Sense

Just checking in here one last time, though I'm fairly finished with the blog, methinks! I'm awfully busy, in any case, what with working with the Club on Friday and facilitating the picnic on Saturday. I have to do a bit more work this week; Lucy did herself an injury a bit back, and so I've been looking after her two children some as well. I've been working on pamphlets and the like as well, trying to get the good word out, you know?

I really like it here, this lovely little town. Such history, such nice people, so clean. Everything has its place, and the like. I don't know why I didn't retire from the city sooner!

And the eyes; the constant watching, the unsung, screaming eyes, staring out from the shadows! How jolly they are. The arms covering all the bad (for a lack of a better word) things, the songs that constantly drown out the rest of the world, it's all so cozy and close! And I know I'll be safe here, there's no way I can't be, not with our friend in the shadows! For the first time in my life, my faith has been confirmed, you see! I always had doubt; we tried to save children in the African savannahs and so many still died, I held dead men in my arms and prayed for them, and I prayed for my son as he was taken to the hospital. Each time, nothing.

Now, though, now I have a physical god to worship, one whose actions I can see. I do not have to have faith in him; I know he is here. God personified, on Earth, with all his strength intact and for us. He is kind, and he accepts us, and we can see it. He punishes the wicked, and casts them out. He allows only his chosen to be with him, and when the end comes, he will keep us close. He is grace; he is kindness; we are better for worshiping him, not some invisible fantasy. He does not bleed, but he sings to us. He will bring the end down upon all those who oppose him. He will keep us safe.

I welcome him to me.

Babble

Apologies for the late response, to those watching. This weekend was... busy. Yes, busy will have to suffice as an explanation.

I found the young attacker sitting on a bench, chuckling at something on her phone's screen or somesuch. She seemed a bit wild-- I was reminded of some of the more traumatized children my wife and I fostered. Still, as with all things, I approached with open arms, half expecting to be knocked over at any moment. I asked if I could sit, and she told me I could, so I did. Then I asked her why she punched dear Lucy, and in front of her children no less. The girl looked at me-- she wore cheap, thick framed glasses and an odd grin. "Vengeance." She said.

I asked what on earth she meant by that, but the girl just laughed. Then her face darkened some, and she said "You leave your kid with that woman, right? The little girl? Don't-- don't do that. And keep an eye on the kids next door." Or at least something along those lines. My memory is faulty. Still, it was an unusual enough and worrying enough conversation that I memorized more than I otherwise would.

"What do you mean by that?"

"I don't have any evidence to back anything I say up, and in any case she might not be so... overt in her cruelty this time. But just-- you seem like a nice old bloke. Just keep an eye on the kids." Again, I was unnerved. Penny was going on a hike with Lucy that afternoon, and though I am not one to panic at the words of a stranger, something in the way she talked hit a nerve with me. We were quiet for a while, I wondering whether Yasamin would mind accompanying the hike. The girl shrugged, and stood up, "You blog, don't you."

I was utterly taken by surprise. "Yes, I do. Why?"

"It's too late for you then." She was staring at the treeline, and frowning. "You shouldn't stay here. But you're going to anyway, aren't you?"

I believe I made some noise of confusion at this point.

She scribbled down the address of a London pub, and handed it to me. "I work here. If you want answers, come visit." I must admit I was wondering if she was on drugs at this point. I was quite confused.  "I'm Jeanne," She said. She then just began... walking away. I didn't quite know what to say, so I turned back to the house.

That was Friday. I did get Yasamin to go on the hike, and she reported nothing too unusual, though they didn't go to the stones as was planned-- they made a quite obvious detour. She wonders if next time she could spy on the group more covertly.

The rest of the weekend was taken up by papers and paperwork, again nothing exciting, mostly busywork.

Thingamajigs

On this day, Penny told me she didn't believe in God, but she wanted to go to the Coptic-ish church in town. I asked her-- didn't they believe in God? Pen told me that the god that they believed in was better than our one, and would fight and win in every fight, even against Godzilla. I'm not sure what to do about this-- I suppose I should encourage her to follow her own spiritual path, and find her own way to enlightenment, but still... I'm not sure. The church makes me feel a wee bit nervous, though people should worship as they see fit.

Yasamin is a Muslim, and she told me that her brother thought the Coptic church was interesting. Her family was going to go for the Christmas service, just to see what all the fuss was about. I said if Penny was still going through her phase by the time Christmas came around she could go with them. We joked about giving her coal for Christmas. Yasamin said she wanted to give Tom coal for Christmas anyway, since he wrote in her journal. The kids played around the woods and made towers out of the stones they found.

Penny's drawings are interesting-- they seem to all involve the "god" of sorts that the Coptic church believes in. She says he watches over her and keeps her safe, more than our God does. I don't know, he seems sort of intimidating to me! Penny told me she wants a god that actually does something from time to time. I'm really not sure what to do about all this-- I'm not the most modern of people, but I really want Penny to grow into a freethinking individual. I suppose I should encourage this? Or maybe it's my fault for encouraging her to go to the church youth programmes. She does enjoy them so. I don't think that being spiritual in a different way is a bad thing, honestly. I just worry about Penny's future. Yasamin says that the in town Church is addictive, and that people who join it don't ever want to leave. This town is nice and safe, though-- I can see why you'd never want to leave!

Hooey

"That's just a lot of old hooey, Grandad!" Penny doesn't believe in faeries. At all. She is also the only child I've ever met who would use the phrase "hooey"! Pen loves adventure stories from the fifties, and our older neighbours have a plethora of Enid Blyton books and Nancy Drew. She spends a lot more time reading than most of the children around here, not that that's a bad thing! I had a talk with her therapist, a Miss Smith from the next town over, and apparently she needs more socialization. Which means it's a good thing we went on that nature walk! And that brings me back to my first point. Penny doesn't believe in faeries! I'm sure it's okay for a little girl to have a skeptical mind but even I believed in faeries when I was a child, and my father sought that I wouldn't be cut out for that nonsense!

The nature walk was lovely, though I did wheeze quite a lot-- a gammy leg and a pair of old lungs aren't the best for such excursions! Lucy is pretty darn good at naming birds and trees and the like. She has a lot of experience with animals! Pen ran ahead with the two boys and a couple of other kids. She seemed to have a grand old time, though when we came to one of the Lesser Malkirk Circles she seemed a bit perturbed. I tried to be empathetic, but I really wasn't sure what was wrong! I tried to make her feel better and I told her a story about how the Lesser Malkirk Circles were meeting places for faeries.

Her response? "That's just a lot of old hooey, Grandad!" Shocking stuff! Poor Pen was nervy until we left the forest. Ah, well!

Bunk

The title today being in reference to Penny's new set of bunk-beds. She says they're necessary for sleepovers, but I'm fairly certain they're a reference to one of the shows she watches on the telly. We've moved into our house at Malkirk! It's a lovely little thing, with enough bedrooms for Pen to get one of her own. She's going through some phases involving "stuff" I'm not too familiar with. Hopefully soon she'll make some friends with which she can discuss ponies. I haven't had a companion with which to discuss my interests since I last had contact with an old editor friend, Marcus. It's half the reason I have the government hire me assistants-- the company.

Anyway, the move went rather more smoothly than I was expecting, though I doubt that my finances shall recover any time soon. We're in a little copse of 6 or so houses, about a ten minute walk from the main town. Everyone seems very friendly. Our neighbour is a 40-or-so-year-old woman with two children under the age of six, both of them boys. She told me over a cup of tea that she has an older son who was a bit of a tearaway, and went off the rails at an early age, so she moved to Malkirk for a new start. Our neighbours on the other side are a lovely old couple, almost my age! They've been in Malkirk for over 50 years-- the town had them hooked, they said.

Penny has been hanging around with the two boys next door, but she says she's sick of playing with "little kids" because she is, after all, "a grown-up." She starts school next week, which I hope won't be too much of a shock to her. The kids across the street from us go to the same primary school, and are willing to escort her. Pen has her uniform laid out already, the sweet dear. She's as ready to get back into a regular schedule as I am. We made some cuppa soup earlier, and she went to bed early. I'm going to bed much later than usual, but I still have multiple forms and applications to finish. At least I know that I'll have a handicap assistant by Saturday. I'm sure I'll be able to get her to introduce herself at some point.

Malkirk is a lovely place, and I'm sure I'll fill this blog with more detail once I get a chance to explore it.

Quibbles

Whilst going through some of the boxes for the move, I found an invaluable store of old photographs of the family. My dear Adrianne, the girl who helps around the house, helped me take the photos and put the images on this blog. I did need quite a lot of help setting it up, so I can only hope my next aid is as good with computers!!

 My two daughters, Gemiliah and Allie. Gemeliah was the older, a chirpy and outgoing little girl. She was always a bit pushy and loved being the center of attention. Allie was always the quiet one, and rather melancholy. Not many friends, but she had a rich enough imagination that it didn't bother her too badly!

 Another one of Allie. She desperately wanted to be an explorer when she was little. She became a nurse, but we were so proud of her anyway. Allie was Penny's mum, and they share brooding ways, but they're both very talented artists!

 And here's another picture of Gemma, proud of herself as always. She was always a bit of a show off, and went into business. I was never sure if I entirely approved, but I was always very proud of her anyway.

 My youngest son, Tom, playing with a dumper truck. He got my mother in law's hair, and ability to cook.

 Second youngest son, Dylan, running around in the snow. He was the most rambunctious one of the lot.

 One of the first children we adopted, Estella. A bit teary, we only had her for a couple of years before her parents wanted her back. I got letters from her, though, all the way up to 1997.

 The young ball and chain. I do miss her, so much.

Me and Tom just before a camping trip, I do believe.

A quick guide to some of the family, I suppose.

Bombast

Well, I'm sorry for neglecting this log, but it's been busier in my little house over these last few weeks than it's been for at least a year. Pen has come home, and so it is time for us to start packing up. I've been organizing with various people over the last few months for the move, to hire myself a aid up in Malkirk, to get the house ready, to prepare finances... Luckily for me, Pen has been a very good girl since coming back. She was always a bit of a troublemaker but she's doing better now, and she appreciates the gravity of the situation.

So it's been busy. I've taken a few looks at the new house, through the computer, and it seems cozy enough. The Malkirk primary school said that they would be happy to facilitate Penny's 6th year. They also said they'd be happy to facilitate any problems she might have. The headteacher seemed like a very nice young woman, and we're apparently living in a similar area to her. From her I heard some more about the neighbourhood-- it seems to be a nice enough place, with lots of children, so hopefully Penny will make friends easily. The main church in the town isn't Anglican, but some sort of Greek Orthodox or such as far as I can tell. There's not too much information on it, but there is an Anglican church in the nearest town over, so we'll likely be visiting there. The Malkirk church does seem to have a good youth club, so I've signed Penny up for it to get her out of the house. 

The main move will take place in 10 days, giving us plenty of time to get settled before the school year begins properly. Pen is a little brooding currently, but before long I'm sure she'll be more excited. I think she's glad to be out of that hospital, to be honest. She didn't enjoy her time there at all.

Applesauce

I suppose I'm not too good at this. I have a girl who comes and helps me clean up (it's my knees, you see) who also helps me with more technological things like, well, this log. She's been out a lot more these last few weeks, since she's working three jobs at the moment. I wish I could pay the poor lass more so she wouldn't have to work so hard, but I haven't the money to increase her wages. I don't like to speak badly about people, but I can't say I'm fond of the way Mr. Cameron is trying to fix our government. Ah, well, I can only hope it works.

This is really a journal entry to record some of the bigger happenings in my life. For one, my granddaughter Penny will be coming home from the hospital next week. She's been doing much better, or so the doctors say, and I'll be able to enroll her in school for this coming September. This brings me to my second bit of news, that being our moving to the countryside. The city may be good for an old goat like myself, but it's no place to raise a child. In any case, I feel like my time in London is done-- it's dizzying for me to get from place to place, and I don't like driving my car here. It unnerves me.  I will miss the sounds of the city, but the silence of the countryside will be a nice break for a while. We'll be moving at the beginning of August to give Penny some time to settle in before school starts. It's a big change, but I think it'll be a good once. I phoned the school up in Malkirk, and they said that they have an attentive staff that should be really good at helping Pen with her issues.

Malkirk is a small town up in the Lake District, known for its abandoned monastery and its folk legends. The region is pretty mountainous, but I think we're both up for the challenge, and the fresh air'll do Pen good. It's one of the nicer, more even towns. I reckon this move'll be good for both of us. It's at least nice to get away from the smog and the hospital, to get a fresh start.

Soul

When I was young but oh so old
I drowned within a drought
As my skin was burned with winters cold
And the man who came in went out
As I climbed down to the attic
I smiled myself a pout
And I wrapped through the door paper thick
As the man who came in went out.

T'was my birthday today, so I'll put up a poem in celebration. Today's most morbid of topics is one that does plague the mind when another year turns away-- death. I often muse to what happens to the soul once one is dead, a morbid exercise you will agree. I believe after death we go to a new place, a good place, where we can see once more all those we love. Of course, one is allowed one's own beliefs. Just have to wait and see, I suppose.

Staple

I bought a stapler today. Little metal bits holding other things together through a couple of well placed holes and just the right amount of metal. It’s definitely related to a staple, then, the thing that is the centre, the main of it, the indispensable, basic, fundamental core of an item or an object or an idea that holds the whole of it together. It was a red stapler, very clean, very needed to gather the papers that hold the words of my life together into little organized piles, ready to be accounted for as I try to buy my new house. It got me to thinking about what the core is, although I’ve already discussed the core of life in general, and what used to be the core of my own life in particular. But what about the present, for it is in the present where we live. What of it?

I look out the window as I type, and it’s beautiful out there, you must know, city lights and rain are the best things, because they’re life. City lights may drain the environment but they point to people living, and rain gives life to everything it touches, even the dead things. And I look out through the rain onto the darkness of the streets that are only lit by the lonely lights of insomniacs such as myself, and I wonder what the fundament to my life is. Probably little Penelope, my granddaughter. You see, Penny is, well, the last of my grandchildren. No parent should outlive their children, but especially not their grandchildren, no matter the circumstance. I have to take loss with the grace of God but that can’t stop me from weeping, especially not for Penny. I’d rather not talk about it myself, at least not unnecessarily and not yet, but Penny needed to talk. She lets it all ball up until there is nothing left but that ball.

Dear Penny is in the hospital for it, and all. She was injured out of the fire, but the injuries to her mind hurt more, needed more attention and care. So she’s staying in the hospital, away from me, her only family. I do go and visit as much as I can. It’s a difficult task though, what with my knee. She always seems pleased to see me at least. She draws all the time, quite the little artist, but has a much greater fondness for mathematics, probably from her father. I never had much of a head for the stuff, but she laps it up. She’s a smart little lass, our Penny.

Bananas

A couple of days ago, I was buying a banana flavoured ice cream for my granddaughter (she loves the stuff, but I can’t quite stomach it), when I was reminded about the second Great War. It seems an odd connection to make, doesn’t it? But really, it isn’t. I barely saw hide or hair of a banana even before the war began, and by the time I was in the countryside working the farms there were even fewer, if you can believe it. A world without bananas was of course not only a world without bananas; it was a world without pineapples and rubber and milk that was fresh. What the world did have was sugared almonds, sunsets, hard work, and Polly. Polly was an inspiration, but I wouldn’t have met her were it not for the grace of God above. I’ve always believed in the right to live every man has at the fundament, life breathed into them, their spirits created out of the ether of the spirits. Humanity itself is based on the fundamental human life, each one, small, large, evil or good. And so I knew that the deaths of millions could not be avenged by more deaths, and in protest, I signed up to help on the home front.

I dug potatoes. I dug potatoes and helped the middle class townfolk do the hard work that their husbands and brothers and cousins had done before them. Of course, many of them being the tough old country folk that they were knew exactly what they were doing and resented a daft young city lad coming in and trying to show them which end was which. So it was really more for myself that I worked, and I did my best to help in what capacities I knew, as a young lad does. I stayed most nights in a small farmhouse, not the one that I was working on, since their rafters were already stocked to the gills, but one about half a mile away. It was a tiny little house, garden in need of weeding, itself in need of a good repainting and a bit of carpentry. Both the sons and the father had heeded the call of the country and queen and marched off to war, leaving the mother and three daughters in charge of the acre strong farm. It was there I met Polly.

Her mother was a voracious woman, and reminded me of a Valkyrie in size and personality. She was really the fullest woman I’ve ever met, stout minded and stout hearted. You can picture her pretty well in her mind, a short thick woman with a red face and red hair, strong, and wore mostly blue. She had small eyes that wrinkled with a smile or a frown at the first opportunity given, and that was the one thing my Polly inherited. Polly’s two younger sisters were interchangeable redheads in personality and appearance, fourteen year old twins with a, shall we say, “playful” demeanor. Freckled, unreliable little daemons they were. Now Polly, well, she was a brunette, much like her dad—he must have been a rather feminine man because she had a sweet, heart of a face and round lips so unlike her mother’s. She was a lot more rounded and muscular than you see in a lot of girls today, but she had to be, out of bed at 4 as she was. She had to have the pigs fed and breakfast ready before anyone else was even awake.

I met her because of God, and this is something I believe in vehemently.

Quintessence

I’m visiting my granddaughter tomorrow, and that reminded me of this blog which I, in absent minded old age, appear to have forgotten about in its entirety. Oh dear. What to write, what to write. Well, that’s the spirit of the thing isn’t it; the heart of the matter, the tale we are telling is the centre of it all. I would be hard pressed to find the centre of my own story, that one revolving event for which my life was created. I’d probably have to say that my faith is the centre of my existence, to see God and to love God and to serve God. I know it isn’t very P.C, but I did serve as a missionary for a time, mostly in Africa but in South America for a while also.  I did most of my service in the slums of cities that were both poor in money but rich in people, a difficult contrast to say the least. I tried my best to be more a teacher of methods than a Bible thumping converter, my job description being in my mind to teach and show a path instead of forcing down my one, which is only one of many. I wanted to show these people, these children the force of my God’s love. Of course, it’s easy to show people that love exists, but harder to prove that it’s for them as well.

If I was that word, then my wife was the action, the movement that made all I said viable, that love and worship and relationship were all intertwined integrally as the most important things the soul needs. My wife fed them, you see. Over her life, she fostered over forty children, and dozens more stayed with us for a day, two days, as long as we needed. She never closed a door, never kicked someone out, and she managed to rear all three of our own children well on top of that. She was sweet, and kind, and gentle, and forgave all mistakes. She worked and volunteered all she could wherever she could, and prayed for those she could not help directly. She was the grace of God personified in my mind.

Sometimes I wonder where she is now. But thanks to the certainty blind religious faith allows me, and yes, I do know my faith is blind and stumbling, but that does not mean it is without thought, and in any case thanks to it I am able to think of my wife as safe in the hands of the Lord I love and that both of us served throughout our lives. He has her in his arms, and he knows her goodness, just as he knows the light that is in the soul of all living people, the life and greatness one person has. She is in a good place now, a place of that light.

Irrationality

When it comes to spirituality, I love God- but I have less of a fondness for the religious institutions he comes packaged with. I know this seems hypocritical of me as a former preacher, but even as a reverend I was never as much about the church as I was about the message, and the God. It’s why I’ve always been one for people forging their own paths around these things, and finding their own way to the God of their choice. You’ve got to have choice about these things, otherwise you aren’t believing, you’re being forced to do something you don’t want to do. And that’s not the right relationship.

You see, everything comes down to relationships, in the end. Religion is nothing if you don't have a relationship with it, or to it; it's all about that relationship, that love, that companionship. It's about how you view your relationship with the planet, with the people on the planet, with your family, with your surroundings. In the end, religion comes down to that fundamental relationship. Christianity, at it's core, is about relationships as well. This works no matter how you view the Bible; through a literary lens, or an anthropological one, or through a religious one (like myself). Translated well, the first relationship between Adam and Eve was one of egalitarianism; one only needs to be around a woman to know she's at least equal or superior to a man! The relationship between humans and God is not the omniscient angry power sending forth the outcast weaklings, but of the father offering freedom to his children. I personally believe that, though the science is incorrect, there is meaning in the version offered by the Bible. There is also meaning in the creation stories of Buddhism, of the Hindu, of the Native Americans. Because all of these stories speak of relationships. Even Atheism is a statement of relationship, in a way-- a relationship to the tangible, to the solid of the Earth. 

I suppose what I have to say is in the end it doesn't matter what you believe, just that you have faith in something. I myself believe that God began the ticking of the Earth; that he gave us freedom to do as we wish; that he has a plan for each and every one of us; that each of us must attempt to love others, forgive them for hurting us, and avoid violence as much as possible; respect other people's cultures; respect other people's beliefs; that He gave His son to keep us free; that my God is strong enough to support anyone; and that my God is love. He loves you, whether you care about Him or not, and I love you, whether you know it or not. I'd really say that this was mostly learnt from my dear wife, who was wiser at the age of 16 (when we met) than I will ever be in all my years. Bless her.

Stuff

At one point or another, you get to the age where you start to lose the thoughts in your head to the world around you. So I started this blog as a favour to my granddaughter, who made me promise I'd keep my thoughts somewhere safe, or at least relatively safe in comparison to my actual head. I figured that one of these blog things would be as good a place as any to send my ramblings. The girl who comes by to look after my cats helped me set all this up. Not so good with computers, myself, what with me being a very old man, who hasn't aged as well as he could in any case.

I suppose in the end my thoughts end up being along the lines of rambling paths, leading up to a briar rose patch; too tangled and too long and maybe too old as well, and ending up in odd unpleasant places.. Mostly I'll be musing on religion and philosophy, as I am an old windbag and a retired reverend, but there'll also be nonsense about nonsense rhymes and puns. I have a bit of a weakness for puns.

In 2000 we moved to the small apartment I currently live in, in London. It was mostly to by nearer my kids, and my grandkids, but I'm thinking about looking for a place in the country since that's no longer so much of a concern. My mobility is getting to be a bit of a problem, but some fresh country air will probably do me, and my granddaughter, good. And I'd definitely appreciate being out of London, what with the crime rates and all. Finances should be less of a issue, or at least I'd hope so, since I've been saving money from my teaching of Latin and Hebrew to some of the students who go to the schools in this area. I used to teach piano, but that's become more difficult lately. And, of course, with the depression my savings have been a little wobbly, but not so much it's painful.

And that's about it. Some rambling, odd musing, and lots of puns. I hope you can put up with it all!