Wednesday, 30 May 2018

Memory Lane

Recently we drove past a house that was very familiar to me and I seized the opportunity to take a quick photograph.

Age has not enhanced this property. The sash windows and brightly painted woodwork and features are long gone, replaced with functional double glazed windows. All the character of the house has been disguised by the inevitable magnolia and white paint.
Nor was there any evidence of the house sign 'St Benedict Cottage' which I remembered from my childhood - maybe subsequent owners thought the name too ostentatious.

The garden wall looks higher than I recall. Back when I regularly visited this house, the front garden was a profusion of first bluebells and then, as summer progressed, pink and white japanese anemones took over. I do not remember anything else getting a look in!
I wonder what grows there now?

The house was one of my favourite places to visit, where I spent a week or two during my childhood summers, as it was the home of my paternal grandmother.
In my mind's eye, I can still hear the click of the gate, as I walk up the short path to the solid green outer door, which was always open to welcome me in. The inner door had brightly coloured stained glass sections two at the top of the door, and two just above halfway up - red, yellow, green, and very dark blue. Frustratingly I cannot remember if the glass in the middle was clear or frosted, as it was always the coloured glass that caught my attention, as I tried to compare the world through the different coloured sections.

The hallway was narrow, with a dog leg to allow for the staircase. A generously proportioned maidenhead fern stood in a large embossed brass bowl upon a sideboard.
The first door on the left led to the lounge. Apparently, the house had once been a shop, hence the larger front window than adjoining properties. If you knew which part of the back wall of this room to tap, you could hear where doorway into the room behind had been bricked up - it was adjacent to an apparently random disc on the wall, where once there had been either a light switch or a bell.  The front room was decorated with white paper with a silver pattern. However, the paper at the bottom of the wall was a different colour, apparently because of rising damp!

Gran was very proficient at embroidery, cushion covers and runners displayed her skill. On the wall were further framed examples of her work. Gran told me they hid photographs of deceased relatives she would rather not see... I used to long to lift the pictures off the wall, remove the embroidery and get a glimpse of these ancestors who died before I was born, and whose names littered family conversations.

A two-seater settee was positioned opposite the window with a special knob on the outside of one of the arms. If you slid this sideways the arm would drop down - we thought that was fantastic, especially when we managed to activate it whilst one of our siblings was leaning on it.
Built into the wall beside the settee was a cupboard full of books. It was here I discovered the writings of Ethel M. Dell, to my father's bemusement.

There were also several china cabinets in this room, one contained a Worcester tea service. A pair of china cherubims graced the top. A smaller glass-fronted cabinet had previously contained roles for her pianola, which sadly went to the tip when she downsized from her previous house. I had just been old enough to operate the pianola before it was disposed of. I could just about reach the pedals, and flick the switches to change the volume of the music, but inserting the roles required the help of either my elder sister or an adult - basically whoever else I could cajole into letting me play! I was somewhat put out that my mother declined to accommodate the instrument, though even I had to admit that she had was right to do so, when it was pointed out that it wouldn't even fit through the front door!

My Gran had an extensive collection of china, as my grandfather would buy her a piece each Saturday. Her everyday tableware was stored in a walk in cupboard under the stairs. Most of it was 'India Tree', with a few 'Devon Violets' for variety. Gran was strictly cup and saucer. Visiting grandchildren were allowed to choose from the range of Coronation mugs she had acquired. Having lived during the reign of six monarchs there was a selection to chose from.  At home, where the kitchen floor was quarry tiled, we had a mismatched selection of tableware, so I loved looking at her china, and she would periodically offer to leave me some part of her extensive collection.

The dining room contained the essential table and chairs, a couple of arm chairs and a small dresser which housed Gran's canteen of cutlery. On the top of the was a musical box in the form of a swiss chalet, purchased on one of her continental excursions. If you lifted the lid would play a tune - needless to say it is a miracle that it survived our visits. After dinner, we would sit around the table, and listen as my Gran would recount for the benefit of my father, the battles she had fought and those she was currently fighting.

The kitchen was a step higher than the hall, possibly being part of a later extension. It was a bright and sunny room, complete with a large marble slab for rolling out pastry. My gran was an excellent cook.

Upstairs, were three bedrooms. The back bedroom had a wardrobe, which I remember tipping over. I used to climb inside and spin the hooks that you hung clothes hangers on. Unbeknownst to me it merely rested on the base and was not fixed to it. On one occasion I must have leant on part of the front and the main wardrobe section tipped over with an almighty crash, coming to rest against the bed. Big trouble followed that. I also remember a photo of a younger Auntie Blanch in this room.

My gran slept in the larger of the two bedrooms at the front of the house. She had an amazing dressing table with lots of drawers. The landing had several full height china cabinets containing yet more china.

The bathroom was large, and to my surprise, had a window just above the bath with clear glass and no curtains. As my Gran pointed out no one could look in, as it looked out on to the blank wall of the neighbouring properties extension, but it all seemed very decadent to a child.

The WC was adjacent to the bathroom, painted pink and black and decorated with beermats. My gran often made my parents look very staid, as if they were the older generation.
Outside in the garden was a large shed and a small raised garden, The soil was dark and fine, unlike the clay we had in our garden.
Out in the lane, brambles grew. I loved picking the berries, but rarely ate the pies my gran produced with the largess.

Through default, I ended up with the very dominoes on with which I learnt to play 'Threes and Fives' and the Coronation mugs. I suspect many of Gran's possessions were sold for a pittance, as part of a house clearance when she went into a nursing home. However, the memories that remain are priceless.


Thursday, 24 May 2018

Bank Holiday Blues

Who turned off summer?

Yesterday we were enjoying the sunshine,
rationing the remnant of the water from the last of the water butts and rejoicing in being able to dry washing outside.

Today we woke to minor precipitation, not serious rain.
Merely half-hearted drizzle, that hadn't made the earth noticeably damp,
even after a few hours of feeble futile falling.
It was only 10 degrees C when I went to work this morning - a sharp contrast to the warm and muggy weather, to which we have become accustomed.
Definitely cardi weather.
Definitely not coat weather.
I am not giving up on summer yet,
even if summer does momentarily appear to have given up on me!

The weather apps were enthusiastically forecasting record temperatures for half term, seem to have gone a bit quiet.
Maybe they have added the words 'Bank Holiday Weekend' into the model, and all of a sudden reality kicks in.
A few days ago my phone was predicting wall to wall sunshine for days ahead.
Now it is predicting endless days of rain!
Over the last few weeks, 90% of the rain forecast has not materialised.
Today the 'drizzle', if you could call it that, was more akin to a cloud that got confused by gravity.

Ah well, I will keep watching the apps, and the skies, and see what happens!

Wednesday, 23 May 2018

Accidentally Creating Liturgy

As I mentioned in yesterday's blog on Tuesday I was at funeral training. But there was an interesting bit I forgot to mention.

The speaker was very easy to listen to, with a delivery style that kept you interested.
She decided to enliven the feedback sections, by giving a very brief description of the clothing of the person wishing to speak, was wearing
The first person to raise their hand was duly invited to speak with the following description.
"Lady in the blue patterned dress"
Delegates mentally note
'Lady in blue patterned dress'.


Then someone else raised a hand.
"Another lady,"
The speaker notes with some surprise -
"also in a blue patterned dress!"
Delegates mentally note
'Another lady in blue patterned dress.'






We come to the second section of feedback. I raise my hand.
"Lady in the black top"
"Actually it is blue!"
Delegates murmur
'Blue' and nod, sagely.
I make my point.




A gentleman raises his hand, indicating his desire to contribute to the discussion.
"Gentleman in the grey shirt"
Delegates whisper
"Greyey BLUE"







We have lunch,
consuming the sandwiches which we brought with us.
No attempt is made to replicate the feeding of the 5,000.
This is funeral ministry, not miracles.
There is deep joy when we discover coffee
and we are satisfied with that small miracle.
Listening is thirsty work.

At the allotted time we resume.

Our speaker continues with the next section - appropriately named the graveyard slot, and then we come to a point where further feedback is invited.
"Lady in pink top. It's cerise! You cannot call that blue!!!"
declared the speaker, an air of desperation entering her voice.
Delegates mutter
"Pinky BLUE"

Then a second person speaks
"Gentleman in the check shirt!"
Delegates all turn round and look at Mike
'BLUE Check!'

We move on to talk about times that bereaved people find difficult - Christmas, Valentines Day, New Year. A mention is made of the fact that some churches offer a quieter service in December.
"Do any of you know what name this service can be given?"
"BLUE Christmas" respond the delegates.

And THAT is how you accidentally create liturgy..

Tuesday, 22 May 2018

Getting Serious

At the crack of dawn (8.15am), I headed off with one of my fellow Readers to Worcester, for a day focusing on funeral ministry. We were attending a course entitled 'Taking Funerals Seriously', which was run by the C of E, in a Baptist church - because it is a very good place for such meetings...

At the end of our Reader Training,  all eight of our group signed up to do the Funeral training. I had not originally intended to get involved with funeral ministry, but figured it would be easier to do the training while I had a lift available, and then see what happened. To be honest I wasn't sure if I wanted to be involved in this complicated part of life.
What did I have to offer those going through one of the most painful times of their lives?
Would they want to talk about the manner of their loved one's demise? I pondered, with a pinch of panic and portion of paranoia.

Being a mainly 'new town' parish, we do not get many funerals. Many of the local population are 3rd or 4th generation unchurched, and when faced with bereavement the local church is just not on their radar.

It was some time after the training concluded before I got the opportunity to take part in a funeral service. To my surprise, I discovered that I was quite good at drawing together a service, and leading a family through the difficult task of saying goodbye to a loved one.

Over the last few years, the funeral industry has got more complicated.
Funeral Directors want to finalise arrangements within a very small time period and often have their favourite people, who they trust to fill the slots.
At the same time demands on clergy have increased, so the messages do not always get through to them at a time when they can respond quickly.
Funeral Directors are increasingly selling 'plans', to help secure their portion of the market, and to reassure those who want to reduce the burden, that making funeral arrangements and paying for them, places on their loved ones.
Meanwhile, Readers, who may have more time to lead funerals, do so at the discretion of the clery.
It is all very complicated!

The church is losing its market share of the funerals, as it is often perceived as outdated, inflexible and too formal.  However, funeral services led by a Civil Celebrant offer no hope, just the message that the person they have lost is now a twinkling star, leaving those left behind devastated. Sometimes retired clergy fill in by taking funerals. This is fine if they are linked to a parish and ongoing bereavement support is offered, otherwise, that deprives the family of the continued support that the church should be offering.

The church needs to reclaim some of the ground it has lost, and reclaim its place helping the nation to say farewell, well. Let us hope that this training will inspire us to 'Take Funerals Seriously, before it is too late!

Monday, 21 May 2018

Gno Doubt About It!

KHT in cinema during the adverts...
I had decided to take the KHT to the cinema.
She was a bit put out when I put the suggestion to her yesterday,
as she quite likes it when we are already in town
and I suddenly announce that we are going.
"Wasn't that supposed to be a surprise?" she protested.

Overnight, she had obviously done some online research,
as she began the day by announcing the number of hours until the film started.
I then pointed out that we were going to the 2:15 viewing, rather than the one at midday - as that would have been too early to have lunch beforehand,
and it finished too late for us to leave it until afterwards.

But first, I needed to plant the spare strawberry plants which DH had brought back from the allotment,
to go in the 'new' strawberry planter,
to replace last years improvised model I made from 3 orange B & Q buckets with holes cut in them,
vaguely based on an online tutorial I discovered.

And I needed to hang the washing outside,
taking advantage of the glorious weather.

Also, I needed to hoover the stairs,
as they were looking unloved.

Finally, we were ready to depart.
DH dropped us in town and we made our way to Debenhams,
so the KHT could have one of their lasagnas.
Unfortunately, lasagne was not on the menu for today (oops),
so she opted for a panini (phew!).

After lunch we had time to wander around some of her favourite shops,
before heading off to the cinema to see Sherlock Gnomes.
The KHT thoroughly enjoyed the film.
To record the event for posterity I took a photo of her during the adverts (see top right).
An action she did NOT approve of...
"MUM! TURN YOUR PHONE OFF!!!" she whispered.
I also had a double baptism,
first by opening my own bottle of water,
and then by opening hers...
I don't think I quite mastered the art of opening bottles of water in the dark,
but as it was so warm it was not a problem.

Afterwards, we took the shorter bus route home, another treat for the KHT.
I tried to get her to buy her ticket.
The bus driver was rather bemused to have the money thrust at her,
rather than plonked in the tray, with an accompanying grunt.
The KHT also isn't used to keeping her balance whilst standing on a moving bus.
Her soundtrack would be more what you would expect from someone on a roller coaster,
rather than the 57.

The nearest thing to a rainbow I noticed all day, was a strange unicorn in Poundland.
Does that count?

I was planning on including lots of 'gnome' puns in this blog,
but gnone materialised, that I noticed...

Inevitable selfie in the Powder Room...



Sunday, 20 May 2018

Promises! Promises!

Driving home from church on Sunday evening and a sundog is clearly visible.
OK, they are not big like proper rainbows,
more like small paler imitations,
but they always seem special to me.


Just as we were getting ready to have dinner yesterday,
there was a knock at the door
and through the frosted glass,
a 'hi-vis'ed delivery person was clearly visible.
I went and signed for the parcel,
which sure enough was for me,
and was handed a large flat box.


Meanwhile, I was trying to remember what I had ordered - was it a poster or a flip chart?
None of these were likely.
I leant it against a side table, looked at it, and pondered deeply.
I had a vague recollection of ordering something, but what?

After a while, I remembered exactly what it was that I had ordered,
and I laughed.
I certainly did not expect that item to come in a large flat box!
I took a picture,
and uploaded it to facebook,
to see if any of my wise friends could guess what the box contained.  
Facebook did not disappoint.
Responses came thick and fast.
Sensible, logical,
predictable and profound,
interspersed with the bonkers and weird...
Pretty much like Facebook itself!

Was it a puzzle, or a picture,
flip chart or poster?
A glass bowl in pieces...
or a mini memory stick in a mega box - was this the voice of experience speaking?
If not a memory stick, a memory box, or a mirror...
Did the big box contain something for the smallest room
 - like a toilet seat, or flat-packed bathroom cabinet...
Perhaps the dining room was the destination of this item - was it a table extension or framed art?
Items for the KHT, like books or DVDs.
Blinds or a telescopic ladder? Slats or rungs - what is the difference?
A baby gate - do they ever mature.
Clothes airer,
or an empty box full of empty promises - that one made me take note!
Bag of sand
Gift card...
They were all trying SO hard, to guess the contents of my mystery box.
A large invitation to the Royal Wedding.
Just my luck if it had been, as it arrived AFTER the event! ;)
Something inflatable,
..or an electric blanket.
A blocking board, or cutting board
Crumbs, would they ever get bored of making suggestions!
A window,
or  Harry Potter themed merchandise...we were going the whole 'hog'warts here...
Keyboard or xylophone - I made careful 'note' of those particular suggestions!
Deckchair, folding table, umbrella or grabby thing...we were grabbing at straws here, not just clutching at them!
Paper, bubble wrap - I love the idea of bubble wrap arriving bubble wrapped...
Protest sign, or easel - presumably to paint your own protest sign on...
Various landmarks
a rug, or flying carpet...
Car mats, or LP's...

Finally, just as the thread degenerated into inevitable silliness, someone asked if it was fabric,
That is just what it was - a large piece of material, initially to be a rainbow in Open the Book.
Forget the empty promises, this was a significantly big and resolute promise.
Here it is in part of its glory. I didn't dare get the whole thing out, in case it came to grief before the big reveal on Wednesday morning!
However, I have absolutely no idea why it arrived in a box.
Previously, when I have bought material online, it has come in a plastic outer.

Meanwhile, the KHT was momentarily over the moon, as she thought it might be a replacement for her rainbow swimming costume she outgrew years ago. Unbeknownst to me she had seen an old photograph recently and had expressed her desire for a new one, and she thought that this was it!

Rainbow fabric, yesterday.
Rainbow sundog, today.
What form will the rainbow take tomorrow?
If you see any rainbows tomorrow, do let me know.




Saturday, 19 May 2018

Looking For Maud

Feckenham Open Gardens Weekend is being held this weekend - an ideal opportunity to admire some seriously posh gardens in a nearby village.

The first garden we visited was that of The Old Rectory, where we were very taken with the pale blue and white flowers - possibly cosmos - which added interest to the sunken outdoor dining area.


Part of the main garden, looking away from the house 

The second garden we visited belonged to a beautiful Queen Ann house and was mind blowingly extensive to someone born in the suburbs. In addition to a large garden close to the house with borders,  there was an orchard, outdoor swimming pool, tennis courts, plus a further meadow.




Looking out across the meadow.






The KHT was rather overwhelmed by the size of the garden and expressed her relief that she didn't live there. Fortunately not within earshot of the elderly owner, who was determinedly deadheading specimens in her border, as part of a never-ending fight to keep the garden under control.











Aliums, wisteria and tamarisk were the stars of the show. It appears to be a particularly good year for wisteria. One tip I picked up on our wandering is that they need pruning twice a year to acheive their full potential. DH is rather fond of them, so perhaps we will find a sunny corner to see if they like our clay!






A weed is only a plant in the wrong place. We did notice several of the large gardens following our lead and making good use of cow parsley.  The KHT was always quick to spot her favourite flower, forget-,me-not, and I did notice the presence of a dandelion clock that had slipped under one gardener's radar...







There is always so much to admire, even in the smallest gardens. Most had water features, sadly many involved pumps so were not wildlife friendly. We gain so much from watching our own tadpoles hatch and develop - though at least one of the ponds had newts.

Many had secluded seating areas, which looked very inviting.

Upon reaching the village hall, we stopped off for lunch and a welcome drink.

We live in a new development in a town. The property boundaries are straight and logical. Here, they are often irregular, with some houses having larger gardens, that wrap around their neighbours, with a flamboyant floral hug, whilst other properties have little more than a courtyard crammed with pots of floral extravagance. The result is that you never know what size garden you are about to enter.



Not all the gardens were open, and we got tantalising glimpses of properties that were not quite ready for viewing...


















My favourite was the garden with scupltures, made by the very talented owner. I loved the greenhouse - an installation designed to bring light and brightness on even the gloomiest of days.
The pottery decorated statues decorated were perfectly placed in this wooded garden, where Adam and Eve have found their very own Garden of Eden.




The passion flower on the gate was a joy to behold and hinted at the delights within and the genius of the creator and curator of this particular kingdom.












At the rear of the garden, this mirrored installation reflected the surrounding trees. A labour of love for the owner, who had to clean every one of the 100 mirrored sections, as well as the mirrored sides.








When we reached the village shop we stopped off for ice creams, which were very much appreciated.

We walked down to Brook House, admiring the waterwheel. A trip down memory lane to the days when my parents would take our family on a circular walk from the village green to the mill pool.















The KHT was delighted to discover a 'Banksy' style artwork on the gateway of one house.






Again, the extent of these grounds made me very grateful for our modest plot, and that I do not have the responsibility of caring for these extensive grounds, complete with meadow walk.










There was a BBQ in the grounds of the Catholic church, both pubs were open serving refreshments and the village
green was a buzz of activity with displays, more refreshments and plant sales.

Further down Mill Lane, the cricket continued, oblivious to the floral festivities of the rest of the village.




The church was full of colourful displays, with a 'Celebration and Commemoration theme'. Some displays had rosettes. The KHT is admiring one of my favourite displays.

By now we had walked 11,00 steps and apart from a couple of refreshment breaks and the odd sit down to admire various gardens, we had been on our feet for over four hours. We contemplated another ice cream, but decided we would rather walk on to the field where the car was abandoned, than retrace our steps to the village green.

In all we visited over thirty gardens, but we didn't see Maud, or did we?



Friday, 18 May 2018

A Waiting Game

The KHT had a taster session booked, at a not too nearby college, so we decided to look around some shops and have lunch in the town closest to the college, before dropping her off. Unfortunately, the Taster Day has coincided with the KHT getting her first cold in ages.

We wandered into reception just ahead of the allotted time, expecting to see the tutors and a small group of students.
Instead, there is one other parent and student,
plus a couple of receptionists.
"I have come to enroll!" announced the KHT.
"No, you have come for a Taster Day..." I reminded her.
The receptionists looked at each other,
and we were invited to take a seat.
Frantic phone calls ensued.
Finally, the receptionist announced that the Taster Day has been canceled.
"You should have had  a letter or a phone call..."
"Well, we haven't had either!"
"The Taster Day will be rearranged for June, but don't worry, they are sending someone over from another college, to take the two students who have turned up, on a tour of this college."
"OK. Shall I come back and collect her at an earlier time?"
"Yes, that will be a good idea."
We agree that I will return at 3:30pm.
"But Mum!" interjected the KHT, "It says it finishes at 4pm," waving the letter outlining the itinerary.
"Yes, but you are now having a tour, not a taster day, so it will probably be finished earlier."
I departed,
leaving her with extra supplies of tissues,
but taking her wellies with me,
as the receptionist successfully convinced the KHT that she would not require them that afternoon.





We headed off to view a couple of churches,
returning just before 3:30pm, as agreed.







"Goodness is it 3:30 already?"
The Receptionist greeted me upon my return.
I took a seat.
Time passed.
No sign of the KHT.

Finally, I enquired of the receptionist if she told the Tutor I was returning at 3:30pm.
It transpired that she didn't.
4pm comes and goes.
Still no sign of the KHT.

"All teaching ends at 4:30pm.." said the receptionist helpfully...

Finally, she phoned the Tutor's mobile and is able to pass on the good news that they are on their way back to reception.

The KHT has had a wonderful time and even held a snake!

Now we wait, for the letter canceling the Taster Day,
and the letter rearranging the Taster Day,
but which will appear first?

Thursday, 17 May 2018

Complete?

Completed.
Accomplished.
Done.
Wrapped up.
However you want to say it, I have finished collecting for Christian Aid for this year, assisted in my endeavours by the KHT.

On Tuesday afternoon I delivered the envelopes. Not all of them, because I ran out before I reached the end!  So on Wednesday afternoon, having obtained further supplies, I popped out and did the last 20 odd houses. Then, after dinner, I began collecting at the houses I had delivered to earliest.

At one of the first houses the resident examined their envelope in a bemused way.
"So how do I put clothing and stuff in there?"
"You don't. It is a cash collection!"

At the next few houses, the residents were similarly bemused, as they hadn't encountered an envelope collection before.
I adapted my greeting to counter this problem
"Hello! It is the Christian Aid cash collection!" Probably not the wording Christian Aid would have chosen, but it worked! Hands took the envelope proffered, dug deep into pockets, and donated to a good cause.

I am always surprised at how many households have dogs. You get to find this out when doing door to door collections because even when the owners appear not to hear the doorbell, the dogs just cannot resist letting on that they know you are out there...

On the first evening, I didn't get many envelopes, but early on the second evening, I had a run where seven out of eight residents in a cul-de-sac all were very happy to hand over envelopes, one even came after us, as they returned home after we had visited their house.

One householder opened her door and gave my daughter a great big beaming smile of recognition, as she had been the relief escort on her college transport and recognised her immediately.

The downside to taking my daughter is that she reads all the signs on the doors about cold calling, religious vistors etc, and waits in fear and trepidation to see if we are going to be arrested. Many of the households that display these signs are only too happy to donate - as we are not selling or preaching, merely providing an opportunity to help others.

Some had no cash, and I sympathised with them, as it is a position I often find myself in. I encouraged cashless households to go online and donate.

I cannot stop wars, prevent earthquakes, mudslides, floods or drought. However, I can donate myself and encourage my neighbours to do likewise. It is also a great opportunity to wander around the neighbourhood and meet people.

As we were collecting from the last houses just before of the 9pm curfew, I sent my daughter on ahead to collect from a particular house, knowing she would get a warm welcome. She returned having successfully completed the mission.
"So, who is going to collect from OUR house?"
"We are."
The KHT looked crestfallen.
Having knocked on many doors.
Rung dozens of doorbells,
Listened as dogs, large and small, announced our presence.
Watched, eager to detect the slightest movement within.
Waited patiently for so many doors to open.
Now she was so looking forward to being the person who would open the door and hand over the envelope with a flourish, only to realise that the opportunity to play the role of enthusiastic giver was being denied to her.
Tomorrow I will put some money in an envelope, leave it on the dresser in the hall, sneak out the back gate and ring the doorbell, so she too can take part in a way that will meet with her approval.
What is the betting that she will have her head phones on and not hear the door!?

Tuesday, 15 May 2018

Seeing Red

This afternoon I walked around three local roads that formed a conveniently circular route, pushing Christian Aid envelopes through letterboxes in white, blue, black and grey doors. I do not recall any red doors...

When I was a child we would get several envelope collections over the year. Having grown up on the coast my father was always keen to support the work of the Seaman's Mission, as he had a far greater understanding of the work they did than the average inhabitant of a landlocked Midlands town - where the only river is a glorified stream, which even a raft would struggle to navigate.

These days Christian Aid is the only charity I can recall that still does door to door collections.

Over the years I have noticed that most of the people who give are mature in age, as door to door collections are just not on the radar of younger people. They are far more likely to text a donation to a charity, based on an appeal they have seen - such as Children in Need, or Comic relief, than put cash in an envelope and complete the accompanying gift aid slip.
Mind you, not all the older residents support the collections. One of the local residents tells me that he won't give because he is so offended by the salaries paid to the directors of charities. Stories of sexual abuse have hardened his resolve. Both of these are salient points. I remind him that we can't stop doing helping others, just because of a few bad apples.

When I was younger I used to be very reluctant to help collect, until someone reminded me that I was taking part in something much bigger. During Christian Aid many homes in this country will be visited by collectors, many of whom are members of the local church. What a great evangelism project! During the course of the week we have the opportunity to chat with many people in our local communities, and invite them to donate. Some feel defensive about not wanting to give, either because they are not Christians and feel uncomfortable giving to a faith-based charity, or because they think helping folks nearer to home is more important. People should give because they want to, not because they feel coerced. I am just there to offer them the opportunity to make a difference to the lives of others. There are many alternatives available to them, Christian Aid is just one of many options they could consider.

We are also in a period of time when we are praying for our local communities under the 'Thy Kingdom Come' initiative, launched by the Archbishop of Canterbury, so as I carefully push folded envelopes through letterboxes, I pray for the families for their health and worries, hopes and fears.

Meanwhile, I would encourage you to help others when the opportunity arises, through putting a donation in a red envelope, or in many other ways.
Then together, we can make a difference!

Monday, 14 May 2018

Oslo Calling

Over the previous couple of days, I had been away on a residential weekend.
On Sunday evening the KHT wrote on the calendar "Oslo", as that was her idea for our trip out the next day.

With Google as our aid, we identified some Scandinavian sounding addresses in Coventry,  set the satnav and departed to the suburbs of that particular city, with the intention of visiting the cathedral afterward.

As we drove along looking at the buttercups and glorious greenery we found ourselves longing for woodland and water, rather than a city centre. A sudden change of plan ensued and we decided to go and visit a National Trust property instead. Berrington Hall was our choice - on account of the lake. We pulled into a car park, checked our alternative destination was open, found the postcode, renounced our desire for exotic delights of eastern mystery, and went west.

The weather was glorious with wall to wall sunshine - just a small  stray cloud lurked over Clee Hill. The countryside was incredibly beautiful, with oilseed rape in full bloom in some fields and still opening in others. Glorious ornamental sycamores displayed their pale green finery, contrasting with the darker greens of other trees.

We ate lunch in the courtyard. Despite the blue skies it was only about 18 degrees centigrade. Whilst grateful for the parasols, we marveled at the contrast between the arm warmed by the sun, and the rest of us, which was literally chilling in the shade.

The KHT and I purchased sun hats before we headed off exploring the estate - hers was a dainty yellow 'bucket' shape, mine more suitable for a mad old lady...

Two of Spades
As we walked along the drive we came across this strange sight.
In case you are wondering it wasn't an art installation. They were replenishing the gravel on the driveway.











Avoiding the haha
A gate provides access out into the estate.
You may be wondering why we didn't just walk around the end instead of bothering with the gate. However, there is a ditch, called a haha, separating the gardens from the estate, to allow uninterrupted views, whilst preventing livestock from devouring the specimen plants in the gardens and leaving behind the evidence of their presence. If you look carefully you can just see the ditch in the foreground.






Silly sheep
At a gate adjacent to the wood we encountered a lamb who had either escaped through the gate when it was opened other visitors, or more likely had managed to get underneath the gate and did not have the brains to return by the same route.  We opened the gate and tried to encourage him to return. However, the silly lamb just gamboled off in the wrong direction.  We closed the gate before more escaped. A chorus of bleating ensued, as the flock and the lamb proclaimed their sorrow at their continued separation. We figured they would be more likely to work out a sheepish solution if we left them to it, and continued on our way.





We passed through the small wood















and through a field of cows and sheep.
The sheep observed our movements sternly,
as if to blame us for the plight of the silly separated sheep. Meanwhile, the cattle ambled off to the farthest reaches of  the field, as if offended by our intrusion.










We explored the boardwalk,
and noticed that one tree was yet to open a single leaf.

Lazy tree!













The KHT was not impressed by the swans, who were displaying their rear ends for all to see. We did point out that they were fully clothed in feathers, but she wasn't having any of it.
At this distance, Berrington Hall, which is one of the National Trust's uglier properties, looks almost respectable...

Before we returned to the gardens, we did check up on the foolish lamb. As he was no longer outside the gate, we assumed that he had found his way back to the other ninety nine...







 In the walled garden, they have installed a strange pink pineaple. It looms over the wisteria, inviting you to go and inspect it, and wonder why it is there.










 A picture frame has been provided, to help you compose the perfect pink picture.
The KHT helpfully practiced mime, to add interest to my photo.











We headed back across the countryside, delighting in the beauty of a sunny spring day.
Oslo may have been calling, but we were not listening - not today at any rate!








Thursday, 3 May 2018

Fragments

I could say that the day began bright and early, but it didn't.
Early, yes.
Bright, no.
It was another morning when we awoke to leaden skies and the sound of raindrops...




We assembled our array of props.
This week featuring crowns and chalices,
and headed off to a local school
for this week's Open the Book story
'The Writing's On The Wall'.
We were unpacking the props
when
CRASH!

Opps - one of the golden 'chalices'
landed on the floor
and shattered.
We confessed our sins to the office
and the caretaker appeared with a dustpan and brush.

This week the story was from Daniel 5 and involved writing appearing on the wall.
DH was hidden behind a folding screen, so just his arm would be visible.
A piece of paper was blue-tacked to the wall.
I tested the sharpie on the paper. - just to be on the safe side
It went STRAIGHT THROUGH! 
We quickly secreted a plastic cover behind the paper to stop the sharpie bleeding on to the wall and leaving a permanent ghostly message on the wall,
which would require further confessions to the staff!
It was quite a dark story, but the children loved it when the conquering army came charging down the hall with a loud battle cry!

We rehearsed the next week's story and then I went to work.
I had planned to walk home afterwards,
but the weather did not follow the forecast
and it was still raining very heavily at the time I was due to leave.
I was very appreciative of a lift home.


The afternoon was spent battling bureaucracy and possibly breaking the ordering system at Argos.
The KHT requires transport for college next year and that necessitates a fresh application - and generosity from a cash-starved authority. It took at least three attempts, and many diversions around the website, before I was able to submit the application. Prayers appreciated for a successful outcome!

Next up was ordering goods to be collected from Argos, because I need them tomorrow and I hadn't really planned ahead...
As text after text arrived on my phone I began to wonder exactly how many items I have ordered - is it three or nine?
That will be the big reveal when I go and collect the orders on my way to work tomorrow morning.





Meanwhile here is a reminder of what remained of the one which became many - fragments!
A goblet from TKMaxx. Cost £5.
I thought it was plastic.
It was glass.

Alas poor glass
It was classier
than I ever knew,
until it was no more




Tuesday, 1 May 2018

Bed - and no breakfast!

Monday morning, I arrived down to breakfast to be greeted by my husband, with the words guaranteed to strike fear into the heart of any pet sitters heart.
"There's something wrong with the cat. 
She is walking oddly. 
She went and sat outside for about 15 minutes and then came back indoors and went back to bed, without showing any interest in her breakfast."
Sure enough, the cat was ensconced in her house.

Now nobody ever wants a poorly cat.
I can assure you nobody ever, ever, ever, ever wants a poorly cat, when they have been entrusted with the care of someone else's moggy!

I try to rationalise.
"I fed her late last night. She probably isn't hungry.."



Then I saw it...
A trail of bloodstains across the floor!
No wonder she was limping!
I quickly peered into her house to see if I could discern any obvious wound. Three out of four feet were just visible, but I could not detect any visible sign of injury.

Maybe she killed something, and the blood is not hers...

Later I tried to tempt her out with the offer of a lap to sit on.
She was not interested.

I offered her Dreamies. Normally she is very keen to eat Dreamies.
She just looked at me through half-closed eyes, and then closed them a bit further.

The cat is a one person cat and that person had left the cat in our care.
I knew my chances of getting her out of the house and to the vets were slim.
I left a Dreamie outside the entrance to her house as a peace offering.
She spurned my peace offering and went to sleep.

I didn't want to worry the cat owner, as I had not yet managed to get any convincing proof of injury or illness.  Even if I found evidence, I still didn't want to tell the owner, as she had a five-hour drive back, and I didn't want her worrying while she was driving.

We had lunch.
DH went out.
Suddenly, the cat sauntered across the kitchen and went and devoured the food put out earlier.
There was no sign of any mishap or malaise.
I sent DH a text
The cat is fine.

As the incriminating evidence was by the chair where DH normally sits to eat his lunch, I reckon that it was not blood, but juice from beetroot - to which he is quite partial! Sunday night was dry, after days of rain, so the cat was probably out longer last night, and as she is getting older, was just a bit arthritic. She also ate a late meal, so  was probably just weary and not hungry - suffering the after-effects of a night on the tiles,
but for a few hours, we did wonder...
Phew!