My other life

Injections hurt!

2008-06-25T01:19:03Z

Flu and ADT in my left arm; Hep A in my right. Stern lecture from doctor about leaving medical check until five days before flying out. Made the 'big eyes' at her - didn't seem to help. Hey, last time I went overseas it was to Switzerland. I didn't even think about stuff like this!

Laughing 'til I choke - clerical shirts

2008-06-16T07:19:31Z

Okay, I've been surfing the net looking for places to buy women's clerical shirts; clerical blouses, I guess. And the whole thing is hilarious. One store, J and M Sewing Service, (clerical robes by appointment to Her Majesty!) has named all their shirts. So I could buy the 'Doris' or the 'Anne' or the 'Shirley' or the 'Beryl' - I laughed so much I almost wet myself.

But no matter what style I buy, I'm not going to look as good as my iconic "Pastor Sam".

When it comes to Supernatural, I'm not alone

2008-06-14T23:00:49Z

From M magazine, free with your Sunday Age:

(Three and a half stars - so top pick for the day)
SUPERNATURAL
9.40 pm, Channel Ten

On the one hand, how annoying to have the season pulled midway. On the other, at least it's back, and in a semi-watchable timeslot. Tonight, those intrepid boys are getting messages from the dead of a most disturbing kind. Even more disturbing than usual, that is.

Thank you. nice M reviewer.

Heh, heh, it's Sunday, but my two congregations are having a single combined service with the local Anglicans. The service isn't until eleven and all I have to do is preach. (Followed by big meeting at 2 pm, but nothing this evening.) I could get used to this.

I am a lazy, lazy minister. (Makes mental note to confess that while in church.)

Exercise sucks!

2008-06-12T07:30:14Z

Went for my first run in about seven months.

Thought about Buffy Summers and River Tan and Sam and Dean Winchester and how athletic they all are and how much running they must do.

Thought about Dr Daniel Jackson and how he buffed up over ten years on SG1.

Thought about the generations of my ancestors who had no need to "exercise" since they were manual workers - usually down Scottish coal mines.

Thought about all the blood circulating through my brain and about how exercise might help prevent my developing the dementia that my grandfather has.

While I was doing all this thinking my stomach was saying, "Your lunch is about to reappear" and my side was saying, "Have you noticed this stitch? It really hurts!" and my lungs were saying, "You do remember that you're prone to asthma in this weather and that breathing is generally good, right?".

My mind kept saying, "But, but, but. Buffy. And River. And Sam and Dean."

My body kept responding, "Stuff them. I hurt!"

In the end (out of sight of the member of my congregation walking her dogs) I stopped running and walked the rest of the way.

Crappy, unfit body: 1
Determined mind: 0

It's that time of the week again ...

2008-06-07T02:01:04Z

Iced Coffee Big M? Check.
Dark Chocolate Maltesers? Check.
Bible on-line so I can cut-and-paste? Check.
Seven different commentaries on the ninth chapter of the Gospel of Matthew? Check.
Radio National switched on? Check.

Okay - I can write this sermon. I can!

Hey, yasminke!

2008-06-06T01:46:10Z

Letter from SBS today (and, yes, unlike Channel Ten they call me Dr!). What do you think?

"Please let me reassure you in the first instance that both the Hebrew and Yiddish programs will continue. They will also continue to be produced from both the Sydney and Melbourne production centres. There are no plans to reduce or abolish these programs. We will also continue to support the activities of the Hebrew and Yiddish peaking community in Sydney and Melbourne, and elsewhere, as we have always done ..."

"... Importantly, this initiative is not a cut to services. Rather it is to free up resources which are being reinvested back into each language group. In this instance, the hours which become available have been allocated back into the Hebrew and Yiddish programs."

Last postcard to Channel Ten

2008-06-02T00:16:16Z

And once again it's Monday, and once again I'm sending a postcard to Channel Ten (a stunning aerial shot of Cambridge, because they deserve it).

Thank you very much for the decision to schedule Supernatural on Sunday evenings. I'm glad that I'm able to watch the show on Australian television rather than having to download it from the US. Thanks again!

That postcard campaign took three weeks! Whereas writing to the Howard government about the mandatory detention of asylum seekers ... maybe I should stick to pop culture campaigns from now on? They seem to be more successful.

If it's Monday, I must be writing to Channel Ten

2008-05-26T06:09:56Z

And today's postcard in my possibly one-woman campaign to get Supernatural back on Channel Ten says:

In your letter of May 20 you write that "no decisions have been made as to whether or not Supernatural will be returning to air". Please decide to show it - and soon. It is increasingly hard to avoid descriptions of the episodes that have already screened in America, and it would probably make sense to just download them if it wasn't that I want to support an Australian network as well as an American show.

The postcard, for no particular reason except that I like it, is of Monet's La Cathedrale de Rouen.

Happy Birthday sangerin!

2008-05-25T02:42:50Z

May the feet of God walk with you,
and Her hand hold you tight.
May the eye of God rest on you,
and His ear hear your cry.
May the smile of God be for you,
and Her breath give you life.
May the Child of God grow in you,
and His love bring you home.

I'm so sorry that I don't have birthday fic for you, but I do have a birthday present, which I'll give you next week. Have a wonderful day.

Wee!chester Fic: Promises

2008-05-23T03:12:17Z

Title: Promises
Author: Fandom: Supernatural
Rating: Gen
Characters: Dean (aged 8), Sammy (aged 4), John
Length: 1,321 words
Summary: Sammy breaks a bone and Dean makes a promise
Dedication: To my nephew, my niece, and their mother - my Sammy. (Literally, my sister's name is Samantha.)

The Impala pulled up to the motel quietly, her engine a purr rather than its usual roar, as though she too was afraid of waking Sammy. Dean stayed in his seat, his brother’s head heavy on his shoulder, until Dad opened the door and reached across Sammy to hand him the key to the room.

“Okay, kiddo, you open up and I’ll bring Sammy in.”

Dean nodded, but waited to watch Dad gather Sammy up into his arms before moving himself. Normally he would be taking notes on how funny Sammy looked, all limp in Dad’s arms with his head lolling back, so he could tease his little brother later about being a big baby - but not tonight. Not with the plaster cast so new and white on Sammy’s wrist.

He scrambled out of the car after them, closing the Impala’s door gently behind him, and ran ahead to open their room. Dad carried Sammy in, swinging him sideways through the door so that Sammy’s head and feet didn’t collect the frame, and then placed him carefully on one of the room’s twin queen-sized beds. He looked up at Dean and smiled.

‘Well, I don’t think he’s going to wake up again tonight. Can you find his pyjamas?”

Dean nodded again, and burrowed into the duffle he and Sammy shared, pulling out Sammy’s favourite of the two pairs he’d inherited from Dean – red, with trains. Dad changed Sammy carefully, and then picked him up again while Dean drew the bedclothes down. Sammy didn’t stir, deeply asleep, which at any other time would have worried Dean. Now he was just relieved that the doctor had been right. Dad tucked Sammy in, bending down to kiss his forehead, then straightened up and smiled at Dean.

“Just because Sammy’s skipping dinner’s no reason for us to miss out. SpaghettiOs?”

Dean shrugged. He didn’t care. His tummy was hurting a little, but not from hunger. It had been hurting ever since Sammy had fallen.

Dad ruffled his hair. He didn’t seem upset that Dean wasn’t talking. He just walked over to the room’s tiny kitchenette and started preparing dinner. Dean stayed by Sammy’s bed, watching his brother sleep. Sammy looked paler than usual, and his face still showed signs of tears. He’d cried a little, in shock and pain, when he’d first fallen, but he’d been quiet all the way to the hospital and while the doctor was setting his wrist. Dean’s little brother was cool; there weren’t many four-year-olds who’d be so brave about a broken bone.

“Dean, dinner.”

Dean shook his head. He really wasn’t hungry and, even if he had been, he was pretty sure that the tightness in his throat that was making it hard to speak would make it impossible to swallow. But this was Dad …

“Son, that wasn’t a suggestion. Go wash up.”

Dean nodded - yes, sir - and did as he was told.

Dad had made SpaghettiOs with meatballs – Dean’s favourite. Dean looked at his plate unenthusiastically, but Dad had made dinner an order, and so he picked up his fork. After a few mouthfuls he realised that he really was hungry.

“Do you remember breaking your leg?”

Dean looked up and shook his head. Dad put his fork down and leaned back in his chair. He was smiling.

“You were three; Sammy must have been on his way but we didn’t know it yet. There wasn’t much that could scare your Mom, but you certainly managed it that day. When she called me I could barely understand what she was saying. It wasn’t too bad; you’d just cracked your fibula, one of the bones here,” Dad reached and tapped Dean’s lower left leg under the table, “but your Mom was beside herself. She kept saying, ‘I was watching him; I was watching him’. Apparently you’d just jumped off the monkey-bars and forgotten to bend your knees.”

Dean watched Dad, dinner forgotten. Dad hardly ever talked about Mom; stories like this were to be held onto tightly, like Sammy clutching a “treasure” in his chubby little fist.

“When I got to the hospital you were fine, you were even pretty proud of your cast, but your Mom was a mess. She thought it was her fault. So I said to her the same thing I’m going to say to you.”

Dad leaned forward, his face serious.

“He’s a boy. Growing up, he’s going to have cuts and bruises and the occasional broken bone and maybe even a concussion or two. It won’t be anyone’s fault, definitely not yours. It’s just life.”

“What did Mom say?” Dean asked, his voice a little croaky.

Dad sat back again and smiled. “Well, fortunately I’d distracted her a bit with the whole ‘he’s a boy’ thing. She wanted to know whether I would have felt differently if you’d been a girl; whether I would have expected you to play tea-parties rather than on jungle gyms. She definitely didn’t like the idea of you getting hurt. But she realised that she wasn’t going to be able to stop it. And she realised that when you did get hurt, it wouldn’t be her fault. Just like this isn’t your fault.”

Dean wanted to say that it was; that he’d been watching Sammy; that he should have done something when Sammy started to fall off the climbing frame. But that was what Mom had thought, too. If it hadn’t been Mom’s fault that Dean had broken his leg, and even without remembering it Dean knew that it hadn’t been, maybe Dad was right and it wasn’t Dean’s fault that Sammy had broken his wrist.

“What if Sammy thinks it’s my fault?”

Dad laughed. “Since he screamed for you when he fell, insisted on sitting in your lap on the way to hospital, and wouldn’t let the doctor look at his wrist unless you were holding his other hand, I’m fairly certain Sammy doesn’t blame you. Right?”

“Right,” said Dean, and felt his body sag a little with relief.

“But it’s going to be a pain getting him to keep that cast clean and dry for three weeks,” Dad said, sighing. ‘In fact, you’re going to have so much work to do taking care of him that I think you should go to bed now. You’ll need to be rested up.”

Dean nodded. Sammy had more energy than anyone or anything Dean had ever seen. Getting him to slow down while his wrist healed – Dean shuddered at the thought.

‘So, pyjamas, toilet, teeth, bed.”

“Yes, sir,” said Dean.

*********
The room was quiet and dark, the only sound the occasional rustle as Dad turned a page of his journal under the bedside lamp he’d moved to the table. Dean stared at the dimly-lit ceiling. If Dad was right, and Dean was coming to accept that he was, then Dean wasn’t going to be able to prevent Sammy from getting hurt. He’d been promising Sammy for more than three years that he’d take care of him, that he wouldn’t let anything happen to him or hurt him. Today he’d broken that promise, and Sammy had a broken wrist. Sammy might not blame him, but Dean was finding it hard not to blame himself. But if there was nothing he could do …

Dean slid his arm carefully around Sammy’s shoulders and shuffled himself close, until Sammy’s hair was tickling his chin. “I’m sorry, Sammy,” he whispered. “Dad says that you’re going to get hurt, and sometimes I’m not going to be able to stop it. But I’ll always try. And if you do get hurt, I’ll take care of you. I promise. I’ll look after you.”

He didn’t know whether Sammy had heard him, but when he woke up the next morning Sammy was clinging to him with arms and legs, like a little monkey, and Sammy’s face was buried in his neck.

The End.

Letter from Channel Ten

2008-05-21T02:52:45Z

May 20, 2008

Dear A.

Thank you for writing to us regarding 'Supernatural'. At this stage no decisions have been made as to whether or not Supernatural will be returning to air. Your letter has been passed onto the appropriate department for review.

Letters such as yours provide us with valuable feedback, so thanks again for taking the time to write to us.

Yours sincerely,

Network Ten Publicity.

Hey, they didn't address me as 'Dr'. Nor did anyone sign the letter. Hmm.

Life is good; God is good; I'm very good!

2008-05-05T02:25:41Z

It's after noon and I'm sitting here in my dressing-gown and slippers, reading fanfic. I can do this because (1) it's my day off and (2) my new heating means that I don't need to jump into a hot shower and layers upon layers of clothes as soon as I wake up.

Mondays off! I have no responsibilities today. The weight of the world is off my shoulders. Phones are switched off. Biggest decision I have to make is whether or not to get dressed and drive over to Daylesford to browse the second-hand bookshops or stay in my pajamas all day reading Georgette Heyer.

Life is good!

Fic Rec (and it was written for me!)

2008-05-01T23:25:38Z

Even if you aren't part of Supernatural fandom, go over to

ficwriter1966's journal and read Cry Just a a Little For Me. It was originally going to be my ordination fic, but with that put on hold I'm glad Carol decided not to wait to post it. It is, like all her writing, beautiful and moving and it made me cry (which was a little embarrassing since I had tradespeople in the house giving me heating). The idea of a pastor hiding a secret from the people he cared for is just a bit too close to home for me. But I love it, despite weeping over it. So, sally forth and read!

Identity Crisis (?)

2008-04-23T08:52:40Z

Second church service on Sunday was held in the park. (Note to self: don't have communion in an area frequented by magpies.)

After the service I played on the play-equipment with the children of the congregation. Since I'm much taller than any of them and have much longer legs, I could take the stairs three at a time and swing over fences that they found to be barriers. The children decided this was unfair.

Or, as three-year-old Robbie put it to his mother, "God is cheating!"

Profoundly worried about the future theological development of any child who thinks that I am God.

Hooray!

2008-04-19T01:44:47Z

I've written my sermon, I've written my sermon!

Am printing out draft to read on the train, because now I can go and see Holding the Man at the Melbourne Theatre Company.

Yay! Yesterday's To-Do list is now done!

PS: Thanks for the cheer-leading, yasminke

Friday's To Do List

2008-04-18T01:23:03Z

So, why did I want to be a minister again?

Write liturgies for R.C. and M.M.;
Prepare Orders of Service for R.C. and M.M.;
Write sermon for R.C.;
~~Write article for~~ Lancefield Mercury;
Write Minister's Report for Lancefield AGM;
~~Email R.V, I.K., and D.N. about electing a presbytery rep at the AGM;~~
~~Send J. NCYC info;~~
Ring Mandy re. Sunday School;
Ring Father George re. date for clergy coffee;
Ring Shirley re. Bible readings for Sunday;
Contact NCYC office re. BBQ;
Make card for Doug's 90th birthday;
~~Visit parishioner for afternoon tea;~~

Update: 2.44 PM Getting there, getting there. But need to go off for afternoon tea now and I haven't even begun my sermon!

Update: 4.45 PM Back from afternoon tea. Still got massive sermon work ahead of me. But feeling reasonably organised as I look at all the things I've crossed off. This making a To-Do list thing is helpful!

Voting for the Gold Logie Winner

2008-04-15T06:11:14Z

This is only going to make sense to Australians, and maybe not even to all of them, but this year people can vote for the winner of the Gold Logie without actually buying a copy of TV Week. And there are three nominees that I think are worth voting for.

To vote for Adam Hills SMS "Adam" to 199 888 99.
To vote for Andrew Denton SMS "Andrew" to 199 888 99
To vote for Chris Lilley SMS "Chris" to 199 888 99

I'm not going to bother to tell you how to vote for Natalie Blair, John Howard, Lisa McCune, Rove McManus or Kate Ritchie, but you can probably work it out.

ADAM HILLS FOR THE GOLD!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

I don't understand LJ - help

2008-04-14T07:05:12Z

For the past few days some higher power has refused to notify me when LJ friends post.

I get notified if someone posts in a community I read, but not if an individual posts in their journal.

I've checked my settings and they still say that I'll get an email when various friends post - but said emails aren't coming. I thought some people had been quiet over the weekend, but checking my friends' page I've discovered they've actually been quite busy wee beavers.

Anyone out there got any ideas?

The weather gods hate me!

2008-04-02T06:25:42Z

Well, I'm not on my way to Canberra. Driving over to my mother's place to drop off a spare set of keys to my house I was almost blown off the road - a combination of very high winds and a very small car.

Things just got worse from there. Apparently we're having what the radio describes as a "once in a decade weather event". The high winds were followed by rain, and then by a dust storm.

Did you know that if you combine rain and a dust storm it rains mud? Not really surprising, but not something I'd seen before. And since the dust is orange, the mud was red. Driving through it was a somewhat freaky experience.

So, I am not on a driving holiday. I am back at home again, having pretty much given up on the trip to Canberra.

I must have really, really annoyed the weather gods! I go to spend a week by the beach and the town I stay in gets a month's worth of rain over two days. I decide to drive north and the state gets a "once in a decade weather event". What have I done?!?

Okay, more time at home curled up under a blanket reading. Not a dreadful way to spend a holiday, but not really what I had planned.

Meta musings and other meanderings

2008-04-02T01:25:02Z

So, I think I submitted the Supernatural essay. At least, the email didn't bounce back to me. I woke up in the middle of the night realising that there'd also been no acknowledgment of its arrival and I have no idea whether the thing made it. But, I have done all I can - it's off. I didn't pike and say, "Oh well, it's never going to be accepted, no point in submitting". I overcame my fear of failure long enough to actually be willing to fail. This is a big step for me!

I'm actually quite pleased with it. Am certain that it will not be one of the three chosen; sangerin and I tried yesterday to estimate how many essays supernatural.tv will receive - my number was bigger than hers because she does not yet appreciate the genius that is Supernatural but we both came up with quite large ones. But I am definitely happy enough with it to be able to promise to post it here after the first of June, which is when winners will be announced. SciFiNutTX and ficwriter1966 both gave me extremely useful feedback (to the level of "baby Sammy is in a crib, not a cot") and yasminke's editing was wonderful. So, I'll post it here. Then (since my flist is small and exclusive and I'm happy to keep it that way given my maudlin sexual-religious politics posts) I expect you all to pimp it widely.

My only disappointment is that I ended up keeping the absolutely dull as ditchwater title "Good and Evil in Supernatural" rather than my preferred "A Very Supernatural Theodicy". "Theodicy" is one of my favourite words. It comes from the Greek words theos = god and dike = justice and is the part of theology that asks how a world created by a benevolent God can include evil. If God is both all good and all powerful, why the Holocaust, for example? Classical answers depend on human free will - as does Supernatural! But I was advised (I stick my tongue out at yasminke and sangerin) not to use the word "theodicy" and I agreed. Huh, when I post it here it will have my preferred title and people will just learn a new word. (Not that LJ recognises "theodicy"; it is suggesting that I really mean "Theodore" or "theory" or "thesis". Uneducated LJ!)

Anyway, about to meander up to Canberra, our nation's fine capital. Will take a couple of days to do an eight hour drive, so I have time to stop and smell the roses - or whatever one smells in Wagga and Gundagai. Stay safe.

Turn on Radio National Now!

2008-03-31T02:36:45Z

If you are out there (in Australia) NOW, turn on Radio National. The Philosopher's Zone is doing an article on Buffy the Vampire Slayer!

Holidays and I mix well not

2008-03-29T07:23:38Z

So, the week before my holiday the temperature hits 39 degrees. The week of my holiday, when I head down the beach, the state gets a month's worth of rainfall in two days.

Is God toying with me?

Holiday started weirdly when I realised that I don't actually know how to relax. Minor panic attacks about not having a to-do list. Things then improved, and I started to enjoy drinking enormous cups of tea while curled up in bed with Patricia Wentworth's Miss Silver series and the Quantum Leap novels of the fabulous ficwriter1966.

Sadly, the weather didn't improve, too cold for swimming and I kept getting rained on while walking along piers and breakwaters and through the grounds of lighthouses. After four days I gave up and came home; if my holiday is going to involve huddling indoors under a blanket while reading books and drinking tea, I may as well do that at the manse (while refusing to answer the phone or open the mail and pretending that I'm still elsewhere).

Plus, I wanted to visit my grandmother, who is in hospital, and my grandfather, who has just been moved into a nursing home. So my sister and I did that yesterday. That's a whole other post, 'cos I ended up sitting in the gutter outside the nursing home crying on my sister's shoulder because our grandfather didn't recognise us.

Anyway, a few more days at home before heading north to Canberra to see beloved old friend and friend's wife and daughter.

And working on wretched meta post-insightful comments from various people. Bloody meta. Am now working on it just because I refuse to be beaten by it!

UGH!!!!!!!!

2008-03-22T01:45:57Z

Sitting here writing the sermon for tomorrow and every time I try to write "Christian" it comes out "Christina". Who is this Christina and why does she insist on invading my sermon?

You are NOT going to believe this!

2008-03-21T22:18:52Z

I'm meant to be getting ready to go and serve hot cross buns to people at the local farmers' market, but I just had to tell you about this first.

Sitting in my lounge room, eating toast, drinking coffee, reading the paper, I hear a strange banging noise coming from outside. Look out, can't see anything. Go back to reading. Then I hear the sound of something hitting my rubbish bin. Stand up, look out again and see - a KANGAROO. Kangaroo bounces around my car port for a while, before heading back down the driveway and out onto the street.

I've had to watch out for kangaroos while driving - but I've never had one actually in my garden before. I think my semi-rural town just became officially rural.

The Weather

2008-03-14T13:16:36Z

Too hot to sleep. Much, much too hot. What's up with autumn being hotter than summer?

Lay down and thought happy thoughts and tried to sleep, 'cos I'm meeting an engaged couple in Melbourne tomorrow morning and need to get down there reasonably early in a reasonably coherent state. Didn't work. Gonna read fanfic now. Maybe if I read about snow I'll cool down?