A full moon in the afternoon

Norman gets me up for seven and I open the curtains on another grey day and then let him out into the garden before making my way to the kitchen. Breakfast this morning is scrambled eggs, we have eight of the giants left in the fridge, so I take half of these and crack them into a Pyrex bowl and whisk them with a little salt and black pepper and then slide them into the skillet onto some melted butter. In a couple of minutes we are both tucking into breakfast, I have chopped up Normy's rye toast with the scissors again, but he still wolfs down his portion before I have barely started. After breakfast I take my coffee into the lounge and listen to the news on the BBC, which at this time on a Sunday focuses on religious affairs. Cardinal Keith O'Brien, the most senior Roman Catholic in the country, stands accused by some other priests, of inappropriate conduct, presumably a euphemism for homosexual approaches, this is the same guy who was fulminating against gay marriage last week, such hypocrisy, you couldn't make it up! Sexual desire, either gay or straight, is a natural human function, and our church, by deciding on celibacy a thousand years ago, has created an unnatural sexual environment. So it isn't in the least surprising that it has had unfortunate, and unintended consequences. It is also well documented, that both men and women, in situations where access to members of the opposite sex is prevented, (prisons, military, convents, and monasteries), will engage in same sex relationships. The major problem, from the church's perspective, is that this makes people vulnerable to coercion and blackmail. Worse still, it builds an environment in which paedophiles and child abusers can hide and flourish. Celibacy should no longer be a requirement for priests and women should be allowed to be ordained, if they have a vocation and should no longer be just limited to being nuns. Gay and straight marriage among priests, of either sex, should also be allowed. Opening the windows and letting some light and air into the church is long overdue. Perhaps then we can focus on being Christians and being kind to those we encounter in our mundane, everyday lives. I can't see Father Roy agreeing with much of this, although as an ex Anglican, he is at least married. Norman and I walk round the village before church, the bitter northeasterly wind persists, but he is snug in his little blue, fur lined coat. He wants to come to church with me, so I lift him into the car, he can wait for me at Sarah's house, while I attend Mass. When I knock on the door, they are all in the process of dressing and are about to drive to York to buy Clement new shirts, so Normy has to wait for me in the car. Ten thirty Mass is packed, Roy is sufficiently recovered from his illness to lead the service on his own and the choir and congregation are in fine voice, it is the second Sunday in Lent and the readings are about God's Covenant with Abraham and the transfiguration of Jesus on the mountain top. The sermon is austere, that man, (or woman), cannot succeed without the covenant with God and the grace which derives from this covenant. I can only speak to my own experience, consciousness seems to me to be the collision between the world and individual awareness. Always creativity seems present and available in the interpretation of this encounter and it always seems to have two sides, one selfless and the other selfish. Yesterday, for example, when visiting Leslie, I felt great compassion for his suffering, but then the selfish part of me asked, "how many more weeks and months will I have to make this sacrifice of my time?". It is easy to see how this latter could be taken as the voice of the devil. Perhaps this creativity is a divine gift and the choices we are offered an expression of our freedom? We can choose which of these voices we wish to act upon. In Theravadan Buddhist practice, one learns to be mindful and see selfish and evil thoughts, for what they are, just thoughts, they only become actualised if we choose to act upon them. (Interestingly this is equally true of kind thoughts!) The main thing is to remain mindful, so that we remain conscious of our choices, and don't simply act with ill intent out of plain heedlessness. Being Christian, moment by moment, simply with the people we encounter, particularly our own friends and family, is a tough enough challenge for most of us. After church we call in at Morrison's for some more ante pasta for tomorrow for Louis' tea and some more grandad pop and then drive home for one o'clock. Normy has biscuits and I make a cheese and tomato baguette with some crusty bread for lunch, not feeling hungry enough for the marinara sauce and mussels, which I will eat later for dinner, with spaghetti. After Lunch I wash up and then clean the kitchen and polish my walking boots, before constructing a small Caprese, using the last of the tomatoes and basil and a ball of buffalo Mozzarella, that is approaching it's use by date. This will make a nice starter and is placed in the fridge to cook. I also make a batch of oaties, but discover that I am out of sultanas, so they will have to be plain. While these are cooking I oil and season the remaining tortillas and then cut them into triangles with the scissors to be turned into Nachos, once the oaties are cooked. Outside a full moon has risen in the east, although it is still broad daylight. Later I meditate for a while and afterwards realise that I have received a new text from Clement, asking if I want to go to the cinema this evening. He wants to see the new Tarantino film and it starts at eight, but we have to drive to the Odeon in Hull, as our local multiplex has just dropped it from its schedule. I reply, arranging to collect him at half past seven and then realise that it is already half past six, so dinner has to be reprogrammed, the marinara sauce is switched off and I eat the Caprese accompanied with crusty French bread. There is just enough time to toilet Norman in the garden and then I have to drive off to collect Clement. The roads into Hull are quiet so we arrive in good time and are in our seats just as the lights go down. All of the adverts and trailers for forthcoming films seem to be targeted at young teenage boys, which gives an indication of the audience expected for the film. Django unchained, is OK, but nowhere near Oscar material, as ever, Tarantino's dialogue is witty and funny, but his homage to Sergio Leone is overdone and more than a little self indulgent. The best scene in the whole film is one where a bunch of vigilantes in Ku Klux Klan hoods start to fall out amongst themselves because someone has cut the eyeholes in the hoods wrongly and they can't see properly. It seems to me that this won't be a film that is remembered in thirty years time. I suspect Daniel Day Lewis' performance in Lincoln will be. We drive home through deserted streets and I drop Clement at Sarah's at a quarter to twelve and then make my way home. Norman is asleep in his basket when I unlock the door, so I pour myself a glass of milk and take three oaties from the biscuit jar and carry these into the Garden Room. After I have eaten them, I gather Normy gently from his bed, and when he has come round, usher him gently into the garden for the last pee of the day. To bed for one.