Saturday Photohunt - Shoes

Spot the difference?

The one on the left is the one George ate.

To take part in Saturday Photohunt, visit tnchick

I could be gone some time

You may be aware that I'm part of a team that helps in the prison on Sunday mornings. Every 6 weeks we do a presentation. That means that 3 or 4 of us go in and take the whole service, twice. Well we're doing a presentation tomorrow - or rather, I'm doing a presentation tomorrow.

Yip, just me.

I wouldn't mind but I wasn't even down originally as part of tomorrow's team! But thus is the lot of the organiser. Anyway I won't be doing it entirely alone. The two chaplains are away so Maureen, the Roman Catholic lady on the chaplaincy team is the 'facilitator'. That means she would normally let us in and introduce us and let us get on with it, but she's said she'll do any readings or anything I ask her to do.

One minor problem is that we won't have a musician. And my voice would frighten grizzly bears. But Alun solved that for me yesterday by downloading some songs from the internet.

So we'll starting the service accompanying well-known Muslim teacher, Yusuf Islam (once known as Cat Stevens), in Morning has Broken and we'll be ending with a reggae version of How Great Thou Art.

I'm rather glad the chaplain won't be there as Maureen and I will go with the flow and 'wing it', and I suspect the chaplain might be a bit doubtful about that attitude.

But if I don't blog again after tomorrow, you'll know they'll didn't let me out:

Saturday Photohunt - will have to wait for a few minutes

I just uploaded a photo and wrote a post for Photohunters - then discovered I was a week ahead of the theme! So I'll be back in a bit if I can find a photo for Shoes!

The innocence of youth

I went for my mammogram today. When I got back, Younger Son said, 'Where did you say you were going?'
'For a mammogram.'
'What's that?'
'It's when they put your boobies between two metal plates then squish them together until your eyes pop out.'
'Oh. It's not like a strippergram then?'

My mum

When I tried to upload photos into the previous post, it messed up my line spacing - thank you, blogger - so these photos will have their own post.

My mum was in the WAAF during the second world war. She spent some time in Egypt and was a staff sergeant (possibly - my memory is a little wibbly wobbly).

I don't know who the man is in the second photo but he appears in a number of photos in her old album. I'm guessing he is the man with whom she was in love but who was killed. I only know this much because my uncle told me about him. I was just 19 when my mother died and, as she'd had to go out to work to keep me, I was mostly raised by my grandmother. My mum left for work early in the morning and wasn't home until the evening. I hardly knew her.

Today isn't a special day for precious memories: I have very few. It's just a day when I happened to notice the date.

I'm not a poet

It would have been my mum's birthday today. If you've been reading this blog for more than 2 years - maryb is the only person who springs to mind in that category: she was my first then-unknown visitor - you might have seen this poem before. As I say in the post title, I'm not a poet.

Twenty-second of May, 2001
My mother would have been eighty today.
I only realise this sitting listening to a reading.
The poet, a tiny American professor, is speaking
of her mother’s seventieth birthday.
I don’t recall the words.

Earlier the same day my son calls.
His sister has told him to, he says.
She’s worried because I’m sad.

Tangled threads, twisted together.
Meaning and reason
hidden in a knot.

A time to be born, a time to
make sense, in its own season.

I was nineteen, you were fifty one
when you died. I might have been
one for all I remember of you.

After the bubble burst, and blood flowed thick and red
through the crevasses of your mind,
flooding your memories,
you said to me, ‘You’re not Peter, are you?’
But I didn’t know you
long before you forgot my name.

What was your favourite colour? Or flower?
Did you still dream of could-have-beens or
glimpse happiness from the upstairs windows of buses?

You loved to garden, I remember that,
to nurture, to tend. And to party.
Eighty is worth a party. Tonight
we would have celebrated and I’d have
watched you gathering my children around you,
your eyes full of pride and love.
No suggestion of shame or guilt.
Your store of that was spent on me.

If I choose to tread overgrown paths,
or return to blacked-out rooms
will I find out who you were or why I am?
I don’t know,
But for now I’ll do as the professor says.
‘Do something with it,’ she says, ‘you must.’

Do I look like someone who knows?

I took Alfie Porsche to the garage today to fill him up. When I went in to pay, the lad at the desk said, 'Will you be needing any oil today, madam?'
I looked at him and laughed. 'Like I'm going to know!'
'Okay,' he said. 'Do you have any little red flashing lights?'
'Naah, mine are multi-coloured.'
He gave up then.

* * * * * * * * *

Does anyone else like undressing their Maltesers?

Walking the line

If you've been reading my blog for a time, you'll know that special things happen at Zac's Place but sometimes, just occasionally, other things happen too.

A week ago there'd been some discussion about Judas, and the various ideas expressed helped me to write a Judas monologue that I read at the beginning of last night's meeting. As I was about to start, Terry, who was very drunk and standing just outside the open door, began talking. Sean suggested he come in, sit down and listen, which he did. And he sat quiet as a chapel-goer throughout my reading. At the end he shook me by the hand and said, 'Respect.' (He also said other things that I couldn't decipher.) But then what for me had been a pleasing moment threatened to turn into something much less pleasant.

Now Terry has usually had a drink when he comes and is normally disruptive but amiable. Last night he was very disruptive, not allowing Sean to speak, and aggressive in his language. His behaviour upset several people, some of whom were verging on aggression themselves. The atmosphere was very heavy when Sean stood up, walked over, took Terry by the arm and led him outside for a chat. When Sean came back in, Bas went out to continue chatting to Terry, threatening as he went to 'kick your backside.' (I don't think he did. No, I know he didn't. )

After that the study continued and there were some good exchanges and interesting thoughts put forward, and all was well.

The ethos of Zac's is that everyone is welcome no matter what state they're in, and everyone is treated with the same respect. But along with that goes the unspoken obligation to treat others with the same respect. And that means listening to them, allowing them to speak, and allowing them to listen. It's a very difficult balance to maintain. Last night it got wobbly.

No doubt next week Terry will be back to his usual amiable drunken state and will tell us we're all sinners and that he's been there, done that and got the t-shirt. And Jesus will love us all.

Postscript:
Sean added: By the end of the night Terry and one of those getting rather narked ended up sorting out some work together and then I took them both home in the same vehicle: one to his bedsit, one to his bush. Marvellous!!
xx

The inevitability of it

Did I mention that 8.15 yesterday morning found me out the front with hammer nails and fixing a fence? No? Well, it did. And a good job I made of it too.

That added to all the extra mesh Husband put up at the weekend has turned our garden into a Colditz. For the time being at least. Until George eats another piece of fence or digs his way out under one.

So, I've been feeling quite confident that George is safe in the garden and wasn't leaping up every 2 minutes to check that he was still there. You know what's coming next, don't you?

Some idiot left the gate open.

I wandered down our bit of road looking and shouting to no avail. He'd probably been out for some time so I was getting a little anxious when I noticed workmen at the back of the terrier's house (I think the terrier and his owners are only there at weekends). I waved the lead at them to indicate I was looking for a dog (there was a lot of noise going on) and they signalled me that he was there.
'He's been here for ages,' they said. 'He's fine, just sitting out here with us. He's eaten Martin's yogurt; he's having a good time.'

They thought George was with the electrician, who was working inside; they thought he'd let him out of his car for some fresh air. 'He can stay here,' they said. 'He's quite happy.'

It was tempting ... but I dragged him back home - or to prison, as he calls it.
xx

You wouldn't want to meet me on a dark night

Kick boxing is great fun - and kicking a pad is a great stress reliever - but it's playing 'avoc with me 'ips. Walking's okay, as is kick boxing itself. It's just sitting down that's causing me problems.

ABC Wednesday - R

Two images of Wales for ABC Wednesday this week.

Rhossilli Bay on Gower.Rugby is the national game of Wales and here is the Welsh rugby team for the game against Italy earlier this year. They're part of the triumphant Grand Slam squad. (That means Wales beat England, Ireland, Scotland, France and Italy in the 2008 Six Nations Championship.)
To take part in ABC Wednesday, visit Mrs Nesbitts Place.
xx

I'm a granduckma!

Remember those ducks on the river in the woods? The ones that frightened George? Well, they've had babies!

On to a better place

Auntie Maud had her MRI scan yesterday. It wasn't as bad as she anticipated but it did wear her out. So much so that today she was in a 'It's time for me to go home' mood. And she didn't mean her little flat.

I should have taken that as a sign and made my excuses and left. Instead we spent my visit reminiscing about all the members of our extended family that have died over the last forty years.

At one point, talking about the lady who'd been in the next bed, Auntie Maud said, 'She's gone to a higher ward.'
'Oh dear,' I said, thinking that, as this was a one storey building, it was a euphemism meaning she'd died.
'Yes, up to Ward 1 as she's going home soon.'
Course that could still mean ...

On my way there the car started slowing down. The harder I pressed the pedal, the slower it went until it stopped completely. My motto in these cases is 'Don't panic! Just because you're potentially stuck in the middle of the road in a car that won't go, is no reason to panic. Switch off and try starting again.'

Which I did and it did. And then I realised I'd had my foot on the brake instead of the accelerator.

Now me and him are going for a walk in the woods where I plan to practise screaming.

George wants to be a paramedic

You bring the broken arm ...

he'll bring the plaster!

xx

How to handle a woman

Husband brought The Times home for me again last week. No naked rugby players this time but an article on Getting More Efficiency out of Women. Originally published in 1943, this guide was intended to help male supervisors of a female workforce. I thought you - especially any male bosses out there - might like to hear a few of the tips.

3. "Husky" girls, those who are a little on the heavy side, are more even-tempered and efficient than their underweight sisters.

6. Give the female employee a definite day-long schedule of duties so that she will keep busy without bothering the management for instructions every few minutes. ... women make excellent workers when they have their jobs cut out for them, but lack initiative in finding work for themselves.

8. Give every girl an adequate number of rest periods during the day. A girl has more confidence and is more efficient if she can keep her hair tidied, apply fresh lipstick and wash her hands several times a day.

9. Be tactful when issuing instructions or in making criticisms. Women are often sensitive ... Never ridicule a woman -it breaks her spirit and cuts off her efficiency.

11. Get enough size variety in operators' uniforms. This point can't be stressed too much in keeping women happy.

Question Time

Yesterday morning, as part of the meeting, we had a Question Time. Some of the young teens group had asked some questions and nominated people they wanted to be on the panel to answer them. The panel was introduced as those they saw as being the wise ones of Linden. And I was on the panel!!!!

As I said, when I answered my first question, I am convinced I was chosen simply for comic value.

Afterwards one of the young men from church said to me, 'I can't believe they chose you as a wise one!' He did have a huge grin on his face so I think he was joking. Partly. But then I said the same thing to someone else - I mean I said, 'I don't believe they chose me as a wise one,' - and that someone else said, 'They probably didn't know anyone else's name.'

Eight hours later I thought, 'Hang on, that was a bit cheeky!' It's all very well me saying I'm stupid but I don't expect others to agree with me!

That is the logic of woman. This woman anyway.

To prove my wisdom I'll tell you the first question and my abbreviated answer.

'Did Adam and Eve have belly buttons?'
'No, I don't think they did. They were not of woman born so wouldn't have done. However, if you mean, did the first people have belly buttons, and you're looking at it from an evolutionary viewpoint, then, yes, they would have had belly buttons as they were mammals. Although,' I added, 'I couldn't find a belly button on my dog yesterday. But then I'm not convinced he's entirely normal. So my answer to the question, did Adam and Eve have belly buttons, is no ... or yes.'

Now you understand why they chose me for the panel, don't you?
xx

The ultimate sacrifice

George Bush decided, as a mark of solidarity with the troops, he would give up playing golf. He said, "I don't want some mom whose son may have recently died to see the commander in chief playing golf. I feel I owe it to the families to be in solidarity. And I think playing golf during a war just sends the wrong signal."

Really he was just fed up of getting beaten.

Bleeding Heart

Spot the anomaly

Is anomaly the right word?

George eats my laundry baskets (plastic and cane); he eats lager cans, yogurt pots and horse poo. I don't call the vet.
George eats margarine; I call the vet.
Hmm.

Their poison department calls me back. They've checked the ingredients and there's nothing poisonous there. Well, that's good to know. Though actually it was the quantity rather than the quality that concerned me. Heaven knows, I like a nice thick layer of fresh butter on crusty bread but I don't dip my finger in and eat it raw, for goodness' sake.

We've just walked in the woods. I was hoping some would be evacuated but only a little appeared as far as I saw.

I did see something almost amazing though. I said to George, 'Look! A little tiny holly branch growing out of this tree. Isn't that amazing?'
George looked. 'No.'
'Yes, it is. It's as if nature grafted it on.'
'It's a holly tree, stoopid!'
'Oh. Well, you're a fine one to call me stupid. I'm not the one who ate a tub of margarine.'
'Nothing stupid about that!'
'Huh!'
Silence.
'Are you going to tell them about the 'monster' in the woods?' George asked.
'No.'
'The monster who turned out to be a man with an umbrella! Ha ha ha.'
'Oh shut up!'

Outsmarted by the dog. Again.
xx

Ohmigosh!

George just ate nearly 1 kg of olive oil margarine!

I knew I shouldn't have ignored him. I heard him making a noise but thought, 'Nah, there's nothing there he can eat.' I was forgetting this is George I'm talking about.

George and Bungle

Thought for the Day

James has been doing a daily Thought for the Day. Yesterday he quoted George Orwell:

At 50, everyone has the face he [or she] deserves.

I'd like to amend that slightly.

At 50, everyone has the table he [or she] deserves.

I have a solid wooden table. I like nothing better than to have my children (birth and by marriage) gathered around it, eating food I have cooked.

P.S. I just polished it so I think those marks in the middle must be on the camera.

Just one brief mention of cleavage

May I tell you something? (I'll assume the answer is yes.) I have a BSc and an MA. I am standing in the pantry picking dry Frosties out of my cleavage. That's all. It just suddenly struck me. Good grief!