Finding myself with more time than expected and dealing with internal stress, it was a delight to find a site which advertises all kinds of free books: 45 different places, apparently, where you can download thousands of free books and journals.
I haven't actually looked into it in any detail, not beyond the first page, but I am finding it a little stressful having so many web pages open on my browser. At least now I can cross this one off as I am sure to find it again. With The Husband having at least 30 Twitter pages open, Google history wouldn't be much of a help in backtracking to all the sites I have browsed...
Saturday 28 March 2020
Friday 27 March 2020
March Mayhem
The rain continued on into March. The rain continues on into March. The rain will very likely, most probably, perhaps certainly, continue on into March.
Four storms within a couple of weeks, dumping copious amounts of water onto our tiny rock of granite stuck in the English Channel. The peak was during the night of March 4th, where we awoke the following day to flooding.
My commute - normally 25 minutes - took 50, as I had to turn back twice before finding a lane which was not barred by a deep pond. (I may have stopped for a few minutes to photograph and film. Who wouldn't?) The first one, at the bottom of Donkey Hill, was a flooded valley, water stretching up across the fields as far as the eye could see. There was a handy abreveur situated there, manfully doing its best to channel water safely into an underground douit, but it was outclassed. The water was so deep that I didn't dare expose the electrics on the bicycle. I did, eventually, sail through a relatively shallow puddle, holding my breath and coasting across gently. To have turned around would have added yet another ten minute ride.
Meanwhile, at home, the flooded vege patch/firewood stack had spread all the way across the far side of the garden, the patio around the shed boasting an inch of water. The ground had been soggy for weeks but this was the last straw. Or the last few hundred gallons, I suppose. There was absolutely nowhere for the water to drain and it was, in any case, being topped up by water flowing from the (slightly higher) field next door.
My neighbour, Dear Nicky Next Door, started pumping out her well in the hope that the ground water would then flow into it. Richard went out and bought a pump, dug a trench and sank it into the ground. (We have great plans to dig a soakaway so that we are more prepared next time and can start to pump water before it gets to surface aka crisis level.) It took a couple of days, but the level in the flower beds started to subside, the water disappearing although the soil was still soggy. I fear for my little apple tree... the camellias, the pittosporum and the hydrangeas... but will just have to Wait And See.
We had a slight 'discussion' as to whether the dehumidifier, or leaving the shed wide open to the drying wind, was the best way of drying out the shed before it started to rot. Compromised for a bit of both.
Then we paused, and waited for the rain to stop.
Meanwhile, at school... parents' evenings looming; parents taking their children out of school on holiday, with an hour's notice, in one case; parents voicing their opinions. Sometimes, all those years of professional training and experience, not to mention successfully parenting two wonderful human beings, seems irrelevant and I obviously (in some quarters) really do not have anything to say about how A Particular Child is best taught. Hmmm.
March mayhem? Indeed. But 'in like a lion, out like a lamb'. Spring is most definitely coming as flowers start to erupt on the grassy banks. Celandines flood yellow everywhere I look; primroses stud the banks; violets hide in the hedgerows.
Then, of course, the mayhem rapidly accelerated as Covid-19 took over. Have documented thoughts elsewhere, but by the end of the month we were almost self-isolating, with a lockdown imposed by Guernsey. Not to mention Jonny and Adele occupying our newly-created tiny 'guest wing'. I'm quite proud of the lovely little suite of rooms I have created...
So, here we are. The days are getting longer - in many ways. The sun is brighter: and we try to stay bright, trusting that God will bring about great good and His glory in an overwhelmed, panic-stricken, helpless world.
Four storms within a couple of weeks, dumping copious amounts of water onto our tiny rock of granite stuck in the English Channel. The peak was during the night of March 4th, where we awoke the following day to flooding.
My commute - normally 25 minutes - took 50, as I had to turn back twice before finding a lane which was not barred by a deep pond. (I may have stopped for a few minutes to photograph and film. Who wouldn't?) The first one, at the bottom of Donkey Hill, was a flooded valley, water stretching up across the fields as far as the eye could see. There was a handy abreveur situated there, manfully doing its best to channel water safely into an underground douit, but it was outclassed. The water was so deep that I didn't dare expose the electrics on the bicycle. I did, eventually, sail through a relatively shallow puddle, holding my breath and coasting across gently. To have turned around would have added yet another ten minute ride.
Meanwhile, at home, the flooded vege patch/firewood stack had spread all the way across the far side of the garden, the patio around the shed boasting an inch of water. The ground had been soggy for weeks but this was the last straw. Or the last few hundred gallons, I suppose. There was absolutely nowhere for the water to drain and it was, in any case, being topped up by water flowing from the (slightly higher) field next door.
My neighbour, Dear Nicky Next Door, started pumping out her well in the hope that the ground water would then flow into it. Richard went out and bought a pump, dug a trench and sank it into the ground. (We have great plans to dig a soakaway so that we are more prepared next time and can start to pump water before it gets to surface aka crisis level.) It took a couple of days, but the level in the flower beds started to subside, the water disappearing although the soil was still soggy. I fear for my little apple tree... the camellias, the pittosporum and the hydrangeas... but will just have to Wait And See.
We had a slight 'discussion' as to whether the dehumidifier, or leaving the shed wide open to the drying wind, was the best way of drying out the shed before it started to rot. Compromised for a bit of both.
Then we paused, and waited for the rain to stop.
Meanwhile, at school... parents' evenings looming; parents taking their children out of school on holiday, with an hour's notice, in one case; parents voicing their opinions. Sometimes, all those years of professional training and experience, not to mention successfully parenting two wonderful human beings, seems irrelevant and I obviously (in some quarters) really do not have anything to say about how A Particular Child is best taught. Hmmm.
March mayhem? Indeed. But 'in like a lion, out like a lamb'. Spring is most definitely coming as flowers start to erupt on the grassy banks. Celandines flood yellow everywhere I look; primroses stud the banks; violets hide in the hedgerows.
Then, of course, the mayhem rapidly accelerated as Covid-19 took over. Have documented thoughts elsewhere, but by the end of the month we were almost self-isolating, with a lockdown imposed by Guernsey. Not to mention Jonny and Adele occupying our newly-created tiny 'guest wing'. I'm quite proud of the lovely little suite of rooms I have created...
Facing adversity
There is so much wonderful support out there on the web: perhaps, here, I might collect some of it.
First of all, in a situation which feels - and, to some extent is - out of control:
Wonderful advice from Psychology Today, including the old reminder:
My dearest friend Lisa posts this today on Facebook:
Lisa has also recommended to me a wonderful blog Find Wide Places. This post from incourage.me too, by Jennifer Dukes Lee has been on my web browser for some weeks, even before Covid-19. In her book It’s All Under Control she says: “We ask for a map, but instead Jesus gives us a compass and says, ‘Follow me.’”
Joys and sadness are part of life: Jesus modelled this for us.
Mental health issues given support at VeryWellMind.
First of all, in a situation which feels - and, to some extent is - out of control:
God, grant me the serenity to accept the things I cannot
change,
The courage to change the things I can,
And the wisdom to know the
difference.
My dearest friend Lisa posts this today on Facebook:
"My friend Jani Rubery wrote
these helpful words for this unprecedented time... "Have been musing about
all of the mixed emotions that we are experiencing as we navigate our way in
this turbulent time.
We are in a time of transition which was unexpected, unprepared for and unprecedented. Therefore the depth of emotions we are feeling - both positive and negative are to be completely expected and appropriate.
During times of transition we have to let go - let go of what we know as ‘normal’, let go of of our concept of how our life works, let go of how we think things should be, and sadly for some - this even means letting go of loved ones. As we let go - we grieve and enter the time which is called the unknown. The time in between the letting go and coming to terms with the ‘new normal.’
I write this because I think it is important that we are kind to ourselves and kind to others with regards to their reactions. There will be so much disturbance in the unknown time - we must acknowledge this and recognise this is a normal human process. It is important that we recognise it for what it is and try to get through it - through listening, understanding, acts of kindness and love. There is hope in that we know that during times of unknowing there are positive things that emerge - creativity, new relationships, deeper connections, and new ways of building the future.
So while we have this new space available to us - as difficult as it may be as we had not expected it or prepared for it - let’s take the time to grieve and let go. As we let go - we need to let come. We need to let come - the unexpected, the new, the different. Let come what is there to emerge. At the moment it feels like I am doing this daily.
I myself am curious about what will come as a result of this moment - personally as well as globally. So I will continue to grieve, let go and endeavour to let come...."
We are in a time of transition which was unexpected, unprepared for and unprecedented. Therefore the depth of emotions we are feeling - both positive and negative are to be completely expected and appropriate.
During times of transition we have to let go - let go of what we know as ‘normal’, let go of of our concept of how our life works, let go of how we think things should be, and sadly for some - this even means letting go of loved ones. As we let go - we grieve and enter the time which is called the unknown. The time in between the letting go and coming to terms with the ‘new normal.’
I write this because I think it is important that we are kind to ourselves and kind to others with regards to their reactions. There will be so much disturbance in the unknown time - we must acknowledge this and recognise this is a normal human process. It is important that we recognise it for what it is and try to get through it - through listening, understanding, acts of kindness and love. There is hope in that we know that during times of unknowing there are positive things that emerge - creativity, new relationships, deeper connections, and new ways of building the future.
So while we have this new space available to us - as difficult as it may be as we had not expected it or prepared for it - let’s take the time to grieve and let go. As we let go - we need to let come. We need to let come - the unexpected, the new, the different. Let come what is there to emerge. At the moment it feels like I am doing this daily.
I myself am curious about what will come as a result of this moment - personally as well as globally. So I will continue to grieve, let go and endeavour to let come...."
Joys and sadness are part of life: Jesus modelled this for us.
Mental health issues given support at VeryWellMind.
Songs, of course, are a great encouragement:
Otherwise, there is great humour to be found (albeit some of it rather rude!)
Or a parody on Supercalifragilisticexpialidocious!
Nick Heath, sports commentator... commenting on everyday life.
Nick Heath, sports commentator... commenting on everyday life.
And then there are the numerous acts of kindness, like this one here on Guernsey:
And, last of all: even more beautiful music.
Covid-19: lockdown
So, not even a week on from Mothering Sunday and we have had a few days' lockdown already. After much stress and agonising, Jonny and Adele arrived here yesterday and are now self-isolating in the tiny guest wing I had much joy in creating for them.
They are confined to the house and garden for 14 days: we can go out for essential shopping/medical trips and for 2 hours' of exercise a day - usually walking the dog. The weather is beautifully bright and sunny, albeit still chilly - we are, after all, still in March.
Meanwhile, we watch Covid-19 news. This morning, an interview from New Zealand: John Campbell speaking to the Prime Minister, Jacinda Ardern. NZ has, especially in this crisis, many similarities with Guernsey and so it was no surprise that our chief minister, Gavin St Pierre, had tweeted the interview.
In all of this, I can't help but be entertained by the wonderful round-the-world connections we have. Nearly 7 years ago, on our first visit to Cat in New Zealand, we indavertently shared air time with John Campbell. He hosted a show called Campbell Live where, once a week, he would broadcast on location around the country. That particular evening was from the World Famous Fish and Chip Shop in Mangonui, where we were staying for a night. We had eaten at the far corner of the restaurant and were about to leave when the production crew came over and asked if we would mind staying to provide some background. So there we were, in the background on Campbell Live on national television a few minutes later. :-)
The other connection was that Jacinda Ardern was attended by the same midwife when she had her baby a couple of months before Cat...
A mild diversion. The reality of being confine to home is beginning to make itself felt. Skype and WhatsApp chats and calls help, but time is beginning to drag. Time for a timetable...
Tomorrow. Otherwise, just Take One Day At A Time.
They are confined to the house and garden for 14 days: we can go out for essential shopping/medical trips and for 2 hours' of exercise a day - usually walking the dog. The weather is beautifully bright and sunny, albeit still chilly - we are, after all, still in March.
Meanwhile, we watch Covid-19 news. This morning, an interview from New Zealand: John Campbell speaking to the Prime Minister, Jacinda Ardern. NZ has, especially in this crisis, many similarities with Guernsey and so it was no surprise that our chief minister, Gavin St Pierre, had tweeted the interview.
New Zealand’s position and policy choices seem very similar to Guernsey’s. The interview with Jacinda Ardern explains it well.
In all of this, I can't help but be entertained by the wonderful round-the-world connections we have. Nearly 7 years ago, on our first visit to Cat in New Zealand, we indavertently shared air time with John Campbell. He hosted a show called Campbell Live where, once a week, he would broadcast on location around the country. That particular evening was from the World Famous Fish and Chip Shop in Mangonui, where we were staying for a night. We had eaten at the far corner of the restaurant and were about to leave when the production crew came over and asked if we would mind staying to provide some background. So there we were, in the background on Campbell Live on national television a few minutes later. :-)
The other connection was that Jacinda Ardern was attended by the same midwife when she had her baby a couple of months before Cat...
A mild diversion. The reality of being confine to home is beginning to make itself felt. Skype and WhatsApp chats and calls help, but time is beginning to drag. Time for a timetable...
Tomorrow. Otherwise, just Take One Day At A Time.
CoVid19: the beginnings
Well, the world and his mother will be commenting on CoVid19 today, Mother's Day/Mothering Sunday, so I thought I would join in.
Was going to just include it in my monthly round-up, but, well... the pandemic probably deserves its own post.
So here we go.
Today was a day set aside for prayer and fasting by GAFCON, an Anglican group which aims to "guard and proclaim the unchanging, transforming Gospel through biblically faithful preaching and teaching". In addition, a local Christian mobilised others to stand at various high points around the coast of Guernsey, praying for the island; and the Church of England has called us to light a candle at 7pm, beginning a week of prayer and practical action.
So I did.
I took the dog, walking out along the cliffs, praying as I went. I paused at various points, looking out across a still and shining sea, praying with the others scattered around the island's coastline. I fasted from food - didn't forgo the morning coffee - until evening. A good discipline, as every hunger pang prompted prayer. Now, as I write, I look at the candle in the window, a reminder to pray everyday this week.
Practical action? I started yesterday, dropping cards round to a dozen neighbours, giving our contact details and offers of help if needed. Had some lovely texts in return, making contact including one elderly gentleman for whom we will do some shopping. Good to know we are in touch, should we all need extra help in the days and weeks to come.
Meanwhile, my neighbour shares her Ministry of the Eggs, generously giving her neighbours her hens' bounty: and sharing with me the amazing tree tomatoes, grown HERE ON GUERNSEY by her equally generous cleaner, who has a tree in her greenhouse. Such a wonderful gift for me, reminding me of beloved Kenya.
There have been some wonderful tips and advice floating around, not least from the executive director of UNICEF who encapsulated all of them into a few brief minutes.
There has been much humour, the best of which has flooded my WhatsApp groups.
But best of all, as I walked the coastal path, I saw signs of spring. I stopped to take photos, knowing that soon the days would accelerate in length and the wind would blow soft once again.
So I reflect on the day, just one of many long days in this time of social distancing. Fasting slowed me down, helped me notice, spurred me on to pray. Calmed my spirit. The week has been full of dilemma: should I/shouldn't I go to work? Should my son and daughter-in-law leave Tanzania to come here, for the holidays at least? What would be best? Who knows?
Only God. Uncertain times, but trusting Him, the God who loves us more than a mother, who holds us safely in the palm of His hand, under the cover of His sheltering wings, is the best thing to do.
Thankful this Sunday evening.
Was going to just include it in my monthly round-up, but, well... the pandemic probably deserves its own post.
So here we go.
Today was a day set aside for prayer and fasting by GAFCON, an Anglican group which aims to "guard and proclaim the unchanging, transforming Gospel through biblically faithful preaching and teaching". In addition, a local Christian mobilised others to stand at various high points around the coast of Guernsey, praying for the island; and the Church of England has called us to light a candle at 7pm, beginning a week of prayer and practical action.
So I did.
I took the dog, walking out along the cliffs, praying as I went. I paused at various points, looking out across a still and shining sea, praying with the others scattered around the island's coastline. I fasted from food - didn't forgo the morning coffee - until evening. A good discipline, as every hunger pang prompted prayer. Now, as I write, I look at the candle in the window, a reminder to pray everyday this week.
 |
| The light shines in the darkness... |
 |
| ...and the darkness shall not overcome it. |
Meanwhile, my neighbour shares her Ministry of the Eggs, generously giving her neighbours her hens' bounty: and sharing with me the amazing tree tomatoes, grown HERE ON GUERNSEY by her equally generous cleaner, who has a tree in her greenhouse. Such a wonderful gift for me, reminding me of beloved Kenya.
There have been some wonderful tips and advice floating around, not least from the executive director of UNICEF who encapsulated all of them into a few brief minutes.
There has been much humour, the best of which has flooded my WhatsApp groups.
But best of all, as I walked the coastal path, I saw signs of spring. I stopped to take photos, knowing that soon the days would accelerate in length and the wind would blow soft once again.
So I reflect on the day, just one of many long days in this time of social distancing. Fasting slowed me down, helped me notice, spurred me on to pray. Calmed my spirit. The week has been full of dilemma: should I/shouldn't I go to work? Should my son and daughter-in-law leave Tanzania to come here, for the holidays at least? What would be best? Who knows?
Only God. Uncertain times, but trusting Him, the God who loves us more than a mother, who holds us safely in the palm of His hand, under the cover of His sheltering wings, is the best thing to do.
Thankful this Sunday evening.
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