These are the days of Miracle & Wonder!

My Year in Facebook Statuses (Statuss/Stati/Statae?)

[enlarge for more easy reading] 

Home ish

After an almighty kerfuffle (I'm not sure I've every written that word before, so it may be wrong) and quite a degree of consternation/anxiety/all the rest, Maria & I made it back to Britain last Friday.  Her visa arrived (or, more accurately, I went and collected it from the UPS van) 2 hours before we left for the airport - cutting it a bit fine for my tastes.  But we are here.

And of course, still without a home.  Plenty of temporary ones, or places to visit, present themselves, but it's a bit wearying really; we could do with a bit of space we can call our own.  All prayers, as ever, much appreciated.

But it is good to be here once more.  Just need to avoid sneezles and wheezles now.

'when we are married'

Last night, struggling to get to sleep, I was noticing that December is pretty much here.  Advent.  Newness, new-life, salvation & all that.

It's funny how (for most of us) it's a winter festival - a festival of light at the darkest time, and of life when all around is bare and empty.  Good theology.

I've been away from my homeland for about 8 weeks now - when I left, Devon was just beginning to lean towards Autumn, although the leaves were all on the trees, the sun was out and the blackberries were still making my country walks slower than otherwise.  South Carolina is just reaching a similar stage now.

How does that feel?  I feel like I've been in stasis for 2 months - I've got married, been on honeymoon, been to California and back, etc.etc. - but no time seems to have elapsed in the world outside.

Yesterday, when we were talking about what we'd be doing once our visa arrives and we can finally come back to Britain and normality, Maria (accidently) said, "Yeah, when we're married we can ...".  That's how it feels - like we've had the ceremony but are yet to actually be married; to actually live as husband and wife.

It's like we're in the Christmas season, but aren't feeling Christmassy.  We are in Advent, but the actually new life hasn't really started yet.

fed, up to the back teeth

I have had a week of being very impressed with our friends.

At one and a half days' notice, Maria and I headed out to California last Tuesday - it cost us $10 each, the legacy of Star Alliance membership on the behalf of my wife.  Sometimes trans-Atlantic living has nice side-effects.

We stayed within sight of the HOLLYWOOD sign (with Dyball), within sight of a woman walking her pet pig (with cousin Janet's family in Oceanside), and within sight of the Pacific Ocean in the most expensive suburb of America (with Ariel & Chris in La Jolla).

We got into San Diego Zoo for free, renewed treasured old friendships, and got given presents by people we'd never met before.

We met an author and a rock star and a tiger, watched hummingbirds at breakfast-time, never had to so much as take a taxi for all the offers of lifts, and were fed an absolutely ridiculous amount of fantastic food.

In/after all this, the temptation for me is to go, 'Thank you God for looking after us!', and I think that is fine.  But I am of the opinion that the more prescient prayer is something more like, 'Thank you God for making humans like these and bumping us into them.'

Even though they are our friends/family, they didn't have to act like that; they didn't have to drop everything they were doing so as to take us out for milkshakes on the pier.  They chose to (and not grudgingly, either), and that is what impresses me.

Tomorrow and Tomorrow and Tomorrow

It is my - or rather, our - wedding tomorrow.

I may not write a whole bundle for the next little while, so for now, please be contented with a very very very cute photo from the last wedding I attended.  Farewell for the present ...

Being Groomed for Husbandhood

Right.  So I'm in the American State of Unitedness now (and very happy to have my summer hence extended), and in LESS THAN TWO WEEKS the time will finally arrive when Maria & I will go from 'getting married' to 'being married'.

And today is Maria's birthday - this wonderful, beautiful, soulful and graceful girl is now 24.  Which means that we have known one another for a quarter of her life (slightly more, in fact).  And I can't help feeling that, partly as a result of this length of time, we are going into marriage in a vastly better state of preparedness than the huge majority of people in all of history.

Now, I always knew we were different - spending more than two years of a relationship in different continents is not the norm, nor would I expect it to be - but in addition to being the way we are, we have also spent ages doing the kind of ground work that is going to pay off in decades' time.  Stuff we've intentionally worked through includes:

 - what going out with someone is actually for (with Trent & Bronwyn);
 - how to move towards marriage withough being utterly dumb (through Patrick Dodson, who has now put his stuff down in a book, thank God);
 - compatibility of our experiences & preferences (FOCCUS questionnaire with Rupert)
 - 7 weeks marriage prep (with Iain & Theresa using Nicky & Sila Lee's HTB course);
 - money management coaching (with Derek & Ann from CAP Money);
 - sex and 'intimate stuff' (with the fabulous Doug Rosenau, via his book).

This is just the stuff we've done together - both of us have done bundles of our own private investigating (especially Maria - she's good at asking blunt questions).  And after all that we still feel unprepared for all that is ahead.  So what on earth must it be like for most couples?  The vast majority of spouses do no formal marriage prep whatsoever - I know that the CofE find it a huge effort to make couples attend even a single day session.

I find this all terrifying.  Not that all marriages are doomed unless they become like us, of course, but I do feel that we are saving ourselves VAST amounts of mess and heartache by working hard now (although when I say 'work', I'm not meaning that we don't enjoy it).  I know it sounds patronising, but we do feel quite sorry for the zillions of people who get married without access to the stuff that has been normal for us.

We're really really grateful for how we've got to where we are.

The Last Days

I am back in beautiful, green, quiet Devon after a quite wonderful weekend in the Chester of Man (investing in my undoubtable future in the pop charts and seeing some cracking people).  It's lovely to be here, but it won't last long.

On Wednesday morning I am leaving for the States, for the concluding two weeks of my life as a bachelor.  When I get back I will have a wife.  And if I'm not terrified yet, it's because I don't quite understand what that means ;)

It's nearly here.  Pray for me.

Gleaning

I feel like there's a lot to be said for hunter-gatherers.  While growing things myself is becoming one of my main life ambitions, I'm already making quite a good fist of ambling around Devonia eating things as I go.

Pretty regularly this summer, for whatever reason, I've felt discouraged & burdened & generally squashed.  The cure?  Wandering in empty lanes with just the Sun & a thousand blackberries for company.  The world is a horrible, difficult place, full of responsibilities & obligations & stuff; and then suddenly little black jewels are glistening in the hedgerows, God loves me, & valuable things don't have to come at a price.

Our conversation at dinner this evening was about how much food is just outside, waiting for us to find it: rabbits, ducks, pigeons, mushrooms, herbs of all sorts, mussels, elderberries, watercress etc.etc. (and that doesn't include what the supermarkets chuck out or roadkill!)  Loads of things.

Now, I'm not the sort of chap who wants to ONLY eat gleanings - I like pitta bread too much - and the idea of stinging nettle soup makes me feel queasy, but I do think we need to re-teach ourselves how to spot the goodness of our surroundings.  And England really is a very, very fruitful country, especially down in this corner.

The Best of Times

I remember once having a conversation with Maria about how, when we're old and grey and like to ramble on about all we've seen and heard, we'll be able to tell people that we used to watch Wayne Rooney play football!  Every week!  PRIVILEGE!!

[If you didn't know: on Saturday, Man United had a player sent off with half an hour to go.  They compensated for it by telling Rooney that from that point on, he was going to be two players.  And he was.]

Most of us probably know that, in one way or another, it is always 'the best of times and the worst of times'.  I noticed it earlier when seeing Carmelita Jeter run the fastest 100m ever by a woman not on drugs - watch it here - and then, seeing this astounding piece of Roger Federer, which also happened yesterday:

Sometimes it's good to notice that we're in a Golden Age of our own, so that we appreciate it before it's gone.  Federer, Jeter, Rooney, Usain Bolt, Tiger Woods, Gordon Brown ...

Invitation

Uncle MisterDavid, or Mister UncleDavid?

 

With Ivy, who is the most beautiful girl in my family, though only for 8 more weeks.

-

a lot of men kicking a bit of leather round a field

Tomorrow, I will have the privilege of buzzing off to Jannerland to go and watch Plymouth Argyle play Sheffield Wednesday - my Dad's hometown club versus mine.  Apart from the sheer aesthetic beauty of saying the two teams' names out loud, this is a significant event because I will be adding a new ground to my list.

There are 92 football league grounds in England, and in my lifetime I hope to visit them all (it's called doing the 92).  I will, no doubt, be aided in this venture by my decision to marry someone for whom football is not so much an interest as it is a love language.  Here are the ones I've got to so far:

Premier League
      - Tottenham Hotspur: White Hart Lane (1991)
      - Manchester United: Old Trafford (1993)

Championship
      - Sheffield Wednesday: Hillsborough (1993)
      - Watford: Vicarage Road (1990-99)
      - Crystal Palace: Selhurst Park (1991-94)

League 1
      - Exeter City: St James Park (1992, 2008)
      - Millwall: New Den (1994)

League 2
      - Barnet: Underhill (1992)
      - Shrewsbury Town: Gay Meadow (1993)

[plus I've also been to Hibernian, Luton, St Albans, Taunton, and Wembley, but they don't count]

-

Yes, I'm aware that I am still less than 10% through, but hopefully next season Luton will be back in the League, plus I'll have been married for nearly a year, which is bound to help.  If I do ever get to the 92nd, you're all invited ...

'Cricket is a Play Set in Five Acts'

Earlier today, England won the Ashes and I missed it.  I left for a barbecue at 4pm, still utterly terrified that it was all going to go wrong, only to return to find everything wrapped up.  But that's alright, we won.

Having missed the key moments, I'm now busy sucking all the goodness out of the occasion: videos, interviews, articles - everything I can get my hands on.  It's all good.  But best - and I really shouldn't be surprised - is all from Test Match Special.

Go here for their marvellous commentary on the 10 Australian wickets, and here for something even better: Harry Potter & Draco Malfoy chatting to Jonathan Agnew, expressing their complete geeky delight at the wonder that is Test Cricket.

The subject line above is Daniel Radcliffe's own quote, and I couldn't hope for it to be said any better.  Seriously, those two are so good, so eloquent, they even manage to express why it's utterly magnificent to have a sport that cannot merely be explained, but must be experienced.  Marvellous!  Wonderful!  Like so many of the good things in life.  Have a good listen, please.

And when you've finished, just for dessert, here's a Kinks song wherein a vicar explains why cricket is a metaphor for spiritual warfare.  Amen!

Final Week

This is my last working week for the foreseeable future.

Today I am TESOL teaching; Wednesday, Thursday & Friday will follow suit; but after that I have no idea when I will next be employed.

September is my holiday month this year (ie. gardening, writing, recording, wandering on the heaths), then I leave for the States, get married, honeymoon (Belize!), come back, and ...  well, I'll let you know the plan when I know it.

This week is predictable; thereafter, not.

the Red Blood of Blackberries

Things I met on my walks today:

Humming bee-hives, blackberries (v nice), hay-fields & hay-barns, 'Norweigan Fjord Ponies', gorse buds (audibly cracking in the heat), stinging nettles (to hit with my stick), a horse & foal, a long-lost cart lane, a slightly suspicious farmer, rowan trees (bent over to form pretty woodland arches), butterflies (Tortoiseshell, Peacock & Cabbage White, if I'm not mistaken), & several little springs making the paths muddy.

Summer has come to Devon, and it suits it very nicely.

Westcountry, La La La ...

Right, so my last couple of posts might have implied it (what with their twee, rose-tinted pastoralism), but I'm now living in the country, and LONG MAY THAT CONTINUE!

[I qualify the vociferosity of that statement, naturally, by pointing out that this afternoon I've been interchanging gardening and drinking scrumpy ("the workers' drink" - my Dad).]

It's now been two weeks and a day since I farewelled Auld Reekie (which doesn't actually smell at all, except for the rather endearing aroma of the McEwan's brewery) and I thought I'd say something about how it's all been looking since.

I'm getting married in October, and until then am expecting to be living with my delightful parents at Arborfield.  At present, I'm working 3 hours a day as a Teacher of English to Foreign Teenagers (TEFT), alongside watching bits of the cricket, seeing Mark Cavendish destroy everyone in the Tour de France, and hanging out with my Granma.

Granma is 90 - she was born in 1919.  Most people my age don't have the chance (or the inclination) to get to know someone of her age, and I'm doing my best to make the most of it - this week I found out the name of my great-grandad's hometown, which I'd never have had a clue about otherwise.  In the last fortnight I've also discovered why my Granma was brought up in a rather bleak set of villages in south Wales (her Dad played the bugle), and how she came to turn down her first proposal of marriage (she wanted to 'do something with her life' first - good girl!)

In marrying Maria, one of the things that has struck me most often and most deeply is that her family will then be mine (and vice versa).  We are expecting to live in England - and, with any luck, near my folks in the Westcountry - but we also have a responsibility to know and be known by her (magnificently large) collection of relatives.  I love that.  I love that we'll not become any less part of our own brood, but we'll get a whole extra lot added on as well.  For example, in October I will inherit two new grandmas: one of whom moved from Lebanon to the States about 60 years ago, whilst the other, apparently, lost her first love in the War.  I am an English, British, Cornish, Yorshireman (brought up in the Home Counties), but I will soon also become American and Lebanese, amongst quite a lot of other things.  Excellent, head-spinning stuff :)

And in the meantime, I am eating pasties, hanging out with my gorgeous neice Ivy, driving(!), and waking up to the sounds of birdsong & my mum making up the first teapot of the day.  Wish you were here ...

 

I regret to announce that this is the End

I'm going.  I'm leaving.  Now.  Goodbye ...

With my very best wishes to Edinburgh and to all who will continue to sail in her.

Thanks for sharing the place with me.  Farewell ...

My Nomination for Britain's Best Place Name

It's in Devon, between Honiton & the Blackdown Hills.  If you have a nomination, let me know!

I Spent the Weekend in Oban. It was cracking.

It looked a bit like this:

That was the view I could see when I was standing here:

And this is a view of me (from the outside of the castle), looking at that view:

mah baby jus' done gone up an left

This morning, Maria officially moved on from Edinburgh; heading back to South Carolina for a summer with her parents.  Now begins an interesting phase, since I won't be seeing her until October, when she will be asked to say "I do" to a number of significant questions :)

I think it's fitting that we'll both be living with our families for the few months leading up to the wedding - it seems right and good, but not easy.  I'll be having a go at using the time well, doing different things, blah-de-blah-de-blah.  But the truth is that I have a huge hole in my life.

Not sure what else to add.  Tonight I made salsa!  Tomorrow I'm going to walk from Balerno to Penicuik!  I have a job for the summer!

All slightly hollow, isn't it?  Yes - there is a hole.

Wet Walks

Sometimes you just need a rainy evening to remind you that God is good, the world is okay, and it's gonna be alright.

Back in the olden days, I used to make a point of going outside when it rained.  Sometimes it was because I wanted to sing loudly without worrying about other people (there's nowhere more private than a rainstorm - all the sensible people are safe inside - plus the rain muffles everything); sometimes it was because I liked how it felt to have my hair so wet that it couldn't get any wetter, and to have the water race down my faces in rivulets; sometimes it was because I felt like there was something magical in a downpour that no one but me had ever noticed; and sometimes it was just for the pleasure of coming back in to the warm and dry.  Anyway, that's what I used to do.

Tonight, I didn't go out into the rain - it sort of ambushed me.  I was on my way home from football, where I had played averagely and felt frustrated, even though we clung on for a one goal win.  I got dropped off a few hundred metres from home and, after walking at normal speed for a bit, I began to notice that somehow I had found my way into a magical raindrop world of beautiful, quiet, insistent wetness.  It hit me, dribbled down me and washed away my annoyance and what-have-you.  It made me look up and smile.  I slowed my speed, turned off my internal monologue for a bit and - the most dangerous thing of all - started to sing.  Halfway down Lothian Road, just outside ScotMid.  I think other people might have heard me, especially when I did the 'woa-oh woa-oh-oh-ooh' bit from a Sam Cooke song I have appropriated as a hymn tune.  I hope they liked it.

And when I got to my front door, I stopped for a few seconds, listening to the sound of raindrops hitting trees (one of my favourite noises) and wondering if I could get back into the habit of wet walks.

Inevitable Success

About an hour ago, in the Links pub, my leprechaun of a good luck charm of a fiancee (and I) watched Manchester United win the Premier League.  For the third year in a row.  The same three years for which Maria has been supporting them.  She knows no failure; she knows no defeat.

And it doesn't stop there.  In world football, there are only two teams which Maria has actually seen in action - Truro City and Exeter City.  These are her 'bonus' teams, when in need of respite from MUFC online blogs and youtube videos of Wayne Rooney's gorgeous face.  And how did they do this year?  Champions.  Both of them.  Oh yes.

My fiancee is magical.  If you wish to hire her to support your club, do be in touch.

The Baffled Gardener

Last weekend was my birthday, and a really great one it was too - the kind of day that felt like it suited everyone involved and, in doing so, suited me.  Along the way I received quite a bundle of presents, cards and the like, but I wanted to give an honourable mention to our friends the Lockharts, from whom I received a jar of (home-made) Dandelion Tea, and this poem:

Marigolds, by Robert Graves [abridged slightly]

With a fork drive Nature out,
She will ever yet return;
Hedge the flowerbed all about,
Pull or stab or cut or burn.

Look, the constant marigold
Springs again from hidden roots.
Baffled gardener you behold
New beginning and new shoots
Spring again from hidden roots.

Pull or stab or cut or burn
Love must ever yet return.

Lark Ascending

"This is... a perfect day, Jeeves.  What's that thing of yours about larks?"

"Sir?"

"And I rather think, snails."

"Oh, yes, sir.  'The year's at Spring, the day's at the morn, morning's at seven, the hill-side's dew-pearled --' "

"But the larks, Jeeves?  The snails?  I'm pretty sure larks and snails entered into it."

"I am coming to the larks and snails, sir.  'The lark's on the wing, the snail's on the thorn --' "

"Now you're talking.  And the tab line?"

" 'God's in His Heaven, all's right with the world.' "

--

Today is my birthday. HIPY PAPY BTHETHDTH THUTHDA BTHUTHDY to me.

To celebrate, I got up at 3:45 this morning to go out and listen to the Dawn Chorus on a farm near Broxburn with some Jesuits.  It's a good thing to do, especially for someone like me who lacks self-discipline but wants to improve and be more Godly in simple things, like recognising birdsong or looking silently at the dawning sun.

We saw a couple of larks do their ascend-dive-ascend-dive thing, and welcomed back to the country birds (willow warbler etc.) that had been in Africa till last week.  And now I'm 28.  I think I might have a bath.