In which inspiration strikes

I was listening to the radio in the car on the way to Mumbles this morning. It was the short daily service, and the priest was talking about the legacy of Augustine and grace, not as I first heard it, grease/Greece. (He had a Scottish accent.)

And what he was saying combined with what Monty said in church yesterday gave me an idea, an idea that could be my next project.

I've also heard mention of pilgrimage and journeys a lot recently. I love the idea of pilgrimage but think it's unlikely that I will physically undertake one. That said, there is more than one way to go on a journey. I'm considering a new book, one that takes me back in a way. I began my writing with non-fiction - Christian articles and books - before venturing into fiction. And we know how successful I am at that!

No, I still think my books are as good as many you'll find in the library; it's my marketing and promotion that lets me down. (That's what I tell myself anyway!) I'm in the middle of writing another novel but have been stuck on it - and lost enthusiasm for the writing process - for ages. So my new idea takes me back to my non-fiction roots, and my Christian roots. I even have a title for it: A Search for Grace.

It would involve research and learning as well as writing, and I love that part of it. Sean and Stu from Zac's have both recently completed courses with a bible college but I don't want to go down that route. I want to go on my own little pilgrimage, and see what I find. See if it changes me.

I shall ponder.

* * * * *

Husband decided that the day before we go on holiday would be a good day to make tomato chutney. Just saying.

Fifteen pairs of knickers

We're spending a week of our Italian holiday at Lake Garda. This morning Husband suggested we pack our clothes for Lake Garda in a separate suitcase, "So it's all ready."

I have enough trouble deciding what to wear today, let alone what to take on holiday, let alone again what I will wear for one week of that holiday!

But I am determined, determined I tell you, not to overpack. Inevitably I bring home clothes I've not worn, so I know there's no need to pack my entire wardrobe. "But I might find myself in the ideal situation in which to wear that dress that I've not worn for five years or more."

No, no, and no, you don't need that book you've been meaning to read for two years but which never quite fits the bill either.

I have packed four books plus three on kindle. That's more than enough. I've also made lists, of things to be packed last-minute, and of things I have to do before going, in the hope that maybe I'll sleep better tonight without worrying I might forget something.

Once we leave the house on Tuesday I'll be fine and in holiday spirit: it's too late then to do anything. But until then, what was the thing I remembered but forgot to write on my list?

Up and at 'em

Husband and I were in town and back home again by 10.10 this morning.

Pretty impressive I think. Husband bought shorts, I bought a bra, and, most importantly, my wedding ring is back.

On the 'wrong' finger as I don't want to return it to my trigger finger just yet, if ever.

* * * * *

A hot two days meaning lots of family visiting and children in the pool. All very lovely. I tried to do any shopping I needed in the mornings, shopping being mostly stocking up on crisps and digestives, as requested by family in Italy.

Will begin packing today, and washing, and prepping generally. Before relaxing, swimming, and relaxing some more.

* * * * *

Recent reads include The Flight of the Falcon by Daphne Du Maurier, One Flew Over the Cuckoo's Nest by Ken Kesey, The Persistence of Love (Grantchester 6) by James Runcie, and The Great Divorce by C.S. Lewis.

Even though I saw the film of One Flew Over the Cuckoo's Nest - many moons ago - the end was still upsetting. So shocking that such treatment was accepted then, and, no doubt, similar things happen today in some parts of the world.

The Great Divorce covers a time, I guess, between death and heaven, where people are given choices. Interesting characters and understandable choices. In the prologue, I think, C.S. Lewis says that we have to return to where we made the mistake and start again there before we can progress. I'm not sure about that but who am I to argue with a great theologian and Christian? (A stroppy but sometimes, often, confused woman is the answer.)

This is how the argument goes

"If I had tickets for the play I wouldn't be going to exercise."

"But you don't have tickets."

"No, but if I did - and if the art exhibition had been this week - I wouldn't be going to exercise."

"Your point is?"

"Well, if I had a good reason I wouldn't feel guilty about not going."

"Hm."

"What does 'Hm' mean?"

"What do you think it means?"

"It means you're trying to make me feel guilty."

"That's the job of your conscience."

"You are my conscience!"

Brief silence.

"But I've been working hard in the garden this afternoon so I'm not going! There, I've decided."

"If that's what you've decided . . ."

"I hate it when you leave a sentence with an ellipsis. It means you think I should think again."

"Hm."

"Oh shut up!"

So, yes, I've been working hard. Oh, I forgot to tell you: I grew a potato!

Do you remember I had some old potatoes in the pantry so stuck them in a tub to see what would happen? Well, they shot up. 

I think you're supposed to wait until they bloom before harvesting them but I couldn't wait any longer so pulled one up, and there it was, my first potato.

"How do you know it's not the one you planted originally?" Husband asked.

"Because it's young and firm and beautiful."

"One potato grown for one potato planted doesn't seem a very good ratio."

He won't be saying that when I harvest a whole plateful. He'll want some then.

As I've decided not to plant new bushes in the bamboo area until next year I thought I might as well plant some other old potatoes I had in the pantry. (I don't usually let potatoes go beyond; it was just circumstances.)

I only hope they're more successful than my single cauliflower plant.

Decisions, decisions

Wednesday 13th August 7.00pm
Opening of art exhibition raising funds for Zac's
Outdoor performance of Pride and Prejudice
Final extra extra-hard exercise class run by superfit Graysohn.

I dither and decide I'll go to Pride and Prejudice. Daughter-in-law tries to buy tickets to discover they've sold out.

So I decide to go to art exhibition instead. I find out it's not on till October.

So . . . um, er, I shall dither a bit more before guilt drives me to extra-hard class.

* * * * *

Good time in writing group - I sold one of my books. Unexpected!

Interesting meeting at Zac's. Hopeful for a positive outcome.

Then excellent time in Zac's last night with communion and a re-dedication of the newly-opened building, with a liturgy covering the whole of the building, including:
There is a friend's love in the gentle heart of the Saviour. For love of him we offer friendship and welcome to every guest.

And for the toilets:
May there be dignity restored in comfort and privacy.

Old corridor

Old toilets (Ladies)

New accessible toilet and shower room.

*Blogger is doing funny things with my photos but you get the gist, I'm sure.

Of course guilt won

Was there ever any doubt?

I went to exercise class - and it wasn't too bad. I feared I might spontaneously combust with the promised temperatures but the worst problem was clenching everything when it came to relaxation at the end. 

"Stretch out then curl up into a ball!"

Clench those buttocks and everything in between! 

Now, the class is held in a church building - the church I used to attend - and on the wall they have lots of images and promising words. One image I found myself working next to was of two swans. I couldn't quite work it out but they must have been flying next to each other.

Then one day I looked at it while wearing my glasses. Not two swans, not even one swan. A hand.

Will guilt win?

A trip to town to stock up on things for the holiday. Returning to the car park I go to pay. Hard enough to remember my numberplate but then, when payment is required, four different payment places flash.

I try one that I think is contactless; nothing happens. I decide to go old school and stick my card in the slot. But I use the wrong slot, my card gets stuck, and I have to go and get a man to get it out. "Please tell me I'm not the only person to do this," I say.

He shakes his head. "And you won't be the last."

I ask him about the contactless bit. "Oh, no," he says, "that's for something else but they changed their minds and didn't do it."

Earlier that morning I'd gone to answer the door with a rat on my shoulder. It was one of those days.

Grandboys came around in the afternoon to swim, play games, and hang out. Later I took them to Verdi's. Grumpy man on next table gave us some filthy looks because the boys were in high spirits and occasionally noisy. Really evil looks. 

The work on the sea front of strengthening the sea defences has almost finished, after what seems like years. There is now a wall all along the promenade but they've done it very nicely.

Writing group this afternoon followed by meeting at Zac's with some people who may have something interesting to say to us, followed by dinner, and back to Zac's for our gathering. I should go to exercise class this morning, but also need to make cake for writers and Zac's, also it is forecast to be very hot today. Guilt versus "I've really got a lot to do."

Still life

Yesterday Monty and Kim held an open day barbecue to celebrate Monty's forthcoming retirement from paid pastoring. It was one of those things that I wanted to go to and didn't want to go to at the same time.

I went and it was delightful!

However I did find myself speaking almost entirely to men. I do have reason for this!

I am very bad at small talk - hence my reluctance to go anywhere that will involve chatting, without specific purpose - but ask a man a question, I find, and that will result in at least fifteen minutes of conversation/monologue. And I am perfectly happy to sit and listen. The gentleman I am sitting next to in the picture was an exception. I did most of the talking as he was asking about Husband, as he too had had a heart operation, and we were comparing notes.

Now an image I will call Still Life, an aubergine and a fig, both from the garden/greenhouse.

Back to back

Have I mentioned before how much I hate bindweed?

It's slithering all over my raspberry bushes. I had to yank out handfuls as I gathered raspberries.

But before that it was back to bamboo clearance. Elder Son came for a swim the other evening and I happened to mention that what we needed was a strong man or two to rid us of some particularly persistent roots. Ignoring my screams of, "You can't wield a pickaxe in your flipflops!" he did it there and then.

So I moved in today to begin clearing the fine roots and the stalks burrowing into the wall. It did mean dismantling part of the wall . . .

And still I can't get it all out. I was planning on planting something - yet to be determined - as soon as possible but I think maybe it would be better to leave it clear until next year so we can re-attack any shoots that emerge again. Maybe. That would be sensible. If I can wait.

* * * * *

Went to Mumbles this morning to return my library books but the library was still closed. According to the workman standing outside it will open next Monday. I was tempted to ask if that were Workman Time or Real Time.

So I went online to renew my books to find it already done. A well-organised library team. I love my library.

Then browsing in charity shops I picked up two Sarah Winman books: I loved Still Life so much. I hope I'm not disappointed by these. I also began my now regular pre-Italy round of the chemists and stores selling ibuprofen and paracetamol to replenish Younger Son's stocks over there. 

We are due for a heatwave allegedly. Most weeks this summer we have been promised hot sunny weather, which has never quite lived up to heatwave standard, the weather always changing the day before, but we shall see. 

* * * * *

Just read a post on Kathy's blog about the link between loss of sense of smell and abnormal brain scans. Don't think I'll investigate any further. 

Anyway, today, each time I walked past the garage I could smell death. Eventually traced it to a dead frog - or possibly toad; it was quite big.