Green Patches

Blog of The Week - Franciscan Associates and The Water Walker's Apprentice

image: freeimages.co.uk

 

Favourites in my googlereader this week: Franciscan Associates and Steve Tilley both write on Welcoming The Stranger. 

Dorothy Parker, the author who was famous for her dark wit, used to answer her telephone with this greeting:  “What fresh hell is this?”  

What do you think when someone knocks on your door?  Is it closer to “What fresh hell is this?” or is it closer to, “Thanks be to God?”

 - Martin B Copenhaver Who's That Knocking at My Door? in Francisan Associates.

 

You can find Steve's Show em yer warts over on The Water Walker's Apprentice.

In case my two prayer partners - due here in just over an hour's time should chance upon this blog, my response is always  the second one. As for warts, after nearly four years, they're used to being a) ambushed by the dog b) stared down by the cat c) tripping over aforementioned dog's bone in the hallway d) having to remove pet hairs from their person and e) being nearly knocked out by my over enthusiastic use of pot-pourri essential oils and scented candles. This last isn't  as much an indicator of my journey further Up The Candle; as an honest, if misguided attempt to disguise the fact that the cat has carefully timed her evening toilet visit to coincide with the arrival of visitors. 

Never mind. My view is  that there's nothing a Nice Cup Of Tea can't put right. 

 

 

 

 

A Hairy Moment

No, don't worry -  I'm not nominating myself for Blog of The Week; I'm not that desperate! I'm simply sharing a couple of hairy moments from the last week or so, courtesy of The Wibsite. 

'Busy' Fauve and Contemplative Gannets

 

Well, that won't win us  the photographer of the year award, will it? Still  it captures our resident French canine 'Busy Fauve,' to a tee. Greenpatch dog operates at two speeds only: full speed ahead or dead stop. This morning we enjoyed a  long, wet, muddy walk where from  start to finish it was nose to the ground, tail in the air and a 100 mph demo of a weaving technique so impressive that I'm tempted to hire him out to the local Caledonian Society for their next Scottish Dancing demo. Life for your average happy, well-fed and loved pooch is happy, shiny and full of exciting discoveries. For who else is  rolling in unidentified, pongy  substances the equivalent of a 5 Star Spa Experience? The sound of a slab of cheese being unwrapped three rooms away like  Grand Opera!

When I wasn't trying to stop GPD dragging me into the canal I got to thinking that  he and I bear a striking resemblance. (apart from the wagging tail and parfum de boue et crotte, of course).  Not that my nearest and dearest could exactly describe me as the life and soul...However, contemplative though I fancy myself to be, and however still I may look on the exterior.. inside..oh dear! At times  I dart about from one fascinating idea to another, sniff at one tantalising possibility, glance off it onto something else , soak in ideas until my head is bursting.  I want more! It's  easy to mistake quantity for quality. It's so insidious, creeps up on you just as you think you've learnt from the last time.  Spiritual indigestion isn't a pretty sight. Though thank goodness I don't have the spiritual equivalent of GPD's dicky digestive system; all  his cavorting around frequently ends up with him bringing up his breakfast. One thing he does get right, however, is living in the moment.  Something I could learn from.

Our cat, though...she simply 'is.' No explanations needed.

To see a 'busy Fauve' in full flight, have a look at the clip below. It's not of our GPD, but 'Bazou' is a joy to watch and for me captures the happy-go lucky attitude to life of this cheerful little dog. Enjoy!

 

 

 

My Top Four July Posts (4): All Creatures Great and Small

And finally - a tribute to the late, great Greenpatch felines: Goth and Viking Cat.

 

 

Cat and Dog's Diary Part 2 - Homelessness and belonging

Body-soul dualism is foreign to the Jewish world-view,foreign to the Old Testament, the Hebrew scriptures. To be qunitessentially Jewish was and is to have a voracious appetite for life in all its material and physical reality......Yet from its earliest days, two strands of spirituality have existed side by side in Christianity...The one that has predominated in the Western Church is based on a vision of the human spirit rising above the natural, physical or material world in  order to commune with God in the 'spiritual' realm....The scond...strongly rejects the idea that we  must escapethe world in order to commune with God....In this...the presence of the divine is celebrated within the physical and material realm....The expectation is to encounter God within both the world of nature, and the world of human culture and experience. St Francis offers a paradigmatic expression of this strand...when, as he was about to die, in that most intimate moment of communion with God, he kept reciting  his elegant 'Canticle to the Sun', that placed  him in solidarity with the birds, the insects, the sun and the moon, and indeed the whole world of nature.   Dave Tomlinson in Re-Enchanting Christianity , Canterbury Press, 2008, p89-90

  This extract expanding on the talk of the same title   sparked one of the trains of  of thought that I've been mulling over since my recent visit to Greenbelt. I'd not noticed the 'feline/canine' connections til just now. However, it wasn't the only thing I heard there that - to my mind  anyway -   tied into  both core aspects of Franciscan spirituality and has planted a tiny seed of thought regarding the synthesis of several strands of my own, which currently loom quite large in my vocational musings. Not that they don't figure in the journey of every Christian at some point or other, regardless of their leanings. It's not rocket science, as they say - or simplicity, as Francis would doubtless tell you. Yet it offers a clue as to how to move on, and I, for one, will be following the reflections as to how to reconcile, to balance, these two strands of homelessness and belonging  with real  interest.  

Who'd have thunk it?! 

 

 

 

 

 

 

If only they could talk...

 

Excerpts from a dog's diary

8:00 am - Dog food!  My favourite thing!

9:30 am

- A car ride!  My favourite thing!

9:40 am

- A walk in the park!  My favourite thing!

 

10:30 am

- Got rubbed and patted!  My favourite thing!

12:00 PM

- Lunch!  My favourite thing!

1:00 PM

- Played in the yard! My favourite thing!

3:00 PM

- Wagged my tail!  My favourite thing!

5:00 PM

- Milk bones!  My favourite thing!

7:00 PM

- Got to play ball!  My favourite thing!

8:00 PM

- Wow!  Watched TV with the people!  My favourite thing!

11:00 PM

- Sleeping on the bed!  My favourite thing!

 

 

Excerpts from a cat's diary

 

Day 983 of my captivity.

 

My captors continue to taunt me with bizarre little dangling objects.

 

They dine lavishly on fresh meat, while the other inmates and I are

fed hash or some sort of dry nuggets. Although I make my contempt

for the rations perfectly clear, I nevertheless must eat something

in order to keep up my strength.

 

The only thing that keeps me going is my dream of escape. In an

attempt to disgust them, I once again vomit on the carpet.

 

Today I decapitated a mouse and dropped its headless body at their

feet.  I had hoped this would strike fear into their hearts, since

it clearly demonstrates what I am capable of.  However, they merely

made condescending comments about what a 'good little hunter' I

am.  Bastards.

 

There was some sort of assembly of their accomplices tonight.  I

was placed in solitary confinement for the duration of the event.

However, I could hear the noises and smell the food.  I overheard

that my confinement was due to the power of 'allergies.'  I must

learn what this means and how to use it to my advantage.

 

Today I was almost successful in an attempt to assassinate one of

my tormentors by weaving around his feet as he was walking.  I must

try this again tomorrow -- but at the top of the stairs.

 

I am convinced that the other prisoners here are flunkies and

snitches.  The dog receives special privileges. He is regularly

released - and seems to be more than willing to return.  He is

obviously retarded.

 

The bird has got to be an informant.  I observe him communicating

with the guards regularly.  I am certain that he reports my every

move.  My captors have arranged protective custody for him in an

elevated cell, so he is safe.  For now................

 

(With thanks to the resident Greenpatch canine, the late, great Viking cat, and the Fransiscan who sent me this in the first place)

 

 

 

A Modern Nativity - those we have loved

In case readers are tempted to think I'm becoming way too introspective, here is a favourite Christmas memory dating -  back several years to the time of the late lamented Gothcat:

Stable vandalized. Holy family scattered!

It all began yesterday evening when Gothcat jumped up on to the table and hurled himself at the birdcage with an evil glint in his eye. Mr GP uttered a shriek of horror - leapt up, snatched the would-be assassin and plopped him down on the floor. After checking the cage door he flopped back down on to the sofa with a sigh of relief....that turned to another shriek of horror as he realised that there was a black, furry cushion underneath him that hadn't been there a second ago! By some miracle (or maybe because the beloved has lost so much weight lately), the cat wasn't hurt, but after that no amount of coaxing would persuade him to take up his usual perch on my lap. Instead he turned his back on us and started stalking round the room with the look of a creature that has Things On His Mind. Next, he'd leapt up onto the dresser, and before we could stop him, was trying to insert himself into the little alcove where our Nativity figures are displayed - and began pulling at the straw.

Horrors! We had visions of many year's worth of lovingly collected Santons de Provence being smashed to smithereens. Sacrificing theological and historical accuracy for the sake of safety, I hastily organised an emergency evacuation of the Holy Family and assorted hanger- ons to the far end of the alcove. It's traditional in these creches to include not just shepherds and magi, but the butcher, baker, candlestick maker, priest, mayor and whoever else you can think of. At the last count ours has a duck, pig, pottery hippo from Disneyland, and two camels, one with a broken leg propped up by the rock wherein resides the Angel of the Lord. Another regular visitor used to be a super dooper reindeer pooper, only this year Ms GP put her foot down. Although in the spirit of inclusivity, one of her friends had slipped in a couple of Karma Sutra gingerbread reindeer and it was these that had attracted the cat. With Mr GP pulling at his hind legs, he held on for dear life with his forelegs whilst simultaneously trying to ram his head into the stable where one 'couple' of KS reindeer were lurking. (I managed to catch the infant Jesus just in time as he was sent shooting out into the cold together with the other reindeer (still clasped in a lascivious embrace) which landed under an armchair, much to the delight of the dog!)

What could it all mean, I wonder? ;) No doubt daughter and BF would say it was a judgement on me for having turned away one overfriendly and plump little cat which followed me home one night recently. ' I bet you she's pregnant,' said Ms GP. 'And (accusingly) she's probably called Mary.' On the other hand, the scene bore a remarkable resemblance to The Goodies 'Kitten Kong,' that we'd been watching on TV just minutes before. I shall be monitoring Gothcat's viewing with great care in future.