Annual ritual

Another crazy day in service of the church year dawned damp and mild - though not, I might add, as mild as it is now, according to my watch: apparently it's now 12ºC outside and positively wet. I started off conducting three text conversations simultaneously as I drank my morning tea, but eventually got up, made porridge, ate same, put on a washing before we both ran out of essentials and sat down to do my Italian. This is never a good time to do it, just after breakfast - I always fall asleep. (I blame the carbs.)

Then Di arrived, we assembled various black bags, secateurs and so on, we downed a coffee to liven us for the task ahead. Then off we went on our annual foraging trip for our Advent Wreath in church. It's been a fairly wild affair ever since I began making them in the late 1980s, when the then priest had bought a metal stand which called out for the addition of some greenery as well as the candles; for a while I did it all on my own, including a quick foray into the Bishop's Glen - the church stands at the mouth of the glen - for greenery. Over the years it has grown, and now always includes the pink berries which actually grow in the church grounds though may not now be within the re-drawn boundaries of our land. (They match the pink candle in the set - a sure sign they were meant for this...)

Our hunt for the various types of greenery - let's call them danglers, fillers and fuzzies - now takes us further afield after the felling of many trees in the glen, and one of the photos in the collage shows Di setting off into the jungle - so having found all we needed we had to repair to her house for some lunch. Then to the church, colder by far inside than outside in the grounds, to find the wreath stand placed, as promised, conspicuously in the middle of The Tower Room (wee photo), a place of mystery, fallen ceilings and much dampness. 

The rest is in the photos. It doesn't take us long these days, working as a team - probably the worst bit was chipping out the old wax from the candle holders, each of us attacking it with knives in a savage sort of fashion. It's not where it'll be on Sunday, but the man is coming to mend a non-sounding bit on the organ tomorrow and will need the space. 

And then home, to a cup of tea and the more normal preoccupations of buying Christmas presents for grandchildren and trying to think of good ideas for their parents. By this time I was so tired that I felt stiff with the cold after an hour in the study and had to give up. 

Tomorrow I have to write Intercessions for our broken world. Now if ever we need the light to lighten the darkness.