Autumn Sorting

And we’re back from the Big Birthday week in Wales,

my weekend away with the Coven in Warwick then a long weekend on the Holy Island of Lindisfarne, and his weekend away with aged sword dancers in Beverley.

Those and various disasters hitting Chateau Midden is why it’s taken this long to get back into blogging.

More of those and the disasters when I next have time, hwyl and strength to write about them.

This blog has been prompted by all those little things that have been sorted out today, some in preparation for the winter.  My “to do” list currently stands at six items, so this is displacement activity.

As soon as Ferretfingers went off with Emil this morning I put on my tweed jacket and hat and took the bus into town.  I paid off all his and Thunderthigh’s invoices from LD:NorthEast and Ouseburn Farm, and paid in my latest cheques from Uncle Ernie with a rare one from Fester.

While I was in the bank I stopped their latest idea of ‘click and pay’ on websites.   

I couldn’t do it “on the app” as I don’t use any app.   

Besides which it’s not that much of a chore to type in one’s details when purchasing something online.

Thence to Waterstones to use my Love-to-Shop gift card that runs out at the end of this month.  When I got home I discovered I’d bought a Richard Coles paperback that I bought last time I was in there; I think it may find its way to the WI Bring & Buy table.

On the way home I stayed on the bus for an extra stop so that I could pop into the pharmacy to pick up Ferretfingers’ fluoride toothpaste which the dentist prescribed three weeks ago; the script has been in my diary ever since.

After a little lunch I sorted out the plant pots by the front door.   

The Tumbling Tom tomatoes have senesced and have gone into the compost bin.   

The chimney pots and jardinière now house a miniature rose, some winter flowering pansies and the last of the French marigolds.

Next Thunderthighs helped me by emptying the four tubs that held (unsuccessful) pumpkins into the compost bin.

The various empty tubs, pots and pot holders were put tidily back in the garage. 

While I was there I took the glass plate out of the dead microwave as they are very useful things to have.

By this time Ferretfingers was home so I set him to putting away yesterday’s clean dishes and washing up all the plates, bowls and cutlery used since.  Then I washed the glasses, mugs, microwave plate, pans and plastics to be recycled.

The phone rang.

Sam from the surgery.

“It’s time for the boys to have their annual medicals so I thought we might sort out some dates.”

I got out my diary and put her on speakerphone so Thunderthighs could be part of the conversation.   

We agreed on 12^th November; 8.30 for Ferretfingers and 9am for Thunderthighs who goes unaccompanied.

“While I’ve got you on” I said “I’ve been getting texts about flu and shingles vaccines.”

Sam is great “Oh right, I’ll just look … What about 12^th November at 9.50?”

Yes, dear reader, I have reached an age where I am “eligible for a course of shingles vaccines”.

 

Ecumenism and Eucharist

I’m away next week, and most weekends in October, so there will be no blogs for a while and quite spasmodic ones until mid-November.

I’m not sure what meme inspired this post, presumably one about Pope Francis.

From Facebook Archives.

19 September 2015 at 13.47

The strange thing is - this now makes me want to go back to church

When I think of the catechists I had as a child!  

Only going to a Catholic church would do, everyone else was going downstairs in their opinion as far as I could see - and as for not believing in God! ... well that was not even mentioned.   

Fortunately Dad was a God-fearing Anglican, Master at Cwmifor CP School and my best friend’s parents were Methodists so I knew in my bones it was bull from about the age of five.   

Fancy telling a child it's wrong to worship God in another church with people of another denomination, and as for sharing prayers with Jews, Muslims, other monotheists or other religions, forget it.   

Thank God (whichever form he/she/it comes in) we've come a long way since the 1960s.

*** 

When Mum and Dad married in 1941 he was obliged to sign a form vowing that any children would be brought up Catholic.   

He was a man of his word.   

On Sundays he would attend the 9.30 Service at St Paul’s Manordeilo and then ensure we were taken to 11am Mass.   

This was by taxi or, when he had learnt to drive, car at Tregib, or an upstairs room in Llandeilo Library (when the Catholic church had no building), and the Elim Vestry.  The Elim was owned by a parishioner who 'rented' it to the church until funds were raised to buy and convert the old telephone exchange into St David's RC Church; by which time I had left home.

I remember once asking Dad why I had to go to church every Sunday (and Holy Day of Obligation).

“Look at it this way Ben.  There’s either a God or there isn’t.  If there is it’s better to keep on his good side.  If there isn’t it’s done you no harm.  Besides which there are no atheists in a shipwreck.”  

The last point I accepted because I knew he had actually once been in a plane crash; as well as everything he experienced in the RAF in the war.

All of the current Coven are cradle Catholics with varying levels of observance, practice and ecumenism.  Some of us are married to Catholics, others not.  Dr E’s husband has always been very involved in the United Reformed Church and they are very active in their faith and ecumenical activities.

At our first Coven a decade or so ago I admitted to DrE that I might go to Mass in solidarity with one of our members, whose husband had made churchgoing hard for her, but that I didn’t think I’d go to Communion.  

“Of course you’re going to Communion” she said with all the Irish and Polish blood in her showing through.  

So I did, and have done at every Coven since.

At our first post Lockdown Coven in Bath the only way we could visit Bath Abbey was to attend the Sunday morning (Anglican) Communion Service so DrE booked us suitably distanced seats.  One of us had to leave early for her train, another left early during the service. 

Of the remaining four only DrE and I took Communion.

As we left the service she said 

“I think the other two were quite shocked, but I have no problem taking another denomination’s Communion.  Some would say I am Eucharistically indiscriminate.  Or is it indiscreet?”   

“No E” I replied “you are Eucharistically promiscuous”.   

At which we fell about laughing disgracefully.

Recently I’ve regretted the fact that I never went to Church with Dad, barring weddings and funerals.   So the last time I was down home and there was a service at St Paul’s I went.   I was recognised and welcomed by more old friends of the family than when I’d visited the Catholic St David’s.  

St Paul’s dates to the 1850s.  It was originally a ‘chapel of ease’ because there was such a large congregation in the Llandeilo area that St Teilo’s couldn’t accommodate them all.  It saved Manordeilo parishioners a three or four mile walk to church (no taxis in those days).   

I know my paternal grandparents and great-grandparents were active parishioners.  

Every time I see Joan Hickson as Miss Marple I am reminded of Granma going up to Sunday evening services in her hat and gloves. 

Sadly the congregation at St Paul’s is now so old and small that there will be no more Holy Services there after October. 

Next week I am going down home to celebrate my ‘best before’ birthday with siblings and old friends.  There is 9.30 Communion Service on Sunday 27^th, which I shall attend and take part in fully.   

It seems appropriate to represent the family and close the circle somehow.