The Race

"It's not how you start, it's how you finish..."

But then "every end has a start."


I'm on a train to london with the pod. It's nice to be out.



{Today's soundtrack: The Hours - Narcissus Road}

Thankfulness

Sigh. Today I'm feeling a bit miserable because the foot injury is flaring up again. Most of all I want to run around and be thankful for this lovely job, the one to go in that space we're watching, and most of all I want to be happy about a calm and treasured time of things all having worked out OK. But most of all I'm cross at having to stay still with my injury and separate from the world! It's so tricky - we're not built for isolation, and I'm not great at sitting still. I'm trying not to be grumpy but it's quite difficult!

For now, in order to make a point of thankfulness, I'm reaching for these photographs from shoot day. They help recall a grand and blessed session with special folk, and make a point of the fact I get to do some lovely things in my work, to which my stillness today tips a little nod.


{Today's soundtrack: fireworks somewhere in town, and an owl in the tree outside. Yes, an owl! And I thought it was some teenagers larking about...}

Trees of Justice

A man once said, "And the trees of the fields shall clap their hands." What on earth does that mean? Trees don't have hands.

But then, maybe if you think of branches as arms, and the leaves as hands, and if you've ever stood beneath a sycamore branch while the wind blows its leaves, it does somehow seem like hands clapping. And then if you step back into that wind to look at the whole tree it becomes like an excited crowd of people. And if you step back further to get a view of the whole field of trees it could–in a certain visionary way–mimic a huge stadium audience, cheering something quite brilliant and arresting. So, maybe as you're standing there feeling tiny, there is an impression growing that the trees of the fields do indeed have hands to clap and they sense something to cheer that we just guess at for now. Let yourself be enchanted by this.

I can't tell you how much I love trees - these fantastic, giant poems to strength, resilience and longevity. The roots of a tree grow as deep as the branches are high, an important reminder that as deep as a person's suffering is, so is their capacity to love.

Trees of justice, oaks of righteousness - excellent encouragers.


{Today's soundtrack: wind in the leaves}

Trophies

If you didn't see this picture with your own eyes, you would never believe that in a kitchen somewhere in the UK there was a saucepan full to the brim with malteasers, going partway to create adequate reward for a week of hard earned triumph.

Half marathons complete, crutches thrown away (believe it sister!) and the job of my life handed in (deadline TODAY). Completion of these things, my friends, has to be acknowledged.

No, this image will ever win awards, but just looking at the contents of that saucepan is enough to get the endorphines coursing while the radio provides music to smile to. And surely that's (in part) the job of photography - to record unbelievable things as they happen. (All of this is true, but I promise you'll never see the pictures of me running...)

Halleluliah, amen.


{Today's soundtrack: Supergrass - Sun Hits the Sky}

In Dependence

How to go from super-strength to incapacity in the crossing of a finish line: run a half marathon with acute tendonitis in your achilles heel by telling yourself its just those quite new and not properly run-in running shoes pressing a bit, and the camber in the road going the wrong way. Upon crossing aforementioned finishing line in reasonable time, find nice St John Ambulance people for an ice pack, then leave all shame at the door as you try–unsuccessfully–to get up again and listen to them radio one of their famous ambulances for a lift to the doc and crutches.

Oh dear, housebound and having to enjoy my beloved but humble garden-on-the-steps from a removed angle. It does look nice from up here, but there's nothing like being close enough to see the pollen on the bumble bee's legs as it drinks. I do miss being down there, my patient space of idea and prayers alongside things that grow.

Yes, this is the latest drama going off in Lizzieland, though it feels quite lovely to sit down all day eating choc without being assumed lazy or greedy. Kind, kind friends and neighbours coming to cook supper and water the plants, and lessons in dependence and being in a lot, neither of which come easily.

Thankfully, I've had so many gorgeous offers of help I've almost had to invent things for people to do so they don't go away feeling unwanted! (It's amazing the looks of "alright suit yourself" you get when you try to suggest you don't need anything.)

Thank you friends, I'm on the mend again. By the way, if anyone is going to the shops I could do with some cake ingredients...


{Today's soundtrack: radio4 + 6music, for the company}

Blasting in Progress

For a minute, the road was closed off by men in hi-vis jackets and big boots. No one was allowed through. A siren sounded, first twice, then three times, then there was a deep and rumbling bang which startled my core. After one final long siren, we were clear to go. It was only a small building site, and the effects of the blast couldn't be seen, hidden in some drain pipe I suspect.

This blasting, for the passer-by it's more than just a sound. One particular memory I have is hearing snow-cannons blasting drifts in the Alps, about 5am before we would normally wake. It was deep and base enough to shake the chalet timber, and it surprised me then how–even though quite innocent–to the untrained and unsuspecting being it is so frightening.

I can't imagine how it must feel to live with this all the time in hostility. The soul must find itself startled out of all grasp on peace. Either that, or you become especially skilled in achieving peace in the thick of chaos. Either that, or you become so hard-hearted you stop noticing.

Learning how to be at peace while sitting on piles of rubble is a rich lesson.


{Today's soundtrack: birdsong}

The Rules

So, what are the conventions around using a tea-cosy as a hat? Dave, I know you'll have thoughts on this, but it's one thing wearing yours at a DJ Derek gig under cover of rum and darkness, and another altogether to choose the high street in broad daylight.


There's often a stage in between hot and cold where going commando (as they say at festivals) is not an option, particularly if you suffer from dreadful hat hair, as I do. In these times the spout/handle holes could be utilised as well placed ear vents. Maddy is only partway to demonstrating the look here, but personally, I admire the boldness in her lateral thinking, especially when it's crafted in the form of a wicker basket full of flowers.

What's the best thing you've ever reclaimed as head gear?


{Today's soundtrack: the guys were listening to The Beatles earlier on, but we're all concentrating really hard so it has reduced to intense electrical hum.}