Glimpses of my christmas

Well, Christmas is practically over now. It's Thursday; within a week, most things will be back to normal in this house.

What have I been doing? Too much. Christmas itself was a quiet day at home with the immediate family. I'm informed that my brother opened the presents in his stocking at quarter to one in the morning, but of course I woke at a much more civilized time. It is, however, somewhat a tradition in my family to get up a bit earlier than normal, and open all the presents under the tree just after breakfast. So by eight thirty, they've all been opened. We're just impatient people, and we don't like waiting. Anyone who knows us will testify that we're very rarely late for anything; it's normally the opposite.

Naturally, we had a turkey with all the trimmings (or most of them!) for dinner. Maybe this isn't normal, but some people in this family don't like christmas pudding. So after the first course, those that like christmas pudding have that with brandy butter and cream. Those that don't normally eat chocolate log with cream. It's delicious. And then there's the remains of the chocolate log to eat at tea. Yes, we eat far too much over the christmas period. However, I haven't yet started to eat the chocolates that I was given. Worry not. When I start eating them, I will probably eat lots of them at once to make up for lost time.

Boxing day was completely different from christmas day, even though for us it's very similar to christmas day. Now that sentence appears to make no sense, so I'll explain it for you. Boxing day is spent at my mum's parents. She has all four of her children there, with their families; a grand total of eight children (hopefully nine next year, her childless son's partner is expecting a child) and eleven adults, as grandma has her sister there too. Everyone gets there for lunch, and sometime in the afternoon presents are exchanged.

But one of my uncles always brings his family to lunch late. Everyone else is normally there by one thirty; he turns up at two. Every year. So we never get to eat lunch until the middle of the afternoon, at the uncivilized time of quarter past two. Interestingly, this uncle gave his children ipods for their christmas. I'm not at all sure what the purpose of an ipod is; yes, it plays music. But why anyone would want to pump music into their ears while they're out and about is beyond me. It's almost like saying "I'm bored with the world; I'm bored with people; I want to escape." Honestly, while people are out they should be spending their time quietly observing other people, and quietly listening if they've nothing better to do. That's how you get to observe people removing toys from rivers for their children and get to hear people say that everyone who works in the city (London, I assume? That's the only place which can really be called the city.) is arrogant. Shocking prejudice, I know; thinking about it, however, my uncles and grandpa—all of whom work in the city—are pretty arrogant. Anyway, we're talking about ipods. It's my opinion that they're a status symbol, some sort of sign that the owner of them's a pretty cool person. Well, my cousins certainly are and they've got ipods. I'm not exactly a cool person, and I haven't got an ipod, being unable to see the need to spend so much money on such a thing. So I think evidence backs my theory up—ipods are the things to be seen with, to prove to all and sundry that you're a cool person.

Another of my uncles—actually, we're the most friendly with this family, mainly because his wife is my mother's sister and so they're good friends—brought some fun balloons with him. They were the sort that you blow up, release, and then go round the room making a loud noise. We played with them during lunch, after we'd eaten our salad and before we ate our meringue. It was great fun, and caused lots of laughter. All the adults were a bit 'merry' because the vast majority of them had had two or three units of alcohol, if not more—not enough to get drunk, but enough to cheer them all up a bit. Hence the silly balloons, the plentiful silly balloons.

And today, there was shopping. I discovered that with the help of a sale, fifteen pounds of marks and spencers vouchers buys an awful lot more than anyone would expect. So shopping was incredibly successful, even though I did spend five pounds (making a total of twenty and one half pounds) more in marks and spencers than I meant to. Listen, I needed a new bag and when I saw a really sweet one in the sale for five pounds I was not going to leave it behind. My siblings say that this particular bag is too small, but I like it. Tiny bags are brilliant. Besides, I saved money on it. I worked out that today I saved more money than I spent. And it wasn't spending just for the sake of spending, either—all the things I've bought (skirt, tracksuit top, t-shirt, bag) are totally me and I'd have been tempted to buy them even if they weren't in the sale. Woo! Go me!

Sadly, when I spend the book tokens someone kindly gave me I expect I shall complain about the ridiculous price of books. Never mind. I need some good books to read—I've read most of the good ones in this house already, and buying books has never really presented much difficulty for me. I just need to find one that looks good—today I didn't buy a biography of Martin Luther, The Purpose Driven Life by Rick Warren (regrettably, I'm prepared to trust what I've read about it being a confusing book), God is Not Great by someone whose name I've forgotten, a book purporting to explain how humans invented God, a book by Anne Bronte, a book by John Betjeman (is that surname spelt correctly? I'm not sure) about hymns, and a book of Tennyson's poems. Anyway, that's what I didn't buy today, although there's no guarantee that I won't buy anything like them tomorrow. I did consider buying them, though. However, I like to browse and look and see lots of books before I choose some; after all, I've got to read it and I may as well get one that I think I'll enjoy. I only went in Waterstone's, though, and I really wanted to look in a Christian bookshop.

Most of the books I buy, though, are normally bought on impulse, and that is not a contradiction of what I just told you; I browse, browse, browse, and then suddenly get fed up and buy something that catches my eye. I do everything like this; first, I'll slowly and carefully consider all the options, not doing anything until I've decided—and then, suddenly, I'll throw all caution to the wind and decide something, hoping that I don't afterwards regret it.

Well, before I drift from christmas onto something completely unrelated to the subject, I'll stop. I've had an enjoyable christmas, but I'm getting old. I no longer feel really excited about christmas, and while opening my stocking presents I developed a slow method of doing things. First, you carefully peel off every single piece of sellotape, rolling it up into tiny balls. Then, you straiten out the wrapping paper. And then, you gently remove the paper. By opening things this way, I spent forty five minutes on about eleven small presents.

Interesting information

Everyone understands my blog? That's good.

Or bad. I'm not sure which. Anyway, I don't think I need worry that people don't understand what I'm trying to tell them all the time.

However, the device is probably flawed; I have no idea how it got that reading level. And as I apparently treat you as eleven year olds, I feel inclined to point out that it is in no way intended to measure the blogger's level of education or intelligence, but rather the level of education you need to understand the rubbish I regularly feed you. If no one understands anything I say, I'll assume the device is flawed.

Actually, I just blog how I talk. I'm not sure whether that's a good idea, or whether it's bad. I think I can be more assertive here, though.

And have a happy christmas everybody. If you don't like/celebrate christmas, you can have a happy time not celebrating christmas. (That is a perfect example of why I shouldn't try to be politically correct. So have a happy christmas or an unhappy christmas or no christmas at all depending on what makes you happiest. All I'm actually trying to do here is confuse you, so don't worry.)

Random quiz

Pinched from Lilmiss' blog. I changed the answers, though!

1. Do you like cheese?
Only cheddar, but I eat too much of that.

2. Have you ever smoked heroin?
No, should I have done?

3. Do you own a gun?
No, and I wouldn't want one.

4. Your favorite song?
Eh? I'm supposed to have a favorite song?

5. Do you get nervous about Dr. appointments?
No. I avoid them successfully, so there are no doctor appointments.

6. What do you think of hot dogs?
Yuck...MacDonald's isn't a healthy place to get your food.

7. What's your favorite Christmas song?
Do carols count? I have a strange liking for "Hark the herald angels sing" and "In the bleak mid winter".

8. What do you prefer to drink in the morning?
Nothing.

9. Can you do push ups?
What?

10. Is your bathroom clean?
It's clean enough.

11. What's your favorite piece of jewelry?
I had a necklace which I used to love, and then I lost it.

12. Favorite Hobby?
Hobby?

13. What is your secret weapon to lure in the opposite sex?
I don't have one/if I do, I have absolutely no clue about what it is.

14. Do you have A.D.D.?
No.

15. Have you ever stolen anything?
No.

16. Middle Name?
Seeing as people here don't even know my first name, I'll substitute that instead. I'm Rachel.

17. Name 3 thoughts at this exact moment.
-I'm a little grumpier than normal today.
-Why don't I have three thoughts?
-Is it cheating to reread and change your answers?

18. Name the last 3 things you have bought?
Christmas presents, christmas presents, and more christmas presents. It's that time of year.

19. Name 3 drinks you regularly drink?
Orange juice, water, and that's about all

20. Your fears?
Too many—
-big cities, especially London—too many people and I'd rather not be stabbed or shot, thank you very much.
-groups of rowdy yobs
-violence. I really don't like this.

21. Current hate?
-Family. Some are pains and others are prats.
-Actually, I don't really hate anything.

22. Favorite place to be?
Alone.

23. How did you bring in the New Year?
Resting.

24. Where would you like to go?
Scotland

25 Name three people who will complete this and return.
Why should they complete this?

26. Do you own slippers?
Yes. And I rarely wear them.

27. What color shirt are you wearing?
It's a dark pink tee shirt with a lighter pink hoody on top. They clash.

28. Do you like sleeping on satin sheets?
Satin sheets? Ours are cotton.

29. Can you whistle?
Yes, and not too badly.

30. Favorite color?
Sandy brown.

31. Would you be a pirate?
Only if I get a parrot.

33. Favorite girl's name?
Rosie or Rebbecca or Kezia (yes, I once heard of someone called this and I've thought it brilliant ever since)

34. Favorite boy's name?
Richard or Samuel or Enoch

35. What's in your pocket right now?
Nothing.

36. Last thing that made you laugh?
My grumpy, glum responses to this quiz. It's quite funny really. I've since changed some of them, thereby depriving you of the chance to laugh at them.

37. Best bed sheets as a child?
I have no clue what that question means.

38. Worst injury you've ever had?
No injuries to speak of. This is unfair. Oh, once I almost fainted. Does that count? And I fell on my head once, too. Then there's the time when I fell on my arm, and almost broke it...but not quite. It hurt for a week, though. And I gashed my knee open on a fence. I think I can still pick out the scar from that.

39. Do you love where you live?
No. No. And no. I don't mind it, as it's rather nice; but I don't love it and if I had lots of money and could choose somewhere it wouldn't be here. I want to live in Scotland...but they keep sheep there, so maybe the English countryside would be better. I like cows better than sheep.

40. How many TVs do you have in your house?
Why did you ask? None at all. I'm deprived.

41. Who is your loudest Friend?
I don't like loud noisy life-and-soul-of-the-party type people.

42. Who is your most silent friend?
If people are silent, I never talk to them.

43. Does anyone have a crush on you?
I don't think so and I doubt it. And if they did, would I know? I don't think so.

44. Do you wish on shooting stars?
No.

45. What is your favorite candy?
Milk chocolate. Milk chocolate. CHOCOLATE. CHOCOLATE. Chocolate...

46. Favorite Sports Team?
The football teams here are rubbish. One actually got chucked out of the Premier league, which proves my point.

47. What do you want played at your funeral?
I shan't tell you what, but last year I actually wrote a plan for my funeral. I know it's a pretty morose thing to do, but it kept me happy. My ideas have since changed; I don't know what they are now.

48. Goals you would like to achieve this year?
Ideally I'd like to not eat too much chocolate over Christmas and not say that my uncle's irresponsible at the family Christmas get together. Reasons should be obvious.

49. What was your favorite toy as a child?
A big (well, I thought it big) medium-brown cuddly dog, named Timmy after the dog in the Famous Five books.

50. Do you have a favorite flower?
Never really thought about it, but I like white roses.

Pagan festivals, dogs, and children

I know that I haven’t blogged for a while: on Wednesday, I didn’t have anything to say; on Thursday and Friday, I began to blog and then had to do other things, coming back only once I’d finished my train of thoughts; on Saturday, I was far too busy; and on Sunday, I felt a little grotty and was therefore resting (reading books) most of the day. Today—unfortunately for you—I am neither disinclined to write, nor busy, nor ill. And so, I blog.

What did I do on Saturday? First, we had visitors; and in the evening, dad was playing the organ in a church at a cross between a carol service and a concert. I won’t mention the hour I spent really upset because Dad wouldn’t let me pull the table away from the wall and seat someone at the foot of the table. But in spite of this difficulty, I managed to squeeze everyone around the ‘one’ table. There were six down each side, and one person sat at the head of the table. Eight (four down each side) is a comfortable number, thirteen is just a squash. Next time, we should remove the table and squat around a cloth on the floor, pretending to be Asians in the east in a tent. We could feed more people that way, too; and the grandparents would love it, as it would show refreshing multiculturalism (with all the false illusions of multi religionism—or whatever you call it—too.). The multiculturalism idea would be shattered as soon as we handed out beef stew and potatoes and carrots and peas followed by crumble with cream and ice cream, but never mind.

The multi religionism idea would be shattered as soon as we informed them of our friends’ view of Christmas. The people we saw on Saturday don’t celebrate Christmas in a big way at all, and therefore looked disapprovingly at our pagan Christmas tree and Satanic stockings and catholic images—sorry, nativity sets. Their viewpoint is that Christmas is a pagan festival with no place in a Christian’s life. I am fully sympathetic to this idea (does that actually surprise anyone?), and believe it to be correct. However, I hypocritically celebrate Christmas and therefore do not condemn anyone who does the same (worry not—when I stop celebrating Christmas, I will start condemning those who do).

However, what I really don’t understand is why they don’t get their children to do schoolwork on Christmas day. Nothing would persuade their children that Christmas is not celebrated and not to be celebrated as much as doing their work on Christmas would—then again, nothing would convince people that their parents are nasty slave drivers as much as doing work on Christmas would, so maybe it’s wise of them not to do that. And if they—with five children—persuade all that Christmas is wrong (assuming that their children marry and have an average of five children each who believe Christmas is wrong, marry, and have an average of five children each), by the time we get to the families of the third generation we’ve got 125 children being brought up with the idea that Christmas is a pagan festival.

Do you see the great potential here? Do you see the great responsibility that rests on the parents? Hypothetically speaking, it is highly feasible that within 125 years the original non Christmas celebrating family will have 125 children to carry on. When all these children are married (assuming they don’t marry within the family) they double to 250 people. We allow five children per family, and then we have 625 children being brought up to ignore Christmas; adding the parents, we get 875 people who don’t celebrate Christmas. Does that scare you? It should.

Yes, I know that 875 people isn’t a lot in the grand scheme of things and I know that in reality, it probably won’t be quite as many. But even if we say 600 people, it’s still shocking and fascinating and exciting to know that so many could come from one pair within 200 years. If you add to that the fact that the trend today is only for two children, most people aren’t even replacing themselves. And the Muslims haven’t caught the two children trend, and so are reproducing faster than everyone else. They will become more numerous than Christians and non religious people and all those of other religions at this rate. And yes—that (hopefully) isn’t my problem. But hey, how did we get here? I was talking about our guests on Saturday.

These friends of ours have a dog, which they brought with them. So we took them on a walk—what else should we have done? Left her wandering around our garden in the hope that she discovered she could get over the low fence of one of our neighbours and paid them an unwelcome visit? That’s not a good idea—once she discovers she can get over the fence, they won’t be able to let her loose in our garden ever again.

While on this walk, we met another dog. This other dog found something attractive in our group—maybe the numbers, maybe our friends’ dog, maybe the sticks the boys were carrying (what is it about boys and sticks? It does not make them any more important or grown up to carry a stick, but it does make it easier for their fathers if they misbehave)—and ignored the disinterested owner’s feeble pleadings to return, insisting on staying with us. He was a nice friendly dog, but we had to get rid of him somehow—chasing him didn’t seem to work, as he thought it was a game. Ignoring him didn’t work, as he was used to being ignored. Throwing sticks for him didn’t work, as he retrieved it expertly to have it thrown again. We made the boys put down their sticks; this little dog picked up the largest (about one and one half inches in circumference, and eighteen inches long) and proceeded to trot off after his owner with it. Much to our relief, we didn’t see the dog again. We didn’t see the stick again, either.

When we arrived back from our walk, we gave the people some snacks—and their children managed to eat most of two bags of mandarins (or something—small orange-like fruits) between them. Dad says it’s a good thing they were buy one get one free...but it’s nice to have people who eat what you put in front of them instead of picking at it with an expression of ‘why are you doing this to me?’ on their faces, as some people do. People who don’t eat heartily are annoying; if food’s there, and they’re hungry, they should eat. Maybe they’re not hungry, but they should be. Honestly. Food is for eating.

Oh, and according to the charming children I’m sour. I think this is because when I told them they weren’t to do something (pretty unusual in itself. I’m very easy going, up to a point) I repeated my ‘no’, even when they asked a second and third time, and I also refused to compromise.

Well, they went home and we ate our tea, before going out again to sit in a cold, empty church while dad made sure the organ was ready to be played. Soon, however, the church got fuller; they had lots and lots of people to sit and enjoy, and a wind band (with a drum. A drum? A drum isn’t a wind instrument!) and a choir. (Remember, this thing was a cross between a concert and a carol service. It’s lovely.)

The band played some nice things, and some not so nice things. They were responsible for providing the music before the service, and were well suited for this job. The organist was responsible for playing the introductions to the carols, and for the music after the service. He did a good enough job of convincing them that he knew what he was doing (well, I assume he did. They’ve invited him back next year). During the carols, the band and the organ played together, and the choir and the congregation sung. In between the carols, there were readings; and sometimes the band played, sometimes the choir sung, and once dad played something on the organ. Afterwards, there were mince pies for people who like them.

Afterwards, a woman came up to me and said hello. She then asked me if I was with someone who was playing—I told her that I was with the organist, and she said that there had been something familiar about me (dad very occasionally plays at their morning service). I’m not sure whether I should be pleased or appalled that I was recognised because of my dad; I can’t be bothered to be appalled, and therefore will have to be pleased.

Sunday would have been a busy day too, but I wasn’t feeling quite well and therefore sat and read books for most of the day. The others went to church in the morning, and popped in on an old lady afterwards with a Christmas present; my sister cleaned out the rats; and I read four and a half books (in my defense, they were thin and easy to read), lent to us by the friends we saw on Saturday.

In the evening, I went to church, and carefully listened to the sermon. What I didn’t pay attention too, however, was the first hymn. And so, when I reached the last verse on one page in the hymn book, I shut it. To my chagrin, there was one more verse on the next page. Oops.

Today, we got many Christmas cards. Some made uncomfortable reading. “Such and such is going to be twenty!” I remember that person when he was a naughty boy, being told to stand in a corner quietly facing the wall in an attempt to calm him down. “Such and such is going to university next year!” Oh dear. This girl’s only a year older than me. “Such and such has got married!” I’m shocked. Her younger sister’s a year or two older than me, and she’s not much older than her sister.

All those things are a tangible reminder that change for me is just round the corner. Happily, I’ve still got two more terms to decide whether I shall apply for university in 2009—I could, but I probably won’t. I’m more likely to do nothing until August 2009—when I shall suddenly decide to either take a gap year (finding something useful to do, of course) and apply for university in 2010, or just get a job instead of being saddled with a large debt. But yes—things will change when I’m eighteen. There isn’t any pressure, though—only one of my parents went to university, and it’s not entirely certain whether this parent would have gone if he’d had to pay.

Also, some people include pictures of their daughters on Christmas letters; and these girls (some, horror of horrors, actually younger than me) look so grown up and sophisticated. I can’t look sophisticated, because not only does it feel all wrong but I’m not actually sophisticated and therefore manage to look unsophisticated when all others would look sophisticated.

There. This is officially the end of this particular blog post. How much more did you want?

Two things

Well, dad ordered some photos off the internet. He's received some photos. Very nice, but if they could have sent him his it would have been appreciated. Dad's going to complain; does that surprise anybody?

Of course, having received someone else's photos it's likely that someone else has received Dad's photos. I doubt those photos will be appreciated if someone else looks through them. No, we didn't look through the photos we were sent. They appeared to be several copies of the same photo, so there wouldn't have been any point. Anyway, whoever got dad's will have pictures of last year's Christmas tree, a cousin pretending to be a chicken on the beach, a two year old, much loved pet rats, the moon, and other random things.

It's the presence of the rat photos that have caused much merriment in our house. We have been having great fun laughing at the thought of a woman phoning the company and complaining about receiving horrible photos of nasty rats with big teeth and evil eyes instead of whatever she was meant to get. Either that, or some man got them—in which case he'll probably just scratch his head and think that that photo hasn't done any justice to his girlfriend at all. Okay, I'm not being fair on any men who may read this. Let's try again. If it goes to a man, he'll ring the company and demand to know what they've done with his photos.

You either laugh or cry. It's much nicer to laugh. If people cried every time something went wrong, they'd do an awful lot of crying.

And that's the interesting part of today's blog post over. Now I'll talk about something more serious.

I wonder if my experience of churches is somewhat unusual. I wonder how normal the sort of church I currently go to is.

The church I attend currently has very structured services. First, there is are the notices. Then, the preacher gives us a Bible verse or two and there may be a quick prayer. This is followed by a hymn. We then have a Bible passage read to us, while we follow it in our Bibles. Normally there is no prayer, but sometimes there may be a prayer before or after this Bible reading. It depends on the preacher. Then, we sing another hymn. Then comes the prayer. It's of reasonable length, and different every week. The preacher says the prayer; we sit quiet, and there's a whispered "amen" by all after this prayer. We proceed to sing another hymn. And then it's the sermon. It goes without saying that everyone quietly listens. Some people take notes; I don't, but I should. The sermon lasts anything from half an hour to fifty minutes; during this time, the Bible passage (or a small portion of it) that was read earlier is expounded. After this, we sing a hymn and then there will be a quick benediction.

Before this, I attended a church that was practically the same apart from having a collection during the second hymn. The church I attend now just has a box at the back where people put their money (or don't, depending on whether they want it themselves).

I have attended Church of England services; they're quite formal and dry, rigidly sticking to a routine. You spend half the time standing, while the minister says things and you say things. And the sermon's only ten or fifteen minutes. Then, there are the prayers of intercession. These are very repetitive. I've also been a United Reformed church; this one seems very similar to the Church of England, but there's none of the standing and chanting.

I can't imagine what it would be like in a pentecostal or charismatic church. From the little I've heard and what I'm used to, I doubt that I'd like that sort of church. And as I'm happy with the church I attend, I'm not about to rush out and find one.

Church = party?

I wonder how many people have the idea that church should be like a party. I was aware that such people existed, but I blissfully pushed the thought to the back of my mind; and now that it's been brought to my attention again, I will say a couple of things about this point of view. I'm saying them here because I don't want to kick up a fuss or annoy people.

In my opinion church should not be like a party. Regardless of what heaven will be like (some think it will be a party. I don't think this view's particularly Biblical, but I won't go into that now because I don't have much time. It's late.), it isn't really feasible to expect church to be like heaven. In heaven we will be perfect; here we are most certainly sinful.

Also, if church is like a party it encourages people who certainly are not Christians to call themselves Christians—after all, they go to church and they have a nice experience, so therefore they must be. Not so at all. People cannot be Christians until their heart has been changed; and that isn't something they can do. Going to church does not make you a Christian anymore than believing in God makes you a Christian. Christians are meant to be different from the world, and making church like a party does nothing to further this aim.

Another gripe I have with the view that church should be a party is it encourages Christians to
think they're going to have an easy life. And that just isn't what Christians should be encouraged to think. After all, the world hated Christ, so we should expect it to hate us. We are supposed to take up our cross, not blindly ignore it. Seriously, I'm not joking. A Christian will not have an easy life in ten, twenty, or thirty years time. You only have to look at the situation today to see that things are getting worse rapidly for Christians.

And finally—church is meant to expound the word of God. And when you look closely at the Bible, it's very challenging. It doesn't make easy reading. At a party, it would go down like a brick.

Well, that's just my muddled view. And it's too short for my liking, too. Maybe I should rewrite this into a larger blog tomorrow. Now that's a scary thought...

Mixed day

It rained very heavily this morning. But that wasn't what I wanted to say.

I think this follows on from my last post, and my habit of watching rather than saying/doing.

Why am I so reluctant to point out other people's mistakes when they affect me and when a simple word from me would put it right at once? Why do I just calmly adjust and go on as normal? Why this complete and utter reluctance to disturb anybody else or get in anybody else's way?

This is the limit. If I go on like this, people will be able to take things from under my very nose very deliberately and all I'll do is sit there in a horrified silence.

I am the doormat. No one notices me and people forget me easily.

And with that little spoilt brattish whinge out of the way (no, I can't explain anymore here), the rain cleared up in the afternoon and so I was able to do my Christmas shopping. It was something I didn't think I'd do today at lunchtime, and I'm very pleased that I did it. We've visitors next Saturday and the Saturday after that's cutting it too fine for my liking. I also didn't want to have to go shopping in the late afternoon during the week.

I got my family their presents, and I bought myself a nice hair slide from Boots. I did wonder whether to get it as a present for someone, but then I decided that probably the only person who'd appreciate it was me. That assumption was actually wrong as both my sisters like it, but I don't mind. The sad thing is that I'll probably only wear it once or twice, not because I don't like it—obviously I do—but because I normally only wear things like this for a month or so after obtaining them, and then I forget about them. That sounds like dreadful throwaway behaviour, but in reality I buy things for my hair very rarely and normally just tie my hair back to keep it all out of the way with a plain band. That sounds lazy and has probably horrified all my readers, but it's sadly true.

Watching, watching, watching

I hope that my habit of quietly watching people is normal.

It is for me. I worked out today that I can't remember what life was like before I started quietly watching.

When I was really little, I used to watch the big grown up secondary school children every day as they walked past our window on their way home from school, calmly sitting on top of the sofa and viewing from there. If I didn't do it, I'd feel cheated. Needless to say, the secondary school children are now young and scary, so I don't watch them any more.

I also used to watch for Dad's car in the winter evenings before he'd return from work, again from the top of the sofa. As we don't get many cars past our window—normally just the neighbours, or the neighbour's friends, or idiots who read the map and thought they could get out this end of the close (you can't unless you're walking, but it's always marked as a crescent on maps) I used to watch a window where cars' headlights would be reflected. There was fun in this, because the headlights of cars going down the other close would also be reflected. But some of them would come right round, and be a neighbour's car. I'm sad to report that after all this waiting, when dad did get home I'd just get off the sofa and do something else. And I don't do this anymore either.

Then there was the postman. We used to have one that would come between six thirty and seven thirty, which being early in the morning was before everyone else was up. I would sit—no prizes for guessing—on the top of the sofa in the summer, and watch for the red of his jacket. Eventually I'd be rewarded by seeing him go down the other close, and then he'd reappear coming past our window. Sometimes I was rewarded by being the first to pick up the post, and other times the man didn't put anything through the door at all; quite nasty of him, considering that I waited day in day out for him, but there you are. I don't do this anymore, either.

Following this, there were the people who went to tennis lessons. At the lessons, they always had a fifteen minute break. During this break, they would all talk while I stood at the side and watched. The instructors did try to get me to join in properly and talk, but for some reason they failed. So I stood there quietly absorbing...until one day, when the person in charge—who also taught secondary school maths—was nattering about an exam, and one person asked what you had to do to get an A. I thought that was the perfect time to ask what you had to do to fail...it didn't really go down very well. For a start, it proved that I listened to the conversation instead of day dreaming. And again, I hadn't said anything there apart from maybe a bye or hello or uh-huh or yes for ages. And when you add that to the fact that apparently you couldn't fail it, but if you got under 20% it would go down as unclassified, it produced silence and horror in everyone. But apart from that singular incident, and a few times when I talked to a some girls, I was practically mute there.

Then—and believe me, I still do this—there's after church. It seems to be accepted practice that everyone talks. I do not really follow accepted practice. I mostly watch, and sometimes pretend to be talking, and occasionally talk.

These are just the things and times which really stand out. Of course, there are the times when I regularly read other people's blogs and don't comment—more habitual with me than you might think—but watching just seems to be what I do.

The question is, when will I stop all this watching and actually do something? It will have to happen, but habits are hard to break.

Not all doom and gloom

I'm worried about the state of England and the rest of the UK. And I'm sure that things will get worse before they get better. And the possibility of emigrating is not really a possibility at all. In America people have guns, Australia is full of nutters, New Zealand and Canada will soon be as bad as Britain, the other places in Europe are most likely worse, and Africa and Asia are full of Muslims...which wouldn’t be a problem, but for their attitude towards Christians. South America’s not really an option either. Of course, there’s Antarctica...but that’s too cold. Oh, and I should say that there’s no offense intended if you happen to live in one of these places. I just wouldn't want to live in one, that's all.

On top of the fact that I'm far too scared of strange things to move to another country, there’s the fact that if you leave it just makes the country’s overall position worse and is highly unfair on those you leave behind. It’s all very well to say that this country’s going to the dogs, but to desert to let it go to the dogs is stupid.

What precipitated (is it even correct to use this word here?) all the doom and gloom? Comments left on these newspaper articles (here and here, for anyone interested). I think the bad sentiments expressed in them about Christianity, God, and religion in general are becoming more and more widespread. Interestingly, it’s noticeable that most people are harsher in their treatment to Christians than to Muslims; Christians all believe in fairy tales, are full of hatred towards everyone and anyone, and should be wiped out, while Muslims are actually nice people and it’s only the extremists that are the problem. And believe them, Muslim extremists are few and far between. That’s the impression that I get, anyway; but I’m biased. Be in no doubt about that.

What these people are missing, however, is that the very group that they’re condemning actually seem to be operating peacefully within the bounds of English law. Sure, they want to prosecute someone. But many, many people want to prosecute others and many do with none of this fuss about it. If the law’s there, then they should not complain so bitterly about bigots who actually want to take someone to trial for violations of it. If the law’s that stupid, the bigots will lose and the loser normally has to foot the bill.

So why the hatred and nasty comments? It just doesn’t make sense. And things will get worse—the majority of the opinion seems to be “I’m shocked at these nasty people” with the few ‘Christian’ comments mainly to the effect of “these people cannot be Christians, they really can’t be. This isn’t what Christians are like.”

I’m not taking bets on the likelihood of me being able to bring up my children to be like me (yes, that means to have my beliefs and views) in peace in twenty to thirty years time. I think it will be greatly frowned upon by almost everyone; and the idea that in fifty years time I’ll be able to live in peace seems more ludicrous every day. I will most probably be branded hateful towards others or something. And I’m sorry, but hatred and malice just isn’t me. And I don’t think that I have another think coming on this one.

I don’t want to be berated for blogging depressing things, as it isn’t my intention to depress; I’ll move on to a more cheerful subject. Remember that list I wrote of things that I’m thankful for? I have an addition; friends which I’ve known for ages and who don’t know any of my friends, which leads to brilliant conversations about things we couldn’t talk about if we knew each other’s friends. It also helps that this friend’s my age, and therefore understands things that my sister wouldn’t and things which I just wouldn’t tell my sister because I should never live them down. She’s also very sweet and nice and seems to like having my opinions on her problems; however, this is probably because once I’ve given her my opinion she can then choose to completely disregard it. Never mind.

And also, we got our first Christmas card today. Woo! Also, Grandma sent my little sister an advent calender. Mum explained to her what it was for, but there was a slight miscommunication leading to little sister trying to get at it and open all the windows. We think she thought that if she opened all the windows today, it would be Christmas today. It’s a good job that isn’t so, as we still haven’t got a tree and most probably won’t get one for at least another week and a bit.

He didn't catch a heffalump

Behind our house we have an apology of a garden. In this garden, there is an apology of a lawn. And in this lawn, there is an apology of a heffalump trap.

It's a sort of circular hole no deeper than a foot and no wider than two feet. My brother dug it on the request of my dad; I think they were trying to dig up something relating to the washing line, but I haven't a clue what. Needless to say, our lawn now looks like an apology of a lawn with a hole in it.

My brother is meant to be filling it in today. But he finds filling holes in much less exciting than digging them for some weird reason.

He should either fill it in or dig a much bigger hole. If he's taking after Pooh and Piglet in those stories by A. A. Milne and attempting to catch a heffalump, he must try a lot harder. He's not going to catch anything in that hole.

And how awful is it that I remember Winne the Pooh stories? I swear having a two year old sister does your brain in. Either that, or it's having a brother. I'd actually go for the second.

It was certainly mostly his fault that I was very stressed yesterday; hence why my last blog started calm and ended in quite a stressy manner.

And of course, if my brother does catch a heffalump in that hole, it's just mean more stress for me and the rest of my family. Happily, however, heffalumps aren't usually found wild in England.

So yes. My brother didn't catch a heffalump. He needs to try harder.

Higgaion and other tangled thoughts about Bible stuff

Higgaion. Interesting, interesting word. I found it in Psalm 9 at the end of verse 16 just before the word "selah". Selah I've found and heard of before, higgaion I haven't. I did wonder if it was a misprint, but then I found it in my other KJV Bible. I checked my NKJV, and that translated it as 'meditation'. Obviously what proceeded it was so important that it has to be thought about for a long time.

The LORD is known by the judgment which he executeth: the wicked is snared in the work of his own hands. (Psalm 9:16)

Yes, I know that the original Hebrew probably didn't have the verse breaks. But off you go now to think about that. No more blog for you today. Oh okay. That was a joke.

It did make me think, but probably not along the lines it was meant to. It made me wonder if I really am correct when I state that the KJV is perfectly easy to understand, even in today's England. After all, I had to trundle off to try and work out what higgaion meant. I actually still think that the KJV is perfectly understandable. I can't remember the last time when I had to go off and find out what a word meant.

Maybe I'm biased. I was brought up on the NKJV and KJV. Now I practically exclusively use the KJV. The other versions are just too hard to read; to me, attempting to is almost like plowing through some nasty stodgy text. I can read them if I have to, but I prefer not to. And then, if you look hard enough you can find claims that there are subtle changes in meaning in the newer versions. And there are; try Acts 17:22. In the KJV, Paul tells the people that they're too superstitious. In the NKJV, the same word is translated 'religious'.

Then there's the NIV, which quite frankly I would never use. If I did, I would not be a Christian. I could not be. That's the scale of the error in that translation. I won't go into detail here, because some people would be delighted to hear what I'd say. If you do have an NIV and you really want to see the problem, contrast Isaiah 14:12 with Revelation 22:16. Then check it in a more reliable translation. Yes, I too was shocked when I did that. I won't take anything from the NIV without checking it against another translation first now, and you would be advised not to. Maybe that's just an over reaction, but decide for yourself. I don't think it is.

And to move off translations entirely, someone popped up on my blog today and left a comment which left me thinking about faith and sight, or rather lack of it. So to end, have my most likely completely wrong understanding of it. And if you're clever and know more about it than me, then please leave a comment and tell me (of course, I mean explain. Jumping up and down waving your arms around shouting "I'm clever" will not be treated as a joke.).

Certainly there's only one place in the Bible where 'we walk by faith not by sight' is spelt out for us. That's in 2 Corinthians 5:7. The verse itself appears to come while dealing with the concept of the resurrection of the dead. And it's not unreasonable to have a verse like that there, as we do not know what happens after death and will never know until it's happening.
Scary, but completely factual and therefore I have no problems with stating it. So as to what happens after death, we have to pick an explanation and stick to it.

I don't think it can come in the concept of meaning 'close your eyes and blindly accept everything you're told' because that goes against other Scripture verses, which clearly tell us to examine things. (Matthew 7:15-20 and 1 Thessalonians 5:21 come to mind.)

And it's at this point that I give up. I'm not made to expound the Scriptures to others and talk about the finer points of theology; I have created an incoherent mess. When I can write coherently and in a manner that doesn't confuse poor innocent readers, there will be another blog.

Rebellion

I have to admit that I think this boy should be allowed to keep his hair that length without any problems. I really cannot see what the problem is. That hair is shortish. I'm serious. My dad lets his hair grow longer than that before he gets it cut, anyway.

My dad's hair is grey, though. And he has a beard and moustache to go with it. It's interesting that long hair in men is viewed as a sign of rebellion; I'm considered to have a temperament somewhat like my dad, and I don't consider myself particularly rebellious.

So maybe it's not exactly a sign of rebellion as such, but more a refusal to conform to everyone else. Can you even be non conformist without being rebellious? I don't know. Some of my opinions are certainly non conformist (anyone prepared to argue with that?! I thought not!). Whether they are rebellious, though, depends on how you view things.

If you think you have the right to tell me what I should do and what I should think, then yes. I am rebellious. I will freely admit that. I will answer questions like "you didn't think I was over 30, did you?" with a decisive "yes" when I know that people want me to say the opposite. Sometimes I just go along with them, but that's very much because I want to, because the worry about upsetting them is more prominent than the desire to show them that they cannot control my every thought and action.

As a general observation, it's interesting that they note that he's a rock music fan. If you claim that his long hair is a sign of rebellion, note that many rock musicians have long hair. I was telling you that they were a rebellious bunch, and you weren't listening to me. But let's not drag up old arguments.

And before someone tells me that rebellion is worse than the sin of witchcraft according to the Bible, it may be interesting if you stopped to think about the context. The verse in Samuel which says this is talking about rebellion against God. And let's all agree that this is certainly bad. We can also agree that modern society is not God, and that we can therefore choose to rebel against it happily; in fact, modern society is so unGodly that we have to rebel against most of it so that we don't rebel against God.

Which brings me to my final question. Is longish hair in men a sign of rebellion against God, rather than rebellion against modern society? There are some verses somewhere in the New Testament which deal with hair length; and the impression you get is that women should have long hair, while men have short hair. And then, interestingly, it goes on to say "lest any be contentious, we have no such custom" while still talking about hair and stuff, as far as I can see.

Oh well. Apologies for the lack of Bible references, as I've somehow lost my favorite Bible and don't like using any other. If anyone cares enough to complain, I will find them for you.