The Times They Are A Changin'

There's a danger in responding to an earworm, and daring to play the tune that is resounding in your head. It is like giving a visitor a key to your home, you never know quite when they are going to arrive. However, if they do appear, you cannot turn them away, for you have issued an open invitation.

Rotas are strange beasts, that are intended to bring order. The one certain things about a rota is that it will 'evolve'. No matter how tidily it starts off, other factors will come into play that necessitate change. And so it came to pass that yours truly ended up preaching on the Holy Spirit two weeks in a row. Fortunately, the congregation appears to have survived the experience.

When preparing for Sunday, I often get an earworm. Usually, this is a worship song, which can often be woven into the service. On this occasion, it was a Bob Dylan track which took up residence in my brain - which explains how I discovered yesterday that the cat didn't approve of Bob Dylan, or to be more precise, his mouth organ playing.
In case you are wondering how that fitted into a service, it linked to John 16:5-15, where Jesus explains that things were going to change. He was going to leave his disciples and that the Holy Spirit would come instead, and how things would be both different, but similar.  Dylan's writing includes quite a lot of theological imagery

In the evening there was more changing, as we rang the bells before the evening service.
For the uninitiated, every time the order of the bells differs, it is called a 'change'.
As it was the fifth Sunday, we came down into an empty church. We were aware that this would happen, so although it was a change, it was not unexpected, and we knew where to find the congregation.











They were all in the Huband Room next door for a Celtic Communion.  It was a very relaxing way to spend an evening, and we focused on the familiar passage of 'the road to Emmaus', with people sharing their thoughts on the passage.












The grey skies and below-average-for-the-season temperatures have continued, but we did see the sunshine for a short while this afternoon. That has to be change for the better!

As we drove home,
the sun was setting
and it was not raining.
The sunset was not spectacular,
but after all the rain it was very much appreciated.













Finally, even the cat was pleased to see us, which made a change. We are mere substitutes, and we and the cat know it.











The Times They Are A'Changin'

Come gather 'round people
Wherever you roam
And admit that the waters
Around you have grown
And accept it that soon
You'll be drenched to the bone.
If your time to you
Is worth savin'
Then you better start swimmin'
Or you'll sink like a stone
For the times they are a-changin'.

Come writers and critics
Who prophesize with your pen
And keep your eyes wide
The chance won't come again
And don't speak too soon
For the wheel's still in spin
And there's no tellin' who
That it's namin'.
For the loser now
Will be later to win
For the times they are a-changin'.

Come senators, congressmen
Please heed the call
Don't stand in the doorway
Don't block up the hall
For he that gets hurt
Will be he who has stalled
There's a battle outside
And it is ragin'.
It'll soon shake your windows
And rattle your walls
For the times they are a-changin'.

Come mothers and fathers
Throughout the land
And don't criticize
What you can't understand
Your sons and your daughters
Are beyond your command
Your old road is
Rapidly agin'.
Please get out of the new one
If you can't lend your hand
For the times they are a-changin'.

The line it is drawn
The curse it is cast
The slow one now
Will later be fast
As the present now
Will later be past
The order is
Rapidly fadin'.
And the first one now
Will later be last
For the times they are a-changin'.

Songwriters: Bob Dylan

The Times They Are A-Changin' lyrics © Sony/ATV Music Publishing LLC, Audiam, Inc

Soggy Saturday in Suburbia

Outside the rain still falls.

The squirrels continue to indulge in a three or four-way battle for possession of the feeder.
Apparently one is pregnant and one is male, but I am a townie, so haven't got a clue...
Neither am I familiar enough with their markings to tell them apart or be certain how many visit our garden on a regular basis. Sometimes there are four in the adjacent trees, but one at least lives in the garden of a house in the next street, so that particular squirrel really is a trespasser. Tut!

Yes, we feed the squirrels, as we love watching their antics as they hang upside down, retreiving the food. The cost of 12kg bags of peanuts seems good wages for the hours of entertainment they provide.

The magpies are nesting high in the oaks at the bottom of the garden, so there have been some tense moments between them and the squirrels. I am not sure whose nest was being threatened by whom, but lots of flutterings, squawking and squirrel swearing has taken place.

Then we are cat-sitting, so add that to the mix.
I remonstrate with her if I see her stalking the birds. I have no desire to deal with a bloody decapitated carcass.

The excitement intensifies, as a dog is being taken for a walk along Shit Alley behind our boundary. You will not see that name on any map, but the dogs do not yet seem to have trained their owners to clear up after the purpose of the walk has been achieved. When we are on our guard, we are OK, but sooner or later someone gets complacent and rather than Shit Creek, it is Shit Alley. This week DH came a cropper...

Back to the dog, who may, for all I know, have trained his owner.  He discovers the cat's escape route and more than fills it with his delightful doggy face. Delightful, because it is the other side of the fence and cannot slobber all over me. He looks with great interest upon the wonderful world of our garden.  From the doorway I greet him
"Hello, how nice of you to drop in."
He's either yanked back by his embarrassed owner, or retreats in surprise at my welcome. Given the accompanying undignified, but indignant, yelp I am inclined to guess the former.
Now the dog has departed, the cat stomps off out of the garden, to continue her bird and rodent harassment unharassed elsewhere,
If you thought spring was a time of peace and harmony, you haven't visited our patch.

The buds are definitely thickening, and our view is changing by the day. The distant hills are now hidden by a profusion of foliage, of a startling array of greens.

From my vantage point overlooking the garden, I send a document to the printer.
Wireless technology is great.
It fails to print.
Wireless technology is great, when it works.
DH presses lots of buttons before deciding to replace the ink cartridges.
He then discovers that we have no 'magenta'.
Wireless technology is great when you have enough ink.
In fairness to the printer, it does inform us we are low on ink, but we ignore the warnings, calling the printer's bluff. It stops working on the day I need to print.
We decide to visit Tesco, it's an opportunity for him to browse their free-from range.
We locate the ink cartidges, mentally take out a mortgage, and vow to buy online in future BEFORE we run out. Time will tell if we can accomplish this.

I cheer myself up by taking a photo of some delightful garden decorations and texting the picture to someone I know who will detest them...

We return to find the cat in bed, awaiting her next meal. She stirs enough to glare at the magpies and starlings, but it is raining again, so she doesn't take her intentions further than the observation stage.

Other things I have learnt today - the cat doesn't like Bob Dylan...
I tell her it is the words that matter.
however, as far as I can tell she is indifferent to the words, but the mouth organ is another matter...

The cat returns once Bob Dylan has completed his lament and asks DH for more food.
Without any effort, I appear to have trained her well.

Another soggy Saturday in suburbia, but what will tomorrow bring?

It's Friday, but not as we know it!

Knowing that the weather was forecast to be damp and dreary over the weekend, I took advantage of Thursday's afternoon's sunshine to catch up with some gardening.  The hebes, which we moved into pots three years ago, did not flower last year. Investigations confirmed my theory that they are potbound, so they are gradually being planted in the ground. We have six or seven to move. So far we have managed one. Why? Because the daffodils that they share a pot with, are still in flower, their season delayed by the abnormally cool spring. It seems rude to cut short their moment of glory.

Plants purchased from the local garden centre are still huddled on the patio table.
The monster plant that appeared in the raised bed, has been identified as Red Campion, and despatched to the compost heap.
The daisy, transplanted from our old garden, has flourished. This progress was marked by the indignity of being subdivided and despatched to the four corners of the garden. It will soon recover, as it is a very hardy plant that will grow from just a small section of root.

Gradually order is being restored after the winter weather, but there is still quite a lot to do! DH is working on the lawns, so the frame that protects the pond from leaves in the autumn, has been requisitioned to allow the lawn to be treated, whilst protecting wildlife. Unfortunately, it also looks like a guinea pig/rabbit run (see top right of the picture above). The first night it was out there was a fox barking close by. Coincidence?

Friday lived down to the forecast. Meanwhile, out on the fence, squirrels battled for access to the feeder, whilst the rain continued to fall.

The KHT was otherwise occupied. On days like today I often end up at the cinema with her.
As it was a quiet day, it was the perfect opportunity for the youngest two grandchildren to pop round for a visit. G5 (Aged 3) is very fond of a set of hardbacked Mr Men books, which I kept from when the KHT was younger.

Too soon it was time for her to have her lunch, change into her uniform for nursery and depart, leaving G6 (aged 1) briefly in my care. We had a great game of matching wheel spins to clapping and tapping. Fortunately, his mother returned just as he was getting fractious. It was his lunchtime, and he knew it!

This left me with an hour or so to wrestle with this week's sermon on 'The Holy Spirit'. I am not happy with what I have prepared so far, more work is required. A bear with very little brain requires time to mull over and cogitate on these matters.

In the evening we took G3 (now aged 9) to a children's group at the parish church. On the edge of the car park is a beautiful flowering tree, probably ornamental given its diminutive stature. G3 (now aged 9) did a happy dance in honour of the tree, as is her wont. Unfortunately, as she was moving when I took this picture, it looks as if her arms are rather short....

We had a slow start to the bellringing this evening. I did wonder if we were going to have enough volunteers to be able to ring all the bells. In faith, we raised them all ready to ring, and we had a very rewarding session, with lots of new things tried.

It's been a funny old day, not at all like a normal Friday, but special in its own way. Meanwhile, I am left wondering if it will rain all day tomorrow, or if the sun will put in an appearance.  Time will tell.

In search of dragons...

Monday began with an appointment with the KHT at her college. We duly rolled up at the allotted time, only to be greeted by the fire alarm.

As we hadn't signed in and were still on the public footpath immediately adjacent to the college, we were not herded off to some evacuation point, and were left free to observe, as groups of students appeared out of various exits.
Fire marshalls sported their high vis tabards, in an attempt to highlight their presence and as protection against the biting wind.
After the exceptionally warm weather of the preceding days, the KHT was wearing shorts. She wasn't giving up on summer, even if summer appears to have largely given up on us.





The fire engine rolled up, and the officers carried out an inspection. The final verdict seemed to be that the alarm was triggered by hairspray in the toilets on the top floor.

One of her tutors guided us towards the person we had come to meet, who was stood with the family from his current and rudely interrupted meeting.

In view of the hiatus we went and checked in, where we made contact with the course leader from the college the KHT wishes to attend next year, who was also attending our meeting.
She was very pleased to see us, as the reception had tried to convince her that she had rolled up on the wrong day. However she had her emails, and she stuck to her sofa...

Having completed the necessary formalities we headed back home for a welcome coffee.

As it was St Georges day we decided to go off in search of a church dedicated to St George.  In our area most churches with George as their patron saint seem to be urban - think Worcester, Kidderminster or even the closed church in our own town. Urban churches are understandably rarely open. We prefer rural gems, where we are free to enjoy the ambiance. The nearest one appeared to be in Shipston on Stour  - a small town with interesting shops and not too far away. Perfect.

Upon arriving in the small town, we parked by the river and set off in search of sustenance. Unfortunately, our first choice of cafe had no tables free, so we reverted to our usual eaterie, Mrs Browns. The food was fine, though I had to feel for the poor waiter who dropped a tray of crocs - that woke everyone up...

We browsed the second-hand shops. Our favourite junk shop has decided that it is now an antique shop, so prices have doubled. The KHT bought a book - £2 - which was a reaasonable price, whilst we bemoaned progress.

We visited the card shops, ironmongers, and more charity shops. Then we remembered the purpose of the visit, and headed off to find the church,  situated on the other side of the main road to the rest of the town.


Standing outside the church I looked at the noticeboard.
"It's not St. George!" I said, greatly surprised.
"What do you mean it's not St. George? 
You mean we came all the way here, 
for the sole purpose of visiting a church dedicated to St. George, and it isn't?"
"Well, Google said it was!"

Sure enough, Google had placed a blob on the map of 'St George's' in Shipston, but it referred to the pub opposite, 'The George Townhouse', not an ecclesiastical landmark!











If you have a magnifying glass you might just be able to decipher the blue sign of the George, which has its rear entrance opposite the church.
















We explored the beautifully kept church and especially liked the welcome sign in the porch.
















As a consolation, we discovered a new-to-us shop, with very nice necklaces and cards.

A sales assistant directed us towards their furniture showroom in an old Baptist chapel adjacent to the shop.
It had some lovely quirky items in, but our house is now fully furnished.
Phew, that saved us some money!

Before we left Shipston we diverted to take a photo of the front of The George House, which looks as if it once was a fine coaching inn.














Well, we didn't find any dragons
(other than the one on this old mug)
but we did find 'George',
even if it wasn't the 'George' we anticipated....

Crumbs!

I am not an early bird.
I am not an early bird.
I am not an early bird.
Just in case you are in any doubt...
I am not an early bird.

On Saturday morning I discovered
that I had agreed
to be up and out by
9:30am, 
in the name of bellrope shortening
and tower tidying,
just by being guilty of being a bellringer.
"It will be fine..."I told myself,
"It will be fine..."

I crawled out of bed at 8:30am.
Plenty of time...

Completed my ablutions & dressed appropriately
Plenty of time...

Went down to breakfast for my standard daily fare.
A toasted muffin.
Nothing fancy.
I just like muffins because they stay hotter longer than toast.
Having cut the muffin, I placed it carefully in the toaster,
for this was a muffin well past its prime.
Plenty of time...

The toaster lit its pretty blue light briefly,
before ejecting the muffin in disgust.
Plenty of time...

The toaster refused to stay down.
Plenty of time...

I check the switch.
"Erm I think the toaster may have died..."
DH - <sigh>  "Of course it hasn't died!" 
and comes over to show me how to use a toaster
as husbands are wont to do,
when faced with malfunctioning technology.
The toaster doesn't work for him either.
I am vindicated.
Plenty of time...

I put the grill on in the top oven,
because I still want my toasted muffin
and this is the only other way available to me,
of toasting a muffin :(
I retrieve the reduced size muffin,
from the toaster.
It is smaller than it was,
for part of it remains within the bowels of the defunct appliance,
and place it reverently on the grill pan,
which I slide into the top oven.
Plenty of time...

I try the kettle
"The kettle doesn't work."
"It's the fuse!" DH declares triumphantly,
and resets the fuse.
Now he is vindicated.
Plenty of time...

I turn off the oven.
Remove the grill pan.
Remove most of the crumbling muffin
and place it back in the toaster.
I press down the slider on the side of the toaster.
It stays down for half a second before blowing the fuse again,
ejecting what is left of my muffin in the process.
Ooops!
There was plenty of time...

I turn the grill on again,
and place the sorry remains of my muffin in the grill pan once more.
Ten minutes later the poor mangled muffin is still lily white,
though a tad windblown,
as while I had turned the grill on,
the temperature was still set to zero...
Now I am running out of time...

Eventually, the muffin changes colour and I devour what is left.
Then I remember the letter that needs to catch the post and stuff it in an envelope.
We stop en route so that the KHT can post her letter.
We are late, but the KHT does not hurry.

We arrived a few minutes after that which was scheduled,
despite originally having had plenty of time...

I give our apologies,
and explain that there was a problem with the toaster...

By evening we have a new toaster,
remarkably similar to the one it replaces,
only when tested,
it doesn't blow a fuse...

Seeing Red not Green

On Friday we decided to go and see the famous 'weeping window' at Hereford Cathedral. Browsing online I discovered the chapel at Rotherwas on the fringe of Hereford, so we decided to experience a double dose of culture. We programmed the sat nav and set off.

Half a mile away I remembered the text from the window cleaner, which necessitated a quick return trip to base before we set off again.

In order to gain access to the chapel we needed to collect the key from Herefordshire Archive and Records Centre - aka HARC (now avoid singing a certain Christmas Carol...) The website described a pleasant wander down a green lane. It sounded idyllic, perfect for a warm spring day.

The receptionist at HARC gave us the key, before informing us that we would need to walk down the main road, as they 'Green Path' was currently part of a building site.

She was right.

Following the map the receptionist had given to us, we managed to find our way past a couple of roundabouts and up a farm track to the church. 

The rapeseed was just coming into flower. In a week or so it will look absolutely stunning. As it was it still looked pretty good.  

The contrast between the noisy building site adjacent to a main road, and the solitude of this small hamlet, just a quarter of a mile away, was immense.


I unlocked the door of the church and we entered in. The downstairs is mainly empty with just a few camping chairs set out in anticipation of an event the following weekend.

I climbed the stairs to the gallery. 


Immediately a large black bird launched itself from one of the rafters into the tower. 
We ducked.

Jesus watched our feeble attempts to encourage the bird to leave. 
We didn't want the poor thing to be trapped there, unable to escape. 

Finally, we persuaded it to depart through a side door. 
Mind you it probably returned via some opening, once the interfering visitors had departed... 
Looking at the stains, that particular beam seems to be a regular perching spot for birds of a feathered kind.

Having returned the key, we stopped off at a cafe for sustenance. The KHT was a bit put out when made to choose between a scotch egg or a three-egg omelette, as she would have preferred to have had both...

Hereford was buzzing. The road from Ross was at a standstill, so the satnav took us via a few detours to our car park of choice.

When we reached the cathedral, the close was a hive of activity, where trails of ice-cream wielding students on educational visits, intersected with suitcase towing tourists, all admiring the spectacle of the Weeping Window. 

Was I the only one who looked up and wondered if Rapunzel had had red hair? 

Having not got to London for the poppy exhibition at the tower, I was really glad that I had been able to see this exhibition, but I do wish I had been able to visit a couple of weeks ago when the poppies were covered with snow shortly after they were installed. The bright sunshine and throngs of tourists did not give the atmosphere of solemnity the installation deserved.

Inside the cathedral was also busy, as visitors explored. It felt that, for just a short time, that the building had been reclaimed by the people.





After a quick wander around Hereford, we returned for refreshments in the sunny gardens of the cathedral.

A day perfect in unexpected ways.

What Are The Chances?

The KHT has completed the hours required for the Monday element of her course, so we decided to go to Worcester to visit the Art Gallery and Museum to celebrate.

It was a mild day, with high cloud, so we were brave and went without coats. A bold, and possibly rash move, in a year when winter seems to have gone on forever!

The roads were quiet.

There was just a brief hold up to allow a delivery truck do a very complicated manoeuvre off a drive. We watched as the vehicle inched closer and closer to a ditch, willing the driver not to make an error of judgment, that could have taken the truck into a muddy abyss.
Fortunately, he didn't.

We regularly visit Worcester. However, we usually focus our attention on the Cathedral, the river, and the main shopping streets. On this occasion, we headed northwards towards Foregate Street in search of the museum. Well, the cafe had great reviews, so we just had to check it out...


The KHT was impressed with the giant sturgeon - minus its caviar, which is just visible at the back of this photograph.










We admired the very constable-ish artwork of Leader, complete with ornate gold frames - which you either love or hate.

We ate lunch at The Balcony cafe, enjoying the peaceful oasis it offers, before exploring the rest of the museum, which was mainly military.

The fact that amazed me most was that prior to the ice age, the Severn used to flow northwards into the Dee, until during a prolonged cold snap some glaciers got in the way.
The thought of all that water changing direction blows my mind!

Meanwhile, the KHT enjoyed trying on the hats. She only tried on two, so this was the closest we got to a hat trick...







After leaving the museum we found our way to the Sabrina Bridge, pausing to watch a film crew and a handler with two birds of prey leaving the racecourse. We will never know what we just missed. Life is strange like that.

We crossed the river and headed south towards Powick, past a regal looking belgian shepherd dog, with a freshly stitched ear. Life continues to be odd...



















A brightly painted barge overtook us, making its slow way somewhere. Rosie and Jim were nowhere to be seen.

We passed a lonely lifebelt floating futilely in the water. Liberated by vandals or floodwater, we knew not. I wondered how far had it traveled before it came to rest in that tangled mass of twigs.









We passed the main road at the unimaginatively named 'Worcester Bridge' and continued south. The budding greenery helped us to appreciate spring has finally arrived.





















Behind the fence adjacent to the footpath, groundstaff at Worcestershire County Cricket Ground were making up for lost time after the recent floods, marking out the nets.







The river level had dropped far enough for the weir to be visible, but we heard it before we saw it, as gallons of water tumbled and roared down the incline en route to the sea.
I am still trying to get my head around the river changing direction, and failing!





We cross the Diglis Bridge.
The KHT practices walking on walls.
"If I get the shot right it will look like you are walking on water..."
 I don't get the shot right.





Words of encouragement have appeared on the footpath. Is this art, graffiti, or both?

We have walked about 11k steps, so we reward ourselves with a coffee.

We head home retracing our route across country. As we pass through Inkberrow, we have to stop to allow a car with trailer to pull out of a driveway. We realise to our total amazement, that it is the very same house where we had to wait for the truck to complete it's tricky manoeuvre this morning.
What are the chances of that happening?

Farewell

Friday began with a funeral. A chance to give thanks for the life of a man who did so much for so many. As DH was printing the church annual reports ahead of the AGM, the KHT accompanied me to the funeral, as we were heading into town afterward.

The church was packed - memories shared, prayers led and voices raised in praise by the full house that gathered to pay tribute to Mike. It was a poignant reminder that, compared to the vastness of time, life is short, fragile and precious. Pack in as much as you can, to help as many as you are able.

Afterwards, as we walked towards town, I asked the KHT where she would like to go.
"Let's go and see M & S"
The store shut while we were away.
In her head, the KHT knows it has closed, but she needs to see the evidence for herself. This will enable her to supercede the image in her mind, of a place with pizza and a warm welcome, and replace it with the reality of an empty shell.  This will help her to convince herself, that the days when she could saunter casually through the doorway, have passed.

We approached the store and the KHT stopped in front of the  hostile roller shutters in Walford Walk.
"Oh!" she said, as reality started to hit.
We turned the corner, and walked past where the cafe was. The windows have been covered up with bright posters advertising the shopping centre.
"Why have they done that?" she asked.
"So that people don't just look in and see an empty store."
Artificial light was visible where the double doors met. The KHT peered through the gap, into the void where the kingdom of St. Michael had been.
"You are right. It is empty!"
I stood there, clothed in M & S from socks to my shirt - the only exceptions being my coat (Roman) and my trainers (TKMaxx), and shared her sadness.

When we lived nearer the town centre,  I used to joke that M & S was my corner shop, which was really convenient.  I have continued to use them sporadically, as I like their food - their large blocks of vintage cheddar are both a bargain and a joy - slightly crumbly, with a taste normal supermarkets cannot come close to, with their rapidly processed rubber produced cheese. We also now need to find a palatable alternative to their fair trade coffee, as we will no longer be able to pop into town to pick up the odd jar for church.





Instead of our customary lunch in M & S, we visited Debenhams cafe. The KHT was going to have an egg sandwich, until she discovered they did a small, perfectly proportioned lasagne. Sorted.






So long, M &S, with your bunches of Daffs,  ease of shopping, and cafe with cheery staff to gladden the heart of the KHT and parent.

Memories of people and places live on, but that doesn't mean that we wanted to say goodbye.

All At Twos and Threes

And so it came to pass that the penny dropped, as pennies usually do, when I realised that the two events that had been arranged in parallel email conversations involving an almost identical group of people, were rather closer together than I anticipated. Allow me to explain how this happened.

About a month ago, I was asked if DH and I could help out by taking part in a couple of Quarter Peals at a nearby tower. For the uninitiated Quarter peals are set lengths of bellringing of around 40 minutes, that comply with certain rules.

Unfortunately, we had to decline the invitation to ring in the first, as it was on Good Friday when we were away. This was a real pity, as it was on eight bells and we rarely get the opportunity to ring Quarter Peals on this many bells.

The other Quarter Peal was being arranged for the second Saturday in April. Due to a ringing event already being scheduled at that tower on that particular day, this was subsequently rearranged to be rung at our home tower.

We normally ring for evening service on the 1st and 3rd Sundays, and recently we have tried to ring a one Quarter Peal per month.  I had arranged for April's attempt to be rung on the third Sunday of the month, as we were away on Easter Sunday, April 1st.

However, it was only this week that I realised that the second Saturday was 14th April and the third Sunday was the 15th - adjacent days! Arghhh! What is the chance of that happening? Is it one in seven, or are the odds against this happening far greater?

DH was apprehensive as to how his arms would cope with all this stretching, and that was before he remembered that we were also signed up for ringing training on Saturday afternoon!

It came to pass that for a variety of reasons Saturday morning's ringing was rescheduled for later in the month, thus we were saved by the bell.

Meanwhile, I resolve to pay closer attention to the calendar in future!

All A Matter of Interpretation

Birthdays are like buses, none for ages, then you hit a run of them!
This month G2 (Aged 8) will become G2 (Aged 9) and, similarly, G3 (Aged 8) will also become G3 (Aged 9). Ironically G2 (Aged 8) was due about a week after G3 (Aged 8), but was born first, and will therefore always be G2, not G3 as we had expected. In case you are wondering, they are cousins, not twins...Babies come when they are ready, not to some neat and tidy plan. Although the medical profession gave their best estimates for the birth of both children, they had their own ideas about when they were arriving - one early, one late.

In view of G2's impending birthday, I did my research and identified a suitably inappropriate present - as grandparents do. I discovered that the simplest way of obtaining the gift was to order online from John Lewis, to be collected from our nearest Waitrose - well one of the nearest Waitrose stores - there are three in the surrounding area, but not one in our town - we are not classy enough!
In order to not be charged the £2 fee I also ordered a water bottle for taking to work, as the one I am using is no longer watertight.

Having received a text notification that the goods were ready for collection we duly trundled off, through the mist to collect them.
On arriving at the store, I left DH paying for the parking while I made myself known at Customer Services, who advised me that my items would be ready for collection by the time I finished my shopping.
After circumnavigating the supermarket two and a half times, as you do, we decided to call it quits. In this short time, I had stocked up all sorts of exciting goodies not available in our normal superstore of choice. Now M&S have abandoned town I may well be here more often...
Having duly lobed items in the trolly with joyful abandon, in my own mini version of supermarket sweep, I thought I would position myself at a discrete distance whilst husband paid. I made my excuses and returned to the Customer Services desk.
"Sorry your items are not here yet"  
Interpretation - the person whose job it is to collect your order from the warehouse is still on their break.
"It will be here in a minute"
Interpretation - their break should have ended 10 mins ago
Then a rather large item and a smaller item arrived and were placed on the counter in front of me. For the large item think massive teddy -  the sort a child could sit on, or possibly a dog bed...
I regarded them with surprise
"Gosh!" said I, as I gazed upon looking at the proffered items "I was expecting something considerably smaller. It must be well wrapped. I am sure it will be fine!"
Interpretation - this feels wrong, but I cannot believe John Lewis would mess up my order! 
The assistant zaps the label, and, surprise, surprise, it doesn't tally with my order.
He turns around and suddenly notices two much smaller,  and rather insignificant parcels on the back counter.
"Oh, they were already here!"
These pint-sized, but more plausibly dimensioned items successfully tally with my order.
The member of staff apologises and hands over my packages.
"I wonder what I nearly got instead!" I said, brightly.
I got a look in return.
Interpretation - you weren't ever really going to get the large package. Even if I knew what was in those other packages, it would be more than my job is worth, to give the vaguest hint of their contents.
I smile and head off with my purchases, to discover a slightly shell-shocked husband, still reeling from the dent in his wallet.
He gives me that look.
Interpretation - HOW can a few items cost the same as a weekly shop?
I smile sweetly, knowing he has bought three 'gluten free' ready meals for himself.
He gives me another look, as he knows I know about the 'gluten free' ready meals, and he also is well aware that any reference he makes about cost will undoubtably return to the 'gluten free' ready meals...

Now I just have to find the card I bought for G2 (aged nearly 9)...

Mega Oops and Mercy

Do you ever find that you have been putting something off and the reasons why are so complex, that you haven't really acknowledged them, not even to yourself?
Maybe this hasn't ever happened to you. Your life may be well ordered and successful, with no unexpected miry messes to entrap and paralyse, or unexpected bumps to launch you into an unanticipated orbit.

Having returned from my Easter excursions, I decided that it was time to clamber out of the pit of procrastination and start tackling those things which I had placed in a mental file to be opened after Easter.  Renewed and refreshed from the spiritual nourishment of Minehead 1 (Spring Harvest Christian Conference based at Butlins in Somerset for the uninitiated.) I resolved to face some of the challenges I had put on hold - one of which was booking my place on a residential weekend I planned to attend.

I searched my emails for the relevant document,
opened it
and discovered to my absolute horror that the closing date for bookings was the end of the previous week.

MEGA OOPS!

#disappointment
#nonetoblamebutmyself
#whatawally

I reflected further.
It wasn't the end of the world.
We could do something else that weekend...

However, knowing that they have to place food orders four weeks before the event, I thought that they had probably given themselves a buffer of time to process the paperwork.  I, therefore, decided to throw myself on the organiser's mercy and see if it was still possible to obtain a place.

In faith, I printed off the booking form and hurriedly emailed a few folks who I thought maybe going, confessing my utter incompetance. To my surprise, they too had been caught out by Easter/post Easter busyness and I suspect the organiser may have received a few more apologetic emails.

Imagine my surprise, relief and delight to receive back an email from the organiser, accepting my belated booking. I have attended this conference for several years, and it is the first time I have missed the booking deadline. I am very grateful that my booking was still taken, despite my failure to meet the well-advertised deadline.
It wouldn't have been the end of the world if I hadn't gone, but it is good to get away to a completely different environment, to learn, reflect and chat through topics of interest. I hurriedly passed on the good news to some of my friends. This may not be a glamorous ball, but I am so very pleased to be going!

I reflected on the evening,

• Procrastination overcome
• Recognition of failure
• Acting in faith
• Mercy, from the organiser
• Grace, I don't deserve
• Good news spread
• Resolve not to repeat the error
• Unhappiness transformed into thankfulness.

Does all this remind you of something?

#cantassumethatwillgetsortedanothertime
#dontmakethatmistakeagain
#gratitude

All in the plan

“All this rain, Lord..”

"Yes, its nothing unusual. 

Just a weather system.”

“Are you trying to tell me something?”

“What sort of thing do you think I might be trying to tell you?”

“Lord, I hate to ask this, but…”

<Sigh> “Go on, spit it out”
< Gulp> “Do you want me to…

build an ark!?”
“I was waiting for you to ask me that.”

“You were?”
“Yes. Whenever there is a series of weather systems, which cause a significant increase in rainfall. I get asked that question. 

Many times.  

Strangely, it rarely comes up during a period of drought. 

And no, Ikea do not have a kit for making arks!”

“Have you checked?”

<Sigh> "I don’t need to check. I know.”

“Oh yes, All knowing… Omni wotsit"

“Omniscience”

“Yeah, that’s the bunny."

"God, can I ask you a question?”

“ Of course…I might not know the answer… only joking…”

“If you knew I was going to ask about the ark, why did you ask me what I thought you might be trying to tell me?”

“That was for your benefit. 

It was a worry going around your head. 

You needed to verbalise it and face your fear.  

Yes, the rain will stop, but it will do so gradually, changing from continuous rain, to showers. 

In a few days the weather will change. 

There will be warm sunny days, and this wet weather will soon be a distant memory.  Have you already forgotten the day a couple of weeks ago, when you were happily wandering around without a coat?”

“Well, not entirely.”
“Good.” It’s human nature to put yourself in the middle of everything.”

“Well, things affect me!”
“Yes, but these situations are not just about you. 

They are not planned as some sort of punishment for you. 

They are part of something much, much bigger.”

“Not about me..?”
“Nope. A wet Bank Holiday weekend is an inconvenience, but it hasn't happened just to spoil your plans.  

Weather systems are complicated, they are often in seven-year cycles. 

Complex factors determine when and where the rain falls.  

If you are that concerned, start looking after the environment and work with me, not against me!”

“I would have preferred it to have been warm and sunny..”

“And if it had been warmer and sunnier, there would have been more people out and about.”

“More accidents.”

“Yes.”

“Sometimes I am disappointed in you, God.”
“I am aware of that, but I gave mankind free will. I wanted you to be able to choose."

“We don't make a very good job of it though, do we, Lord? Take Good Friday for example…”

“It was all in the plan.”