So far, so good. Ian’s suggestion bears out my hypothesis Thank you, Ian!
Now who’s next in the parade of the ecclesiastical beardies? Let me see… ah yes! What about your original hairy Franciscan, Fr Richard Rohr? I think that proves my point.
Then let’s not forget Mr Emergent church himself – Brian McLaren. On the other hand, he does seem to be resisting all attempts to classify him. Let’s have another go. Oh, what happened there? Bang goes my theory.
Following on from my last musings, here’s a question for all you intellectuals out there: Could ‘facial fungus’ (or the lack of it) – be an indicator of one’s theological bent or churchmanship? Mr M and I have been pondering this vexing question ever since he noticed the preponderance of beards on show during last weekend’s Burns supper. Newchurch has a vague, liberal Anglo-Catholic feel to it. Might this mean that the higher up the candle you go, the less you’ve need of your remington supershaver – or whatever it is you call them? Name your favourite Christian ‘beardie,’ and prove me right (or wrong). First off – the Archbishop of Canterbury.
Obviously not, judging by a chance remark made to me after this morning’s service. ‘Doesn’t my son come to church with me,then?’ (Thinks: Odd question, of course he doesn’t; he lives several hundred miles away!). It took a while for the dreadful truth to sink in… they were referring to Mr M! My very own Milk Tray Man, last seen cavorting with my good self at the previous night’s Burns Supper. Speechless!! Granted I might be looking a teensy bit under the weather atm, but still… Help! I must be turning into a Pepperpot. Fetch me my bus pass.
Mr M, needless to say, is thrilled to bits!
Hah!
Well, it’s been fun. We’ve been fortunate enough here in that the snow hasn’t proved too disruptive to our normal existence. (My course was cancelled this week. I’ll be interested to see if the organisers make up the session by amalgamating material; the mind boggles at the prospect of Carmelite being merged with Charismatic and Evangelical spirituality, for instance!). I’ve also gained valuable thinking time; with my current health worries, I’d have found it difficult to plunge straight back into the usual routine. But now I’d like to get back to normal.
Let’s see what this does to my stats!
Happily, the Miffy household hasn’t had any problems with frozen pipes, blocked toilets or wonky boilers during the Big Freeze. And I’d like to think I’m setting a new trend in cold weather wear for the Over Fifties; my current bedtime ensemble consisting of black thermal vest with matching black lace pyjama top and bottoms, subtle pink checked brushed cotton jim hams, navy wool cardi, Victoria’s secrets dressing gown and two pairs of bedsocks.
It’s my internal plumbing that seems to be in need of attention at the moment. Gallstones are ‘off,’ according to a pre-Christmas scan, but just in case I was feeling short-changed, a couple of other bits ‘n pieces have been spotted which need further checking out, hence more tests are booked for early February. Beaker rules OK! Though that said, after a week of (restrained) mememeing I’m beginning to get thoroughly bored with the whole thing and am doing my best to put it to the back of my mind.
On a more cheerful note, at least all this hanging round hospitals will give me a chance to do some serious reading. Suggestions, anybody?
So, here we are in 2010 – a new decade. How time flies! I was reminded about this in church this morning, while all the children were queueing up for their banners to wave during the final hymn. The last time I wielded one of these (banner, not a child), was during our churches together joint open-air service for the new millennium…nearly ten years ago! It can’t be that long, surely? But the calendar (and the mirror) says it is.
Nowadays, my idea of excitement is to spend a happy half hour in Millets during the Christmas rush, checking out their buy one, get one half price offer on ‘thermal baselayers,’ (sounds so much more glamorous than ‘thermal vest and long-johns, doesn’t it?). Son (19), was even more excited when I presented him with his charcoal- grey manly- looking combo. May it remain on record that the top half cut a dash in the local nightclub on Christmas eve and likely prevented him from freezing to death afterwards. For those who don’t know these things, ‘dressing up,’ at his age seems to involve subtracting rather than adding layers. And that’s just the boys!
Daughter was not as thrilled with her lurid purple floral top, mercifully,they’d run out of bottom halves by the time I got to the shops, so has passed it on to Mum. I think it’s rather pretty. It’ll come in so useful for when the beloved and I embark on more treks. Mr M has pointed out that should I be unlucky enough to be charged by a bull in the Highlands of Scotland, all I need to do is crouch down and I’ll become a dead ringer for a large clump of heather.
It seemed like a good idea at the time; just a quick spot of DIY. What I didn’t allow for is that my technical skills are as lacking in the virtual carpentry department as they are IRL. What should have been a few minutes widgeting over on Shelfari has taken up most of the afternoon, taking in system crashes, books vanishing into the ether and shelves almost as wonky as the ones chez Miffy. Happily, all’s well now. Should you fancy a quick browse, do hop over to Greenpatches.
Pax et Bonum: The Seabird has landed!
May “Ouch aye!” The “Etack” Caledonia and Wessex Wanderings.
July No, not a chipmunk; it’s a Marmotte.
Felicitations: L’Etape du Tour and Brisk Sea Breezes.
Felicitations, encore! Ms M graduates.
August “Whan that Aprille..” well, August actually. Pilgrimage Number One.
Franciscan recruiting tactics at Greenbelt.
Mr M is slain in the spirit.
September/October Climb evry mountain; ford every stream…all thousand and one of them. The Miffys tackle the Via Podiensa – Le Puy en Valay to Conques.
Mr M does various other things involving cycles, rain, and the LEL.
November Miffy goes on retreat.
Me-me-me-meeee! Miffy goes green;proving without doubt that she is an Enneagram Type 6 and proud of it!
Here be Dragons… “Newchurch” goes even greener.
December
Having blogged more in the last week than she’s done in the preceeding six months, Miffy collapses in a chair with a glass of bubbly. Happy New Year to one and all!
On the Sixth Day of Christmas, my feedreader sent to me: St’s excellent links to Will Mancini et al and their words of wisdom re Christian bloggery in all its glory. Guilty as charged, mea culpa and all that… I Am A Christian whose focus frequently fails to home in on anything more dynamic than the making of the next cup of tea. Terms like optimization, feedback, stats, mission statement and even the dreaded ‘E’ word inculcate in me an uncontrollable urge to run screaming for the hills; or at least the nearest nunnery. (Which last is a bit unfair on the nuns to be honest). I am a modest, simple soul, who loves nothing more than to wander lonely as a cloud, embroidery in hand, thinking beautiful thoughts, to the accompaniment of Songs of Fluffiness meets Celtic Worship Vol XXIII. I am a woolly, wavering wiblogger. Why, I even sport ‘Musings’ in my blog title!
Be that as it may, (and let’s face it; any excuse for putting off those thankyou letters will do), being ever so ‘umble, as I am, I felt convicted by these words, and, thus inspired, set out to set the blogosphere ablaze. I determined my content, categorised my categories, and twiddled my tags. Lastly, bearing in mind that a Picture Paints A Thousand Words, I seized my camera, aimed and fired.
It was at this point that the whole exercise began to go horribly wrong. I extracted the memory card, then inserted it in the card reader. (A move necessitating the powers of a contortionist, given the location of the USB ports on my steam-driven pc.) There came a ‘plink,’ and a ‘plunk,’ but nothing happened. I twiddled. I twaddled. I searched the image editor. It said No Way. I removed the lead; re-inserted it, removed the mouse lead, re-inserted that. Fell off my chair. Swore at the computer. The pc sulked.The card reader sulked. They refused to talk to each other. The mouse joined them in solidarity. In desperation, I cracked open a box of After Eight Mints. There was only one thing left to do. Summon the aid of The One Who Knows. No, not The Almighty; I was forced to drag Mr M away from his World of Warcraft. (Fools rush in…). He advised extreme measures. Switch Off And Reboot.
Thus it is that several hours later, I have only just managed to finish this post. And, so it is, gentle reader, that you will never learn the answer to the mystery of why I discovered a hot water bottle (still warm) at 7.30 a.m. outside on the front doorstep along with our organic fruit ‘n veg box.
Still skulking in the study. The dog has not long thrown up his tea, Mr M is out for the count after his Boxing Day time trial, and Ms M’s beef wellington has reached a crucial point. Should you be tiring of all this fun and frivolity and feel in need of something More Fitting for the season, do feel free to take yourself over to my other blog.
Cue vomiting noises from Miffdog…must go.
Merry Christmas!
