I am still on a mission to teach Mpira to do tricks. He now has quite an impressive repertoire.
He can 'dance' - up on the hind legs, staggering around with his paws in the air until he receives a tasty tit-bit.
He will sit (reluctantly) and then wave a paw - always the left forepaw - at me in response to 'High five!' in a Central Asian accent (thanks, Borat).
He is now learning to roll over on his back, waving his paws in the air, in response to 'Bang!' He thinks he has created a shortcut of half a roll and then back onto the paws, but he hasn't trained me to feed him in response to that yet. I usually win.
Monday 31 March 2008
Sunday 30 March 2008
More signs of spring
The sun came out today. The rain held off. We had the doors and windows wide open. And the first 'hedge veg' of the season appeared down the road.
'Hedge veg' - often referred to as an 'honesty box' - is normally a wooden box on a stone wall, in a hedge, or on a grassy bank. The box will contain a few offerings of whatever the owner has grown: a few tomatoes; bunches of new carrots, still with their feathery tops on; two or three onions in a plastic bag; a lettuce. All for sale.
The money - exact change only - is put into a suitable container. This might be a milk churn with a slit in the top, padlocked and set into concrete; a small cashbox with a hole in it for the money; or, quite simply, a jam jar or plastic ice cream box.
Occasionally, an honesty box is robbed. This makes the local newspaper, sometimes the radio. But usually the system works beautifully. We love to buy this fresh produce.
And, in Guernsey, flowers are available in this way all the year round. Wonderful.
'Hedge veg' - often referred to as an 'honesty box' - is normally a wooden box on a stone wall, in a hedge, or on a grassy bank. The box will contain a few offerings of whatever the owner has grown: a few tomatoes; bunches of new carrots, still with their feathery tops on; two or three onions in a plastic bag; a lettuce. All for sale.
The money - exact change only - is put into a suitable container. This might be a milk churn with a slit in the top, padlocked and set into concrete; a small cashbox with a hole in it for the money; or, quite simply, a jam jar or plastic ice cream box.
Occasionally, an honesty box is robbed. This makes the local newspaper, sometimes the radio. But usually the system works beautifully. We love to buy this fresh produce.
And, in Guernsey, flowers are available in this way all the year round. Wonderful.
Saturday 29 March 2008
Crosswords
Not cross words - on the contrary, it's a good family activity - but crosswords. I like our local paper's cryptic crossword.
But why is it that sometimes the clues - clever though they might be - are mega easy, whereas at others I just don't 'get it'? Even when I do, the workings of the compiler's mind seem a bizarre mystery.
Has anyone one compiled a list of compilers' mental profiles which could then be used as labels? Then I'd know that the Guernsey Press, the Daily Telegraph and the Glaswegian Chronicle all host crosswords of the kind that I can solve.
But why is it that sometimes the clues - clever though they might be - are mega easy, whereas at others I just don't 'get it'? Even when I do, the workings of the compiler's mind seem a bizarre mystery.
Has anyone one compiled a list of compilers' mental profiles which could then be used as labels? Then I'd know that the Guernsey Press, the Daily Telegraph and the Glaswegian Chronicle all host crosswords of the kind that I can solve.
Spring
Spring is on its way. Not only do the clocks go forward tomorrow as we go on to British Summer Time, but nature too is declaring the advent of warmer weather. Not that it feels like it at the moment, besieged as we are with gales and rain.
Yet the daffodils and crocuses bloomed weeks ago, and now the flowering trees and shrubs are flaunting pink and white blossom. The first tinge of pale bright green is appearing on the bare branches. The bluebells have thrust their green leaves aggressively through the leaf mould and are waiting to follow up with blue spears.
There are other indications, too. The pussy willow has shed most of its pollen-laden yellow blossom, following the flower with leaves from the tips down. The first squashed hedgehog has appeared on the roads. And today, I went to put my shoes on, when my hand rested on some unspeakably disgusting slime. In our house, that could have been anything. It was almost a relief to find that it was a slug which had awoken from its winter slumbers and crawled in through the back door. The first slug of spring.
Yet the daffodils and crocuses bloomed weeks ago, and now the flowering trees and shrubs are flaunting pink and white blossom. The first tinge of pale bright green is appearing on the bare branches. The bluebells have thrust their green leaves aggressively through the leaf mould and are waiting to follow up with blue spears.
There are other indications, too. The pussy willow has shed most of its pollen-laden yellow blossom, following the flower with leaves from the tips down. The first squashed hedgehog has appeared on the roads. And today, I went to put my shoes on, when my hand rested on some unspeakably disgusting slime. In our house, that could have been anything. It was almost a relief to find that it was a slug which had awoken from its winter slumbers and crawled in through the back door. The first slug of spring.
Wednesday 26 March 2008
Friendship and farewell
I spent rather a long time at the airport today. I love going to the airport - I always bump into someone I know: I'm a small town gal at heart. But today was sad, as I said goodbye to a dear friend who is leaving the island. She might return one day - who knows? But it won't be soon.
A Swedish poem says, loosely translated:
Meeting and parting
Is the way life goes.
Parting and meeting
Is the song of hope.
I have had many partings. I have learnt to enjoy the joy of meeting - if only fleetingly. To treasure the moment. And so, even in the sadness of goodbyes, we had joy. The joy of revelling in our friendship. A good gift. A gift from God.
A Swedish poem says, loosely translated:
Meeting and parting
Is the way life goes.
Parting and meeting
Is the song of hope.
I have had many partings. I have learnt to enjoy the joy of meeting - if only fleetingly. To treasure the moment. And so, even in the sadness of goodbyes, we had joy. The joy of revelling in our friendship. A good gift. A gift from God.
Tuesday 18 March 2008
Selfishness
I think, if I talk about selfishness, I am guilty of it myself. Because I'm giving MY opinion, MY thoughts and (obviously) consider them important. Yet I've had too many instances of it today to keep quiet.
Starting with me: beginning to get impatient in the supermarket checkout queue. MY time is so precious, so why am I waiting so long?
Then there were the children I teach. It wasn't my lesson, but THEY decided they didn't want to meet the normal classroom expectations but that THEY would mess around. THEY wanted to do that, so THEY did just that - that's what THEY wanted.
There were adults, too. Adults who put themselves before everyone else, who say what THEY want without regard for the effect of their words, who march over other people's feelings.
Selfishness. If we all had more 'otherishness' (we call it love, caring, thoughtfulness, empathy...)wouldn't we be happier?
Starting with me: beginning to get impatient in the supermarket checkout queue. MY time is so precious, so why am I waiting so long?
Then there were the children I teach. It wasn't my lesson, but THEY decided they didn't want to meet the normal classroom expectations but that THEY would mess around. THEY wanted to do that, so THEY did just that - that's what THEY wanted.
There were adults, too. Adults who put themselves before everyone else, who say what THEY want without regard for the effect of their words, who march over other people's feelings.
Selfishness. If we all had more 'otherishness' (we call it love, caring, thoughtfulness, empathy...)wouldn't we be happier?
Friday 14 March 2008
Dancing at Inopportune Moments
I went shopping, briefly, on my way home today. It's not a shop I go to often: apart from being too big (I can't find what I want) it has very annoying music - the kind where you know there is a beat and a tune but it's very hard to identify either.
Yet, standing in the queue at the till, I suddenly felt this tremendous urge to start dancing. Just for the joy of it - for the crack, as the Irish would say. It wasn't just a thought, an "oh, it would be nice to dance to this track" idea. The music was still unrecognizable, nothing so familiar that it sparked off memories of parties and discos. My feet wanted to break into the steps of a jig or a foxtrot - they didn't care, just something quick; my shoulders started twitching; my whole body just wanted to start dancing.
I didn't give in. I was on my own - no one to have a laugh with; I am in my fifties and didn't really fancy making a complete spectacle of myself; and I was VERY conscious that the music was such rubbish that I would have looked absolutely extraordinary.
But, even now, I still want to break out. There's a bubble of joy inside me that just wants to bounce.
Something to do with the kids coming home tomorrow? Wahey!
Yet, standing in the queue at the till, I suddenly felt this tremendous urge to start dancing. Just for the joy of it - for the crack, as the Irish would say. It wasn't just a thought, an "oh, it would be nice to dance to this track" idea. The music was still unrecognizable, nothing so familiar that it sparked off memories of parties and discos. My feet wanted to break into the steps of a jig or a foxtrot - they didn't care, just something quick; my shoulders started twitching; my whole body just wanted to start dancing.
I didn't give in. I was on my own - no one to have a laugh with; I am in my fifties and didn't really fancy making a complete spectacle of myself; and I was VERY conscious that the music was such rubbish that I would have looked absolutely extraordinary.
But, even now, I still want to break out. There's a bubble of joy inside me that just wants to bounce.
Something to do with the kids coming home tomorrow? Wahey!
Wednesday 12 March 2008
Renee
I can't remember if I have talked about my friend Renee before. I'm amazed if I haven't. Her name should be Blessing. When I grow up, I want to be JUST like her. (And if I look even half as elegant and pretty, that will be a bonus.)
She asked our family round to lunch a few weeks after we had arrived in Guernsey. We hadn't even met. Once we did, we all fell in love with her and count ourselves blessed to be her friends. If you can imagine the fruit of the Spirit - love, joy, peace, patience, kindness, goodness, faithfulness, gentleness and self-control - all rolled up to perfection in one person: well, that's Renee. Added to that, she has a wicked sense of humour and incredible energy. I just love her.
I've been off school for a couple of days getting over mild flu. Nothing serious, just tired. So Renee pops round. She's cleared out her freezer and popped into Marks and Spencer for fruit and other goodies on the way to our house, bent on making sure I don't wear myself out with cooking. Such kindness. I am completely humbled by her selflessness and thoughtfulness.
But the best thing was her visit, the gift of her time. The real treasure.
She asked our family round to lunch a few weeks after we had arrived in Guernsey. We hadn't even met. Once we did, we all fell in love with her and count ourselves blessed to be her friends. If you can imagine the fruit of the Spirit - love, joy, peace, patience, kindness, goodness, faithfulness, gentleness and self-control - all rolled up to perfection in one person: well, that's Renee. Added to that, she has a wicked sense of humour and incredible energy. I just love her.
I've been off school for a couple of days getting over mild flu. Nothing serious, just tired. So Renee pops round. She's cleared out her freezer and popped into Marks and Spencer for fruit and other goodies on the way to our house, bent on making sure I don't wear myself out with cooking. Such kindness. I am completely humbled by her selflessness and thoughtfulness.
But the best thing was her visit, the gift of her time. The real treasure.
Sunday 9 March 2008
Terry
It's Terry's funeral on Tuesday. I don't think I'll be going - it's a work day, and Terry isn't - wasn't - a relative.
He wasn't even a friend. He didn't know my name: sometimes he'd call me Sue, more often Ann. Yet he was family. He was a member of our church, a fellow Christian.
Terry lived, in many ways, a sad life. He had special needs: he didn't really 'fit in'. He found it hard to hold down a job. His home life was difficult and he worried and sorrowed over the other members of his family, especially his mother. She has outlived both her sons: Terry's brother died, also of cancer, just a few months ago.
Yet Terry is now at peace and enjoying the perfection of heaven. His faith seemed unwavering. He attended church with unfailing devotion. He stood up frequently to pray during the services. And, when Jonny and Cat were working overseas, he never missed an opportunity to tell me he was praying for 'those two of yours...doing that good work'.
My enduring memory of Terry will not be of the way he would sidle round the church, eyeing up the next person to receive his confidences; nor of the aura of cigarettes which hung around him - the very cigarettes which led to his cancer. No, my memory of Terry is truly beautiful. A reminder of how God, as when he chose David to be king, does not look at outward appearances, but at the heart.
I was up on the balcony during the morning service. There below me, on the other side of the church, was Terry. His shoulders were hunched as he stood, stooping, in his pew. It was a couple of months before his death and already he looked frail and ill. Yet this could not stop him expressing his joy at being in the Lord's presence. I was humbled as I watched him throw his arms up in worship, his face expressing both his misery and his love of God. He was completely lost in God's presence, a forerunner of where he is now.
He wasn't even a friend. He didn't know my name: sometimes he'd call me Sue, more often Ann. Yet he was family. He was a member of our church, a fellow Christian.
Terry lived, in many ways, a sad life. He had special needs: he didn't really 'fit in'. He found it hard to hold down a job. His home life was difficult and he worried and sorrowed over the other members of his family, especially his mother. She has outlived both her sons: Terry's brother died, also of cancer, just a few months ago.
Yet Terry is now at peace and enjoying the perfection of heaven. His faith seemed unwavering. He attended church with unfailing devotion. He stood up frequently to pray during the services. And, when Jonny and Cat were working overseas, he never missed an opportunity to tell me he was praying for 'those two of yours...doing that good work'.
My enduring memory of Terry will not be of the way he would sidle round the church, eyeing up the next person to receive his confidences; nor of the aura of cigarettes which hung around him - the very cigarettes which led to his cancer. No, my memory of Terry is truly beautiful. A reminder of how God, as when he chose David to be king, does not look at outward appearances, but at the heart.
I was up on the balcony during the morning service. There below me, on the other side of the church, was Terry. His shoulders were hunched as he stood, stooping, in his pew. It was a couple of months before his death and already he looked frail and ill. Yet this could not stop him expressing his joy at being in the Lord's presence. I was humbled as I watched him throw his arms up in worship, his face expressing both his misery and his love of God. He was completely lost in God's presence, a forerunner of where he is now.
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