No Bucket

 15th March 2023

"You have no bucket, sir, and the well is deep: how could you get this living water?"

Today, in the liturgy, there is the choice to have again the beautiful, gloriously rich story of the Samaritan Woman.

I was struck for the first time - and I've listened to and read the story many , many times over my nearly 70 years -  by the simple,  everyday way in which the woman talks to Jesus - "You have no bucket..."

It made me think how easy it is not to trust that God is God and that he needs no bucket. 

How often do we think, that's impossibly ?

How often do we lack  Faith in Jesus to give us what we need.

How often does our action say,

 "You have no bucket..." 

 "How are you going to do that?" 

Ash Wednesday

 22nd Feb 2023

Ash Wednesday always comes as a bit of a surprise to me. And here we are again. 

Yesterday, I found a Christmas bauble from the tree, under the units in the hallway. A remnant of the celebrations and the beautiful season that seem to be only just finished. Is it my age? 

Now, today we start the journey of lent . I'll go to Holy Mass as I do most days. But there will be some differences. All the statues will be draped in purple and the priests will be dressed in the same colour. There will be no Alleluia and we'll ask the Lord, "A pure heart create for me O God..." Yes, we'll be reminded that we are sinners. 

Of course, we'll also get the ashes:

"Remember man that thou are dust , 

and unto dust thou shalt return."

Later,  hubby and I will decided together how to approach the fasting and abstaining that's required of us. And boy, will that be difficult with visitors coming, who we'll try and host without them knowing what we are doing. Obviously if it comes up we'll tell them , but we won't make things difficult for them.

I'm still wondering what I will do for lent. 

Give something up?

Have a plan to put charity into practice?

Do something spiritual, like meditating with scripture?

Or all three?

Anyway, this time is given to us to prepare for the wonderful, most important celebration of Our Lord's resurrection at Easter. So , in some way, I'll concentrate on that.

Tell me, how do you approach Lent?

Wild Writing

 

Wild Writing                                                         21st January 2023

    It was because I had a few hours to myself this morning that I found I was able to get to sit down and think, "What do I want to do?" Don't misunderstand me, as I looked around the house there was plenty of "jobs" that called to me and which I could have happily occupied myself with. 

But today I wanted to spend some time playing. 

I wanted to spend some time playing with words.

Interestingly, last week I randomly found a free five day "Wild Writing Course", which I thought I'd like to do. Just as quickly as I had that thought I put it out of my mind, because, you know, how would I fit in these zoom sessions. 

    Although I didn't consciously think about it over the next few days, it was obviously fluttering about somewhere inside me and, with time to spare this morning I now went looking for it. 

Luckily for me, not only did I find the course, but there were recordings of the sessions, which meant that I could partake of them at my leisure.

So, for an hour, not totally uninterrupted, I worked through the first recording. I am so thankful for this time.

    Listening to the two poems, that were used as prompts,  inspired and encouraged me to be brave with my own "Wild Writing". 

 

    For instance, the poem "Every Grace" by Stella Nesanovich, helped me to appreciate  how simple, ordinary,  moments can be Holy. I am thankful that, there on the page, I recorded, those shards of time  when I made happy connections with some of the people I love.

Photo Credit - Argos

    One of those times was baking with two of my gorgeous grandaughters. Oh the joy, the laughter, the chatting  as our lives were softly  bound together just like the ingredients in our cake were mixed and beaten  together - every egg, every spoon of sugar and flour,  every ounce of butter - until the  texture was just right.   Finally, when baked it became, like we had,  a  new creation.   The process of  baking - weighing ingredients, combining them the right way, etc etc..- was less important than  sharing those precious , ordinary, Holy moments.  The smiles, the stories, the questions. Precious indeed.  

Photo Credit - Getty Images

   Walking with a friend along the coastal path  was another cause for me giving  thanks this week.  Again, I thought of it because of the poem. 

 Going at quite a pace we breathed  the  briny air deep into our lungs, while seagulls squawked in the blue sky above us and winter  waves crashed against the barriers. 

We walked into the strong wind,    all the while chatting and laughing about all sorts of unimportant, yet vital,  trivia, both of us wallowing, one in the comfortable company of the other, sharing everything and nothing. 

At the end of our walk,  we hugged, we said goodbye, but we both felt much lighter for our time together.

Then there was the phone call with one of my daughters who  I don't get to see as often as I'd like , yet, even though many miles separate us we are deeply connected and our friendship grows with the passing of the years as we build each other up and understand each other better and love each other more. That's just one phone call from one daughter. I am truly blessed that I have a good , loving,  relationship ( but different, obviously) with each  of my children,  grandchildren and great grandchildren. 

It's like this, and I've said it before and I repeated  it again to my son's partner when they visited me unexpectedly this morning. A distraction, I have to say,  I was more than happy with. It's like this: I ask the question, if I were to die today what regrets would I have or what would I be sorry I didn't do or didn't see?

It's a question I've asked myself often and this morning I answered in response to  this lovely thirty something girl feeling stuck and fed up and that life is passing her by and there's so much that she hasn't done and still wishes to do but is too scared to take a risk. 

If I had little time left on earth, it wouldn't be the places I haven't visited, like Venice or America, that I would be sorry about, it would be not loving enough the family and friends I've been so fortunate to have in my life. 

And really, that's it.  

Structure

 19th Oct 2022

The prompt for the six sentence story this week is  structure.

Let's go.

The more I ponder the world around me the greater my loves grows

 for the wonderful order of  it all,

 from mountains and rivers, to the seas and the life  within them, 

to trees and animals, to planets and stars and

 the beautiful variety of the human population.

 Everything has its own unique pattern, its own reality, its own being.

The mountain maintains its place, standing majestically, as it should,

like all the rest,

doing as they are meant to do. 

And you and I, we also have our place to be, our way to live,

 our  part in this story.

Happy Christmas

  28th Dec

A Very Happy Christmas to You

  In our family we continue to celebrate Christmas, so I wish you the Peace, Joy and Love of the Christ Child this 4th day of Christmas.

      We have a Christmas party tomorrow with families from our ParisIh and the next day my daughter will host another family Christmas Day. There will be others, but more impropmtu, like a meet up for the Ist Jan, when we remember Mary as the Mother of God, before we finish with a party for the Feast of the Kings on the 6th Jan. 

       I will continue to wish people Happy Christmas, even though they might think I'm mad and shout back at me, "You mean Happy New Year , Love!" No I don't , I try and explain, but they've usually moved off by then. Even in the Church people look at me askance, as if to say, "hey, Christmas is over, thank goodness." What a shame. I also still have some Christmas Cards that I intend to give out at the party tomorrow. 

What do you do during the Twelve Days of Christmas. I hope you're having a wondrous time. 

Christmas Cards

22nd Nov

Christmas Cards

It's less than five weeks till Christmas!!!

I don't know about you but for me, it comes around all too  quickly. I can't believe we're nearly there. A sign of my age perhaps.

Do you send Christmas Cards? Some people don't do they?  It's definitely the time to think of at least buying some. 

I like to send them and over the years have come to realise what an important part of the Christmas  story they can be.

Many years ago I used to buy a big box of cards from Woolworths - yes, I know, definitely showing my age now!!

Anyhow, in this box of, I think 50 cards, there might be one or two that would be considered "Holy". What do I  mean by that? Well, I'm thinking of those ones that actually showed the Holy Family, Mary, Joseph and the baby Jesus. Those few cards would be selected, by me, to go to people who I thought would appreciate them, those ones who, I knew believed. I certainly wouldn't have popped one in to my neighbour who'd expressed agnostic views or to a family member who had fallen away from the Faith. Wouldn't want to upset them, now, would I?

These days I no longer  buy assorted boxes. In fact I go out of my way to purchase ( from local shops if at all possible), only ones with the real message of Christmas on. I only send religious cards.    For some people it might mean my card is the only one on their  shelf  showing what Christmas is about. And to think they'll have a nativity scene in their home makes me very happy. In this small way maybe I am bringing  Christ to others. And with a warm message inside, who knows the good it might do.

Are you particular about your Christmas Cards? Will you strive to pass on the Christmas message in this very easy  way. 

Club

 5th Oct 2022

This week's six sentence challenge bloghop can be found here, 

 https://girlieontheedge1.wordpress.com/  

Rules of the hop:
Write 6 Sentences. No more. No less.
Use the current week’s prompt word.
Link up at Wednesday’s post. Link goes live at 6:00 pm through Saturday late…
Spread the word and put in a good one to your fellow writers 

PROMPT WORD:  CLUB

Dancing  With Dad

"Come on then, you're turn now," my father  put out his hand to me and smiled, having first  made sure  Mum  was comfortable sitting with  my Aunt and my sisters, "let's see what you remember from last week."  

As my handsome dad, with his jet black hair  swirled me round the dancefloor in an attempt to teach me the waltz, homework, friendship concerns,  and all the survival stuff of school, melted away and, having looked forward eagerly to these precious moments, I now concentrated only on  the steps, while  dad whispered , "one, two, three," over and over in my ear.  

Every Sunday evening we joined other Parishioners, mostly Irish, like one big family,  at the Hay Lane Catholic Club, which was packed to the rafters and where, I'm convinced more Guinness  was drunk here than in Dublin itself.  Proud to be dancing with my dad, and  striving as I was  to be as brilliant with him as mum was,  the two of us meanwhile  laughed together and enjoyed ourselves so much that the good feeling of everything being right with the world seemed to  seep into my bones. 

 Dad died  six years ago, and it was many years  before that I'd  last danced with him,  but these memories, rather than fading, seem to be as clear to me now as back then - when I trod on his toes,  when he patiently and kindly waited for me to learn, when he let me have some of his Guinness, when we'd finally danced the whole song without me making any mistakes and he lifted me up and kissed my forehead, and if I close my eyes and breathe deeply I can  smell the  beer, the smoke, the sweat of that lost time.  

Though things didn't stay that  good between us,  much as  I  wished they would, and though I'm sad that I didn't make more of an effort to be closer to him, I am , nevertheless, so grateful and thank God for these fond memories of a happier time. 

Spark

 1st Oct 2022

 

Following on from last weeks story, I stay with Marie in the garden.

The  prompt word, Spark.

Marie glanced through the grubby window of the greenhouse, saw his spade hanging in the place he had always left it, saw the neat pots stacked in ordered rows, saw the seed boxes  all meticulously and lovingly  made by Frank all those years ago, and wondered what had finally pushed her over the edge, what was the spark that set her off.

When they first got married she enjoyed sharing his passion for all things horticultural, had followed him around at shows, had even done a course in flower arranging so she could make use of the many flowers that he grew, eventually becoming a teacher herself. 

However, as time went on and the children came along, it became clear to Marie that his plant obsession was the most important thing in the world to him and she would have to get on with things by herself, which , for the sake of the children and because she had loved him, she put up with.

The fact that their father showed them so little affection, she found it difficult over the years to convince her daughter and two sons that their father did actually love them, speaking well of him at all times and doing her best to encourage him on the odd occasion, usually with flowers involved, to attend events that they might be involved in. 

But she had become tired of living a lie and on that last day, the day he'd trudged over her new carpet with his muddy boots without a care for her at all, she'd been slicing onions for their dinner and suddenly, though she has no recall of the incident itself, she found herself looking down at his body, blood dripping from the knife she held in her hand.

"This is a good spot for you, right where you'd want to be," she said to her dead husband as she rolled him into the hole she'd dug outside his greenhouse, while she wondered how she would get his blood out of her new carpet.   

Lazarus and the rich man

 Lazarus and the rich man

 In the Gospel this Sunday Jesus, speaking to the Pharisees,  gives us the story of Lazarus and the rich man. 

What would these Pharisees think listening to this story? Would  it be hard for them to stomach, especially since  it dispels an  idea prevalent at the time that  material prosperity in this life was a reward for being  morally upright and that adversity was a punishment.

It also  makes it very clear that the soul survives after death and therefore there  is retribution in the next life, that we have to answer to God for all our acts in this life.

The rich man had no intention of harming poor Lazarus. He had probably seen many like him, begging at his door. He was able to get on with his life happily and ignore the fate of this poor beggar. He managed not to "see" him, not to bring his problems into his own life.  So, although he didn't do anything to cause him harm he sinned by omission. He could have helped him but chose not to. 

 

What is Jesus telling us? 

Do we need to ask ourselves some questions? 

Am I ignoring those that are around me who are in need? Am I, in fact, guilty of committing sins of omission, by not helping where I can, by not considering the dignity of every person I meet?

Am I slow to help the poor, the sick the needy, close to home and in other parts of the world?

Am I willing  to do more and, at least, raise awareness? 

I will die. It might be soon. Then I will, hopefully, go to the Lord. I will take nothing with me except what I did here on earth, how I loved and how I treated others. 

I should  do the best I can while I still have time.    

Tying the Knot

20th Sept 2022

Six sentence story with :

                                              girlieontheedge 

   I Can't Undo The Knot

Part 1

Marie waters the rose bush, notices some old blossoms which have changed from  beautiful, rich, deep orange to faded, dull  pink and which she now dead heads, wondering why age is so ugly.

 "Rosa Independence",  a bush she  chose herself, has grown outside her husbands greenhouse for six years now and yet, regularly,  Marie walks to the end of the garden to tend it and spend some time in quiet contemplation, though it never seems to settle her thoughts or bring her any comfort or consolation and whilst she abhors living in the rambling old house, with it's creaky stairs and large cold rooms, she knows that she can never leave. 

"Mum, this place is killing you, it's about time you got out, moved on, got a life for yourself" her daughter often pleads, "and mum, you know me and Chris will help, and come on, it's gone six years now since dad went, and, honestly,  seeing you like this is heart-breaking."

Her daughters words hurt more than she wanted to admit, but as she kneels down in the dirt,  weeding under the bush, she remembers her last day with Frank,  when he came home from the Mid Henton Holicultural show, with an award for "Most Improved Bloom", and walked through the hallway, her clean hallway,  imprinting it with muddy footprints from his boots and grunting, "Where's me dinner then?"

"I do miss you," she snifs,  as her tears fall into the dirt,  "but maybe we shouldn't have tied the knot so tightly all those years ago, because , no matter what I do, I can't undo it...I can't undo it, and although I'm not locked up,  I'm not free, am I,  and here we are, you and I, here we are"  

----

 

Marie glanced through the grubby window of the greenhouse, saw his spade hanging in the place he had always left it, saw the neat pots stacked in ordered rows, saw the seed boxes  all meticulously and lovingly  made by Frank all those years ago, and wondered what had finally pushed her over the edge, what was the spark that set her off.

When they first got married she enjoyed sharing his passion for all things horticultural, had followed him around at shows, had even done a course in flower arranging so she could make use of the many flowers that he grew, eventually becoming a teacher herself. 

However, as time went on and the children came along, it became clear to Marie that his plant obsession was the most important thing in the world to him and she would have to get on with things by herself, which , for the sake of the children and because she had loved him, she put up with.

The fact that their father showed them so little affection, she found it difficult over the years to convince her daughter and two sons that their father did actually love them, speaking well of him at all times and doing her best to encourage him on the odd occasion, usually with flowers involved, to attend events that they might be involved in. 

But she had become tired of living a lie and on that last day, the day he'd trudged over her new carpet with his muddy boots without a care for her at all, she'd been slicing onions for their dinner and suddenly, though she has no recall of the incident itself, she found herself looking down at his body, blood dripping from the knife she held in her hand.

"This is a good spot for you, right where you'd want to be," she said to her dead husband as she rolled him into the hole she'd dug outside his greenhouse, while she wondered how she would get his blood out of her new carpet.