A tique might look at a lion

Not sure if I'd describe Mark Carney as a lion, possibly more a wise older sheep dog: intelligent, knowledgable, excellent at his job, and able to round others up into a fold of rational thinking, not that Canadians are sheep - far from it if he is telling the truth (which he is; no need to invent and lie, here, unlike the over-bloated blood-sucking acarien who is still clinging to the collective human population of this space-sphere.

Unlike the last mentioned, Carney wrote this speech rather than his staff doing it for him, and although I read somewhere that people don't rate him as a speaker, I'd say he nailed it: honest, articulate and accessible, caring but not sentimental, open; no histrionics or chest thumping. It gives some hope in this unraveling world.

An august day in 2023

                     A bee just being a bee in our front flower bed amongst all the craziness of this world...

What's it all about?

This year, amongst all the wrapping paper, presents, food prep and celebratory glasses of fizz, I felt there had to be a point where we stopped to think about what this once-a-year madness actually represents.

Some years we have gone to a midnight mass or walked down to a morning service, but as we don't actually visit any churches during the passing months apart from out of a desire to admire their construction and artefacts, joining a service didn't seem particularly meaningful.
Going up to the highest point in the area and really having a think about The World and us in it, did, and up at the highest point near us there happens to be a tiny church which (unlike most churches around here) is always open - probably as there is nothing inside worth making off with.

We drove up the twisting road, let the dogs out for a whirlwind canter around the bald fields (750 meters altitude) had a brisk walk (9 degrees rather than the more balmy 13 down in Limoux) and then visited the edifice with our plaster statue of Christ rescued from a bin at our local recycling place . . . 

I don't know what I believe - agnostic? a confused but interested wonderer more likely, anyway, mindful enough to feel that I wished to mark such a hugely fussed-over event in some way other than presents and eating too much.
The church had its usual festive-time decoration of white plastic tree, tinsel, and small nativity scene. I added Christ to the altar with some olive twigs and a candle and we sat for a moment, possibly not doing much more than trying to imagine how the medieval church-builders had fabricated anything so solid and elegant miles up from the nearest settlement without so much as a tile-cutter but it felt oddly moving, more so than standing within a mass of people who, like ourselves for the most part would probably only be there for the one event.
The day has been wonderful, the hours moving slowly as they seem to on the 25th of December as a rule - time spent with your favourite (hopefully) people, in my case, thankfully, yes; many wonderful gifts, food, reading, walking etc, but somehow all the much richer for sitting quietly for a few moments in that small, seldom visited church.



medieval church in the tiny hamlet of St Salvayre near Alet les Bains.

Following on from last post . . .

What a terrible shame it wasn't something good