If you need a florist in the Beverley area then the BEST place that you could possibly go would be to go to see my Mum (even though she is currently off sick) at the Garden Shed in the Market Square.
ps: The picture is from Mum and Dad’s garden because they grow them as well as sell them.
Over the weekend Sue, Emily and myself (Jonathan was away on a youth weekend) went for a walk along the Lancaster Canal. It was one of those Sunday afternoon walks, which for us means – short.
While we were walking a barge passed us. I love to see barges. This one had something extra though. He was burning his log stove.
The smell of burning wood always brings memories flooding back. All sorts of memories.
When I was young we had a real fire at home. It was really a coal fire, but it burnt wood just as well. We had central heating so we didn’t need to light it for the warmth, we lit it for the experience.
Lighting the fire always bought with it a sense of achievement, because everything that we burnt we had worked to gather.
People around us knew that we burnt wood (because they could smell too) so every time they were doing something with a tree in their garden they knew that if they asked us we would come and do it for them on the condition that we took the wood. This was in the days before the health and safety people really took a hold on our society. We didn’t use chain saws, we used a bow-saw. Sometimes this was a one man operation but often required two of us; one on either end and loads of teamwork. My Dad also understood the theory of pivots. Most people wanted the tree out – roots and all. Having first attached a rope to the top of the trunk we would often chop off the branches of a tree; leaving the main trunk. We would then proceeded to dig the tree out pulling on the rope to make sure that it fell the right way. Every now and then one of us (usually Stephen, my brother, or me) would climb up the trunk to provide a bit more leverage. I remember Stephen being up one particular tree when there was an almighty crack and the tree came down with a thud. We both learnt when to jump. In modern speak we would call these occasions male-bonding times; we were just having fun.
When I was a child the popular Sunday afternoon activity was to go walking along the East Yorkshire coastline. We would often use this as an opportunity to collect drift wood. Drift wood burns in a different way to other woods because it contains loads of salt; this makes it cackle and hiss, but it also makes it glow blue and violet. One time I remember us biting off a bit more than we could chew and carry this huge log between us for what seemed like miles only to find that we couldn’t fit it (and us) in the car. There’s only so much you can get in a Morris Marina.
Saturday’s were reserved for a different type of fun – the allotments. We had two. For some reason which I have never understood (because you don’t ask those questions when you are younger) there were at opposite ends of Beverley; where I was bought up. You can’t have an allotment without having a fire. There is always something to burn. Even if there wasn’t we would make sure that there soon was. In the Autumn a fire wasn’t just fun, it was essential I remember sitting in front of it trying to warm my hands up so that I could feel them again. An Autumn fire brings another delight – fire baked potatoes. There really is nothing like the smoky, nutty taste of a potato straight of the embers.
We have a chiminea in the garden these days which burns reconstituted wood because it’s too smoky with real wood. It doesn’t quite smell the same but the memories are still as powerful.
The joy of a wood fire seems to have passed down the generations too. Jonathan always has a story to tell about the fire whenever he returns from Scout Camp.
Smell is a powerful sense. The way that it connects together memories is a real blessing.
Sometimes I am stunned by my reaction to bad news. It doesn’t have to be that bad for my ‘bad news’ reaction to kick in but it always seems to go down a very similar route.
I get the bad news and then I enter into this state of numbness where I can’t think or move forward for a while; quite often the time taken to recover is completely disproportionate to the news.
Take today for example. Next week is a school holiday for my kids and I was hoping to take two days off during the week. As it’s getting towards the end of the year I thought I had better check how many days holiday I have left. unfortunately I only have enough days to take one day off. Argghhh.
For what seems to be a very long time I have sat here going ‘argh’ and little else.
I’m actually writing this blog as a kind of therapy to help me get the news into perspective. It’s not really that big a deal, it just feels that way. And as I write I feel the numbness lifting.
Recognising a reaction is often a big part of resolving it. I think what I need to do now is to try to understand the process that gets me back going again.
I love song lyrics that paint a picture. I think it’s because I love to imagine and lyrics in songs, like poetry, build that picture in a minimalist way that lets me imagine all of the rest.
Sometimes I imagine by picturing a real place or places that I have been to, blending them together into a collage of memories. Sometimes I imagine a blank canvass and literally paint on it, but unlike my physical efforts these pictures are wonderful. Sometimes, every so often, I fill in the picture with my own words.
I am the type of person who can so often fill my imagination with problems that become disasters. I know how things can get worse and hence that’s what I imagine. The great thing about participating in someone else’s picture is that they imagine good things and great times. I know it’s not good to spend an entire life focusing on the negative, so to have a positive to focus on is great and it always makes me feel uplifted way beyond the end of the song. It’s a blessing.
Here are some of my favourites:
Sunset is an angel weeping
Holding out a bloody sword
No matter how I squint I cannot
Make out what it’s pointing toward
Sometimes you feel like you live too long
Days drip slowly on the page
You catch yourself
Pacing the cageBruce Cockburn – Pacing the Cage
I’m sipping Flor De Caa and lime juice, it’s three a.m.
Blow a fruit fly off the rim of my glass
The radio’s playing Superchunk and the friends of Dean MartinezMidnight it was bike tires whacking the pot holes
Milling humans’ shivering energy glow
Fusing the space between them with bar-throb bass and laughterIf this were the last night of the world
What would I do?
What would I do that was different
Unless it was champagne with you?Bruce Cockburn – Last Night of the World
Lenny Bruce is dead but he didn’t commit any crime
He just had the insight to rip off the lid before its time.
I rode with him in a taxi once, only for a mile and a half,
Seemed like it took a couple of months.
Lenny Bruce moved on and like the ones that killed him, gone.Bob Dylan – Lenny Bruce
GOD, my shepherd! I don’t need a thing.You have bedded me down in lush meadows, you find me quiet pools to drink from.True to your word, you let me catch my breath and send me in the right direction.
Even when the way goes through Death Valley, I’m not afraid when you walk at my side. Your trusty shepherd’s crook makes me feel secure.
You serve me a six-course dinner right in front of my enemies. You revive my drooping head; my cup brims with blessing.
Your beauty and love chase after me every day of my life. I’m back home in the house of GOD for the rest of my life.
We are very blessed living, as we do, in a house that is close to woods. This means that we get all sorts of wildlife in the garden.
Today is a particularly active day because Emily filled up the feeders and the bird (squirrel) table yesterday evening.
Although I’d prefer to see British Red Squirrels rather than American Grey ones it’s still a blessing to see them bouncing around, scurrying for food. It’s not such a blessing to have to clear up some of the mess from where they have buried things, but that is a small price to pay.
I love to see how different animals interact with each other. The Jay comes and follows the squirrels around, because he knows that they will soon be burying what they have just collected and that he can steel it from the hole. There is definitely a pecking order between the Jay and the Magpie too. The Jay seems to be king. Talking of the Jay, the way that they bounce around the garden is so comical that it brings a smile to my face every time we see them.
The little birds are very active today to, we don’t seem to have a shortage of Sparrows around here, there are loads of them. The Cole Tits dart in and out spending as little time as possible on the feeder. The Green Finch spends longer, stripping the husk off the sunflower seeds before eating them. The songs are wonderful, filling the air.
I am a bit of a worrier and seeing all of this life in the garden brings me back time and time again to the words of Jesus:
“If you decide for God, living a life of God-worship, it follows that you don’t fuss about what’s on the table at mealtimes or whether the clothes in your closet are in fashion. There is far more to your life than the food you put in your stomach, more to your outer appearance than the clothes you hang on your body. Look at the birds, free and unfettered, not tied down to a job description, careless in the care of God. And you count far more to him than birds.
“Has anyone by fussing in front of the mirror ever gotten taller by so much as an inch? All this time and money wasted on fashion–do you think it makes that much difference? Instead of looking at the fashions, walk out into the fields and look at the wildflowers. They never primp or shop, but have you ever seen colour and design quite like it? The ten best–dressed men and women in the country look shabby alongside them.
“If God gives such attention to the appearance of wildflowers–most of which are never even seen–don’t you think he’ll attend to you, take pride in you, do his best for you? What I’m trying to do here is to get you to relax, to not be so preoccupied with getting, so you can respond to God’s giving. People who don’t know God and the way he works fuss over these things, but you know both God and how he works. Steep your life in God-reality, God-initiative, God-provisions. Don’t worry about missing out. You’ll find all your everyday human concerns will be met.
“Give your entire attention to what God is doing right now, and don’t get worked up about what may or may not happen tomorrow. God will help you deal with whatever hard things come up when the time comes.
Sitting on the train this evening I finished a book. I love that feeling of achievement. Having lived with a book for a period of time it’s great to get to the end.
This feeling is particularly fulfilling when finishing a novel. Getting to the end of the story is great.
I’m writing today while sat on a train from Preston to London. Opposite me is a young business man who has been talking to and ‘motivating’ his employees most of the way. Next to me is a group of three pensioner men who are on there way to a union reunion (I think); sat with them is an older lady on her way to meet family.
Each of the conversations that is going on is intriguing.
The young business man apparently sacked a lady yesterday who had only been with him for 6 days. It turns out that she thought that his business was in a right mess, as it has grown 70% in the last year he couldn’t quite see how. His self confident thrusting would please many a motivational speaker. The flash suit and the striped shirt just go to finish off the stereotype.
The three pensioner men have obviously known each other for a very long time. They are typical working-class (and proud of it) northern men. They are loving the time of reminiscing. I have heard stories from their youth about gambling on horses and winning a fortune of £41. I have heard how they believe that the government has short changing them on their pension. I have heard how terrible the England football team was at the weekend and how it could never compare to the good old days – Nobby Styles, Bobby Moore. “The pies at the football these days are very expensive – £1.40, terrible”. I have heard the stories of their grandchildren. I particularly liked the one about the granddaughter who’s reply when here Dad said to her “My Dad would have never stood for this” was “Your Dad was a much better Dad than you are”. I have heard their worries about the future especially in light of the recent earthquake in Pakistan. I have even heard how they feel isolated within the society – “they never ask us do they”. That all stimulates the lady to join in, it’s obviously struck a cord. It turns out that she has retired to the Lake District. “I was on holiday in the Lake District and saw this house, when I got home I applied for early retirement and left”.
It may be a terrible thing to be an eaves-dropper, but it’s fascinating. By sitting here on my computer and just listening-in these people are all talking in a completely different way than they would be if they knew I was listening. Their conversations are revealing something about themselves that wouldn’t be revealed if I interviewed them for weeks.
It’s a blessing to me to get a glimpse of other people’s life. It’s very stimulating to realise that other’s lives are completely different to mine. The diversity of God’s creation, just in us humans is infinite. Different views, different attitudes, different bodies, different, diverse, immense, precious.
Yesterday morning I gave a talk at a breakfast for men that a team of guys from church put together. We have done these breakfasts a couple of times now and this time it was my turn to do the talk.
Afterwards I had some really nice feedback from a number of the guys. This morning one of the members of the team had gone to the effort of writing me a card to say thank-you. There is something about receiving a card that makes the sentiment more meaningful somehow. Why is that? The logical part of me says that it’s because I know subconsciously that it’s easy for people to say thank-you but it takes more effort to write a card. I’m not sure that this simple logical really goes far enough though. If that was all there was to it an email would have the same feeling, but it doesn’t.
I think that receiving a card has so much more to it because there is more to it than just the effort that has gone into it. A card reminds us of all of the pleasurable times of our life, birthdays with jelly and ice-cream and Christmas in the snow (not that we see snow around here very often). A card reminds us of all of the special people in our life. A card reminds us of our own searching for that card that says the right thing in the right words. A card reminds us of all of the cards that we have sent and the faces on those who we have sent them to.
Cards are blessings that work two ways – giving them is a blessing, receiving them is a blessing.
I have a bit of a theory about stress. It’s completely unscientific but seems to work for me. The theory is this: the reason that stress is so harmful for us is because it stops us experiencing the healing power of laughing. I do know that there are scientific studies which show that laughter is good for us, linking it to stress is my unscientific extension.
I haven’t written a bless for a few weeks, because, well, not to put too fine a point on it, I’ve been stressed. Completely maxed out. For once this hasn’t really been a work issue, it’s been an outside-work. Those responsibilities just kept flowing in. One of the major ones has been a talk that I am doing at a men’s breakfast this Saturday, so I’m not completely out of it. The talk is prepared now, so at least the major pressure is off, until Saturday that is. When I am stressed I tend not to laugh. I get grumpy when I am stressed rather than giddy.
There have been a few moments over the last few weeks that have made me laugh though. I haven’t been completely grumpy.
This weekend I had a couple of days when everything I did took longer than expected. I don’t know whether you have days like that, or whether it’s a blessing that is reserved for me. I’m not saying that they took longer because I’m poor at estimating, but they took longer because the simple job turned into something much more complicated than normal. One of these things made me laugh though. I was setting-up the computer at church for the morning service and things weren’t going too well. I was already a bit stressed because PowerPoint had decided to destroy my presentation for the Men’s Breakfast and nothing was going right. Stress levels were building. I was starting to worry that I wouldn’t actually be ready for the start of church, which isn’t a good thing. Eventually, 2 minutes before we are due to start I get finished. Quick, I need the loo, just got enough time to go. Dash off; rush into the loos. Sit on the toilet, do the usual check to my right. Ahhhh, no loo roll. I only have 2 mins, I’m already stressed I can react in two ways, I can laugh or I can cry. The laughter just flows. I feel much better for a bit of a laugh, go off to find the spare loo roll and all is well.
Laughter is so important.
Sue and I have a group of friends with whom we love nothing better than to get together for a laugh. there is something about this group that generates situations where we all laugh. I only need to think of Dave with tears streaming down his face for my mouth to curl into a smile. Two of this number have been away on holiday, today we received a post-card, again I was laughing. I thought about typing some of it in here but I’m not sure that the joke would translate. It’s funny because of the person who sent it and their view on the world.
I don’t have a highly developed view of what heaven will be like, but I’m sure it will include laughter. In the Psalms it talks about God laughing and I’m sure it’s not a privilege that He will keep to himself.
Some great writing being produced over at Thinking Faster, a couple of tasters:
I’m concerned that we’re becoming even more productive individually and less and less productive in teams. One reason is the computing power we have at our fingertips. Most of us can create a financial plan, develop the powerpoint presentation and write up a proposal without speaking to anyone else or leaving our desks. With access to the internet, you too can be an instant expert on almost any subject without speaking to anyone in your company.
For all the processes, software applications, communication devices and modern office tools we’ve got, what does it actually take to move an idea forward? Is productivity driven by improved processes and methodologies, or are many decisions driven by a true believer who is willing to push any button to get what he wants?
I was thinking about this “nature vs nurture” type of question after reading a blog post of Shaw’s quote on progress.
“A reasonable man adapts himself to his environment. An unreasonable man persists in attempting to adapt his environment to suit himself. Therefore, all progress depends on the unreasonable man.”
Stu has put together a post trying to summarise the rather complicated IBM roadmap for Notes/Domino and Workplace. It raises some good questions. But it doesn’t raise the one that probably concerns me the most.
Does anyone care?
Notes/Domino worked well as a business model when application delivery was client-server focussed. Now that it’s Internet/Browser focussed does anyone actually want to do any development that relies upon another set of infrastructure being available. You’d just do your development in a ‘pure’ Internet environment if you wanted to sell to the widest possible audience. If you strip away the development capabilities, what’s left? Well there is an email and calendaring tool, which the market isn’t moving towards, it’s moving away from.
That I think is the dilemma for IBM. How does it move people over to it’s development platform without loosing the email and calendaring piece. If you loose the email and calendaring piece then you are in great danger of loosing presence, and instant messaging, and then team collaboration, and on it goes.
I love the change of the seasons. This morning when I went out for a walk along the paths in the wood at the back of my house it smelt of Autumn. I’ve tried to think of ways of describing what I mean by that but the only way I can do it is to describe the pictures that are created in my head. I’m sure that Sue would be able to give it a description that would be suitable for any perfume, but I’m a man and we can’t even get our heads around the different types of colour (what is mauve anyway) so smells are a little out of my league.
So here are my pictures.
The smell of autumn makes me think of walking around Tarn Howes, taking in the infinite multitude of brown and gold. It makes me think of walking through small mountains of paper crisp leaves, kicking them into the air and watching them float their individual paths to the ground. I can see those same leaves swirling around, like thousands of tiny kites abandoned to the wind. I can hear the first crunch of frost under my feet. I can sense my face tightening in the glare of a cold crisp autumn sun, making me feel alive in a way that the warm sun never does. I can feel the smooth dark chocolate brown of a conker fresh out of its skin. I can see those deep red berries. I can taste those brambles and those apples warm, tangy and sugary hiding beneath a wonderful nutty crumble and covered in custard. I can see that deer revealed now that his cloak of vegetation has been removed. I can see the thousands of starlings swarming in a mass of black ready for departure to a warmer environment.
I don’t think I have a favourite season, I love the transitions between them.
There is a time for everything, a season for every activity under heaven.
A time to be born and a time to die. A time to plant and a time to harvest.
A time to kill and a time to heal. A time to tear down and a time to rebuild.
A time to cry and a time to laugh. A time to grieve and a time to dance.
A time to scatter stones and a time to gather stones. A time to embrace and a time to turn away.
A time to search and a time to lose. A time to keep and a time to throw away.
A time to tear and a time to mend. A time to be quiet and a time to speak up.
A time to love and a time to hate. A time for war and a time for peace.
Graham Chastney 