An eventful morning.
The weather has been dreadful, but I had to go to a meeting in Lochgilphead. Unfortunately I did not make it. The car pirouetted on a corner and span into a ditch.
I am fine- just a bit stiff and sore, and the car is not a write off.
On Argyll’s winter roads, walking away from an accident is something to be celebrated.
Today was to be our day Christmas shopping. Michaela and I were going to take a day out and go somewhere like Stirling or Ayr- but when we sat down to plan it, neither of us wanted to go. This for the obvious reasons, but also (given all our recent discussions about doing Christmas differently) it just seemed hypocritical and frustratingly conformist-to me at least- Michaela is not so given to wallowing in angst.)
We were going shopping for a lesser amount of stuff anyway- we have been planning different activities and ways of Christmas sharing with many of our friends.
So instead, we spent a day at home MAKING THINGS.
I made a massive pot of chutney, and another of Piccalilli. I chopped veg for about 3 hours and the house is full of a heady smell of spice and vinegar. We will jar them up with hand made labels.
Total cost of ingredients- around £30 plus gas and plus TIME.
Michaela made clay Christmas decorations, which she will paint and string together. Later we will make some wind chimes.
Total cost so far around £20 for clay paint and varnish. And TIME.
And in the process we had a day at home together- listening to radio 4 and CDs.
While a gale is blowing outside.
Because the joy of the thing is never in the buying. Perhaps there may be some people who like shopping- who enjoy the cut and thrust of Christmas commerce, but I suspect they will be very few.
Here is another poster from Buy Nothing Christmas.
I confess- I am going shopping the day after tomorrow.
Christmas shopping.
Because, despite the journey we are on away from this consumer addiction that we call ‘Christmas’, I have not yet gone (forgive me for this) cold turkey.
I intend to treat this latest journey into the world of commerce as an expedition into a hostile land.
I may not return alive.
I would love to have been in Durham for this.
Last year, we twinned out toilet with another in Giharo, Rutana Province, Burundi.
They sent us a framed photo of their thunderbox, which I contemplate as I thunder on mine.
And apparently today is World Toilet Day, which I will celebrate by reposting this infographic, complete with details of how you can twin your toilet too.
Go on, it makes evacuation of the bowel so much more satisfying!
I have had a productive day.
This morning I wrote a piece for another website, for which I was paid £25. This afternoon I spent carving things out of wood. I have been selling about one or two pieces a month in a local art gallery- so this afternoon I might have made things to the value of say (for the purposes of a nice even number!) £75.
All of which set me thinking. How much money do we need? And how simple it seems to be able to link what we produce with this need in a direct way.
Regular readers of this blog will know that my current job- I am a social worker earning a reasonably high salary- is under threat. I was expecting to have a redundancy letter in the post by now, but this has now been delayed until at least next Spring.
One of the things about the kind of work I do now is that there is no easy link between what I produce (which is rather nebulous) and what I earn. Despite all the uncertainties of my future, I find myself craving this link more and more…
Sorry friends- but I feel a rant coming on…
You can’t escape them you see. They will be played over and over for the next two months. Each one expensively produced- mostly stuffed full of minor celebrities.
Yes- they are here in full force- the dreadful Christmas adverts.
The worst so far (in my opinion) are below.
By reproducing them here, I run the risk, dear readers, of subliminally pushing you towards the clutches of M/S and ToysRus (possibly the most irritating name for any shop the world over) but I will run this risk as, of course, framing is everything.
I confess (I know, I am a weak man) that I kind of like the next one. Perhaps it is the Morrissey song, or just the lovely ordinariness of the subject. Or perhaps it is just because of the joy of giving not getting.
Or maybe I am just as soft as treacle.
But perhaps the worst of all is this one. Watch and cringe.
Do you think adverts like this will be banned one day in the same way that cigarette ones have been?
Someone added up the cost of all these gifts- just under three thousand pounds.
I am just back from the island of Bute. It was one of the those white knuckle journeys after which you sink into the chair at home with the white lines still coming at you like machine gun tracer.
Not that there always are white lines on the roads I drive- the shaky shot above was taken on one of those half road-half hillside single track ‘roads’ we have up here. They can be dangerous, particularly if you take them for granted. Particularly if you are in a hurry.
Sometimes I take for granted just how wonderful the landscape is that I live and work in. Today was not one of those days as the power of the wind and the huge deluge of water falling was impossible to ignore. Here are a few shots taken on my commute home…
Had a lovely time at our housegroup this evening.
I had more or less come to the conclusion that it was time to stop housegroup- that it was time to do something new. But instead of stopping all together, people decided that they would like to continue to meet monthly. So tonight Michaela spent a little more time preparing some simple mediations, and I sat in the corner and played guitar. It was lovely.
You could say that it was a ripple made by the Spirit.
And something about our discussions reminded me of this-
The blocks might be seen to represent our theology- or our value system. The means by which we make sense of the vastness of the universe and our tiny place within it.
But even though the thoughts we have are woven into some kind of system of apparent cohesion and even certainty, there is always something else- something indefinable and difficult to lay hold of.
Something that at times we yearn for, without knowing what it is.
Something that is beautiful and whole- something hopeful.
Something dangerous.
Something that some of us would call- God.
So as we stare at our construction of solid blocks of knowledge, there dancing in the middle of it all- playful and full of Joy- is this other thing. The blocks might describe some of it, but it is not contained by the blocks. The spaces between might seem to be it’s place of dwelling- but these too are transient and transparent.
Rather this thing that we seek- this God- is not contained. He is in and through and without.
The question is how we might respond to this capricious and undefinable God? How do we follow?
I know my own answers to this question- and they are to found in community with my friends. We follow together. We build our (temporary) blocks of understanding with small stones.
We build humbly because our answers are only partial.
But still we build- because within this communal dwelling there is not just us- but something other. Something indescribably beautiful.
this fragile tent 