this was I think like jumping out of the frying pan into the the fiery furnace. The  cure was definitely worse than the event.
I started to enjoy watching royal things as a youngish mum...I had a health visitor of blessed memory who loved everything about the weddings and she came and sat watching something royal, in the guise of looking after me and the baby. I found that with her guidance I actually quite enjoyed the whole experience.
After that I did watch.  Princess Anne looked beautiful against all the odds.  Prince Charles and Diana's ill fated venture lives on in glory .  That was one to remember. After the actual ceremony we all walked to the top of the mountain in North Wales and great bonfires were lit as part of the huge chain of them travelling down the side of Britain. In the dusk we could see the lights as far away as Snowdon and groping our way down the mountain in the dark, slightly the worse for all the toasting we'd done  was an event never to forget.
This time the sweet young thing from next door would have liked a street party I think but as we are a collection of four houses miles from anywhere, only two of which are actually lived in it did seem a bit of a problem.
 My son is planning a long walk with a neighbour's dog to get away from the worst bits and all the local pubs have wide screen showings.  My husband is slightly surprised that I am going to sit down and watch...but I have a professional interest in weddings. I've done a lot over the last years and I shall enjoy watching someone else doing it. I don't need to know about the brides dress or hair, or her relations with everyone else there but the actual ceremony should be beautiful in a glorious settings so I shall have an enforced rest from writing the sermon...bring it on!

Big brother time?

I've been out all morning giving evidence at an Industrial  hearing. That seems to be the reason for the blog bits being sent  that I blogged about yesterday, though they were never actually referred to in my hearing. Who said what to whom is not important and neither is the reason for the hearing or its outcome. What is extraordinary is that someone who had rung me up a little while ago was able to recount a private conversation I had had with my husband after the call.
The chairman of the meeting found this strange thing when he was going through a log of various calls.
The first one was of 5 minutes the second was for one minute. There was one unanswered call and then another one of 17 minutes.
I could not account for the last one at all.
The person in the room who had made the calls told everyone present quite happily that after ringing and getting no answer she had listened to what was being said in the room!  How is this possible?
She really had heard  because she was able to tell me what was said...fortunately nothing untoward!  But I had had no idea that this was possible until today....If you ring and the phone is not answered how can the caller hear what is said in the room.....for 17 minutes!
Is this the start of the ever intrusive society getting out of hand? Are we all under some sort of supervision?  Who knew?

Blogs as entertainment?

Well here's a thing!  I have today received through the post a whole group of stories from my blog going back a couple of years. I know who has sent them but I have no idea why. A careful reading of them reveals nothing incriminating. I haven't been nasty about anyone or spoken about anything that I could not say in public  .  Apart from saying one man talked a load of bollocks which I have said to his face several times now.
Why anyone should actually want to copy and paste and print them all off is a mystery but I am not complaining!  I am mystified. It is weird. The person obviously thinks they are posts from Face Book which they are not. I seldom if ever  post the link on FB.
There are none  praising God and all His works so obviously the stories appeal more than the sermons!  The person involved has never been a friend on Face Book so why take the trouble?   If I find out I'll let you know!
In the meanwhile I have considered writing something really outrageous, something that would get everyone fuming with outrage!  Trouble is nothing sits quite well enough for that.
This week is fairly busy so there is no way I am going to spend much time in trying to unravel it... but it has made me question. Why blog?
I suppose its the same for us all....it gives us writers  a daily workout. Twitter makes us concise. Blogging gives a bit of space to expand an idea. But mostly I do it for myself. I have always kept a diary and as I get older the  compulsion grows..
It would be good to think I'm being read and by the way many thanks to my regular contributors...I value all your comments allot.  So on we go....  Once more onto the breach dear friends. And I could block the wall up with the one who talks bollocks!

Gaga in the garden.

Every so often I experience a sudden rush of blood to the head.....not a stroke but an impulse to spend money! Having had a very quiet day today which is most unusual for a Monday I spent the morning tidying up the garden, full of immodest pride that the structure I saw in my mind's eye has now started to take shape in the previously bare field. The fruit trees are flowering, the Spring bulbs have finished, the roses have started to bloom early so what else could I do for it? I found three dead plants that have not survived the bad winter and ordered their replacements. Now what? The spending impulse had not yet been satisfied.
I wandered around wondering what it was that was missing.
I already had wind chimes hanging from the ancient chestnut tree. I had a sun dial in one corner. I had an original plinth from London Bridge, rescued by my husband during one of his building jobs.
An earnest young boy rests under a ceonotis now in full bloom.
Then I had it....inspiration! I googled a shop which sold garden ornaments and am now waiting delivery of a cast iron cat, a cast iron owl and fairy standing wind chimes. Oh dear.
Have I really gone gaga in my old age? My first husband would have shaken his head sadly...spending money has become much too easy now. He would not have approved at all, specially buying whimsy in the shape of cats and owls.
Still, its a big garden, plenty of room to lose them in if all else fails! Or to hide the desperate proof of my poor addled brain in its dotage!

Joyful and sometimes scary!

Easter morning! And Christ is risen. I woke full of joy and also full of memories. The one that made me weep appeared unbidden in the stream of consciousness. The first anniversary of my husband's death fell on Easter Sunday. I had put lilies on the altar at Gerrans the day before but walking into the small beautiful church and smelling the fragrance and seeing all the flowers made me burst into tears. Just as well I hadn't been ordained at that point. I could sniffle quietly, unobserved.
The first two Easters after my priesting were terrifying. There was so much to remember! The joy carried me through relatively unscathed.
The really scary one was during the interregnum at St Just in Roseland. I had already done another mass and got there just in time to robe and get on with it.
When the moment came to climb up into the pulpit I looked down and there sitting right in front of me was Jeremy Paxman. My mind went into overdrive! Had I put anything controversial in the sermon? Too late to worry now I thought and off I went. I need not have worried. His face relaxed. He laughed at my jokes and was very kind afterwards. But it was a bad moment for an Easter day. He joined in the egg hunt afterwards!
We get a lot of noteworthy people at our little church here, standing on the banks of a creek so it was a pleasure to take the eight o clock service this morning as the creek was filling with water and thankfully there were no stern critics present. It looked and smelled wonderful, full of flowers with sun streaming through the stained glass. thank you God.



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The Prophet.

I can imagine no lovelier  way of spending Holy Saturday than what I've been doing this morning, sitting in the garden, in the sunshine listening to an audio book. Not just any old book either..this is one I've been saving for a while now and this morning was the appropriate moment . It is "The Prophet" by Kahil Gibran.
At first I was startled by the american accent and the way the reader spoke the name. I suppose I have been putting an English slant on it without really thinking much about it but it sounded strange.
In the past I have read the story of Gibran and knew that he had travelled from his home in the Lebanon to make his way in America. I knew too that during his last years  his health was poor but really didn't know much more than that.
As I listened this morning to a book I knew was written in English the American accent  of the reader slowly ceased to worry me and suddenly I remembered. When I first found this book on iTunes about four years ago I had been delighted by the blurb which told me that it was Gibran himself who  read the book out loud in his later years and that this was a recording from that time.  It is "The Prophet" spoken by the author!
So who knew best how to pronounce his own name!
The writing is wonderful and brought tears to my eyes at times as I heard the author speaking his own lines.  Truly a gift from God this morning.  Here is a  small paragraph .... with gaps in it

"And his soul cried out to them and he said
Sons of my ancient mother, you riders of the tides
How often have you sailed in my dreams?

Only another breath will I breath in this still air, only another loving look cast backward
And then I shall come to you, a boundless drop to a boundless ocean."

Only this morning have  I realised that the journey he was setting out on was his own death...to become a part of that ocean to which we shall  all return in time.
I am truly blessed.

Good Friday limbo.

I have just led the Good Friday meditation at St Just in Roseland and am now in that strange limbo that lasts into Sunday. It's quiet and reflective and filled with both love and sorrow in equal measures. There was a good congregation and they went out clearly feeling the same way. The organist played beautifully. There was a couple who had come for an interment of ashes who had brought the casket and the flowers to sit in the sanctuary. We stripped the altar and moved out in silence. Everyone of them hugged me as they went. Many wept. One slept. We all obeyed the commandment of Jesus. That you love one another as I have loved you. I have never been kissed so often at the end of a service.
That is all.

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Things that make you angry.

Bill Vanstone for Holy Week

As we continue to follow the path of Jesus during this the holiest of weeks I am always reminded of my first priest Bill Vanstone. He took us quietly day by day, slowly approaching the cross.
As a teenager it took quite an effort to get me out of bed but I did it in Holy Week. Bill took a mass at 7am every morning. It was then possible to get to work afterwards.
His influence on my life has been considerable and all of his books are worth reading. The first one "Loves Endeavour. Loves Expense " is about the new housing estate in Rochdale where he was the vicar.
The poem from it is now a hymn. We shall be singing it on Good Friday.
Morning glory,starlit sky
Soaring music,scholars truth
Flight of swallows,autumn leaves
Memories treasure, grace of youth

Open are the gifts of God
Gifts of love to mind and sense
Hidden is loves agony
Loves Endeavour . loves expense

Love that gives, gives ever more
Gives with zeal, with eager hands
Spares not, keeps not, all outpours
Ventures all,it's all expends

Drained is love in making full
Bound in setting others free
Poor in making many rich
Weak in giving power to be

Therefor he who shows us God
Helpless hangs upon the tree
And the nails and crown of thorns
Tell of what God's love must be

Here is God, no monarch he
Throned in easy state to reign
Here is God whose arms of love
Aching, spent, the world sustain..

I was only going to do one verse but found unable to stop.

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Emotional Ordinations

I have heard several people talking about their forthcoming ordinations and have been struck by their surprise about the emotion involved. Of course its emotional. The notion that we have been called by God to His service is exciting but its also daunting!  We wonder how on earth we could ever match up to what seems to be required of us and are feeling a little bit underwhelmed and frightened.
On my ordination retreat we were a group of people  who didn't know each other well and it took a couple of days  of silence to realise that we were  all going through a similar process.
Self doubt is a prelude to self knowledge and its important to know ourselves as well as possible. To recognise those character traits which are not the natural attribute for a priest, to be aware of the serious mistakes we have made in life so that they can be laid to rest is part of the process.
All this takes time...there's no quick way through this process...but its worth it. Once you've admitted that there are things you should have done differently and that you are not perfect then you can grow and travel the path that you were called to in confidence.
I came late to the priesthood and  it was the most natural thing in the world to weep as I approached the big day. The realisation of a calling that started in my teens and  only came to fruition in old age is emotional....
I have never regretted it. It has made me the happy woman I am today..I am able to use all the talents I have acquired in teaching and other sorts of work....  Thank you God.

I've got this tree.   I have actually got a lot of trees but this is one I am not sure about. I put it in four years ago and its grown. Its grown quite well but its leggy and not quite convincing.
Its hardy because its survived a winter which has killed off acacias and Cistus.  I bought it I think from the local garden centre and believed it to be an unusual sort of eucalyptus.
I was amazed this weekend to find on flowers that appear to be mimosa flowers They smell sweet and are really quite delicate.

Ive posted pictures of them on Twitter and even the twittarati have failed to agree on it. My son the gardner has pronounced that its not an acacia because the leaves are too prickly. I have looked it up in various books of plants but cant find anything that actually looks like it.

Any suggested welcomed.....but no more adverts for cheap trees please!

Welsh wedding.

Yesterdays wedding was an event. Not just because the couple were lovely or that they both made their vows in Welsh as well as English. The church was packed but that is usual for weddings. They brought their own organist from .Cardiff and as he sat down at the organ I uttered a silent prayer. It was answered. He produced wonderful music almost immediately. He then told me that actually he was a pianist and didn't play the organ much. Amazing sounds came out. Absolutely wonderful.
All went well and as we had the first hymn I realized that the congregation was more than half welsh and it showed. They sang! They sang well and lustily and in tune. The English on the whole don't sing. Not with their whole hearts and voices. I've got used to singing solos at weddings. Yesterday I was drowned out easily. Bliss!
During the signing of the register they had told me they had a choir but I was unprepared for the 40 or so young men who strode to the front of the church and sang traditional welsh songs guaranteed to bring a lump to my throat. Took me back to the land of my fathers and my welsh grandparents. I often have cause to thank God but yesterday was a real gift from Him.



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Ancient marathon runners

London marathon today has reminded me of my sister in law Madge who started running marathons after she got to 60. She did it to prove something to her husband who refused to be as impressed as the rest of us were. She always finished the marathons even though often much later than most. Marathon running became a huge part of her life after the publicity she got from the papers and TV. I just boggled that anyone would actually take pleasure in running all that way, especially at her age.
The price she paid was a heavy one. Knees were the main problem and after one operation she then only ran half marathons. Only? It was still too far for me. But it got her around. She ran half marathons all around the world, starting with the New York marathon and ending with the one in Hong Kong.
She hobnobbed with the famous veteran runners and was an expert at getting stores and businesses to support her efforts and sponsor her. She made the most of her final years by becoming a celebrity. She had a small fitness program on local TV and started to write a book entitled "Fun at fifty. Sin at sixty." I am not sure it was ever finished.
Madge was quite a girl. She turned her old age into a voyage of discovery that both enthralled and shocked those close to her. As I watch today's runners later I will remember her with great affection. She died about eleven years ago. Rest in peace Madge, certain that no one running today could match your determination and stamina.


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Local integration?

During a morning of people dropping in and out several people have complained about everything in the world but particularly,  this village and all those that live in it. I know the visitors are here in great numbers already which means a certain amount of parking angst but that's not really the problem . Several of my visitors have passed on to  me gossip of all kinds...back biting seems to the order of the day right now.
The problem is , do I refuse to listen to any of it? I will certainly not pass most of it on but some of it is valuable information....I do need to know what is being said locally about the people involved in the row that has simmered here for months.
This village is sharply divided into two separate group. The locals who were born here and who  deserve to be able to afford to live here. The second group are the incomers who have bought property and employ some of the first group. This lot, roughly categorised by the locals as, up from London, are often arrogant, often hard hearted towards those less fortunate than themselves. But they are the group who tend to actually run the place. They have retired and have the time to do things like run the various clubs and  become officers on the local PCC"s . Most of these are lovely people but there is a small minority who are difficult and when one family starts buying up property and businesses then a certain backlash is to be expected.
Its is very difficult. If you accused the locals of jealousy they would take massive umbrage and I can see why. If you accused the incomers of arrogance so would they, but a certain element of both of those exist.
I am still scarred by being dragged into a row about affordable housing which is I think in a small community a very welcome thing.
How ever by saying that on local radio I got attacked by almost everyone with an axe to grind. I even had a deputation arrive on my doorstep to give me the full facts.
There is another smaller group who also manage to make their voices heard. These are the people who own homes locally but are not here full time.
Some of them have arrived here for Easter having not been around since Christmas. Often they act as peace group and they succeed in bring the two extreme groups together.  There is nothing more guaranteed to bring two waring factions together as another group trying to get in on the act.

Wedding music?

It is the same every year so I should not be surprised but everyone both in the family and from the parish always arrive either in HolyWeek or just before it. Brides are panicking. Mothers of brides are getting heavy with everyone. The most sweet natured of flower arrangers is snapping. by this time I should have learned how to deflect them but I hav'nt .
The phone rings at ten o'clock at night with a puzzled voice that says
"I forgot to ask you earlier but would it be OK if.... " It's usually fine but I am not at my best at that time and there is nothing that can't wait till morning.
So then I cheer myself up with horror stories from years gone by. This is one of my favorites.
The groom was in the navy. The bride was a teacher. The wedding was during the long summer holidays. They arrived together for the rehearsal and were very nervous. No need, I thought I already knew what the problem might be.
The groom had been given the job during his hours at sea of picking the music. They had no organist, it was all played through the sound system. All went well, they had relaxed and were smiling as we got to the last bit.
"Are you ready for this Jean?" The groom looked very pleased with himself. The bride then looked worried. All we had to do was play the going out music so that the bride could sweep majestically up the aisle on her husband's arm.
The music started. It was "Caught in a trap." Sung by Elvis.
I was startled but the bride laughed thank goodness. All went well then with the wedding the next day. The baby arrived four months later. Bless.


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Wedding blues.

I have my first wedding of the year on Saturday. This year is much easier than previous years when I did all of them. I am very grateful that is no longer the case. In the past I have done one, sometimes two every week during the summer .So now my entire life is not engaged in wedding talks, preparation and rehearsals. This week is a couple from Wales, taking their vows in Welsh as well as English. They forgot the bit of paper from the registrar which we have to see before the actual ceremony.
" Do you have to see it? Can you not take our word for it? ".
Well no I can't. The registrars special certificate is one way of dealing with couples for whom reading the banns is inappropriate. Some registrars like the bits of blue paper to be sent in with the returns. I have always done this since the first time I was left in charge of the parish.
I had been thinking it was all going ok when I got a phone call demanding the returns plus the paper work. Non plussed I said. " I don't think we've married anyone this quarter."
There was a longish pause during which a sharp intake of breath could be heard. Then she said, "There's been at least one to my certain knowledge."
"Oh?" I asked and then got it. It was mine. We had done it that way to avoid having the banns read. It wasn't actually a secret apart from the day and time. We got married on a Monday morning in November when not too many people were around. I was suitably embarrassed.
Once we'd got over the returns problem the registrar and myself became quite good friends. But I still need to see the blue papers.



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Unusual pastoral visitors.

Twice in the last two days I have employed a very useful pastoral assistant. My dog Crispin in the past has been a welcome visitor in the local old people's homes. He would come in with me, nuzzle the hands of those sitting around and often get a response  where  some of us failed.
On Monday a couple came to see me to sort out their wedding. He had been divorced and I had some personal questions for him but he had brought his son with him.
"Take him out to play Crispin" I said and off they went.
Today a young lady who I had married about five years ago arrived to talk about baptising her two boys.
They were lively and again Crispin came to my aid. He kept them quietly amused whilst I sorted out details with the mother. I had to make sure she understood the nature of the commitment and that I also had to talk to the Godparents. The boys were wonderful and so was my dog. At one stage Crispin lay down....he was having a very tiring couple of days. The youngest boy lay down with him.  So was he.
Crispin is now 12 years old. He has always had a gentle disposition and is wonderful with those suffering bereavement or hurt. My problem now is,   who is going to look after me when he dies.

Game playing

I love to play games.    The IT revolution has been a  wonderful thing for me. I can play games whenever I feel like it  or  now when ever I have some time. When I had small children playing games with them was always a great pleasure reserved for wet weekends or holidays in a caravan. We played all the board games, especially Monopoly with great gusto and a certain amount of competitive edge.
Once they left home I was stuck. Neither  husbands  were game players so I had to find friends willing to sit down and play games with me. I once had a friend in hospital for a long time who I played cribbage with complete with  instructions from the nurses that it was not to get too exciting!
Now I play games in solitary isolation. Not just card games on the iPad but many of the other sorts of games...Angry birds is ideal for those days when the urge to hit someone gets too strong!
There are so may puzzle games of all kinds that I am stuck for choice at times but there are two games which I can play on line with real partners . I play  Scrabble on line and have acquired new friends as as old ones that I haven't actually met in years.  Some times its exciting but as it doesn't have to be finished in a particular time frame I can go to bed and leave a game to finish the next day.
Backgammon is different though. I play on line and the game has to be completed so often I only play one at a time to make sure there are not too many saved ones. The people I meet in Backgammon are from all over the world. We don't need a common language. I put a smiley in when there's no English .
Recently I have played my highly competitive son sometimes in the evening much as we used to when he was little. This is a luxury..no need to travel, to get out the board and put out the pieces. Having technology is wonderful.
I once read that playing games was a sign of intelligence . There is now then also an element in me of wanting to keep the brain cells on the move. No need to get sedentary just yet!

Evensong

I had a very early service this morning at St Just this morning and an Evensong this evening. Both services are the old one from the Book of Common Prayer. The congregation is often much the same. People love the service they grew up with. I actually love both the BCP and the Common Worship communion that has taken its place in churches with younger congregations. Evensong has it's own beauty and ritual but today it might not be enough.
I have tried hard today not to think about the row going on in the village but as I am part of that row it has come back during my quiet moments.
Someone I know and thought to be a friend has disappointed me and caused misunderstanding between people who should work together amicably.
The row hinges on what constitutes a lie. One friend has told another friend one version of events and yet another version to someone else. She had good reason for doing this. She tried to shield a friend from a very disagreeable truth. In doing this though she has caused two other people to fall out about what was actually said. And the row intensifies daily.
So what do we do? I think only the truth will do now even though hurt will result because the problem with lying is that one small one leads to another much bigger one in an attempt at justification
The dead lock has to be broken before even more grief is caused. But yet again I am very sad for both sides of the row. This is a small village. We all know each other only too well.
Truth and love will conquer it all but only now by hurting one or other of them.
Evensong will put joy in my heart but it's unlikely that that joy will reach as far as the people involved in the row. We can but try Lord.

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Blogging danger.

It seems I have a much larger readership of this blog than I ever imagined. I take it as a massive compliment that someone has taken the trouble to copy and paste much of what I've written over the last months.
I was told that someone had hacked into my Face Book account and that did bother me so I went in and improved my privacy settings so that now only friends can read my posts.
I usually only put the link to this blog on Twitter, preferring more local comments to be on Facebook. This blog covers a much wider set of experiences than status posts.
I shall not stop of course.  I stand by everything I've written in here and feel it sad that some people try to make mischief where none exists.
None of  us like to think that we have been let down by friends. But hey! I now have the sort of readership I never dreamed of so who am I to complain!

Precious memories.

I am having a lot of visitors at the moment. Everyone wants to talk weddings or Christenings. It must be the weather. The stream of visitors in and out of my room has reminded me of the great pictures in it that I hardly ever notice after being here for five years.
My husbands first wife was a local artist of real skill. We have very many of her pictures in our house and they are lovely. I can live in peace with them all. But in my room, my study, I have my pictures from my previous life and they all mean something to me...they are acquisitions from years of living in different places and some are very personal. Two of them are pictures bought when I still lived in Essex to remind me of the glory that was Cornwall. One of them is by a celebrated local artist who gasped when she came to pay for her daughters wedding and found one of her pictures on the wall.
The one that holds a special place for me is a dark blue painting of the sea with a stormy sky showing Hale Bop riding through the clouds. there is a hazy full moon and a small boat is riding out the storm.
It reminds me of one of the strangest and emotional moment of my life and of my first husband.
We had walked the beach one dark night looking up at the sky and saw the comet huge and glowing. He had looked at it and said
"Its come for me that comet." I laughed and said something like, don't be daft David.
He died suddenly the very next day. A heart attack not Hale Bop.
When I saw the picture in a local art shop I knew that I had to have it. I now treasure it but I am still not sure if my husband had some sort of premonition of his death. I do know though that he was not given to whimsy.
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Summer

After a busy week I have had little time for domesticity. My husband married me knowing that I was never going to be the sort of wife men might dream about. I do enjoy cooking but this week there simply hasn't been time. So yesterday and today we have eaten out. Literally. Both were pub lunches. Both were outside in lovely warm sunshine. We appear to have arrived in summer somehow. Yesterdays pub was inland and very rural and today's was a seaside pub with tourists and views of the boats just being put in for the summer.
We came home to find flowers out in profusion. Gods in his heaven , alls right with the world.



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At tea time my husband brought me the first Pimms  of the year.  So it really is now officially summer.

Morning at the hospital

It has been a wonderfully hot day. So naturally this was the day we had to spend the morning at the hospital. It was not too bad. As we arrived in the Fracture clinic I did tell my innocent son that everyone there had probably got an appointment at the same time as him. He only started to believe me when we'd been there a couple of hours. But they apologized. They had clearly had a sudden rush of accidental breaks and all the staff were polite, informative and even helpful. As this is a hospital that has suffered a very bad press over the years you could only admire their optimistic professionalism. My son now has a bright blue cast on his arm, needs no operation and simply has to get through the next five weeks without climbing the walls.
Parking is always hell. They have taken over nearby fields for the purpose but this leaves you with miles to walk. I still have bad memories of arriving too late for the last rites for a old friend. Some sort of priority system might work but it would I imagine be hell to work out.
We had a pub lunch and ate it in bright sunshine on the way home , grateful for the NHS and to God.


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Quick drink?

I am wondering why it's so hard to find a small kettle. We have an upside down house. This is wonderful for panoramic views over the Fal and various castles and the boat traffic in and out of Falmouth. But having a sitting room up stairs has it's drawbacks. One of which is the ability to brew up fast. In the summer we keep cans of lemonade up here but in the winter and the Spring right now, a lovely hot cup of something would go down very well. There is quite a trek to the kitchen and then I have to carry the hot drinks back up the stairs by which time the will to live has waned quite a lot.
I looked for a small neat little kettle that will stow away in a cupboard to keep the room tidy.
One litre seems small now I've looked at the range. A one cup kettle is too small. There are two of us! Most seem to be a litre and a half. Many are even bigger. Why? We can't be so unusual surely?
Whilst I look for a neat two cup kettle we are driven to substitutes! Scotch goes down quite well as does wine but here is one of lifes paradoxes. We found a machine that will cool the white wine and warm the red wine. It's in our sitting room naturally. It's French. So it's easier to have a little tipple than a nice cup of tea. I can live with this but can my liver?


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Brown paper packaging?

Sometimes you just want to give advertisers a bit of advice.  Like the rest of the world my email post bag is now huge with at least half of it from people who want to sell me something. The title has to give a rough description I suppose but usually I just reach for the delete button. The Mac computers label anything suspect as junk and is therefor printed in brown. Sometimes the coloured stuff  can be important like the one from a young bride who had asked me an important question the week before her wedding. I never got it. It had been put into the trash can because it was brown.
Even the ones that Mac does not eschew often shout out to be deleted. The people who keep offering me  free credit checks just irritate but the ones who earnestly want to help me out of my debt problems infuriate. I have no debt. At my age the mortgage was paid off years ago!
There are people offering me all sorts of solutions for dog ailments and then there is free legal advice!
Sometimes people I have ordered from before send E mails giving me golden opportunities, free cruises, weekend breaks at cut price rates etc.
But you know all this because we all, I suspect get the same sort of stuff every single day!  And if not why not? I don't want to be the only one!
Other companies feel they have to advertise their services as part of the advert.  Even I wanted to, am I going to buy Viagra from a company who call themselves Drugs by Post?
When I do subscribe I usually regret it. You had to see the smile on the postman's face as he delivered me a package with the name across the front.
Sally at Ample Bosoms please take note.  I do not need that sort of advertising.
There will be no more packages.   Brown paper is a dead give away!

Evangelical visiting

As its the first Sunday I have not preached for a very long time  there could be a danger of a sermon coming on!
  I had a most unexpected pair of callers yesterday. In Essex we had frequent visitors from various churches trying to bring us into the fold. No excuse,  such as my personal commitment to the C of E   was accepted. One lot came back over and over again. Had I not been a committed Christian this might well have turned me in the opposite direction.
They came mob handed and were very insistent. I listened to one lot several times before I  told them that I objected to to people on my doorstep trying to sell me Jesus as though it was a new brand of soap powder.
The two old men looked me up and down and then one of them said,
"Time of the month dearie?"
They had the sense to move off fairly smartly then....it could have got nasty.
Afterwards I phoned their chapel and asked the pastor if I could be taken off their visiting list. He said he would try but he could make no promises!
 Here in Cornwall I live in almost splendid isolation.  There is only one other house that is lived in for quite a long way so when I opened the door to two pleasant women yesterday I was surprised when one of them said, "We are calling on all the houses in the district today" She thrust a leaflet into my hands and said. "Take that as your personal invitation to come and find Jesus."
They second lady nudged her. She had noticed my dog collar.
There was a certain amount of nervous laughter....and I accepted the leaflet with thanks.
As they moved off one of them said to the other. "Well how was I to know it was a vicar!" The cross on my gate might have been a clue.
Anyway full marks for being adventurous. And they were both pleasant ladies. No one could have taken exception to them   but I did point out that the invitation was for a Sunday and that I worked on Sundays.
I have never been an evangelical...the thought of going out to accost a stranger to pass on the word of God does not come easily to me and yet I know that without the first Christians doing just that the church would never have happened.
I suppose its the approach.   My testimony to Christ is by smiling at people, never judging them and always being helpful. Hopefully this is my way of converting people to  possibly being sufficiently interested and coming to church to see for them selves.  They can see for themselves that being a Christian makes me happy.   And so possibly might do the same for them. It has worked in a few cases.

Hard Mothers Day

Weird this morning to wake up to the fact that I have no sermon to write for tomorrow. They have given me the day off for Mothers Day! A newish reader has taken up the slack! So a free Saturday morning!    I have been out with the dog, pruned some frost damaged trees and unpacked some new ones. None of it has taken my mind off the fact that tomorrow is Mothering Sunday.
I really don't want to sound like a wimp but this is a hard day for me and has been since my daughter died five years ago.
I suspect that all of us who have lost children  find this day challenging. Some might even dread it.
My daughter Roz died of meningitis in February. The first Mother's day was just a few weeks later and I was preaching. That was the hardest thing I've done since I joined the church. I wanted to talk about the caring, nurturing side of  being a mother but it was hard. I can't remember now what I did preach about....its gone from my consciousness which is probably just as well but I do know that before the sermon I took a very deep breath and plunged into it, praying that I would not weep before I got to the end. I didn't. The congregation who knew me well and knew about my loss were careful at the end...Kindness is the worst thing to start off the tears.  There were a lot of well dones and some excellent hugs..but I did it. I got through the whole day punctuated by small weeps until at the end  I was able to let rip.
Now I have my daughter's grave stone down at St Just and I talk to her regularly. My son is taking me out to lunch tomorrow and we will talk about times gone by. And probably do a bit of crying too. Its the first time I've seen him on Mothering Sunday since he was a teenager...but I'm glad he's around this year.

April 1 aghhh

April Fool's day always brings back memories of a very bad day in teaching. We had moved from North Wales to Essex and having been there a month I put my name down on the supply list for the county. One evening I got a call from the head of a very prestigious comprehensive on the other side of town. They had a sudden emergency could I go in please?
It was at the time of transport strikes and my husband had to go to London by coach. I drove him to the coach pickup at 6.30 every morning so  I arrived at school  feeling as though a days work was already behind me.
The assembly was different. The head played a verbal joke on them all, roared with laughter, wished us all a Happy April  Fools day and off we went.
My first lesson was in the library. This suited me fine. I had been in charge of the library at my last school. The children came in and never settled down. The shelves were arranged so that it was impossible to see them all at once. I struggled and was very glad to find my next lesson was in a classroom. There seemed to be a lot of children in the class   but books were given out and some sort of order established when a very irate teacher arrived to ask why I'd got his class in with mine.
The culprits went out laughing, shouting April Fool as they went.
Next was break time. Over a coffee I was told what had happened to the previous teacher. She had tried to get order in the library and failed and the head had gone in to ask about the noise levels. She had taken a mug of cold tea from her desk and had poured it slowly and deliberately over his head.
I thought this might have been another April Fool  but no it turned out to be the truth.
The next two lessons were marked by first year and fifth year children turning up to the same classroom but by this time I'd acquired registers!   We all blamed the head. He'd started it!
By the end of the day I could quite appreciate why she had had what was being described as a nervous breakdown.  It looked like my turn next!
Moral of this story is simple. Never start a career in a new school on April the first. And never throw a cup of tea over the head. That particular teacher never came back.