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I'm going along with Tiffer to one of his MA modules: Literature and Pastoral Theology. The first one was today and it looks as if it will be really fascinating and enjoyable. It was reminding me of my degree, and I was even getting excited about the essay titles! As part of the session, we had to think of 20 literary works that we would want in an essential reading list for someone wanting to read a 'canon' of English literature. Interested readers should have a go at this themselves (without cheating and looking at their bookshelf!) before I post another entry explaining what I ended up with and what surprised me...
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This woman at greenbelt gave me a badge that says 'wtfwjd' on it. I think this is hilarious. Unfortunately I can't think of anyone else that would, since most people I know that are both young and Christian enough to get the joke wouldn't approve of it. I don't think I can wear the badge in public.
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There is such a thing as trousers made from 100% recycled plastic bottles. Tesco sells them. *Mind boggles*
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Recently, Robhu and I have been having a fascinating discussion about the freedom, or lack of freedom, of Christian women, because of something Mark Driscoll said about Ted Haggard's wife. (Actually, whether he said anything about Ted Haggard's wife is itself debatable. That seems to be the way people are reading it, but Driscoll was making general points about how a pastor should resist temptation). For the quote and the full conversation, look here. It seems to be Robhu's point of view that for a pastor to advise a Christian woman to be sexually available to her husband whenever she can is a terrible act of misogynistic discrimination. Never mind that the woman, in her wedding ceremony, promised among many other things to do this; never mind that the man is expected to do just the same for her; never mind that in his other 13 points, Driscoll lays heavy responsibilities on the husband; Driscoll's advice is apparently degrading to women. But what, actually, is the cultural alternative? Without religion to hinder them, are 21st century women enjoying freedom, equality with men, the upper hand in sexual relationships and control over their own lives so that they are never objectified or possessed by men? I made the mistake of buying a woman's magazine last week. Actually, I only bought it to claim the free mascara that came with it, so the mistake I made was not buying it, but opening it and reading it while I waited for my coach. Here is a sample of the contents: - A story covering the newfound happiness of three women who decided to share the experience of undergoing breast enlargement surgery together, in a sort of prolonged girly pampering session alternative. Elsewhere in the magazine, a writer gleefully points out a celebrity's sagging (fake) boobs and predicts a fourth round of surgery for her. - An article about the new fashion for British girls earning money in Japan by working as 'hostesses'. Apparently, although there have already been two sexual assaults and murders, the girls reckon it's safe enough so long as you "keep your wits about you". - An article wondering why, even though one in four British women claim to have been flashed at at least once, barely any incidents are reported to the police. It interviews a girl who, being followed late at night by a man masturbating, was "shocked and literally ran home" but later laughed about it with her friends. She didn't report it because she "didn't think it was serious enough". The article points out that flashing only became a sexual offence four years ago and that, since it often leads to worse crimes, people should really start reporting it. - An article suggesting 8 "white lies that could save your relationship", which explains that you should lie to your boyfriend about whether you miss your ex, are jealous of his, and whether you've ever cheated - oh, and you must make sure to tell him you've had less than ten sexual partners. Of course, we understand you must have had many more than that, but this new guy won't sleep with you unless he thinks he's number 10 or below, so lie. I could go on. Quite how any self-respecting woman can read this drivel without getting a shiver down her spine is beyond me. But then, this magazine isn't aimed at self-respecting women at all, is it? It's aimed at that 21st century woman who, having been emancipated and placed by the previous century's women on a glittering path of education and career freedom, is frantically trying to make herself right back into a mere object again. And the only man I know who is currently fighting any kind of vocal battle in the name of women, is getting all steamed up because a Christian pastor has suggested that a wife, having promised herself to her husband and to him alone, might like to actually have sex with him more than once in a blue moon, and that this might in fact help to strengthen their relationship. If that is what today's misogynists look like, then count me in as a misogynist. I only know that I would much rather be openly sexually available to my husband than counting my sexual partners on the fingers of both hands and feeling depressed because they don't yet come to more than ten, leaving me with nothing to lie to my latest boyfriend about.
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This thunder is wonderful. I wonder why I like thunderstorms so much? I think they are my favourite type of weather. I love the extremes and the suspense, counting between lightning and thunder to judge the distance as the storm circles. Of course, a great deal of it must come from those Pyrenean summer storms that signalled the end of unbearably hot weather and caused my sister and I to drop whatever we were doing and race outside, dancing like crazed hooligans, getting drenched and shouting praises to the heavens whenever our voices could be hidden by the thunder. There's more to it than that, though. I remember a German lesson at secondary school, taken in a classroom with big windows, during which a thunderstorm started. Suddenly, I was out of my seat and by the window, my nose pressed to the glass. I didn't know how I had got there; I was even quite embarrassed about it, as my teacher and classmates were all staring at me as if I had gone crazy. In a way, I had. I was high on storm electricity or something. Suffice it to say, I'm currently enjoying the weather.
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I have just had something akin to a profound religious experience in a cinema. They have made a film of a book which I had entirely forgotten, whose title I only vaguely remembered, which I read when I was about 8 or 9 and which shaped my entire childhood and subsequent life in an extreme and astounding way. Watching it was like discovering that somebody has made a film of my life, full of intimate statements about my soul. I think I'll post again tomorrow.
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I have just spent about 20 minutes in the company of a very amenable robot called God. This was very, very funny indeed. Here is my conversation: Me: If you also want to chat to God, he's at: http://www.titane.ca/concordia/dfar
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Today we cycled into town on the tandem to have lunch at the Castle with Rob and Dave, and on the way back Tiffer decided to find out what was down a little path he'd seen. It turned out to be not really meant for bicycles, let alone tandems, but we pressed on and found that it cut straight through to a tiny narrow track running down the middle of a huge field of rape. (This appears to be growing all over Cambridgeshire at the moment; the yellow colour is stunning and the smell seems to have pervaded the whole county.) So, we rode down the middle of the field. The track was so bumpy and unpredictable that I couldn't keep my feet on the pedals, so I put my legs up on the crossbar and let Tiffer guide the bike. My admittedly unusual reaction to this episode was to laugh hysterically and helplessly all the way - it was probably brought on by direct contact with so much bright yellow! Things That Are Making Me Ridiculously Happy At The Moment: Yellow fields
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Just back from a PE staff meeting. I have never really shaken off the conviction formed at boarding school that PE is a form of organised torture. Now, though, it's worse, because not only do I still have to do it, I also have to pretend I'm enjoying it. The teacher doesn't get to opt to play in deep field and make daisy chains... I hope I have more sympathy for the children than my PE teacher Mrs B ever had for me. Along with her daughter, who was in my class, she would pick on me, holding loud discussions about whether I was as bad at everything as I was at running, and sniggering whenever I missed another ball. I do remember one delicious moment, though, when Mrs B announced that she was going to put me on the school netball team because we were winning so much it was embarrassing, and so she wanted to make our team worse for the second half. I was so angry that I played the best netball I have ever played before or since, and I have as a snapshot in my memory the vision of myself leaping to catch the ball to the sound of her anguished shriek from the side of the court: "Is that Isa???!!!" In a good school story, the incident would have made her treat me differently after that, but unfortunately, in real life it made no difference at all - except that, possibly, it made her slightly less scary to me. I knew I could beat her if I needed to.
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The Five Love LanguagesMy primary love language is probablyActs of Service with a secondary love language being Quality Time. Complete set of results
InformationUnhappiness in relationships, according to Dr. Gary Chapman, is often due to the fact that we speak different love languages. Sometimes we don't understand our partner's requirements, or even our own. We all have a "love tank" that needs to be filled in order for us to express love to others, but there are different means by which our tank can be filled, and there are different ways that we can express love to others.Take the quiz These things are always awkward to answer when you know the premise behind them, because the questions are all really obvious. For example, I suspect that gifts is higher up for me than this list puts it, and that's probably because I don't want to be the sort of person for whom gifts are important, so I avoided dotting some of them!
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As tagged by Robhu and in no particular order: (as far as I'm aware there didn't have to be an order) 1. Deplonging the cafetiere 2. Throwing an orange into the sky on a very blue-skied day 3. Duck-down duvets 4. Reading Gerard Manley Hopkins out loud when no-one can hear me 5. Playing Elgar very loudly when no-one can hear me 6. A sunny spot to read in 7. A husband hug 8. The words "Let me do that..." 9. Late night discussions with wine 10. A random room in a museum, with husband in a funny mood 11. Unexpected free time 12. Unexpected free time with husband
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On Good Friday, Isa left church in a contemplative mood after listening to an hour and a half of sermons on the Passion, and didn't even feel too guilty about leaving the rest of the congregation there for another hour and a half. She ambled up to college in search of her sleeping husband, and having located him, was persuaded to stop off at the co-op on the way home and buy some edible donations to the neighbours' barbeque. In the co-op, behind the counter, was a woman wearing bunny ears. They were grey and pink sequinned bunny ears on a head band. Isa was really not sure what she felt. Offended might be too strong a word. The bunny ears had not wounded her personally. In fact, Isa generally thought of herself as a fairly generous person when it came to such fripperies as ears. Probably, had it been Sunday, she would have smiled at the woman with the ears and wished her a happy Easter. As it was, however, Isa had to hide behind the Mars Bar Egg shelf, resisting the temptation to march up to the counter and inform Bunny Woman that it was Good Friday and that the ears were, in Isa's opinion, more than a little inappropriate. Isa has been studying this reaction in herself with some interest over the last few days. She wonders what others would have felt - or done?
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loved
impressed
amused
weird
irate
enthralled
curious
lazy
contemplative