Three things...

I have been reading some of the ancient wisdom writings lately. This time it is a section [Sirach in the Apocrypha] that doesn't appear in my standard version of the Bible and yet sounds a lot like the more familiar Proverbs, which many people, Bible readers or not, are familiar with. In this sort of writing one device is to make lists of three - either good things or bad. Here's an example. 'I take pleasure in three things and they are beautiful in the sight of God and human beings. Agreement among brothers and sisters, friendship among neighbours and a wife and husband who live in harmony.'

And so it occurred to me that I have a list of three thing in the last twenty four hours I have laughed out loud at three very different things.

1. I listen regularly to Chat10 Looks 3, a podcast in which Annabel Crabb and Leigh Sales chat about their lives and all sorts of things.  https://www.chat10looks3.com/  I was sorting out a bit of ironing and listening as Leigh - a competent, confident modern woman described her wrestle with setting up a  new TV and speaker and then Annabel described her experience of overload and teeth problems and how if people want her to speak at something it's not fair if they say 'any time that suits you' because they need to name a date so she can come up with a reason to say no. You might just have to listen...

2. I have a stack of library books to read and the top one is now Richard Glover's 'A Land Before Avocado' in which he describes Australian society between about 1965 and 1975 when coffee was International Roast and his Dad's cooking involved a lot of tins - as per the recipes. If you remember Apricot Chicken, you'll get the drift.

3. I'm also reading [one book at at time is never enough] a book by Adrian Plass and Jeff Lucas, Christian authors, speakers and, dare I say, comedians. They are not at all sanctimonious and are very real about doubts and fears. One of them describes the practice in some circles of shouting loudly for evil personified to be gone as if  shouting, and using Renaissance language ['Be gone' rather than 'Go away,'] would do the trick. With apologies to both the religious and non-religious amongst my three readers.

One of those Proverbs says 'A merry heart maketh good like a  medicine' or in not Renaissance language, 'Being cheerful keeps you healthy' or the GHB [that's me!] version 'A good laugh is good for the soul.' I hope you get your share of good laughs today.

PS The picture has nothing to do with the text. Just that some of you (well, at least one) liked my colouring pic last time so I thought I'd add one this time. Maybe a whole gallery next time...
Oh, and  if my colouring  makes you laugh, that's fine: just don't tell me.

So much more than coloured pencils and gel pens

I had an ah-ha moment today!
Some years ago I joined in the craze for colouring in. I never did much of it as a child and so was intrigued by the move to 'adult' or 'mindful' colouring. My involvement was aided and abetted by my beautiful daughter.People say to me, 'I met your beautiful daughter today,' to which I respond, 'Which one? I have two beautiful daughters.' Invariably it's the local one. But I digress.
The younger beautiful daughter gave me a colouring book and some wondrous Derwent pencils such as I hankered after as a child but never had. Mind you I think I really like Faber Castells these days but then of course there are the Jasart and the cheap shop tins and the gel pens and the Derwent Inktense (Said daughter gave me those as well.)
So  tentatively I started colouring. For three years or so I enjoyed a colouring group meeting in The Lakes coffee shop (this is not an ad but I do recommend it) on the shores of beautiful Lake Bonney. The two friends who started it taught me that there are no rights or wrongs about colouring and not to be afraid to make mistakes. Smudges can be part of the whole piece.
And so every day I sit and colour. Sometimes it's fairly automatic colouring of patterns or mandalas. Other times it's half way artistic. But it slows me down and gives me time to think, to dream, to connect with something more than me. Sometimes it's mindless and sometimes mindful, whatever the day needs.
And then this morning in amongst my colouring I was reading from Joan Chistitter's book The Monastery of the Heart and found this.

So the colouring fad may be past its peak - not so many pencils and books in the cheap shops now, but what it does for me is the thing. I'd include it in the list here amongst sacred images, music etc. It helps me to be still and aware of the very presence of God. Phew!! And to be mindful of the needs of those around me.

NOTE: big thanks to those two who showed me the way in colouring. You know who you are. Both names start with C.

and to my daughter who maybe realised just what I needed. Her name starts with B...

What an inheritance!

It's five years since my Mum died,aged 95. This is in memory of her. [Photo: Mum and Dad sometime before 1980.]

When we moved to the country the first time - in 1971 - we were amazed at the number of nicknames. I knew Aussies called people with red hair Blue and tall people Stretch and  shortened or lengthened names to become Bazz or Freddo or Jilly, but here everyone seemed to have a nickname.
I never did know Spont's real name and only knew that Splint was Ian because that's what his wife called him.
In some cases nicknames to be a family institution. We encountered Ferg. Fair enough. It was short for Fergus. Then we discovered his sons were also Fergs. I think they had real names because at least one of them was on my class role as Neil or at least I think that was it; he was always Ferg....

I've never really had a nickname at least not one I ever heard the schoolkids calling me. I do know my Mum once told the gardener that I was BB (Bossy Boots) because i sorted out about paying him when she was no longer doing well. My family called me Glen and my sisters flirted with Spud for a little while when I was a small child, but neither of those was for public consumption.

Recently I caught up with my oldest grandchild. He's nearly twenty-three and we were joking that he is now older than his father was when he was born. When we talked of the possibility of great grandchildren (not yet!) the darling boy looked  at me and sweetly said, 'Then I guess you'd be Old Gran.' Phew! I'd not thought of that.

He was the first great grandchild for my Mum. When he was very little she leant over and said to him, "I suppose I'm your Old Gran then,' and it stuck. Our grandies all have memories of Old Gran and they are fond  memories. Even when she got to be old she knew they were special and she loved to see them. She was generous and caring.

So I may not have a nickname but I would be proud one day to be Old Gran. What footsteps to follow. What an inheritance...

Paired off

I was putting on eyeliner and the phone rang. I went to check and was soon engaged in conversation with a friend. It was some time later that I realised one eye had had the treatment and the other one hadn't. It got me to thinking. Why are we so insistent on things matching?
Pairs of socks, pairs of earrings, pairs of shoes. I know some people who just buy heaps of black socks so they always have a matching pair. I worked with someone who went off to do  some training only to discover that she was wearing one black shoe and one navy blue one. They had slightly different height heels, so she used it as an excuse to go off and buy a new pair in the lunch hour.
On the other hand - or foot - our children had a teacher who had a fleet of court shoes of the same style in different colours and she chose to wear one red and one blue or one yellow and one green.
So maybe I'll deliberately do make up on one eye and not the other or wear earrings that don't match . Endless possibilities.

Later. Just a thought: Many of us wear rings on our fingers. My wedding ring is on my left hand but I don't have a matching one on the right hand. I wear a total of six rings and they are all different. How does that work?