What I've been reading during the Covid Spring and Summer of 2020 when I haven't been blogging

 I had ordered Hilary Mantel's The Mirror and the Light a good while before our Lockdown*, but had been more than slightly daunted by the size of it! I was daunted as well by that fearful anticipation you suffer when the last episode of anything comes out, and this one had been so very long awaited! It turned out however to be the perfect Lockdown read: long, consuming and a very good place to hide during my early Lockdown very sleepless nights. Not that I'm sure the court of Henry Tudor would have been a good place to hide at any time of the day, as dear old TC did indeed find out. Why couldn't he have just retired to Launde? It reminded me of the very little that I recall from my English degree - the idea of the overreacher in literature from around that time. How do you know when much is too much? Tome though it was, this much of Mantel is definitely not too much. I thought she closed the saga beautifully. Thank you, Hilary. It was worth the wait.

 I read Ali Smith's Spring just before Lockdown, but brought it to my At Home At Hay digital festival week because Smith was one of the many fabulous events that I had booked to stream from my makeshift festival tent. Instead of the usual conversation that other authors set up with the very serious Peter Florence, the sparklingly original Smith shared an extraordinary film of still images narrated by that scintillating word play that lights up all her work. An absolute gift of thirty minutes exploring the "and" of these covid times. Up until the film I had been thinking what a broadside covid had been since the seasons books are being written in real Brexit time, but not quite real enough for covid. Smith is obviously not so easily defeated. I'm not sure if the film is available anywhere yet, but it's worth looking out for. And after all those blissful events in my bookish haven, what did I read first out of all the erudite discoveries from this monarch of literary festivals? Pyramids by Terry Pratchett as recommended by the classicist Stephen Fry himself!

 My boss brought me two books when we had a socially distanced cuppa in the garden as soon as that was allowed back in early summer. I read Where the Crawdads Sing by Delia Owens first. Sad; beautifully sad; but sad. I was slightly distracted by the changes in pace. Measured, gentle telling of the first chapters. Then into the segmented sequences of crime and detection. Then all of a rush of the rest. Glorious twists and turns and eddies and roars. And achingly sad. I posted the Crawdads to Catherine in Glasgow. My boss is religious about recycling.

By which time homeschool was out for summer, and they opened self-catering accommodation and the National Trust rang us to say we could after all have our lakeside cottage for four nights at the start of July and we went. Feeling very brave despite the fact that we took everything we could possibly need in the way of food and all else to obviate the need to visit a shop. I took my Boss' second book, as she reassured me that this would not have me in a constant state of tension. She was wrong. Where Crawdads was sad but beautifully sad sad, Kate Atkinson's Big Sky is depressing, but interestingly depressing. Admittedly it does turn out to significantly less distressing than you fear and from the little I know of her work, Atkinson does write the most eloquent detective fiction I've come across. I read When Will There Be Good News because it was intriguingly on the A-Level Literature syllabus. Jackson Brodie, interesting guy, and the nanny from WWTBGN is one of the main characters in Big Sky, so there was enough of a continuity to intrigue. Also interesting, and mostly very accurate, commentary on National Trust members like us.

I left Big Sky in the cottage with other novels that previous guests had left behind. I thought my Boss would approve, and sent her this picture to tell her that I was exchanging her book for a German novel. I have a German-teaching, Germanophile friend who would appreciate a German read, I thought. I am still wondering if that lies within the etiquette of holiday cottage stays. I somewhere reasoned that there really couldn't be that many German-speakers booked into deepest, darkest, wettest Fermanagh this summer?

 And here we are, moving inextricably towards whatever level of normal the Assembly wants us to reach. And I am reading Bill Bryson's The Body: a guide for occupants. I'm missing the rip-roaringly laugh-out-loud-in-public funny of Notes from a Small Island, but then since I'm not much back in public yet, that's ok.

 This is next on the pile of To Be Read, and it's an ambitious pile because of Hay "purchases" and having had a birthday. I don't know how you're feeling right now, or what sort of a boat you're using to sail through this same storm that we're all apparently in. I'm a bit fed up with that image, to be honest. All the different boats seem to do is either sail too close to each other just to try to sink that sort of a nonsense fearful excuse for a vessel, or sail circuitous routes around anyone approaching in that silent ballet that we've been dancing round each other for four months now. I'm in the second boat. Don't rock it! Apparently Bernardine Evaristo's Girl Woman Other is utterly devoid of punctuation to make it easier to swim into. I'd be happy enough to swim through the rest of this storm as hardily as I can if the sea could be utterly devoid of boats at all.

I have learnt one thing from Matt Hancock, the Health Secretary, in all these months. The word egregious. He used it last week and I will confess that I had to look it up. Isn't it interesting that the archaic meaning is the complete opposite of what it means now. That seemed to me to be a better image for These Strange Times than boats. I know how shockingly bad these months have been for many of us, maybe most of us; but for us here, they were most remarkably good. And that does indeed feel archaic now, as we inch our way slowly and quietly out on to The Other Side.


*Lockdown for us started on Thursday 19th March which was the boys' first day of school being closed, earlier than the blanket closing from London as schools here began moving teacher training days to that week in the expectation of the inevitable announcement. Prince Charming started working from home two weeks later, and we have spent four months now healthy, with everything we need, privileged with space and digital devices and wifi enough for four sets of online needs. It has been remarkably good indeed. I do most sincerely hope that you and your families have all found happiness and health in the midst of your circumstances.

A cheerful little tale after many months of These Strange Times

Once upon a time there was a little dream. It really was a very little dream. Round like a creamy pearl it had trundled through the days and weeks and millennia even, scuttling quite happily along to the left and the right with a still small voice smiling in the background and telling the dream that this was indeed the way to be going.

It had admittedly bumped into lots of unpleasant obstacles along the way. But the smudged tarnishes rubbed off eventually, and the little pearly dream trailed joy happy ever after for the rest of the day and all eternity.

Patrick the self-isolater (and Lent #3)

 Happy St Patrick's Day! He didn't get any mad parades and green Guinness either. And no, he didn't have a government telling him to stay in for a few months, but he did have Irish slave traders who grabbed him and sold him to Miliucc who condemned him to six long, cold, lonely years on a very rocky and uncomfortable bump of a hill not too far from here.

It's interesting to us in these days especially, I think, to imagine how Patrick chose to spend his time. He would have been entirely dependant on God and presumably others to feed him. He would have been devoid of all stimulation and entertainment. He records later that what he did was pray, all day and all night. One hundred times in daytime. One hundred times at night. We worked this out at our little Scripture Union in school last week: that's one pray every seven minutes.

Prayer is definitely becoming my theme for Lent. And Lent seems to be becoming C-time for us all. I often complain to myself, make excuses to myself, that I haven't time to read my Bible, or sit for a decent time meditating on that reading, listening to the God who loves me extravagantly. Well, aren't we getting more time than we've ever had? I sincerely hope that we won't have six years to combat loneliness and deprivation, but I do also sincerely pray that we'll look back on these weeks of self-isolation with recognition of how they brought us closer to God.

I even think that these weeks will bring us closer to others as well. We can, as so many are saying now, use our multitudinous communication technologies to communicate with each other. So, a very happy St Patrick's day to you all. I wish you lots of prayer time! We'll be reading this book, and praying these words of Patrick's too,

I bind unto myself today

The power of God to hold and lead,

His eye to watch, his might to stay,

His ear to hearken to my need.

The wisdom of my God to teach,

His hand to guide, His shield to ward,

The word of God to give me speech,

His heavenly host to be my guard.

Lent #2

(Another wonderful image from the wonderful Mackesy book that will be first in my March books!)

The storms continue Outside. but there has been blessed relief this week Inside. (I refuse to class C whatsit as a storm just yet, despite the fact that I anticipate half of my grocery order not arriving tomorrow afternoon because of C whatsit panic.)

So, I seem to have set myself the target of this over Lent: pray without ceasing, thank without flinching, and remember without doubting. That's easier to do when storms abate, undoubtedly.

I read an interesting thing about prayer yesterday. Gretchen Joanna and I sort of met when she and I were both skirting around the idea of reading Kierkegaard most of ten years ago. (Really, GJ? Really most of ten years ago?!) So we have finally started, and are joint reading The Lily of the Field and the Bird of the Air. This week we're both aiming to share what we have made of it all thus far.

Suffice to say at this point, that the First Discourse has led me on in an interesting way from last Sunday's aspiration.

He became silent... He had thought that to pray was to talk; he learned that to pray is not only to keep silent, but to listen.

As I pray, thank, remember this Lent, there must also be silence and listening. First of all I'll only hear the stormy wind. And I might hear the lamentations once more of men. If I don't avoid social media I'll hear panic and fear. These storms will pass: And after the fire came a gentle whisper.

Another lesson I'm taking from the lily and the bird is not to worry about toilet roll, Calpol and paracetamol. The Lord provides. And there are still tulips.

World Book Day

I have been really interested in all the talk around World Book Day this year. From my little spot in the social media circle it seems to have come from folk called The Curiosity Approach and they had these excellent words earlier in the week.

I certainly remember all sorts of "mummy homework" when the boys were at primary school. I usually heard about them the night before the sock puppet/Christmas angel/pirate outfit/book day costume was required, although my particular brand of Life with Boys acknowledges that said homework could have been a long established requirement! Nonetheless, for us, World Book Day was definitely more of a dressing up stress than a celebration of story. Bravo to anyone who pulls it back to its roots.

Apparently its roots lie under the mighty UNESCO oak. They wanted to "promote reading and a love of books". The Curiosity Approach's article also cites research that describes one in eleven UK children who do not own one single book of their own at home. In a school like the one where I work, that number would be one in eight. What shocked me even more was the idea that children who did have at least one book at home had in fact, on average, 51 books. That's some jump.

On Thursday (World Book Day) the small group of 16 year-old boys who are in my English class got their January exam results. They are all boys with a history of failing in English. Most of them went up two or even three grades from their summer result. Do not take this as a sign of my teaching prowess: for only three of them was this enough to get them over the pass line. We're pushing on hard to the final exam this summer.

I took them cake on Thursday and a huge bag of books from our shelves. I think we have safely more than 51 books in this house. I think I can safely guess that my school boys do not. I took all our picture and short story books that were not babyish. We ate cake and read. One of them apparently said that he had just read his first book. I had this picture up on the screen. It's from this quite fabulous book. "If at first you don't succeed, have some cake." Hopefully it will work every time! All prayers for them (and me!) would be greatly appreciated!

Lent #1

Ang is hosting Lenten thinkers again this year. A few Lents ago I really felt, even after years of professing faith, that I didn't have any true understanding of Easter. Outside of the story and the theology, I mean. I wanted it to be real to me. What was it about? By Easter I knew that it was about me. About you. About all of us. Laying it all down at that horrific cross, because that's where our love and life start.

I think that year was the one after That was the same year I did Outside Tea in Lent where I drank a cup of tea outside (nearly) every day in Lent and spent Easter on strong antibiotics against an absolutely miserable chest infection!

Then there was the Lent of Rend music. That was a good one.

So: I have been wondering about Lent this year. I always love reading Dormouse's challenges, and I'm trying to keep abreast of those through her. But I'm grateful for Ang's words too this year, the "benefit of Lent is that it gives a person time to reflect on their lifestyle, and consider what changes would be good and right for them. For 40 days - or maybe for ever after."

You know me; Ebenezers are the thing. The big stone raised up by Samuel to remember that, "Thus far the Lord has helped us". So I'm raising Ebenezers, because the stormy weather here shows no sign of abating and neither do the storms of Life with Boys and the rest, so I want to pray my way through Lent, pray without ceasing, thank without flinching, and remember without doubting. That's what I would like to do for 40 days, and maybe for ever after.

I'm also going to eat lots of hot cross buns, and buy lots of tulips. Because those are my two favourite things at this time of year. And you can still do those when Outside and Inside are blowing a gale. Here's hoping that March really will come in like a lion and out like a (paschal) lamb.

Lenten blessings be yours (with hot cross buns and tulips) x

February books and trying something very new

I finished la Peste this month. Every time I hear about this current virus I think of Camus' beautiful portrayal of the human spirit at such a time. This is one of the texts I studied for my Masters dissertation, and in it I tried to look at the portrayal of Christianity in Camus' work. One of his life-long friends was a priest and he spent long times with him. Sartre accused Camus of expelling Christ from the front door of the house, only to let him in at the back. I think this sums up Camus' respect for people of faith. But then Camus just respects all people, all the time, with all love and compassion. He certainly captures all the stages of illness and its accompanying fear that we're experiencing now. 

 Staying with the French theme this month, I reread Cyrano because I was very much hoping to get to one of those theatre to cinemas link-ups that you can do now. James McAvoy is currently playing Cyrano, in what looks an intriguingly edgy interpretation of Rostand's play, in the National Theatre in London. Our QFT (goergeous arty university cinema) was showing the link on the Thursday of half-term. Did I mange to book tickets before they sold out? No. Is the next and final showing on the same night as Jo's Spring Concert, now that he has finally joined the school choir? Yes.

I love this play. I love Gerard Depardieu's movie of it. I love Steve Martin's Roxanne, and we all watched it over half-term. Thankfully Mattman laughed in all the right places, and forgave us for making him sit down with us! Sadly, I will not be loving James McAvoy's version any time soon!

And then came this special gift of a day, when I think you should always do something special, because it's a free day! A once in four years opportunity to have a whole 24 hours extra!  So, today I spent the whole day at a sewing class. Not just slightly wonky sewing to line a little crochet project. Not travelling to Glasgow so that your accomplished chum can sew your curtains for you. This was real live me at my machine all day with expert tuition and a very nearly finished real live "simple" skirt at the end of it. A garment! I think making a garment is a very good thing to be able to do! 

I can't claim to have done that yet, mind you. I still have to hand sew the top of the waistband and run a seam around the hem. I might have done all this tonight, but I've just got back from watching Emma with some friends from church. What a visual treat that was, and it certainly puts a "simple" skirt into perspective! I don't think I'll be embarking on any of those yellow coats, blue waistcoats, or floaty gowns any time soon, or indeed ever at all!