Silence

 "Come to me, all you that are weary and are carrying heavy burdens, and I will give you rest.  Take my yoke upon you, and learn from me; for I am gentle and humble in heart, and you will find rest for your souls."

Matthew 11

St Beunos Jesuit Spirituality Centre in North Wales, one of my favourite retreat places has just brought out a couple of videos. Here's one: The Silence and the Light, (tech gremlins won't let me post the film for some reason) and a second, very helpful meditation on The Examen.

Cycles of Circles

Good morning. Pausing to look at my stats just now, (pure procrastination here; I should be busy getting the house shipshape for a weekend guest), I noticed - not for the first time -  that my most frequently visited post seems to be 'Going Round in Circles.'Goodness knows why. I'm not flattering myself that every visitor is greedily  drinking in my words of wisdom ; I suspect that a fair proportion of readers are of the bearded men in raincoats clutching tins of pork luncheon meat variety, but I think these last were genuine.  It's quite a thought, though, isn't it ? 'Going round in Circles,' or even...Going Round in Cycles: not unlike my own spiritual state at the moment: Much wandering  hither and thither in a somewhat circuitous and wobbily manner; coming back, setting off again. As Antonia reflects in my last post, it's as if Easter tells us that we're all recycled works of art. I've no idea what the process next holds for me, (though one thing's certain, I'll not be donning lycra and helmet any time now) but it gives me hope.

GP dogs now  taking up the circles theme - time for walkies.

Recycled Art

Belated Easter Greetings to everyone. Here's the latest of my contributions to the Journal 52 project:  Week 16 -  'Recycled Art,' an opportunity to  re-use all those bits and  pieces you have lying around the house to create something...well...let's just say 'different,' in my case.  I've used  an old paper bag, gold foil from our Easter eggs,  magazine pics and designs  and some  flowery material from one of the jars of jam we bought at the weekend's food festival.  The purply starry  bit on the right hand side is from a prompt a few weeks ago that didn't work out.

The result?  Hardly in the Van Gogh league, but never mind, it was fun to do!

To the Rescue

Just popping in to show off our two bundles of joy. GP dog II, (the fluffy one), is growing more confident by the day; she's a real comic, with a character all her own. So different from the timid little creature that came to us in December. That said - the two foster famililes she'd been with previously had worked wonders; without their hard work we'd not have been able to get nearly as far as we have  with her. We've gone down two routes with our dogs: the pedigree  route with GP dog I. We were very fortunate there - he came from a reputable, loving, dedicated breeder, who  unlike some, loved her dogs like children, had their best interests -  not commercial gain - at heart and wouldn't for a moment have let her precious charges go to anything but a good home. 

Come GP dog II, we went down the rescue path and began to learn about some of the horror stories behind the murky world of back street breeders, puppy farms and internet dealing. Fluffy dog we hope, may be one of the least damaged ones, relatively speaking. Relatively, because although we know little about her past in detail, we do know from the rescue that for the first four or five years of her life she was used for breeding. If you can imagine being taken from your mother, held down, forcibly impregnated, kept in disgusting conditions with little food, water,  medical attention, no kindly human contact and made to churn out litter after litter of puppies. Rinse and repeat for the first half of your life, only to be 'disposed of' once you're no longer in fit state to be of any more economic use. And we'd best not go into details about what exactly 'disposal' entails.  

Enter the organisations who rescue the 'lucky' ones. Fluffy dog was quite unusual, I think, in that she was discovered to be pregnant whilst she was in rescue, so was able to have her final litter in a proper, loving home environment. (Not ours, I might add - think our cat might have packed up and left home if he'd been faced with four little fluffballs!)  So far so good, she's not as yet suffered any major health niggles, as so many rescue pooches do, sadly. And, though not perfect (what dog ever is?), she seems to be remarkably free of behavioural problems. Sadly, that's not always the case. 

'Our' rescue drew our attention to another little rescue dog - Susie-Belle. She even has her own blog: Susiefoodie where you can read her story and learn more about some of the work being done to try to stamp out the puppy farm trade. 

First Day of Spring - Summer Dreaming

Ah me...just been taken back 40 years or more: Mendelssohn's Midsummer Night's Dream Overture, courtsey of 'Carsick' FM. Memories of a school production of Shakespeare's play when I was in my early teens: flowing robes (white sheets) ;  rags in my hair every night to achieve that Grecian ringlet effect (not so much fun having to walk past the nearby boys' school with Violet Elizabeth style curls!)No speaking part for me thank goodness: I was one of several Grecian ladies whose sole purpose was to glide  on at intervals and drape themselves in  tasteful manner over a flight of steps (more sheets fixed over wooden boxes). There was a mild frisson of excitement  at one point when the girl who played Puck trod on a drawing pin mid-speech yet continued - dripping blood - with one foot stuck backstage whilst we tried to unstick  her. Laughs  as always at Peter Quince,  Bottom and his cronies, Titania, Oberon and the lovers,  relief at the happy ending. Above all - that magical sense of anticipation - of long Summer days, of promise and happy times ahead; that sense of common purpose when a project comes together after so much blood, sweat and tears. I've a hazy memory on one day of us  rushing  outside - still in our costumes - straight after the curtain call to line up outside the school to cheer on a visiting dignitary: (Princess Anne? Duchess of Kent?). I can't recall who exactly, it's all part of a dreamy haze now.

Such a long time ago - but however grey the day,  it only takes the opening bars of the overture for me to know that   Summer is  on the way.

Can Spring be far behind?

I do hope so. Here's the end product of our Sunday afternoon creative blast: Mr GP busy colouring in his Warhammer maps, myself messing around with colours. No prizes for guessing what the flowers in the pic are made from; let's just say you can repurpose all sorts of weird and wonderful things and that inspiration - even -  especially if it's a long time coming, can strike in the most peculiar way. For budding art journalists amongst you I only discovered the Journal 52 project a couple of days ago and signed up today. More 'Project 45,' now, still better late than never; I've decided to just dip in and do what I can manage. Today's is from Week 5: Abstract Art Inspiration, which I began and put aside earlier in the week. Amazing what you can do with a splodge of paint and an old credit card. Even more when you learn to put it aside and wait. Good practice in banishing the old 'Inner Parrot', too; this isn't the first time I've left something unfinished, wondered if it's really worth keeping and then found that when I've least expected it, inspiration strikes.  Thanks is due to Mr GP for this.  It's blimin' annoying having crayons with points that break every 5 minutes, I know, but those pencil shavings  were just the ticket.

So, on we go. I'm looking forward to trying  this next week's topic: Found poetry.

Growing Old Gracefully

Thank you Quinn McDonald for Ageing Out on the mismatch between  manners and  modern communications.  It put a big smile on the face of this Grumpy Old (ish) Woman. If I can add a few experiences of my own to the list:

 Shop assistants, officials etc begin to call you  - if you're lucky "Madam."  Note "If you're lucky...."nowadays "Dear," is sneaking its way in  , or worse - "Ducks."

In those surveys where you're asked to tick a box indicating your age - I've moved into the last but one category.  Enough said.

From a railway official recently and in all seriousness: " Madam, have you considered buying a Senior Railcard?" (!) And this isn't the first time either.

I don't know  whether to feel gratified or offended!