tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1858657244821425872024-02-07T12:06:15.291-08:00MoonglowingJust some (hopefully) funny stuff that occurs to me during the course of my life. Maybe stuff that's happened to me, particularly my unspoken thoughts while the stuff was happening. Maybe observations. Maybe random curiosities.Rogerhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02234860780216689426noreply@blogger.comBlogger19125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-185865724482142587.post-91154513017813899422019-04-27T17:39:00.000-07:002019-04-27T17:39:17.223-07:00Bike refurb project: intermediate phaseHere it is after much cleaning:<br />
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<br />Rogerhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02234860780216689426noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-185865724482142587.post-71283362257363715832019-04-19T06:49:00.003-07:002019-04-19T06:49:26.309-07:00Bike refurb project: in the beginningI bought this frame from the dump (sorry, recycling centre). Here it is before I start work on it.<br />
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It’s currently soaking in cleaner/degreaser. Back to it...</div>
<br />Rogerhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02234860780216689426noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-185865724482142587.post-68917575484614906192013-08-27T05:18:00.001-07:002013-08-27T05:18:07.838-07:00Step Out and Let God Step InI've been inspired by reading Robby Dawkins' book to "step out and let God step in". So, I'm off to town, where I intend to trundle round on my scooter, and let the Holy Spirit guide me. I have in mind to approach people by asking if I can pray for them. I don't have any expectations. I'm going to do it anyway. Watch this space.Rogerhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02234860780216689426noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-185865724482142587.post-90348174119835675772013-02-10T15:49:00.000-08:002013-02-10T15:49:38.533-08:00Why Do Bad Things Happen to Good People?This is a record of my current best understanding of this long-standing question, answered from my perspective as a disciple of Jesus.<br /><br />To fill-in the implied sub-text of the question: Does God allow bad things to happen to good people? Or, even, does God even cause bad things to happen to good people? I think yes to both.<br /><br />I think that sometimes God actively causes bad things to happen to good people in order to teach them a lesson. But He does so with love, and in their best interest. Indeed, it's precisely because He loves them that He does it. Spare the rod spoil the child. And it pains Him to do so.<br /><br />Aside from that, I think that God passively allows bad things to happen to good people. Could He intervene? Absolutely yes. So why doesn't He? Because He has given us free will. Free will means that people can choose to do bad things to other people. And anyway, if God did intervene, where would He draw the line? Would He stop a dagger stabbing someone? What about a bullet? How about a dose of poison? A cigarette? Doughnuts?<br /><br />But what about those bad things which seem to just happen, apparently unattributable to the actions of bad people? Does God also passively allow these bad things to happen to good people? Absolutely yes. Although a more accurate way of putting it would be not that He allows it, but that He doesn't stop it, <br />despite being able. But why doesn't He intervene? Well, it's more appropriate to consider the question, "What would happen if He did intervene?" How would that work, in practical terms? A coach-load of children about to fall from a mountain road due to a tyre blow-out. An Alpine village in the path of an avalanche. Cancer. Surely it would be acceptable and entirely appropriate for God to intervene in cases such as these? Free will has no bearing here, right? Maybe so, but where would it end? Would He drain the ocean to stop a swimmer drowning? Warm the climate to reverse a mountaineer's hypothermia? Position a huge pile of straw to cushion the landing of a jumbo jet with engine failure? Seriously, it would be a truly weird world - utterly impractical & unworkable.<br /><br />I think that sometimes God actively causes bad things to happen to good people to punish them. But He does so only as a last resort, having tried to dissuade them from incurring His wrath by warning them of the consequences of their wrong choices. And it pains Him to do so. How does this differ from teaching them a lesson? Punishment is to deter others, to inspire fear, to give assurance of His integrity and consistency.<br /><br />I've been discussing at what happens to good people, but is there such a thing as a bad person? Yes, I think so. People who know the Gospel and yet repeatedly and persistently refuse to turn away from sin and towards God. Does God passively allow bad things to happen to these bad people? Absolutely yes. He sometimes even writes them off, allowing them to indulge in sin. Does God actively cause bad things to happen to these bad people? No, I don't think He does, per se. But I do think He does sometimes cause the destruction of bad people, as a last resort. But this is like killing part of Him, and He hates it more than anything. Some of those bad things which seem just to happen, apparently unattributable to the actions of bad people, serve this purpose.<br /><br />I don't have the energy to add Bible references, but I believe what I've written to be Biblically justifiable. I may add the references when I have the energy & time.Rogerhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02234860780216689426noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-185865724482142587.post-48291372445086610422012-05-27T15:10:00.000-07:002012-05-27T15:10:21.344-07:00Conner & Cayden<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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These brothers were featured in the good news article at the end of a recent episode Russell Howard's Good News. Watch this video, but be careful, because, as I was watching, something got stuck in my eye. Both eyes, in fact. My throat, too, thinking about it.<br />
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<iframe allowfullscreen='allowfullscreen' webkitallowfullscreen='webkitallowfullscreen' mozallowfullscreen='mozallowfullscreen' width='320' height='266' src='https://www.youtube.com/embed/vptX99LcmTY?feature=player_embedded' frameborder='0'></iframe></div>
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Even two instances of typical American schmaltz couldn't ruin it for me. What a beautiful, heart-rending, life-affirming, and inspiring story. <br />
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If you want to read more about them, here's an article from their local newspaper:<br />
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<a href="http://www.nashvillekidstriathlon.com/assets/docs/16.%20Tennessean%20Article%20cayden%20connor.pdf" target="_blank">http://www.nashvillekidstriathlon.com/assets/docs/16.%20Tennessean%20Article%20cayden%20connor.pdf</a>Rogerhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02234860780216689426noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-185865724482142587.post-57385295175045766352012-03-09T16:46:00.003-08:002012-03-10T14:17:40.992-08:00Prophet or F%$*wit?<span style="font-family:arial;">It's Friday (well just Saturday, technically) now. Back on Tuesday I was praying to God about a friend's situation. A relative of hers had been terminally ill for some weeks. </span><span style="font-family:arial;">She had previously asked me to pray that his suffering would be minimised, even if his life would end sooner because of this.<br /><br />Now, a </span><span style="font-family:arial;">recent development looked likely to shorten his life further still. He lives a considerable distance away, so it's somewhat of an ordeal to visit. The last time she was there, collecting her husband from visiting his father, the aforementioned, terminally ill, relative, in hospital, she had declined the opportunity to pop-in one last time that trip prior to driving home. This was because her two young children were in the car, and the complications that would have entailed.<br /><br />So we were now in a situation where my friend was wondering if she might now never get a chance to visit him again. That she might have wasted the last opportunity she would ever have to be with him. And the guilt and regret that goes with it.<br /><br />I felt inclined to advise her to make the trip to see him as soon as possible, just to make sure she got that chance, lest he died before she got another chance. However, I didn't want to be overly dramatic, and risk upsetting her unnecessarily.<br /><br />So I prayed to God, once again, </span><span style="font-family:arial;">that his suffering would be minimised, even if his life would end sooner because of this. That God might assess the situation, taking into account his loved ones and those who loved him, as well as the man himself, and help minimise the trauma to all concerned. But I now added my concern for my friend about seeing him again before he died, and asked that God might give her that chance, if He felt it appropriate.<br /><br />I wanted to know how to advise my friend regarding the urgency involved. So I hit upon the idea of asking God when the man might die. Which I did. But then I realised I didn't know how God would communicate his answer, since nothing immediately "happened" to give me an answer. So I spoke, silently in my head, just as I was already praying, each day of that week, starting with that day, Tuesday. I'd clarified that, for the the purpose of this prayer, the day ran literally, from midnight to midnight. Once I got past Sunday I was planning to add a catch-all of "after Sunday". But I didn't get that far. When I got to Saturday I got an REM eye-flickering, as I'd had when I first conversed with God. I backtracked to Thursday, then Friday, then Saturday again, just to check, and once again Saturday was confirmed to me by God.<br /><br />Once I'd finished praying, I realised that this was going to sound pretty strange, potentially, to my friend. And I kind of wished I hadn't asked so specifically. But, anyway, I had. And, now I knew, I had to tell her. So I did. She was fine with it. Whether she places any value on it I have no idea. But she hasn't made any adverse comments to me, and she's still speaking to me normally.<br /><br />Since then, her husband was called out of work to travel to see his father straight away, which he did, on Wednesday. My friend followed him there today. Although her husband has advised her not to see his father, saying it would be better for her to remember him as he was.<br /><br />This presents a slightly new quandary. So I have since been praying similarly to before, but with the added proviso of asking God to consider what's best for my friend - to see him in a state that may upset her and possibly, with hindsight, wish she hadn't, or to take her husband's advice and not see him, and possibly, with hindsight, wish that she had. Specifically, I suggested to God that an ideal solution might be for him to rally round for a period, and be coherent and relatively comfortable, in order that her husband suggests that she does, in fact, visit. That way she would get the chance to say goodbye and tell him that she loves him etc.<br /><br />So there we have it. I've been told by God that my friend's father-in-law will die on Saturday, ie today. And I've asked God that he might provide a situation whereby my friend would get chance to see him and speak with him one last time. It's 01:26 now. I didn't mean to set this up as a test, but a test it surely is. My thoughts are with my friend, and her husband, and her father-in-law, of course.<br /></span>Rogerhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02234860780216689426noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-185865724482142587.post-73204607429369740412012-03-09T16:38:00.005-08:002012-03-10T14:20:11.452-08:00Conclusions<span style="font-family:arial;">My friend, Trude, asked me what I conclude from all of this.<br /><br />I conclude:<br /></span><ul><li><span style="font-family:arial;">That God is here - I know this because I've conversed directly & unmistakably with Him.</span></li><li><span style="font-family:arial;">That Jesus was His Son - although He didn't address this issue directly, what He did do and continues to do has blown me away to the extent that it's a now a given.</span></li><li><span style="font-family:arial;">That the Holy Spirit exists, and is a pathway to communicating directly (okay, through Jesus) to God, and also to healing, because I've been filled with it, twice now.</span></li></ul><span style="font-family:arial;"> <span style="font-weight: bold;"><br />Nutter Alert!</span><br style="font-weight: bold;"><br />I know. I know! I sound like a nutter. Like I've been suckered-in, in a state of vulnerability and desperation, that I've been brainwashed. None of which is true. I absolutely did not imagine any of this. I was fully aware of what was happening, to the extent that I was observing it happening and thinking "wow, this is some weird shit!". I didn't expect it to happen. I didn't necessarily even want it to happen. I just did it as an experiment, an experience - "I'm here so I might as well give it a crack". I was sceptical to the last. But always open-minded.<br /><br />I still don't have any answers to the thorny questions about Christianity. I still don't know or care about what happens when I die. I'm the same person. I'm not sure what on earth I'm supposed to do next. But it'll all fall into place. I do feel more serene (cliché alert!). I'm not weird, deluded, do-gooding, bible-thumping, or preachy. I'm still just me. Just that I talk to God now, and he talks back, is all.<br /></span>Rogerhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02234860780216689426noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-185865724482142587.post-78100183826264045022012-03-09T16:26:00.003-08:002012-03-09T16:45:44.600-08:00My Second Healing<span style="font-family:arial;">The next day, Thursday, I'd asked the minister of King's Church, Simon, if I could crash a cell group (aka home group) as I wanted to further explore the sermon he had given, specifically the <a href="http://www.3ci.co.za/article/peace-in-making-decisions/">PEACE acrostic</a>.<br /><br /><span style="font-weight: bold;">My First Cell Group</span><br style="font-weight: bold;"><br />The host hadn't planned anything much, and happened to ask me, "You haven't been a Christian long, Roger, is that right?"<br /><br />"Six days," I replied. So he asked me what that was all about. So off I went, again. Everyone was rapt.<br /><br />Then we decided to continue round the group, with everyone telling their testimony of how they'd become Christian. Really interesting. Normal people talking with sincerity about things that had actually happened to them. I didn't doubt their veracity for a moment.<br /><br /><span style="font-weight: bold;">Group Prayer</span><br style="font-weight: bold;"><br />Anyway, back to the point. At the end, we did a group prayer. Just a kind of an open-channel, anyone chip-in with anything you want to pray about, type prayer session. The host opened the prayer asking for God to fill us with His Holy Spirit whilst we prayed. We each had people to pray for, and various other bits and bobs, so off we all went with it all.<br /><br /><span style="font-weight: bold;">The Healing</span><br style="font-weight: bold;"><br />Anyway, during this time I was just buzzing, like I was filled to overflowing with electricity. Really powerful stuff. And I kept jolting, which I would never normally do. And despite having my eyes closed I felt like my eyes were looking into a huge void, like an endless black cavern. Crazy feeling. Really surreal/supernatural/unexplainable, like nothing I'd ever felt before. No God-chat this time, but definitely God/JC/HS stuff goin' on!<br /><br />Next day, I'd clearly been healed another chunk. Like first time was 30% towards 100% normal health, second time was another 30%.<br /><br />I could ask God for another chunk of healing, but I'm happy to wait. I did think it might happen the next Thursday in cell group, but it didn't.<br /><br /><span style="font-weight: bold;">No More ME?</span><br style="font-weight: bold;"><br />Since my first experience I feel like I haven't got ME any more. I know: deluded, brainwashed, should be certified, dangerously optimistic. But it's how I feel. I've just been different. When I am forced into daytime sleeps they really are sleeps. Pleasant, refreshing sleep. Not horrible, feel-like-I'm-dying ME-crashes. And my body just feels like it's deconditioned, not an energy-less wreck. </span><span style="font-family:arial;">For three weeks now I've felt like this. I'm still not right, but it's all different. I'm a work-in-progress, though, so need to see what happens over the next few weeks. It really does seem like I'm on the mend, though.<br /><br />I now find myself wondering what I'm gonna do for a living, now. Don't fancy going back to my computer engineering business. Time for a change of direction, methinks. But I'm not rushing into anything.<br /></span>Rogerhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02234860780216689426noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-185865724482142587.post-42979477855930337472012-03-09T16:17:00.004-08:002012-03-10T14:19:30.146-08:00My Third Deal With God<span style="font-family:arial;"><span style="font-weight: bold;">Poor Me</span><br style="font-weight: bold;"><br />The following Wednesday, I'd been in bed since the previous evening, shivering, despite being wrapped in many layers plus hot water bottle, and generally feeling like I was dying (aka man flu, I know). It got to late afternoon, and I realised there was no way I would be going to my Alpha course that evening.<br /><br /><span style="font-weight: bold;">The Deal</span><br style="font-weight: bold;"><br />I prayed to God, "God, me again. This Alpha course tonight - I'd really like to go. Not for me, although I do very much enjoy it. But, rather, because I feel I'm going to be asked to recount my experience of Saturday, and I strongly believe it will be really beneficial for people to hear about it. Especially coming from me, the sceptical, gobby one. So if you agree, then please go ahead and make me feel better."<br /><br /><span style="font-weight: bold;">So? Did It "Work"?</span><br style="font-weight: bold;"><br /></span><span style="font-family:arial;">An hour and a half or so later, just before the Alpha course session started</span>, <span style="font-family:arial;">I suddenly became well enough to go. Right at the last minute. Coincidence? Maybe. But there's more.<br /><br />Right at the end of the course, ten minutes after we should have finished actually, I'd forgotten all about telling people about my experience. Nobody had made any mention about anybody's experience on Saturday. We weren't even on a related subject. When, suddenly, Sarah, one of the leaders, who was present when I spoke at the Sunday evening service, piped-up "Tell everyone about what happened to you on Saturday, Roger." I felt like it would be preachy, and inappropriate, and a bit "me, me, me", and also that there wasn't time. But everyone said not to worry about the time, that the end would be once I'd told my story. So off I went, with a slightly condensed version.<br /><br />I see this as God nipping-in at the last minute to get me to tell my story to people that needed to hear it, just as I'd suggested, but forgotten about. Coincidence? Maybe. But I really don't think so.<br /><br /><span style="font-weight: bold;">Thanks, God</span><br style="font-weight: bold;"><br />I prayed to God, as I walked home, "Thanks for that, God. Nice one. Mission accomplished. I expect to be ill again now, which is fine, coz the deal was just for the Alpha course. Thanks again." But he didn't let me become ill again, neither that night nor the next day. Maybe my virus would've been over anyway. Don't think so though.<br /></span>Rogerhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02234860780216689426noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-185865724482142587.post-16150541164580971842012-03-09T16:09:00.005-08:002012-03-09T16:45:05.272-08:00Spread The Word<span style="font-family:arial;">Later that Sunday Tracey asked me to go to the evening service at my local church with her, as she didn't want to go on her own. Neither of us had been before.<br /><br />That morning, at my new church, King's, I had told the minister, Simon, about my experience. He was delighted, and prayed for me. I said I was really excited and wanted to tell people, but wasn't sure if that was a good idea, especially since the sermon he'd just given (about how to verify that it's really God communicating with us!) said that we should beware of communing-with-God one-upmanship, ie pride. He said I should tell whomever I felt I wanted to.<br /><br />So there we were, in church, that evening. It was a small, casual service, and towards the end there was an open-mike slot where anybody could stand on stage and tell everyone if anything interesting had happened to them this past week. Hello?! Yes! So up I went. Got a round of applause, and a big hug from a lovely lady that I only know from doing the catering on our Alpha course. A few kind words from a few nice people.<br /></span>Rogerhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02234860780216689426noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-185865724482142587.post-33217392096116363352012-03-09T15:49:00.004-08:002012-03-09T16:44:36.944-08:00My Second Deal With God<span style="font-family:arial;"><span style="font-weight: bold;">What Happened Next?</span><br style="font-weight: bold;"><br />Following the experience I had during the away day part of my Alpha Course, where I had conversed with God, and been filled with His Holy Spirit, I immediately went into the other room, where everyone else was having a cuppa and chatting. People didn't all stop talking and look at me and ask if anything had happened to me, thankfully. I was glad of that etiquette. I just carried on like nothing had happened. Although inside I was dazed to say the least.<br /><br />My friend Tracey had given me a lift in her car, and when we got back to my house, and were alone in the car, I told her what had happened to me. Blew her mind. She totally believes me, I think.<br /><br /></span><span style="font-family:arial;">That evening, I thought, "What am I supposed to do now? S'pose I'd better go to church in the morning for, for kick-off." Trouble is, I'd been planning not to because there was no Hiz Kidz (fun Sunday school) due to half-term, and my boys don't like it unless there's Hiz Kidz. And I couldn't very well clear off and leave them with Rach. So I decided to go to King's Church, which I'd been meaning to do for a while, just to see what it was like. Only now I wanted to go for me, for praying and worshipping and that, not just for a look-see.<br /><br /><span style="font-weight: bold;">Why King's Church?</span><br style="font-weight: bold;"><br />I'd said to my friend Ellen, who introduced me to King's Open House, the family group I go to in Lordswood every other Sunday afternoon, that if I were ever to go to church, ie for myself, then it would surely have to be King's, because I loved the people I'd met and the general vibe and ethos, and the minister, Simon.<br /><br /><span style="font-weight: bold;">The Deal</span><br style="font-weight: bold;"><br />So I prayed to God, "God, I want to go to King's church in the morning, but there's no point if the boys are gonna monkey around and distract me the whole time. I want to go for me. Well, for You, Ya know. So here's the deal: You sort the kids out & I'll go." (Slightly paraphrased and humorised.)<br /></span><br /><span style="font-family:arial;"><span style="font-weight: bold;">The Next Day</span><br style="font-weight: bold;"><br />We'd at King's Church for a while the next morning, singing awesome songs for the first half hour or so, when I came to realise that my boys had been either sat next to me or wandering around at the back waving these big flags around to the music, and I hadn't once had to remonstrate with them. Odd.<br /><br />Then, it was time for all the kids to clear off to Sunday school. Ellen asked if my two were coming with her three. They said no way man, but I coaxed them along just to take a look. We went to the younger ones' room first, and I had to work at it to get Ethan through the door just to have a look. But as soon as he'd gone through the door he forgot about me and just wandered in happily and never looked back. Same with Nate in the older kids' room. All of which would never have normally happened - sometimes they don't even want to go into Hiz Kidz at our local church, which they're used to, and know everyone, and love.<br /><br />Deal fulfilled? I think so!</span><span style="font-family:arial;"><br /></span>Rogerhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02234860780216689426noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-185865724482142587.post-46386749052307054572012-03-03T00:19:00.009-08:002021-08-13T04:09:19.573-07:00Me and God<span style="font-family: arial; font-weight: bold;">The Setting</span><br style="font-family: arial; font-weight: bold;" /><br style="font-family: arial;" /><span style="font-family: arial;">Saturday 18 February 2012 was the away day in the middle of my Alpha Course. The day was spent learning about the Holy Spirit. Three talks from three different people, with associated discussions, interspersed with tea & cake, lunch, and more tea & cake.</span><br style="font-family: arial;" /><br style="font-family: arial;" /><span style="font-family: arial;">As we looked at the schedule for the day it quickly became apparent that our leaders had omitted to mention the part where we would be given the opportunity to declare ourselves Christians and to be filled with the Holy Spirit. Presumably experience had shown them that full disclosure leads to desertion. I have since discovered that Holy Spirit Day is well known for producing dramatic experiences for some of its delegates.</span><br style="font-family: arial;" /><br style="font-family: arial;" /><span style="font-family: arial; font-weight: bold;">My Decision</span><br style="font-family: arial; font-weight: bold;" /><br style="font-family: arial;" /><span style="font-family: arial;">I decided that if I felt able to say the prayer of salvation with sincerity then I would do so, in order that I could participate fully in the Holy Spirit part as a Christian, albeit a new one. The major obstacle to my becoming a Christian was a lack of belief in Jesus being the Son of God.</span><br style="font-family: arial;" /><br style="font-family: arial;" /><a href="http://www.creatingfutures.net/abcchrist.html" style="font-family: arial;">Prayer of salvation</a><br style="font-family: arial;" /><br style="font-family: arial;" /><span style="font-family: arial; font-weight: bold;">My Stance on God</span><br style="font-family: arial; font-weight: bold;" /><br style="font-family: arial;" /><span style="font-family: arial;">I had decided a some time ago, whilst attending The Y Course, that the universe, planet earth, its inhabitants, and human beings, specifically, were all too awesome, intricate and finely balanced to have developed as happy coincidences. (This coming from a life-long scientific, mathematical, logical, rational, empirical, inquisitive, enquiring, and intelligent person.) I'd concluded that stuff had to have been designed & created, and that God was as good a name as any for the entity which did so.</span><br style="font-family: arial;" /><br style="font-family: arial;" /><span style="font-family: arial;">I'd become used to praying to God from time to time of late, because various people had asked me to pray for them or their loved ones, assuming, I suppose, that I was a Christian - not unreasonable as I had been going to church most Sundays, although only because my kids went to Sunday school. I'd just omitted any reference to Jesus in such prayers.</span><br style="font-family: arial;" /><br style="font-family: arial;" /><span style="font-family: arial; font-weight: bold;">My Stance on Jesus</span><br style="font-family: arial; font-weight: bold;" /><br style="font-family: arial;" /><span style="font-family: arial;">I was happy enough to concede that Jesus had existed, but figured He was either a liar or self-deluded, and that those who had known Him were either gullible or in on the deceit. I'd encountered nothing to compel me to believe that Jesus was the Son of God.</span><br style="font-family: arial;" /><br style="font-family: arial;" /><span style="font-family: arial; font-weight: bold;">My Deal with God</span><br style="font-family: arial; font-weight: bold;" /><br style="font-family: arial;" /><span style="font-family: arial;">Since a belief in Jesus was clearly an unavoidable, non-negotiable part of Christianity, I prayed to God, proposing a deal: if He could help me to believe that Jesus was His Son, plus help me overcome a couple of sins I felt I couldn't conquer on my own, then I was up for being a Christian - genuinely and wholeheartedly.</span><br style="font-family: arial;" /><br style="font-family: arial;" /><span style="font-family: arial;">I told God he'd have to pull out the stops and really impress me if he wanted to convince me that He existed and was communicating with me. Respectfully, of course.</span><br style="font-family: arial;" /><br style="font-family: arial;" /><span style="font-family: arial;">Finally, I threw my friend, Tracey, into the deal as a 2-4-1, since, if it happened to me, it would probably convince her too.</span><span style="font-family: arial;">
<span style="font-weight: bold;">Heal Me?</span><br style="font-weight: bold;" />
I also prayed about my illness. I had had ME/CFS for some two and a half years. I told God that I wasn't about to ask Him to heal me for my own benefit, since it wasn't so very bad, and came with lots of benefits, such as spending a lot of time with my kids, helping with the playgroups I attended daily, shaping the ethos of the ME/CFS Facebook group I belonged to, getting to know some great people through the support group I belonged to, taking-up new, creative, hobbies like photography, acting and singing, and having the time to think about the big questions in life. Nor, now, was I to ask Him to heal me for my family, as we had become used to existing on benefits, and had a reasonable life, albeit one without much spare money for anything other than essentials. But I did suggest that it might be nice if I were, once again, a fully productive member of society, paying my way and supporting my family financially. So I left that one in God's hands.</span><br style="font-family: arial;" />
<span style="font-family: arial; font-weight: bold;">Say the Prayer</span><br style="font-family: arial; font-weight: bold;" /><br style="font-family: arial;" /><span style="font-family: arial;">The time came for the prayer of salvation. Jane read each line of the prayer, slowly and clearly, with a long pause after each line to allow us time to pray the preceding line in our heads, should we so choose. I was totally in the right frame of mind for it. I dwelt on and analysed every word of each line, and felt able to repeat the entire prayer sincerely, making it my own.</span><br style="font-family: arial;" /><br style="font-family: arial;" /><span style="font-family: arial;">Okay, I thought, I'm now ready for this Holy Spirit business. Let's give it a go, as an experiment, an experience. Then, when nothing happens, I can move on. I was sceptical, but open-minded, as ever.</span><br style="font-family: arial;" /><br style="font-family: arial;" /><span style="font-family: arial; font-weight: bold;">Let's Do It</span><br style="font-family: arial; font-weight: bold;" /><br style="font-family: arial;" /><span style="font-family: arial;">I sat on a chair in the middle of the quiet room. Derek and another lady, whose name I forget, each placed a hand my shoulder and proceeded to pray over me, asking God to show me His presence and fill me with the Holy Spirit. I closed my eyes to minimise distraction. For ages nothing happened. I started to wonder how much longer I should wait before aborting the mission. Nothing was happening, just as I expected. But I'd have given it a go.
<span style="font-weight: bold;">Weird Stuff Starts Happening</span><br style="font-weight: bold;" />
Then I noticed that my eyes were twitching and rolling, just like, I imagine, they would do during REM sleep. They were moving involuntarily, and so quickly that I couldn't possibly have made them do this intentionally. Strange, I thought. What's this all about? Perhaps something is happening after all. This went on for quite some time, with my conscious self continuing to observe dispassionately. Then I got the feeling that the room was spinning around me. Or maybe like my head was spinning. I still had my eyes closed. My eyes were still doing the REM thing.</span><br style="font-family: arial;" /><br style="font-family: arial;" /><span style="font-family: arial;">The head/room spinning thing was similar, I imagine, to what one would experience in a human gyroscope.</span><br style="font-family: arial;" /><br style="font-family: arial;" /><a href="http://www.vendingequipments.com/product_images/s/cn_323.jpg" style="font-family: arial;">Human gyroscope photo</a><br style="font-family: arial;" /><br style="font-family: arial;" /><a href="http://youtu.be/H1FsMzABERI" style="font-family: arial;">Human gyroscope video</a><br style="font-family: arial;" /><br style="font-family: arial;" /><span style="font-family: arial;">The feeling was not dizziness, nor light-headedness, nor nausea, nor any feeling I'd ever had before. That said, it wasn't massively freaky or disconcerting either, just odd.</span><br style="font-family: arial;" /><br style="font-family: arial;" /><span style="font-family: arial; font-weight: bold;">God Says Hi</span><br style="font-family: arial; font-weight: bold;" /><br face="arial" style="font-family: arial;" /><span style="font-family: arial;">Then God stepped into my mind and communicated with me. He didn't speak using words, so I have no idea what his voice sounded like as he didn't use it. The method of communication was unlike any I had experienced before. I suppose it could be most closely related to telepathy. God communicated his thoughts or intentions or ideas or concepts directly into my head. It felt like imagery was used, but I can't describe any specific image. All very wishy-washy sounding, I know. And if someone had told me of a similar experience of theirs, prior to this, I would probably have thought them delusional, desperate, gullible, brainwashed, needy, attention-seeking, bandwagon-jumping, or some combination thereof, depending on how well I knew the person, and how I perceived their character.</span><br face="arial" style="font-family: arial;" /><br style="font-family: arial;" /><span style="font-family: arial;">God brought my attention to one of the sins I'd asked for help with. He made it clear that I had to conquer it. I told him I would, with His help. Again, he made it clear that this was of utmost importance - a deal-breaker. Again, I assured Him of my conviction. That was good enough for God, and the deal was done. In fairness, I brought the other sin I'd asked for help with to his attention, but he wasn't bothered about that one.</span><br style="font-family: arial;" /><br style="font-family: arial;" /><span style="font-family: arial;"><span style="font-weight: bold;">Fill Me Up</span><br style="font-weight: bold;" />
The head/room spinning then stopped. I now felt like I was standing-up very straight and tall. Chest out, stomach in. And I was growing taller, up towards a bright light like the sun. Like when Jack's beanstalk grows. It got to a point where I started to wonder if I'd still fit through doorways. Then it was over. So I opened my eyes.</span><br style="font-family: arial;" /><br style="font-family: arial;" /><span style="font-family: arial; font-weight: bold;">Heal Me</span><br style="font-family: arial; font-weight: bold;" /><br style="font-family: arial;" /><span style="font-family: arial;">I then got a peculiar feeling in my legs. Well, not really a feeling as in a physical sensation, but more the knowledge that something was happening to them. I can't describe it as a warmth, a coldness, a tingling, a numbness, pins and needles, pain, or any other recognisable experience. It seemed that something was happening on a cellular level. It travelled, fairly quickly, up my legs and throughout the rest of my body. It reminded me of The Matrix when Neo touches the mirror and the silver spreads up his arm .</span><br face="arial" style="font-family: arial;" /><br face="arial" style="font-family: arial;" /><a href="http://youtu.be/fMY_EKrRxAU" style="font-family: arial;">Neo touches the mirror in The Matrix</a><br style="font-family: arial;" /><br style="font-family: arial;" /><span style="font-family: arial;">And then it was done. All I needed to do now was figure-out what on earth to do now!</span><br style="font-family: arial;" />Rogerhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02234860780216689426noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-185865724482142587.post-25767015141657128142012-01-01T02:25:00.000-08:002012-01-01T02:37:01.245-08:00Transition My ArseI saw a chap from Southampton Transition, replete with his Southampton Transition t-shirt, reciting his Southampton Transition doctrines. Okay, fine. Seems like a worthy organisation with noble aims. Stop squandering fossil fuel. Seek and develop alternative energy sources. Happy with that.<br /><br />So anyone representing this organisation would, obviously, be a full-blown, hemp-wearing, bin-diving, tree-hugging, tie-dyed, chemical-free, commune-with-nature, peak-oil-watching, all-men-are-brothers, be-buried-in-a-wicker-casket-in-woodland, living-in-a-commune, recycle-everything, save-the-world, at-one-with-nature, organic hippy-type, right? A shining example of sustainability. A beacon of hope for the future of our planet. And fair play to them. I admire these kind of people.<br /><br />Why, then, was this person, this representative of Transition Southampton, with his Transition Southampton t-shirt, wearing Levi jeans and gleamingly-new Nike trainers? Save the planet but bugger the 8-year-old Taiwanese children whose fingers bled sewing my jeans, or the 12-year-old Indonesian children who work 16-hour-shifts to feed their families so I can wear fashionable footwear? Hmmm.<br /><br />Tell you who I do like though - Stacey Dooley. She's the incredibly young-looking and, if I'm honest, somewhat annoying, flame-haired lady who made such documentaries as "Blood, Sweat and T-shirts" for the BBC.<br /><br />http://transitionsouthampton.org/Rogerhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02234860780216689426noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-185865724482142587.post-36962981993361721312012-01-01T01:25:00.000-08:002012-01-01T02:32:29.172-08:00Christians? Hmmm...In church a while back a lady, I'll call her Barbara, from Christian Aid told us a tale about one of her Christian Aid week collectors.<br /><br />This collector, also a lady, spent a few hours knocking the doors of her allotted patch, collecting the Christian Aid envelopes which had been posted through said doors some days prior. She ended-up raising some £20.<br /><br />The collector said, to Barbara, that because her time was valuable and £20 was paltry she would have rather not spent those few hours knocking door and given the £20 from her own pocket. The moral of this story, we were told, was that it was about more than money, it was about spreading awareness, fostering community relations, and all that good stuff.<br /><br />What are your thoughts on this? Fair enough, do you think? Makes sense, you say? Yeah, okay, I'll give you that. So everyone in the congregation got to make "tut, tut" noises whilst gently shaking their heads, admonishing this collector for not being the best Christian she could be. Great. Job done.<br /><br />But not for me! In my opinion, if this collector had £20 kicking around in her pocket, doing nowt, why on earth wouldn't she donate it to Christian Aid anyway? Surely she should have done the door knocking, raised the £20, and stuck her own £20 too!<br /><br />And how about this lady that was speaking to us, a regional collection manager, or some kind of key position within the Christian Aid organisation. What did she donate? I would expect her to be living in a modest property, one that suited her needs and no more, driving a modest, utilitarian car, eating basic foods, wearing clothes from charity shops, preferably Christian Aid ones if they exist, and giving the remainder of her income to Christian Aid, and possibly other, similar, charitable causes. And clearly she would forgo any payment for her labours from the Christian Aid organisation, unless necessary to meet her subsistence expenses. Only then would I be happy.<br /><br />It made me think of these mega-rich celebrities that appear on Comic Relief and the like, making pleas for donations from the general public, most of whom are not particularly wealthy. I always wonder just how much said celebrity is donating themselves. I suspect, cynic that I am, not particularly much, relative to their wealth. In which case they should clear off and stop bothering us until such time as they are prepared to make a substantial, meaningful, heartfelt donation themselves.<br /><br />This leads me on to Christians in general, and how they live their lives. It seems to me that many of them purport to be Christians, frequenting church etc, but actually show little compassion to their fellow man. Perhaps the subject of a future blog entry.Rogerhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02234860780216689426noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-185865724482142587.post-13352124633258581272011-11-05T06:32:00.000-07:002011-11-09T18:22:20.686-08:00ME/CFS-Induced Crashes<span style="font-size:100%;"><span style="font-family:arial;"><span style="font-family:times new roman;">Those of us with ME/CFS often have difficulty explaining our symptoms to others.<br /><br /></span><span style="font-family:times new roman;">I frequently suffer from what I call "crashes". For me, a crash typically lasts for about four hours, and involve me lying in bed with the duvet over my head, my blindfold on, my earplugs in, the curtains shut, and the door shut, whilst either unconscious (distinct from sleeping) or in a semi-conscious stupor, barely able to speak or move.</span><span style="font-family:times new roman;"><br /><br />So far, so good, you may say. But how to explain that actual feeling that I get whilst lying there? So I've devised a way of helping our loved ones experience that feeling, in five easy steps.<br /></span><br /><br /><span style="font-weight: bold;font-size:180%;" >ME/CFS-Induced Crash Simulation Guide<br /></span><br /><span style="font-weight: bold;font-size:130%;" >Step 1</span><br /><br /><span style="font-size:100%;"><span style="font-family:arial;"><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://www.ancientegypt.co.uk/mummies/story/images/pro02.gif"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 400px; height: 317px;" src="http://www.ancientegypt.co.uk/mummies/story/images/pro02.gif" alt="" border="0" /></a></span></span><br />Make a cut in the left side of the body and remove the liver, lungs, stomach and intestines.<br /><br /><br /><span style="font-weight: bold;font-size:130%;" >Step 2</span><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://www.ancientegypt.co.uk/mummies/story/images/natron.gif"><img style="float:right; margin:0 0 10px 10px;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 250px; height: 170px;" src="http://www.ancientegypt.co.uk/mummies/story/images/natron.gif" alt="" border="0" /></a><span><span style="font-family:Arial,Helvetica;"><a name="after"></a><br /><br /><br />Wash these internal organs, and pack them in natron, to dry them out. If you're out of natron, rock salt is an acceptable substitute.<br /><br /><br /><br /><span style="font-weight: bold;font-size:130%;" >Step 3</span><br /><br /></span></span></span></span><span style="font-size:100%;"><span style="font-family:arial;"><span><span style="font-family:Arial,Helvetica;"><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://www.ancientegypt.co.uk/mummies/story/images/brain.gif"><img style="float:left; margin:0 10px 10px 0;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 181px; height: 146px;" src="http://www.ancientegypt.co.uk/mummies/story/images/brain.gif" alt="" border="0" /></a></span></span></span></span><br /><span style="font-size:100%;"><span style="font-family:arial;"><span><span style="font-family:Arial,Helvetica;"><br />Using a lon</span></span></span></span><span style="font-size:100%;"><span style="font-family:arial;"><span><span style="font-family:Arial,Helvetica;">g hook, smash the brain and pull it out through the nose. This can be discarded, since it will no longer be required.<br /><br /><br /><br /></span></span></span></span><br /><span style="font-size:100%;"><span style="font-family:arial;"><span><span style="font-family:Arial,Helvetica;"><br /><span style="font-weight: bold;font-size:130%;" >Step 4</span><br /><br /><span style="font-size:100%;"><span style="font-family:arial;"><span><span style="font-family:Arial,Helvetica;"><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://www.ancientegypt.co.uk/mummies/story/images/pro03.gif"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 400px; height: 324px;" src="http://www.ancientegypt.co.uk/mummies/story/images/pro03.gif" alt="" border="0" /></a></span></span></span></span><br /><span style="font-size:100%;"><span style="font-family:arial;"><span><span style="font-family:Arial,Helvetica;"><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://www.ancientegypt.co.uk/mummies/story/images/drying.gif"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 300px; height: 97px;" src="http://www.ancientegypt.co.uk/mummies/story/images/drying.gif" alt="" border="0" /></a></span></span></span></span><br />Stuff and cover the body with natron and set it aside, to dry out. Reserve all of the fluids and rags for later.<br /><br /><br /><span style="font-weight: bold;font-size:130%;" >Step 5</span><br /><br /><span style="font-size:100%;"><span style="font-family:arial;"><span><span style="font-family:Arial,Helvetica;"><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://www.ancientegypt.co.uk/mummies/story/images/pro05.gif"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 400px; height: 327px;" src="http://www.ancientegypt.co.uk/mummies/story/images/pro05.gif" alt="" border="0" /></a></span></span></span></span><br /><span style="font-size:100%;"><span style="font-family:arial;"><span><span style="font-family:Arial,Helvetica;"><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://www.ancientegypt.co.uk/mummies/story/images/packing.gif"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 300px; height: 97px;" src="http://www.ancientegypt.co.uk/mummies/story/images/packing.gif" alt="" border="0" /></a></span></span></span></span><br />Once thoroughly dried-out, remove all natron from the body. Wrap the dehydrated internal organs in linen, and return them to the body. Stuff the body with dry materials, such as sawdust, leaves and linen, so that it looks lifelike.<br /><br />And you're done! That wasn't so bad, was it? Your loved one is now ready to experience an ME/CFS crash.</span><br /><br /><br /><span style="font-family:times new roman;">This procedure is recommended for friends, relatives, or even perfect strangers. Anyone, really, who regards you with disdain as you try to explain what it's like.<br /><br />Plans are afoot to experiment on some Atos examiners, since it has been suggested that they, too, may benefit.</span><br /></span></span></span>Rogerhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02234860780216689426noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-185865724482142587.post-60865449041653517432011-11-03T06:04:00.000-07:002011-12-17T00:23:47.438-08:00Christmas ChecklistHaving ME, many of us have memory problems. So here's a checklist for Christmas Day, to help you get through it. Many of the items will be par for the course, so you can simply tick them off once you've done them. Other items can be treated as reminders. Others still, as suggestions.<br /><br />You'll soon notice that it's based on a fairly typical, traditional, British, vaguely Christian, family Christmas. But there should still be something in there for everyone, even if your own circumstances on the Day are very different.<br /><br />And if you're on your own for Christmas Day, maybe you could come on the HFwME Facebook group, if you are able, for a bit of human contact.<br /><br /><span style="font-weight: bold;">Essential Christmas Day Checklist</span><br /><ul><li>Give someone the gift of socks</li><li>Repeatedly tell the kids to open the card before the present</li><li> Feign gratitude for a present you don't like</li><li>Gorge more roast potatoes than should be humanly possible</li><li>Consume numerous Brussels sprouts</li><li>Repeatedly tell the kids to actually read the card</li><li>Pass wind in a strategic location, thus ensuring someone else gets the blame</li><li>Take a tactical nap, eg to avoid washing-up</li><li>Eat seconds of Christmas pudding, even though you already feel bloated</li><li>Repeatedly tell the kids not to be so ungrateful, and that some children don't even get presents</li><li> Ask yourself why you're having turkey, when nobody particularly likes it</li><li>Insist everyone eats breakfast before anyone is allowed to open a present</li><li>Pledge to buy less presents next year, just like you did last year</li><li>Vow to go out for Christmas lunch next year, in the full knowledge that you'll never do it</li><li>Drink some sherry, even though you don't like it</li><li>Repeatedly tell the kids that Father Christmas won't give them any presents at all next year if they don't stop being so ungrateful</li><li>Wonder why, every year, you buy brandy butter and rum sauce, even though nobody ever eats it</li><li>Have a discussion about the merits of goose fat versus beef dripping</li><li>Make some mulled wine, and watch people grimace as they politely drink it</li><li>Give someone the gift of handkerchiefs, even though you know, and they know, they'll never use them</li><li>Complain about how Christmas has become so materialistic<br /></li><li>Suggest a game of charades, as though, somehow, you're living in the 19th century in a manor house</li><li>Remark on how old the Queen looks, and isn't it time she stepped-down</li><li>Give commentary on how the excesses of the day are likely to affect your bowel movements<br /></li><li>Make some eggnog, before remembering that it has the consistency of snot</li><li>Watch the Corrie Christmas Special, whilst questioning how they can all afford to be in the Rovers the whole time</li><li>Watch the Eastenders Christmas Special, whilst criticising the storyline for being morose</li><li> Initiate a sing-along</li><li>Drink some Baileys after Christmas lunch, even though you already feel sick</li><li>Make a secret stash of your favourite Quality Streets / Roses / Heroes / Celebrations, before all the good ones are gone</li><li>Have an argument about something that you've kept bottled-up since just after last Christmas</li><li>Question why Cadbury even bother putting Fingers of Fudge in tins of Heroes</li><li>Play some dreadful new board game with the kids, made worse by them having an insufficient attention span to listen to the rules</li><li>Lament the loss of the Only Fools & Horses Christmas Specials</li><li>Tell the kids that Christmas isn't just about presents</li><li>Ask why on Earth they substituted Galaxy Truffles for Twix</li><li>Use the phrase "it's all about giving, not receiving" at every conceivable opportunity, whilst not believing it for a minute</li><li>Decry the well-meaning but sadly-misguided friend who adopted a donkey on your behalf</li><li>Realise, once again, why it is that you only see those relatives at Christmas</li><li>Ask why they never put any decent films on any more</li><li>Spend ages wrapping streaky bacon round cocktail sausages</li><li>Realise that Delia's surname seems to have been dropped, and vow to doggedly reinstate it, every time you refer to her, because what makes her think she's like Cher or Madonna?</li><li>Curse the smug TV chefs for making you feel so inadequate, especially Delia (Smith)</li><li> Contemplate the names of other TV chefs, and whether they too are known by forename alone, eventually concluding that it's only the very smuggest who are referred to as would-be pop stars</li><li>Conclude that, actually, all TV chefs are smug, except perhaps Keith Floyd, but he's dead</li><li>Resist the urge to batter your mother</li><li> Be told by the kids that Christmas is, in fact, just about presents, and realise they're right</li><li>Succumb to the urge to batter your mother-in-law</li><li>Go to bed feeling thoroughly exhausted, thoroughly sick, and thoroughly cheesed-off<br /></li></ul>Okay, so it may have been somewhat tongue-in-cheek, but I hope it gave you a laugh. Merry Christmas!Rogerhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02234860780216689426noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-185865724482142587.post-13707014774316988092011-10-01T12:56:00.000-07:002011-10-01T13:04:21.175-07:00Why is it always your arse that falls off when you laugh?The Encyclopedia Britannica describes laughter as "rhythmic, vocalized, expiratory and involuntary actions". Way to make laughter sound singularly unfunny, EB. Seems unlikely, then, that laughing could cause one's arse to fall off. But we need to be sure, lest our next burst leaves us without our seating appendage.<br /><br />Muscle-wise, some fifteen facial muscles contract, and the diaphragm and the muscles of the abdomen, respiratory tract, and back are given a workout. No mention of gluteuses minimus, medius, or, least of all, maximus.<br /><br />The epiglottis, that flap that switches between breathing and eating, half-closes the larynx (voicebox), which is why breathing becomes gaspy. This whole area could hardly be anatomically further from the arse. Unless, of course, the subject is alledged to talk out of theirs. That would certainly mix things up. An investigation into which orifice an individual deploys for the purposes of vocalisation is beyond the remit of this blog, but could, perhaps, be the topic of a future blog.<br /><br />The zygomatic major muscle, the main lifting mechanism of the upper lip, is stimulated. This explains that twitching of the upper lip you get. This becomes increasingly noticeable, when circumstances dictate that you resist the urge to laugh. Like when you're at a funeral. If anything, perhaps the top lip is likely to work itself loose as a result of laughter, as you struggle to keep it down and still, so as not to betray your underlying urge to laugh.<br /><br />Which brings us on to the head in general. The head, of course, is also prone to detachment as a result of laughter. This, at least, makes some sense, since we are known to throw our head back in laughter. It's surely plausible, then, that something could make us laugh so much that we momentarily forget to exercise due diligence whilst throwing our head back, do so in an over-zealous manner, and the head, in fact, falls off. It's only logical.<br /><br />Why, then, is it always one's arse that is described as falling off when one laughs excessively? The arse, we now know, has nothing whatever to do with the business of laughing. Were anything to fall off, it would clearly be one's head, or possibly just one's top lip.<br /><br />LMAO? I don't think so. That's just plain silly. LMHO, or LMTLO? It's just possible. And that's science fact.Rogerhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02234860780216689426noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-185865724482142587.post-20752324245738101492011-09-26T23:35:00.000-07:002011-09-27T16:18:36.653-07:00Peace at lastWalking through a churchyard, I noticed a tombstone inscription that read "Peace at last". That's nice, I thought, absent-mindedly. Then I started to think about it.<br /><br />If we assume the peace is to the benefit of the deceased, then how is that a good thing? Okay, so you're dead, but at least it's nice and quiet, and you're unlikely to be disturbed? Not a great consolation, really, is it? Let's say he lived in a noisy environment, one causing him frequent interruptions. Surely even that was preferable to death? In fact, if he was so bothered by this lack of peace in his everyday life, he could have just popped-in some ear-plugs and locked the door. Or moved. But no, he'd favoured death. So much so he may even have invited it.<br /><br />But perhaps the beneficiary of this peace is actually the deceased's widow. Having waited for years, decades even, for him to shut-up, to stop clattering about the place, and disturbing her, she couldn't resist thanking him for finally granting her the peace she craved. She may have even helped him along a bit.<br /><br />The more I think about it, the more I realise that there is not one possible good reason for this inscription. At best, it's a poor consolation for the deceased, or an eternal reminder of his lacklustre decision-making. At worst, a token of gratitude from his widow for being good enough to die, or a confession to his murder.<br /><br />"Peace at last"? Not so very nice after all...Rogerhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02234860780216689426noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-185865724482142587.post-10224989644656059522011-09-23T23:09:00.000-07:002011-09-27T00:01:50.251-07:00The minefield that is: talking to womenI saw a young lady I hadn't seen for a while, and she looked great. I mean double-take-to-make-sure-it-was-actually-her great. I knew she'd been dieting and now gathered from her attire that she'd been going to the gym. She'd lost weight and toned-up, and now looked fit and healthy. That's fit as in fit, not fit. But it was more than just that. There was something else about her I couldn't quite put my finger on. What is it the French call it? I don't know what, but she seemed to exude a new self-confidence. Perhaps she'd paid more attention to her appearance, like recently washed her hair, a lick of paint, whatever. Anyway, she'd obviously been working hard on improving herself and it showed.<br /><br />She's a lovely person, so I wanted to tell her that I'd noticed, to give her a morale-boost so she'd feel even better about herself. Therein lay the problem.<br /><br />As a man, one with possibly a touch of Aspergers-type social ineptitude, here's what I would have said:<br /><blockquote>Wow, you look great. I had to do a double-take there to make sure it was you. You've lost a load of weight, and the gym's clearly working for you. Have you just washed your hair? And have you got make-up on? I'm saying this to make you feel good, not because I fancy you.</blockquote>Clearly I would have to run it through the female filter before uttering it. Something like:<br /><blockquote>Wow, you look great. Have you been going to the gym? You look glowing.<br /></blockquote>Okay, that would sound like I was chatting her up. Badly. A rethink was needed. How about:<br /><blockquote>Wow, you look great. I had to do a double-take there to make sure it was you. In a good way, because you look so different. Not that you looked awful before or anything. Just different. Have you lost weight? You have? I didn't notice you had any to lose, but I s'pose you must have had then. Have you been going to the gym, too? You have? That must be why you look so glowing and healthy then.<br /></blockquote>That would just make far too big a deal of the whole thing. So I settled for:<br /><blockquote>Hi!</blockquote>Rogerhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02234860780216689426noreply@blogger.com0