Singular Scene

So Singular in Each Particular

Awkward Moments

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Saturday night was babysitting night. Babysitting for the Legs.
I’ve been to this family repeatedly over the last 18 months and the kids and I are great friends. It’s tough to get to know the parents when you’re only seeing them for 15 minutes at either end of the evening.
These guys are lovely, and the mother and I have conversed occasionally. I thinks she’s pretty shy so she always feels just a little bit distant when we speak.
I think nothing of it. I mean, there are some families I’ve totally bonded with and others I see occasionally and appreciate the brevity of our relationship but because of how often I go to the Leg’s, and the fact that they ask for me by name, they fall somewhere in between.
Tonight I had been studying and watching photoshoptv whilst the kids [little angels] slept, and when Mr and Mrs Leg came home the conversation, while I was packing up my books, turned to the uni course, which is of course Arts and Theology… and consequently branched off towards church and the question of exactly which church it is that I go to.
That’s an easy enough question to answer. A bit of a simple geography. The answer to which is basically the one with the orange roof on the corner of… etc.
The tricky question that followed of course is how is that different from Anglican or Catholic churches (the universal points of religious reference)? I explain that it’s an conservative, orthodox Christian church, that has an expression of worship that’s modern and relevant and lively.
But that isn’t enough…
And I take a deep breath and enter ‘sounds like a cult’* territory mentioning p˜ word and the Holy Ghost/Spirit part of the trinity and the whole prohesy and speaking in tongues stuff… She nods and smiles and I make a hash of trying to sound like a normal person and close [hopefully] with a sort of “it works for me and enriches my life” etc. etc. etc. (refraining from mentioning the whole heaven and hell bizzo). And she holds out her arms and says’
“That’s great, I can give you a hug for that.”
I hug her… doing my best to hide the wide eyes and raised eyebrows carefully entering hitherto unexplored territory in our relationship… [shakes head] Hugging Mrs Leg…
I’m still somewhat bemused…
That one moment turned on the lights in my already foggy brain and I realise she’s on the verge of off her face (clearly has better luck with margaritas than me)… which means she likely won’t remember it… and likely won’t realise whaat a clueless Christian I was…
The Bible says be ready with an answer in and out of season… well, I guess this proves it was the off season for me tonight…
*I mean by this that it ‘sounds like a cult’ to the untutored ear. [Though actually when you get to the speaking in tongues stuff etc many Christians start imagining cult territory too… For the record, I’m not in a cult… My mind is far less controlled by the church than I think even they, would prefer…
˜ = pentecostal

Saturday Survey

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I watched a whole movie today, all of it, with those audio subtitles for the vision impaired. I couldn’t believe a director would consider it a good creative direction to have someone narrate every image on the screen. I mean, it was painful.

So, I ask myself, is it just me or does Alzheimers seem to be setting in earlier and earlier these days?

I went out last night, for mexican and margaritas. I drank 3 margaritas, and they were divine. Did I ever mention that I love margaritas? Just in case I didn’t… there it is in black and white. I totally love margaritas… Anyway, I could have downed them one after the other, like cordial. I didn’t, I paced myself but I didn’t get drunk, I didn’t even get tipsy.

So, I ask myself, is it just me? Or does it feel just a tiny bit pointless if a frozen confection of tequila, triple sec and lime, inspite of how unbeliaveably great it tastes, doesn’t make you feel just a teeny bit squiffy…

I went for a walk this morning, I haven’t done it in ages. I had been working from the office [my gorgeous bed] and had finished a fabulous web job I’ve been doing for what seems like forever, and I just knew that if I didn’t get some blood moving around my sorry sack of bones it would be criminal.

So is it just me? Or is it totally unfair that the urge to exercise doesn’t occur more than once in a blue moon. I’d be so much less comfortably upholstered if I actually got off my saggy butt…

I painted today, it’s hardly something I do very often, but I’d walked to the cafe, was slugging down my latte and wandered with it over to my favourite newsagent/stationers/toy shop and got stuck in the art supply aisle. I’m pretty crap at painting actually, but I knocked up a triptych that I took a picture of to show it off… Peek

Is it just me or are there moments in everyone’s life when you just HAVE to exercise that creative bent?

I didn’t work at all this afternoon. I didn’t do anything at all except paint, and watch chick flicks. I didn’t even clean the house. I totally should have worked, I have so many things I could do. I totally should have cleaned the house… we had a bug masscre the other evening and I haven’t even swept up the carcasses [sorry, I know, waay too much information].

But I KNOW that it isn’t just me… everyone needs to take a day to just look out for Number One.