The other week I went to two plays in one week (it never rains but it pours). Constellations, by British playright Nick Payne (he could be some long lost relative), was suitably entertaining. There were only two actors on stage, who repeated the same scenes over and over with slightly different outcomes. I am not entirely sure of the ultimate point of it, and to be honest, the multiverse theory of quantum physics – that every alternative decision you might have made is playing out simultaneously elsewhere in a parallel universe – sounds like something someone on drugs made up one night by the campfire, but it was an interesting premise. The play made me glad I believe in a sovereign purpose of God, otherwise the torment of ‘what ifs’ would never end.
Then there was 1984. Yes, 1984. Can’t say I “enjoyed” it. I am sure you could say that it was a very clever adaptation of the book, and that it was done very well … but still, it was not a pleasant experience, at all. I don’t like violence and didn’t actually watch parts of it, and the sound (loud and sudden) and lighting effects made for one intense evening. It was a relief when it was over in truth. And I’m not going back, ever.
Not my usual fare but I’ve just finished The Suspicions of Mr Whicher, by Kate Beckinsdale, a fascinating book (thanks to my friend Cath for the loan). It’s the true story of the murder at Road Hill House in 1860 England, which caused national hysteria at the time and inspired novels by Wilkie Collins and Dickens and was even spoken of in a sermon by Charles Spurgeon, and of the work of the detective who solved it. The intrigue and psychological workings and historical research and analysis of the media influence and of the prevailing sentiments of the nation are all so very interesting (not to mention the end of the story).
I’m also reading Walking on Water by Madeleine L’Engle, a book of reflections on faith and art, which is pondersome.
Don’t think I mentioned on here that I traded in my faithful little old twenty-two-year-old Bertie for a more recent model that’s only two years old. So, I think I now have the hang of the technology and I am enjoying cruising in my new car and am very thankful to have it. (I’m occasionally bothered by my increasing debt level, but also thankful I have the capacity to chip away at that.) It’s even automatic, which is the first time I have owned one, and it’s so easy to drive it’s almost boring. I am pondering taking a driving holiday sometime soon. I think I could enjoy that by myself (given the difficulty of finding holiday chums) and just load up with music, podcasts and books to read when I stop and have a fine time.
A few months ago I got into a project to crochet toys for Syrian refugee children overseas. Unfortunately I only made one for that trip into Lebanon, but there is another trip coming up so I am hoping I can wizz up a few more. I haven’t done huge amounts of crochet lately and also want to do other projects, so I’d best get on it.
I had a birthday last weekend and bought myself a Garmin version of the Fit Bit. I don’t normally buy myself expensive birthday gifts, but if I don’t no-one else will, and with all the kids getting birthday fit bits nowadays days I decided that maybe I could have one too. I promise not to turn into one of the people who blogs exercise statistics, but I might have looked at the app on my phone a little bit too much in the last week. When I ran the Canberra fun run earlier in the year I had no real idea what my pace was, as I haven’t even worn a watch running in recent years, and basically I now know I’m slow (a lot slower than once upon a time) – but hopefully this makes me get faster. I also occasionally have episodes of ectopic heartbeats, which can have various triggers, so I thought the heart rate monitor could be an interesting experiment if it can pick up the off beats.
The picture up the top is a white hellebore, which has flowered from a plant I bought at a church fair. In appreciation of plants that flower in winter.