A-Z Challenge Day 9 - Ignatian Spiritual Exercises

 Within the Exercises, daily instructions include various meditations and contemplations on the nature of the world, of human psychology as Ignatius understood it, and of man's relationship to God through Jesus Christ. The Exercises are divided into four "weeks" of varying lengths with four major themes: sin, the life of Jesus, the Passion of Jesus, and the Resurrection of Jesus. the "weeks" represent stages in a process of wholehearted commitment to the service of God. During each day of the Exercises, a typical retreatant prays with a particular exercise, as assigned by the director, reviews each prayer, and, following four or five periods of prayer, reports back to the spiritual director of the retreat who helps them to understand what these experiences of prayer might mean to the retreatant. The goal of the Exercises is to reflect upon their experiences and to understand how these same experiences might apply to the retreatant's life. - Wikipedia

I mentioned on Day One of the Challenge that I'd spent more than a month away on retreat last autumn, at St Buenos Jesuit Retreat Centre in North Wales, making the Ignatian Spiritual Exercises, that set of prayers and meditations set out by St Ignatius of Loyola as a means of helping you live and reassess your relationship with Christ and your calling to follow him in the world.  At risk of sounding like something out of Sesame Street, today's blog entry is brought to you by the letter I. In the past few years, two of the most formative experiences on my journey have begun with the same letter: I've written elsewhere on various blogs about Mr GP and my trip to Iona, and here I was, less than five years later, living, or attempting to live what if you'd suggested it to me  even then, I'd have never imagined myself doing in a thousand years, at least not in its full form, (I blame an extended mid-life crisis!) Or maybe, more positively, it really has been a case of When I'm calling youuuuuu!!!! I remember some of my early vocational meanderings, and, looking back now, even I can see that I've moved on since the days of my Vocational Self-Assembly Pack.

Since I got back, I've been unpacking, or trying to unpack, what was going on for me. I'm well used to silent retreats, but even so, this had such  a different dynamic to it from anything I've experienced previously.  I've noticed since that although on the web there's a proliferation of material on the Exercises, very few people appear to have written about their journey . Which in some ways, is quite right. It's an intensely personal  experience in many ways. Wittgenstein's "Whereof one cannot speak, thereof one must be silent."comes to mind. (Though probably not with the philosopher's intended meaning!)  So often on retreat,   I really have to restrain my urge to define, analyze and summarise my spiritual journey into neat soundbites, thus killing it stone dead in the attempt.  My inner 'Martha,' if you like, my urge to 'doing' at the expense of my 'doing.' Not to mention my  ability to focus on  the  moment; I'm an expert on the 'if onlys' and the 'what ifs?' at the expense of   the present.

People decide they wish to make  the Exercises, as to other retreats for many and differing reasons: it could be a time of intense change, of vocational exploration, an important decision that needs to be made. When it came to the point, I'd  already made mine prior to going into the retreat: that, sadly, my time as a Franciscan tertiary had run its course. The time apart simply affirmed this. Not that all was plain sailing - we'd  been warned beforehand of how tiring - physically, spiritually and psychologically the best part of five weeks intense prayer  can be, and that was no exaggeration. I struggled with much, learned much about myself, good and not so good, but I can say I came out knowing myself....just a little better. Everybody's experience  is different, as I said. I'll continue to reflect and pray out of my memory of those days for years to come  As far as I was concerned, there were no fireworks (well, relatively few!), no messages from the Almighty written large in the sky, (although my most memorable moments were spent sitting looking out over  the valley at sunrises and sunsets). The messages I received were gentler, quieter, simple affirmation of the rightness of me, as myself and of the place where I am  and what I'm doing. That'll do me for now.

A-Z Challenge Day 8 - Hills, Humour

Nearly missed the boat this time round! Yesterday was Mr GP's birthday, Mstr GP is with us this weekend and this morning we went for a long and muddy walk with GP dogs I and II, so I'm rather behind on the blogging front. So, how does humour come into all this, I hear you ask? Well, it's a tenuous link (humour did not enter into it  when I was struggling my way up and down a hill with little GP dog (above) pulling me here, there and everywhere.) Our older dog loves mud, puddles, unmentionable 'presents' left by passing cattle and wildlife; imagine the canine equivalent of Chanel No 5!  Water - preferably of the  muddy coffee variety with  a hint  of Parfum de Crotte de Renard   is for charging straight through. It goes with the territory. His breed are still used as hunters in some places.

GP Dog II on the other hand, is a dainty little lady, who likes  to think that she has an allergy to mud. She's also  sufficiently small that in an emergency, she could be picked up and carried. Not that I've given in so far. So what with her titupping all over the place trying to find dry land, and me, attached to her, trying to find a decent foothold, it was  an interesting experience. As we finally found our way back down to the road and were walking  back to the car, the heavens opened and blasted  us with an icy shower.  Never mind, we got home safely, the leads and harnesses are in the wash and  GP Dog II has been popped into a hot bath and sponged down with baby powder-scented doggy shampoo. Mmm, glorious!

 GP Dog I doesn't 'do' baths; wrestling with close on 15Kg of a wriggly Fido isn't a back-friendly activity. After the time he wriggled out of my grasp, leapt out of the bath and charged down the stairs, scattering soap-suds as he went and crashed through the stairgate, hurting his leg in the process, we've left his spa treatment to the experts. He reminds me of Spotty Dog of The Woodentops fame, a BBC children's programme  from way way back.  Oh dear, I really am  showing my age here. Like GP Dog I, Spotty dog was a dab hand at recognising certain words:  'bone,' 'biscuit,' and the dreaded 'bath.' To that I'd add C-A-T. Mstr GP was remarking only today that dogs are like children; sometimes you have to spell words out because they understand so much! Have a listen - Spotty makes an appearance about 6 1/2 minutes into the clip.

A-Z Challenge Day 7 - Green Blogs

Ladies and gentlemen, for Day 7 of the A-Z Challenge, we're going green. When I first begun Growing Greenpatches and its predecessor, I had great fun googling to see what other blogs of greenish hue were out there. That's how I managed to stumble across one of my blogroll's longer-serving members, the talented, creative Crafty Green Poet, currently writing her way through 30 days of poetry with Napowrimo. I'm ashamed to say that I've been neglecting my roll this last year or so, but for gentle inspiration and a glimpse  into the beauties of Scotland, she's well worth a visit.

Another, Green-Patch  I found today, not only has  a blog, but also its own online community and Facebook group. Graziella writes at Green-patches blog, and, as she says, the blog started when as a complete novice to gardening she needed a means of keeping track of her plants. My goodness, they've sprouted and grown since then. I'm impressed, not to say green with envy.

In case you're wondering what on earth the photo has to do with today's blog, suffice it to say, it's a reminder of an occasion of 'Going Green' that I definitely don't wish to repeat, that of our infamous trip to Staffa, five years ago. Read all about it on my old Green Patches. I feel queasy just looking at those waves.

A-Z Challenge Day 6 - F

F is for...Fairies, Fantasy, and Flitting and - guess what - The Mighty F. Yes, there really is (or rather, was, as it  finished a couple of years ago) a blog entirely devoted to discussions of all things beginning with the sixth letter of the alphabet. More here:

The Mighty F is the universally recognized leader in all news and things (that start with the letter F).
In this comprehensive repository of f-words, you’ll find discussions about faith, foreign policy, Finland, feuds, fjords and whatever else we can come up with that starts with f.
Why? Because of one unfortunate four-letter word, the letter f has been unfairly sullied and stigmatized like no other letter in history. No more will we stand idly by while this noble letter is brought down by those who seek to destroy it.
Join us on our journey, from our meteoric rise, to our future spectacular implosion as we crumble under the weight of increased expectations and/or run out of things that start with f.
The in-between will be fun. I expect it’ll be like a really long episode of Sesame Street, but with more flam

Shame, they'd have been a natural for the A-Z. I wonder if they imploded or crumbled in the end?

A-Z Challenge Day 5 - Elephants

E? Let's see....Eczema? Elgar? Let's go for elephants. Interesting fact of the day: Did you know that classic children's song Nellie the Elephant is used to teach the correct rhythm of CPR (Cardiopulmonary Resuscitation)? I certainly didn't.

An especial  favourite when our children were little was Mrs Large and her gang of mini pachyderms. Jill Murphy's Five Minute's Peace has been gracing nursery bookshelves for 30 years now and I'm glad to see that it's still being reprinted. It's a tale that will resonate with stressed-out parents everywhere as much as with their offspring.  Amidst the chaos of a typical busy breakfast time, poor Mrs Large makes valiant attempts to creep  off for 'five minutes peace,' with a cuppa and a decadently steamy and perfumed bubble bath.  Does she succeed in her mission? No prizes for guessing! What I remember from that stage was that the loo was the only place where you could get away for even a few minutes, and even then you'd do what you had to do to the accompaniment of plaintive wails and sometimes even to the sight of little fingers trying to sneak under the door. When Ms GP was really tiny and I needed a bath, I used to buy time by installing her in her padded baby rocking chair on the bathroom floor and then sing Bibbidi-Bobbidi-Boo from Disney's  Cinderella on permanent loop. What I wouldn't have given for Spotify back then!

Thirty years later, Ms GP prefers showers, I've gone up two dress sizes, and love baths so much that I've wrinkles to rival those of poor Mrs L.  The Large family have taken off in a big way (pardon the pun) and have even had their own TV series. I still think the first story was the best. So for stressed parents everywhere, here it is.

A-Z Challenge Day 4 - Dog Rescues

Day 4 already. Here are our two resident hairy horrors, Greenpatch Dogs 1 and 2.  We got GPD1, our hairy French Basset, as a pup. GPD2, an equally hairy, if rather more dainty little lady, is a rescue dog. I'll admit, I didn't know much about animal rescues until a couple of years ago, and learning about the terrible lives led by so many dogs, the way that they're so often treated like breeding machines, solely to make money for the owners, kept in squalor, with little food, water or stimulation; then once their 'working' life is over being abandoned, passed over to a rescue organisation (if they're lucky enough) or otherwise 'disposed of,' was a real eye-opener. Such a contrast to when we chose our first dog: we researched breeders carefully, visited, were given the nth degree by the breeder to make sure we were a suitable family for one of their precious pups. If they'd thought we weren't, no way would they have let us have one, however much money we offered them. Their dogs, though some used for show, were primarily bred to go to good, loving families as pets.

So to our little rescue Bichon.  There are umpteen Dog rescue organisations in the UK, where we live. One of the best known is the Dogs Trust, with a branch in or near most major towns and cities.  I'm sure most people have heard of Battersea Dogs and Cats Home, now even more in the public eye thanks to the recent Paul O'Grady TV documentary. There also dozens of smaller places, specific breed rescues, all kinds; some good, some maybe not so good. Opinions vary wildly.

Our experience so far has been entirely positive.  Little one came from Many Tears  in Wales. When you hear some of the stories behind the many many dogs that pass through their doors each year, you'll appreciate why it's called by that name. It's heartbreaking. Unlike, I would guess, those back street breeders and puppy farmers without whose trade such organisations wouldn't have to exist, the rescue is definitely not ''raking it in." Instead, they, like so many other  animal welfare organisations, are working flat out many hours a day, seven days a week on a shoestring. Often with animals that because of their backgrounds aren't 'ready-made' pets, which is something would-be adopters have to take into account. However, thanks to a wonderful team at the centre, volunteers and a nationwide network of foster families, they work wonders. We were so  lucky with our little one. She was an ex-breeder, came to us quite shut-down, though her foster families had done so much already to help her gain confidence. She'll never be a show dog (thank goodness), but she suits us just fine. Thank you, Many Tears. This from the woman whose DH swore he would never have a little fluffy dog! Yes, you have indeed worked miracles!

And no, I don't work for them, in case you wondered.

A-Z Challenge Day 3 - C is for Contemplation and Creativity

Cats - Tiger cat in contemplative mood

Creativity

I've written plenty about creativity on this blog. Whether improvising a raincoat out of carrier bags for a much-loved teddy in the wilds of the Western Highlands, Praying in Colour, taking part in Journal 52 for the umpteenth time, (I will complete the challenge this year, I promise!), searching out weird epitaphs,  composing found poetry out of The National Trust magazine, The Big Issue and assorted mailshots, or whiling away the hours in the art room on retreat, the older I get, the more it becomes a source of sustenance. Plus it's fun...most of the time. This from somebody who couldn't 'do' art at school. I still can't 'do' it, but that doesn't stop me!

Not everything that I 'create' gets put online, in fact most of it stays hidden within the covers of my journal, only to be shared with a select few, often in the context of working through personal issues. I'm very good at self-censoring what I write. This isn't nearly as easy to do when you're working with colour, images and the imagination. Your inner self will out.  Or, to misquote a certain advert of yesteryear, " Creativity refreshes the parts that other contemplative activities cannot reach!"