Sunny Monday afternoon

A lovely weekend weather-wise so I've been gardening.

You remember some time ago Husband had a phase of breaking teapot lids? Today I asked Husband for his drill so I could make holes in the pots and use them for planting.

It took no effort for Husband to break the lids but I thought my hand would drop off it took me so long to drill holes. Then one broke. But that's fine.

I only got into gardening a few years ago - probably during lockdown - so I still get excited when something I've planted grows, or even flourishes. And these are all plants I've rescued that were nearly dead, and they've blossomed again!

The heuchera on the right, the lime green one, was trodden on by dogs so often that it was losing its will to live. I put it in its own pot and it revived, and, now it's big enough I've planted it out - and in a less dog-friendly part of the garden

Similarly the hydrangea in the big tub on the left had been eaten to a stalk by snails/slugs so I moved it to its own pot and it's growing! I pruned the red-tipped bush on the right after it had dried out I think. Not sure how that happened but something brought it to death's door, and now it's looking great again. 

I feel like a parent whose child is growing up and getting ready for university. 

And the little hydrangea in the front is a cutting I took! (Admittedly all the books said hydrangeas are dead easy to propagate but this is me, the Great Plant Killer.)

* * * * *

While I believe that all writing is creative I have to acknowledge that some is more, hm, from the soul. During the service yesterday morning we went outside to dress the cross and before that some prayers were said. While I was listening I felt the words, "Did Mary weep at the foot of the cross?" come to me. So yesterday afternoon I wrote the poem in the previous post. 

It's the second piece of soul creative writing I've done in the last two weeks - the other one being the Palm Sunday meditation - after bemoaning the fact that I'd lost it. So I am very happy.

Did Mary weep?

Did Mary weep 
At the foot of the cross?
Was she the loudest
Of the wailing women?
Did she lose all sense of dignity?
Did she have to be held back?
I would have.

Or was she silent
Too stunned
By the betrayal, the injustice?
Surrounded by the women
Who loved him too,
Supported by the Magdalena,
Leaning on each other for strength.

Did she gaze dry-eyed
At her first-born on the cross?
And wordlessly question, why.
Did she remember the words
The old man spoke,
“A sword will pierce your heart”?

Did they walk along the shore
She and her beloved boy
Just days before
As the sun was setting 
And did the son prepare the mother?

Did he tell her what was to come,
Did she understand too clearly 
what his words meant?

Did she tell him it was too soon?
He should have many years ahead yet.
There was so much more he could do,
So much need he could meet.
Think of the sick, the dying, the insane.
Evil wouldn’t go away;
It could wait for him.
Did she cry, grab onto his arm,
Beg him, “Not yet”?
I would have.

Did he look tenderly 
Into eyes that were
As familiar as his own?
Did he hold her tight, 
Wishing there were a way
To keep her from suffering? 
Did he weep for what was to come?
For her and for himself?

Did she wonder
What it had all been for?
I would have.

And here's me reading it.

Keys to you

I've been very wishy-washy today so I decided to begin a new jigsaw. An hour later I'm considering giving up on it.

There's only been one jigsaw I stopped doing, and that was after three months and crying every time I sat down to it, so what's so bad about this one? 

Well, there must be about 2" top and bottom that aren't shown in the picture. Add to that the fact that pieces don't fit together very well, and the colours aren't true, and you may get an inkling.

I'll probably persevere.

I forgot to tell you that I went to visit Swansea Minster yesterday. (It used to be St. Mary's but it's got too big for her boots.) There was an art installation there I wanted to see: The Last Supper by Peter Barnes that used 50,000 keys from old keyboards to create the mosaic effect.

Sickening

Seeing a woman on the stage at a White House Easter dinner proclaiming that Trump is just like Jesus made me feel physically sick. I want to shout and scream.

What made it even worse was that there was a Catholic bishop, Robert Barron, standing on stage and applauding. He's since spoken out saying the Pope wasn't specifically referring to Iran when he made his anti-war comments.

Meanwhile in Israel members of the Knesset toast their victory with champagne, celebrating the passing of a law bringing in the death penalty for Palestinians convicted of terrorist attacks. Hanging within 90 days is mandatory and no pardons can be issued.

And Trump tweets about . . . Bruce Springsteen. Can't think why.

Why I eat Maltesers

A lady in Rebound this morning said she could tell I exercised because I had strong legs, muscular. I think that's a compliment.

Just tried and failed to do the NYT Connections puzzle. Apparently an apple polisher is someone who says nice things to curry favour. Not in this country I think. But possibly you can put me right.

Which didn't come from Connections but Tightrope now I think about it.

Watched the Peaky Blinders film, The Immortal Man, on Netflix the other night. Not as good as the television programmes but worth watching for redemption for Tommy Shelby. And for his eyes. Sad though. Also finished reading Small Pleasures by Clare Chambers as recommended by Daughter. Shouted at her for not warning me about the ending.

Tonight we're having the first barbecue of the year although it may be just the cooks who will be outside while the rest of us keep warm indoors.

In the library yesterday and felt sad to think of all the books in the world that I would like to read but never will, simply because there are too many. But also heard about the death of an author aged 68, which made me think about how many people are dead, and how I must make the most of my life.

So I am sitting here eating Maltesers. 

* * * * *

Thursday morning

We didn't barbecue. Elder Son, who was supposed to be coming and returning our gas canister, didn't show up till too late. And he'd forgotten the gas anyway. So Husband cooked everything in the kitchen, and very nice it was too. 

By the way, I did offer Husband a chance to write a post, to defend himself against all my accusations, but he said no.

Two steps forward

GrandDaughter2 was under the weather today so I offered to walk Louie. We had a lovely walk.

I learned from our holiday in Canada that these are called inuksuks and used to indicate tracks. Environmentalists around here object to them so I had to dismantle mine when I'd taken the photo.

The less photographed angle of Three Cliffs. Amazing to think that once upon a time these cliffs were lying flat and all sorts of creatures were walking on them. Or possibly swimming over them as they're limestone.

After seeing two women emerge from the hole under the cliffs I decided it must be passable - usually the stream comes right up to it. I discovered it was passable if I didn't mind doing a mountain goat impersonation. I had visions of me slipping on the seaweed-covered cliffside and getting my ankle caught and having to send Louie for help, Lassie style.

I was fine.

Then choosing the route back up the mountain - you can call it a hill if you want but I know what it is - I let Louie lead the way, which was a wise choice as he took me on a less-trodden path, allowing me to stop frequently to breathe without embarrassment. A good thing because as I reached the main path a woman came jogging - jogging! - past me. Bear in mind that the path is sand and we all know that it's two steps forward, one step back in sand.

Came home and iced a birthday cake for a man at Zac's who can be relied on to do things.

I forgot to tell you about two conversations from Rough Edges on Saturday. One was how a grandchild (not mine) had come home from school talking about the God Bunny, the Jesus Bunny, and the bad bunnies. When it was suggested to him that they might really have been people the young boy was most upset. "I don't mind the Easter Bunny coming to my house to bring eggs but I don't want a strange man coming in."

The other story was less about bunnies and more about squirrels and foxes and, in particular, the shooting of them. Seems it's quite a normal thing in some areas. One man had a squirrel who lived in their loft and kept them awake at night. When he was in bed, he used a heat tracker to locate its position and then shot it through the ceiling! (And missed it!)

A pizza ball

I planned what to wear today then when I got dressed realised I was wearing a pink jumper and red tights. Thought about changing them but, hey ho. I'm visiting an artist so I'm sure she'll appreciate it.

A busy weekend. In Rough Edges all day Saturday. As we need to increase sales to make it, not even profitable but just paying for itself, and several people had lamented the fact that we only opened on Thursdays, we decided to give it a try.

The other volunteers weren't available so I went in to help Kathryn and Richard, the managers. 

It was worth it as we took more money than on Thursday but frustrating in that several people came in and said, "Oh good, you're open," and then didn't buy anything.

It was also freezing! I'd forgotten how cold it was in the shop and had been fooled by the sun in the sky. I spent most of the day standing in front of the wood-burner or in the doorway in the sunshine. Still chilled even by the time I went to bed.

Friday I made some iced buns to take out on the street in the evening. Not as successful as ones I've made previously, and, also, we saw very few women, so I brought most of them home again!

On Friday I was asked if I'd say something about Palm Sunday in church on Sunday. I'd written about the associated customs and traditions in the church newsletter, so I thought I'd do something a bit different. I wrote a piece from the viewpoint of someone in the crowd on the first Palm Sunday. And then I practised it like mad.

It was well received. One lady, an ex am dram person, hugged me and said I presented it wonderfully. Someone else asked if I'd performed it on stage before. "Um, no, I only wrote two days ago!" And lots of nice comments.

This morning I read on Twitter - and then fact-checked - that Cardinal Pizzaballa, the head of the Roman Catholic church in the Holy Land, had been refused entry to the church of the Holy Sepulchre yesterday. Instead he went to Gethsemane and preached. 

Today Jesus weeps once more over Jerusalem. He weeps over this city, which remains a sign of both hope and sorrow, of grace and suffering. He weeps over this Holy Land, still unable to recognize the gift of peace. He weeps for all the victims of a war that seems without end: for divided families, for shattered hopes. But the tears of Jesus are never fruitless. They open our eyes, challenge us, and reveal the truth. 

I have to say the Pope is leading the way in the battle against all wars. 

And, no, I couldn't believe that was the cardinal's name. Even checked to see if it was April 1st.

When your face says it better

Trying to find out when the Zac's pieces were written I searched my blog. It gave me some dates but also a reminder of the writing I did way back when.

There was more of it, more diverse and in-depth, and lots more creative writing too. I've lost the sparkle. Even when I'm in writing group, which I lead, I struggle to come up with anything that seems good any longer. Makes me feel like a fraud. Must do better. Maybe I'll re-read some of my older pieces and seek inspiration.

* * * * *

After bible study, not this week but the week before, two people mentioned that I'd looked drained, lacking enthusiasm. It was an evening I'd found quite frustrating for a number of reasons but I hadn't realised my emotions were reflected in my face quite so obviously.

I began to say to Husband, "I'd better do a better job of hiding . . ." but then I thought, no, perhaps I shouldn't. That's just wearing a mask and we're encouraged to be honest. And speaking of being honest I was in a meeting with someone and really wanted to disagree with a couple of things, but nodded and said, "Okay." This person is a strong-minded, organised sort. Unlike me!

* * * * *

Lovely walk this morning with Daughter and Louie. My calves were aching when I got up, as anticipated after bouncing, and I hoped walking, especially up the side of a cliff, would loosen them. Hasn't so far!

Co-ordination? What's that?

A classic comment at bible study last night.

Monty asks, "Who was Herod?"
Answer: "Was he the one who cut off John the Baptist's head the first time?"

As for the cake, I trimmed off the very thin bit, cut the rest in half and put the thin bit on the thick bit, and it tasted fine.

Over the years we, as in the community at Zac's tribal gathering (bible study), have written a number of pieces. Now our corridor is dry and beautifully painted Stu has framed and hung them.

* * * * *

Yesterday's exercise class was cancelled because the building it's held in needed emergency work, so this morning I attended a bounce class. I did one a long time ago but it was a bit too easy. This one was better. I fear my calves may ache tomorrow. It's only half an hour but it took me a while to steady myself and feel confident enough to let go of the bar. Then the main problem was co-ordination. 

"Tap your foot twice while swinging your arms once each tap."

It's just not possible. My arms would not move until my feet did so doing two of one and one of the other was beyond me. So I just waved everything around anyhow. As the teacher said, "As long as you keep moving."

And we didn't stop for the full thirty minutes.