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Archive for the ‘Quotidianae’ Category

 

Recently Read:

Current Reading:

Current Listening

Current Viewing:

(including movies I’ve seen this summer)

  • The Avengers
  • Iron Man
  • Iron Man 2
  • Men in Black 3
  • Farscape
  • Life on Mars, the British series with John Simm about a police detective who wakes up thirty years into his own past after being hit by a car

Current Obsessions:

  • The BBC’s Sherlock and its lead actors, Benedict Cumberbatch and Martin Freeman
  • the writing of Aidan Kelly
  • ice cream, lots of ice cream
  • the two red-eared slider turtles we’re housesitting this summer, Beatrix and Matilda, the Shell Sisters

 

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Hello, gentle readers!

On Tuesday morning, I decided to import posts from my newer blog, Notes of a Wayward Anglican (which I shall be deleting). Whatever label I may be using this week, it just makes more sense to me to continue updating this blog, where I have readers and a history and continuity.

Then I called my acupuncturist and asked her advice because I was having spasmodic pains in the center of my chest, right behind or around the sternum. Her advice: “You need to go to the ER. Right now. Go.” I had no sweating, no shortness of breath, no pain in my left arm or my jaw–but I’m forty-six and overweight, and heart attacks do not always present with the classic symptoms in women of my age.

I went. And wound up spending the night at the hospital, wearing a heart monitor and getting my blood drawn at unconscionable hours, and taking a stress test on Wednesday morning.

Diagnosis: Whatever it was, it wasn’t my heart. Perversely, I feel rather healthy after the doctors ruled out so many things that *aren’t* wrong with me: Asthma, bronchitis, shortness of breath, hiatal hernia. I performed well on the stress test; in fact, walking with my husband last Sunday was probably more stressful in spots, thanks to climbing a couple of hills that were steeper than any treadmill version could be.

I’m back at work today and just got two deliveries at once, so to sum up before I turn my attention back to the day’s tasks, I’ll just say: I am fine, I’ll be seeing my acupuncturist and my M.D. as a follow-up, and I’m probably not done with Druidry, or with Buddhism, or with Jesus and the Anglican tradition. The road goes ever on.

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These days you have an extraordinary capacity to perform magic. And when I use that word “magic,” I mean it in a very specific sense: causing practical changes to occur in accordance with your most noble and beautiful desires. I’m not talking about the kind of “magic” that helps you gratify mediocre wishes or tawdry fantasies. I’m not saying you should go on an acquisitive binge as you gather up booty and bragging points. Rather I’m letting you know that you have the power to create inspiring transformations in the way your life works.

In about a month, I will be moving to a new home: a small carriage house in downtown, five or ten minutes’ walk from work, close to two supermarkets, theatres and concert halls, a plethora of restaurants, and all the major bus routes.  We get the keys tomorrow morning, and our final move-in date is just before the Summer Solstice.

I’ve been… kinda pre-occupied.

Expect blogging to resume here soon.

A joyful Beltaine-tide to all.

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It actually looks like winter hereabouts, for a change–a rare and heavy December snowfall from last weekend still covers much of the city, and temperatures have been just above freezing all week.

Right now I’m engaging in the first of my Christmas Eve traditions: Listening to the service of Nine Lessons & Carols from King’s College, Cambridge, on public radio.  They’re singing the lovely Harold Darke setting of Christina Rossetti’s poem “In the bleak midwinter” and have just launched into a rousing accompanied version of “Personent Hodie”–I think this is the setting by Gustav Holst.

At this time of year, nothing beats the English carol tradition for me.  English devotion to the Virgin and celebration of the Incarnation, expressed in song, epitomize Advent and Christmas for me, from the marvelous medieval texts celebrating the Blessed Virgin to the twentieth-century settings of them from British composers.  I can listen to carols with the classic descants by David Willcocks over and over and never complain, never wish for anything different (even if I can no longer sing those descants without, er, straining myself).

Tonight, another tradition: Midnight Mass at the church where my husband is the organist.  The choir will be performing a Mozart Mass accompanied by organ and strings, along with a musical prelude.  It will be well after one in the morning before we get home and settle into bed, intoxicated with musical ecstasy.  Fortunately, we won’t be awakened by small eager children at oh-god-hundred; there are advantages to having one’s offspring grow up and do their own Christmas shopping.  *g*

And now, we’re off to enact another personal Christmas tradition: Shopping for wrapping supplies so we can wrap gifts at the last minute.  Happy Christmas, everyone!

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A mug of strong black tea with plenty of milk and sweetener.

The sound of a cockatiel grinding its beak, a sound of peace and contentment.

The sweet-salty scent of a cockatiel’s feathers, rather like white corn chips.

Spotting a cardinal in a tree.

Good creamy yogurt.

Hot baths with scented salts.

The first time I play the soundtrack of A Charlie Brown Christmas in December.

An afternoon nap.

A glass of good red wine.

Simple, uncomplicated sense pleasures are the food of the soul.

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  • Waking early, without an alarm, prompted by sunlight and the calling of a beloved pet bird.
  • Doing some exercise, actual physical exercise, first thing, and feeling it open everything up.
  • East Friesian Broken Blend from SpecialTeas.com.
  • Cheerful birds who want to talk and eat and play, especially play.
  • Sunlight through the blooming pear tree.
  • Feeling like there is no rush or hurry anywhere in the world.

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