I have just returned from my last late-night organ practice session as Motherchurch organ scholar. Tomorrow I am finished and must return my key. It is also my last service as organist at St Isidore's. In fact, a week tomorrow I leave Lancaster for good. I finish work on Thursday, and shall then be unemployed. I leave the country on 1st May.
I do have a plan. It is still tenuous, but I can't wait around forever for everything to fix itself. I have applied for an organ building job which has not yet come up (it still has a person in it, albeit a person who proposes to hand in his resignation in the next few months), and shall find out whether or not I am to be offered this position at some point after the person currently in post resigns. That is likely to be in July or August. In the meantime, I am off to Taize for a few months. I hope to find time to relax and get used to having mental space, so that when I return I am no longer such an ineffective person.
Obviously, I am in the midst of yet another house move. Some friends have very kindly agreed to take on key pieces of furniture, such as my chest of drawers and fake piano, and the rest goes to my parents' house. They are overjoyed. It gives them a purpose in life, and they relish having far too many things in the upper rooms of their house. My brother adores not being able to cross his room due to the amount of stuff in it, and only wishes that he still lived there, instead of just returning for holidays. The last two car-loads of stuff (for I only have two journeys there left) will be the icing on the cake. I know that my small bed-settee (smaller than the one I already have there) will be welcomed with open arms.
Once this has been accomplished, though, I should hopefully be nearing the end of my moving career. Of course, this organ job will come with the man of my dreams (how could it not?), who will help me to build my incredibly large house with straw walls and at least one organ, plus a large and well-equipped workshop. It will only take a few house moves (and a lot of hard work) before I am in this house, from where there will be no need to move for quite a few years. Or perhaps until the children put me in a retirement home. He can live there, too, and we will have lots of children, all of whom can be trusted not to hurt themselves when around tools (is that not the main thing one looks for in a child?), and who are good at choosing retirement homes.
Ha! If it works out like that I'll be amazed. Also pleased. Except for the retirement home thing.
Right now, though, I feel a little sad and overwhelmed. I don't like moving house, and I don't like to leave places. This house move is going quite well so far because I have been working on it for a few weeks, and transporting bulky items a few at a time, but the last load is always hard. The last church services tomorrow will be hard (I really don't want to leave either church, crappy organ scholar though I have been), as will the leaving do at work (they won't tell me when that is, but I can narrow it down to Tuesday, Wednesday or Thursday during the day. It should include wine, as the Department has an accidental stock of bubbly).
Ah well. What would be productive now would be sleep. Having slept for far too many hours today I am not all that sleepy, but I will not thank myself in the morning if I stay up much longer.
Showing posts with label children. Show all posts
Showing posts with label children. Show all posts
Sunday, 11 April 2010
Sunday, 28 September 2008
Bad me
I don't appear to have said anything of note on here for quite a while. Possibly ever.
Unfortunately, I appear to have got myself into a rut, which is causing me to be somewhat uninspired. In order to get out of this rut, I must write letters to people. The rut has sapped enough of my creativity that I have failed to come up with anything worth reading for nearly two months. Which is quite sobering. I shall go and make myself a drink to compensate.
Back again. The tea is not helping to de-sober me. Also, I am thinking that it was rather a weak joke and that I should have just left it. Which I shall do right now.
See - it's just not happening writing-wise. This is much easier than the letters I must write, too.
Serena is being very wonderful - she has given me a framework outlining the sort of thing I should be saying at each stage in the letter. I had only been struggling with it for just over a month when I passed it on to her to unpick; it has been a lot better since then. Alas, I need to come up with more actual content myself.
Hmm. That's enough uninteresting bibble on that subject, especially as I am remaining unhelpfully stubborn as to the nature of these letters.* If anyone were to read this, they might be annoyed.
Today I managed to fit in over an hour of organ practice. That was enjoyable - I have almost got the hang of the Te Deum Prelude and the Phrygian Mode thingy is coming along nicely. Franck's Prelude of Wonderfulness (not its real name) is dying less obviously than it used to, and should be ready for human ears within the next year or so.
After a while the children came to sit with me. This adds a whole new element of challenge - it's a little harder playing the right notes when someone else is playing something which couldn't be described as music at the same time. Mind you, if they were playing actual music it could be even harder to ignore. I figure that this is good practice for maintaining concentration whatever. I think that I may figure wrong, though. Although I can block out external noise, it can be hard telling the voice inside me to shut up. For example, I frequently get distracted because I remember that I left a hymn book at home, or because the organ sounds like it is dying. When I pay attention to these thoughts, I miss out notes. This is presumably linked to my total inability to meditate. Perhaps I should just have the children playing all the time so that I have to concentrate...
I demonstrated my amazing prowess by playing Twinkle Twinkle Little Star and The Twelve Days of Christmas, and revealed that I do, in fact, know more than 500 songs. I hope that they do not decide to test me on that - it could take rather a long time. Unfortunately for them, I do not appear to know any of the songs they learn at school, which must be frustrating for them.
Once again, I shall try to be interesting some other time.
*Because there are just so many things they are likely to be about. Ha! I am fooling nobody. Mostly because nobody is reading.
Unfortunately, I appear to have got myself into a rut, which is causing me to be somewhat uninspired. In order to get out of this rut, I must write letters to people. The rut has sapped enough of my creativity that I have failed to come up with anything worth reading for nearly two months. Which is quite sobering. I shall go and make myself a drink to compensate.
Back again. The tea is not helping to de-sober me. Also, I am thinking that it was rather a weak joke and that I should have just left it. Which I shall do right now.
See - it's just not happening writing-wise. This is much easier than the letters I must write, too.
Serena is being very wonderful - she has given me a framework outlining the sort of thing I should be saying at each stage in the letter. I had only been struggling with it for just over a month when I passed it on to her to unpick; it has been a lot better since then. Alas, I need to come up with more actual content myself.
Hmm. That's enough uninteresting bibble on that subject, especially as I am remaining unhelpfully stubborn as to the nature of these letters.* If anyone were to read this, they might be annoyed.
Today I managed to fit in over an hour of organ practice. That was enjoyable - I have almost got the hang of the Te Deum Prelude and the Phrygian Mode thingy is coming along nicely. Franck's Prelude of Wonderfulness (not its real name) is dying less obviously than it used to, and should be ready for human ears within the next year or so.
After a while the children came to sit with me. This adds a whole new element of challenge - it's a little harder playing the right notes when someone else is playing something which couldn't be described as music at the same time. Mind you, if they were playing actual music it could be even harder to ignore. I figure that this is good practice for maintaining concentration whatever. I think that I may figure wrong, though. Although I can block out external noise, it can be hard telling the voice inside me to shut up. For example, I frequently get distracted because I remember that I left a hymn book at home, or because the organ sounds like it is dying. When I pay attention to these thoughts, I miss out notes. This is presumably linked to my total inability to meditate. Perhaps I should just have the children playing all the time so that I have to concentrate...
I demonstrated my amazing prowess by playing Twinkle Twinkle Little Star and The Twelve Days of Christmas, and revealed that I do, in fact, know more than 500 songs. I hope that they do not decide to test me on that - it could take rather a long time. Unfortunately for them, I do not appear to know any of the songs they learn at school, which must be frustrating for them.
Once again, I shall try to be interesting some other time.
*Because there are just so many things they are likely to be about. Ha! I am fooling nobody. Mostly because nobody is reading.
Monday, 8 September 2008
Aaargh! Helmets!
Yesterday was the day of the much anticipated* church bike ride. As the weather was fine, we went ahead with it. There were five children and three adults going, which is a fairly respectable ratio. The plan was to cycle to the beach, about 3 1/2 miles away, and to have a picnic lunch. We would then return to church, then go home.
It started off well. We all gathered round with our bikes and everybody was happy. This lasted until the leader told us we were going to wear helmets. Seemingly, this was unacceptable. They are not cool, and make you look dorky, or something. One child (hereafter Recalcitrant #1) refused to move for about five minutes, so great was her indignity. She was only about 10, though...
I am pleased to report that my "new" bike is lovely - it has an impressive range of gears (compared to what I am used to), and will free-wheel for a long time after I stop pedalling. Actually, free-wheeling is the main reason I like cycling, I think. What other form of exercise allows you to look vaguely as though you are achieving something when you are actually just staying upright and avoiding bumping into things? It's almost the opposite of Pilates, which looks like you are doing nothing, but really hurts. I suppose that one has to put in effort to reach an acceptable speed, but with, say, jogging there is no free-wheeling. But I digress.
Anyway, I had a semi-wonderful time being back on a bike for the first time in many months, and we made it to the beach with no major incidents. The weather held, too - it hardly rained at all, and we even experienced some sunshine! We were met on the promenade by the car-using, food-carrying component of our group.
Once at the beach, the children went to play on what passes as sand round these parts. I went to the supermarket to procure a spoon, some baby wipes and lunch.** I returned with two sporks, some baby wipes and lunch. One child pronounced my double chocolate brownies to be "disgusting", which amused me. How does one reach that conclusion? Perhaps she was trying to be awkward. I had been worried that other people would finish my brownies, leaving none for me to take home; these worries were unfounded, thank goodness. Having been reminded of my brownies, I have just eaten a second one. Still yummy. When HWSNBN gets off his computer (he's killing aliens, I think), has a bath and presents himself to be fed, perhaps I can get something with nutritional value into me; until then, brownies it is.
Having played and eaten lunch, it was time to return home. Once again, helmets were not universally accepted. There was more resistance this time, although I am not sure what they expected to achieve. The way they were going to get home was on their bikes, and they were not allowed to ride them without helmets. I fear I may have made myself unpopular with my silent standing and waiting, punctuated with occasional offers to adjust helmets. I had given up suggesting that a high pony tail was perhaps not the thing to have when wearing a cycle helmet (I myself had my hair in bunches - forward planning and all that).
As Recalcitrant #1 had her bike leaning on mine, I was last to go, and followed her along the pier to the lighthouse. At one point she stopped riding, so I stopped too. After a few minutes I got bored and started up again. I assume that she thought I was going to talk to her, as she started up again, too, albeit without her helmet. I didn't think I was going to win that argument, nor was I going to get that close, so she returned to the group without her helmet on.*** When we were ready to return home, Recalcitrant #1 cycled very slowly indeed to the main road, and again on the roundabout. Perhaps she wanted to die. Alas, I was behind her and so more of a target for vehicles which actually wanted to go places. A much larger target, too.
Having crossed over the roundabout (and, thankfully, in a nice wide cycle lane on a slow road), Recalcitrant #2 (aged 11) decided to try it on. She declared that she was not going to wear a helmet. I declared that she was, and us adults agreed that she was not going anywhere without it on. She put it on and refused to move while wearing it. I laughed at her and said that we would wait, which we did. After a surprisingly short amount of time (seriously - I was amazed), she moved along, very sulkily. We made it back to the dedicated cycle track with no more incidents, and had been going for nearly 1/4 of a mile before Recalcitrant #2 undid her helmet strap. Another standoff ensued, in which one of her parents was called. She complained that we had been making her wear the helmet too tightly, which we had not; we had given up with making her wear it for her protection, and were content that she had it on her head with the strap fastened.
Eventually, she accepted that she was going to wear the helmet, and she and Recalcitrant #1 set off very slowly. They soon seemed to forget that they looked so incredibly uncool and stupid and started cycling at an appropriate speed and chatting, at which point the ride started to be fun. Thank goodness.
Towards the end of the ride, we lost the Recalcitrants - they made their own way back. Damn. I took the two lovely ones, who behaved like real people, back. We went down rather a large hill, which is always fun.
Upon arriving back at church, I found that I did not have enough strength left to lift my bike back into my car, which was unfortunate and embarrassing. Not that anyone noticed, except for me and the new scratch in my car door. I really must make it so that I am fit enough to cycle for 7 miles at an average speed of, I would guess, about 6 mph, and still able to do what I could do before such a ride. I'm glad I went with slow people, though - normally I cycle as fast as I can sustain, and I suspect that I would have damaged myself using that policy yesterday. I would also have gone a far more interesting route, except that I wouldn't, because my bike would have stayed at home, rather than coming to church with me - it's about 12 miles away. I am so not cycling that route, as my organ music is too heavy (no storage facilities at church), and the route is very dangerous a lot of the way - cars at 50-60 mph, with the cycle lanes there when they are not really necessary, and disappearing when they are essential, because the road isn't wide enough (that is why they are essential, and also why they are not there - it's not worth investing in making the road wider for cyclists, apparently).
When I got home, I waited for HWSNBN to return to extract my bike. That was useful. I like it when he is useful.
In conclusion, children can sometimes be awkward and petty. Who knew?
*It was much anticipated by some of the children - I wasn't all that keen.
**I can't eat gluten, so the provided sandwiches were not an option for me, and I was too lazy to prepare lunch in advance, especially considering that we were going to be next to my favourite gluten-free supermarket.
***I know - I can't believe I'm writing this, either. Bored yet?
It started off well. We all gathered round with our bikes and everybody was happy. This lasted until the leader told us we were going to wear helmets. Seemingly, this was unacceptable. They are not cool, and make you look dorky, or something. One child (hereafter Recalcitrant #1) refused to move for about five minutes, so great was her indignity. She was only about 10, though...
I am pleased to report that my "new" bike is lovely - it has an impressive range of gears (compared to what I am used to), and will free-wheel for a long time after I stop pedalling. Actually, free-wheeling is the main reason I like cycling, I think. What other form of exercise allows you to look vaguely as though you are achieving something when you are actually just staying upright and avoiding bumping into things? It's almost the opposite of Pilates, which looks like you are doing nothing, but really hurts. I suppose that one has to put in effort to reach an acceptable speed, but with, say, jogging there is no free-wheeling. But I digress.
Anyway, I had a semi-wonderful time being back on a bike for the first time in many months, and we made it to the beach with no major incidents. The weather held, too - it hardly rained at all, and we even experienced some sunshine! We were met on the promenade by the car-using, food-carrying component of our group.
Once at the beach, the children went to play on what passes as sand round these parts. I went to the supermarket to procure a spoon, some baby wipes and lunch.** I returned with two sporks, some baby wipes and lunch. One child pronounced my double chocolate brownies to be "disgusting", which amused me. How does one reach that conclusion? Perhaps she was trying to be awkward. I had been worried that other people would finish my brownies, leaving none for me to take home; these worries were unfounded, thank goodness. Having been reminded of my brownies, I have just eaten a second one. Still yummy. When HWSNBN gets off his computer (he's killing aliens, I think), has a bath and presents himself to be fed, perhaps I can get something with nutritional value into me; until then, brownies it is.
Having played and eaten lunch, it was time to return home. Once again, helmets were not universally accepted. There was more resistance this time, although I am not sure what they expected to achieve. The way they were going to get home was on their bikes, and they were not allowed to ride them without helmets. I fear I may have made myself unpopular with my silent standing and waiting, punctuated with occasional offers to adjust helmets. I had given up suggesting that a high pony tail was perhaps not the thing to have when wearing a cycle helmet (I myself had my hair in bunches - forward planning and all that).
As Recalcitrant #1 had her bike leaning on mine, I was last to go, and followed her along the pier to the lighthouse. At one point she stopped riding, so I stopped too. After a few minutes I got bored and started up again. I assume that she thought I was going to talk to her, as she started up again, too, albeit without her helmet. I didn't think I was going to win that argument, nor was I going to get that close, so she returned to the group without her helmet on.*** When we were ready to return home, Recalcitrant #1 cycled very slowly indeed to the main road, and again on the roundabout. Perhaps she wanted to die. Alas, I was behind her and so more of a target for vehicles which actually wanted to go places. A much larger target, too.
Having crossed over the roundabout (and, thankfully, in a nice wide cycle lane on a slow road), Recalcitrant #2 (aged 11) decided to try it on. She declared that she was not going to wear a helmet. I declared that she was, and us adults agreed that she was not going anywhere without it on. She put it on and refused to move while wearing it. I laughed at her and said that we would wait, which we did. After a surprisingly short amount of time (seriously - I was amazed), she moved along, very sulkily. We made it back to the dedicated cycle track with no more incidents, and had been going for nearly 1/4 of a mile before Recalcitrant #2 undid her helmet strap. Another standoff ensued, in which one of her parents was called. She complained that we had been making her wear the helmet too tightly, which we had not; we had given up with making her wear it for her protection, and were content that she had it on her head with the strap fastened.
Eventually, she accepted that she was going to wear the helmet, and she and Recalcitrant #1 set off very slowly. They soon seemed to forget that they looked so incredibly uncool and stupid and started cycling at an appropriate speed and chatting, at which point the ride started to be fun. Thank goodness.
Towards the end of the ride, we lost the Recalcitrants - they made their own way back. Damn. I took the two lovely ones, who behaved like real people, back. We went down rather a large hill, which is always fun.
Upon arriving back at church, I found that I did not have enough strength left to lift my bike back into my car, which was unfortunate and embarrassing. Not that anyone noticed, except for me and the new scratch in my car door. I really must make it so that I am fit enough to cycle for 7 miles at an average speed of, I would guess, about 6 mph, and still able to do what I could do before such a ride. I'm glad I went with slow people, though - normally I cycle as fast as I can sustain, and I suspect that I would have damaged myself using that policy yesterday. I would also have gone a far more interesting route, except that I wouldn't, because my bike would have stayed at home, rather than coming to church with me - it's about 12 miles away. I am so not cycling that route, as my organ music is too heavy (no storage facilities at church), and the route is very dangerous a lot of the way - cars at 50-60 mph, with the cycle lanes there when they are not really necessary, and disappearing when they are essential, because the road isn't wide enough (that is why they are essential, and also why they are not there - it's not worth investing in making the road wider for cyclists, apparently).
When I got home, I waited for HWSNBN to return to extract my bike. That was useful. I like it when he is useful.
In conclusion, children can sometimes be awkward and petty. Who knew?
*It was much anticipated by some of the children - I wasn't all that keen.
**I can't eat gluten, so the provided sandwiches were not an option for me, and I was too lazy to prepare lunch in advance, especially considering that we were going to be next to my favourite gluten-free supermarket.
***I know - I can't believe I'm writing this, either. Bored yet?
Tuesday, 26 August 2008
Home Again
I wrote a big post about the church weekend, but it turned into rather a large moan-fest. Given that I enjoyed myself a lot (albeit mostly when the children were asleep or I had run away from them), and felt that the weekend was a very positive experience, this feels rather ungrateful. I therefore deleted that post. Nobody likes a complainer.*
I shall instead touch on a few selected highlights.
*Which may be why I have no friends.
**Actually, they probably already know each other rather well. I got to know them better, though, and they got to know me better. I therefore conclude that my original sentence is fit for purpose. And undermine this declaration by the over-generous use of asterisks.****
***This is an observation, not a complaint.
****Should I be using fewer asterisks? They are rather annoying, especially when there are four****** of them, and I appear to be using them as a poor substitute for both humour and proper, clear sentence structure. However, having surveyed all of this blog's readers,***** I have decided to worry about this later. Or maybe not at all. Sorry, as yet unanticipated reader; I do hope you didn't come to this blog with high expectations.
*****Me.
******On re-reading this, I realised that there were five asterisks. There are, of course, now six of them.
I shall instead touch on a few selected highlights.
- As I mentioned earlier, I was unable to leave work on time to catch the coach, and had to drive myself there. I was delayed further by a phone call asking me to pick up a few things from the shop, and further still by my own ineptitude with the borrowed TomTom. This meant I arrived a long time after dinner was finished. I ate my dinner in the company of a couple of other grown-ups while the children pouted and threw their way round a gentle stroll in the woods.
- Lots of people brought wine. We had a very enjoyable evening getting to know each other better** while drinking wine and eating biscuits and chocolate brazils. I didn't even have much of a hangover the next morning.
- I had to share a room with a friend of mine, Heather, and at no point did I have to sleep in it with a child present. One child tried to spend the night there, but her teddy bear got scared way before our bedtime and she took him to sleep elsewhere (she's nothing if not compassionate). I swear I had nothing to do with this.
- Heather brought Benedictine. Benedictine is made by monks and is thus holy. It has amazing happy-giving properties, and nobody else seems to like it except my parents and The Guy Who's Not Russian, who will drink anything. This means that I do not have to share it.
- Heather and I escaped for a walk up a hill. From there we had a beautiful view of the countryside. I sat among some logs looking at the pretty weed-flowers. During that time period, only one member of our group was taken to hospital.
- That evening we had a barbecue. I managed to get three barbecues ready for cooking meat shortly after we finished eating it, having given up a long time ago and put the sausages and burgers under the grill. The important point here is that I was not defeated by the recalcitrant barbecues. Pyromania rules OK.
- After the children had gone to bed, we were treated to lots of Martini and lemonade. I was inspired, and re-wrote a research proposal (in note form) so that it became a lot smaller and more manageable than the original proposal. Having done this, I may be able to use it to apply for a research grant. I have not yet read it sober; it could be a pile of crap...
- At lunchtime the next day, there was not enough room for me at the table. Nobody was paying any attention to me,*** and I managed to slip away unnoticed and eat on a picnic bench outside. The weather was lovely, and I finished my lunch before being disturbed by any children waving pointy sticks.
- I got a lovely hug from a lovely little girl after the service in the afternoon. I am reasonably sure I didn't get head lice from the encounter. She asked if I had written the songs we sang. I assured her that I have no talent in that area. It's quite funny to see little children's faith in the power of adults! And oh so very lovely.
- At the end of our stay, when I got into my car to leave (not on the coach with everyone else - yay!), I put the air conditioning on. That was nice.
- When I got home, as time seemed to have passed so slowly (it's amazing how long the days are when you get up in the morning), it felt much later than it was. I therefore had lots more evening left than felt reasonable, but in a good way. I prepared myself a simple meal and extracted some cider from the fridge. Which I then drank.
*Which may be why I have no friends.
**Actually, they probably already know each other rather well. I got to know them better, though, and they got to know me better. I therefore conclude that my original sentence is fit for purpose. And undermine this declaration by the over-generous use of asterisks.****
***This is an observation, not a complaint.
****Should I be using fewer asterisks? They are rather annoying, especially when there are four****** of them, and I appear to be using them as a poor substitute for both humour and proper, clear sentence structure. However, having surveyed all of this blog's readers,***** I have decided to worry about this later. Or maybe not at all. Sorry, as yet unanticipated reader; I do hope you didn't come to this blog with high expectations.
*****Me.
******On re-reading this, I realised that there were five asterisks. There are, of course, now six of them.
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