Desperate Measures

There are times in a preacher's life where there don't seem to be any hymns that go where you want to go.

And some of us preach in smaller churches where there is a limit on the repertoire of the congregation and/or musicians available.

And although it is possible to select some rousing hymns that everyone knows that have nothing whatsoever to do with the selected theme, it is really very nice to have at least one that deals with where you're going.

So, in desperation, I started penning my own lyrics with some assistance from the lovely and talented Givinya who ironed out a dodgy line for me and told me that it was okay to have an anacrusis if I needed it.

So we'll be singing this on Sunday (to the tune Cross of Jesus):

Follow me! Our Christ to Philip

in that distant Galilee.

Instantly he went with Jesus.

What an honour: Called was he.

Follow me! Our Saviour calls us

As he calls, so we obey.

Walking into love and learning,

faith in trusting his new day.

Come and See! So Philip phrased it

When Nathanael scoffed his doubts

Zeal for law, tradition, status -

Jesus’ wisdom found him out.

Come and See! So someone asked us

Child or parent, spouse or friend

Came to Jesus: True love, mercy,

Companionship that never ends.

Come and See! An invitation

From our lives to those we know.

Making certain we don’t veil the

King of Heav’n seen here below.

Of course, while Givinya is very good and very helpful in the improvement of verses, her strength is rhyming and rhythmic comedy. So she dash off a couple of alternative versions of the third verse, because I was having great trouble getting it to work.

An alternative version

Come and See! So Philip phrased it

when Nathanael scoffed his doubts

zeal for law, tradition, status

proved Nathanael was a lout.

The Yorkshire version

Come and See! So Philip phrased it

when Nathanael scoffed his doubts

zeal for law, tradition, status

Nathanael's questions came to nowt.

The Irish version (and my personal favourite)

Come and See! So Philip phrased it

when Nathanael scoffed his doubts

So Nat and Phil, they filled their tankards,

Made a toast, and downed their stout.

The IT version

Come and See! So Philip phrased it

when Nathanael scoffed his doubts

Nat picked up his bag and laptop;

Went to check the Saviour out.

And how many of these alternatives are likely to be sung in church this coming Sunday (except in my head)?

...precisely

Possibly a good call.

I came up with a wonderful way to have a Sunday arvo relax yesterday.

A number of people had suggested that the movie "Red Dog" was worth seeing: Great scenery, touching story, and outback Australian humour.

I suggested it to my Mum for us (she, Dad, my Beloved and I) to go to the afternoon session after we had our weekly family lunch.

She went quiet.

For some reason, despite having heard it was a good movie and wanting to support the Australian film industry, she wasn't really keen.

...You see, there was a fair possibility that a movie called "Red Dog" might, just might possibly have a red cattle dog in it...

... and that a red cattle dog of similar size and shape tried to eat her last year.

So she elected not to come with us. She'll give it a go when it's on TV and she doesn't have to pay for it only to leave 10 minutes in.

I tell ya, the weirdest thing about that movie was being able to 'read' all the cultural and stylistic stuff that was, in essence my early childhood: terry towelling hats, short stubbie shorts, tight raglan-sleeved t-shirts, brightly coloured plastic strips hung from doorways to keep the flies out, brown and cream Land Cruisers and red dust. Yep. My childhood. Weird.

And I keep giggling about the way stories were told and how you had to read between the lines to know what was going on. Goodness knows what anyone would make of it who wasn't Australian (or even Australians who weren't around in that era). One of my particular favourite jokes was that they included "Melbourne" among "all the countries of the world". Definitely foreign. ;)

But when I saw a close-up of some spectacular canine teeth, I thought that the chance that Mum was wrong to miss the movie was...

A problem. A solution. A problem. A solution.

My name is Hippomanic Jen, and I'm a book-aholic.

I love to read books.

I love to buy books.

I love to reread books.

I hate to give them away, because I might want to read it later.


I once answered a phone poll, and among other things they wanted an estimate of how many books I own. The options were along the following lines:

a 0 books
b 1 book
c 2 or 3 books
d 4 or more books.

I was astounded. So astounded that I can remember that the first and last options were 0 and 4 or more respectively. Who would have fewer than 4 books in their possession? I still don't know what the question was trying to acheive.

When we were having Dad design the house one of the essentials on the list was a wall to place our bookcases against that wasn't in a bedroom. I've known people who have had to give away thier libraries when they are expecting their second child, because they need the spare room for the new baby. This was not going to happen to us.

But over time, one acquires more books (particularly if one is studying and/or needs resources for preaching).

Then one ends up with the following problem:

Books on a cupboard in my office.

One of two huge bookcases full of books against the book wall my Dad made certain was in the house plans (it would've helped if I'd rotated the image, but you get the drift).



Books on a small shelf in the spare bedroom (it needed to be rotated too).

Books on a shelf in the cupboard in our bedroom.

Hmmm. Even though I have brought myself to do some selective culling of the book population, there are a few issues.

1. I'm asthmatic and seem to be having a problem with house dust.

2. I'm a terrible housekeeper and never have time to dust all the bookshelves.

3. I really need to rationalise book locations. After all, there is a perfectly good book wall to have a consolidated library.

The solution:

We priced cabinets with doors to keep out / minimise the dust and that would take up the entire length of the book wall (which had some space for more bookcases - but inevitably not enough length to fit the little bookcase that lives in the spare bedroom).

We measured the lineal metres of shelf required. Checked out what was available, and ordered three units (2 x 1200mm wide units and 1 x 600mm wide unit). If the skirting and cornice was removed from the sides, and they were made to fit together, they should fit perfectly. We looked at the example in the furniture shop and decided that the shelves were reasonably spaced, and that if we got the 2100mm high rather than the 1800mm high units we would get an extra shelf and that would get us closer to our desired lineal metres of shelf.

They came today.

They looked pretty.

They were heavy for the blokes to manhandle.

My Beloved had to take the skirting board off the walls along the book wall so that they'd fit. We were really hoping that the walls of the alcove were plumb. We joined the three units together and then slid them back into the space.

My Beloved pushed on the joins with his feet and I ran back and forth and pushed the ends back little by little until it fit snugly into the space.

Beautiful, hey?

Unfortunately, despite their beauty and the functionality of the new bookcases there is a problem.

We decided not to specify the distance between the shelves, because we decided that what they had was about right, why would we stuff them around any more? They were already putting doors on, and taking skirting and cornice off, and making them to fit neatly together.

It didn't even cross my mind that a taller 2100mm high bookcase would have THE SAME NUMBER OF SHELVES as the 1800mm one. (Doesn't everyone want to absolutely maximize how many books they can store? Or I might want to have all my 4 books on separate shelves, you know.)

And who would guess that those shelves would be evenly spaced, so there's not a hope of putting an extra shelf in between two existing shelves, because they are all 370mm apart and my shortest books are all 190mm tall.

One of the things I was looking forward to was not having books stacked on their sides.

Another was not having two rows of books on the shelf so that you can't see the back ones.

Grrrrr.

But my very clever Beloved has come up with a solution.

The smaller books could be stored in two rows with one behind. But this means you can't see what you've got.

However, by putting a half width shelf along the back that is slightly lower than the top of the front row (and entirely behind them) we can raise a back row so that the majority of each spine will be visible.

He is very clever, my Beloved.

And the chance that I'll let him go?

Pea & Ham Soup with Louisa Musgrove

Masterchef I ain't.

And there are many reasons for that...

...But sometimes all you need is a little help.

I have never made Pea and Ham soup before, but I carefully froze the ham bone from Christmas, and had time today to give it a go. Fortunately the packet of split peas had a recipe on the back, which I intended to follow.

The first thing is to take your packet of dried split peas and reconstitute them according to the instructions.

So I carefully washed them and put them into a pot with the appropriate amount of water (3 cups of water for each cup of peas). I got the ham bone out of the freezer to defrost, then left the peas to soak and bone defrost while I had some lunch.

Then I noticed that the difference in cooking time between peas that have soaked over night and peas that are being boiled immediately was all of 10 minutes. So I put them on the stove and brought them to the boil, then reduced the heat to allow them to simmer for 35 minutes.

The pot boiled over - all over the bench and floor.

Then I noticed that the peas were becoming very broken up and suspended in the liquid in a way that made me doubt the wisdom of following the instructions and draining the liquid. I would not have had many actual peas left to make the soup with. So I compromised and put the ham bone, other vegetables and spices in the existing water and went with that.

Having already boiled the pot over, I was wise enough not to leave my pot unattended. I decided that I'd sit and read my book at the dining table and carefully selected the chair at the end of the table that allowed me to see the stove at a glance between paragraphs.

I'm on a bit of a Jane Austen kick this week. I've been sick and haven't felt like reading heavy stuff. I'm in the middle of "Persuasion" and, for those who are familiar with the story, I was coming up to the part when they visit Lyme - lyrical descriptions of the town and surrounding scenery, with the slight anxiety in the back of my mind about the tragic accident coming up.

So I was reading about the swelling of the blue-grey tide watched by the tourists at a time when I should have been paying attention to the inexorable swelling of the green tide from the pot on my stove.

Thankfully Pea and Ham soup is thick enough in consistency to simply run all over the bench. It didn't make it to the floor.

How many thanks do I offer to Louisa Musgrove for claiming my attention at the fatal moment?

... Approximately None!

Better than The West Wing

I've said before that when I'm trying to get fit I've been putting on an episode of The West Wing and then doing my stretches and rowing.

A 41 minute episode allows for stretching, 30 mins of rowing (even with occasional breathers) and then either a sit for a couple of minutes or warm-down stretches. It helps me to keep going when I'm really not enthused by the prospect of exercise.

I'm not a huge fan of exercise, but without it I become simply huge, so I perservere. And The West Wing helps with the mind-numbing process, because it gives my brain something to think about, other than the fact I'm tired, puffed and want to stop now.

Yesterday I decided to use the time to pray instead. And it worked! There's something about rhythmic breathing that helps me keep focussed on prayer, and the prayer keeps me calm about doing the exercise. I can work out why I've not thought about this before, except that I'm not usually that awake of a morning, so I can't think. Yesterday was my day off, so I was rowing later than usual, which means that my brain had a chance to get into gear.

I'll have to see if it works on a normal day (particularly in winter when the sun doesn't get up till 6.50am).

The chance that I can think of a witty way to segue into my tagline from here?

... Approximately None.

A Letter From Grandma (The Archaeological Edition)

A little slow this week, so here's another letter from my Grandma.

Because she died when I was only in grade 6 it is interesting to use these letters to get to know her - who was she?

Well, one thing I know is that a very busy lady used to write individual picture-letters to 6 of her grandchildren who didn't happen to live very close to them. Although when this first started there were probably only 2 or 3 of us. It worked up from there as new grandkids came on the scene and were old enough to say "why don't I get a letter from Grandma?" So grandchildren were special, and she didn't want us to forget her.

We can also see from today's letter that sometimes she used to cheat -


No, she did not draw this image. It's a printed one. Clever lady.

The written part says

For Jenny,
I hope you can see our Church at Graceville soon.
Love from Grandad and Grandma. XXX

I don't know precisely when these letters started, but I presume they were a weekly inclusion into the family goings on letter that Grandma used to write to all her kids. I know we lived in Barcaldine from 1976 to 1980.

But this letter may have some specific dating evidence and I feel like I should be on Time Team, because I'm getting all excited.

You see, the Methodist Church joined with other churches to become the Uniting Church in July 1977. So this must have been printed before then. Unless, of course, they were trying to get rid of all the old printed material that was now out of date. Hmmm.

However, the fact that we hadn't seen the church must also put this early in our stay in Barky, because we would have visited them from time to time. In fact, my aunt was married there, but I can't remember when that was.

The chance that we'll ever know a date for certain?

... Approximately None!

Dear Don and Cathy...

I've actually had a pretty good week and am feeling quite rested. I seem to have moved beyond needing the heavy drugs and last night didn't wake up needing something in the middle of the night.

In preparation for this last week I had gone to the library and borrowed a stack of books, few of which I have read because last week (and probably up to Tuesday) reading just didn't work for me concentration-wise.

Three of the books, though, were from that Australian Classic girls series by Mary Grant Bruce about the inhabitants of Billabong Station* in Victoria, and I hadn't read them since my early high school years. It was great getting reacquainted with their early history, because I have books 4 through to 15, but never found the first three to purchase.

Having read the first three I decided to detour from my library books to enjoy the rest of the series while I'm in the mood for their little world, and it is very strange to think that these particular young people were contemporaries of my great-grandparents** - and just now the boys are heading off to The Great War.

It is really odd to go back through a series of books that you knew really well many years ago. Even stranger when you consider a particular habit of mine.

I grab any stray piece of paper to use as a book mark. Certainly some of my books have purpose-built bookmarks given to me by friends, but often when I read my own books I find old receipts, post cards, scraps torn from old church notices or envelopes. It's almost like the thrill of an archaelogical dig to find what book mark is in an old book.

And in Book 4 of the Billabong series I found a scrap of paper, obviously torn from the bottom corner of a diary with handwriting I don't recognise spelling out "Don and Cathy" and a phone number. It's an eight digit phone number, so must post-date my high school years, but the chance of me remembering who Don and Cathy are and why I have their phone number is...

... Approximately None.

*"Ranch" for my occasional guest from the US of A.
** or at least would have been contemporaries, if they had not been fictional characters

Romance and Reality

I seem to be approaching human. No stamina and I certainly can tell when the drugs are wearing off, but I'm approaching human.

Unlike last week when I'm not certain what I did (good drugs!).

Friday I decided that entertainment should be all five hours of the BBC production of Pride and Prejudice. It's a story I know well so it doesn't matter if I doze through parts of it, it was long enough to fill the day and required no effort on my part.

I was at Mum and Dad's, so Mum sat down and made lace as we watched - and organised food at regular intervals.

I was glad when she decided it was lunchtime. It was coming up to Elizabeth's refusal of Darcy's proposal scene and I had been a bit dozy. This was one part I didn't want to miss, so food should keep me awake for a bit.

I've been describing my ingestion of food as 'eating', but that's a fairly loose interpretation of the term. It's closer to a careful slurp from the end of a teaspoon, followed by swallowing with very little attempt at any form of chewing. At the time I could hardly open my teeth and couldn't control my tongue terribly effectively. It was also necessary to have a tissue handy for the inevitable spills across my numbed lip.

So my favourite scene in P&P ended up going something like this:-

Darcy (striding across the sitting room): In vain I have struggled...
Me: Schhleeck
Darcy: ... it will not do...
Me: Schhleeeck
Darcy:... you must allow me to tell you how ardently I admire...
Me: Schhleeeckk
Darcy: ... and love you.

By this time I'd twigged to the interesting sound effects and went off into the giggles, thereby ruining the scene for me forever. (Have I mentioned that laughing, smiling, giggling are none of them terribly comfortable?) Hopefully the chances of splitting the stitches are...

... Approximately None!

My Niece: the musical prodigy

Giggles came for a quick visit on the weekend. It was great to see her.

Oh, and great to see her Mum and Dad as well, of course.

The exciting news is that she not only loves music, but that at 21 months old she has written a song.

Well, maybe not so much 'written' - she's still not really into transcribing music - maybe 'composed' would be a better word. And each word of this song was clearly intoned so that I was able to take down the lyrics for posterity. Not bad for one so young, I thought.

The words went as follows:-

Aunty Jenny, Aunty Jenny,
Aunty Jenny, Aunty Jenny,
Aunty Jenny, Aunty Jenny, Aunty Jenny
Aunty Jenny, Aunty Jenny.

How much of my heart didn't melt?

... Approximately None

* Update* Giggles - As requested by Trish and approved by Dad.

Wishing you a happy and holy Khi mas

One of the local churches has dragged out the old chestnut about the abbreviation Xmas "taking the Christ out of Christmas" for their 'wonderful' sign on the highway where they display their irritating anti-evangelistic platitudes each week. Grrr.

As someone with a smattering of ancient Greek, it drives me a little nuts. The capital of the Greek letter Khi looks like our X. It represents the first letter (Kh) of the word Christ (which should be spelt Khrist and if you wonder why we spell it wrong blame the Romans, I believe that it's their fault). It has been used as an abbreviation for the word Christ for centuries. Xian in lieu of Christian, for example. I use it all the time when taking notes for sermons or assignments because it is a frequent occurrence and I am lazy.

The fact that a classical education is no longer the standard to be considered 'edicated' is probably not the end of the world, whatever Sir Humphrey Appelby may think. The fact that good Xian people get upset about it when there is no reason to is mildly irritating, but simply underscores the lack of good Biblical (particularly language) education we get generally in our churches unless we particularly search for it.

In fact, I get a giggle anytime I suspect that someone has deliberately swapped Xmas for Christmas to be more politically correct/inclusive, because Christ is still in it - maybe undercover, but still definitely there. (he, he, he)

So wishing you and your families a happy and holy Khi-mas, and God's richest blessings for 2009.

What is the chance that I will write a letter to the aforementioned local church?

... Approximately None (I told you I was lazy)

And if you go to church as part of your Xmas tradition, I dare you to wish people a 'Happy Xmas'. What is the chance that I will?

... You guessed it!

What did they do to get the violinists to smile?

I'm now going to risk offending half my reading audience. After all, I can have no idea what musical experience any of my readers have.

I watched 'Dancing with the Stars' last night. I love dance, and I love watching people who are as unco as me getting better and better and enjoying themselves so much. I'm glad Luke won.

The really amazing thing was that they had Andre Rieu on the show with his orchestra. And the string players were smiling. I simply cannot compute this anomaly.

It has always amazed me that string players are always so poker-faced. Even if the occasional one manages to get their body swinging to the music, their faces are blank at best and most often stuck in a positive scowl.

The irony is that their facial features have access to showing a full range of human emotion. Granted, it would be difficult for a violinist to throw back their heads with gusts of laughter without losing their grip, but the woodwind and brass usually manage to have expression with eyes, eyebrows and as many of the other facial muscles as they can use without disturbing their embouchure (fancy word for the way you have to hold your mouth to play).

And yet last night the string players appeared to be enjoying themselves.

I did not think this was possible.

How much money would I wager on the fact that they were real string players?

... Approximately None.

Freaky Friday

In my spare time I've been reading Philip Yancy's book "The Jesus I Never Knew". I have the great privilege of reading over my breakfast because we have no kids, and my Beloved goes to work early and lets me sleep in that extra hour after the alarm (I don't think he wants to talk to me until I've woken up properly on the off chance that I turn cranky and violent).

The thing I like about this book is that Philip Yancy tries to find examples to illustrate to us how the words of Jesus must have sounded to his first listeners, rather than interpreted through 2000 years of the Christian Church.

I ran into this quote about how the Jewish Sanhedrin would have viewed Jesus' claim that he could destroy the temple and rebuild it within three days, "Imagine the reaction today if an Arab ran through the streets of New York City shouting, 'The World Trade Centre will blow up, and I can rebuild it in three days'."

I thought that it was a pretty good illustration, but it doesn't have the unexpectedness that Jesus' words would have had. Just like the destruction of the Jewish Temple, we all know what happened to the World Trade Centre. Of course, before the 11th September 2001, it wouldn't have meant as much outside an American (or Financial guru-type-person) audience, as many of us in the rest of the world didn't know anything about the building before it was gone.

As a matter of interest I turned to the publishing details at the front of the book... 1995.

The chance that I'm not a little freaked out?

...Approximately None

Let's have a crack at this thing...

OK, this time last year I had certainly heard of blogs, but I didn't know anyone who actually had one. Since then, my good friend Givinya has been entertaining me on a regular basis. I don't know how she does it, but in amongst all the things that happen around her she manages to create a space where the world is more manageable, and in which I would like to live. So here goes my attempt...

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Well, nothing interesting has actually happened to me...

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Hmmm...

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Oh, there was...

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Nevermind...

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Maybe I should start by explaining why I chose my blog title. In the 1980s BBC sit com "Yes Minister" Jim Hacker, the Minister for Administrative Affairs, decides to do something about equal opportunities for women in the British Civil Service. In the time honoured practice of bureaucrats everywhere his Permanent Secretary (Sir Humphrey Appleby) tries to evade questioning - on the principle that stalling will make the undesirable issue go away.

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'How many Permanent Secretaries,' I asked Sir Humphrey, 'are there at the moment?'

'Forty-one, I believe.'

A precise answer.

'Forty-one,' I agreed pleasantly. 'And how many are women?'

Suddenly Sir Humphrey's memory seemed to fail him. 'Well, broadly speaking, not having the exact figures to hand, I'm not exactly sure.'

'Well, approximately?' I encouraged him to reply.

'Well,' he said cautiously, 'approximately none.' (1)

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Ever since I first saw this on TV, my sense of humour has been tickled. 'None' is absolute: There are no shades of grey. And yet, it is possible to pretend that there is a modicum of degree. In my previous life in Local Government I have seen people trying to create the same illusion of choice or degree where there is precisely none.

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It follows into my non-work life.

'How many children do you have, dear?' asks the little old lady at church.

My brain madly searches for any reference to Children of My Own, which I am obviously meant to have by my age. As if I could have somehow missed the tiredness, body-swelling, nausea, or excruciating pain apparently caused by pregnancy and childbirth, 'Approximately None' I quip.

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Why do I never get recognition for my witty literature/TV references? Sigh.

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So here I sit at my computer, ready and waiting to blog. During the last couple of weeks, while I've been thinking about this whole concept of blogging, ideas have come from everywhere. Some touching, some amusing, all worth putting finger-tips to keyboard. How many can I now remember?

... Approximately None.

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(1) Ed. J Lynn & A Jay (1987) The Complete Yes Minister Salem House Publishers