Category Archives: existential angst

Official Announcement

7 April does not exist, in the archival sense of the word. Having nicked 2010’s entry for yesterday’s post, I’m now suffering from severe lack of bloggery: 08, 07, 06, 05 – there is nothing going on on that day; at least, anything worth wibbling about, anyway. And in April 2004, I was wandr’ing wild and free, happily unfettered by the chains of modern technology and social networking.

Ah well, back to the drawing board.

A complete disgrace

Yes, I’m so lazy I even pinch other blogger’s post header ideas! ūüėČ I Am Another Blogger who suffers from serial procrastinitis and acute inability to put finger to keyboard, even though I’m hardly lacking in topics to blog about: contemplative prayer, art journaling, spiritual direction, CAP Close The Gap campaign, Richard Rohr, Greenbelt, Green churches, pilgrimage, back exercises, pilgrimage planning (hence back exercises), Franciscan tertaries, mystics, ornamental cabbages…Life on Mars…

Is there no hope for me?

Policemen are getting younger

Let’s face it – at my age, everybody is getting younger, even Dr Who. Yes, we’ve finally said goodbye to David Tennant (:() ages after the remainder of the televiewing public of course. All we have to do now is catch up with the Matt Smith episodes. Who, incidentally, hails from UEA, where Miffy Jnr is about to embark on his final year.

Earlier, the young chap at the health food shop introduces himself- turns out he was at school with our son. Gracious me, I feel so old!

Meanwhile, dreams…yes…well… My earlier worries that the good Doctor would filter through into my subconscious seem to have been unfounded. Unfortunately, sundry other bits and bobs have wormed their way in in his place. Sooo embarrassing! If this is the effect all my healthy eating is having on the system, I dread to think what’ll happen if I sucuumb to good old fat-ridden fish and chips or a curry. What did Jung eat, I wonder?

Lightweight intellectual and political ponderings

Or put another way:

“O wad some Power the giftie gie us
To see oursels as ithers see us!‚ÄĚ

As a lightweight, flighty,flittergibbet, if you believe all you read. According to Wikio, in whose august directory I’ve currently reached the dizzy heights of number 18920, (Woowhooo!!! – no, I’ll not be adding their badge to Musings just yet), Musings falls into the ‘Entertainment’ category. When I checked further, it’s become clear that my prelidiction for the goings-ons of a certain Mr D Tennant may have something to do with it. How embarrassing. This wasn’t my intention at all. When first I put pen to paper – or finger to mouse – in 2004, I was under the impression that my profound theological gems were just what the blogosphere had been waiting for all these years. So, what happened?

Even more odd – is my presence in a local directory, amidst sundry worthy and politically minded bloggers. Not that I’m complaining; never let it be said that I can’t rise to a challenge! What would Dr Who have voted, that’s what I’d like to know.

Ecclesiology and Beards 2

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.

Once Upon a Time

I must be the world’s most naive Mum. ūüėČ We were looking for one of Ms M’s old books of fairytales last night, when offspring (aged 23 in less than a month), sophisticated graduate and budding graphic designer, reveals the trauma and sleepless nights caused by early exposure to “The Velveteen Rabbit,” by Margery Williams. It’s taken me til now to realise the horrid truth about Rabbit’s ultimate fate – to be burned on a bonfire; I’d thought he’d been whisked off to to Bunnyland by the Nursery Magic Fairy! Shows how even the most innocent and least bloodthirsty of tales can alarm a sensitive child, I suppose. I remember being completely spooked out by the Caterpillar and hookah scene in Alice in Wonderland (film version) for example. And as for that picture in CS Lewis’s “The Last Battle,” when Tash – that ghastly half man, half bird montrosity appears, I always used to turn over several pages at a time in order to avoid looking at it.

That said, I’d forgotten that some of the older traditional fairy stories were so well… Grimm. I mean – have you read “The Red Shoes?” I hadn’t til last week. (courtesy of The Guardian’s freebie series). Shoes welded onto feet…Executioners in remote cottages…amputation…don’t get me started on the sub-text to all that. Shudders!

Word of the week

kindly supplied by Truthsign. I, too, have been suffering from a bad case of Oblogation: A pervasive sense of guilt about not keeping up with one’s blog [and in my case, journaland ¬†coursework] (or reading those of others).¬† The dreaded ‘d’ word has been looming large and I’ve been experiencing a weird mixture of sluggishness, weepiness,¬† insomnia and angst ¬†mixed with domestic industry of¬†the kind¬†that would do Flylady proud. During one of my worst days I managed to completely rearrange the airing cupboard, sorting a load of old clothes for a charity drop at the same time, tidy away the Christmas trees and cards, tidy¬†¬†our ‘Christmas cupboard.’ and wrestle some errant pampas grass into submission. (I’ve the scars to prove it!). Add to that several mega- ironing mountains, delicate woollie washes¬†and you’ve seen the most unMiffy-like behaviour imaginable.¬†¬†Procrastination rules.¬†As it¬†usually does in true Ben Elton-like ‘reality gap’ style: putting off til tomorrow the things you should be doing today – until I get to¬†what I’ve¬†called the “Oh sod it!” point, when I finally put pen to paper – or¬†finger to keyboard rather, and rattle off the pesky assignment…at last!

Why do I do it, I ask myself – and is it due to Depression, Procrastination, Pre-menopausal¬†hormonal prevarication or a mixture of all three? Whatever the reason, I’ve a disquieting sense of selling myself short.

The End is Nigh

Who would have thought that somebody’s been reaching¬† Musings via a search for It’s a Lovely Day for Snowmen . Not only that,¬†my description of the Miffy contribution to the world of Haute Couture comes top of the googlesearch for same.¬† I’m flattered. No, really. It’s nothing. ūüėÄ Just leave the flowers over there, please. Yes? What was that?¬†A cheque will do nicely, thank you!

On a more Adventy¬†Why Are We Waiting¬†themes¬†of judgement bit, The End is (almost) nigh, in a¬†typical disorganised Miffyesque kind of way.¬†Our ¬†well brought up turkey and organic veg are on order, not-so-little M has returned home from his educational establishment and¬†his sister should be back from hers this weekend. Miffdog and I posted the last of the snail mail Christmas cards this morning. Presents? Come tomorrow morning I shall spread my current haul out on to the bed and play that time honoured traditional pre-Christmas game:¬†See¬†What You’ve Got And Try And Match It Up To The Intended Recipient. Then panic.¬† And of course, there’s the little matter of (Young Offspring Anti Seasonal Trauma Alert) gathering the wherewithal for the nocturnal visitation to one’s abode by a certain hirsuite and rotund gentleman of indeterminate years and costume of tomato-like hue. Yes, the fact that the Miffy offspring are aged 18 and 22 respectively and that poor ¬†HRGIYCTLH¬†often¬†has to set his alarm to wake him up so that he can do the dirty deed in the wee smalls after they’ve staggered in from the pub or party is neither here nor there. (End of Young Offspring Seasonal anti trauma alert). No wonder we’re hardly in fit state to Awake and Salute The Happy Morn after all that.¬† (HRGIYCTLH’s favourite tipple¬†is a nice Crabbie’s or Stone’s ginger wine, by the way, in case anybody wants to know).

My timing on¬†another, sadder ending has been equally Miffylike.¬† Announcing¬† that I’m leaving our local¬† church¬†in the week ¬†before Christmas isn’t maybe demonstrating ¬†the¬†best of timing, but then, I don’t think there ever is an ideal time for this sort of thing. I’ve certainly discovered that there’s a difference between a planned, semi-official exit when you say goodbye properly (Two families including ours left my previous place at the same time; both in part due to house moves) and well…just fading out.¬† Though to be honest, I think I left emotionally and spiritually, months, if not several years ago.¬† Is there an etiquette to Church Leaving? I don’t know. As the¬† place I’m likely to join is in a neighbouring parish (last time round I changed countries!) it’s a weird feeling given the likelihood of bumping into folk from the old church.

It’s hard. Very hard. However, I know it was the right move . My ‘last’ visit on Saturday night was to sing with the choir in a great concert –¬† (I had to fight to stop myself coming over all unecessary during ‘Ding, Dong Merrily on High!’) which is a lovely way to remember the place. Then my fellow prayer triplees? Triplettes? (Sounds like a 50’s singing troupe!) enjoyed a nice lunch out this week, and we shall keep on ‘trippling,’¬† so it’s not all gloom. I guess the best attitude to adopt is that suggested by one of our ‘Seabirds,’ to think of the whole business as not leaving after ten years, but rather, moving on after growing through ten years.

Which reminds me. Talking of ‘Ding Dong Merrily,’ here’s yet another Venn That (Christmas) Tune courtesy of Youthblog.¬† You know, I could just get to like this mathematics lark. And that really¬† is a miracle!