Zylmor, Dromdrevc and life as it is

Writing - both fiction and non-fiction, really bad poetry, photos, paintings and stuff


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Jul 31, 2012

Cassie

Cassandra

Cassandra's mother told her 'she had it all' often but Cass didn't feel like that. She felt crap most of the time especially around people. Introspecting herself was a ritualistic beginning to her day which continued as she interacted with her peers. She aimed to be normal but continually fell short. She had inherited her mother's long willowy frame and strong bone structure so she was naturally the person that peoples' eyes followed in a room, added to her genetic gifts she'd added a short spiky pink hairstyle and dramatic black eyeshadow and pillarbox red lipstick. 

This was her amour, kept her aloof by design. The pills helped too, AJ, her boyfriend supplied her with uppers to get through the day and then in the evenings they'd hook up in the abandoned warehouse where he lived and smoke spliffs till dawn. weekends were best, they experimented with tabs that AJ or Spencer procured with the help of the leaning tower of Todd. Last week the four of them had got stopped and searched, Spencer had the tabs but the local police didn't recognise them for what they were and laughed at him with mickey mouse paper. 

She thought back to her one bad trip, she had been so scared in a weird  existential kind of a way. She got chased by a giant rat with snakes coming out of its eyes. AJ held her, while she got through it and fed her sugar mice when she got hungry in the middle of the night.

Cassandra Teasdale lived with her mother, the local GP, and her older sisters, Veronica and Gertrude, although they were away at university most of the time. Cassie would be joining them at Edinburgh if the family had their way but she wanted to go to RADA, she wanted to be an actress. 

She could never tell them, she could not even tell AJ, she laughed at herself when she thought of it, her, the shy wallflower - an actress. One more year of school though and she would have to tell someone...

drink{temper}

Ginger Cordial

Boil in a brass pan, 1/2lb of best ginger, a little bruised in six quarts of water, down to a gallon.

Strain the liquor through a flannel.

Put it on the fire with 3lbs of loaf sugar: let it remain until it nearly boils.

In this state add a little of the liquor made from hay saffron to colour it, and it is then fit for use

 

Jenna read and re-read the recipe, written in English to be sure but an English she didn't understand. She knocked on Mrs Piecefellow's door and showed her the recipe. She had questions about quarts and loaf sugar. Mrs Piecefellow laughed. 

Jenna came home with new found knowledge and rewrote the recipe:

To make Ginger Cordial,

  in a saucepan big enough put in twelve pints of water and 8oz of ginger cut up and squashed to release the flavour.

Boil until liquid is reduced to eight pints. Strain through muslin or a jelly bag.

Put back into the saucepan with 3lbs granulated sugar and warm until dissolved.

At the same time put a few strands of saffron in a little hot water, strain and add to the saucepan.

Bottle and store.

Ginger

Later after completing her first batch Jenna contemplated if she could really do it, if she could really follow Great Aunt Edna's wishes and sell concoctions from the book and break even. She had started with a relatively easy one and at that she'd run to Mrs P's at the first sign of difficulty. Was she capable? Could she open a shop?

There was already so many things on her to do list, stuff that she had never got around to and newer stuff that needed immediate attention. Deborah ....

fate deplore

Sam1

These weak imperfect Beings scarce enjoy
  E'er Death's rude Hand our blooming Hopes destroy:
  With Lynx's Eyes each others Faults we find,
  But to our own how few who are not blind
  How long is Art, how short, alas! our Time! }
  How few who can above the Vulgar climb, }
  Whose stronger Genius reach the True Sublime! }
  With tedious Rules which we our selves transgress,
  We make the Trouble more who strive to make it less.
    But meanly why do you your Fate deplore,
  Yet still write on?—Why do a Thousand more,

from

 AN EPISTLE TO A FRIEND CONCERNING POETRY.

By SAMUEL WESLEY.

 

 

swimming, apples and dreams

I swam four lengths today, it may not seem a lot. The last time I swam was February 2011, I swam a length and a half before giving up. Thirty years ago I would swim twenty, thirty, forty lengths, I remember almost completing two miles once. Four lengths is a start, it's a not giving up, it is a beginning.

I have given up many times. I gave up my career in cardiology, I feel sometimes like a character in an Anita Shreve novel - walking away on the sand, like Reginald Perrin - walking into the sea, like me - walking away from my job. Whilst picking over apples today in the supermarket I met Ursula. We used to meet for coffee every day in the hospital, we gossiped, moaned, ranted for half an hour and then went back to our different jobs. Ursula gossiped while I chose my Pink Lady apples, she moaned as I found ripe bananas amongst the green ones aand she ranted as I decided between habenero and scotch bonnet chillies. I nodded, tutted, sighed and with much arm waving conveyed that I was listening to her litany of woe. As we parted company I was still nodding, reassuring her that her diffiulties had found an empathetic ear. It cost nothing and I gained so much

I may have walked away for the wrong reasons but this life, my life, now. Priceless. The "Mastercard" ad that does this long shopping list of items and then says 'seeing my baby smile for the first time... priceless'. In my messy messed up way I made the right decision, with God's help. And I am able to swim and cycle, meet my husband for lunch and attend bible study all before one o'clock on a Friday.

I had to pass on a dream message this week, no that's not true, I didn't have to, no one forced. I chose to pass on the dream message. I gave it in bite sized chunks and what the person does with it is their decision. I love dreaming, day dreams, night dreams, I like the feel of the fuzziness, it plays to my scattiness.

So in my swimming scattiness, my dreamlike trance, my picking over apples I feel God is with me. Familiar goosebumps began on Friday shortly after writing this piece, so much so I stuck it in drafts till I could work out the issue. It's the giving up or the not giving up, the deciding to push on or pull away, the overwhelming urge to do what I am called to do (positive) against the (negative) holding back, fear of failure, fear of trying, fear of not being acceptable. 

Being free in Christ, being free to submit to the Lord, being free to be all - in, total surrender, whatever is required I will do. Spending the month in structured prayer, rather than random prayer before tackling the call

Swim1

Submit yourselves, then, to God. Resist the devil, and he will flee from you. Come near to God and he will come near to you. Wash your hands, you sinners, and purify your hearts, you double-minded. Grieve, mourn and wail. Change your laughter to mourning and your joy to gloom. 10 Humble yourselves before the Lord, and he will lift you up. James 4:7-10

Jul 28, 2012

stopping/starting

I am not allowed to run, I can't jog. I can walk but sometimes my back goes, or my leg goes and then I am stuck up a mountain with nowhere to go.

Runner1

I do run, sometimes I walk from Carker to Ballahantouragh and back. There is a stretch of road from Jack The Block to Bill Hill, it is relatively straight, tarmacked and flat (as flat as you are going to get in Kerry) and I love to just open up my chest, fill my lungs with God's air and run. I have to face the consequences, occasionally immediate muscle pulling in my right calf (four miles limping home - not good), later on in the day my back might go into spasm, like David I lie on the floor face down speaking to God.

Consequences are what we have to live with once we have made a decision. To have a baby. To get married. To not have a baby. To not get married. To change jobs, to not change jobs. To argue over who spilt the milk or not. When there is a tragedy like a road accident there is always a story around it. The people who normally take that road who for some reason didn't that morning. The people who took that road for the first time ever. The woman who was going into town but then remembered she had left the oven on and turned round. The man who got delayed behind a tractor and couldn't get past. 

Safety governs our lives more than ever before. Trees are no longer climbed, bikes aren't ridden without helmets, cars cannot freewheel down hills anymore. We don't walk in the rain because we might get wet. We don't swim in the sea because there is no lifeguard. We "Disneyland" our lives with rules above our heads saying "mind the gap" "look out" "caution" "achtung". I remember running downhill in a wee race with a couple of schoolfriends at a teachers house and arriving home with blood all down one side as I had slid on some scree. 

Think about it - I was a teacher's house (not allowed anymore), I was running down a steep hill (use the rail, use the steps, be careful, don't run, don't hurt yourself) and I went home head to foot in blood (clean it up, don't touch it, get her to the doctor, to the hospital, call the insurance company, get compensation)

One time I was cycling on a busy main road when some stupid child I was with touched wheels with mine and I ended up sprawled in the road in the line of oncming traffic. I survived {obviously} to tell the tale.

Think about it - I was cycling (no helmet, one brake, no gears) on a main road (use the side road, use the cycling path, don't stand up, don't have fun, don't feel God's wind in your hair) and an accident occurred, cars had to brake, had to swerve, had to move (hit her, the insurance will cover it) 

One time I got into a very precarious situation, no details need to be given, where my mind had to decide between yes and no. I chose yes and survived. i lived with the consequences of not only saying yes but getting myself in that precarious situation.

Look at the line of cars outside schools - we don't even let our children walk to school, not even with us. My elderly neighbours used to walk two miles to school across ditches (they could fall in), across fields (they could step in something, across lanes (a vehicle could run them over) stepping stones over the river (oh don't go there - they could fall in, get wet, yah de yah)

Kyla1a

So I am not allowed to run but sometimes I do:

because life is too short not to feel God's wind in your hair, to feel your body straining to go faster, higher, longer - no matter what the consequences maybe.

Some times we are asked to jump in or jump out are you ready to do that? Or are you worried about injuries, safety? Will you jump?

Jump1

I press on to reach the end of the race and receive the heavenly prize for which God, through Christ Jesus, is calling us.

Philippians 3:14

Jul 27, 2012

lilian part one

As I bent down, once again creating another stook I cursed my husband. Freaking turf, it was bad with company but all this bending and stretching in the dry wind on top of the bog was crap without him. I’ll get this row done and go see how the bog tea is brewing, three hours of this back breaking labour calls for the special tea that tastes like the milk and honey of the Promised Land. Oh Dan, I do so miss him.

It was his words that ran through my mind like a rural rule book, “Girl, a fierce day at the bog, saw young Jerry Pa, what a scoundrel! His father, a great man, will be reeling in his grave. His turf’ll be wet and heavy that’s for sure. It’ll never draw fire, that’s for sure. You should’ve seen him, the cocky little sod. No turning or footing, making some giant stook at the edge of the bank like one of them sculptures on the side of the road. Tis no way to treat the sods. Ye have to take time, turn it, leave it to dry in the wind for at least two weeks, then foot it.”

“What’s a foot Dan?”

I was a naïve city girl, civilised, used to imported Polish smokeless coal. We were just married, Dan had said not to go up to the bog this first year because the midges would know I was a wee blow-in. Till he met me, well no till we started courting, as he put it, Dan was a fully paid up member of the bachelor club with thirty five years under his belt, never had time, so he said, for the girls in the village and then they all got themselves married or moved away.

According to village gossip I was the flighty piece from the city, twenty two years in my cotton socks. The old men of the village had me pegged as a gold-digger, only in it for Dan’s cash, they warned him frequently about my feminine wiles.

If they only knew how we met; six years previous to our wedding I was actively running away from home. I was a bit mussed up, sitting on the train, no clear plan, just to get away. Dan sat down opposite but when the train lurched to a stop we bumped heads and in the ensuing apologies we began to talk. He chatted to me like I was a person, not like mam always treating me like a child. Told me all about his trip to the city to see a solicitor. He was chuffed to bits because Auntie Cissie had left him a few acres and a cottage with a chimney.

“Don’t all houses have chimneys?”

“Ah, in the city you probably get them without don’t you. Those on the gas, or electric? In the country it means you have a wee bit of bog. Each bog was split up and if you had a house in the area on the day they split you got a strip of bog. The saying goes ‘the bank goes with the chimney’. New house don’t got banks.”

He told me about his Auntie Cissie and her south-east facing bank of turf, her couple of acres of mature trees and her house built in 1945 when Uncle Peter came home. Cissie was the only one who knew he painted, he’d wanted to go to college, but there was no money and he daren’t have told his daddy so he got work as a carpet fitter in the nearby town and began to save.

When the train started again we shared our food and in a very serious voice Dan asked for my address, not my phone number, not that I would’ve given an old man my phone number, but he asked for my address. I felt so grown up writing out: 13 Poplar Crescent, Mayfield, Cork. He folded the paper and put it in his wallet then produced a fiver. He told me to go home, he said if I didn’t go home I’d never get his letter. I reluctantly agreed although I was looking forward to receiving mail.

He wrote, it arrived two weeks later, full of news from his new house, full of plans, he asked my opinion on colours and asked a whole bunch of questions about school and home. I wrote straight back telling him all the goss from school, tales about our Darro, my little troublesome brother, Mammy and her hips and Daddy and his allotment. I began to tell him how I hated school and how I loved my Nana who died earlier that year.  I had filled four A$ pages when I wrote, write back soon.

Dan got my head around school, slowly in the letters he suggested careers, courses, subjects. We wrote to each other by return, never letting a week go without a letter dropping on the mat in either house. I did okay in my leaving and got a place at the institute of technology doing business. He began to come up to Cork on the odd Saturday, we’d have lunch in the old Roches Stores and then off to the pictures on Grand Parade. On fine days we went for long walks by the Lee out to the Carrigrohane Straight.

He’d been made redundant, people were putting in wooden floors and there was little call for carpets and he had no prospects of getting another job. Auntie Cissie’s house was being transformed and each visit he’d regale me with tales of windows, loft conversions and insulation thanks to his savings and redundancy package. Dan described everything so well I could almost see the cottage; one long hallway with the rooms coming off it on both sides. On the left was a den, a single bedroom and the master. On the right was a small kitchen with a new extension housing a scullery and utility room. The bathroom was next and a study, finally another single bedroom. The loft extension was Dan’s studio, his painting was still hidden from the world but now he had the space to explore his artistic streak. Outside, raised beds growing veg, fruit bushes and trees. Chickens, ducks and a bad tempered goose had been joined recently by a female goat.

On my nineteenth birthday Dan arrived in his new acquisition, an old van. We ate in a Chinese Restaurant and over coffee Dan put a small jewellery box in front of me.

“Lilian, will ye marry me?”

“I don’t know, yes, no, yes, I think, I mean we haven’t even kissed.”

Dan smiled shyly and suggested we take care of that straight away. Of course I knew Dan was the man for me, I had always known.

Jul 26, 2012

song

Your unfailing love Lord                       

Drenches me in mercy                        
Your great compassion Lord                 

Wipes out my transgression                 

(Chorus)

Cleanse my soul Lord                          

Heal me O Lord                                          

Remove all the                                   

 iniquity                                             

 

Your righteousness O Lord                   

Is true and just, my King                     

In your presence I come                     

With praise in my mouth Lord

               

Cleanse my soul Lord                          

Heal me O Lord                                          

Remove all the                                   

 iniquity

 

(Bridge)

Teach me wisdom in my heart Lord               

In trials I will praise you O Lord            

In danger I will worship you                 

Joy and gladness will fill my heart

Cleanse my soul Lord                          

Heal me O Lord                                          

Remove all the                                   

 Iniquity

 

Based on Psalm 51

Seagrass

Jul 24, 2012

tea sipping

Sadness seeped into her pores with each sip of tea. Not sad enough to do anything about it, more an ennuic sadness, an underlying symptom of a greater problem. Rarely she was moved to tears, silent pretty tears would trickle down her face barely even registering in her brain, not recognisable to the other tea sippers.

It was the other people that made her sad, work was her life, she had no friends, no family. Her colleagues avoided her, as if lonliness was catching. When she caught herself thinking about it she breathed deeply and moved onto another topic. Of course she had a former family, she had sisters and brothers, a mother and father; by now she might have a deceased mother and father, she could have neices and nephews. Staying on theme, when the tears came she thought about her immediate loss of family, her husband and child, a girl, Sophia.

Sophia would be nine now and probably had a new mammy to look after her. Stacy, for so many years, unable to care for herself let alone a baby. She had walked out, just as she had done years before. Two families, left behind, completely oblivious of each others existence.

She was not going to have a third family. Work was her family, the imaginations of her mind developed families for the people she helped on the customer service counter. Always cheerful to the customers, always silent outside of that parameter, she avoided contact, shunned friendly advances and though she occasionally allowed tears to fall down her cheek. She remained alone by choice, alone by need, alone.

Jul 23, 2012

dare you

We need to take a risk.

It’s easy to sit in church and say “yes Lord, anything for you Lord”

It isn’t as easy on a rainy Monday afternoon and yet

This world needs a wave of risk-takers, who have the courage to say “YES LORD! Pick me!”

Kids are always daring each other to go higher, farther, longer. They mess up, get split lips, bruised knees and egos.

BUT

They take a risk, they are all – in.

Often parents will counter with “would you jump in the lake if they dared you?”

BUT

That’s what we need to do.

Go all – in

Jump out of our comfort zone

Dive into the unknown

Follow our Lord

Take a risk

He dares you

He dares me

Be daring

Live and be alive, even on rainy days. Take time to really listen to where the Lord wants you, not on a Sunday morning with the endorphins jumping around but quietly on a Tuesday or a Wednesday or the middle of the night or in a traffic jam.

Nothing is on the proscription list, everything is available for change, for movement, for being still.

Give time

Give cash

Give yourself

Give stuff

Give ideas

Give yourself

Isaiah 6

In the year that King Uzziah died, I saw the Lord, high and exalted, seated on a throne; and the train of his robe filled the temple.  Above him were seraphim, each with six wings: With two wings they covered their faces, with two they covered their feet, and with two they were flying. And they were calling to one another:

 

“Holy, holy , holy is the Lord Almighty;

    the whole earth is full of his glory.”

 At the sound of their voices the doorposts and thresholds shook and the temple was filled with smoke.

 

 “Woe to me!” I cried. “I am ruined! For I am a man of unclean lips, and I live among a people of unclean lips, and my eyes have seen the King, the Lord Almighty.”

 

 Then one of the seraphim flew to me with a live coal in his hand, which he had taken with tongs from the altar. With it he touched my mouth and said, “See, this has touched your lips; your guilt is taken away and your sin atoned for. ”

 

Then I heard the voice of the Lord saying, “Whom shall I send? And who will go for us? ”

 

And I said, “Here am I. Send me!”

 

He said, “Go and tell this people:

 

“‘Be ever hearing, but never understanding;

    be ever seeing, but never perceiving.’

 Make the heart of this people calloused;

    make their ears dull

    and close their eyes.[a]

Otherwise they might see with their eyes,

    hear with their ears,

    understand with their hearts,

and turn and be healed.”

Then I said, “For how long, Lord?”

 

And he answered:

 

“Until the cities lie ruined

    and without inhabitant,

until the houses are left deserted

    and the fields ruined and ravaged,

 until the Lord has sent everyone far away

    and the land is utterly forsaken.

 And though a tenth remains in the land,

    it will again be laid waste.

But as the terebinth and oak

    leave stumps when they are cut down,

    so the holy seed will be the stump in the land.”

Jul 22, 2012

geeks in {hot} water

What's a girl to do? I am a geek hidden behind a blonde exterior, but geek is my language. I love to speak it, the Polgar sisters were taught Esperanto, as I was as a child. I don't like it, it makes sense from a logic POV.

BUT

language is beautiful in it's natural form. Sometimes a phrase comes from Esperanto that then means something to the greater population - "Insulo de la Rozoj,"  but my favourite is drako-reĝo and in another lifetime I wrote a story about one. Having said that, Esperanto is not a language I know now.

Some people don't understand "geek" because it is more than just a language it is a lifestyle that some of us manage to intermingle with normality and some of us don't. We are given a problem and we very quickly evaluate the possibilities and make a decision on the best resolution. It does not conform to social niceties, it is only concerned with a logical result.

Today I had such a problem, I was given all the negative data and chose a course of action that resulted in "that" look and that sound of exasperation. Oops I have ignored social convention but got a good result for me.

One person in the entire world thinks something bad about me, the rest don't know. I don't agree with the "bad" and given the same set of circumstances I would do the same again. It wasn't a sin it was a social un-nicety.

Jesus was not one to follow the crowd, he had the crowd following him. He made waves, he quietly created fuss in the right places whilst be so compassionate in the "bad" places. The incident reminded me that I am not a happy-clappy, I am in the swamp at the edges of society, speaking geek, living in Jubilee.

BECAUSE

The Lord wants me too

2 Peter 1:2-4
Grace and peace be yours in abundance through the knowledge of God and of Jesus our Lord.  His divine power has given us everything we need for a godly life through our knowledge of him who called us by his own glory and goodness. Through these he has given us his very great and precious promises, so that through them you may participate in the divine nature, having escaped the corruption in the world caused by evil desires.


Dare to live differently


29th November 2010 Inch Beach, Kerry

was thinking of this time today, doesn't really fit with post written  early this morning, but hey, I don't care!


I was baking yesterday, experimenting with gluten free flours. GF food is so expensive, it tastes like cardboard and I have always felt sorry for people who couldn’t munch down on the same food as me.
Having been through a dietary mishmash for the last month, I got an insight into how difficult it can be. To refuse food in Ireland is an offense, so if you have a dietary issue it has to be brought up to explain the refusal.
I had very little time for people who continually point out they can’t eat this and that. I have a friend who until she is blue in the face will say she is allergic to seeds. She isn’t, but she does have false teeth where the seeds lodge and it is an irritant. I was so exasperated one day with a moaning Minnie friend at my house that when she started with “I can’t eat …” I got her a glass of water and called it lunch. She had so many allergies, I was fed up.
BUT
Imagine being the person with the allergy, that they have to watch everything they eat. Imagine being invited out to a swanky restaurant and having to choose a plain salad with no dressing and most of the ingredients missing. A dear friend of mine who is now dead used to order a plain steak cooked without oil and lettuce and cucumber on the side, no dressing, no carbohydrates. She loved good meaty conversation so would forego the pleasures of cooking her own food at home in order to have lively discussions in restaurants.
Allergies of any description can be life threatening and being coeliac is no exception if untreated for a long time. For some reason that is not completely clear to me osteoporosis has a higher incidence in coeliacs than the general population.
So I was baking and made American biscuits with four different flours, nuts, seeds and feta cheese. The mixture was too wet so I left it to absorb for a few minutes. That worked but the chemical reaction had taken place and I knew they would rise up. How does one roll out scone mixture without flour?
I chose ground rice as my aid and in doing so discovered something wonderful and freeing. When things are difficult and you are not sure of the answer, a prayer not only gives insight but you get bonuses.
Ground rice does not make mess. There was no flour all over everything. The clean-up was much smoother and it was good. My behaviour, in keeping God central to the whole situation, keeping Him central to me, kept his honour in the right place. The glory is all for Him. Whether I make successful biscuits or flat ones doesn’t matter, because it is not about me.
My whole life is about serving the Lord, I am finding new ways to glorify His name each day. On those days when breathing in and out is enough effort I do that in reflection of His wonderful love.
I call this GF project a penance for being short with my allergy inflicted friends, but it isn’t. God doesn’t make me do penances, I am enjoying this project immensely, enjoying the happiness it brings (or not) to my GF friends. And I found joy in ground rice, go figure!
“Glory to God in the highest heaven,
    and on earth peace to those on whom his favor rests.”

Jul 21, 2012

{ODD} Rules

 

The law of the Lord is perfect, 
    refreshing the soul. 
The statutes of the Lord are trustworthy, 
    making wise the simple. 
 The precepts of the Lord are right, 
    giving joy to the heart.
The commands of the Lord are radiant,
    giving light to the eyes. 
 The fear of the Lord is pure,
    enduring forever.
The decrees of the Lord are firm,
    and all of them are righteous.

I have blogged before about rules from my childhood. I was reminded of one random rule that cropped up when I was a teenager.

Bang
Video

We got a video machine, a video recorder to be precise, we weren’t the first so it wasn’t ‘Betamax’. It sat under the “Bang and Olufsen” television looking pretty. For weeks only my stepfather was allowed to use it, because he was a man and knew these things. This from the same person who refused to allow “PONG” into the house in case it damaged his television. Technically unsavvy but with a huge dose of ego. Know anyone like that?

During the summer my stepfather would watch cricket on his television, from eleven in the morning till the close of play, intermingled with tennis, golf and ‘Match of the Day’. The curtains would be closed and summer – rain, sun or cloud would just pass him by. In fairness to the man, he was a cricketer. Played badminton and I think soccer before he injured his back, or got complacently married to my mother, or couldn’t be bothered listening to the nagging anymore and gave it all up. He gave up going to live matches, because of her.

In the midst of all this sport watching, he took out an account at the local video shop and one day I used it. I took out “The Jazz Singer” with Neil Diamond and waited for my moment to use the new video machine.

Jaz

One day Jack had a meeting with some investigative crowd, he was all spruced up in his grey suit, pink shirt, shiny shoes and opulent amounts of cologne. I waited till he was gone and snook downstairs, set up the machine, half closed the curtains. Couldn’t shut them fully because the sunshine was dancing through the nets and it looked so fairydancey on the wall.

I settled down to watch the weepiest, most sentimental movie ever made. At the height of the weeping my mother came in like a tournado, turned off everything, opened the curtains and the window and demanded an account of my day.

Net

It was wrong to close the curtains, it was wrong to watch a video, it was wrong not to make dinner. How was it wrong for me, I have no idea. In this pre-Christian part of my life, when my brain was assaulted by accusations and lies, I have to hold my hand up and admit, I didn’t react in the greatest manner.

The Bang and Olufsen television developed a problem (I took off the back and cut through some of the circuitry) and the video machine, I fed it cubes of soggy bread slowly over a period of a month and it stopped working while I was away on holiday. Hey ho, vengeful teenager, ahoy.

My dear mother tells anyone that she doesn’t watch television, but she knows not only who Jeremy Kyle is but knows the types of people on his show. Go figure.

Parents make rules, children abide by them unless they are testing the boundaries.

BUT

The rules shouldn’t change on a whim.

God’s rules are unchangeable, He is unfailing in His love for us, His mercy and grace reaches even someone like me. He is the great Creator who wants to be in relationship with me and you.

 

Jul 20, 2012

homeless in the desert

Psalm1002

What would it feel like to be without a home? That is where I found my thoughts wandering during Bible study today. Imagine being in the desert with only a tent, sometimes hungry, sometimes thirsty. Day after day, week after week, month after month, year after year. Yes, they had been promised, promised land, life.

But they couldn't see it, touch it, feel it - they could only imagine...

But they had been slaves for many, many years, they didn't have the imagination to see, they only saw problems, issues, arguments.

They backslid.

Have you? Have you ever got so far along the path but it was getting a bit uncomfortable, making you work a bit harder, asking for a little bit more of you and thne out of the corner of your eye - you see ......... (whatever turns your head - chocolate, coffee, girl, boy, drugs, drink, bingo, lotto, pornography) and because things haven't been going so well for you - YOU TAKE ANOTHER LOOK

and begin the backslide.

I had that moment in May but the extremity of what it was and where it could lead - instead of catching a break on the slide I dug deeper than I have ever dug, I put my feet firmly on the ground and said NO.

Yes, I had momentarily, for a few seconds of one day made a huge mess, but more important to me was:

Gos still wanted me, messed up, weird and crazy me and fallen - again. He used the situation I got myself into, to show me where it could lead, where I would end up, spiritually dead. I was given a seat to sit on to look at the road ahead (towards God) and the side road (towards death) and I sat on my seat for many days. Not actually to decide which way, I had already made my choice, but just to be on my knees in gratitude, praise, worship and thanks that my merciful, grace filled, loving God was willing to go where I had been to show me WCS.

We all mess up (some of us more than others) BUT we can stop the mess mid sentence, we can begin again. We can sit on the side of the road and rest, contemplating the future with God, or no future without him.

Through the arched window

I've always been spiritual but I've never had a proper context, and it took me awhile to find the proper context. It's hard to realize you can have any kind of relationship with God you want... and so I now have a punk rock relationship with God. 
Billy Corgan

Arch
Hierarchies and arches, hoops to to jump through, regulations to adhere to. 

Is this how you see church?

The building, seems to be the important factor, the bricks and mortar taking precedence over people.

We need structure, boundaries, limits but not to the extent that we can no longer breathe.

As Christians our boundaries are found in scripture, but what we also find there is grace. God's mercy is unending, we are so blessed to have such a merciful God.

Sometimes we need to hold onto the structure of church, it gets us through a time or a season.

Whilst holding onto the bricks and mortar though we have to go back to scripture, 

In him we have redemption through his blood, the forgiveness of sins, in accordance with the riches of God’s grace Ephesians 1:7


But if we walk in the light, as he is in the light, we have fellowshipwith one another, and the blood of Jesus, his Son, purifies us from all sin. 1 John 1:7

We can't fly solo, we need the fellowship of Christians. It is not just geting together for some happy-clappy singing. It is about getting real over an agape meal, sharing honestly when we are struggling with the messy stuff that crops up in our lives. 

The buildings we worship in all have regulations either written or unwritten, we can feel like we are reaching levels within the structures. I didn't realsie until today that some churches actually have levels of membership based on the courses people complete. Some call them steps others call them levels but the aim in both is to have people moving up the hierachy. 

In all the levels there are going to be messy people, do they hide the messiness more the further up they go?

 

 

Jul 18, 2012

newcreation=newlaw

I will praise you with an upright heart
    as I learn your righteous laws. Psalm 119:7

It has been a fabulously, on the edge of the seat, nail-biting ride, these last couple of years, culminating in the throwing out of the rule-book earlier this year to which I had anchored myself for over forty years.

Rules

This in itself caused problems, being free from the rules meant I was without rules for the first time ever. If you have lived by a set of rules, to not have them, brings with it freedom – yes, but also responsibility. I missed that bit for a little bit.

I knew it meant change, I just didn’t know how the change would be shaped, what it would smell like, how would it feel. I rested, waiting for the change to happen, whilst being exhilarated by the possibilities.

The rules that I lived by, were ever changing: what was okay one day was berated the next, the rules were dependent on an unstable rulemaker. Hilariously I joined a writing class with this rulemaker two years ago, just for one session and in a free writing or stream of consciousness writing I wrote about the “Throne of Rule”. My rulemaker didn’t get it (big surprise) and I wasn’t consciously making a parallel to my own life. Only now in hindsight can I see and smile wryly.

I found my new rule-book, sure I had it on my table in front of me. My bible. All the rules I ever need are there, they don’t change with the wind, with society, with the foibles of humans. The rules are there.

My favourite rules are TO LOVE and TO GO. There is such beautiful fragrant freedom in those two rules. To love everyone, including yourself, means to see everyone as equal, equally loved. The junkie in the park. The heiress in the mansion. The abbatoir. The bus conductor. The child… My friend Karen Des.. All are loved equally. All are capable of love. All can accept this wonderful love.

When you think or know you have messed up, all you have to do is go back to scripture and see if the rules apply. The rules are unchangeable. They are part of the Lord. They are part of the Word of God. They are righteous, just and truthful.

As I learn more about scripture, more about the rules I adjust my behaviour. A breakthrough occurred this week, in a group of people, I didn’t conform, I didn’t go with the crowd for fear of appearing odd, very quietly I stated I wouldn’t be joining in, I wouldn’t partake in the event, I didn’t give my reasoning. The people there assumed it was faith thing, not an addiction thing, not a past behaviour thing. Just as an alcoholic who cannot touch liquor, I cannot begin on a slippery slope for me.

The Lord wants more for me, he wants more from me. I submit to him alone and he gives me the strength to say “I won’t” and “I will”. His rules are priceless, his words are law. He has given me discernment so I can know what is right for me to do for Him. I may be living on the edge of my seat but Lord, what a ride you are giving me.

Jul 17, 2012

forward jump

Someone told me we can only move forward if we understand where we have come from. God made me cry today, a base emotional response to that overwhelming love, immeasurable grace and infinite mercy. I am an adopted daughter in the family of the Lord and sometimes the love is so raw and real that I cry my thanks.

Psalm_8

Of course I wasn’t in private, sitting on a devotion stool, or on my knees in prayer, I was walking along on a road and singing to my Lord. Did I mention I don’t do pretty? I don’t do pretty anything but certainly never pretty tears. So with swollen eyes, red and runny nose and sobs I listened instead of singing. I heard as if for the first time, I was enveloped in a beautiful sweet love.

Last night I was reminded of dreams, bad dreams showing a person as two different people, one good (seen from afar) and one bad (intimately known). The assumptions made about these dreams were twisted in fantasy for many, many years. We are given facts by our families that are full of their assumptions and we add these to our list of assumptions.

I was told that the dreams meant I was scared of being without the person. I assumed this was true. As an adult and with the Lord’s help I revisited the dreams and discovered the exact opposite was my truth. I was scared of the street angel because they were false, I was scared of the house devil because although real, the reality I lived in was frightening.

In another conversation today I explained that if someone said they didn’t love me, which would validate what I have always known, the assumption from the past that I am unlovable. That “known fact” from my past, who could love me?

God loves me! I can just jump up and down all day long saying this, knowing this, feeling this. No longer digging my heels, I am all in.

JUMP                                                                                     JUMP

JUMP                                     JUMP

JUMP

I understand where I have come from, not the official family version, but where I really came from, my truth. In this understanding I can sit in this present, content and joyful.

BUT

Sitting is not what is needed or wanted. I must move forward, heel-to-toe. Jumping, skipping, hopping, whatever my Lord requires.

Psalm 8

1 Lord, our Lord,

    how majestic is your name in all the earth!

You have set your glory

    in the heavens.

2 Through the praise of children and infants

    you have established a stronghold against your enemies,

    to silence the foe and the avenger.

3 When I consider your heavens,

    the work of your fingers,

the moon and the stars,

    which you have set in place,

4 what is mankind that you are mindful of them,

    human beings that you care for them?

5 You have made them a little lower than the angels

    and crowned them with glory and honor.

6 You made them rulers over the works of your hands;

    you put everything under their feet:

7 all flocks and herds,

    and the animals of the wild,

8 the birds in the sky,

    and the fish in the sea,

    all that swim the paths of the seas.

9 Lord, our Lord,

    how majestic is your name in all the earth!

Jul 10, 2012

{step}family

Last August my stepfather died, I was in England the day of his funeral but not at it because I did not know he had died

fragmented

was there grief, I cannot honestly be sure, there was oddness, certainly

broken

a dialogue began between his gf and me (or I as my Grandmother would say)

damaged

a memory fragment and a piece of information = knowledge that he stayed for a few days less than two miles from my home here in Kerry

ruined

did I meet him? No did I see him? Yes did I choose not to meet him? Yes

demolished

for a while I wanted to know who he stayed with, make a connection, ghostconnect

mangled

I realised today I haven't thought about it in months and I no longer care who he stayed with

fragile

why? because of the four fragment memories I have, one is me cowering, one is of his genitals (go figure) and the other one of drinking tea watching Charlton Athletic draw 4-4 at Turf Moor.

healed

 

 

everyone has a backstory, even a character in a book, some of the story is sweet (for some people), some of it is bad and then there are all shades of emotion between

thank You Lord for teaching me what being a father is.

cut

shaved legs in bath, I was girl, thirteen,

scraped too firm along the shin; shed skin

water turned pink

what a relief!

Many times in many ways; pink came

relief continued to repeat pink

my secret joy

my secret life

Jul 9, 2012

reality{bites}

I am writing a series of vignettes of the characters that will form the core of characters in {no sorry can't say it}  and I am busy knocking them into shape, making them well rounded individuals with different character traits, goals, dreams and reality.

We all carry a slightly different reality, an obstacle to one person is something to be trampled on by another. We all react differently to situations; if someone hurts me I become insular until it is resolved within myself with the Lord's help and guidance, other people have to share their hurt, spreading it out amongst other people, other people are quick to turn hurt into offense.

Yesterday I was with a group of people on an outreach mission. Such blessings, all these people were. I brought my camera and took photos of the team as I found them smiling, shining the light of the Lord in their personalities. It was captured. Still images of a light that never stays still. As we live lives for God's glory and His light shines through us, it moves to other people whilst staying within us. 


We all have the same goal, the same dream, the same reality and yet we live out that goal in different ways. Like my characters we all have different personalities, we have all come from different places literally and figuratively, different life experiences, cultural differences. Once we understand each others' motives based on personality we can rub off on one another in a good way. One person is good at organising, one person is good at teaching, another at preaching, another is a gifted musician and more are able to do the jobs that need to be done - mopping a floor, clearing a table, greeting, chatting, taking a photo.


I knew when I took the images, where they were going, that they were going to be published on the internet so I was careful and sensitive of whom I took pictures. When the people we were outreaching to arrived I put away my camera. I knew when I started to write about my characters where they were going and what they were going to do. They have been in my head ever since the incident that took Denise's life. The characters of a cojoined childhood and disjointed adulthood.

When we stop, stock still and just breathe in and out, just be in God's presence, focusing on Him alone, we feel the goal, we feel our place in it all. The byline that is increasingly becoming mine "my God wanted me, wanted someone like me to be in His family, if he wants someone like me, he really, really does want everyone, he wants you too"

And that is the bottom line, end of the contract, signature stuff. We are holy people working for God's glory in all we think do and say ready for Him to return, loving the relationship, bonded to Him.

“Now to him who is able to do immeasurably more than all we ask or imagine, according to his power that is at work within us, to him be glory in the church and in Christ Jesus throughout all generations, for ever and ever! Amen.” Ephesians 3:20-21 NIV

 

Jul 8, 2012

Roo

Roo1

Roo was tall, blonde and for a few months of the year tanned. His real name was Roderick, in primary we called him Roddy. The very first time I saw Roo he was completely naked running down the back cobbled alley behind our house, he was six and in big trouble.

He was always in big trouble, just when we thought he could breathe easy for a while, trouble would come and find him. He would come up with crazy plans that always went awry, but we didn’t care because he was fun to be with. He taught us how to shop-lift, pickpocket and house burgle. He was a natural charmer and his frizzy platinum hair made him look even more angelic. He conned neighbours, teachers, peers, he would have made a fabulously charismatic politician.

As he grew older girls would hang around at the edges of our gang, giggling and preening, trying to get Roo’s attention. Mazpa, Trace and me never thought of Roo as attractive, or maybe we didn’t want things to change we wanted to be thirteen forever. Roo and Pea went to the local secondary modern school and then at sixteen came to our school, the grammar school. That’s when we started living in each other’s pockets, Pea’s house was the usual meet up place unless my parents were on one of their trips and then everyone moved in to our house with AJ pontificating on cleanliness and Scaly Meg wafting through in diaphanous layers and her new-age entourage.

Looking back I think we were so bad to compensate for being a bit brainy, Milton joined us when we were twelve. She and I had been in the hockey team that got kicked out of the league for drinking at a county knockout and it gave her the reputation that allowed her to hang around with us. Trace never trusted her, because she came from a different part of town and she always believed Milt was there for Roo.

Roo only had eyes for Scaly Meg. Tall, skinny and appearing aloof, Scaly Meg like Roo and Pea was four years older than us. She is still alive, although she must’ve gone through ten or twenty cat lives. When I think of her, I think of a smug cat. She could ignore you for years but if she wanted you to do something she’d be all over you like a rash and make it seem she was your best friend. The stupid thing was she was so good at it, you knew you were being manipulated but you didn’t care, just were grateful for her attention.

Roo would do anything Scaly asked her, eventually as a man in his late twenties he went to prison for her and her common law husband. Trace and I were at Crown Court for that, Scaly Meg didn’t even bother to turn up. Roo was no longer lean and muscular, he was ravaged by years of injecting heroin. Pasty, flabby and his gorgeous curly blonde locks, shorn and grey. Scaly did that to him, oh I know he could have said no, he could have moved away, but he was obsessed with her so even as young as thirteen was making forays into a more adult drug life.

The first girl that did manage to stick to Roo was Milton (we were so academic and nerdy we renamed her because she was Elizabeth Minshull and Mazpa was going through an androgynous period.) In retrospect knowing she hadn’t a notion of keeping him, she did do well (she didn’t snivel or change anything in the order of what we did, later in the evenings when everyone did couple stuff they went off) and we did end our school years really good mates. She was always trying to prove herself to Roo, Pea and Trace particularly, so she would jump highest, throw furthest and party hardest. This led to the gang’s first split, although temporary, and allowed Trace that ‘I told you so’ moment.

Philosopher Todd started sniffing round me at the same time Roo and Milt got together. It was my first couple thing. I’d had one nighters and bits of fumblings but this was proper being a couple stuff. We were together one whole month, it was intense and took us both months to get over. Roo and Milton though, they went a few steps further and managed to make a baby. None of us knew until after the abortion and the group split into those who still talked to Milton and those who dismissed her. At the same time two new faces joined us, Olivia and Saar, both discovered that being bad was much more fun than studying and playing nice. They added some balance but through the rest of that school year there were tensions, arguments, fights and posturing. Our class was more of a nightmare for teachers than usual as we weren’t just against them but we created factions and counter factions, setting each other up but when the chips were down we all stayed quiet.

Milton spent the rest of her teens drunk and that’s how we ended up friends. We kept a bottle of vodka in the top bogs at school and we would meet there for French and German. Trace and Mazpa would drink in the evenings with the boys but me and Milton we drank anytime day or night. For me it was to take the edge off life, for her, I think it was the sadness. Sometimes she talked about it as if the baby lived. She was our first and only teen pregnancy, surprisingly the “good” girls got caught one after the other in 5th year. We kept in touch for a few years but distance changes relationships. After I got sent away to college it got more difficult to go home until the visits were down to births, deaths and marriages oh and of course the odd cry for help.

Roo died last May, he was an old man of forty nine. I saw him a months before he died, he remembered he knew me but couldn’t remember how. He had no recollection of his youth and most alarming he didn’t remember Scaly Meg. He had burned and bruised his brain, too many hits and too many hurts. I visited him in the hospital, Trace asked me to go, she needed to see him because their son wanted a new photo of daddy.

It is only in the hindsight and the distance of years that I can look back and see the nuances. All those times Trace had fought Roo as children and young adults, she had a secret crush on him that developed after he got out of the nick. Galen, their son, is seven, skinny and curly blonde with Trace’s sallow skin. He is going to be a stunner. Trace is philosophical about the whole love thing, they live in a kind of commune with Todd and Olivia and various walkthroughs.

Jul 7, 2012

consonant{tetragraph}

There are some concepts that come under the category of ‘too hard’ or ‘old-fashioned’ or ‘don’t want to go there.’ When I was asked to think of some consonant words I got to sky and wyrd (which is from the Dragons of Pern so may not be a word in use) and then had to add in vowels to get other words such as eighty, eighth, heights, weights and my longest … eighths. I managed to get a consonant pentagraph but wasn’t sure of the rules. The book I was reading was written in 1865 and was a grammar primer for university undergraduates of dead languages and it was like there was a whole pile of rules that the intended reader already knew.

Books1

I feel like that in church sometimes, that I missed the giving out of the rulebook. I don’t in my everyday life use expletives however I do in my writing if the character would speak in the vernacular. Since attending church regularly I have noticed that other people don’t swear either so it got me into a quandary for my main protagonist in a story I was writing. She was steeped in Celtic mythology, she was an urchin from an estate where the only colour in her grey life would be the blueness of the language.

 

Parenting, and my lack of wisdom in that area has always been an issue for me even before I attended church. I am trying to raise independent young men that can take care of themselves, give generously and love well. In church I found that the rules include corporal punishment, include not being allowed an opinion, in some cases include kowtowing because it is a man. I still don’t understand the rules but am failing as a parent anyway. (see prev posts)

 

I certainly have no concept of the rulebook regarding being a wife, we married young and had for our reference: a Catholic abuser/enabler/alcohol model and failed relationship model. The main issue we had our entire marriage was financial virtuosity. It is impossible to give generously if there is no concept of fiduciary. I still have no concept of the rulebook, we got a partial divorce and it has made our marriage stronger.

 

Then there is the whole set of rules about being a Christian. I just don’t get the rules I am shown by regular church going. I have had to go out and seek people who are willing to get ‘real’. For example x shares to y. y keeps the share but lets a, b and c know that x shared and that x shouldn’t have shared. Or there is an elephant in the room x is addicted to blah, no one in the congregation tackles x about addiction just pats them on the back like a good Irish mother and enables the addiction. When I was asked to write a five min testimony I struggled, really struggled on how to word it so I wasn’t sharing anything.

 

My male friend travelled to England with his married sister to be there for her whilst she had an abortion. My friend is eaten up with guilt over doing that, his sister is having another fling, the guilt is making my friend bitter, his heart is hardening, he is blaming, he is shaming but is keeping the secret for his sister. So it is manifesting in other ways, he is angry, but it is internal anger and he is getting more and more self medicated. That is real, that is reality for him. It is not my story, it belongs to him but he would never share that in church, he wouldn’t feel comfortable, he doesn’t feel it is a sharing environment.

 

Rules and who makes the rules?

God given rules I try really hard to follow, some of the ten commandments are really hard for me to maintain, I struggle with them. The two rules from the NT, to love and to go – I can do this, I do it, I am so thank full that God wants me in his family and if he wants someone like me, I know there is a place for everyone else in the world in his family. It is getting past the human made rules, jumping over the hurdles humans make, and to be honest that I make for myself – that is the hard bit. To keep the heart soft, unbitter, unhardened when surrounded by hard, bitter hearts.

 

Church is good, it is good to come together to glorify our Lord, to praise and worship him with others as they did in Acts and the epistles. It is good to fellowship, to share, to say when you are struggling, to say when you are thank full, grate full, praise full, worship full but is just as likely as anywhere else to have Satan trying to get in, trying to twist things, to make offense.