Crema de la crema

Regular readers will know that one of my favourite places to eat is a local restaurant here called "Prego." It has become a favourite place not just for special occasions but also at other times when we have no real excuse for eating out other than that we want to.

My original 'review' of Prego (the Lanark version) included the following phrase "For an Italian restaurant, the espresso could be a bit better" which was certainly true on that particular occasion. My espresso that night did not possess the necessary "crema" which as all coffee geeks know is an absolute essential if it is to deserve the name "espresso."

However, I don't think my comments pleased the restaurant owner much, as he takes a measure of pride in the coffee he offers. (You expect nothing less from any Italian restaurateur worth his salt.)

Last week he was in the Carluke branch of Prego and insisted on making my espresso himself and offering it to me "on the house." [I noticed that he also made a point of opening a fresh bag of coffee beans for the purpose.]

Well, I can report to you that on this occasion (as on most occasions it has to be said) the espresso was certainly worthy of the name, with a healthy and delightful crema.

I realise that those of you who make do with instant coffee probably haven't a clue what I am talking about. I would also like to point out that I am not a snob in any other realm... but when it comes to coffee I know and expect only the best. And if I can produce a crema on my espresso at home then I expect my Italian barista to do the same. Thankfully, I know that he can.

Two bright pimples

"In Chittagong he would live like a prince, but here he is just doing the donkey regarded his malnourished limb, the two bright pimples above the elbow."

What do you mean it doesn't make sense??

It's what I was reading when I was away on my short break.

I had bought a book at the airport (Brick Lane by Monica Ali) and I was pretty much enjoying the story. I had reached page 320 and what you see above is exactly what I read.
Of course, my first reaction was to read it again just to see if I had missed a word or two, or simply misunderstood some clever sentence construction... but no matter how many times I read it, it still made no sense.
And then I noticed...
... after page 320 came page 273 - a page which, in fact, I had already read the day before! Soon it dawned on me that a whole section of the book had the wrong pages in it.
It was a bit of a Groundhog Day moment when I realised that I had already read this particular section...

... and then the frustration kicked in.
I wasn't going to be able to continue reading the book.
Sure, the last few pages were there... but I didn't want to read the ending without reading how the story arrived at that place. (I am not one of those people who reads the end of the book first to see how it is all going to work out. I want the author to lead me to that point.)
I've had to wait until today to get a replacement for the defective book.
Unfortunately I don't have time to read it at the moment.
I only hope I can actually remember now what happened in the first 320 pages!

Life itself can be like this some times.
Things don't always work out the way you expect them to.
Sometimes you find yourself in a dead end.
Sometimes you discover it just doesn't make sense at all.
And often it seems as if some of the pages are missing, or the wrong pages have been put into the story.
That's when you need a little bit of patience... and a lot of faith to trust that one day the story will make sense.

Would you walk by...

One of my daughters had a very lucky escape on Sunday morning. Her car spun off the road and rolled over into a field, ending up facing in the opposite direction, although back on its wheels again. Had the skid happened a few seconds earlier who knows what might have happened. As it is, she emerged from the wreck unscathed - which is more than can be said for her car which is now a total write-off.
Amazing as her good fortune was, it is not, to me, the most astonishing thing about the incident. No, I reserve that description for a group of people who witnessed the whole episode.
You see all of this took place right next to the 18th Tee of Carluke Golf Course. A group of golfers were tee-ing off at the time my daughter's car spun out of control and did its tumble across the field towards them. They paused for a few seconds to look over...

... then promptly carried on with their game!!
Can you believe it?

Up and away

My friends' house is less than 10 miles from the Kennedy Space Centre (as the crow, or pelican, flies) but about 17 miles from the launch pad 39A.
It is still close enough to ensure that you don't have to go anywhere, except to the end of the road, to get a pretty spectacular view of a launch. Unfortunately, though, I don't have the sort of zoom lenses that the professionals use to photograph the event.
If you want the real thing visit the NASA site.
The launch of Atlantis was (I think) the fifth space shot I have witnessed. (Four shuttle launches and the 1975 launch of the Viking mission to Mars are what I have seen so far. I missed the very last Apollo launch by just two days.)
It is a still, to me, an awe-inspiring sight and I have nothing but admiration for the folk who allow themselves to be strapped into that vehicle on top of millions of tons of high explosive then fired upwards into the sky.
Mind you, I think it pretty routine to strap myself into the seat of a Boeing 747-400 aircraft weighing anything up to 870,000 lbs and allow myself to be launched above the clouds, entrusting the pilots, crew and ground-staff to deliver me safely back to earth exactly as planned. I guess most people a hundred years ago would have considered this to be pretty crazy.
How long, do you think, before we see space travel as routine?

Trying not to drop a clanger

My recent visit to Florida coincided happily with the launch of the Space Shuttle Atlantis (STS-122) - more of which another time. I have seen a Space Shuttle launch a number of times before and while it is always an exciting experience it was not (as I've said) an entirely new one to me.
However, what was new for me on this trip was the opportunity to be part of a bell-ringing ensemble. (The picture above shows my one-and-only 15 minute rehearsal for the event.)
I now have a little lapel button which proclaims a bit dubiously that I am a bell-ringer!
I had been asked to fill in for a regular member of the bell-ringing team who, unfortunately, was not able to take part that Sunday.
To my own surprise I found it a thoroughly enjoyable (if slightly nerve-wracking) experience. What I did not want to do was to muck up things for the rest of the ensemble. In spite of the fact that we were situated in the choir loft and invisible to most of the congregation I did not want to "drop a clanger" if you pardon the pun.
I did get the opportunity to have a 15 minute rehearsal/lesson which was just as well for there were three things that I discovered were essential: technique, timing, and (perhaps most important of all) teamwork.
There is a certain technique involved in making sure that your bell sounds its note clearly, only once, at the right moment in time and not for any longer (or shorter) than necessary. You have to start with the bells (one in each hand) facing upwards then in a sort of circular motion, down and up again, time it so that the clapper (clanger) strikes the bell once at the right moment, then you have to rest it against your shoulder at the right moment to dampen the sound. It's not too difficult but you do need to practise it a bit to get the knack. The most complicated bit is when you have adjacent notes to play and you have to dampen one bell at exactly the same time as you strike the other.
I was actually asked if I could play a third bell. Only having two hands that would have required me to put one down and very, very quickly pick the other up without accidentally ringing either bell. I declined.
I know my limitations!
Teamwork, as I said, is probably the most important thing because unlike any other musical instrument I have ever played no single bell-ringer can play the whole tune (unless the tune consists entirely of two notes!) but each single bell-ringer is required for the tune (and harmony) to be played at all.
Like the pianist who must co-ordinate the action of his/her ten fingers the whole group has to act as one.
It was an interesting, and educational experience; for in fact the same lessons can be applied to most group activities, and certainly to church life. Nobody can do it all, but everybody has an important part to play in the overall scheme of things.
oh... and sometimes... we do drop the odd clanger!

It's snow bad!

Sorry I've been away from the blog for the last week. I was visiting some friends who, it just so happens, live in Central Florida. Now I know what you are thinking: - why one earth would anyone want to forsake the rain and snow and frost of a Scottish February for sunny blue skies and temperatures reaching into the 80's?
I know it is inexplicable. But there you go.
When I left Edinburgh Airport last Tuesday morning it was about 7 deg Centigrade (i.e. 45 Fahrenheit.) When I arrived in Orlando just after 7pm it was 29 Centigrade (84 Fahrenheit.)
But, of course, I wasn't there for the weather... so there's no need for any of you to feel jealous.
Mind you, what I did enjoy were the sunrises. The photo above was taken at the Indian River one morning last week just after 7am.
The tranquillity of these mornings was truly therapeutic. And so too was the opportunity to catch up on long-lasting and ever meaningful friendships.
The American friends I am talking about are a retired minister and his wife, whom I have known for the last 34 years.
My friend, who is now in his 80's (years this time, not degrees!) was preaching on Sunday at the church where he had been minister for many years and which was now celebrating its 50th Anniversary. During his sermon he spoke about a number of people who had been a great influence in shaping his own life and Christian faith; people who had somehow passed on the love of God from their experience to him.
As he spoke I felt that I was part of a very long chain going right back to the command of Jesus to his disciples that they should love one another, and the following idea formed in my head:
The true apostolic succession is the passing of the love of Christ from one generation to the next.
Some journeys are definitely worth making.

Thank you for the music

From time to time we have various concerts in the Church. On Friday night we had a return visit from Stonehouse Male Voice Choir, and a thoroughly entertaining evening they gave us. An excellent performance full of good humour and good singing.
Ordinarily I think I prefer a 'choir of all the parts' but, having said that, my tastes in music are pretty eclectic, as even a quick glance at my CD collection would show.
To me music should only be divided into "good" or "bad." (Well, maybe there's a middle category of "mediocre.")
Actually in Scotland we also have the phrase "no' bad" (which believe it or not can mean any of the three, depending on the inflection in your voice and the expression on your face.)
If you say it in a downbeat way it means "it was probably alright but it didn't do anything for me, and I wouldn't want to hear it again" (which in anybody's else's book is probably a diplomatic way of saying 'pretty bad.'
If it said with a slight shrug of the shoulders it means something like "I could take it or leave it."
If it is said with a bit of enthusiasm it actually means what it says on the tin, i.e. "not bad" = "good."
All in all, it sounds like the "not proven" verdict that can be dished out in Scottish Courts which can mean anything from guilty to innocent, or somewhere in-between.
So maybe I should just have said that the Stonehouse Male Voice Choir are 'no bad' and leave you to decide for yourself which of the above applies to you; but for that you'll have to go and hear them for yourself.
You can get a wee taste from their website.

It's snow good

Earlier this afternoon we had our first proper snowfall of the year - though not much and not for long.

I know there has been some significant snow in other parts of the country but each time it seems to have by-passed Carluke, much to the annoyance of my youngest daughter.

Well, this afternoon the snow DID fall, though (as I said) it didn't hang around for very long but it loitered enough to (temporarily) make my garden almost tidy enough to look at. That's one thing I like about the snow.

Am I the only one who thinks this... (or am I looking back with white-tinted spectacles?) but didn't we used to get quite a lot of snow in winter time in Scotland? And did it not sometimes hang around for weeks on end?

It's not difficult to convince anyone in this part of the world that global warming is a reality (of course, not in summer time: only in winter!)

Snows no' what it used to be when it used to snow.

The other thing that seems strange to me is that the less snow we have in this part of the world, the more problems it seems to cause, or at least people seem to have more difficulty in coping with it when it does appear, especially with respect to transport. Why is that, for goodness sake?

In support of democracy

Earlier this evening I was in the Scottish Storytelling Centre at John Knox House in Edinburgh. I had been invited to a reception by the Moderator, Rt. Rev. Sheilagh Kesting.
I'm not altogether sure why I was invited, though I suspect it probably has to do with being a convener of an Assembly Committee. Anyway, it was an opportunity to meet a number of very interesting and charming people from various walks of life, including the above-pictured Ken Macintosh, a Member of the Scottish Parliament, with whom I enjoyed a lengthy chat.
Politicians in this part of the world don't get a very good press these days, though sometimes they have only themselves to blame. Unfortunately those whose chief motivation is simply to help other people (and I do actually think that is the majority of them) rarely get the credit they deserve.
I know that some of my fellow ministers sometimes have to face considerable hostility and criticism from people in their congregations (not always justified either) but, for the most part, at least the general public just regards 'clerics' as quite irrelevant or simply as some sort of curious relic from the past (after all relic is almost an anagram of cleric.) Most of the time we don't have to put up with the hassle that politicians at all levels seems to get.
When I see what happens in some countries, like Zimbabwe or Pakistan or Kenya for example, I think we should be grateful that politics in the UK is about as clean as it gets and, while it is right to keep them on their toes, and root out genuine corruption, at the same time I think we should pray with thanksgiving for those who represent us and who, for the most part are trying to make the world a better place.
Yes, I know that even the best of people can be seduced and corrupted by power and that effective democracry requires rigorous accountability but I also know that democracy can be badly damaged by too much cynicism. It's always easier to stand outside of the action and point the finger of accusation than it is to get your sleeves rolled up and stretch out a hand to help.
Reflecting this week on the Holocaust is a sobering remember of what happens when democracy fails.

On the way...

This evening I began a new Discipleship Group. That probably sounds a little bit grander than it actually is. What it amounts to is a group of people meeting in my home for about 90 minutes to explore issues of Christian faith.
It is one of the most enjoyable aspects of my work as far as I am concerned. I get to "do theology" without using any theological language, relying instead on stories, images, things I've heard recently on the radio or seen on TV, or from my own experience, or wherever. Added in to this are the varied and fascinating experiences and insights of all of the people who happen to be in the group.
This group seems to be a good one; not afraid to ask questions or raise issues.
I like the free-wheeling approach to these things. Although I have in my mind a general direction in which I would like the group to 'travel' and even a kind of rough "curriculum" in my head, it is more like walking on a rough path up a hillside and every so often taking little detours to the side to explore things that catch the eye.
I've been doing this kind of thing now for almost 28 years and what I find fascinating is how it is quite different every time and how much of the shared journey is shaped and determined by the particular individuals involved. I never fail to learn something new myself each time; occasionally even from myself. Once or twice I have thought to myself, as I've found a fresh way of expressing things, 'I should make a note of some of this and use it another time...'
But on reflection I am glad that I never do, because each 'journey' is unique, and the very act of doing things this way forces me to clarify in my own mind how I see things.
And it means I always start to get excited and passionate about what I am sharing.
No bad thing, I'd say, since the most boring teacher is a bored teacher!

Mind your hurdy-gurdies

We are right in the middle of the Celtic Connections traditional music festival at the moment and earlier this evening I experienced one of the most bizzare and fascinating musical ensembles ever gathered together - la Banda Europa.
If you already know the difference between your nyckelharpas and your hurdy-gurdies and your panderttas from your duduks then it may not be strange to you, but it was certainly strange to me... but great fun all the same.
Click on the link above to learn a bit more about the band, or drop into their myspace page to hear them for yourselves.
As most of my readers know, I love classical music (amongst other styles of music.) I guess it could be argued that in some way the classical orchestra gathers together musical instruments at the very pinnacle of their development - but this has meant leaving behind some of the fascinating instruments that preceded the ones we are familiar with now. I tell you, there is something hypnotically relaxing about a hurdy-gurdy quartet! (Although it does look a bit bizarre.)
Watching the players cranking the handles of their hurdy-gurdies reminded me of the mechanical calculating machines that my secondary school invested in - just a year or so before the invention of the electronic calculator. (What a waste of money that was!)
When the teacher left the room we used to play a game. A kind of competition really.
If you set all of the levers of the calculating machine to 9, then cranked the handle backwards as fast as you could, eventually all the levers would return to 0 and a bell would ring. The trick was to crank the handle as fast as you could and the first to get the bell to ring was the winner. Amazing. Fantastic exercise for the upper body! Although once or twice when the teacher returned early and saw everyone furiously turning the handles of their machines we had to quickly think up some highly implausible excuses for our bizarre behaviour.
I never once thought to say: "I'm practising for when I play the hurdy-gurdy!"

*by the way, just in case you wondered - the people in the picture above are playing nyckelharpas

Losing the place

Nobody seems to have noticed that in my original post below I suggested that one of my "visitors" was from Japan. Clearly no one actually looked at the map itself as the red dot is nowhere near Japan at all but in the Philippines. I have now amended it accordingly.

Starting again

Apologies for the tiny picture!
It's the archived picture of the visitor locations on my ClustrMap. It showed that from 20 Jan 2007 to 21 Jan 2008 there had been 17269 visits to this blog. Not a particularly large number as internet sites go but it also showed where each of these 'visitors' was located and I found it fascinating to think that people from all sorts of countries and on every continent had one way or another stumbled on to this blog. You could also see where the regular readers were- they were represented by the larger dots.
But now ClustrMaps has decided it is time for a spring clean and a fresh start and they have archived my map and produced a new one.


And now I discover that my first visitors of this new year are from England, France, Philippines, USA (4) and Brazil (2)
I wonder who you all are?

Free for all...

Last night, here in Carluke, the annual Service for the Week of Prayer for Christian Unity took place. This year the service was held in our local Roman Catholic church, St. Athanasius'. It was pretty much a "night off" for me as I didn't have to preach. I was, however, playing in the small band that led the praise. On this occasion I had to play trumpet most of the time, but, for once I didn't mind (I usually much prefer to play the fiddle.) I didn't mind because the acoustics in St. Ath's were so good.

I was a bit embarrassed, however, when the priest announced to the congregation that two of the hymns we were singing had been written by myself. (The words, that is.)

In fact these two hymns had been chosen by "Churches Together in Britain and Ireland" for inclusion in the resource leaflet prepared for the 2008 ecumenical services. Some months ago I was quite surprised to receive the phone call asking me if it would alright to include the hymns in the leaflets. Naturally I gave permission for their use which then prompted a huge sigh of relief at the other end of the phone.

"I'm glad you agreed." said the caller "You see, we've already printed hundreds of thousands of leaflets and they've already been sent out all around the country. We forgot to get your permission first."

I suppose I could have changed my mind at that point... or perhaps intimated that here would in fact be a huge royalty fee payable...but I didn't. I sometimes get a bit annoyed when you have to pay quite significant sums of money to use a single hymn or song in a service of worship. I know that for some professional hymn-writers it is their only way of making a living, but I suspect that some publishing firms also make considerable profits from the more popular ones.

As far as I am concerned - unless it is for a professionally produced publication - I am always happy for my hymns to be used free of charge. The only stipulation I make is that the copyright ascription is included so that no one else claims the work as their own. After all, hymns are surely meant to be a resource for the church's worship.

Anyway, these thoughts were prompted not just by last night's united service but also by the discovery that the brilliant classical violinist Tasmin Little has released her latest album "The Naked Violin" as a completely free download. It is a seriously good performance and recording (as long as you choose the highest quality download.) What impressed me most, though, was that it is part of a whole strategy which Tasmin has of making classical music more accessible to people who may not have tried it before. It includes a tour of very unlilely venues like factories and shopping malls etc.

As far as the download itself is concerned she has issued a three-step challenge:
Step 1
Listen to my spoken introduction and download my CD.
Step 2
Take some time to listen and get to know these pieces. Then write to me and tell me what you like (or don’t like) about each piece.
Step 3
Go to a concert, buy a CD or write and tell me what barriers still remain to prevent you from wanting to do either!

I think it's a brilliant idea and I hope it all works.
Mind you, although Bach's 'Partita No. 3' is one of my favourite pieces of music I'm not sure how it will appeal to those who've never listened before to classical music.

Lost

Last night I thought I had lost my mobile phone...
I was just heading out the door to go to a meeting when I instinctively patted my pocket to check the phone was in its usual place... only to discover that it wasn't.
Nor was it on my desk or in my briefcase or any of the places it might normally end up. I checked the car (though I was intending to walk to the meeting) but still no sign of it...
I tried calling the number from the landline yet could not hear it ringing out anywhere... but then, I normally keep the cellphone on silent mode.
No time to look anywhere else, though... have to wait till after the meeting...

So I headed off for the meeting with this vaguely unsettled feeling.

I wasn't likely to need the phone. (Actually I don't use it all that often in any case.) But as I walked along the road I began to feel more and more like Linus without his security blanket. I don't know what disturbed me more- not having the phone, or the feeling of being disturbed at not having the phone. (If you can follow this so far...)

I know it had nothing to do with the monetary value of the phone itself. (It's not a particularly expensive one, and it is insured.).
Nor is it really the data stored on it. (I've not had the phone for all that long and I still haven't transferred all the numbers from my previous address book.)

So why was I feeling so annoyed?
I certainly wasn't wanting anyone to call me on the phone.
And I knew I didn't need it. I've lived the greater part of my life without having a mobile (and in fact the first 12 years of my life without even having a landline in our home) so I know it's not a necessity.

In the end I came to the uncomfortable conclusion that it must have had something to do with habit, the comfort of routine etc..
It was some sort of security blanket after all.
Maybe I'm losing it... and I don't mean my phone.

But one good thing came out of it: it gave me an idea for a talk that I was to do today to the "Scripture Union" group at our local High School. I could talk about communication... etc.
And so I did.

Oh.... and in case you're worried... (although I know you're not!)
...the mobile turned up after all...
...where lots of of missing objects often do...

I had only sat down on the sofa for ten minutes after dinner to catch the end of the news bulletin: the phone must have slipped out of my pocket and down between the cushions...

Who's not scared?

Last week I had to attend a meeting in Edinburgh. I wasn't quite sure exactly what time I was meant to be there so I went early. You may wonder how it is possible to do this - deliberately go early when you don't know what time you are actually meant to be there- but I did. In any case, it turned out that I was early by more than two hours- enough time to pay a visit to the bookshop and buy a book and (even better) enough time to start reading it.
The book I bought is pictured above. OK - it is not exactly hot off the press. It was published in 2003 and (as you can see from the cover) it has already been turned into" a major motion picture" which is also now available on DVD.
And I know why: it was a brilliant read. One day I would love to be able to read it in the original Italian; but even in the English translation by Jonathan Hunt it is quite delightful.
I'm not going to attempt to review the book, far less spoil it by giving away the plot: I just want to recommend it.
The old proverb tells us never to judge a book by its cover but I don't mind admitting that it was the cover which sold it to me, along with the title. When somebody says (either out loud or just into themselves) "I'm not scared!" you can be pretty certain that this is precisely what they are.
People can be scared by all sorts of things, and often the fears are entirely irrational - like my own fear of heights, or other people's fear of spiders. Some fears are not only justified, they are downright useful. When you are about to cross the road, it is a good idea to be a little bit afraid of fast moving cars: not so scared that you are rooted to the spot and unable to cross, but, equally, not so blase that you walk out into the road not even looking to see if there is any traffic coming. Even fear has its uses sometimes.
Unfortunately, we often fear things we can do absolutely nothing to change and, perhaps even more often, we fear things that are just not likely to happen.
So what is your most irrational fear?
Own up...right here...
...if you dare!

A bit fuzzy and blurred...

Just back from my more or less annual "fiddle fix" - by that I mean the Annual Fiddle Force Winter School which for the last 10 years (I think) has been held at Wiston Lodge in South Lanarkshire. This year's excellent tutors were Iain Fraser and Lori Watson but the classes are only part of the experience. The best thing is just getting the chance to play the fiddle all day and into the "wee small hours."
For some reason or other I hadn't played the fiddle as much during last year as I would have liked. But the weekend was a chance to catch up, as well as a chance to meet up with old friends and make a few new ones. [Congratulations to Colin and Anne on their recent marriage - making Fiddle Force part of their honeymoon!! :-) ]
The photograph above is of one of the evening "sessions" taking place in a very dimly-lit room. I decided not to use any flash; not because I was avoiding distracting my fellow fiddlers but because I wanted to see what sort of picture I might be able to take with so little light available. I like the grainy 'old film' look. And it's probably a good idea that you can't really identify the people in the shot - because I never asked anyone's permission to publish their photos.
Life itself is a bit like this in any case.
Some folk like to give the impression that everything is bright, clear-cut and sharply in focus; for such folk the truth is always absolute and obvious. And they are quite certain they know it.
As for me...I'm not always so sure.
Sometimes I think reality is probably more like this picture - a bit fuzzy and blurred - like a dim image in a mirror, as St. Paul might have said.
No, wait a minute ... that's exactly what he did say.

The rage continues

According to emails and texts I have received today from friends in Kenya the situation is still very tense and dangerous. The upsurge in violence continues and people are, rightly, very afraid. News I heard earlier of up to 50 people being burned to death while trying to shelter in a church underlines just how shocking and brutal this violence is. One friend in Kenya sent me a terse but heartfelt email asking simply "May God give you power to PRAY for Kenya"
I invite you to join with me in responding to the request.

More bad news

After the rioting following on the assassination of Benazir Bhutto in Pakistan, it is the turn of Kenya to explode into political violence. I was in Kenya in 2002 just before the elections that brought the current government to power and those were tense times but nothing like the scenes that are being reported now in the wake of the presidential elections. In 2005, when I was last there it seemed to be a country that was relatively-speaking at peace with itself.
It is strange to see such violent events breaking out in places that you recognise and which at the time you visited them seemed relatively 'normal,' albeit poverty-stricken, but I suppose violence can erupt in any situation and that the outward veneer of civilisation is pretty thin no matter where you are in the world.
The saddest thing is that the current violence in Kenya seems once again to be based on tribal allegiances, artificially papered over by the processes of colonisation in previous generations.
There is a deep human need to feel that you belong to something bigger than yourself or your immediate family, but when passions run high and one tribe feels threatened by another (whatever the context) the impulse to violence seems hard to contain.
But a sense of belonging to a group need not always be something harmful.
The sense of belonging engendered by a football club is tribal in its own way and, sadly, can sometimes generate its own brand of divisive and destructive behaviour, but as recent days at Motherwell FC have shown a sense of belonging may also provide a positive source of mutual comfort in times of tragedy.
One of the greatest tragedies of all in human behaviour is when groups/tribes/nations/religions/denominations or whatever feel that they can only establish their own sense of identity in opposition to others rather than basing it on something positive.
Let's hope and pray that the violent end to 2007 may not be continued into 2008.
I wish you all a peaceful and blessed New Year.

Well missed

As a Motherwell fan, I am still trying to come to terms with the sudden death on Saturday of our club captain, Phil O'Donnell. Because I was conducting a wedding I didn't get to go to the match which, before the tragedy of Phil's death, had been shaping up to be one of the best of the season. Most of the rest of my family were at the game, however, and I couldn't believe it when I received a text from one of my daughters telling me what had happened.
All the things being said about Phil O'Donnell being such a good man as well as a good footballer are true and he was truly respected at the club. We will all miss "Uncle Phil" and our thoughts and prayers are with his wife Eileen and the family at this time.

Blue skies... nothing but blue skies

You may have been wondering why a "Schmap" reference to Florence recently appeared in the sidebar of this blog. It's just vanity on my part, really, mingled with a bit of yearning for the clear blue skies of Italy in late summer.
'Schmap' (whoever they are) found the above picture of the Old Bridge in Florence (Ponte Vecchio) on my Flickr page and asked for permission to include it in their online guide to the city.
I was happy to oblige - though I would be even happier had they offered me a free trip to Florence to write an article for them about the city.
Sadly, no such offer was forthcoming, so in the meantime I will have to content myself with journeys in the memory and imagination.
However, back in the real world, yesterday I conducted a funeral: tomorrow it will be a wedding. Yesterday it was more or less dry but cloudy, cold and very windy. Today the rain is pouring down and the only word capable of describing the day is the Scots word "dreich." Tomorrow we hope for better weather- though there is a distinct possibility of snow. There's more than one way to have a white wedding, you know!
As we head towards a New Year we might well long for 'nothing but blue skies' but you can virtually guarantee that even if there are some bright and cheery days ahead there will also be some darker days.
We need something more reliable than the weather to hold on to, as the following lines suggest. (You may know them well.)

I said to the man
who stood at the gate of the year,
'Give me a light that I may tread safely
into the unknown.'
And he replied ,
'Go out into the darkness
and put your hand into the hand of God.
That shall be to you
better than light
and safer than a known way!'
So I went forth
and finding the Hand of God,
trod gladly into the night .
And he led me towards the hills
and the breaking of day in the lone East.

Minnie Louise Harkins 1875-1957

It's time..

some of our heavenly host of little angels

How can the totally predictable take you by surprise?
I don't know - but it happens.
Every year, without fail, Christmas comes around on the 25th December. (No movable feast here.) And yet... every year (no matter how often I promise myself 'this year I will be ready on time') ...it sneaks up on me like my cat pouncing on an unsuspecting mouse.

So, once again, at the very last minute, I am putting the final touches to the Christmas Eve Watchnight Service.

Now, when am I going to get round to preparing the Christmas Day Service….? Ooops.

But, we’ll get there. We always do. Just like Christmas.

Yesterday, was our All Age Christmas Celebration. The central part of it consisted of a short follow-up to the pantomime we put on at the start of the year (Jack and the Beans Talk.) This short sequel was entitled “Zack and the Herald Angels Sing.”

It went brilliantly well—probably because I had virtually nothing at all to do with it.

Probably most of my regular readers have far too many much more important things to do than to be reading this blog before Christmas, but I just wanted to wish everyone a VERY HAPPY CHRISTMAS whenever you read it.

Don't look up now

I heard in the news yesterday that very soon visitors to Rosslyn Chapel are not going to be allowed to take photographs inside the building any more.
And the reason?...
... wait for this...
Too many people, apparently, have been trying to take pictures of the ceiling and have been falling over, or tripping on the uneven stone floor!!
So it's a Health & Safety issue!
It begs the question, should people who fall over when they look up even be allowed out of doors by themselves?
Frankly, when I heard the piece, I was beginning to wonder if it was April Fools' Day, or that I was listening to a sketch from a Monty Python Show.
But - no - you couldn't make up something like this.
Does anyone else think that 'Health & Safety' issues are sometimes taken just a bit too far?
In my opinion, most people don't look up often enough! They don't marvel at the stars, or the rising moon, or the glories of a sunset, or the flight of birds.
In these pre-Christmas shopping days it's 'heads down and keep moving' - don't pause even for a moment to look up at some of the magnificent buildings in our cities, or even to lift up your heads enough to look your fellow shoppers in the eye.
One of the things I like about the Christmas stories as you find them in the New Testament (without all the additional ingredients that over the years have grown on to the stories like barnacles on the hull of a ship) is their honesty in admitting that very, very few people actually noticed anything special about that night, or that baby. Just a handful of shepherd and a few wise men.
And what did they have in common?
Only that they were in the habit of regularly looking up at the sky.
So they were the ones who saw stars and who heard angels sing.
On that first Christmas time God looked down so that we could look up.
Lift up your heads.

Doing a good turn

Video

Travel by public transport...

.... it's good for the environment...

..... if not for the nerves!

Land of hope and...

Video

This is not (repeat NOT) a member of the New Scottish Orchestra. Nor is it myself in disguise!
The amount of processing power and programming required to enable this robot to 'play the violin' is amazing, but I don't think Maxim Vengerov has anything to worry about yet: it will be a long time before robots, no matter how well programmed, will ever produce anything like real music.

In at the deep end

The first time I visited SeaWorld in Florida was in 1975. One of the highlights of that particular theme park at the time was the performance of "Shamu the Killer Whale." (Shamu never actually killed anyone but he/she did manage to soak more than a few people; the naive and the adventurous who sat in the front rows.) I don't know how many Shamus SeaWorld will have "employed" over these last 30 or more years but as far as I know Shamu is a still a big attraction.
OK - I know... you're wondering... why the photoshopped picture of my fiddle when I'm talking about killer whales? But I'm coming to that. Eventually. And it has nothing to do with being naive or adventurous.
No... wait a minute... it has everything to do with being both naive and adventurous. But I will come to that in a moment.
Before I do, let me tell you why I thought the Shamu performance was so good. It had nothing to do with the whale, as it turns out.
When we arrived at the open air "Shamu" arena, with its gigantic whale pool, we were greeted by a SeaWorld employee who ushered us towards the seating area. Those who were already in their seats, or on the "bleachers" if you prefer, were laughing loudly and enthusiastically. We had no idea why, as the show hadn't started. In fact it was a total mystery...
.... until we had taken our seats and could look down on the next group of people to enter the area. Like ourselves they were met by the "usher" who pointed the way to the seating areas.
But this "usher" was in fact an expert mime artist who, within a few split seconds, was able to sum up something distinctive about the way that a person walked or gestured. As the 'usher' pointed out the way ahead he would step behind the unsuspecting stooges and mime hilarious caricatures of them. I tell you, he was a master.
And now to the point...
.... on Saturday I had the amazing privilege of playing with the New Scottish Orchestra for their annual Christmas Concert. It was a fantastic experience, even though the first time I saw any of the music was at the one and only rehearsal in the afternoon, and even though I had somehow been placed in the first violins, and even though most of the music was in five or six flats and even though some of the pieces had all sorts of 'impossible' runs and arpeggios in them, and ... well, let's just say, too many notes!!! (I'm only talking about myself, by the way, most of the players around me seemed to be doing fine.)
Anyway... this is where Shamu came to mind. For I found myself from time to time doing a little bit of expert miming and caricaturing, even occasionally 'playing' the violin with the bow about half an inch above the strings!! I did a passable impersonation of a violinist. Don't tell anyone now.
Seriously, though, in spite of the occasional difficulties of my sight reading, it was a marvellous evening. One of the soloists in particular had a fantastic voice, the baritone, Terence Ayebare. If he doesn't make a big name for himself in the classical music scene in the near future I will want to know why - although, to be fair, Terence Ayebare is a pretty big name already.

That's what I call laid back

Someone I know pretty well may have had a hand in this little production. Someone else I know (though perhaps not quite so well) had a jaw in it!

Lift up your heads

When I have more time I may reflect on my (very enjoyable) experience of playing with the New Scottish Orchestra, but in the meantime I'll just share with you the words of another new hymn I wrote for today's service. (First Sunday in Advent)
We sang it to the tune of Stuart Townend's hymn "In Christ Alone." I hope he won't mind that we didn't ask his permission first, but I had to use a tune which I knew our congregation was familiar with and enjoyed singing.

Lift up your heads

Lift up your heads,Lift up your hearts
Out of the darkness will come light.
Lift up your voice in joyful praise
Sing for the breaking of the night.
In those who yearn for God’s new day
His hope will burn eternally,
for Christ will come, his light will shine
into our world in God’s own time.

Lift up your heads in patient hope.
Wait for the day when tears will end;
injustices will be no more;
hearts that are broken love will mend.
The day of truth will dawn at last;
God will transform all that is past;
for Christ will come, his light will shine
into our world in God’s own time.

Lift up your heads. Lift up your hearts.
God’s Holy Spirit is outpoured
as he fulfils his promises
here at the table of our Lord.
He comes among us in his love,
a foretaste of the feast above.
So Christ will come. His light will shine
into our lives in God’s own time.

(c) 2007, Iain D. Cunningham

One more step along the world we go...

I am not exactly sure how many weddings I have conducted in the last 28 years but it is probably somewhere around 700. I've never been asked to be a "Best Man" (when it came to my brother's wedding I was the minister again) and I've never been asked to be a bridesmaid (thankfully.)
But soon I will have a new role... as father-of-the-bride!
(It might yet be a dual role but that is still to be decided.)
Our eldest daughter, Linsay, is now engaged to be married.
Exciting times ahead.

Old dog: new tricks

'my' fiddle... "photoshopped" a little

Well - last week was... interesting.
Although it sounds a bit like the title of a well-known movie, I conducted three funerals, one wedding and four baptisms. Not all on the same day- thankfully.
You get occasional weeks like that, when everything seems to happen all at once. It can be quite draining, but there can be few other 'occupations' where you are privileged to come alongside people at their most joyful and most sorrowful times. As a certain 'newspaper' used to say "All human life is here."
But this is precisely how it should be since any faith that is worth holding must surely touch every area of life.
This week is already another busy one, and with three services to prepare for Sunday coming it's not likely to ease off much. But I am looking forward to a little oasis on Saturday. I can't really say it will be an oasis of relaxation, as I will be playing with the New Scottish Orchestra for the first time and I will probably be more than a little bit nervous. Details of the "gig" can be found here.
OK - it's the NSO and not the SNO - but I'm still pretty pleased to have this opportunity.
It takes me back to a time over 20 years ago when I was playing trumpet in a praise band and sitting beside a very good violinist. I remember saying to her how I had never really enjoyed playing the trumpet; it was just that this was the only instrument that my school could provide so that I could take advantage of free tuition.
"What I've always wanted to play," I said, "is the violin."
"Why don't you?" she answered.
"Well I'm a bit old to start learning now, am I not?"
And she went on to tell me the story of her aunt who had begun learning to play the violin at the age of 60 and had gone on to become a regular member of The Huddersfield Symphony Orchestra. She only gave up going onstage with them in her mid-80's because she felt she looked too old among the rest of the players.
So I made a decision there and then then that if I ever got the chance to get hold of a violin I would 'have a go.'
I was 42 years old when that opportunity came along and a friend lent me the Scottish Fiddle you see above, and I began learning to play it. I know my limitations of course and not having had any proper classical training I am never going to be invited to play in anything other than an amateur group but that doesn't matter to me. The important thing is realising that you never too old to try something new. (Although in my case I draw the line at skiing and sky-diving.)

UK PULLS OUT OF EUROPE...!!

No, it has nothing to do with a referendum on the European Constitution!!
I'm talking about the Euro 2008 tournament in which none of the 'home nations' will now participate, since both England and Northern Ireland crashed out last night, joining Scotland in the 'also-rans' after Saturday.
Of all the British teams, however, I think Scotland has emerged as the least disappointing and the least disappointed. After all we exceeded most people's expectations and climbed steadily up the FIFA rankings. Maybe it is time our southern neighbours dropped the old saying "England Expects..." since it is usually a precursor to 'England Disappoints.'
I'm reminded of the story Jesus once told about a dinner party and how some guests pushed their way up to the best seats only to be told to get to the back of the queue while those who were a little bit more humble in their approach were actually invited up to the top table to their surprise and delight.
It's not a totally accurate analogy, however, since none of the 'home nations' even got past the bouncers on the door!
It makes the forthcoming World Cup draw pretty interesting though...

Hymn for the persecuted church

[Photo: inside the prisons of the Doge's Palace in Venice]

I am sure a number of people who used to regularly read this blog have now given up on it entirely. I haven't managed to write much at all in the last few weeks. My only excuse is that I have been pretty busy lately with my real job.
This week alone I have three funerals, a wedding and (on Sunday coming) four baptisms.
All the same, I do have a little something to share with anyone who might have the slightest interest.
Last Sunday was the International Day of Prayer for the Persecuted Church. I spent some time searching for a suitable hymn but I couldn't find anything that really fitted. So I decided to write one myself. This is it - set to the tune "Passion Chorale."

HYMN FOR THE PERSECUTED CHURCH

We bring before you, Jesus, the ones who bear your name—
our sisters and our brothers, oppressed and put to shame.
In times of persecution, when faith is sorely tried,
give courage through the knowledge that you are by their side.

Help us to share the burden and show us how to care
through faithful interceding for all who need our prayer;
that we may stand together with all who suffer loss,
those who in faith and courage have taken up Your cross.

If we should face oppression because we are your own,
may we find strength in knowing that we are not alone;
and should we find ourselves with a bitter cross to bear,
may we find hope and comfort through someone else’s prayer.

(c) Iain D. Cunningham, 2007

Bubble-wrapped

She is a strange one, our Tess!
Like most cats she has no owner, but she does have a household full of servants who will get up and open doors for her or make sure that her bowl has sufficient food in it. She is also pretty smart in other ways. We have trained her to sit on a box in the kitchen to tell us when she wants food, or wants more food. One of my daughters has decided that the next step must be to teach her to speak but I am a little bit sceptical of this possibility.
Often Tess can be incredibly affectionate, and loves nothing better than to curl up in your lap and sleep. Again like most cats, she can make herself unbelievably cute, inviting you to stroke and caress her. She purrs like the most expensive Rolls Royce.
But all of that can turn in an instant. When her eyes change colour and she takes on her 'scary look', you just better get out of the way because she is likely to want to sink her claws or teeth, or both, into any exposed flesh she can find.
Those are the times when she becomes "Psycho-Cat."
She was a rescued stray kitten whom we adopted from the local Cat and Dog Home some years ago. I reckon she was probably badly-treated and even abused as a kitten and occasionally (often for no obvious reason) she reverts to this almost feral behaviour because she suddenly feels insecure.
Fear and insecurity are often the real source of aggression - and not just in cats.

Today Tess was pretty unsettled for some reason and, as she often does, jumped up on to my desk. (This is an action which usually involves a complicated dance sequence over the computer keyboard, with typically annoying consequences.) But instead of settling down as she would normally do, among books and papers, and anything else that might be cluttering up the desk at any given time (and there is always lots of that!) she just jumped back down again.
Eventually she found a box of laser printer cartridges and managed to make an opening through which to squeeze her way inside. After a few brief, green-eyed, glances she curled up and promptly went to sleep.
I reckon the problem was that this morning there were near-gale-force winds outside and she just wanted to find somewhere safe to hide from the storm until it blew over.
I can understand that- though often the storms I want to hide from are not the meteorological ones.

The Painted Veil

My camera has been having a bit of a rest lately - which also means I've had nothing to say on the blog for nearly two weeks!
Well, on the basis that a picture is worth a thousand words I would have had to have written an awful lot of words to make up for the lack of pictures. In fact the two real reasons for not writing much lately are
1. I've had nothing to say (I know... it hasn't stopped me before)
2. I've been pretty busy doing some real work, including three funerals in a week. (It happens like this some times)
I did have some time on Monday, however, to watch a movie on DVD - "The Painted Veil."
I really enjoyed it and would enthusiastically recommend it to anyone who enjoys a good story well told. (It's the third film version of the story by W. Somerset Maugham.)
I enjoyed it mainly because of the sumptious cinematography that captures magnificently both beauty and ugliness, but also because of excellent performances from Naomi Watts and Edward Norton (pictured above.)
One of my favourite lines in the movie, however, is delivered by Diana Rigg, playing the part of a nun. She says: "When love and duty are one, then grace is within you."
In these days when plot and action and special effects seem to be the all important ingredients there are far too few films that take the time to show character development and even transformation. But this is one of the few.
If you haven't seen it yet - take a trip to the video library. It's worth a look.

Morning reflections

Well - no surprises last night then! Georgia 2 - Scotland 0.
I had a bad feeling about it. I kind of knew we would revert to type.
Still - all we have to do now is beat Italy....
Should be easy don't you think?
After all they are only the world champions.
Never mind - we couldn't lose out to a better country.
I'll console myself with this classic view of San Giorgio Maggiore...
Oh no - 'San Giorgio Maggiore' ...sounds like the Italian for "Isn't Georgia bigger and better?"
(OK - I know what it really means before you start correcting me.)

The big question

The big question!!
No - not 'what is the meaning of life?' but 'Can Scotland do it tonight?'
Can we beat Georgia in the Euro qualifier?
One thing seems almost certain - if we don't make it to the finals it will only be because Scotland has an incredible knack of finding new ways to only just miss out or to fall at the last hurdle. But, maybe tonight... followed by a win or draw against Italy....

Gotcha

One of the things I like about Italy is the status of the Italian waiter. Serving others at table is an honourable profession, and not thought of as some menial task, or some sort of stop-gap employment to be done by out of work actors or students or immigrant workers who can't get any other kind of employment. As a consequence they take the job seriously and everything is done with a flourish.

I liked these two guys who work at 'Antico Capon' in Campo Santa Margharita. I remembered both of them from previous visits to Venice. Naturally, they were never going to remember me among the thousands of customers they serve.

I've forgotten their names already, but the one on the right is the one who actually waited on us at the table. The one on the left had a different job altogether and it was fun watching him do it. His job was to get people to decide to stop at 'Antico Capon' for a meal. When we came along he didn't have to work at all as we were already planning to eat there anyway but it was great fun just to watch him go about his business using every possible trick in the book to get folks' attention and draw them in. Enthusiastic, smiling, sometimes loud, there was never the slightest hint of embarrassment on his part, and he never got upset when any of his invitations were rejected. He was clearly trying to guess from a distance what nationality passers-by might be so that he could choose his language accordingly. If he didn't know, he just said 'hello' in every language he could think of.

He was trying to reel people in like an angler, and in fact he was able to 'land' most of those who paused even for a moment to take the initial bait, although one or two got away. We had great fun trying to predict who would and who would not take the bait.

As I watched him working the passing crowd, I wondered if this is this is the kind of thing that Jesus meant when he told Simon Peter he was going to make him a fisher of men?

Wings to fly

In the so-called Piazetta of St. Mark's Square, Venice, near the water's edge stand two tall Byzantine granite pillars. On top of one you will see the figure of St. Theodore, the first patron saint of the city, proudly holding his shield and spear. On top of the other is the winged lion of St. Mark, which you find all over the city, and on the Venetian flag.

And on top of that...

... at least for a moment or two the other week...

there stood a proud gull.

I don't know how much thinking seagulls ever do, but I can imagine this one thinking.

As it first looked upwards to the golden winged angel on top of the campanile, then down at the winged lion on whose back it stood...

"Your wings may look more impressive than mine, but I can actually fly you know!"

Something to think about.

Grounded

If you want to see loads of Italian Renaissance Art, Venice is one of the places to go. The place is overflowing with it, or almost sinking under the weight of it, to vary the overstated metaphor.
Never mind the art galleries: every church has its Bellini, Titian or Tintoretto (usually several, in fact.) After a while it can get a bit much.
For some relief from all of this overwhelmingly religious imagery, you can call in at the late Peggy Guggenheim's house (just don't make the mistake of ordering anything in the tearoom/cafe there - it will cost you the price of a small painting, if and when it finally arrives, and it won't be worth eating anyway!! -You can see we had a bad experience there.)
It is, of course, a museum displaying some of Peggy Guggenheim's amazing collection of modern art - very different in style and subject matter from all of the Renaissance stuff...
OR...
you can find 'art' in the streets.
I'm not sure whether this object pictured above could really be considered as a work of art or simply as a political 'flyer.' It is certainly preaching an environmentalist message and it is a stark reminder to all the tourists and visitors like myself who arrive in Venice by air, that we may be leaving some rather large (size 12+) carbon footprints for the sake of a short break.
Well, it made me think.
But, will it make me change my behaviour?
Does any preaching do that?

One thing is certain: the crate above is not going to get off the ground any time soon. It is going nowhere. And that's the problem with the environmental issue too. We need to find new ways of fuelling transport because the long term answer cannot be for us all to stay in our own little corners.

Daft hands

Talking about creativity and original ideas, what about this for an original idea?
Bizarre, but genius all the same. (Thanks to my daughter for pointing me to this video.)

Abstract reflections

I've said it before - there's a sense in which the camera always lies. That is - a photograph is not reality itself: it is merely a creative interpretation of one aspect of that reality, a freezing still of a moment in time. This is, in itself, a distortion of reality; for we do not experience life as separate, or even separable, static moments: it is a moving continuum, like a river.

However, distortion is not the same as deceit, for it is possible sometimes to capture just the right moment which expresses the essence of a place, or a time, or an event, or (and this is much harder to do) of a person. In this sense it is, like bending palm leaves into 'locusts,' an act of creative transformation.

Water provides the photographer with some of the best opportunities for doing this, precisely because it is usually something moving. You can vary the exposure time to make reflections in water look like molten metal or smudged paint. Depending on how far you take it you can even create almost totally abstract patterns. The picture above doesn't quite go that far, but it is almost there.

What people sometimes fail to realise is that words are often just as much distortions (or at least interpretations) of reality as pictures. When we do take this into account we are much less likely to be arrogantly dogmatic in believing we have grasped the whole truth of anything.

A play of locusts?

The creativity, inventiveness and sheer skill of human beings never cease to amaze me.
Where do people get their ideas from?

I once watched two young boys in a little Greek village take an old metal container and, with nothing more than a couple of large stones, transform it into a boat which they could float on the water and play with. A toy out of almost nothing.

The picture above was snapped hurriedly last week in Venice as we passed this group of Chinese people transforming palm leaves into 'locusts' with just a few deft and well-practised twists and folds. They looked to me as if they could have made these things with their eyes closed.
Amazing.

Reach for the moon

Another picture from Venice...
On the basis of the old saying - that's another thousand words...

Keeping in touch

I know... I haven't blogged anything for ages.
But I have a good excuse, or at least an explanation. I spent last week in one of my favourite places in all the world (outside Scotland that is) - namely Venice. It was a treat for my second youngest daughter who recently graduated and who had not, until then, ever seen Venice, or any other part of Italy.

I've blogged before about why I find this place so special, particularly when it comes to taking photographs. It is always good, however, to see even the most familiar of places through the eyes of someone who has never seen the place before. (It was also good for me that Ailsa, like myself, enjoys a good espresso!!)

One of the things I like most about Venice, and which, in many respects sets it apart from so many other cities of the world, is that on one level it never seems to change. Not many new buildings here.

And yet... it is always different. The shifting light reflecting on the water sees to that. And there is always some little back alley that you haven't been lost in before.

In addition, because in some ways the backdrop stays more or less the same, you can pay more attention to the little details.

If you look closely at the photo above you might just spot one of those details...

No?

Take a closer look at the gondolier.

He is not just resting his chin on his hand: he is talking on his mobile phone. Nothing unusual about that these days, I suppose, but there is a certain incongruity between this ubiquitous 21st century accessory and the 18th century mode of transport, not to mention his outfit.

The only time I've seen something like this yet even more incongruous was in the Masai Mara when I spotted a Masia nomadic herdsman walking barefoot with his cattle in traditional Masia dress with a mobile phone clipped on to his belt. Unfortunately I didn't have my camera at the ready that time.

How did we ever manage in the old days without our mobile phones?