Puppy dog tales

Alas! Jonny's epic is no more and is but a medium length tail with a plastic syringe cylinder and a blue bandage on the end.

The vet removed about six inches of tail yesterday because the blackened end of it was necrotic tissue that was beyond saving. He also has a bandage on his paw where a split and infected claw has been removed. Poor old boy - he's had a bad week!

He seems none the worse for the loss. In fact he's definitely much happier.

Jess has been flaunting her own perfect little tail. She gets her come-uppance on Monday when she goes to the furdresser for a number two all over.

Ouch!

My swim yesterday made my muscles sore - yowee! I think it must be to do with not warming up or cooling down because I was pushed for time - a hapless exam candidate awaited me at nine o' clock. I usually swim eight lengths slowly to warm up, then sixteen at full throttle (which for me is still slowly but with more oomph) followed by eight slower ones again. That way, I don't feel a thing the next day. Yesterday I just swam twenty lengths going all out because I wanted to have time for my breakfast before school. The feeling of still being slightly damp in my clothes reminded me of the old days when the wee wifie who handed out the towels would make you a mug of Bovril for a penny so you didn't catch a chill going home.

And talking of ouch - poor Jonny has a very sore tail which is probably the result of an unwise wag. It's going to need a trip to the vet's I think.

Healing

I feel as if I've been in a Susan Howatch novel these last few weeks. Difficult times cause strong emotions and strong emotions can wreak havoc if you're not careful. Well, havoc has been wreaked but healing is well on the way, thanks to a lot of arduous and difficult work. It's still not there because there are a couple of final bridges to be crossed but I'm still hopeful.

I just had to write a sermon about the Holy Spirit for Pentecost. It seemed rather apt really.

The 'S' Word

'I'm sorry' is such a simple little phrase - two wee words. Well, two and a half if you're going to be pedantic, and yes, you need all of them - 'sorry' by itself doesn't quite do it. And yet they're incredibly powerful. They have the power to change the direction of mood - turn anger towards reconciliation, hurt towards healing, coldness towards warmth. They can express strong emotion or else be merely polite, but I believe they're vital. I'm not much good at linguistics, but the word 'vital' was chosen carefully to express something I believe strongly. Those two little words have life. They can restore life and make it worth living again.

Walking Theatre the Cowal Way

After what has been a pretty grim couple of weeks for Rob and me, we had a real treat at the weekend with the arrival of Jetta who was coming for the launch of her latest book, The Cowal Way, in Glendaruel. The entertainment was provided by the Walking Theatre Company and took place in the woods on a nearby hill. The play was about Rabbie Burns' time as an exciseman and his relationship with Highland Mary and took place during a guided walk in gorgeous dappled sunlight through a wood carpeted with wood-sorrel and bluebells. Characters jumped out at us periodically throughout the walk, including one chap who appeared to be one of the punters and was deep in conversation with Jetta when he suddenly leapt into action. It was pretty enjoyable after the initial nonsense about health and safety and signing declaimers which held up the beginning interminably and seemed pointless since we'd already signed at the village hall. Actually, the small terrier that accompanied us was the most entertaining of all.

The book-launch itself was sweetly old-fashioned in Glendaruel village hall with tea and cakes and a speech by a local politician. I feel as though my life is at last back on track.

Fidelio's had her bottom anti-fouled and is ready for the water. She goes in on Tuesday - yay!

Lizzies and bluebells

Tomorrow is Liz's funeral. It's fitting that she died in May when the bluebells are out. Mum - also Liz of course - died in May too and the bluebells always remind me of her. Now I'll be remembering both Lizzies in the prettiest month of the year. Both suffered a long illness that they made light of and both were 'different'. They were both rebels and rejected their parents' way of life, living life to the full on their chosen paths. Both suffered feelings of guilt for this rejection. Both lit up the room when they entered and shone like stars. Both held themselves in low esteem. Both died too early.

So come tomorrow when we say goodbye to Liz, I'll be remembering her namesake as well. Rest in peace brave souls!

Decisions, decisions

Today is sunny and the garden calls me - mostly for damage limitation - serious weeding will ensue! The swimming pool also calls me as I've not been for my regular swim for nearly three weeks and I miss it. However, I made the decision to use the energy I'd have used up swimming to clean my dirty house since visitors are imminent, and now it's all shiny and sparkling and it's still only 9.30. Good decision, Di!

Decisions can change everything, can't they? I've begun to lose faith in my decision-making recently after some disastrous ones which have resulted in people being hurt. But now I've made another one, and that's to stop stewing about it (I can stew for Scotland) and get on with doing the best I can under the circumstances.

Now, weeding or dog-walking first?

casting stones

The Holy Spirit has been distinctly hard pushed round here lately. She's still around but her opposite number's on the loose as well. I'm having a hard time reconciling my loyalties.

Casting stones was never a safe business, and now one pebble lobbed into the pool is spreading outwards inexorably.

All is well

I don't seem to have much to say, do I? It seems I've not blogged since Christmas! Maybe two or three blogs a year is it. Actually, life has had a few downs since then that haven't really left me in the mood for reflection. But, dear reader, if you are out there know this: all is well.

I'm just back from leading a Cursillo weekend at the Cathedral of The Isles on the Isle of Cumbrae. I say 'leading', but it was really a team effort with eleven others who all worked their socks off to give a group of folk the experience of living in a Christian community of love.

All this relentless loving inevitably proves too much for some, but I think the majority get the idea that the 'Cursillo experience' gives us a taste of what things could be like if all of us supported and looked out for each other all the time instead of pursuing our own selfish ends. And boy, can that be exhausting, but it sure is worth it. Because it means you always have a source of strength.

During the 'weekend' - three days actually - there were plenty of strong emotions flying around. Many were both constructive and cathartic. Some were destructive and left people wounded, but the strength of the group as a whole was enough, if not to heal them straight away, to begin the healing process.

When you're wounded, you rely on the strength of others. That's something I've come to realise over the years and once again over the last few months when things have been tough. There's always enough strength to go round. It's called the Holy Spirit in Christian circles.