da da da da da da? da!

Lynn over at help I work with children has reflected on the following clip:

Personally it made me think of the times when we use words without meaning - just using the force of our voices to get across a point, or some dense jargon, not realising that to others it sounds just like da da da da da da da.

That's using it as an analogy, of course - as it is, it's a marvellous example of mimicry.

(I also couldn't help noticing the socks!)

Check out Lynn's reflections here.

digging

After a busy but enjoyable Easter weekend, I've given myself permission to abscond to the garden for today.  It's been a productive morning - not always the case when gardening, but I'm pleased with what I've managed.  Granted, there is still plenty to do, and I haven't even touched the front garden, which fills me with quiet dread when I think about what needs doing.

Much digging and tugging needed for the major project this morning - transplanting a shrub out of a pot into the ground. Which sounds straightforward, but not when the roots have rooted through the pot. What's worse it was on a piece of flat stone so instead of simply growing down through the holes in the pot, they'd gone sideways, splayed out in immovable stiffness.

There was no chance I was going to get the plant out of the pot with any of its major roots intact.

So, I had to get the pot out of the plant. Using a hammer. Whack. The terracotta fractured and I was able to remove it piece by piece, with a degree of reluctance (I had hoped to reclaim the pot). I now have lots of terracotta shards to use for drainage, I suppose.

Of course, removing the plant from the pot was only one side of the procedure; the other was digging the hole in the ground. We have very dense, clay-like soil - on top.  But go down deep and it gets stony - really stony. The spade clanked irritably against the obstacles. Nothing for it - I grabbed the fork instead, driving the prongs between the stones, shaking the earth loose.

Sometimes I think I come at life with a spade and forget to use the fork first. I slam against obstacles with the dull blade and grow more and more frustrated. The fork takes a more careful route - teasing out the earth.  It still requires a lot of strength and persistence, but it gets through where the spade cannot. Sometimes the tool we assume will make the best job, achieve it the most quickly, is simply ineffective.

Such were the thoughts meandering through my mind as I dug - or forked.

Of course, when you slam up against solid rock there's not a lot you can do with either spade or fork.

I suggest, in that scenario, picking somewhere else to dig...

And sometimes, in order to free the roots, you may need to break the pot.



Fork image from Amazon - not the fork in question!

cream tea theology

When having a cream tea, I tend to put the cream on first and then the jam.  My husband, however, puts the jam on first and then the cream. (I read recently that is the difference between Devon and Cornish cream teas, but can't be certain).  Both of us have recently developed a taste for raspberry jam instead of strawberry.

I would venture to say that neither of these differences make it no longer a cream tea.  Doing things in a different order, and preferring a different flavour, do not change the fact that it is a cream tea.  However, eliminate the cream and it's a whole different kettle of fish tea.

I never used to like cream much and would ask for two scones, jam and butter instead.  Or, 'a cream tea without the cream'.  However, both I and the waiter/waitress probably knew that what I was asking for was not, at heart, a cream tea.  It lacked an essential identification mark.

(I should add that I am using this as an analogy.  I always say that if you stretch an analogy too hard it will pop, and in this case that would mean cream all over the place).

Order and flavour can differ, but they're not identity changers.  But a cream tea without the cream?

It just ain't a cream tea.

"If Christ has not been raised, our preaching is useless and so is your faith." - 1 Corinthians 15:14

Picture: from Wikipedia, by Liyster

at the station

When I was in my late teens, I prided myself on being able to pull an analogy out of anything.  I think I even gave a 'life lesson' from a pear, once.  It was a little bit on the silly side so I try and only make meaningful analogies these days!  (Me silly?  Surely not! - cue all my friends cracking up...) Travelling always sets me going though, especially train travel.  I was travelling by train this weekend.  I had my journey all pre-booked, seats reserved, everything.  I got to the station, and they eventually announced my first train was cancelled!  Which of course meant everything went out - I would never make the connections to the next two trains.

It worked out okay.  Despite the delay in the beginning, the 'alternative' route was fine - and actually I got to see bits of countryside I usually don't, as I'm taking a different way.  But of course, I started to ponder...

When it comes to catching or changing trains, when you have made a specific reservation for a certain seat and train and time - one of the worst things that can happen is that the train is cancelled. And when a train gets cancelled, all bookings are off. 

My experience is that once I'm over the frustration and shock - and sheer weariness - I simply change tack.  It needs to be handled differently.  It becomes a matter of catching the best train you can in your circumstance.  It's not the way you planned or the schedule you wanted.  You have to let go of your expectations and take the journey one stage at a time.

There are positives to this - you're not worrying about being late for the next train on your schedule.  It simply no longer applies.  You take each step as it comes.

Now, here I go with the analogy...

When life doesn't fit with our plans, when one change puts the whole thing out of whack, when nothing makes the sense you wanted it to - you are left with trust.  (Quick thinking, advice, and keeping calm are also good ingredients!)

Trust that, although the wait may be much longer than what you bargained for, there will, eventually be another train.  A different train.  It may take you by another route entirely, giving you a view of something you never knew you would see. 

When I was that somewhat silly teenager I wrote a somewhat silly song, but I remember one line: 'The train I'll catch at the station is worth the waiting.'  Sometimes we feel completely left behind.  Sitting in the station when everyone else is boarding trains.

But there's a train coming.

For us.