A Pebbly New World

Endcliffe Park 

Saturday afternoon I discovered a pebbly new world round the back of the Kingdom Hall. We were having a training afternoon, with one of the brothers down from HQ teaching us the new Inspection and Maintenance programme for Kingdom Halls worldwide.  At one point we were divided into 6 groups and us in the AirCon maintenance group all trooped round the back of the Hall to inspect the air vents.

I had never been round there before.  I suspect I may not be of the stuff of which great explorers are made.

Anyway, it was all beautifully organised, as always. And will be very effective.  But how much use Jean and I will be in the Inspection teams I don't know, as our eyes are not what they were.  Frankly, nothing is what it was. But who knows, we may find a way to help.

I was very tired though and it was hard to concentrate.  Everything seemed to catch up with me that afternoon and I just wanted to stay on the sofa and sleep, but I am very glad I didn't.  It was a lovely and comforting reminder of how beautifully things will be organised when the Kingdom of God is ruling over the earth.

We had travelled back on the Friday, after a hectic couple of weeks oop North. Emotionally hectic too.  It was a difficult journey, motorways at log jam and on one of the smaller roads a 3 car pile up held us up for a long time, while police cars and an ambulance tried to make their way through.  I just hope no-one was killed, or too badly injured.  But what an uncertain and frightening world it is.

We had a quiet Boxing Day. Col and I took Doris out for her morning walk in Endcliffe Park. And I was touched that she kept waiting patiently for me as I hobbled along. So perhaps it was more a case of Col and Doris taking me out for my walk?  Everything was wet, dank and muddy. And not nearly as cold as it should be this tme of year.   Grateful for no ice though! .

Endcliffe Park

The 25th - the day itself - went off well, but was very tiring. Nute produced a turkey dinner with all the trimmngs you can imagine for 11 of us. And the little granddaughters seemed to have a wonderful time. Captain B started them off on "I spy" and that was a big and ongoing success.  I am hoping we might try the pencil and paper game Consequences the next time we get together.

Jacks came round for supper on Saturday night - fish and chips (or in my case, fish sans chips) - we shopped for her and for us this morning - and tomorrow I hope to be out on the preaching work with Jean. So we are getting back into our routine.

In a couple of days it will be 2020...  these milleniums don't last the way they used to.

An Alien Bea-ing

We got to Bea's door on Tuesday to find it open and, there,  advancing down the hall, silhouetted against the light, was an alien creaure with tendrils on its head!   Before I could scream     WHAT HAVE YOU DONE WITH AUNT BEA!!    it thankfully resolved itself into Bea with a tinsel headress on (don't ask).   And we had a lunch of homemade veggie soup (very tasty), followed by apple pie and custard. Bea had bought me some soy cream, which was very thoughtful.  It is not a bad substitute for cream, which is something I can't risk because of my arthritis.

Anna - now a lovely young student - dropped in on her way to meet friends in town and her parents came round for coffee and/or mulled wine after lunch.  We came away with beer and paintings!  Two Bea masterpieces.

We had come up on Monday the 16th, as Ken's funeral was on the 17th.  As I said in the blogpost it was beautifully organised and it went very well.   Penny came over on Thursday and stayed till Friday and we had a productive writing session.    Saturday we planned to visit the York Branch, but I wasn't able to go due to a suddenly recurring and worrying health problem - reminding me that I am now in the Death Zone (under the "threescore years and ten" rule).  Sunday, Himself went treasure hunting and Nute and I picked up the shopping from M & S. If we hadn't arrived 15 minutes before it opened we would have had no chance of parking - and we were nowhere near the front of the queue as it was.  What a frenzied business Christmas is now.  We had the Dronfield Branch round for lunch - crackling pork, and chocolate cake (courtesy of Helen). Captain B had his heated up in the evening.

Monday it was over to Jen's for our annual Veggie feast, which is just what is wanted at this time of year.  Her garden looked splendid, as did Bea's - and yet this is, in theory, a bleak time of year.   Weatherwise it has rained and rained, with some breaks of wintery sunlight. The lacework of the empty trees looks splendid against all weather backgrounds.

And Tuesday was the visit to Bea's, where this blog started.

Coober Pedy

I was catapulted back to my youth ("Wow! That was some powerful catapult" I seem to hear Captain Butterfly murmuring in the distance)  when we watched a programme about Aussie Opal Hunters on Quest.    When my brother was a little lad I remember he read about Coober Pedy where the Opal miners lived underground because of the searing heat, as they hunted and mined for the beautiful gemstone.  If it is a gemstone - it is a strange and glorious substance made from, well, compressed water, if I understood it right.

Perhaps I didn't. Anyway, John said that Coober Pedy is where he wanted to go and to live when he grew up.

And many many years ago, my bro did go to Australia to work. (Though not in the Opal mines.)  He is now an Australian - has been for many years - as are his wife and children.  I must ask him if he ever went to his dream town.    It is a bleak spot as it is so heavily mined. But I can see the fascination of the opal hunt.

We, the Captain and his missus, had got rather addicted to Aussie Gold Hunters - but its not on at the moment.  I hope there will be another series.

I had developed a bit of a crush on young Jake from the Dirt Dogs ("Just don't sit on the poor guy's lap or he'll find out what crush is",  said Captain Butterfly gloomily, seething with jealousy - or was it concern for Jake?)  Poor Jake.   Clearly he would much rather have some gorgeous 18 year old blonde having a crush on him (and I am sure many do).  And having spent innumerable blogs moaning about my age, my arthritis, etc etc, I don't think I am going to fool anyone in cyberspace.  And I have no chance in real life.

In any case, my partner Captain B is a treasure hunter too.  I must be attracted to the type.   He was out hunting yesterday and found -after a long days searching - what he calls a hammie - a hammered coin to you and me.  Its a pretty silver coin in reasonable condition. A little work of art, which I am sure will appear on his blog in due course.

Remembering Ken

seascape by Ken Reah

The day of Ken's funeral (on Tuesday) was a cold, damp and grey day.  There is a word for that - when the weather is in sympathy with the occasion -which I can't remember, but which Ken would have known. He was not only an artist, but also a linguist.

The service was just right. Lots of people came - family, friends, many of whom have been towers of strength - Helen and Jennifer coming outstandingly to mind.

Ken's son in law spoke, his youngest daughter spoke, his stepson spoke, his grandaughter spoke, and my sister spoke too - getting through it almost without faltering.

Among the readings was a poignant poem about Autumn by his oldest daughter, and this one written by Ken himself.

              It's untitled.  And its by Ken Reah.

                "Call this summer?" he says.
            "You wouldn't think it was June."
       "No," I said, "you wouldn't, would you?

               Our dogs, dripping,
       Conduct their circular civilities, nose to tail,
   Then, shaking off the surplus, go their separate ways -
            So many wet things to sniff.
   Through the curtain of drips through the brim of my hat
            I plan my route.
The dam on my left, its surface pocked by countless small explosions,
      The ducks, unfazed, glide through them - but no-one's
            Bought them bread, today.
      The heron stands, knee-deep, waiting.
The unrelenting rain drums down upon my hat, as, exchanging rueful grins
            We too separate and go our ways.
      I have a Gene Kelly moment, and, with first a glance around,
            dance a step or two, before the old man in me intervenes,
                Before hysteria takes over.

That poem contains an essence of Ken. Some people would just see a gloomy walk in the park in the rain.  But he saw how wonderful it all is.  He really truly appreciated the gift of life, of being on this beautiful wondrous planet, in this splendid universe.

And that is what makes me hope that one day, when the time comes, his Creator will wake him from the dreamless sleep of death, during the Thousand Years.  The wait will not matter to Ken who now knows nothing of the years going by over his head.

The Service ended with his youngest daughter (who has a lovely voice) singing "I must go down to the Sea again" - followed by a short tape of lark song.     Ken loved the sea, and he loved birds.   So that made me think how wonderful if, a few hundred years from now, Ken wakes up to a sky full of larksong and the sound of the sea in the distance.

Julia

Julia left this morning. Col ran her to the Station and then set off for his day's Treasture Hunting.  She arrived Friday lunchtime. We had chicken veggie soup (homemade), chilled out in the afternoon when we did some catching up. She has had a harrowing year - losing both her brother and her father, and of course we have just lost Ken, our brother in law.

It was lovely to see each other again.  We have known her for over 30 years, and shared the strange Expat life together.  She treated us to a meal at The Steam Packet on Friday night - us girls had goats cheese and beetroot tart and Col had escalope of pork. It was excellent.   We will go again soon I hope.

We walked there and back - its a nice river side walk. And we did pretty much the same walk on Saturday to the Art Cafe, where we had coffee and I got some pretty things for the little grandaughters. Jacks came for supper, which was Cooksed rather than cooked. We had Thai chicken curry, with two kinds of rice - sticky and egg fried - veggie spring rolls, and the usual ice-cream to follow.  Then we watched the Final of Strictly Come Dancing.   I think I am tired of the levels of hysteria within the programme - and the general level of luvvie-dom.

Ken's funeral soon.

We have all had sadness this year, and of course health issues.

When I was a little girl - back in the olden days - I used to wonder why the grown-ups used to talk to each other about their medications and what the doctor said to them when they had their tubes tilted* all the time.

Wonder no more Sue Knight.

*with apologies and acknowledgments to Victoria Wood for that wonderful line.

The Sadness that Belongs to the World

From the first part of Janet Frame's brilliant autobiography "To the Is-Land":

"I remember a gray day when I stood by the gate and listened to the wind in the telegraph wires.  I had my first conscious feeling of an outside sadness, or it seemed to come from outside, from the sound of the wind moaning in the wires. I looked up and down the white dusty road and saw no-one. The wind was blowing from place to place past us, and I was there, in between, listening. I felt a burden of sadness and loneliness as if something had happened or begun and I knew about it.  I don't think I had yet thought of myself as a person looking out at the world; until then, I felt I was the world. In listening to the wind and its sad song, I knew I was listening to a sadness that had no relation to me, which belonged to the world."

The sadness that belongs to the world.  I often used to wonder about it.  Why?  What had happened?

Janet Frame actually goes on to answer the question she raises - but I don't know if she herself made the connection.  She is still very young, and is talking of visits to and from the uncles and the aunts. She says:

"The aunts were still there, still talking of Up Central and Middlemarch (Middlemarch, Lottie) and Inchclutha; and the uncles with their shy Frame look and the particular set of the lips that said, 'Everything should be perfect. Why isn't it?'"

Everything should be perfect. Why isn't it?

With Ken's funeral coming up, I have been thinking about this.  When God wakes him from the sleep of death, everything will be perfect. And then our real lives here on the earth can begin.  At the moment it is all a struggle, ending in the defeat of death.   Then when God's Kingdom is ruling over the earth and that connection, so fatally broken in Eden, is restored, we will be living, not dying.

We don't even know yet what that is like. Or how wonderful it will be. I hope we will all find out though.

Julia - exPlanetExpat - arrives tomorrow for a stay.  She has had her share of sadness this year, with two deaths in the family.  We have known her (and her lovely rescue animals), I guess for about 35 years. 

I hope to be out on the field service this morning - and managed to do a bit yesterday afternoon.  Very strange weather yesterday. One minute the storm would be with us - lashing rain, wild seas - then it would calm down and there would be a wonderful light - so beautiful that I thought surely if the creation had not already told me of its Grand Creator, it would wake me up now!

So please, everyone, wake up while there is still time.

The Strange Disappearance

There was a severe shortage of elders at the Kingdom Hall on Sunday morning.   Where were they?  Was this a mystery to rival the Marie Celeste?     Were there half drunk cups of coffee in the small school?  Nibbled biscuits hastily pushed aside?   No. 

In fact, all our elders had gone for a day of training.

Happily we have a lot of brothers in the congregation, so the meeting was conducted well and we were taught properly.   We will all benefit from this day of training as the years go on.

I took the sister I chauffeur to the meeting for a Waitrose shop and a trip to the cash machine.  And did a tiny shop myself.  Jacks came round in the evening and we had lasagne (courtesy of Cooks), and meditteranean veggies which were actually cooked by moi.  I had intened to cheat - I am so tired these days - and bought a tray of read-prepared ones during the week.  But they were not very tasty.

And it is hardly difficult - cut up some veggies, sprinkle with herbs, drizzle with olive oil, put in oven for an hour.   They were a big success and every scrap went.  We had our usual (these days) mini choc-ice finish.

Monday, was lovely and sunny, but apparently there is a storm on the way - the trees in our gardens were whirling about, and the waves on the Channel were spectacular.

And today the storm is here. But the valiant Jean and I managed to put in an hour in the field service this morning- two return visits, a warm welcome from both, plus a cup of tea and biscuits.   And I used the extra card I had bought to drop in to Ruth who has just lost her husband.   She, Jean and I know that a good husband is a treasure.