Does my Bum Look Big in This?

Tending to the guinea pigs, I bent over to push a lettuce leaf through the cage bars. As I did so, my daughter reached out and pulled something from my behind. It was a sticker. She read the words of the sticker aloud:

“100% UV filter…”

There was a pause, and then she added, “Mum, it’s official; your bottom is so big it blocks out the sun!” The whole room exploded in laughter.

True story o_O

 

Here’s another:

The plumber had come to remove the old gas cooker. He was having difficulty reaching in the small gap between the oven and the wall. As he bent further and further, his trousers began to creep down leaving his underwear showing. He grunted and gasped and then finally, with an extra effort, said, “Aha! I can see it all now!”

“So can we!” My dad, usually so very polite, exclaimed and raised his eyebrows at what was now on view.

Too Short for Star Wars?

the appointed time has grown short;

from now on,

let even those who have wives be as though they had none,

and those who mourn as though they were not mourning,

and those who rejoice as though they were not rejoicing,

and those who buy as though they had no possessions,

and those who deal with the world as though they had no dealings with it.

For the present form of this world is passing away.

~ 1 Corinthians 7:29-31 (NRSVA)

You have made my days a few handbreadths,
    and my lifetime is as nothing in your sight.
Surely everyone stands as a mere breath.
     Surely everyone goes about like a shadow…

 ‘And now, O Lord, what do I wait for?
    My hope is in you.

~ extract from Psalm 39:5-7

I go through a passage from the Old Testament and a passage from the New Testament most days. I don’t currently use a devotional because I’m already reading at least one Christian book. Today the similarities in the two passages jumped out at me. The NT does, consciously and unconsciously, echo the OT. It’s quite beautiful when you recognise it.

But then, I confess, I stumbled. My brain read those words from the psalm and came up with this:

AzZwur3CMAASrbA

You know you’re somewhat too much of a Star Wars fan when this is the image that comes to mind when you are trying to read the Word of God. My life, I thank God, has not been too short for Star Wars. In fact, a Star Wars fest might be just what the doctor ordered (i.e. in relation to the post I made yesterday). I love Sci Fi ❤ Happy Saturday!

 

A Non-scare

“Fluff, what does ‘gullible’ mean?” Chip asks her big sister.

“It’s a swear word!” Fluff sounds shocked. “You mustn’t say it!”

Chip looks at her sister. “It isn’t.”

“It is!” Fluff is insistent, although she is smiling. Chip is unconvinced.

“Muuuum?”

“Hmm?” I look up.

“What does ‘gullible’ mean? Fluff says it’s a swear word.”

“It’s not swearing.” I pause. “There’s no such word, Chip.”

“Really? Fluff said it was a swear word!”

“No, it’s not a swear word.”

********

Two weeks later we are waiting in the hospital for me to see the breast specialist about a lump in my *breast. It is the same hospital in which we visited my dear mother-in-law before she died three weeks prior. Emotions hang raw in the air.

I am sitting with my new crochet project and Chip is quietly reading. She is, like her mother, addicted to stories.Suddenly she jumps up and runs over to me, her index finger against a word on the page.

“See, Mummy!” She cries, “It is a word!”

I look at the page to see what she is pointing at. I smile up at her and all of a sudden she gets it and looks at me with dismay, then disapproval and then amusement. There is a gleam in her eyes that I know means she is thinking of a way to get me back (the girls and I love jokes, but Daddy and Prince not so much, so we don’t play jokes on them). Prince wants to know what was funny and so I explain to him, several times, until he understands and grins. A difficult day becomes a little lighter.

*******

*It was just a large cyst, which was drained with an enormous needle. I am prone to them, apparently.

My word I was grateful that it was only a cyst! Not because we wouldn’t have somehow dealt with/struggled through any eventuality (because who has a choice in these things?), but because the last few months have been really hard. This non-cancer-scare actually felt like a bit of a turning point for me. It’s not just the grief of losing someone you love that can cause distress after the event, but the weeks leading up to death during which a loved one is suffering. I had become consumed by my mother-in-law’s suffering. I couldn’t bear to see her like that. I researched strokes and vascular dementia and end of life care, etc., etc., just to try to find some answers that would limit her intense distress. I came up with very little, to be honest. I just wanted to make her feel better. She was clearly distraught and in pain. I eventually realised that ‘the Lord gives and the Lord takes away’ and there was not one thing I could do about it either way, except be there for my husband, and pray. I don’t think I did a very good job of either.

Sometimes a non-scare can give you a bit of perspective.

The Bull’s Horns

We’re having a lovely holiday in the Peak District at the moment. Home very soon. No camping for us this year because I’m really not well enough, so we found a cottage that was not too expensive and here we are. I have had the use of a mobility scooter, which at first left me feeling really down. Also, my Dad said something that made me feel quite bitter, for a good few hours. It would have soured the whole holiday, if I had let it. Dad’s a professor and a highly regarded one at that. He has just spent a fortnight teaching an exclusive Masters course to some very high-paying students at a lavish English hotel.

“My love,” Dad said, “You’re more intelligent than 90% of the students I teach. It would be such a shame for you to not finish your degree.” He said this because I told him I had signed up to continue my degree from October, but that if it didn’t work out this time I was going to throw in the towel and admit defeat. I’ve spent five years studying so far and have only earned ¹⁄3 of an honours degree. Illness and circumstances have repeatedly got the better of me, though I love learning.

To get back to the point, I don’t want to start using a wheelchair or mobility scooter as a regular occurrence – just as I don’t want to give up my degree – because that seems like an admittance of illness as my life state, rather than keeping my focus on getting better, ‘pressing on to win the prize’, as it were. But it occurred to me, as I was negotiating painfully narrow paths and inattentive pedestrians, that instead of feeling humiliated I should grab the bull by the horns, so to speak. So ever since I’ve been wheeling my way along humming this:

As you listen, imagine not a boldly handsome machismo who only has to blink and a scantily clad lady falls at his polished black feet – and into his bed two minutes later. No, dear friends, I ask you to imagine instead an overweight, not-quite-middle-aged woman in a mobility scooter careening along the pavement of a sedate English town. She has about her a vacant, yet determined, air somewhat akin to a female Mr. Bean. A Mrs Bean, if you will. Got the image? There you go. That’s me.

Haitch as in ‘Orse

“Now,  what’s the matter?”

“Oh, it’s silly I know but, well, I just don’t know how to make a soufflé.”

“Is that all? I’ll help you, Miss – er..?”

“Dubois. Martine Dubois.”

“Percival. Percival ‘iggins. Haitch, high, egg, egg, high, enn, ess.”

“Higgins.”

“No, no, no: ‘iggins. The haitch is silent, as in ‘orse.”

~ ‘The Chef that Died of Shame’

Hancock’s Half Hour (radio), 1955

Despite the fact that Tony Hancock died before I was born, I have long been an ardent fan and was thrilled to find the complete (surviving) episodes of series one and two on audible.com. Some of the humour may be dated, but much of it is as funny as ever, like the extract above, delivered in the usual deadpan style.

Humour seems to live in symbiosis with sadness. I wonder why. I recall going through a very dark phase a few years ago where the only thing I could tolerate was humour, most notably Christian author Adrian Plass and his Sacred Diary series. It was an essential part of my recovery. Nowadays, after I’ve listened to my daily dose of Old Testament, New Testament and Christian book, I love a bit of humour. It’s like the perfect dessert. Keeps me going till the next meal.

A heart full of joy and goodness makes a cheerful face, but when a heart is full of sadness the spirit is crushed.

 Proverbs 15:13 (AMP)