Chicken Tonight.

cat ~ [Kat]/n. Dog with an attitude problem.



My how things have changed around here! Remember those kittens we brought home? The ones who hid wedged in the deepest, darkest corners under the couch, at the back of the bed, in the cupboards? Yes, those kittens. The ones who bolted upstairs if a parrot squawked, or the postman knocked & definitely on Sunday mornings when everyone arrived for church. The very same kittens. We haven't changed cats but the cats have changed.



Yes, I know they're waxing sleek & fat. I'm not discussing their ever expanding girth or the way they carry their tails like a yard~arm pennant waving merrily in a rising breeze. This is a quite different breed of cat. These are the cats who get up in the morning & realise it's Sunday. Sunday is chicken day. Sundays they hurtle downstairs like 2 furry cannon balls & watch me like a hawk until I rummage for the car keys & head for the door. Instead of rushing outside to join me they rush to the end window from whence they can watch with great anticipation for my return because on Sundays when I depart to procure the Sunday paper & the salad makings I bring home hot roasted chicken. The smell proceeds me down the path so that by the time I arrive in my kitchen the cats are frantic with anticipation. Chicken, chicken, chicken tonight!



Now I hate breaking apart a chook. Totally gross. And greasy. Slimy even. Oh, & catty. I give that lovely job to Ditz & Ditz gets mobbed. Ditz gets the furballs under her feet, twining through her ankles, sinking anxious claws into her flesh. She gets the demanding meows, & the small impatient bodies launching into space in the vain hope they can get to the chicken before Ditz gets to them. Ditz yells, I snicker, the cats go frantic but Ditz collects a small portion of scraps that she doles out judiciously to the best behaved puss in turn.



Marlow is a chook fanatic. He adores a nice juicy piece of chicken. Fed, the cats slink away before our guest arrive ~ or they were. Things have changed. Yesterday as our friends arrived the cats rushed out to greet them, lifting small pointy chins to be rubbed, ears scratched, backs stroked. They hurtled round the room in a frenzy of delight showing off abysmally, displaying every cute catty trick they know & all their well known charms. They delighted in being the centre of attention & having welcomed our guests settled down to listen to the scripture & chat until it was time to makes the rounds at lunch to procure further tid~bits. Our friends are sweet & knowing our cats put a little extra chicken on their plates, nicely shredded, to tempt shy puss' their way. The kittens weren't shy! They begged, they cajoled, they bribed. They're spoilt. Oh, yes they are. And they're just too cute for words.

For Fantasy Readers.

Jeanne, here, posted a 100 best children's books list. Book lists are always fun. The problem is that while I read, & still read, widely, my first preference has always been for fantasy ~ a genre that is notably missing from many of these lists yet has some of the best writing & best children's authors going. To get a reader to suspend reality long enough to read an entire novel requires talent. So I have made a Best Ten list of my own; fantasy authors that are worth every moment to read. Missing from my list are most of the stand~bys that sometimes make regular lists ~ The Wind In the Willows [I can't abide talking animals], The Hobbit [Tolkien needed a ruthless editor who could stop him waffling], The Wizard of Oz [ho~hum] & Pinocchio, which I just plain didn't like.

So here we go:

1.The Owl Service ~ Alan Garner. This has got to be about the best ever YA fantasy.

2. Sabriel ~ Garth Nix. Innovative & genuinly original with very strong writing.

3. The Spellcoats ~ Diana Wynne Jones [she writes for a variety of ages; this one's for older children]

4. The Children of Greene Knowe ~ Lucy M. Boston

5.The Little Prince ~ Antoine Saint~Exupery

6. The Dark is Rising [2nd book in The Dark is Rising series] ~Susan Cooper

7. Linnets & Valerians ~ Elizabeth Goudge [Lots of lovely books to choose from with this lady]

8. Andra ~Louise Lawrence

9. A Wrinkle in Time ~Madeline L'Engle

10. The Last Battle ~ C.S. Lewis.

Even better about 1/2 are Christian writers! Some more than others but there it is.

So, if you like fantasy, which ones have you read? Or, even better, whom do you read & like? Do share.

Most people do not consider dawn to be an attractive experience ~ unless they are still up ~ Ellen Goodman




I am not a morning person. I do not leap out of bed delighting in a new day. These days it's more of a creak as I fumble for my glasses to reduce the blur then pad downstairs with only one thought in mind: coffee. Lots & lots of coffee.




Nope, mornings are not my thing. I began as a night owl. Nights were quiet. Nights were peaceful. Nights were for me ~ & the cats. My kids like nights too. As they grew bigger & stayed up later it became harder & harder to to find that quiet space ~ unless I got up early. Early early. Like before the sun is up early.




Our bedroom is almost all windows with panoramic views through the trees over Quandamooka ~ & we don't do curtains. In summer it is light by 4am ~ & it is the only cool part of the day! In this sub~tropical climate the storms thunder down at night & the early morning air is a rich heady elixir. That first hour of the day is a fey time, shadowy with dreams & half~thoughts, so still the ticking clocks resound like gongs.




I wade through shadows thick as molasses as the cats lift their heads in greeting, ears pricked in anticipation. I slide the door, throw the stair light switch & wait as the cats shoot between my legs & hurtle down the stairs, tails carried so high they arch over their backs.




I follow more slowly, turning off the light at the bottom. The hallway is dark but there are no cats there. They are already in the kitchen eyeing their empty dishes with disgust, staring through the sliding glass door at the day. I punch the computer button & pick up the cat dishes on my way to the kettle. I pour cat biscuits into cat dishes, cats mewling anxiously about my ankles. Kirby has learnt to wait, his eyes fastened on me, every movement noted. Marlow is still a kitten with a kitten's impatience. He tangles through my feet as I set the dishes down in his anxiety to get to the food before it disappears.




I stare vaguely through the kitchen window as I wait for the kettle to boil. The moriah needs cutting back but the small white flowers are filling the kitchen with scent. There is still sea mist cradling the islands in a gauzy shawl. I can hear the mud popping through the mangroves & the slosh of water tells me the tide is high. The first birds call uncertainly as the sky lightens imperceptibly.




I make coffee in my thick green mug, add a dollop of ice cream if there is any, waggle the mouse to see if the computer has loaded. Kirby complains that the door is shut, but shut it will stay until it is light outside. He jumps up on the desk & paddles all over the keyboard in protest. The computer has a spac attack as he meanders back & forth then settles in front of the key board purring dementedly. Marlow gently pricks his claws through my pant leg so I reach down & tuck him into the curl of my left arm. He too begins a deep rumbling purr. One armed, my keyboard out of reach & two cats creating a small earthquake about me I sip my coffee & begin reading your blogs.




It is very quiet: clocks tick, cats purr, the computer makes computer noises. Outside the sky glows rosy. There is an explosion of sound as the birds discover the day. I throw washing in the machine, grab my bible & more coffee, throw open the door & settle in a wicker chair on the verandah. Kirby shoots past me to explore, then begins mewling anxiously to find me. Marlow follows more slowly, collapsing at my feet & lolling abandonedly. Light glints on leaf edges like a scything sword. The bay spreads out like a pewter mirror under bunching clouds. The sea smell of salt & mud wafts up from the beach. Kirby chitters at the butcher birds. The silence is not silent but deep & impenetrable. If I am lucky I still have an hour of quiet, an hour to sink into the silence, an hour to be deeply grateful for this quiet time before the busyness of the day begins.




It begins with banging & the peculiar sput~sput of a nail gun. The builders are on the job early dragging Ditz protesting from her bed before she is ready to rise. All unnoticed the peace, the quiet, the silence has gone, swallowed up by people living their lives. Cars gun down the main road, over loud in the early morning air. The thrum of boat engines carries loudly across the water. Birds fight & squabble after the gum blossom, screech & squawk & sing declaring their territories, wooing mates, warning predators. The cats sensibly curl up in disgust but I carry the early morning peace within me like a precious jewel into the hustle & bustle, a quiet oasis as chaos whirls about me.

If I had to choose....

"In the kitchen was the crisis of dishing up, but it was over in a minute: chicken with dumplings like like yellow clouds floating on top, coleslaw in green & white glacier drifts, & mashed potatoes like cloud & snow together were carried in by Emanuela.

Eliza stood in the doorway, untying her apron.

Friends, she said, "supper is ready."

They were 28 at table. Young & old. Oldsters for whom food had a meaning, & young 'uns ~ & in between, those whose hearts had not yet fed, & who could eat on bread or stone, so little were they centred in swallowing, so much in seeing, searching.

Eliza was the minister at the table, but it was a man's place to say grace. Grace was silent, except on occasions like this ~ with Methodists present who liked to hear what people were saying to God." The Illumination ~ Jessamyn West

My book shelves are weighed down & weighed under. Books lie in piles beside sofa chairs & on the coffee table, on bedside tables & atop the stereo. They have followed us from house to house like stalkers & though I cull diligently, still they multiply like some noxious disease.

Many of my favourites were in poor repair when I acquired them, hardbacks I could get no other way, & now so loved they are brittle & battered, their pages yellow & stained with age, sticky tape marks holding torn pages in place, yet even if I could I wouldn't replace them. Old books smell differently, smell better. There is something about turning the pages others have turned, seeing the grubby thumb mark left by a gardener, the coffee stain, the smear of chocolate, lives aligning. Did someone accidentally spit chocolate laughing at the quirky joke I laugh at? Put down their coffee cup anywhere to grub surreptitiously for a tissue hoping those beady eyed children who find mother's tears so funny wouldn't notice she was crying over a book!! Did some other gardener pick this up over lunch delighting in the rush of names: May Duke cherries; Stump the World, a white fleshed peach; the Lucretia dewberry, a wonder for pies & cobblers. Pears, currant bushes, gooseberries, whatever the land could support or fancy demand in the way of fruits, Jess had them.

Jessamyn West's The Friendly Persuasion is cracked down the spine but it was printed in 1946 so can be expected to be geriatric & in need of a little TLC. I hunted for years for a copy of this. I adored it from the moment I first saw the movie; the book is better ~ & though I have read the sequel, Except for Me & Thee, I still don't own a copy.

Why does one love this book & not some other? Why do I own this but not Fox's life, Penn's Fruits of Solitude or Woolman's Journal? My children don't get it. There is no plot. This is a collection of short stories about ordinary every day life ~ ah, but so well written one feels like one is standing in the Birdwell's kitchen smelling the summer ripened peach pies & cobblers, seeing the light glitter on the polished silverware on the table, the rosy hue of the cloth. There is a gentleness to this book that soothes my soul, lightened by such a subtle quirky humour that slides so slyly into the text you almost miss it. It is the picture of a marriage that has ripened to full maturity, bursting with both the sweetness & tartness of love.

"Thee, Elza interrupted him, " is like all men. Thee wants to have thy poetry & eat it too."

As I read, yet again, of life lived along the Muscatatuck before modern conveniences ~ & I sure do love my modern conveniences! ~ what really draws me again & again to this book is that West is a painter. She paints with words. As I read I can see so vividly what she is talking about though it is in the details she chooses to leave out that flesh out the picture. Jess, for example, has a a big Irish tenor's nose ~ I know that about him & everything else about him falls into place. Eliza has plump little hands like birds & I can see her vividly.

Mind you I would love this book for one story alone: First Day Finish. For the full impact it is wise to also read A Likely Exchange, but even without that this is an absolute howler of a story that even knowing it as well as I do still has me laughing out loud till the tears stream down my face & I am hysterical with laughter.

When the day of disaster strikes, or I have to list the 5 things I would take with me to a deserted island, this would be the first thing I grabbed, the top of my list ~ even before my bible. Want to know how to live a Christ like life, this books shows you. The chances of my being able to replace my bible are extraordinarily high. If I lose this book I may never be able to replace it. I'm not taking any chances.

Autumn is a weather~cock, Blown every way...Christina Rosetti.





Autumn is the best of all worlds. The worst of the heat is gone but the sunshine soaks into aching bones & gently warms them. The edges of the day are sharply crystalline. There is a glitter to the light & a crisp crunch to the air. At night the stars blaze like fireworks in a vast & inky sky, the cats come looking for laps, snuggling purrs, the wool comes out, the crotchet hooks come out, Ditz & I snuggle under doonas while I read aloud. Yes, I still read aloud to my 14 year old.



Autumn is subtle. There is no brazen fall of wanton leaves all the colours of the rainbow. No frosted lace upon the grass. No hint of snow & ice to come. Autumn slinks, cat~like through a thread of days: a delicate hint of coolness like an exploring whisker, a gentle paw against the face saying, I'm here, a settling weight...The blue of Quandamooka glows darker, dances with a thousand diamonds. The rains come softly, unlike the tumultuous summer storms that rage along the gutters & thunder down the hill in a torrential display of temper. The nights grow longer. I turn the lights on when I go to prepare tea, turn them on as I come downstairs in the morning & the morning light falls differently, throwing different patterns across polished floorboards.



There is a Quaker silence to the burgeoning day; the flash of God's Spirit, a heady peace in the dappling light. My soul magnifies the Lord, my God, for He has set me in this place abounding with good things & my soul rejoices.

Thoughts out of Sunday's discussion.

For it is time for judgement to begin with the family of God; & if it begins with
us, what will be the outcome for those who do not obey the gospel of God? 1Peter 4:17


This has been on my heart for a long time. Everywhere I see the church compromised & compromising. I see God's people mislead, misdirected & led astray. I see Gods' people compromising, acknowledging God with their lips, denying His power.


It came up on Sunday, the Catholic Church sadly being in the news yet again for pedophilia. God is dealing with His people. Sin in the church may be tolerated by us but not by God. Even though His Name gets dragged through the mud God is cleansing His church.


We are warned to be above criticism. To live such exemplary lives no fault can be found in us by our detractors. To be holy because God is Holy. Our example is Daniel, who remained holy in the midst of corrupt & hedonistic Babylon & in whom his detractors could find no fault ~ so they invented one & paid the ultimate price.


Now judgement is not condemnation. There is no condemnation for those who love God & are called according to his purposes. It is discipline. In Psalm 89 God says: I will punish their sin with the rod, their iniquity with flogging; but I will not take my love from him, nor will I ever betray my faithfulness. If we are God's we can expect his watchful eye on us & if His eye is on us we can expect both an outpouring of His love & His discipline when we stray.


We are without excuse for the state our churches are in. 1 Timothy gives very clear instructions about the sort of qualifications a church leader must have. We violate these conditions at our peril, to our own detriment. Sin is to be rebuked publicly. When was the last time you heard a minister rebuke sin from the pulpit? I don't mean the big general sins of the unregenerate world, but the known, unrepentant sin of a believer. Me neither. Just thinking about it makes me squirm. It is exactly that wooliness, that lack of the single eye that is focused on Jesus, that has got us where we are today till we have a homosexual Anglican Bishop, hundreds of children violated & their trust in the goodness of God poisoned, Christians more focused on what they can get than what they can give, easy tolerance posturing for genuine love & a world that shakes its head in disgust wishing to be saved from the questionable mercy of God's people. If it makes me sick, just think how God feels about it!


Rather strongly according to both Timothy & Peter & scripture always maintains a balance. Judgement is coming. It begins with us because in all honesty we should know better. We have the Spirit within us to lead us into all truth & righteousness. It begins with us because the separation has already begun & the world should hate us. Persecution is our allotment. It is allowed to purify & refine us.


We are designed for a particular purpose, as Holy Vessels to be used in worship, sanctified [set apart] for that particular purpose. I'm not going to sidetrack into what worship is or is not. I'm not going to delve into what to me is obvious; that of any sin at all it can be said, "There but for the grace of God go I" & because of that alone I have no right to be snooty about those who have fallen to a particular temptation. One does not have to condone sin in order to love.


Nope. The glaring truth is that Jesus has promised He will return & when he comes next it will not be as the helpless babe wrapped in swaddling clothes but as the Prince of the King of the Universe & given authority to execute judgement upon all of creation. One of the greatest lies Satan has told is the one of gentle Jesus meek & mild. It has led people to believe Jesus was & is a weakling but I once went looking for the very first sermon Jesus ever preached. Do you know what it was? Both the Gospel of Mark & the Gospel of Matthew state it was : "Repent, for the kingdom of God is at hand!" Nothing too meek & mild about that. What's more He continued to say it & ended up on a cross.


It is time for those of us known by His name to listen up to what He says, repent & love Him with heart & soul & mind & not just with our lips.

Finding Jesus in the Sunday paper.

"The Spirit of the Lord is upon me, because He has anointed me to preach good news to the poor. He has sent me to proclaim freedom for the prisoners & recovery of sight for the blind, to release the oppressed, to proclaim the year of the lord's favour." Luke4:18 & 19

It is easy to get caught up in religion ~ which tends to focus on dead things like doctrine, theology, apologetics ~ & forget the realities. Realities like Jesus was an actual historical person, born into a certain period of time, into a certain culture, with certain physical & mental attributes.

He had a family: mum, dad, siblings. [So glad not to be one of his siblings. Imagine growing up with the perfect child!] He had a family name. Did his family, I wonder, shorten Yeshua to Yoshi? Or something similar? Were there family jokes about his quirks as a toddler? Did he get excited about hunting for the afikomen during passover as a child?

Beyond the candles & the liturgy, beyond the ritual & the rites, beyond the sacraments & the sacred icons, lies the reality. I appreciate any scholarship that throws light on the person who was both a man & a God. Beautiful as religion can be I would rather have the real, living relationship of knowing this Jesus who left Heaven to live amongst us as a man & experienced the world as a man, with all it's beauty & ugliness & the sheer physical exhaustion that comes from inhabiting a mortal body.

One of the blessings of being a random abstract thinker is that it doesn't matter when or how information filters through. Information is like a jig~saw piece. When you find a piece you merely slot it into it's allotted place, where it nestles seamlessly without disturbing anything else. If a piece is wrong you can remove it without dramas.

How does this work? I was taught Jesus was trained as a carpenter. Being married to a man who is a tradie that wasn't a good fit in my mind but for want of better information I took it at face value. Then I read Sunday's paper a fortnight ago.

Sunday's paper is normally a waste of good paper & should be a hanging offence but a fortnight ago, tucked away on page 39, was an article ~ an article, not a line, not a paragraph, an article!~on Jesus. Knock me down with a feather!

The article was on the work British biblical scholar Dr Adam Bradford has been doing & his conclusions are based on mistranslations of the original text. [And in case you're wondering seeing I don't read either Greek or Aramaic, I went on~line & confirmed his translations from 2 other sources, one of which was decidedly not Christian!]

The Greek word used to describe Joseph's profession is "tekton" ~ carpenter; or more accurately, builder/architect. Joseph is usually described in translation as a "just man" ~ but the word man is not in the original Greek & the word translated as "just" meant a senior religious scholar involved in the judiciary. For me slotting in this alternative for Jesus background was easy. What's more it was like throwing a switch & have all the lights come on at once.

For one thing it probably means Jesus was much better educated than one ever suspected. If that is so it explains much better how he was able to hold his own in the temple amongst the rabbis at just 12 years old. He probably trained under Joseph in religion as well as carpentry. Jesus certainly knew His scriptures & someone certainly taught Him those. Explains His adeptness when dealing with the legal eagles of his day too. He was trained & could argue them into the ground. [Yes, I know he was God too but I've always believed Jesus had to learn things the same way we do; none of it was handed to Him on a platter.]

It explains how He got away with what He was doing for so long. He wasn't some obscure nobody the rabbis could afford to ignore but the son of a respected leader whom the scribes & pharisees, at one point, had high hopes of. Explains His mother & sisters trying to drag Him home when they thought He was compromising the good name of the family. Actually, it explains an awful lot if Bradford is right & Jesus became the most senior rabbi in Judea of His time.

What difference does this information make to my [or anyone else's] relationship with the God of the universe? In one way not a lot. In another way everything! It's not hard to grasp if you put it in completely human terms. I have a friend whom I've known for quite some time; even shared private & intimate information with, then one day they tell me something about themselves I didn't know. Immediately I feel that I know them so much better for that information. I have a whole new understanding of that person, a whole new insight into why they are the way they are.

The Lord does this for me, you know. Gives me these little treats from time to time knowing perfectly well my mind will go ticky~tocky, ticky~tocky, slamming all these scriptures down, wham! wham! wham! one after another as though we were playing a high speed version of Snap.

Yeah, I know. My mind goes strange places sometimes.

Ok, My American buddies. These are pumpkins.

Butternut pumpkin.

Queensland Blue pumpkin.

Jap pumpkin.

These are squash. The green thing is a zucchini.

And we share a common language!!!

M.I.A

"Worldwide, nearly a million people commit suicide every year, more than those murdered or killed in war."

Suicide. It happens. It's devastating. It is most predominant amongst those without hope ~ not always the disadvantaged in our society but often. Often our young, who are our future.

Having worked with street kids I know even if they aren't technically suicidal their behaviour is often so self~destructive the end result is the same; death by degrees.

This is where Liddy is this week. Nope, she's too young to actually work with these kids but she can do the radio stuff. See Liddy thinks with her feet. Ditz & I, we think with our eyes, but Liddy is a kinesthetic. It is only in the moving & doing she is able to think things through, work things out. Drives me batty. Whereas I would sit quietly contemplating my navel waiting on the definitive word from God ~ & perfectly content ~ Liddy is driven to act as if in the doing itself she gains clarity & direction.

And the thing is, from my point of view, it is so much wasted effort. God has said Chile. He hasn't rescinded on that. Trusting when everything around you says it's just not going to happen is one of the hardest things you can be asked to do ~ & Liddy's sooo patient. Not.

As I was chatting with Dear Friends, friends I haven't managed to catch up with in some time but who have prayer partnered with me for years & who faithfully pray for us each & every day, The Raven interrupted to say God had spoken & He has everything under control. Well, we know that. It's the details that are being a little hazy. Just the same, confirmed. Now if I can just stop my daughter from spinning like a top long enough to listen we may be able to discern where & how & what she is meant to be doing between now & Chile.

PS: seriously, I don't envy God having to deal with this child [young woman.] Stubborn. Impatient. Pig~headed. No idea where she inherited any of it from! ☺

It's a conspiracy, I swear. We go on break & I spend the entire time sorting out messes. My stress levels go through the roof until I can't wait for the hols to be over just so I can whinge about a different chaos!

Mostly I've been on the computer until I practically have square eyes doing stuff for Dearest but yesterday was so lovely I began in the garden ~ until our postie arrived & I finally had a gut full of our phone provider. Dearest changed it ~ none of what was promised has ever been provided & the service just gets worse & worse & more & more expensive. All day it took me to unservice them!!! UGH! I hate dealing with companies that don't give a rat's wiggly~jiggley about their customers & who's personel are rude & arrogant. It might have taken me the whole day but we have a new provider ~ mostly chosen because they took the time to s~l~o~w~l~y explain everything to me, e~mailed the deal through so we could double check it in peace, did, in fact, provide a service.

Where is my knight in shining armour when I need him?