Dogs can't climb trees

They can, however, climb 4' high wood and wire mesh fences.

If they're very determined.

Saturday Photohunt - Self

Three bloggers for the price of one. Last October Shirl (centre), Welshcakes (right) and I met up for lunch.

To take part in Photohunt, visit tnchick
xx

It's already too late for me

In Thrive (circuit training) tonight, I asked Jules, the trainer, if we could do extra bottom pertening exercises. He replied that we already did (long list of exercises) that are good for gluteus maximus.

Oh dear.

Gone to a higher ward

I went to visit Auntie Maud yesterday. Had an 'Euerrch' moment when, walking down the ward, I realised she wasn't in her bed. 'She's died - or gone to a higher ward!' But when I got there her name was still on the bedside cabinet. A gentleman visitor at the next bed said, 'She's gone to hospital, hasn't she?'
'Yes,' the lady in the bed said. 'She could be gone some time.'

I hope she's back by this afternoon.

Postscript
I'd changed and had just picked up my car keys to go to see Auntie Maud when the phone rang. It was Gina, Auntie Maud's daughter, saying she'd been moved to a different hospital. Her scan results came back this morning and they confirmed that she has lung cancer and that it's spread to her liver. The doctor said they will do what they can to make her comfortable.

I was watching my bottom this morning

It's not that it's particularly huge; it just droops. It rises a good inch and a half when I clench it.

The question is: when did it drop? Did I get up one morning and it just decided enough was enough and it couldn't be bothered with the effort any more? I don't remember a sudden 'flop' as it collapsed wearily in the direction of my knees. Maybe it was never pert.

My tummy's always been lazy; I'm aware of that. Maybe I just never paid attention to my bottom. Maybe it's always dragged along behind me like extra baggage. Maybe the answer is to permanently clench.

The bags under my eyes are especially grey this morning too. When Husband is away - which he is every week - I stay up late and read until even later. This morning George decided he wanted to poop at 6.30. It was a beautiful morning and it was tempting to stay up (yeah, right) - but I made myself go back to bed. Like I told George, 'It's all right for you. You can sleep all morning. I have to get up and blog.'

I can't even blame next door's alarm: they got home at about 9 last night. I think their holiday must have been rained off.

Can you tell I feel very old today? Don't worry: it'll pass.

I need new wellies

Thanks to the holes in my wellies and the puddle outside the back door, my feet were wet before we left the garden on our walk today. Then, over the tip, the path was totally waterlogged. I resigned myself to waddling along in water-filled wellies. By the time we got home my coat, trousers, socks and t-shirt all needed wringing out. The only things that weren't wet were ny bra and pants.

I was hoping to get through till autumn without buying new wellies. It's nearly June, for heaven's sake.

* * * * * * * * *

Younger Son was asking me about the people who go to Zac's on a Tuesday evening. I told him and he said, 'They're the sort of people, if you see them on the street, you try to avoid looking in the eye. Don't you get scared?'
'Good grief, no. I feel perfectly safe.'
I told him I was probably one of the most normal people there. He looked me up and down and said, 'That's bad news.'

You know what it's like when you're talking to someone and you think, 'This person seems fairly stable,' and then, as you continue the conversation, little signs start flashing in your brain and you think, 'hang on a mo ...' When my gran was in hospital many years ago there was a lady in there with whom I would exchange smiles and hellos. It wasn't until I saw her pouring an imaginary cup of tea and talking to an imaginary friend that I realised there was anything unusual about her.

* * * * * * * * *

And that bleeping alarm is still going. I need a sharp shooter.

ABC Wednesday - S

S is for scrapbook, used as home for my cuttings. To join in with ABC Wednesday, visit mrs nesbitt's place.
xx

The Lord moves in mysterious ways

I stole this directly from Nick; he does a Monday funnies post and they provide a cheerful beginning to every week.

Little note

Undoubtedly God moves and heals and does wondrous things; equally undoubtedly in my mind, at some large meetings there can be hype and hysteria built up. We need to be open to God but aware of human interference.

Which sports car are you?

Saw this over at cherie's place.

You're not the fastest, nor the most nimble, but you're cute and you have style. You're not intensely competitive, but when you pass by, everyone turns to look.

Take the Which Sports Car Are You? quiz.

xx

Stunted development

After the storm of the weekend, the paths in the woods are carpeted with greenery. A few trees have been brought down and this is the best one:It goes across the path and is just the right height and has the right amount of flexibility to make it perfect for 'Ride 'em, cowboy!' Husband and George pretended not to be with me. Not that there was anyone around to see.

This afternoon a stray dog joined us in the woods for a while. He was a boy dog and every time he cocked his leg I said, 'Look, George! See? That's what you're supposed to do.'

Most dogs we meet just growl at George in a 'Clear off, you horrid rumbustious puppy' sort of way so George hasn't had a role model. Husband and Younger Son have refused to demonstrate the principles to him so I fear his development may be stunted. In fact, it probably already is. I am like a pushy parent: Is your baby walking yet? Talking? Cocking his leg?

* * * * * * * * * *

I am going to bed now. We had a brief power cut this afternoon and since then next door's alarm has been going off. They're on holiday so I guess it could be a long night.

Chocolate cafe

Bank Holiday Monday was such a grey day I decided to have a baking spree. Our community cafe is open again this week and I was on duty there today so I made some goodies to take with me. In the photo above, we have chocolate raisin slice and chocolate chip muffins (a la Nigella). I'm not a great fan of chocolate cake but I have to admit those muffins were very nice - and they looked dead professional.

We'd decided previously that we'd try quiche on the menu so I took this asparagus quiche along (or most of it - I only saved a bit for my dinner tomorrow). It sold well, so we'll be offering it on the summer menu - assuming we can get enough volunteers to make it!

Just as I am

These words were written by Brennan Manning, an ex-Franscican monk. He's the author of The Ragamuffin Gospels, and if you ever get the chance to go and hear him, do go. Maureen read these words at the end of the services.

God loves me just as I am and not as I should be.
He loves me beyond worthiness and unworthiness.
He loves me beyond my fidelity and infidelity.
He loves me in the morning sun and the evening rain
Without caution, regret, limit or breaking point.
No matter what I do, He will not stop loving me.
And this is grace.
xx

So, prison

It didn't have a very promising start.

Members of Prison Fellowship attend the first service. They do prison visits and befriending and tend to be older and from the more conservative end of the church family. While we were waiting to be taken over to the chapel one of them was holding forth about the preaching that is done in many churches these days: "It's not based on the word of God. It's far too liberal." Maureen, the RC chaplaincy representative, tried to discuss this with him but he said, "You can argue with me until eternity and I won't change my view one jot." Hmm, right. And I was about to speak, suggesting a more sympathetic view of Judas. A totally unbiblically-based view.

Anyway, apart from a mildly-stuttering Doris Day the first service was fine. Oh, and apart from the fact that the singers on the recordings Alun had downloaded all sang at a slightly slower pace then the prisoners were used to so we all got a bit out of sync. But as Maureen said, "No-one understood what was said on the day of Pentecost either."

At the end Mr Critic shook my hand. I don't know if it were a sign of approval or an 'I'll pray for you, sister,' handshake but I didn't care. One of the young lads, as he left, said, 'Thanks, Miss, that was a great sermon.' Way-hay! That was far more valuable.

The second service of the morning is a RC mass. I asked if I could stay in for it and I was amazed at the silence and the respect with which the young men behaved for what was a simple spoken service. There are things I don't agree with in the RC faith but I was happy to go up at the end for a blessing. I couldn't take the host (bread) not believing that it had become the flesh of Christ but there's no such thing as too many blessings!

Then it was time for the third service and Mo and me again. I'd asked Maureen to read some Bible verses first time round; one of the prison officers asked if he could read some in the third service - that was a first! Also during the mass Maureen had some written prayers that she asked for volunteers to read. I thought this was such a good idea that we included it in the third service too. This time Doris got a serious case of the judders: ad-ad-ad-ad-ad-ad-ad-ad-ad-admiration, but by that stage nothing could bother me. I think I had a mild case of hysteria.

So all in all it was good morning although I dread to think what the chaplain will say about these women running amok and messing up his neat services as soon as his back is turned ...

Oh, yes, and Maureen asked me if I regularly led services at my own church. I laughed and said, 'No'; I didn't add what I was thinking: 'They wouldn't trust me!'
xx

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?