O Holy Night

Christmas Eve was wonderfully relaxing ahead of the full-on onslaught of the following day.
I completed the task I began the day before, that of constructing and filling the crackers.

Unfortunately, the chocolate balls had a habit of escaping. Some rolled off the table and across the floor. DH failed to observe the one that made it on to a dining chair and sat on it, completely flattening it. Amazingly he never noticed that it was there. Evidence, if ever I needed it, that he is definitely not a princess! Baby wipes removed all noticeable traces of the drama. Alas, his pride was wounded, and somehow I was to blame for not failing to take adequate precautions to prevent the wayward confectionary from escaping and ambushing my poor unsuspecting husband...

In the evening we rang for the midnight communion at the parish church, which was resplendent in the darkness, with floodlights making sure that that the beauty of the stained glass could be appreciated inside the church. 

The oil lamps had been festooned with fairy lights, rather than filled with oil and lit. This meant everyone could relax, instead of anxiously monitoring the lamps for signs of unexpected combustion or struggling with the smoky atmosphere.

G1(aged 11) had volunteered to ring and did very well. We got the back four down at the end of the service, thus qualifying as ringing on Christmas day.

Christmas morning found us back at our local church, in a lovely interactive service. G4 (aged 5) and G5 (aged 3) had bikes, which they triumphantly rode down the aisle, in a way that was vaguely reminiscent of Jesus riding into Jerusalem on a donkey. Lovely as the are, they lack the divinity and dignity of our Lord!

After church there was a brief interval before the grandchildren invaded. We began with eleven for dinner, and the gathering grew to seventeen by tea time, when the grandchildren's favourite relative arrived - their cousin once removed. S has the status akin to a celebrity, with G1-4 all vying for her attention, all wanting her to notice how cool they were. G1 was delighted to discover that she is now taller than S, despite being only half her age.

The day ended with a brief introduction to Exploding Kittens. The KHT was partnered with the celebrity relative. Everytime they did a preview and saw an Exploding Kitten card, the KHT would look absolutely horrified, so we all were in no doubt where the cards of doom lay! She will never make a good poker player!

His and Hers

Sunday. Was. Manic!

In the morning we had the nativity service, which the young people of the church not only acted out, but for the first time that we are aware of, they also wrote it.

Anyone is welcome to join in with the nativity on the day, and at 9:30am in the morning the KHT decided that she, too, would be a 'wise person'. She went on ahead while I ferreted in the garage for props. I found some gold fabric and a hobby camel, but no crown. That was stored in a box too high for me to reach. When I arrived at the church, the camel was greeted with great enthusiasm, however, the gold cloth was not required, as the cover from the sound desk had been requisitioned...

The casting was a bit uneven, with the younger girls mainly choosing to be angels, and the older one's opting to be wise persons. Only one chose to be a shepherd. Fortunately, some of the leaders had no qualms about sheep-minding, and a couple of members of the congregation were recruited to swell the flock.

Mary & Joe were played by siblings - who very effectively acted out the confusion and division felt, as the implications of news Gabriel gave to Mary, sank in. Simple actions conveyed the equivalent of several pages of dialogue, as with just the turning of the back and the lifting of a chin, Joe made his feelings VERY clear, followed by a swift and wholehearted reconciliation once Gabriel visited Joe and verified Mary's outrageous story, ensuring that they were both singing from the same hymn sheet.

After the service, I replenished the candles for the evening service and added more. It was going to be the sort of service where, the more candlepower, the merrier!
DH printed the service sheets, and I found some willing volunteers to read reflections.
Meanwhile, DH was searching for the cover for the sound desk, which was no-where to be found.
"I suggest you chase after L, as she has just left with a large bag of props. It has probably been picked up by mistake..."
Sure enough, the sound desk cover had been tidied away, along with costumes for shepherds and kings.

After a quick lunch, we headed off to Morrisons to collect the turkey. DH collected it from the front of the store, whilst I picked up some odds and ends. Each of us circumnavigating the supermarket several times whilst searching for each other.
"How am I supposed to find you, if you have taken the turkey out to the carpark?"
"I was only gone a few seconds, not long enough for you to notice.."
"Wanna bet?"

Next on the agenda was a quick trip over to the nearest Waitrose to collect our joint wedding anniversary/Christmas/Birthday presents to each other. Christmas is usually a time when I take the opportunity to supply my husband with brightly coloured socks (think Muppets or superheroes) cuddly jumpers, new shirts, things I think he will find useful - such as touchscreen gloves, fudge and assorted treats and any entertaining tat I find. Given his dietary uncertainty - which is looking more and more like lactose intolerance given his reactions, I found myself in the unusual position of making a confession I never thought I would make.
"It is Christmas in a few days, dear, and I haven't actually bought anything for you."
Given the stash of presents he normally gets to unwrap, he was torn between being disappointed at the lack of potential present unwrapping, and relief at the reduction in expenditure.
When he reflected, he couldn't think of anything he needed.
"I have been thinking, instead of buying each other presents, why don't we have an apple watch each instead." 
He was somewhat surprised at the suggestion, and at the earliest opportunity took himself off to do some online research. Any relief he felt at a potential reduction in seasonal expenditure rapidly evaporated. However, DH is a sucker for gadgetry and will have hours of fun learning how to use the new technology!

Having acquired our goodies we returned home, taking the opportunity to staple the service booklets, before departing to set up for the evening service.

After dinner, we finally got to play with our new toys. Woohoo!
I nearly leapt out of my skin in surprise the first time my mobile rang and my watch vibrated!

We will now be able to track each other around the supermarket, via walkie-talkie mode, regardless of the signal!



The good news is, as our wedding anniversary is just before Christmas, we could have our presents early! Happy anniversary?Christmas/Birthday, dear. We won't be repeating this in a hurry!

Weaving the image of Christ

True to form I am running slightly behind schedule with my preparations for Christmas.

Inspired by a tree silhouette stamp purchased from a craft show at the NEC, I have gone minimalistic on cards for friends, family and church folk.






This is the final one left in this series and has been reserved by big daughter.
With hindsight, I do wish I had taken more pictures of the cards before I sent them all!

The tree stamp was fascinating to work with, as each print was slightly different, and then, depending on which ink and embossed powder I used, each one evolved to create a unique image.







I had a very ambitious project planned for fellow bellringers, but true to form I ran out of time, so some got bell outlines, mounted on different textured backing papers. Any ringers who have not yet received a card, will not get a hand-made one, as I have succumbed and purchased a pack.

Meanwhile, the cards for the neighbours ready to post through their letterboxes.


Until Saturday evening I had not yet wrapped ANY presents! An intensive session of wrestling with brown wrapping paper followed.
Then came the moment when I realised that I had absolutely no idea where I had stowed one irreplaceable present.
Frantic searching ensued, but the present was nowhere to be found.
Several hours later I finally remembered where I had stowed it.
Phew!

Sunday evening was cracker assembly time.
Yes, I know this is a crackers idea,
but I resent paying any money for the rubbish that is available in the shops.
During the year I had kept a sharp eye peeled (to use one of the KHT's phrases) and purchased suitable items that would fit within the physical limitations of the cylindrical cracker centre.

Christmas cards are an opportunity to be part of a wider Christmas blessing.
If we only send cards to those who will return the favour, then all we do in create limited circles of co-dependence.
However, when we step outside these conventions and send cards to those who are on our minds, regardless of whether they will return the favour,
then we create a network of threads, which behind the images of penguins, wintry scenes, robins and snowmen, Christ can be seen.
If you receive a card from someone you have not sent one to,
do not panic,
do not feel guilty,
do not rush to respond.
Instead, stop and appreciate the fact that they cared,
and give thanks for the beauty of the thought
and feel loved.

I am absolutely rubbish at keeping track of addresses, so if my husband doesn't know where you live, you don't stand much chance of receiving a card from this particular branch of the family.
I suggest you just pick out an image that appeals to you from those on this blog

and accept it with our good wishes for Christmas and the New Year.

A Bling Thing

It is that time of the year
when illuminated bling brightens the dreary December darkness,
as households across the land hang their Christmas lights.

Our tree, complete with white lights,
has been in pride of place in the bay window since the second day of December.
On Saturday afternoon I decided to add the outdoor red berry lights to our display.

We had a set that I used to drape unartistically around our front garden at our previous address. Over the years the length had got shorter, as sections had died and been amputated.

Last year when they came down from the loft, we decided they had reached the point of no return, so a replacement set was purchased.

December 2018 was very snowy, and unsurprisingly, the berry lights got rather buried under the metrological whiteness. It was an interesting look.
This year I briefly considered positioning them so that they framed the doorway, before deciding that might give the wrong impression...

I took the lights outside, laid the tangled mass on the sodden lawn and spent the next 10 minutes or so slowly unravelling them. Fortunately, it wasn't raining.

This year's new acquisition is a set of illuminated card holders.
Before you get carried away with thoughts of medieval monks decorating ancient scrolls with ornate illustrations,
I will point out that this is a set of plastic clips to hang Christmas cards from,
each clip features a small led light.
The set comes with a remote control - enabling me to hide the battery pack well out of reach of any inquisitive grandchildren!
I unpacked the set,
and that was where the fun began.
Untangling them was a nightmare,
as the card clips could not pass over each other without snagging.
"I could always give them an almighty pull!" suggested the KHT helpfully.
"If you did that they would not work." I pointed out.
Finally, the set was laid out on the settee.
"Batteries!"
I sent a text to DH, who was playing carols in a nearby nursing home but was intending to go shopping on his way home.

Having sorted two sets of lights I decided to turn my attention to making Christmas cards as December is already a week old.
Handel's Messiah serenaded me, as I stamped and embossed in a variety of colours and the dining table slowly disappeared under a seasonal tide of paper, ink pads, stamps and embossing powders. Despite all the paraphernalia, I have gone for a look that is even more minimalistic than ever - in contrast to the decorations!

DH returned, minus the shopping,
as he had dropped in on the musical rehearsal in church on his way home.
Spare batteries were located and I checked that the card clip lights worked.
They did!
They actually looked better than I anticipated.

I love Christmas cards,
but finding a way of hanging them is always problematic. This was an effective way of displaying them,
without damaging the decor.
Result!

After dinner, DH departed on his delayed trip to the supermarket - a task he happily took on when he retired,
to my great delight.


Later I dug out some battery lights I had purchased a few weeks ago.
One was a necklace - batteries included. However, the holly spring set required batteries.
I sent DH a further text.
"More batteries required."

DH arrived back
and plonked the extra batteries
in what he thought was a space
in the middle of my card making.
Unfortunately, it was right on top of the ink pad I was using.
DH realised his mistake as soon he put it down,
and hurriedly rescued the pack of batteries,
but it was too late!
I have the evidence!

The Endless Cycle

The wash basket was nearly full, so I lugged the laundry downstairs and set the machine in motion on a dance with thousand revolutions, aided by allergy avoiding washing liquid.

After breakfast, DH, resplendent in trousers that would offend any washing machine, was busting a gut to get on with the day, but first, he had agreed to drop us in town.
I looked at DH and then took a second look.
"Your trousers are absolutely filthy!"
"They are the trousers I wear when I am doing odd jobs. I am hoping to get over the allotment later. Anyway, they are almost as clean as last time they came out of the machine!" he declares.
I look again, and really doubt this, but I was not going to pick a fight over laundry.
"When will you be ready to go?"
"Oh, I accidentally put the washing on..."
"And I suppose it is going to be another half an hour..."
"23 minutes"
During the next ten minutes, DH's impatience almost causes him to ignite.
Unable to bear the tension of waiting for the moment of combustion, I suggest that I leave the laundry to his tender ministrations and that we depart.

In town the KHT and I visit the poke stops around Church Green,
tour the charity shops
and visit various other establishments,
namely The Body shop, where the KHT lusts after toiletries and Smiths, where I swoon over stationary.
Our journeys briefly diverge,
as she chooses Waterstones over TKMaxx,
before we move on the Debenhams for lunch.
There are no egg sandwiches,
so she opts for Mac and Cheese - as far as I am aware this is a new dish she has added to her repertoire.
I had chosen a baked potato,
but noting that her choice also comes with chips,
I realise that I will be eating those,
and cancel my order.




At the cinema, the assistant doesn't ask us where we want to sit, just hands us our tickets. When we enter Screen 3, I understand why, as we are the only people who want to see Nativity Rocks on a Friday lunchtime.
As I anticipated the KHT loved it, Christmas, loud music and familiar songs. As far as she was concerned it was perfect. I appreciated the shots of Coventry Cathedrals, though I am not sure that she remembered visiting there, as it was a while ago.

Verdict - there were some parts that raised concerns re safeguarding, and I was a bit confused about why the Shropshire woman spoke with such a strong Welsh accent.

Conclusion - They all lived happily ever after.

As it was still light the KHT and I walked home, observing a dark cloud which stayed resolutely to the west and only deposited a few drops once we were in our road and almost home.

I walked into the kitchen, and immediately noticed the empty laundry basket abandoned in the utility. Surprisingly, the machine looked empty.
"Where's the washing?" I asked hesitantly. Surely he hadn't just carried it upstairs in his arms?
"On the line!"
"It's raining."
"No it's not!" DH looks outside, "Well, it wasn't a moment ago. Why are you taking your coat off if the washing needs rescuing?"
"Because I have just walked home from town and I am rather warm."
I go and retrieve the washing from the rain, which is now falling quite heavily. Every sock has been hung up separately. Normally they go on sock holders, which move from line (weather permitting) to airer to airing cupboard. I empty the dry washing from the airing cupboard, and put the washing retrieved from the line, in its place.
"How was the washing?" enquires DH proudly.
"Surprisingly dry. I need a coffee."
"Just add water.  It was waiting for you before you disappeared upstairs.
"The laundry needed sorting."
The shed roof is fixed." he announces with great satisfaction, "AND I put my trousers in the wash!"
I managed to contain my deep joy, but only just, consoling myself with the thought that at least I didn't have to mend the shed roof...

Which Joe?

Tuesday was the fifth and final week of the after-school club with Key Stage Two, which had been delayed a week for a theatre visit.
We had the last-in-this-series part of the story of Joseph, including the finding of the silver cup in Benjamen's sack and the arrival of Jacob in Egypt

Before we act out the next episode, we do a quick recap of the previous week(s) to see what they have remembered. We have been very impressed with how much they could recall.



However, having worked our way through Genesis 37, 39-47, we had rather exhausted Pinterest's suggestions for crafts relating to the story of Joseph, most of which focused on the first part of the story and the garment given to Joseph by doting Dad. Come on crafters, we need more activities and crafts relating to the rest of the story - there is so much more to Joseph's life than being a fashionista!

As we were unexpectedly doing the after-school club in December, we decided to go with Christmas themed craft activities for our final session.
Christmas crafts were much easier to find. We had a variety of illustrations to enjoy colouring, including an advent wreath and a mini nativity for them to make and take.
We made sure that they realised that the Joseph in the Christmas story is NOT the same as the arrogant dreamer / dream interpreter turned slave, whose life we have been following since early November.

Following a story, over the course of the five weeks the club runs for, seems to work really well.
However, for the Year Four children it was sadly their last ever 4UClub, as by this time next year they will be well settled in the next stage of their education. Since we first encountered them, we have watched them grow in confidence and understanding, as well as height! Hopefully, they will remember some of what we have covered!

Already we are looking ahead to the autumn of 2019 and thinking that the story of Moses would make a great follow on  - the baby in the bullrushes,
who grew up with a foot in either camp as a Jew within Pharoah's palace,
who killed a man,
was exiled
yet still led his people out of Egypt, across the Red Sea and through the wilderness.
Think of the fun we could have with the plagues and crossing the Red Sea...

Meanwhile back to school carol concerts/services and other seasonal jollities...

Malt Teaser!

"Raffle Tickets! I need raffle tickets!" I decided late on Thursday evening.
"Why?"
"Because children love raffles and I don't want to bring any lucky dip presents home. If I convert the lucky dip to a raffle, I am more likely to be able to sell out."

And so, on our way back from Compton Verney, where we had been to view the new Whistler exhibition (interesting but not my taste) we detoured to Tesco. It felt like half the town had also picked this moment to descend on the store.

I searched the stationery section for cloakroom tickets, but they weren't with the envelopes, where I expected, nor did they appear to be anywhere else in the vicinity.
Fortunately, there was a sales assistant shelf filling in the next aisle, just waiting to be annoyed by awkward customers asking pointless questions.
"Can you tell me where the raffle tickets are?" I enquired.

He looked a tad anxious as if I had just asked a question to which he did not know the answer, and led me back to the stationery section where I had been, but focused on the displays opposite.
"We USED to do them..." he muttered, examining some app on his phone to no avail.
"I will go and ask,"  he announced,
having failed to identify a location for this particular item of stock
and departed in search of greater wisdom.

Just as he rounded the corner I spotted them lurking on the bottom shelf.
"Don't worry, I have found them!" I called, hoping that he would hear me.
There was a pause, and then he reappeared back around the corner, and came to gaze in wonderment at the place we both looked, but both had initially failed to see.
It was a bit like that moment when you are reading a passage of scripture, and suddenly a word or phrase stands out in a way it never has before.
It certainly was an answer to prayer, because I really didn't want to go off on a massive search of shops in the vicinity for cloakroom (raffle) tickets at 3:30pm on a Friday evening.
If ever you feel that supermarkets are heathen places, I beg to differ, for the Holy Spirit was definitely present in Tesco's stationery section on the last day of November, and opening the eyes of those who were blind to the location of raffle tickets.

I wandered down the pizza aisle in search of a 4-pack of small cheese and tomato pizzas for the KHT, but the locusts had already passed by. I did, however, get the KHT a couple of scotch eggs as a weekend treat. I detoured via the seasonal aisle in search of some selection boxes, and found some £1 packs of Maltesers and added them to the stash I was carrying.

Having passed through the checkout, the KHT and I headed for the exit. I was carrying the goodies, as I had neglected to take a bag and wasn't going to pay for yet another.
A voice greeted us. It was the leader of one of the local churches was on foodbank duty.
We turned and waved a greeting, and then I found myself in an unexpected dilemma.
The following conversation then took place in my head.
"Should I give away the Maltesers purchased for the Christmas Fayre?"
"No, because you would be doing that in response to what you think that person might be thinking!"
"But what if he is thinking that I am a rubbish Christians, not supporting the food bank and spending all my money on boxes of chocolates..."
"If he thinks that, then he is being judgemental! 
He won't know if that out of the six items you are purchasing, four are to be given away, along with the other items you have already purchased,
or will he have any idea what you have given to the food bank through other channels."
"So you don't think I should give away what I have just bought?"
"NO, you have purchased the sweets and raffle tickets for a specific purpose. 
Stick to your plan and chill. 
He is probably thinking something else entirely. 
If he is judging you, which I doubt, then that is his problem, not yours! 
Don't give just to create a good impression. 
Give because God tells you to give. 
It may be awkward, but it isn't wrong."
It was a 1 Samuel 16:7b moment The Lord does not look at the things people look at. People look at the outward appearance, but the Lord looks at the heart.’

The KHT, the Maltesers and I continued on our way...

A Fishy Tail

It had been a long, weary,
bone aching,
soul-destroying night.
Salty nets had been cast into the deep, repeatedly.
Each time as we hauled them in,
we longed to see the moonlight shining on silvery fins.
Yet, we knew, before the net landed on the deck,
that it would be empty.
For there had been no battle
with a slippery heaving mass,
fighting to the last to avoid capture.
The conditions were wrong.
Something had changed
and we knew not what,
or why
or for how long.

Bittersweet were the suns rays, as they broke across the bay.
Bringing a reprieve to our tormented labours,
but also the finality of our failure to catch a thing.
Fishing was our job.
We could read the seas and skies and knew instinctively where the shoals of fish swam.
But not tonight, oh no, not tonight.
It was as if the had been lured them away, beyond our reach.

As we sat, mending our nets, the preacher appeared.
All he had to do was stand or sit still for a minute or two,
and crowds would appear
as if drawn by some mystical magnetic forces.
"If only we had had that good fortune with our fishing last night!" 
I reflected ruefully to Andrew.
The crowd were eager, as ever, to listen to the storyteller,
pressing closer and closer.
I were just contemplating how long it would be before the teacher got his feet wet,
when he turned and looked at me,
and it was as if he read my mind.
"Can I come aboard?" he asked.
I could hardly refuse. What harm would it do?
So there was the Jesus guy, in our family boat, teaching the crowd.
Whatever next?

When he finished he sent the crowd away, and turned and suggested a fishing trip.
We looked at him and told him the conditions were not right
and confessed our failure.
"We fished all night and caught nothing. Not one single fish. 
It would be a complete waste of time!"
He just smiled an enigmatic smile and settled down.
Well we could hardly turf him off the boat, so off we rowed, into the deep once more.
Not exactly what we had planned for today, but hey!
"Cast your nets." he instructed us.
Against our better judgement, we did.
Immediately the net took on a life of its own, as the fish flowed into the net,
as if summoned by some unspoken call.
The weight was too much for us to lift into our boat,
so we hollered over to James and John.
"Quick! Come and help us land this catch before we sink!"
Even with their assistance we still had to row like billy-o to shore,
before we were drowned by this unexpected bounty.

I fell on my knees, overwhelmed by my sinful inadequacy.
Who was this that understood the seas better than those
who had worked them since they were young?
Who was this that called the fish out of the depths
and into our nets.
Whoever it was, I was not worthy to be in his presence.

The preacher, jumped out of the boat,
striding through the shallow water and on to the beach.
He turned and called to us, his voice carrying clearly over the water.
"Come with me! Come and be fishers of men."
I looked at the biggest catch of fish I had ever seen in my life.
Silvery, gleaming in the sunshine
Sufficient possibly to feed a few thousand folk,
I knew, in that moment, that my fishing days were over,
yet were about to begin.


Inspired by Open the Book.
Guess what story we did today?

Count up and Count down

The main number that is of interest to me at the moment, is the temperature! Yes, I know that seven degrees centigrade is not proper cold, but the wind is rather unfriendly!
I looked outside earlier, viewed the almost bare trees, through rain-streaked windows and came to the conclusion that winter has begun. I then checked Google to see I could find any other opinion to back up me up. According to the met office -
astronomically winter begins on 21st December, meteorologically it all kicks off on December 1st.
I will take the meteorological option!

Feeling in the mood for figures, I decided to check out the stats on this blog. Now, I never know how much credibility to give the figures that come with Blogger.
If you are interested, you can view a country-by-country analysis of where your readers are located. Mine are usually pretty unexciting, with the UK being the biggest source, followed by the USA - thanks to online acquaintances, with a liberal scattering from across Europe, and a few views from the far east and down under.

To my great surprise, my mediocre musings appear to suddenly become very popular in Germany, as Google decided that 86 Germans read my blog around 6pm GMT - either that or one German read 86 of my posts very quickly.
Another possibility is that someone has decided I am fake news...
I am also currently of interest to the Russians - no idea what they make of it all! Maybe they were researching daffodil bulbs and clicked me by mistake!
However, a mysterious country has appeared on the rankings, which I had not heard of before - Unknown Region.
I do not even know which continent that is on!
A logical person would just say some folks have got effective filters hiding their location. However, the romantic in me prefers the idea of that aliens have been dipping into Daff's Deliberations -  imagine luminous green beings from Mars, bookmarking the page... I blame that spacecraft In Sight...

Numbers become extra important, as we enter the season of Advent and I will once again fail to burn the Advent Candle to the correct point each day.
The church has to wait until Sunday to begin celebrating Advent, but chocolate lovers everywhere will be opening the first door on their calendar on Saturday morning, and trying to decode the strangely shaped chocolate they have carefully extracted. Just do not do what I did one year, hang the calendars above a radiator, and then wondered why all the chocolates dropped down to the bottom of the box... I still have no real idea how that happened. No doubt there is a scientific explanation... I wonder where I put the KHT's calendar...?

Meanwhile, the hedgehogs appear to have hibernated,
and so has a friend.
Maybe I should join them...
but would I really want to miss
the adventure of Advent
and all the craziness of Christmas?
Nah!

The things we do for love...

Saturday morning was dedicated to making invitations for the December Afternoon Tea Service - where does the time go?  In the afternoon the KHT and I went to town. The annual switch on of the Christmas lights was scheduled to take place, so I thought that we would do some shopping and then pop outside just in time to see the Church Green glow in the dark and then go home...

Just one problem. A whole programme of entertainment was laid on and the KHT loves an event just as much as I don't!
We wandered outside about 3:30pm, just to see what was happening and found a crowd was assembling. That was it, we took up our positions and the die was set for the next few hours.
Proceedings got underway with the Redditch Community Gospel Choir - featuring a couple of relatives.
"UNCLE PHIL!!!" the HKT hollered, as he passed 10 feet from her.
In a crowd, ten feet is the equivalent of a hundred yards.
You may see them, but they probably won't see you, and they definitely won't hear you!

Next on the bill was a local singer I had never heard of, follow by a theatrical group of youngsters who also sang.
Then we had a panto...
"Oh no, you didn't!"
"Oh yes, we did!"
... which included all the classic elements - a baddy, several goodies, ghost, bench, door, song and dance, romance and a wedding as the grand finale.

With any pantomime, a certain amount of audience participation is required.
At one point one of the actors asked if we were looking forward to seeing Father Christmas,
and made the joke that the parents weren't joining in with quite as much enthusiasm as the children.
At this point, the KHT turned around and gave me the killer look of condemnation. After all, if the actor had said that parents were not joining in enthusiastically then as I was her parent, I MUST be guilty...
Accused, judged and condemned in just a couple of seconds.
Cheers! Peace on earth, goodwill to all parents...

Finally, red-suited FC arrived,
along with the pink-suited Mayor,
both greeted by the Christmas suited compere in green... Fortunately, no-one was there in their birthday suit...

By now events were running approximately 45 minutes behind schedule
and the KHT and I had been stood outside in the cold
for THREE hours!

Once the lights had been turned on, we joined the steady stream of homeward-bound revellers, as by now my legs were aching.
The KHT would have stayed there to the bitter end.
My weary legs had other ideas...

On Sunday afternoon, DH was booked to play carols at Coughton Court, where they were holding a gift fayre. I thought it would be a good idea to go along and show our support, perhaps instigate some rapturous applause at the end of each item... Unfortunately, all the tickets to the house had been prebooked, so we were banished to the grounds and could hear only occasional bars of music, drifting through the windows on the chilly November breeze.
All the best-laid plans.

After inspecting the gift fayre, and shop we moved
on to the parish church, which had some poppies on display.
Local parishioners had shared stories of relatives who had been involved in the war.
I thought of my Great Uncle Cecil, my grandmother's younger brother, who survived the war but returned minus some fingers.
I thought he was about five years younger than my gran, so must have been born around the turn of the twentieth century. This would have meant he could only have been about eighteen or nineteen when he went off to fight a war instigated and directed by generals and politicians
hiding far from the firing line.

A photograph, taken when Cecil was young, stood on the mantlepiece in my grandmother's lounge. Cecil died before I was born, so all I knew about him were snippets of information gleaned from family conversations.
My grandmother  and Aunt would nod sagely when his name was mentioned
"Ah, Cecil. He wasn't the marrying kind."
They knew exactly what they meant. No other words were required.
However, through the lens of the 21st century, I do not have a clue if that meant he wasn't attracted to women, was very shy, was a natural loner, never recovered from the horrors of war, or any combination thereof.

Leaving the peace of the church and war memories behind, we wandered down to the ford, as most of the grounds were closed, and spent a pleasant ten minutes or so watching the cars negotiate the ford.

By now we were feeling rather chilly, so we joined everyone else in the only warm place available to the proletariat - the cafe. Just one problem. I had to queue for half an hour just to get served! On the positive side, the coffee cake was very nice! Just as I finally sat down to enjoy my coffee and cake, DH arrived, having completed his gig with the wind band. He managed to get served in less than 10 minutes, as by then most of the waiting hoards had been served with their cake.

We may not have seen him play, or the house decorated for Christmas, but we did get cake.

The things we do for love.

Late Night Philosophy

Life will not always go as we expect

There will be challenges

Minefield Mondays

Terrible Tuesday

Woeful Wednesdays

Frustrating Thursdays

Frightful Fridays

Stinky Saturdays

Sorrowful Sundays.

Focusing all our attention on the problem encourages an exponential growth in disillusion and resentment.

Instead, look beyond and seek a way forward that provides a solution that is fair to everyone.

Listen, before you set your course. God can speak in the way we least expect, but the truth of his word is unmistakable.

Be kind, rather than sycophantic or patronising. People have very finely tuned bullshit detectors.

Give thanks, for even in the darkest times we may encounter joy. Do not let it slip by unnoticed.

When you turn to God, his peace will surprise you.

Pray before you act AND listen for an answer.

If the answer seems simple, be aware that you probably haven't grasped the complexity of the situation, particularly if it concerns others.

Expect to be challenged. If all you hear is an affirmation, check you have removed your fingers from your ears.

Be prepared to be the answer to your prayer, but make no assumptions!

However...

Do not turn 

a blind eye to injustice

a deaf ear to the cries of those who are suffering.

Do not allow your voice to be silenced

or your words unwritten.

Remember that God loves the person who is driving you round the bend, 

just as much as he loves you.

For we were born for such a time as this.

Footnote

General musings on life's complexities and God's peace. 

No more. 

No less.

22 out of 21 aint bad!

The evidence to the right reveals the texts I sent to Daughter One, to prewarn her that we were on our way to collect her and G3 (aged 9) on our way to the theatre on Wednesday evening.

When we are giving Daughter One a lift I usually send countdown texts, commencing as we leave our house, to give her some idea of when we will arrive. 

Occasionally, DH has gone sailing past the turning for the road where she lives - in which case the numbers start to go back up again... However, I have to confess that sometimes the numbers start to rise again, just because I am feeling a tad mischevious! 

On this occasion, the numbers reflected the house numbers that we passed, which rather confused Daughter One.

"I think they are getting closer..." was her interpretation of the data submitted.

Our journey to the theatre began back in early summer. The production was ging to be VERY popular, so I knew I had to get my booking in early, or we would be relegated to the narrow seats, and reduced visibility and legroom of the circle. 

So it was that in May and early June I was encouraging folks to sign up for White Christmas before they had the opportunity to savour the summer! Fortunately, they humoured me, and by the time I came to place the booking, 21 people had signed up to go. 

Fast forward to chilly November, and I am arranging lifts.
Chilly November lives up to its name, as the day we go to see White Christmas brings our first proper sleet and snowflakes of the season!
"Look on the bright side," I advised DH, "At least the weather is helping to get us in the mood for this wintery tale!"

Experience has taught me that not all of those who sign up will actually be in the theatre on the day, particularly if they had to book up six months in advance! This visit was no exception.
Just when I was feeling complacent, apologies started coming in - for the very best of reasons I might hasten to add! Now anyone who wanted to come had signed up in the first place, so I knew we would struggle to fill the now vacant seats.
The transport was rejuggled, to reflect the latest information, rearranged, and then tweaked some more.
Finally, I end up with 22 people for 21 seats. The seating plan shows that there are still some seats available. My extra person decides to come anyway.

The plot is the tried and tested routine of many theatrical performances - couple meet, fall in love, a misunderstanding leads to break up and heartache. The row is resolved, all is forgiven and they all live happily ever after.
It bears very little resemblance to real life, but provides plenty of opportunity for song and dance routines, which is, what it is all about  -  an evening of escapism.

Wednesdays are a long day for the KHT with over two hours of travelling and lots of social interaction.
Towards the beginning of the production, the lighting is atmospheric (low), the theatre is cosy and the music is relaxing.
Three songs in and the KHT is out like a light.
I nudge her awake, but within a  couple of minutes, she is asleep again.
How can I complain after I slept through part of 'The Grinch Who Stole Christmas' the other week? The tempo of the musical becomes more upbeat, with brighter lighting and livlier music. The KHT opens her eyes to feast upon the rest of the performance, refreshed after her power nap.

Half time and DH is despatched to obtain the obligatory ice creams.]

Too soon the final curtain falls at the end of a brilliant performance by the local operatic society.

The next morning we woke to a white world, courtesy of the first real frost of the winter.

Never mind Christmas, November is beginning to look rather white!

Retail Fail

Tuesday's dilemma - get something out of the freezer to defrost while we are doing an afterschool club, or pop into the supermarket on the way back?
We opted to detour to Morrisons on the way home, as we needed some additional supplies.

On five Tuesday afternoons during the Autumn term, a group of us run an after-school club for Key Stage 2 children. We have been following the story of Joseph, a roller coaster tale, with the children exploring Joseph's trials and triumphs. Last week fitted perfectly with Remembrance, as we left Joseph languishing in jail, hoping the Wine Steward would remember the guy who explained his dreams, once he was reinstated serving Pharaoh.

Fast forward a week (or two years in our tale) and Joseph is still in Jail, the ungrateful Wine Steward having forgotten all about him.

We began with a game, to use up some energy and to provide the children with an opportunity to experience waiting.
We divided them in three and gave each team a tray with a dice, and a pile of lightweight Jenga type blocks.
They had to keep rolling the dice until they shook a six. Then they could pick up a block, run to the other end of the hall and build a tower.

What veritable chaos ensued!
Upon shaking a six half of them frantically legged it to the other end,
forgetting to take their block with them,
and only realising when they returned.

The team on the right managed fine.
However, left and middle got in a complete muddle and kept putting their blocks on the wrong pile. Meanwhile, one poor girl had about twenty shakes to get a six.
"Just shake a six!" her waiting teammates implored.
What did they think she was trying to do, I wondered?
However, this was not the time for a discussion on probability!

We acted out the next section of the story. Pharoah's dreams had baffled his advisors. Finally the Wine Steward remembered Joe, who was released from prison, so that God could interpret the dreams. Joe explains Pharaoh's dreams were a warning about the forthcoming years of plenty followed by prolonged famine and the planning that would be required to avoid catasrophe.
The children had great fun impersonating the fat and thin cows of Pharoah's dream, and making cows with wobbly heads and tails.
It was also a good opportunity to give thanks for pizza, chips and all manner of all goodies, and to think about those who have no food, either in this country because they have no money, or in other parts of the world where the crops have failed.

Too soon the hour was over, the children returned to whoever had been appointed to collect them. After tidying up, we headed over to the supermarket in search of dinner.
Due to DH's intolerances, we are currently restricted to turkey or lamb.  Last week the lamb had been extortionate, so we ate turkey. This week it appeared to have dropped in price, so I duly plonked a joint in the trolley. I then trundled around the store, picking random items I thought we might need, whilst DH examined the small print on the 'Free From' range. Halfway around the store, our paths crossed and DH dumped the loot he had acquired into the trolly
"We can't have the lamb for dinner, it will take too long to cook." I pointed out.
"We can have turkey steaks." was the reply and off he headed in the general direction of meat and poultry.
I continued to whiz up and down aisles. Finally, we decided to curtail our supermarket sweep and face the moment of financial reckoning.
DH likes to use the self-service till, after the fourth problem item I lost interest and wandered off.
As we never agree on how to pack the shopping, this was a prudent move.

At home, I unpacked the shopping
"Did you get the turkey steaks?" I enquired.
"No, I thought you were going to..."
Buying dinner was, of course, the reason went to the supermarket in the first place.
#Retail fail!
The KHT and I shared an omelette, whilst DH produced some strange repast featuring kale and bacon...

Blame It On The M5

Many ambitious plans are hatched in the pub after ringing. However, this particular absurdity was begun as DH and I journeyed down the M5 to Devon, way back in the summer of 2017!

I cannot remember exactly what prompted the debate. Was it the sight of a passing tower or spire or the continuation of a previous conversation?
I just remember having this moment of inspiration and saying

"Wouldn't it be a good idea to ring a Quarter Peal on the back three bells, to celebrate the 100th anniversary of the end of the First World War?"
My ever-practical husband, knowing that this proposal would inevitably include him, replied
"And who is going to ring the third bell?"
We both knew who would be up for such madness - the Tower Keeper. (He refuses to be a Steeple Keeper as we have a tower, not a steeple...)

As we travelled I sent an text outlining the proposal.

Just over ten minutes later and I had a band - for a Quarter Peal in sixteen months time!
Nothing like a bit of advance planning...

Prior to 1971, there were only three bells in our tower.
If the bells had been rung as a signal that the war was over, then it would have been the sound of 'Three Blind Mice' that rang out across the farmland,
that competed with the sigh of the trees in the copse behind the church
and the babble of the insignificant River Arrow,
as it flowed on its way through rural east Worcestershire, to join the Alne and Avon
and eventually the Severn.

To my mind, if we were going to ring for the Centenary of the end of the war, then shouldn't we produce a sound as close as possible to that which would have been heard back in 1918?

Sixteen months passed.
It is Remembrance Sunday 2018. We attend morning service at the daughter church. The band gather to ring, and we take photographs to mark this momentous occasion. After some general ringing, the rest of the bellringers depart for lunch, leaving us to ring 'Three Blind Mice' and variations thereof.
It was one of the most physically demanding and mind-numbing quarters I have rung. I think we were all hugely relieved to reach the end and know that we had achieved our goal.

Later I looked through the entries of ringing to mark the centenary of the end of WWI on BellBoard.
Some rang specially named methods like Armistice Surprise Major or Battle’s Over Doubles. Others rang a 100 call changes or a length of 1918 changes. We chose to ring on the number of bells that were in the church 100 years ago.

Regardless of what method or number of changes a team rang, what mattered most was that they joined in with this international ringing event, to celebrate peace and the end to four years of unimaginably bloody carnage 100 years ago.
A pity the peace didn't last.

Seeing and Not Seeing

Concentration

G5 (aged 3) accompanied us to Messy Church. The theme was Remembrance and it was interesting to see which activities took her interest, and which ones did not.

This 'Frazzle' challenge, which required you to 'remember' how to negotiate the trickier bends, clearly took her interest.
OK, so she didn't get a totally clear round, but neither did most of those who undertook the challenge. However, I have to say that she did much better than I anticipated.





G5 (aged 3) went home with a shoe box containing a lavender bag, a biscuit decorated to look like a poppy and a cross constructed from two lolly sticks and embellished with more sticker bling than anyone would have thought possible.

Home for a coffee and then we went off to town.

To the KHT's delight, we went to see The Grinch. As far as she was concerned, this was the perfect film - as it was a cartoon based on Christmas.
I would love to be able to give a comprehensive review of the film, but I know that I was inspecting the inside of my eyelids for part of it.
There was a good message, without mentioning God or Christianity (unless I slept through that bit). According to the film, Christmas is about welcoming people and wanting good things for others, not just about what we receive.
It is a pity that this season of celebration has become such a festival of excess...










The KHT approved of the Christmas decorations in the shopping centre and was planning how we could take this tree home, even if it would have to inconveniently pass through the bedroom above the lounge, up into the loft and possibly through the roof...

The KHT also examined all the toiletries in TK Maxx,  and the book stock in both The Works and Waterstones.










It is amazing what you can see
when you look closely and don't fall asleep...

There, but not there...

Following the abolishment of the quinquennial review of Reader ministry in the Diocese of Worcester, a three-yearly Ministerial Development Review for Licensed Lay Ministers (Readers) is being introduced in our Diocese, beginning in 2019. Our Deanery has been selected to trial the new evaluation. Readers across the Diocese were invited along to a special day at Holland House, to reflect on the questions that will form the new review.

At the beginning of each session, volunteers shared a little of their story to inform and inspire our discussions. It is always fascinating to hear what other people get up to - some may be working in complicated situations, while others have golden opportunities that bear much fruit.
After each introduction, there was the opportunity to slip away for quiet contemplation. However, as far as I could tell, folks preferred to say put, taking the opportunity to share experiences. There are plenty of spaces and places for personal reflection, this was a chance to enjoy the company of those we do not often meet.
The morning concluded with Holy Communion in the chapel, which was set up for Remembrance Sunday.

As the set time approached we made our way from the Conference Room, avoiding being distracted by the tempting displays of Christmas Decorations raising money for good causes,
past the comfy chairs in the Drawing Room,
across the entrance hall,
diagonally through the Dining Room,
along the short corridor that links into the library, with the gift shop to the right and vestry to the left,
through the library,
past a door to the garden,
up a couple of steps
and into the chapel.


























Chairs had been arranged in a semi-circle around the perimeter of the room.
Some of the chairs bore perplexing perspex silhouettes of soldiers, each adorned with a single poppy.
The early birds picked the vacant chairs, with the late arrivals having little choice but to sit in front of the silhouettes.
"Are they supposed to be sitting on THOSE chairs?" whispered one delegate anxiously, desiring to avoid offending anyone's sensibilities.
"Well, they have no-where else to sit!" I replied. My logic being, that if they really hadn't wanted those chairs used, they would have made the leaders of our group aware, and placed something strategically upon the seat to indicate that the chair was not to be used.

In her opening remarks, the Warden of Readers referred to the 'backrests'.
There was a small, but tangible, sigh of relief,
as that which was almost invisible, was defined and identified,
and those who were gathered stopped worrying about how they were supposed to respond to the silent company amongst them
and were free to concentrate on The Eucharist.

To one side of the altar were photographs of poppies. A group of items were assembled in the middle of the room, based around a large metal candle stand, decorated with poppies, a prayer desk and some military items.



As I looked at the ghostly representations of those who gave their lives in conflict, I was reminded of Readers who have been promoted to glory. Soldiers of Christ, who worked tirelessly and selflessly for others, both those known to me and those I never met.
They also were 'there, but not there'.




This sign I saw recently in Cornwall seemed even more pertinent.

Let us hope that our new reviews are more cheery!

Snow Joke

The first day of the Autumn half-term holiday was the last day of British Summer Time.
WHY?
I would love to know the rationale behind this decision. Why would anyone think it is a good idea to delay the school holiday until after the clocks have changed, resulting in darkness falling earlier?
We could have ignored the extra hour and remained on BST throughout the week, but it would have caused havoc trying to fit in with opening hours.
In a feeble attempt to squeeze the most out of our shortened afternoons, we decided to head down to Cornwall - a county we have not visited much in recent years, apart from odd forays over the Tamar on days out, when we have been holidaying in south Devon.

Our rental cottage at Gorran Haven was not available until 4pm, but as we had no idea how much traffic we would encounter we set off around 8:30am, allowing us plenty of time for roadworks and traffic jams.
The previous week, when other parts of the country had their half term, had included some very fine weather. However, as we headed towards our great escape, the forecast was looking increasingly dismal.
Great. Just great.

We had a plan for our journey which included a stop for lunch at a beauty spot just off the A30, when we could enjoy a well-deserved break from the confines of the car.
As we journeyed we commented on the dramatic skies around us. By some good fortune, we seemed to miss the rain, which appeared to pass to the south or north of us.
Reports from the advance party indicated that hailstorms were making their presence felt in the St Austell area.
"WoW! Well, the sky WAS very dark!"



We crossed the border into Cornwall. Not long after we passed Launceston we noticed that the higher land was paler than we would expect, as it looked like hail had fallen here too.
Then we experienced our very own wintery shower, as first hail and then the unmistakeable splatters caused by flakes of snow landed on our windscreen.
We stared in disbelief!
"SNOW!!! It is only October and this is Cornwall!"
So much for my grand plan of hanging on to the last dregs of summer by travelling west.
This was the point at which we had planned to turn off the A30 and have a picnic.
In my mind, I had planned sunshine, preferably just a gentle breeze, with temperatures around 14 degrees centigrade, or higher.
The reality was a bleak wintery shower with the temperatures just above zero!

We missed the first turning, but DH took the second, dropping anchor and turning abruptly off the nearest thing Cornwall has to a motorway and on to a single track road covered in white wintery precipitation.
I had no idea if we were about to skid off the road.
"I am not sure if this is such a good idea..." I said, voicing my misgivings about travelling on an untreated minor road, given the unexpectedly early arrival of winter.
"We are here now!" replied DH, who likes to stick to a plan once it is made.
I could not fault the truth of his statement and tried not to panic too much, as we inched along in this winter wonderland.


Our next obstacle was a herd of cows, who were enjoying grazing the grass either side on this single track road and were not that keen to move to allow us to pass.
DH drove on very slowly, as cows to the left and right activated the sensors with a series of beeps. Fortunately, the cows heard the sensors and took this as an encouragement to move away from our car, rather than boot it.



We stopped by the stream and ate our picnic, inside the car, sheltering from the artic blast.
It was around this point that I realised that we had forgotten to bring our picnic chairs...
By now the skies had cleared and the sunshine had returned. After lunch DH and I got out of the car and wandered around, but the KHT stayed inside the car, complained that it was far too cold to get out.









We continued our journey, passing vehicles that were in the process of being recovered after leaving the road, presumably during the earlier wintery showers. There but for the grace of God...





We found our bungalow easily. Having unloaded the car we decided to take advantage of the last evening of British Summer Time by going down to the nearby beach.


A small group gathered on the harbour wall to enjoy the last rays of the final day of BST.
We had come prepared with ingredients for our dinner, but the chippie was open so we thought it would be a good idea to support the local economy, especially as they offered gluten-free batter for DH.

The food was cooked to order and was totally delicious. I might even get round to writing a review for TripAdvisor! They deserve a good review!

Blues and Greys

A bright and breezy morning, but the temperature only crawled up to about 7 degrees centigrade. However, the Northerly wind has made it feel much, much colder. The sort of cold that reminds you of the existence of hat, scarf and gloves.









The morning was spent preparing for children's clubs and making invitations for the next afternoon Tea Service on November 8th (blatant plug).
The washing was out where washing should be, line dancing in the breeze. I decided that as it was such good drying weather, that I would wash the bathroom mats. Being rubber backed they take ages to dry, unless there is a suitable wind to aid their drying.

They were duly hung out and I carried on with my preparation. About ten minutes later I looked out across from my vantage point at the kitchen table, and I noticed something falling from the sky.
"Is that dust or fine rain?" 
"Where?" enquired DH.
"Look at the trees. Something is falling, but the ground isn't getting wet."
We decided that it was very, very fine rain, but we weren't entirely sure.
I checked the app on my phone. Rain was forecast. Rats.
Dilemma. I could bring in the washing and dry it indoors, or leave it outside and gamble that the wind would dry the washing faster than the rain could make it wet.
The clouds were scudding across the sky as if pursued by a horde of frantic bargain hunters.
I gambled and left the washing outside.
Ten minutes later a mini deluge occured.
Great!

Around 5pm I cut my losses and went to fetch the washing in. I picked up the wash basket from the chair on the patio where I had abandoned it. I swung the basket in an arc to remove any water that may have accumulated, but instead of flowing in a smooth trajectory across the lawn, the rainwater deposited itself all over me. I quickly attempted to shake the water off before it had time to soak in, but I was too late. I could feel the icy coldness of the water reaching my skin. From his vantage point, behind the kitchen window, DH watched on with bemused amusement. Cheers dear!

The washing that was dry was hung inside the airing cupboard. The rest was draped artistically over an airer in the spare room, to receive the gentle ministrations of the dehumidifier  - which was DH's surprise Christmas present to me about five years ago. It was an unexpected gift, but it has proved to be a very practical present and I do not restrict its use to the drying of my clothes only. It is good to share...