NearlyMarthaAgain

Ay up. We have been to the North and we have come back. I mean the North of England – well not even that really. We have been to Manchester. I am technically from Manchester way but we don’t get to go back very often This was a flying visit to see a concert in the Bridgewater Hall. For those who aren’t familiar with the Bridgewater Hall, it usually accomodates the likes of the Halle Orchestra or the Choral Society. On Friday night, it played host to a Northern Soul and Motown evening. The reason the event was in such an august setting was that there was a full orchestra providing a strings and brass background to some frankly brilliant songs. However, Northern Soul is basically music for the working classes and no-one should have been suprised when we working classes descended on the Bridgewater like seagulls on an open binbag.

Most people were very well behaved and if the doormen are not used to having a lady with several teeth missing insisting on showing them her tatoos, they certainly didn’t show it – much. She was so happy, it almost made me resolve to get inked myself. There was plenty of Northern bonhomie. The lady who sat next to us assured us that we could leave our coats with her at half time as she had no intention of going through our pockets. Ha. This was something that had obviously not occurred to us up until the exact moment that she told us that she would never do it. There then followed an awkward few moments when we weighed up laughing gaily while we checked our pockets or throwing our coats over our shoulders feigning a sudden chill and trying to change seats.  

The evening itself was fantastic. Lots of brilliant singers singing lots of lovely songs with some of the best acoustics ever. I am no expert in the Northern Soul department but Head of House is very, very (very) wise in this department and he was more than happy with the music. Phew. 

We did go into the City Centre for a bit of shopping (A bit! Remove this debit card from my hand now!!) I haven’t been there for ages but it did look a bit shabby which was a disappointment. Although, to be fair, the general ambience was not helped by a large group of workmen, trying to put up fifty log cabins for the Christmas Market while donks like me insisted on tiptoing through their carefully placed roof joists to get to Zara.

In other news, it is November 5th today and this means that I am acknowledging the existence of Christmas. Although, did I tell you that I have cancelled Christmas this year? Well, I say cancelled, I am not doing all the turkey shenanigans etc. Firstly, I heard an interview with a lady who said that she had never done all that stuff. On Christmas Day, they had a walk, went to church, ate bacon sandwiches and soup and fell asleep in front of Indiana Jones with a glass of prosecco. I wistfully announced to no-one in particular that this sounded lovely. HOH then said it was ok with him and he may be working anyway. Both kids will probably only be here for limited time. Aged Parent doesn’t have a say because she behaved very badly last year and also I think she is better if she ends the day in her own bed. So – there we are. I have done the full on dinner for twenty odd years now and we are paring back unless anyone else wants to take it on which I doubt. I may compromise and do something in the slow cooker – haven’t decided yet. Either way, it’s very freeing. (BTW, am not having a go at you if you like to do all that. I’m just not.) Anyone else done this? How was it? 

Lastly – is anyone watching The Little Drummer Girl? I haven’t read this so am at a bit of a disadvantage. (Although I had read the Night Manager but had to go back and re-read the end because they changed it completely) Anyway, really liked the first episode – but did not have the faintest idea what was happening in the second one. I mean, I thought I knew but then it seemed I didn’t. No one is apparently what they seem which is not unusual for a Le Carre but I am not sure what they are or who they might be pretending to be or not. Phew. Will stick with it though, partly because I like the frocks although there is an Israeli spy lady/Palestinian terrorist lady (not sure) with the most terrifying feather hair cut. I would arrest her at any airport she arrived at. She certainly looks like she is up to no good. Not all of the Seventies was glamour and velvet pants it seems.

It has been beautiful out there hasn’t it? Flippin freezing but beautiful. Apologies for not being here last week. We were blessed by a visitation from FOW2 and I had the choice of writing a blog or sharing a big bag of those new flat Maltesers, drinking wine and watching Ready Player One on DVD. I’m sorry but chocolate on the settee (in both senses of the word – I’m a messy eater) won the day. Apparently, the key to a sucessful blog is consistency, consistency, consistency so I am in big trouble.

I have been very thoughtful this week or so about the death of Eugene Peterson – author of The Message. It’s no good being sad because it appears that he certainly wasn’t. According to his family, his last words were “Lets Go!” and he appeared to spend his final hours smiling, praying and seeing something joyous that no-one else could see. I just wanted to pay a fulsome tribute to The Message. I know he would never have claimed that it was anything more than a paraphrase and, like most people, I have perhaps felt that sometimes there was more depth in an older translation but… I’m not sure that anything else has related back to me in such a joyous way. And, I will always remember the way I felt the first time I read this.

Are you tired? Worn out? Burned out on religion? Come to me. Get away with me and you’ll recover your life. I’ll show you how to take a real rest. Walk with me and work with me—watch how I do it. Learn the unforced rhythms of grace. I won’t lay anything heavy or ill-fitting on you. Keep company with me and you’ll learn to live freely and lightly. Matthew 11

Other than that – I have just been working and trying to ignore a toothache. I have a dentist’s appointment this week so the date with death destiny will come soon enough.

Aged Parent is on a tidy kick which means that I am trying hard not to dole out an actual kick. When I say a tidy kick I don’t mean something useful like cleaning the fridge for that is my department apparently. For Aged Parent it means going though piles of old papers and finding shopping lists from 1985 endlessly fascinating and impossible to dispose of. However, bank statements, policies and last will and testaments can apparently be jettisoned without a thought. Anyway, Aged Parent threw a huge carrier bag full of details which could give a scammer a good living for a long time, into the communal bins and almost immediately realised that this was unwise. As I was at work Aged Parent had to enlist the help of “Friend with High Sex Drive” – or at least her inamorato to help her climb into the rubbish chute to retrieve her papers. He was very helpful – holding the stepladders, although I would suggest it is not unreasonable to expect him to be the person to reach into the rubbish bin rather than an elderly lady who is – according to her own description – is still in severe trauma from “Being properly run over”. Other trauma was to follow. When Aged Parent knocked on her friend’s door – she was greeted by the sight of – let us call her “a slightly portly lady” wearing just bra, pants, pop socks and holding a glass of Ribena. Aged Parent was a little concerned that she may have interrupted ahem “activity” and was therefore more than a little relieved to hear her friend say “I’ll be honest Beryl. I just couldn’t be bothered with clothes today.” As the world appears to be falling apart before our very eyes, it is somehow comforting that an elderly lady’s biggest concern of the day is how much her friend’s pop socks were digging in to her legs.

“She could do with sizing up. I told her.” Cruel to be kind – see?

As part of my Autumn Bucket list (remember that? I wouldn’t blame you if you didn’t – I barely remember it myself) I had resolved to have a proper go at some Christian fiction alongside other reading duties. I have felt in the past that I have not really given Christian fiction the attention it deserves sometimes. This is partly due to some “mixed results” in this type of fiction that I read as a youngster. Most of it was either of the “Don’t Get Left Behind!” genre with various stories of planes crashing, people’s foreheads being branded with 666 and every single Christian in the world finding that, in fact they were never a Christian, because their wife/husband had been taken and they hadn’t, also that their pastor/vicar was not a Christian either because when they ran to the church for support, the pastor would always be sat in the front row looking particulalrly sheepish. The other equally disapointing genre was “Christian romance” where no-one was ever troubled by lust and any problems (usually revolving around being unequally yolked, partners who were unsuitable and worrying about whether the romance would last the always “long hot summer”) would alsways be solved by a kindly, wise vicar who watched the couple from afar in a wise kindly and in no way slightly stalky way. (Only, presumably to be very disappointed by finding himself alone on the front row after the rapture) I was brought up in a household where Aged Parent felt that Christian fiction of any sort was both pointless and possibly a “bad influence” (You have the BIble and real lfe stories – what do you need fiction for?) She was not alone in this viewpoint. She has made recent exceptions for Christian Fiction set in places such as the Twin Towers, a Tsunami and a hostage situation.  It’s a wonder I ever read anything. Anyway – digression!

This week I have read “The Gardener’s Daughter” by KA Hitchens and it is a chicken of an entirely different feather. I am not sure if it is aimed at me – it may be for the Young Adult market but I am only saying this because the heroine is a young person. Not twelve or anything – but a nineteen year old young woman. It is also not “in your face” Christian. Someone without a faith background may not spot it at all but there are recurring themes of love, loyalty and goodness and a Father who tends a Garden lovingly – so I think we know what is going on. Having been brought up by her father after the death of her mother, a chance discovery brings her whole world crashing down and she runs away from home – not realising that there are darker forces at work and she is in danger. I can’t really say much more without giving the game away. It is a bit of a stormer this and it certainly gallops along. It is, to use the apt phrase, a page turner. Ava – the heroine – is not completely sympathetic and that is a good thing I think – sometimes main Christian characters are too saintly to empathise with.  I felt for her but sometimes thought that she brought some disasters onto herself. There is a moment where she was hiding some cash and I was yelling – don’t do that!! And dear reader, I was right. (Sorry bit vague – trying to avoid spoilers) But she is brave and determined, her relationship with a young private detective is funny and sweet and the world she plunges herself into – in a seedy holiday camp – is very well realised. I enjoyed it a lot. 

Rant Klaxon!! Brace yourself. Possibly stand back

I have never seen The Greatest Showman but I am assured by all who have that I would love it. I am not entirely sure about that because very strong promises were made about Mama Mia 2 and I was spectacularly let down there. However, this week a video was released on YouTube to a song from The Greatest Showman and although there is no connection to the film I will be looking through rose-coloured spectacles everytime I see Hugh Jackman in a ringmaster’s suit. If you have tissues – be prepared to use them.

Beautiful – non?

I know I have said it so many times before but it bears repeating. When did we decide that we “normal” people are Kings of the World and we decide only “Normals” get the chance to even live? How did we come to a place where it is a huge decision to bring up a child with extra needs – any extra needs – because our society is not set up to cope?

BTW – this is not about abortion which is a completely different debate. It’s about the way we measure society/worth/achievments. It is all skew wiff. 

One of the many things we saw Jesus do was subvert the norm. His whole life seemed to me to be a call to see things as his Father saw them and that is NOT how we see things.

• When a woman accused of adultery is brought to Jesus, he challenges the right to justice and persues mercy. He asks the woman about her accusers and listens to her reply. (Hmmmm. Drums fingers on chin) He calls for a changed life and asks people to look within themselves at their motives.
• When people asked Jesus what sin a man or his family had committed to give a reason for his illness. Jesus replies – neither. Sometimes things happen so that God can operate in a situation and wake people up to what is important. 
• I don’t think that Jesus was bothered about the desecration of the Temple by people turning it into a marketplace. Isn’t what upset him more the blockage that the moneychangers were causing to people’s road to the Father – their prayers, their chance to be heard?

Do you know what I want to be? (I will not ask if you care because the answer may be personally upsetting) I want to be the person who learns to see things differently and sticks her oar in to try and make it so. It’s quite difficult sometimes – even in Christian circles. we have decided that perfect families with perfect, Christian children are to be pursued, sometimes to the exclusion of the struggling, the lost, the lonely, the single etc etc

I remember having a particularly good guest speaker at our church one night. He was warm, funny and engaging and went down really well. It was therefore a bit of a shock to discover that, after most Sunday night preaches, he would go out onto the streets looking for his addict son to make sure that he was safe. He rarely mentioned it when he visited churches. He found that people used to give him that “Wonder what went on there to bring that on” look. (BTW quite chuffed that our pastor went out with him that night) I also remember someone coming out to me and wisely pointing out that the last place he wanted to be, while he was working things through, was church – with all the certain condemnation that would bring. I had to admit that he was right. These are the difficult realities of life. I just think it would be brilliant to do everything to make a world where those who are dealing with enough don’t have to deal with more discomfort than they need to. And those who aren’t really dealing with anything apart from having to fit into people’s strange expectations just get to get on and love their lovely children without society feeling that it is doing them a favour. 

As you were.

FOW2 – It’s National Poetry Day

Me –  I hate poetry

FOW 2 – You don’t hate poetry. No one hates poetry.

Me – I do. Life’s too short. All that wondering what people are reeely saying or meaning. Blah.

Didn’t you do poetry at school?

Yup. John Betjeman. De da. De Dum. De Dah. About my limit. Although I never did give a monkeys about Miss Joan Hunter Dunn. Then there were the War Poets. Just so depressing. Eleven years old and at the end of English I was trying to do myself a damage with a milk straw.

Not a lot of laughs, I’ll give you that. Maybe you were too young? What about nonsense verse or limericks?

Ha ha. “The boy stood on the burning deck, picking his nose like mad. He rolled it into a great big ball and threw it at his dad.”

Ugh. That’s one of grandad’s and it’s disgusting. What about open verse?

Ok. I like “There was a young girl from Dundee, who was stung on her leg by a wasp. When asked “Did it hurt?” She said “No not a lot. He can do it again if he likes.”

That is NOT open verse

Everyone is an expert. 

(Leaving room and going upstairs) People who don’t like poetry have no soul. 

(Shouted upstairs) Well that’s me then. Oh and by the way I always thought “They TUCK you up your Mum and Dad” would have been a better line actually.

Wanders into kitchen harrumphing. Stops. Gets out old King James Bible. Thumbs  through and finds

Oh that thou wouldest rend the heavens, that thou wouldest come down, that the mountains might flow down at thy presence, Isaiah 64

And…Preserve me, God, for in you do I take refuge.
My soul, you have said to Yahweh, “You are my Lord.
    Apart from you I have no good thing.” (Psalm 16)

And..By the rivers of Babylon we sat and wept when we remembered Zion. There on the poplars we hung our harps, for there our captors asked us for songs, Psalm 137

I have been reading and loving these things all my life. I am, in fact, a very deep and spiritual person with a strong and poetic soul. So there. 

Happy Poetry day