New beginnings...

So, we have moved!  When God says, "Time to go," then you pack up and move.  In our case, 6.2 miles from where we were.  Over a parish border, into a different Diocese (and a different Province - so now I am accountable to the Archbishop of York - although if were being pedantic I am ultimately accountable to God!)

All of this means a new house which is to become a home, a new community to find our way around and belong to, and a new church (just the one this time) in which to flourish.  Oh, and the way we got to know our immediate neighbours was when we asked them to help us manoeuvre the caravan onto the driveway by hand, and there's not enough swing on the road to use the car (unless I demolish the church wall... which I nearly did with the car... hence knocking on doors... as the school run was about to start...)

Chris levelling the caravan outside the Vicarage - the driveway slopes more than you can tell from the photo

So, 5 weeks into the post (of which nearly 2 were wiped out when I suffered the whole-body effects of pulling the muscles in my 'good' leg during the moving process), how are we doing as a family? Well, there were several cries of "we are never moving again!".  And that seems to accurately sum up how we are.  We belong here - home, community and church.  And here we are - until God says, "time to go..."

Nemeses....


Time for a quick rant - all justified if you don't mind...

Here are some of the things in life which I consider to be my own nemesis:

Gravel.

 

In any form.

I don't care how pretty and convenient and cheap it is.

It moves.  Under all 4 of my feet.  Particularly my crutches.  And it gets stuck in the 'feet' of the crutches and the minute I'm back on a flat surface the sticking out bits of gravel make me slide and skid - and risk ending up on my back with all 4 legs spread about...  And that's just rude.  So please, people, bag up your gravel paths, driveways and other foot-fall byways, and get a proper floor covering.


And whilst we're on the subject of unhelpful and potentially dangerous flooring -

Marble.

I mean, why? 

Firstly, it looks slippery.  And for those of us with a dubious sense of balance and co-ordination, the appearance of a slippery surface is enough in itself to make us seek out a big detour. 

Second, it gets slippery to easily, and there's nothing to absorb any liquid spilt/walked onto it.  So now it looks and is slippery.  And I've got 4 legs (count them, 4) to potentially skid on the floor.  So do me a favour, and get a carpet.

Buffet.

Everywhere I go, there's a Buffet.

Let's do the maths - plate, one hand; glass, one hand.  Crutches x 2, 2 hands.  So now I'm up to 4 hands.  No, no, no. 

And it's not humbling to say to some willing and lovely person, "I say, would you mind carrying my food please?". 

No my friends - it's humiliating.  I can't carry my own food, or drink. 

I can't stand around with said food and drink chatting lightly about this and that.  I apparently need to trail around after you like a small child with you deciding what and how much I should eat.  Having stood awkwardly in a queue for the privilege.

Thanks, but no thanks.  I'll ring for a pizza ta.


And finally - for the minute.....!

 

No Handrails...

Have you ever used crutches? 

They're not designed to weight-bear.  Legs are. 

So now I've got a leg that works, and leg that should but doesn't, and 2 long poles which are ok on the flat (except for on Marble or Gravel...).  And when I meet steps and stairs that have no handrails, I have to control 3 variable 'limbs' but up a sequence of trip hazards and against gravity, with no additional support? 

Thanks.

The most insulting scenario is a staircase with a handrail that stops half way.... WHY?  That's just sticking 2 fingers up and saying, "thus far and no further - get legs..."

I was having a think about Mothering Sunday - the highs, lows and pitfalls of being both Mother and Priest on this most marvellous day, holding my own thoughts, a weight of Church history and theology, and a pastoral awareness of the mix of people in (and resolutely not in) the congregation for the Mothering Sunday service.

 To be honest - it's a minefield! And I think a fellow priest and blogger writes about it far more eloquently than I.

parttimepriest.blogspot and click on the heart saying 'special mum'


Happy and joyous Mothering Sunday - wherever, and however, you are.

Out of the mouths of babes...

Me: I need to do some work sweetie, whilst daddy clears snow from the front door, up the drive, up the steps and around to the front door of the church, so mummy can get to the 8am service tomorrow morning...
Wee man: Mummy, we watch telebision peese
Me: Why don't you bring something into my study to play with whilst I work?

[Wee man disappears into living room - returns with pot of crayons, disappears again, returns with his little stool, disappears again, returns with his drink, sets up said items at a small table in my study...

Me: what are you doing baby?
Wee man: I need paper, I working at my desk, I very busy

There's so much to think is very sweet - there's so much wrong with this too...

2 years - a whole 2 years since I last posted anything!
Which means my little tiny baby boy is now 2 and a half...
He's not a baby any more.
One minute he fitted in the crook of my arm, tiny and dependant;
now he's doing the hokey-cokey with a toy kangaroo and shouting gleefully 'look at me mummy - bottom in, bottom out...."'

So now I've remembered my log-in details, I shall update you, dear reader, on the last 2 years :-)

And in case you think we now live in Hobbiton - he is looking through the bedroom porthole in our narrowboat!