Ready, steady ......not quite go

No doubt we are all keen (as always) to get into 2009, but we are reminded that a "Leap second" will be added at midnight GMT....so it could indeed be a case of going "10, 9, 8,7, 6, 5, 4, 3, 2, 1,...1 again, Happy New Year!"
This of course is a tiny correction to allow for the fact that the earth is slowing down ever so slightly.
Of course it won't really bother us since it will happen at Midnight GMT which means it will actually occur at about 10.30 a.m. in Adelaide!

trouble afoot-on keeping one's nose clean

I am interested that my little blog has attracted some attention in the last few days from unexpected quarters. In particular the entry of November 30 about the possibility of Bp Ross Davies being compensated by the Diocese of the Murray, in order to facilitate his early retirement.
I made the comment then, and I stand by it, that it would be unfortunate if the Church were to be seen to compensate one of its prelates, in a way that it has clearly not been able or seen fit to compensate some of its victims...or rather the victims of some perpetrators of abuse..
One telephone call a few days ago, made the point, with which I do not concur that one of the publicly named clergy was being hard done by. That remains to be seen.
He nevertheless commended me for the point I was making about the injustice, perhaps even immorality, of the institution doling out largess to the Bishop in order to get him to go away.
A commentator today criticised me for suggesting that one of the perpetrators may be being prejudged. I steadfastly deny that I am referring to any case in particular, but I suspect that the commentator may well be closely associated with said person. I have no way of knowing for certain.
But, indeed, my sympathy goes out to those who have to deal with the mess that other people have made.
I am just intrigued that obviously my comments do not go unnoticed.
But let not our personal involvements stop us from seeing that these processes need to be done decently and in order.
I reassert that the church must state uncategorically that the welfare of those who have been betrayed by so-called pastors must be our highest concern, the institution must take second place to those who have been so brutally wounded. If we don't get this right then we may as well shut up shop!

All will be well!

I am teetering a bit on this Christmas Day. It was always going to be tricky. I am wondering now (2 p.m.) whether I can face a family party....my sense of duty tells me I should go. My desire to remain sane tells me to be kind to myself.

I only wish I knew what that meant.

Church, in its three different manifestations, seemed to go well and be appreciated. People are nice and kind, and too many of us are at risk of being hurt by intense emotions.

In the end I did go and all was fine. Now it's bed time (11.08)

One down

Enough said! Got to go and lay the table for Boxing Day breakfast!!

Must be Christmas

Apart from the shops being packed at 8 a.m.....I did think I might get there at 6 but couldn't drag myself out of bed...you must know it's Christmas when 3 men are queued up at the barbers five minutes before they open.

Picking your subject

One would have to wonder why the Pope chooses his Christmas address to the Roman staff to stir the issue of sexual identity.(here and here) It is curious don't you think, that when we are still confronted with Zimbabwe, Congo...the destruction of Africa in general through famine, poverty and AIDS...that he should choose to focus on homosexual and transsexual behaviour.

Now, he is no fool, so he must know what a stir this will create. So, why is he doing it

North v South

this is just to let you know if you read this blog in the northern hemisphere, as I know some do, that it's really cool here today in Adelaide. Only in the low 20s, and Christmas Day looks like being in the low 30s...so a fraction milder.
Oh and did I forget to mention that it is degrees centigrade not Fahrenheit that I am talking about!!

More resolutions

Following on from the resolutions blog the other day. One of the ten or so positive resolutions was to to talk 'health' rather than 'sickness'.
I think this is quite a good insight. As a person whose job requires much inane conversation just to pass the time of day, I realised many years ago that when people ask you "How are you?"they don't really want you to tell them.
In fact the redoubtable A. Musgrave Horner, my one time lecturer in Speech and Drama, hated this and would say if asked this inane question "I am EXTRAOOOOOORDINARILY well!" In a voice that would boom three blocks. You tended to never ask him again!
However I did think that talking of health rather than sickness does not just refer to disease, it is an attitude about how life is going. So we can choose to play it up or play it down .
Treasurers (in parish, club or nation) often have to address the sickness in order to be honest. They also need to recognise it is not only about sickness, but about how health might be achieved. And, indeed, health probably cannot be achieved if only the sickness framework is addressed.
It is about perspecvtive, and should easily be recognised as a good resolution...to talk health rather than sickness .

Messiah

It is Saturday 20th December and I am listening to ABC FM's live performance of Messiah. Conductor Graham (I am not Mr Messiah...I am Mr naughty Boy) Abbott must be the principle interpreter in Australia if not the world.
Let me tell you of two things that have just happened.....the audience applauded at the end of Hallelujah. It seemed the right thing to do because it was magnificent.
This is followed by I know that my Redeemer liveth. When I first heard Messiah in the Whitehaven Wesleyan Church,the soprano was Isobel Baillie. It being 1964 or 65 she was, I suppose, somewhere between 69 and 72.
I have always marvelled that her voice was so wonderful at that age. I did not know at that time who I was listening to, but have heard recordings since (thanks to Joan and Jim Manners) that showed she was top notch. I have always measured performances of I know that my redeemer by that paragon.
Tonight Sarah Macliver is up there with Dame Isobel.
Maybe I am just in the mood

Counting Cost

An Australian who joined the British Army to do 'real soldiering' has been killed in Afghanistan (here). It serves as a reminder that the cost of 'real soldiering' can and will be at the cost of lives. It is a bit disturbing, I find, that both his parents and the British Army trot out the line that he died doing what he loved. That is as may be, but at what point do we say enough is enough and the cost is too high.
An interesting story too about the costs of flights to Antartica (here) half of which had to be cancelled and/or rescheduled because of the need to fly an injured person back to Tasmania taking up resources.I suppose this can't be held, though there is a tradition, surely, that saving human life takes priority over anything.
Though I must admit to having a certain ambivalence about the rescue of lone sailors (here). I mean who pays for this indulgence of adventurers. It's all well and good if nothing happens, but costs a bomb when the balloon goes up.

New Learnings from Global Warming

The suggestion by Transport wise man Derek Scrafton that Adelaide commuters should pay a congestion task to enter the CBD is not without merit.(here) Though not surprisingly the general public repudiates this idea; as we largely do with any idea which will cause us to wait for anything, or which might cost us cash.
In past incarnations I had a little to do with him, and know that he is an unassuming erudite man; who does nto make such suggestions lightly. But he is also used to being misunderstood by the general public and by the political gameplaying of our lords and masters.
It is my personal hope that part of our learning from the present global crisis is that we will all moderate our use of the motor vehicle. There is a certain sense of self-interest in this, since we are all feeling the pressure in our hip-pocket. But each of us also knows that we can't just go on driving more and more cars with less and less petrol. Scrafton is just suggesting that by not pandering to our own selfishness, and looking to live more cooperatively (which is essentially what riding a bus or train is all about) we might actually begin to do things differently, and perhaps even correct our mistakes.
Having driven into the second most congested city in England last year.....but that's another story

Resolutions

I saw a series of resolutions for the New Year today...they were of the variety...think positively rather than negatively. Not in itself a bad idea. This week's readings for example invite us to "give thanks in all circumstances" (I Thessalonians 5:18)
I could see as I was talking about this on Sunday last that some of my flock were finding it difficult... how could S give thanks for her son's death age 18, particularly when his birthday was this week..
I came across this schmaltzy little passage from Corrie Ten Boom's :The Hiding Place ....perhaps it is not so schmaltzy as chastening to a world that is cynical and superficial:

Christians sisters Betsie and Corrie were assigned to Barracks 28 of Ravensbruck. They smuggled a Bible in with them, and eventually began to open it up to share with their fellow prisoners, who crowded around them as they read it aloud, clinging to its promises.

Betsie urged Corrie to give thanks in all circumstances–Betsie insisted that Corrie give thanks for the filthy facilities, soiled bedding, claustrophobic spaces stacked with piers for beds stacked three high, and the fleas. Oh yes, the place was teeming with fleas.

She excitedly invited Corrie to join her in thanking God for every single thing in their miserable new barracks.

Corrie was doubtful.

Then Betsie pointed out a few obvious things: being assigned together, the Bible they were able to smuggle in. Corrie agreed and then chimed in with thanks for the fact that there was no inspection when they entered.

Betsie added that they should be thankful that they were packed so close–so that more would hear! She prodded Corrie to pray that, too, so she did.

Then Betsie brought up the fleas. To give thanks for the fleas.

But Corrie’d had enough. There was no way even God could make her grateful for a flea.

Betsy reminded, “Give thanks in all circumstances,” not only in pleasant circumstances. She wanted Corrie to give thanks for everything that was part of the place where God had put them. So she stood there in the filth with her sister, and they gave thanks for the fleas.

They invited all the women crammed into that dormitory to join them for worship. They sang hymns and read Scripture, translating into the various languages represented in the room. They were bold. They preached and prayed and worshiped. In spite of almost constant surveillance everywhere else in the barracks, the dormitory was virtually ignored. They were barely supervised, if at all. They couldn’t understand it, but they certainly took advantage of that rare freedom.

Then, much later, Betsie was working in the dormitory knitting alongside some others who were too weak for the hard outside labor, and they called for a supervisor to settle some confusion about their assignment. The supervisor came, but wouldn’t set foot in the room.

It was the fleas. The supervisor said that the place was crawling with fleas and refused to enter.

(the story is found in The Hiding Place , by Corrie ten Boom, Bantam Books, New York City, NY, 1971)

Pedestrian claims about blogging

I make no claim that my blogs are anything other than my public declamations of my rather desultory life. The temporary footprints on the sandy beach on which I walk today
The reader of course does not have to read. Alack I think the writer often feels compelled to write.
As I read back through my now extensive history of journaling, and latterly blogging, I am often amazed (and thankful) at how much I have been able to debrief.
If some readers are bemused, so be it. If they are helped, then, good; if they are illuminated even better. But I blog for no one other than myself. Perhaps a little self-indulgent, or expressionistic. All the better I suspect for being so frank about it.
The reader, as I say, does not have to read.

The exact science of blogging

I am sorry that my blogging has been erratic of late (will try to do better). It takes some effort to be witty, intelligent and original every day. I have noticed that many once prolific bloggers fall by the way.
This is particularly likely to happen when a major or minor crisis happens and you just find that the ten minutes you could once use efficiently no longer exists. So I apologise. Some will know that there has indeed been a major/minor crisis which has involved the change of who lives with whom in our family. This has been relatively peaceable, though not without its moments.
It seems to be settling down, and so there is some hope that my life will regain some daily routine.

My pre-New Year resolution

• I will try and do better with blogging. Please hold me to account!!

Venice

However, going back to William Finn, the elegiac poem Venice; was to my mind a wonderful example of how poetry should be.

Mark Oates (latterly one of the many Jean Valjeans) just sang this to perefection.

(sorry this printed out as prose...you can see other lyrics here.

It is also good prose!!

VENICE,

The former lover of my lover 

Was a sophisticated Pole named Bolek
Not polite, he’d join Arthur and me for dinner
Looking distracted and thinner
He’d take a bite of his rare delicious lamb chop
And say, “Really Billy this has gotta stop.”
I’d say, “What’s gotta stop?”
He’d say, “You’re being a dick.”
I’d say, “Bolek.”
He’d say, “Billy.”
I’d say, “Bolek.”
He’d say, “What?”
That then was the night I knew that Bolek was sick
He’d say, “We got to go to Venice.
Because in Venice everyday life’s a work of art
And must be seen first hand.
Breathe deep, our destination’s Venice.
Beauty and pleasure is all we can hope to understand.”
So Arthur says, “What’s wrong with Bolek?”
And I think finally he sees what I see
Huh? What’d I see?
Well the truth is, it doesn’t matter
All you have to know is he grew thinner, I grew fatter
And later on, as we strolled along down Broadway
Bolek thought he saw a gun and whacked a wacko in the ass
Bolek took off down the street
Chased by this dangerous guy
I yelled, “Bolek.”
He kept fleeing
I yelled, “Bolek!”
He yelled, “What?”
And then he turned around and then he sang to the sky
“My friends, I’m taking you to Venice.
Because in Venice everyday life’s a work of art
And must be seen first hand.
Breathe deep.
The world revolves ‘round Venice.
Beauty and pleasure is all we can hope to understand.”
So we went to Venice Jumped in the canals
Three unlikely pals In Venice
St. Mark’s Square
That is where
We’d prepare
To be awed
Here in the city where I feel the presence of God
In truth, we never went to Venice
And we said we would, but Bolek died too quickly
Second truth, this, whatever it is, he’d hate it
He would mutter bourgeois shit and,
“please incinerate it”
“Oh go to hell Bolek,”
I’d yell like a madman
Of guys who liked me least, I liked him best
I see a gondola float,
Bolek’s inside and at rest
Then the gondolier starts singing
Bolek joins in strong and deep
And all the world’s in song just as I hum off to sleep
“My friends, I’m taking you to Venice.
Because in Venice everyday life’s a work of art
And must be seen first hand.
Life ends, but nothing ends in Venice.
Beauty and pleasure is all we can hope to understand.
Beauty and pleasure is all we can hope to understand.
In Venice,
Venice.”

Another YOUTUBE...Great stuff


this guy Michael Lowney is just toooooo talented don't you think

My dog

Took me a while to track down the William Finn Lyrics (see below).

This song is much cleverer than it looks...marking the transitiuon in the show between muysing on the dark humour of life and the emergence of the  encounter with death...there is an unremitting encounter with death. The Yout tube is also good but Paul was better!!

My Dogs

I had a little dog,
his name was on his collar
His ears felt like a rug
I bought him for a dollar

I'd bathe him in the sink,
each day the dog got sicker
I gave him milk to drink...
I also gave him liquor.

Oh, my dog with his funny little face
ran around this rundown place 
and one day, he died
my dog, god I miss him
my dog, I would kiss his head
and he would sleep with me in bed.

I got another dog.
I painted this one leopard
I called it leopard spot.
He was born a German Shepherd
*laughs*
We'd laugh that dog and me,
I'd tell the jokes, he'd snicker
we'd sit beneath the tree, 
I'd read him Rin Tin Tin and Flicker.

Oh, my dog, playfully he'd misbehave, 
he was young and strong and brave but one day, he died.
oh god, I'm near cryin'
oh god, he's lyin' at the vets...
guess that's what comes of loving pets!

I had a sussex spanial called him Daniel,
but it's name was Trudy,
She died too soon
Next, I had a Skiperke,
loved that dog unashamedly
It was freshly washed!
...when it got squashed...
like a dog in a cartoon...

My next dog me no like.
A dandy Dinmont was he.
I used to toss the canine from my bike.
His name was Mr. Fuzzy.

I tried to change his size,
I pushed his face in flatter,
I pinched and squeezed his eyes,
but it really didn't matter.

Oh, my dog, Stupid little Dandy D.
I loathed it and it loathed me,
It lived FOR-EVER!
Oh, god, life's ironic
Oh, god, I'm a Catatonic guy...
why's it only dogs I love that die?

My dogs...t 

v=r2VHo-92VbY

Elegiac

Thanks to the 22 year old S Clark who persuaded me to see William Finn's "Elegies" yesterday afternoon.
An autobiographical work by the American lyricist/composer it is curious concatenation of witty Broadway style stuff and yet deeply reflective and challenging.
Personally I feel satisfied when theatre makes you cry (it did). Fixes you to your seat in disbelief (it did) at the power of the emotion generated.
The singers were just fantastic. But what struck me most was the recaptured sense of Elegy that is in Finn's text.
Truly deep and profound toiuching stuff which had a true sense not only of elegy but of eulogy.
I will try and track down some of the text during the day to post them here.

Harvest

Have I become a farmer? For the last three days I have actually eaten the fruit of my labour.Whilst not actually managing to get a tomato (yet...still green)...tonight we will have a tomato (from the shop...quite cricket ball like) and rocket and basil salad (from the garden). The rocket was delicious tasty and sweet (even though parishioner J and I did have a conversation last Sunday which implied that rocket probably grew (as a weed) in our gardens long before we planted it !!)
I long for the first red tomato...there are plenty of green ones and lots of flowers. My dad would be proud. Laus tibi Domine!