Category Archives: blogging

Nous sommes ici

et M Miffy est encore en France, velo-ing away somewhere in the sunny south; last time I heard from him he’d just about got over the shock of leaving his mascot teddybear up a mountain!

Back home, while the cat’s away…I’ve had an unwonted and uncharacteristic burst of energy spring cleaning round house and garden. Peace, perfect peace – too much so in fact, as I discovered on Bank Holiday Monday when Ms Miff phoned me from New York to ascertain if I was still alive. (I’d a visitor a few days previously, set the phone answering service to cut in straight away so we’d not be disturbed, but had forgotten to set it back afterwards). I’d thought it was odd that I’d not heard from anybody for a while!

So, there we are. The house – well – parts of it anyway are looking as minimalist as it’s ever going to be, as is this blog. I could get to like the loo

Catching Up and Journeying On

All ready for

All ready for pilgrimage!

Coast Path, Devon. I thought I’d got this one the right way up just now; never mind – it was some walk!

Arrival at Exeter Cathedral.

Since then, we’ve had the drama of the dog and the nectarine stone, I’ve spent a fortune at the dentist (only I could manage to break a tooth on a Greenbelt bacon butty), the gippy festival tum is under control,the eye infection is getting that way. You’d not guess from all that griping that I actually had a Good Time, would you, but – don’t faint – I did!

And now? Several new challenges for the autumn – all very exciting in my usual quiet, Miffyesque kind of way. Keep Calm And Carry On.

Ehrm. I’ve been away too long. It doesn’t seem to want to publish links. OK – see my Growing Greenpatches blog for my Greenbelt musings.

That still small voice

A wee bit of cross-posting from my other blog where I’ve been pondering my total failure to remain serene in the midst of chaos. “If you can keep your head when all around you…” One of my thoughts as I lay awake spectacularly unable to find that ‘place within myself,’ (to quote from a workshop I was at last week) was “B—– —! How ever am I going to cope during Greenbelt?” Where on earth am I going to find my ‘quiet space?’ I do love the rush and bustle of the festival and it is only for four days, but at the same time find it draining. And I’m stewarding for the first time this year, albeit in one of the quieter (well, I hope it’s quieter) venues. St Clare, Francis, Ignatius and any others you can think of – come to my aid! (Yes, I have moved higher up the candle since I left oldchurch, haven’t I ?)

Pork luncheon meat

I’ve had an epiphany. Whenever I begin to doubt my ability to express myself in an anyway coherent and fitting manner, all I need do for reassurance is to check out my spam box; there are screeds of purple prose there that make my confused witterings seem positively Dostoevsky-like in comparison.

Ahem!

Hrmph! Here’s another absentee wiblogger emerging from the shadows, after a long-time dalliance over on blogger. The innards of Musings are working, I’m glad to say; reading Chelly’s warning about the prevalence of pork luncheon meat prompted me to stir myself and log on again. I appear to be spam free, thank goodness, even if my stats have that lonely, moth-eaten look to them. I do still read some of you regularly though via the listing on my other blog and I loved meeting up with some of you earlier in the year at Smudgie’s licencing.

So, what’s been going on down our way since my last post here? Well, the late, great Miffcat Mk3 has been replaced by moggie Mk4, aka Tigercat – a rather skew-whiff, feisty chap, with a passion for hunting games and an apparent allergy to vets. This last probably resulting from his experiences after a horrible road traffic accident back in his misspent youth. Jekyll and Hyde just isn’t in it, as Mr M and I, one vet and a vetinary nurse can certify. At the sight of a needle he transforms from ‘Simon’s Cat’ into a spitting, scratching, growling devil. Ouch. But we love him all the same. He’s certainly leaving his mark – usually in the form of a little ‘present,’ in front of his litter box for me to discover at crack of dawn.

The offspring are pottering along nicely. Ms M is well established in graphic design now; Mstr M currently working on his masters disertation:Umpteen thousand words on Gormenghast in the style of an autopsy report, anyone?

And Mr M? Well, he’s gradually getting back into cycling after a year or so’s break. Myself? Well, still ‘Seabirding,’ (are you still around, Rosamundi?); being on the area team for this has been a fair old learning curve for me. As has the process of getting involved in giving spiritual direction, following on from training some years back. Does anyone remember those cryptic entries about my trips down to the land of seabirds and brisk sea breezes?

Most of my online musing goes on now over at Growing Greenpatches but I’ll try and get back over here more often, I promise.

Pop pop pop!

A recycled, recycled ‘Musing,’ for Shrove Tuesday!

” ‘Whizz pop whizz pop pop pop poppety pop pop,’ faster and ever so much faster flew the pancakes. Thicker and thicker. Bigger and bigger. They came out flatways and edgeways. They shot high in the air and stuck to the ceiling. One sailed across the room and hit the Vicar in the waistcoat, where it may or may not have reminded him of the ironholders for the South Crashbania natives. Pop poppety, pop pop pop. It was like a machine gun but much more sploshy. The Professor struggled out of his pancake just in time for another one to drop over him. Two pancakes were on the clock, four were draped over the light. The Mayor was eating his way through a complete set of pancakes of varying sizes that had fallen in front of him. The four firemen put their helmets on and brandished their axes, but only succeeded in smashing two cups, one saucer and the sugar basin. Mrs Flittersnoop put her head gingerly out from under the table and was immediately gummed to the carpet by a three-foot pancake two inches thick that had just shot out.”
From The Incredible Adventures of Professor Branestawm by Norman Hunter

Smelly and tired

I arrived in church this morning to discover that we were having one of our periodical ‘get to know you’ weeks where we’re invited to wear sticky name labels. It was tempting to write ‘Sleepy’ on mine; Neither Mr M or myself slept a wink last night. I eventually dropped off, only to wake up in a panic at 8.20 am. For those who don’t know me well, I’ve a half hour walk to church so this was cutting things rather too fine for comfort; ended dashing in hoping that I’d not a) managed to put any clothing on inside out or b) got my skirt tangled up in my undies.

Dozed through the service – only springing to life, relatively speaking, during the gospel – that wonderful passage from John 1 which always brings me close to tears. One great advantage IMO of belonging to a trad quite high up the candle congregation is that it’s possible to have a mini ‘dozette’ relatively unnoticed; you’re unlikely to be exhorted to ‘jump right up…turn around’ or do the liturgical equivalent of the hokey-cokey.

In case you’re wondering where the ‘smelly’ comes in, this was due to my daft attempts at holding back the march of time, which I’ve been blogging about in Greenpatches. Thus it was that I went to last night’s cycle club annual dinner ponging of parfum de takeaway curry et chip shop. Curry mustard and cinnamon powder with a touch of wine vinegar in the last rinse. Not a clever idea. I’ll stick to my more subtle rosemary and sage mix in future.

Teaser Tuesdays

At last…I’m reviving the meme orignating from shouldbereading

• Grab your current read
• Open to a random page
• Share two (2) “teaser” sentences from somewhere on that page
• BE CAREFUL NOT TO INCLUDE SPOILERS! (make sure that what you share doesn’t give too much away! You don’t want to ruin the book for everybody else!)
• Share the title & author, too, so that other TT participants can add the book to their Lists if they like your teasers!

Today’s teaser

My parents bought the boys a fire engine for Christmas.
At least they waited until they got it outside before filling the pump-action tank with water.
– p36 Wife in The North by Judith O’Reilly

I Love God’s Tiny Creatures…

that wand’r wild and free…

…at times I was taken back years to when the children were small; sitting there trying to mouth ‘For the Beauty of The Earth’ and ‘Morning has Broken’ whilst keeping an inquisitive, wriggly Fido with the attention span of a gnat from misbehaving, fidgeting, and generally ‘showing us up’ was a salutary reminder of what life used to be like every time I went to church. At the point when we were asked to hold and pray for our pets, I was bent down busily trying to remove congealed bits of half-eaten doggie treats from under the pew and untangle the lead from round us both.

Read about what happened when I took Miffdog to church, over on my other blog.