Spotted two wrens yesterday whilst walking the dog. I don't know why- but I always think of wrens as being honest. They are such beautiful, busy little birds and there is no nonsense about them. No frills either. A good metaphor for life.
For that conviction ever growing sure, that you will come;For that strong hope that darkness will not last;For that deep-flowing joy that earth will be refreshed;For that awareness of the dawning light that tells of coming day;We thank you Lord.
Donald Hilton
I know there is nothing quite like the smell of a real tree. But sometimes……just sometimes….I wonder if a ready-made, ready-decorated tree might be all right.
Just for this year. I've not been well after all.
Great news! Son No 1 and his family are moving back north after Christmas. They are settling in Linlithgow, so we shall be able to see them more often. It has been difficult having one set of grandchildren in Norfolk, and the other in Aberdeenshire. Still, the motorhome makes trips a lot easier than in the past. We carry our goods and chattels with us. Him Behind the Wheel, still makes comments about “being aboard” …. so I suspect the boating days will never be lost.
We are fast approaching the winter solstice. A time of celebration and fun in the midst of the dark – at least that is the way our far off ancestors would see it. The theory goes that primitive humans needed some kind of party to stop them going mad in the cold and dark of the long, frozen winters.
Not much has changed really.
Joy of Joys should really refer to the time of year and the celebration of the birth of Jesus. However, it is actually to do with my new pen and the lavendar cartridges. Purple writing feels much more like me!
It took me quite a long while to catch onto what Strictly Come Dancing was about. And in the end it was worth all the gritting of teeth at Bruce Forsyth and his jokes. After all, “camp” is a necessity in the world of ballroom dancing. I was delighted that Jill and Darren were declared the winners.
Interestingly, I enjoyed the whole process of watching live television.
Recently, a friend suggested that I allowed the real “Freda” to come through in my writing. It is salutory to have the time to think about the image we project to others, particularly through the web. When I read the blogs of people I know I see facets of their personalities, and that is OK because I also believe that I know them in a more rounded way, so I am happy with a snapshot on a particular day. But there is a limit to the way in which we each know and relate to one another.
Many bloggers struggle with coming to terms with what they are trying to achieve. For me, it is about connections. Walt Whitman wrote about a noiseless patient spider, casting out filament upon filament, trying to connect…… then he said, and what of you my soul?
I suppose I am saying the same.
As the year slithers to its damp and dark ending, I think of the promise of Jesus born among us. The liturgical year has such power to bring the Christian stories into the context of our everyday lives. All the more so this year, when I am dependent upon music and the ministry of others.
John Bell's haunting song says so much.
Not the powerful, not the privileged,
not the famous in the land,
but the no-ones and the needy
were the first to hold God's hand.
The pedigree. John Bell
Another sixtieth year treat achieved – a new Sheaffer pen that will enable me to use all the purple cartridges I have found stashed away.
