Living Well

Whilst on holiday I read Living Well by Alan Hargrave. It is a fairly practical book looking at various aspects of finding a Rule (or habit or discipline?) of Life, with questions at the end of each section. It is not excessively long and it is personally, even affably, written, but painfully honest at times. There are challenges there for me, especially in terms of how I relate to those closest to me.

I think I'm going to end up working with some of the questions more, with pencil and paper rather than just reading straight through.

But I'm also aware that on some level, I have a tendency to want this to be a sort of magical fix. If I can just get this right, I think to myself, I won't feel so overwhelmed or inadequate, and I can be more effective at fixing the world. Ho ho, not so fast! Not by my own strength am I saved, not by my own bow. There is no perfect strategy, no perfect routine, which will mean I never feel bewildered, never feel insignificant, never feel lost.

I won't always understand everything. I am confused. I won't always be able to change things. I am weak, and I am only me. I won't always know what is what or what I should do; I will feel disoriented and lost.

And that's good.

Because God is more complex than anything I can understand, and it is right to feel bewildered. Be-wilder-ed. Made wild? Lost in wildness? Whatever it is, my bewilderment is not wrong. (Higher are my ways than your ways, my thoughts than your thoughts. Oh yes.)

And God is powerful, more than I can ever imagine, and it is not inaccurate to feel insignificant. What can I do that isn't with God's help? What do I have to offer that isn't first given to me by God? (Lord, treasure up my mite...)

And God's love is huge, huger than huge, enormous beyond all reckoning. It cannot be measured or counted. Of course that's disorienting. Of course I will feel lost. What a wonderful place to be lost! (Lost in wonder, love and praise.)

None of that means I don't need a Rule, of course. An appropriate Rule, like good liturgy, gives me the tools to bring my bewilderment, my weakness and my lostness to God, to recognise God at work in the world and in my life, and to join in with that work -- especially in those challenging relationships, those where I wish I could fix the systemic problems. But it is just a Rule, just a habit, and it is just as well not to get too hung up about it.

More house stuff

We had our house inspection today.

It takes a certain special something to be that rude, that condescending, and that oblivious to having just walked dog poo into the carpets we spent hours cleaning earlier this week.

But we did "pass" the inspection, so we should be left in peace to the quiet enjoyment of the property. As a bonus, the house is looking cleaner than it has in a while and, while I think it was well within what is legally acceptable before, I am happier with it in its current tidier state.

There is so much more that I could write, but I'm tired and I have work in the morning, so I think it's time to head bedward.

Home away from home

Off I went to Leafy Suburb Church for Evensong tonight. As I always am, I was glad I went. Leafy Suburb Church has been special in so many ways.

My first piece of liturgical music was sung there by the choir, in honour of Ambassador for Compassion. The choir let me sing with them, too, and though I'm only there about once a month I feel part of things, part of a sort of community-within-a-community. It's not the belonging, I think, that gets to me. I think it's that I emphatically don't belong and yet am still welcome that's so powerful. I can't come to most of the rehearsals, I don't live anywhere near the parish, I can almost never be there for the main events of that church, and yet what I do have to offer is accepted, openly.

When I first spoke to the vicar about writing a piece of music I was so scared, so scarred by previous experiences. You know, I don't think I'd willingly spoken to a priest for years, never mind initiating contact. The first choir rehearsal I went to, to figure out what the choir might be able to do, I was so nervous, so unsure what to expect. At the first service I went to I was uncertain and uncomfortable, so uncomfortable about participating in a Christian act of worship.

And yet all along the way I have been met with friendliness, acceptance, love. That meeting with the vicar was exactly as informal as I needed it to be; that first choir rehearsal was entirely unremarkable. That first Evensong service was uncomfortable for me but it was somehow okay that I was uncomfortable, and the vicar said "God loves us to bits" in her sermon. The first time I sang in the choir it felt like coming home, and every time I go back I come away feeling a strange lightness. It's always bittersweet, knowing I won't be back for a month or maybe more, but I am always glad I went. And occasionally, I find the same feeling at other places. There were bits of Greenbelt that were like that, and K's vicarage is, and taking Communion for the first time in so many years certainly was, and I went to a midday Eucharist at a city cathedral a few weeks ago where I nearly cried with the sense of welcome I felt. But Leafy Suburb Church was the first and I guess that makes it sort of sticky, so that every time I go back I'm reminded.

I don't think that the issues with the letting agents are going to go away and I will still be mightily pissed off if I end up having to move -- either in the next month or two, or this summer after our contract expires. But I am much-comforted tonight by a small community in an unremarkable leafy suburb which, for me, has been a model of what church can be like, and which reassures me I have another sort of home than the sort over which letting agents and their ilk can have any say or sway.

Thanks be to God.

Waiting

We decided, more or less by default, to take a "gently gently" approach with the letting agents. Oh, the Scrabble magnets on the refrigerator say some pretty rude things about them at the moment, but we haven't written any exceedingly polite letters about our right to quiet enjoyment of the property, and we haven't rescheduled or cancelled the second inspection, due this weekend. We're trying to be philosophical about the "opportunity" to give the house a good spring clean. I'm mostly coping, but feeling stressed at times, especially the nights Sweetie isn't home.

Meanwhile, life goes on, Lent approaches fast, I have realised that I am working long enough hours to become inefficient and need to place some sensible boundaries on things. I'm looking for a new spiritual director, having spoken in some depth to people I consider spiritually astute about my experiences; I think I've found some good guidance on this, closer to home than I expected. I also realise I need to return to a regular journal-writing practice; not necessarily the public one of blogging each day, but some sort of time putting my thoughts into words. I've done this on and off for over a decade and I am always happier, healthier and more "productive" (though not always in ways that are immediately apparent) when I do it. Of course, correlation is not causation and it may be that when I am well I return to the journal because I finally have the energy to do so. So this week I've been writing in spare moments, and I think this is good. I will see where it leads.

I'm considering studying theology more formally, by distance learning. There's a course that might be suitable. I can't really justify it yet; my musical career (hah!) needs a lot of attention before I'll be self-sufficient and I can't really afford the money until then, but I'd love to do it.

I want to be planting my garden, it's planting time here, but I have to wait until I know whether we can keep living here. Still, I've done some things in containers. It's something.

House and home

I dislike renting a house.

I dislike not being able to add solar panels, better insulation, windows that don't leak, floor materials that wear better, adequate kitchen cupboards that have doors that close.

I dislike knowing that if the landlord decides he doesn't want to rent any more, I will have to move.

I dislike inspections every six months in which a letting agent can decide to make my life difficult or easy based on the "condition" of the house. Inspections of any kind make me nervous anyway, due to unpleasant childhood episodes, but house inspections are frightening enough that I've wriggled out of being home for the last two, leaving them to Intrepid Anthropologist.

On Wednesday we had one such inspection. Previous ones had been all right, we aren't perfect housekeepers but the place isn't filthy, but I was still worried. And this man who didn't even give his name came into the house where we live, our home, and declared it unsatisfactory in all sorts of ways. He actually said "I don't know how you can live this way" to my face.

I repeat, we aren't perfect housekeepers -- but the place is by no means filthy, and we certainly aren't causing damage to the fabric of the property.

And so now we've had a nasty letter from the letting agents, saying there will be a re-inspection for which all of us must be present (why?), demanding various bits of the house are "professionally" cleaned (professional cleaners are, as my housemate points out, just people with materials, experience, and not much better career prospects), saying we must put the garden back in its original state (I've put in some raised beds for growing veg -- the plan is to take them with me when we leave -- on previous inspections they haven't been a problem) and so on. The letter is unpleasant in tone and it isn't even grammatically coherent.

I have a sneaking suspicion that what is actually happening is that the landlord wants the house back, he wants it back before the end of our contract, and the letting agents are trying to get us out by 5th April and have us clean the place from top to bottom first so they don't have to.

We do have friends who work in housing law; as I type this, Intrepid Anthropologist is on her way to visit them to discuss what is and is not reasonable and what part of the letting agent's actions constitute interference with our quiet enjoyment of the property.

But even if that goes well, even if we clean the place from top to bottom before the next inspection (5th March, at least we've got a bit of time, though it will interfere hugely with work), it seems likely to me that the letting agent would rather have us gone than keep us -- if we argue we'll be "problematic" tenants -- and we'll end up moving house again by this summer at the latest. And that, in turn, scares me. I cannot tell you how much I loathe moving house, and doing it because someone else has decided I must is very much worse than it being my own decision.

Your prayers, if you're a praying sort, would be appreciated.

I know that it is unlikely I will end up homeless. I know that even if I were to end up homeless I would, ultimately, be okay. Love is stronger than death, I keep telling myself, so this ought to be a piece of piss. It's a struggle to keep that in mind with this sort of upheaval looming. Emotionally I am veering between trying not to fret because I'm fairly powerless anyway, and a sort of paralysis around the things I can do that might make a difference (mostly, lots of cleaning) because they might not be enough anyway. Ultimately, I do not get to decide whether I stay here: someone who sees me as a source of income, as an object rather than as a human person, gets to decide.

Keeping on

I had a more relaxed Easter week; some gardening, then at the weekend some spring cleaning with Sweetie and Intrepid Anthropologist. My ankle is better than it was but still a bit complainy; other standard aches and pains are behaving as they usually do.

All that stuff I put off until after Holy Week? I have to do it now. Can't keep putting it off.

I'm away the end of this week and all this weekend. The idea is that after I've settled in I'll spend a day writing music while my host is at work, and then when she comes home we can have some social time.

It will be my first Sunday morning away from Nearest Church since I went to Leafy Suburb Church for All Saints, back at the beginning of November. I'm really looking forward to that. I love the work I do at Nearest Church, but it will be good to see how things look from the west end for a change.

In May I am pulling the same trick one week, going to visit Kathryn for a few days. Again I hope to write some music while she is working; last time I tried this I just sat underneath her cats instead, and if the same happens again it is no disaster.

I'm doing this stuff now because I'm well aware that once Networking Organist leaves I'll need to be ultra-reliable for a time, in order that the choir at Nearest Church get to know me better and get a feel for how I am going to do things.

I keep trying to tell myself I don't want to change too much, but there are some things that absolutely must change, and those are going to be a big shock. We are going to start doing some breathing exercises and vocal warmups at choir rehearsals. We are going to start doing a teensy tiny bit of sight-reading practice. This is going to make some waves, I think, but after people get over it I think it will help.

But it does mean I need to be there, I need to be consistent, I need to be trustworthy. I need to make it clear I am going to push people but that I'm going to be realistic about where we are now.

Keeping on.

Still ticking. Last day on the stronger tablets today, though I've been managing with food rather better this week than the one before.

I'm working on a project. It has to do with psalmody. Ultimately it's going to be something I'll attach my real name to, which means I can't discuss it much here. If you do want to hear about it let me know. I'll e-mail you if I have your address. Some of you have heard about it already.

The more I do research for this project, the more I let the psalms get into my head and my heart, the more it seems really important that I do some sort of direct voluntary work with people who are homeless. I wrote about this before, at the end of January. I don't know what the connection is; I don't know if my interest in psalmody will mean that the psalms are somehow directly involved in the work I eventually do, or if they "clear the lines" somehow so that discernment is easier for me, or if I'm going to need to know the psalms inside out and backward to deal with what I might find and this is a sort of preparation period for that. I only realised there was a connection fairly recently, after I'd written that other post.

This is way off the beaten track for me. The psalmody project itself is far more research-based than my usual work, but I can at least see a connection, a drawing together of various threads. But direct work with the homeless is unfamiliar in just about every way possible. Using my existing professional skills doesn't seem to be the requirement, and everything I can think up that uses them is definitely not the right thing.

I've spoken to some friends about this. I've spoken to my spiritual adviser/director. I've prayed. I've thought and thought and chased my tail.

I've found a night shelter/day centre within walking distance of where I live and printed out a volunteer application form.

I'm just going to have to try it and see what happens. I can't think this one through any further without taking action.

Right then. Thy will be done, and I hope I don't screw it up.

Making home

I've been thinking about home, and about homelessness.

"Home" is a very important idea to me. Having moved so many times in my life, so often to places that I knew would be temporary, having a place that I think of as home is something that has often been absent from my life. I remember going to university, the first time and the second, and finding that my fellow students got homesick, a bit -- that never happened to me. I found they referred to their childhood homes, their parents' homes, as "home home", differentiating between that and the casual slang of home as wherever one happens to be sleeping for the time being. I've always had a roof over my head but this house I'm living in with Sweetie and Intrepid Anthropologist is the first place that has felt like a home, the first place that has been at once a sanctuary from the world and a base from which to do work in it.

Also I think I might be finding a spiritual home of sorts in Christianity, even in Anglicanism. I'm not sure. It does seem to be more about the people than the doctrine, more about the fellowship than the structure, and that makes me wonder whether any other community wouldn't do as well. There are certainly things that make me very uncomfortable, too. And yet -- no family home is without running arguments and conflicts. And no matter how much we wish for different parents, different siblings, most people wouldn't seriously consider giving up the ones they have.

At some point I started saying the Nicene Creed with everyone else. I still don't know how I can believe it. I still wouldn't have any trouble singing it. I don't know when I started, or whether I'll stop being able to say it. But right now, saying it and holding the tension seems to be important. Like my physical home, I find myself turning to this religion, these scriptures, this God, for spiritual solace and protection, and also as a base from which to work in the world. So that is where I am right now.

But that's not the only thing that's making me think about home. It's partly the home I do have here in Upper Suburbia, the spiritual home I and finding in Christianity (and there is nobody more surprised than I am about that!). It's partly... I've been thinking a lot about purpose lately, about vocation if you like. What am I actually for?

See, I thought I knew that. I'm a teacher and performer of music. I'm a creator. I find shiny things and show them to people, or make shiny things and show them to people, and this work makes me feel deeply fulfilled. It brings pain, it brings joy. I love this work. It doesn't feel onerous. It feels like a great privilege.

But every time I walk past a homeless person I wonder how it is that I have somewhere to stay and they don't. It really is a case of "there but for the grace of God go I." There, but for the social support that seemed to spring up around me while I was depressed, would I be. There, but for the institutional support that was offered to help me sort myself, would I be. There, but for the NHS, I almost certainly would be! My impulse, my instinct, is always to bring someone home to share what I have. At this point I don't know if I could deal with that, and I'm certain my housemates would have some pretty strong words. But that doesn't change the insistent scratching at the back of my soul.

I don't think this is a straightforward "do some work with the homeless" nudge, though.

The one thing that makes me think I probably won't end up on the street is that I believe if I had to I could perform my way off it again. As long as I'm able to sing I'll sing for my supper. I've done enough busking to know it can be a viable subsistence for me. There's not much to do about that but thank God, for the years of music tuition (almost none of it in singing), for the fairly good memory, for the experience busking previously, for the instrument I have -- this voice, this mind, this body. Wouldn't take me long to buy a tin whistle or a recorder, something that carries the sound further.

It doesn't take me long to think of half a dozen projects involving music and the homeless, or music and vulnerable people. It doesn't take me long to justify my existing work as a sort of musical guiding people home, helping them find and create their own safe space from which they can reach out to others -- the children I teach are often quite privileged, but that doesn't mean they always feel safe.

None of that feels like exactly the right thing, either.

I guess thing to do at this stage is to wait, and listen, and maybe take a few tentative steps. Volunteer at a shelter, wait and see if anything presents itself. Talk to people I trust with this sort of thing, see if anything presents itself. Pay attention: is it homelessness, particularly, that's making me feel this unease, or poverty? Or mental health issues? Or the general lostness of humanity that we all try to ignore but is absolutely obvious in the sight of a woman in her 50s wandering the streets looking for somewhere to sleep? Am I responding to some God-given part of who I am, or just trying to fix the world before breakfast again?

What is this insistent scratching at my soul telling me about how to serve God?

Spoilt for choice.

I went to Church-by-the-Station today.

I was not feeling very happy about this search for a church thing, before I left. I felt like going to Deacon Friend's church where I know I'm welcome in the choir and where I know I'm not going to be afraid of the clergy. But I wouldn't have been able to get there before the end of the service, as it's a 90-minute journey.

With that not an option I felt like staying home and singing instead. But that's never the same as worship with other people, and that won't find me a church.

So I went.

I am glad I went.

Like my visit to Nearest Church two weeks ago, this visit left my imagination alive with possibilities for getting more involved. The music director will be leaving in a few months, though the organist is staying on, and while I am perhaps young and inexperienced there is definitely scope for me to get very involved in the choral side of things should I so wish, without having to build it up nearly from scratch. There are some deaf parishioners and the entire liturgy was simultaneously translated into British Sign Language; when I spoke to choir members they said they hadn't done any choral signing, which is a shame. I bet it would be a possibility, though. The priest who had been doing the signing came and made the sign for peace at us during the peace, I tried to make it back at her but probably messed it up.

Church-by-the-Station is, er, right by Upper Suburbia Tube station. As such it attracts people from all walks of life who just drop in. It seems to take very seriously the call to serve the wider community. The sermon was relevant both to the day's readings and to issues which affect the community. Less of the liturgy was sung than at Long Walk Church and there were no smells or bells, but still processions. The blessing I received at the altar was long but full of almost-tangible warmth, I had a real sense of God there. That was true at Nearest Church, too, but not at Long Walk Church last week.

The choir and organist were very friendly; and again I had people taking my details, saying they'd pass them on to people who wanted music lessons. I ran into Networking Organist from Nearest Church and we had a brief chat about things, which was great.

I actually got a chance to talk to the Vicar for a bit. Or I got a chance for him to talk to me... he seemed very eager to tell me about the things the church has done for the community in recent years, very eager to reassure me that the three churches I have visited so far all work closely together, very eager to emphasize a strong commitment to arts ministry and to equality. Perhaps he was a bit too eager; why not let the facts speak for themselves? But for all that, he did seem to understand that I am looking to make a long-term commitment to a community and that it will take some time to figure out which is right for me. He spoke of the right place being the place that I find that I meet God.

On the whole I felt a lot better for having been to the service. It still really isn't clear where I will end up. But how blessed am I, that there are these three churches I could attend? All of them seem to be places that would nurture me in some ways and challenge me in others. All of them seem to have a strong commitment to serving the wider community. The degrees of inclusiveness vary a bit and perhaps aren't entirely clear but all of the congregations are at least attempting to engage with those issues on some level. And all of them are places where I could get involved with the musical side of things and make significant and useful contributions while learning an awful lot.

I guess the thing now is to keep going back and see what happens... see whether the sermons at Nearest Church get better, see whether the community at Long Walk Church is a little more friendly once you get to know people, see whether Church-by-the-Station really does walk the walk as well as talking the talk.

But I might go visit Deacon Friend next Sunday at Leafy Suburb Church, despite the journey, just to rest in something known, to comfort myself with the slightly-familiar, and perhaps by attending a service at a church where I know I won't be able to make a long-term commitment, turn off that part of my brain which for the last three Sundays has been evaluating everything as it goes by.

Home again, home again...

Today I have been mostly playing one of those little games you get in the more expensive Christmas crackers. You know the sort: lots of square tiles that slide around, with one space in the grid free, and a picture printed on them, and you have to make them fit the puzzle.

Only I've been doing it with furniture and boxes, in three dimensions. Four if you count time... I'm not really meant to do any heavy lifting, and I have to take lots of breaks. But there has been progress and I don't think I've done myself any permanent damage.

I think we might just manage to make this work even with the Ghastly Items of Excess Furniture that the landlord is now refusing to remove. We might have to get rid of the Charming Cupboard that Intrepid Anthropologist bought, back when we thought various larger bits would be leaving in a matter of days or weeks. That would be a shame, but we'll cope somehow. Things are taking shape a bit and though there is still much work to be done I can see that I will have the music room ready to teach in by September.

I remain upset by the whole affair: there are many things I am willing to overlook, and I understand that the house will never match my conceptions of perfection, but to me, saying you will remove something and then changing your mind is a pretty serious breach of trust. And I don't deal very well with breaches of trust regarding housing. I've been trying to forgive, trying even to pray for the landlord and letting agent, and all I seem to be able to come up with is along the lines of "Please let them see that we are right, please let them stop being idiots and do what they said they would instead of fobbing us off with excuses..." And then I feel small and sad, because as far as trespasses go this is pretty small beans and I'm so awfully petty I can't even see past my own indignation. Maybe instead I should pray to have a more loving, less fearful heart, though it was wanting to give them the benefit of the doubt that stopped me asking them to put their offers in writing in the first place. More fool me, with a cherry on top.

I walked the mile and a half to Long Walk Church this morning to go to Morning Prayer and nobody was there; usually there is the vicar and two or three others. Door was locked, too. I hope they are all okay. There wasn't a notice on the door other than the usual one with times of services and prayers; perhaps the main noticeboard had something and I didn't see it. They don't have any way to contact me if things are canceled and may not have thought to anyway as I haven't been attending very long or very regularly.

With a bit of luck, by this time next week I'll have a desk.

Just went to my first Sunday service in Upper Suburbia. There are a few different churches I want to check out... maybe shopping around isn't the way to go, maybe it's better just to plonk myself down somewhere and make the best of it, but several options look like they might be suitable.

So at Nearest Church, people were warm and welcoming. I'm not entirely certain what I think of incense and bells, but I appreciate that it is meaningful to some. They are certainly in the Catholic end of the Anglo-Catholic spectrum, but they also emphasize inclusiveness and acceptance on their website and seem to be fairly involved with other local churches. They have a cafe they've opened recently which is excellent (I've been twice; good food, cheap too, and absolutely no pressure from anyone: just a friendly community space). The sermon was meandering but thoughtful.

There is a hint of a Song-shaped hole in the music. Different people mentioned various possibilities for paid work, which surprised me a little; I'd been thinking of what I might be able to contribute, but had assumed there would be no financial compensation until after some years of volunteering or apprenticeship, because churches are always strapped for cash. The organist is lovely, has similar views to mine regarding teaching and performance, gave me a run-down of the local church music scene, and is happy for me to essentially use that organ--quite a nice one--to teach myself how to play and write for organs (a major hole in my background, especially in the context of writing for small parishes who don't have many trained musicians and may not be able to get the resources for SATB a capella but can probably scrape up an organist on occasion and probably have organs left over from a time when people spent serious money on church music).

And it felt so good to sing again, to sing in worship with other people. And to go up to the altar for a blessing... it's been more than a month, and I don't know if it's just me, just wishful thinking, a sort of psychosomatic grace, but it feels like something happens there. That's for another post, perhaps.

I don't know if this particular parish is the right church for me but I feel more confident now that church, more generally, is right for me.

Home sweet home

We have signed the necessary bits of dead tree, and each been granted a set of keys.

Future Housemate shall henceforth be known as Intrepid Anthropologist. "Home" is now our lovely rented house in Upper Suburbia. There is much work to do and not nearly enough time, but it is ours to shape, for as long as the tenancy allows us to do so.

We celebrated with tea and cake and our first guest, Sweetie's father, who has kindly offered to donate some cutlery to the household. Not just any cutlery, mind you--cutlery he made himself, in 1954. It is a very special and very appropriate housewarming gift.

There are (at least) two fruiting plum trees in our road, and a handy stepladder in the kitchen. This pleases me greatly.

I got soaked through on my way back to the station. I don't mind.

Moving

In a spirit of preparation I am packing a suitcase. Sweetie, Future Housemate and I are meeting with the letting agent today at 1.30pm to, hopefully, sign contracts and get keys for our new home. I won't take the case with me then but I will want to have it ready to go.

It's interesting to do this, to figure out what I need in a new place to make it start to feel like home. In a spirit of more procrastination than preparation, here's a list of what I think I'll take:

My kettle. I love this little kettle! I pulled it out of a skip in Islington in the summer of 2004 when I didn't have a kettle and had been using an ordinary pan to boil water for tea (and washing-up, since the electric immersion heater I had in that bedsit was a much more expensive way to heat water than the gas hob). Took it home, cleaned it up a bit... and found that it works, it doesn't leak, and best of all it has a wonderful two-tone wail to let me know it is boiling, not piercing as some of the whistle kettles are but reminiscent of a distant train. I don't know what Sweetie and Future Housemate will make of it, and they may prefer to use a more modern electric kettle instead, but for that very first cup of tea in a new home it wouldn't feel right not to be using my much-beloved kettle.

Tea things, of course. Some mugs (enough for all three of us and at least one for a guest), and tea, and sugar, and spoons and a teatowel or two and I guess we'll have to buy some milk. A saucepan and a few bowls won't go amiss either, but that's more a practical concern than anything else.

Clean sheets for the bed; a pillow, and my duvet if it will fit. The flat I'm living in at the moment has become harder and harder to deal with, in housemate terms, and so I don't want to sleep there any more nights than I have to. My little rabbit, who I've had since I was small. And all the other sleeping things, and getting up things: towel (yes, I am a frood who knows where her towel is), toothbrush & paste, and so on.

A bit of piano music. I'm very much looking forward to having a piano in my home again after many years without. I can play some by memory but I want to set to work immediately on some of what I've been learning. And the other instruments I play need to come along, too, of course, though I can't fit them in the suitcase so I might need to make a few trips.

I'll bring my phone and charger, partly because it would be madly impractical not to, but mostly because staying in touch with my people is important. Too much isolation makes a home stop being a home, for me. The computer fits into this category too, but as there will initially be No Internet in the new house, it may just as well stay behind for a few days.

A rag and some soap for cleaning anything that needs it. I'm told the place has been cleaned before our arrival and certainly when we viewed it, it wasn't in bad shape. But there is something satisfying about finding the bit of dust that has been missed, about wiping an unnoticed corner of the countertop and saying, "There, there, house, I live here now and I will take care of you." (Those of you who know me well are laughing at this point and probably opening a book on how long it will take to become unbearably messy. That's not the point!)

Books. It might not seem like much but there are books that seem to make a place home or not. One has my grandmother's poetry in it, it is really like taking a piece of my prairie birthplace with me. I'll put a few others in too: short stories by Ursula LeGuin, perhaps a beloved cookbook or two. The number and type of books doesn't matter quite as much as their presence.

I've been praying Morning Prayer from the C of E website, and I can keep doing that through my phone if need be, but I want to start engaging with the books more: being spoon-fed liturgy by the internet is all well and good (especially when I am running late and the only time for me to fit the Office in is when I am on the bus or train...) but so is looking at various elements, especially the readings, in a wider context. So I'll be taking my copy of Daily Prayer, which I've scarcely touched since I bought it, and a NRSV Bible (I also have a Jerusalem Bible and a King James; I don't know yet which I prefer, and suspect it depends on the situation). I want to go to Morning Prayer at a local church sometimes but I doubt I'll be able to do it every day, and I want to establish the habit at home too. When we viewed the house there was a little table in the room that's going to be mine, and I'll put the religious books there. Also there will go my little oil diffuser/burner/whatever it is, the sort with a candle in the bottom and a cup for smellies in the top. I'll take that today too: there's much to be said for having matches and candles anyway, in case we have any trouble getting the utilities started (though this is arguably the very best time of year to have such difficulties).

Though I am not Jewish and I'm not even really very Jew-ish any more (I'll talk more about the difference some other time), I do sort of want a mezuzah. The Shema is still important to me, in a way that stops everything else even when I think of it. But I also want our home to be welcoming and comfortable for any and all who might visit, and I don't think overt religious symbols in communal areas will help much with that. I'm not sure what I'll do about this. I think maybe something to hang on the inside of the door to my bedroom would be appropriate. I'm waffling over whether I want the Shema or the Summary of Law. Some sort of illuminated text of either of them would be good. But I digress: this isn't something I'm putting in my suitcase today, it's something written on my heart.

The other ingredients that will make this place home definitely won't go into my suitcase, because they are Sweetie, and Future Housemate (I'll have to start calling her something else soon!). Their hopes and dreams for this place, along with mine, will do more to make it home than any of the objects I'm putting in a suitcase today. But the objects can be an expression of some of those hopes and dreams.

What makes a home for you? If you were going somewhere new and relatively unknown and had to take just the bare essentials to make a place feel like home rather than hostel, to make it feel like a place you could invite a friend or stranger rather than a place where you are the unfamiliar guest, what would you pack? Who would you take with you? Why?

Wow... and a serious invitation.

So. Future Housemate, Sweetie and I went to view one house today.

It's... well. It's not perfect. But I don't think we'll find something that suits our needs better, not at that price. It's... Future Housemate referred to it as dignified, and that it is, with a bit of history and character. It's in reasonably good nick. The amount of storage space is wonderful, and will be even better once we get bookshelves in. There's room for my teaching studio. There's one more bedroom than we were looking for. The location couldn't be better, literally around the corner from one of my dearest friends, with a wonderful grocer at one end of the road and ancient parkland at the other. I can't tell you more than that without sacrificing anonymity.

I know it's hasty to rent a place without having looked at other houses in the area. I know it's a renter's market and we have the clout to find something really spectacular. I know they may decide not to replace the shower, and might balk at our request for a gas hob rather than electric. I know the kitchen is a bit smaller than I'd like (but there is an Actual Dining Room, something I've long yearned for, and I think that will make smallish kitchen okay). I know the rent is a teensy weensy bit higher than we'd planned. I know the garden is north-facing and not as large as I'd hoped for (though it is not without promise... the roses, jasmine and honeysuckle can all stay, in any case).

But I'm rather smitten. I know what houses in that general area are like, having visited a few friends, and this one does feel special. It seems to just be begging us to move in and fill it with life and music. It feels like somewhere that will become home. Future Housemate feels the same. Sweetie likes it too, especially the flexibility of having the extra bedroom.

I may not make it to Evensong tomorrow at Default Option Church. Last week I had a rather dismal and discouraging experience there involving sexist comments, being accused of stealing a hymnal and another sermon I couldn't quite follow (not all the same incident I might add!), but that's not the reason for staying away. I have a friend who had surgery last week and the only time I can get up to visit her is going to be tomorrow night after I'm teaching, so if she's feeling up to visitors I will be going there instead of to church. I figure God understands these things.

That said, I didn't want to miss it entirely. So today I went to St Paul's Cathedral for Evensong there.

The tube was running late of course and I arrived just after the last stroke of five, almost too worried about disturbing things to have the nerve to go in at all. I've lived in London for nine years but for most of those I was chasing Judaism or not really engaging with any structured spiritual practice... I'd not been to a service in a cathedral before. I needn't have worried, it was full of tourists. After I sat down I realised there was an area nearer the front where people actually had service sheets and so on, but I was feeling a bit too shy to go up and join them. So I sat, and I stood, and I sat, depending on which part of the service we were in--I could hear enough of the music to keep track and the spoken prayers were on a speaker system. It's also very echo-y in there and I didn't hear everything clearly, people around me were talking a lot which didn't help much.

But I'm very glad I went, and I'm glad I participated on some level.

Once in a sermon at Leafy Suburb Church, the vicar mentioned a blog I read and comment on. I had a slight panic and then realised that no, she probably doesn't follow back to commenters' blogs and read them all, she might not be able to identify me for sure from what I write here, and even if she did I don't mind her knowing who I am. And it struck me today in St Paul's that I wanted to write about being there, but any number of you lot could have been there too. Do I identify myself or not? I'm trying to remain somewhat anonymous here because it gives me a freedom in my writing that I do not think I could have if my professional life and my blogging here were to overlap much. I'm less clear about where my social life and my blogging are allowed to overlap, and how comfortable I am with the people I meet on my in-person spiritual explorations having access to my more vulnerable, private musings. Do I say that I was there, I was the rather tall lady in the purple skirt and dark blue top and the rather dirty light blue hat? What are the chances? This is London... chances are rather high. I'm undecided. Only I've gone and done it now, haven't I?

This leads into a slightly knottier problem.

One of the things that is very much a part of who I am, no matter which online identity or personal or professional role I'm stepping into, is my work as a student and a performer of music. It's unavoidable.

Not too long after my Big Final Exam Recital I'm having a more personal, celebratory recital. I don't want to put the place and time online, but it'll be in London, at a church reasonably close to a central location. I've struggled somewhat with making this event personal but not exclusive; I don't want to turn away anyone who would like to come, but I want it to be clear that this concert is primarily for me to have the opportunity to play for colleagues, family, teachers and friends, new and old. As concerts should be, it's a gift I'm making to the audience, not a product I am selling. So I've invited pretty much everyone I know, though I'm late getting invitations sent out. And every time anyone says, "Oh, can I bring so-and-so along?" I say yes, of course.

I have been surprised and delighted by the guidance, support, encouragement and, yes, friendship, that I have found through blogging here. So if you are in London, or think it might be possible for you to be in London during the summer, and you would like to hear me play: please contact me, and if I recognise you and trust you not to blab all over the internet about who I actually am, I'll send you invitation details. I mean it. I am absolutely serious about this. My getting this degree (okay I don't have it just yet, but you give me a few more weeks...) has been very much a group effort and I am honoured to include some regular readers here in that group. You might not think you've done much but a kind word here and a bit of encouragement there have been lifelines, and then there is everything that I have read... even when I can't keep up, these words on screens are important, are necessary. It would be a joy and a privilege to play for you. It's the closest thing I have to sacrament, in this line of work.

I'm happy to give you the option of remaining anonymous yourself. I know lots of you have higher stakes in the anonymity gamble than I do, and I respect that. Lots of people at this concert will be people I primarily know online, though many have gone on to become wonderful in-person friends; everyone there will understand if you say, "Oh, I know the performer from conversations we've had on the internet". For that matter, you don't have to talk to people at all if you don't want to, you can leave the second the music stops or even slip out early. Hiding in the vestry for the entire concert is another option, although of course if I get many of you all wanting to do that it won't work very well as a hiding place!

But please, if you read this regularly, consider coming if it's at all practical.

Free time

I haven't much of it right now. Yes, I know, blah blah blah if-you're-so-busy-stop-blogging-and-get-on-with-doing things. But the first house viewing of the day has been canceled and so I don't need to leave as early as I thought.

Medical appointment on Wednesday went well, with fewer blood samples needed than I had expected. I even got some work done in between. Now I wait for the next appointment to discuss results.

I had an essay back this week, I got 68% on it. Slightly disappointing to be two marks off of a First but on the whole a better result than I had expected. I may be in with a chance at a solid 2:1 for this degree after all; it's very hard to say as we've had very little feedback on some of the major work. I have two more pieces of written work to hand in, and then a crack at re-doing one that was done very poorly in December. I've started to count the time to my Big Final Exam Recital in days rather than weeks, though there are still more than two weeks to go. I'm mostly feeling tired. I had some admin fail to deal with earlier this week and it isn't resolved yet, and I'm hoping there will be progress over the weekend; right now it is out of my hands.

What else? Househunting. Today's first viewing was canceled; I didn't really like the sound of that house anyway. The second viewing is more promising. I don't want to say 'yes' to a house without seeing more than one, but I've done househunting a few times in my life now and this one could not be in a more perfect location, near to friends, transport and wide open spaces. Hopefully the inside will meet requirements and I'll have a new box to live in. I've been feeling quite pot-bound recently, in more ways than one.

Three of my four parents will be visiting this summer. Even thinking about this is such a mixture of anticipated joy and impending doom that I'm not going to try to explain it. I've realised that I have become more religious than any of my parents, or perhaps more practical about my spirituality would be a better word. That could get interesting.

I am cat-sitting for a friend. This is delightful. Cats are wonderful. And their kitchen has decent storage space which means it is full of food which means I don't have to think about food shopping at all until it's time to go back to the flat I live in at the moment.

I forgot to order the cheese for making cheesecake... I started making cheesecake every year for Shavuot when I was exploring Orthodox Judaism and I haven't really dropped the habit. But this year it will have to wait, as it's quite a time-consuming recipe and I don't really have any more free afternoons before my exam. Perhaps something alcoholic is more appropriate for Pentecost, in any case.

Still singing, praying, hoping; still thinking of you lot far more than I had thought I would when I started this lark back in February. Not reading blogs as much as I'd like; when I do comment I often abandon halfway through, as I nearly did with this post. Too much wittering, no real content. Still using twitter (I am song_in_heart there, but to follow my updates I'll have to know who you are, I'm still trying to protect some anonymity) more than anything else but if it's not your thing, fair enough; you don't miss much, the time that I spend there isn't time that I could use to blog properly. I'll get back to content sometime this summer, I hope.

Celebrations and Concerns

What a week it has been!

In some ways a bit of a rough week: it's just That Time of Degree, I'm afraid, there is a silly amount of paperwork to be done and I've been put into a performance project which is eating serious amounts of time in rehearsals that are, quite frankly, rather tedious at best. I've had a bit of a cold which always saps my energy and makes my chronic health problems more symptomatic; there's not a lot I can do about that but rest more, but see above re: scheduling. It's all rather overwhelming and discouraging if I think about more than one bit of it at once. And Sweetie is away this weekend, so I am at home by myself facing a very messy bedroom and wondering whether to use my 'rest' day to try to make it a little more livable.

It has been a very hard week for various friends of mine for reasons I'll not discuss here. They have been very much on my mind and in my prayers. At times this week I've also felt quite overwhelmed by the sheer amount of pain and hardship in the world. There's so much I can do so little about, and so much I should do something about but fail to do, and I don't quite know where to start. It's the typical save-the-world-before-breakfast problem.

The good, though, far outweighs the bad.

Monday's post basically wrote itself and I don't really feel like I can take much credit for it. But the positive response to it has been cheering me all week, partly because it's flattering to my ego to be told I've done something good but partly because I so desperately hope that the vision of the world I put forward in that post is actually true... having so many of you affirm the truth of what I wrote feeds that hope.

On Tuesday night I was gripped by a different sort of creative inspiration (or maybe it was the fever I had?) and got some composing done; I shouldn't really be working on non-degree stuff right now but this would not let me go to sleep until I wrote it down. It isn't finished, and won't be for a while, but I've been agonising over another composition project (for which I still have not found an appropriate text) and the reminder that yes, I can write music, was very welcome.

Wednesday night (after coming home early from my studies to drink soup and feel sorry for myself) I had a meeting with Sweetie and Future Housemate. Dreams and vague hopes are becoming plans: we have a budget, and a timeline, and a plan to find somewhere to live. This is very, very exciting for me: I've never lived in any house longer than three years, I've spent the last few years in various fairly transient housing, and putting down roots somewhere is looking very attractive. I will have a home, not just a place where I sleep and store my things. I've hoped this many, many times before, but I think this time it might work, because Future Housemate is looking for so many of the same things I am.

Sweetie has been unemployed for some months; last week he was offered a job but the contract did not turn up right away. Thursday he got the contract! Much relief all 'round: this lifts a load of worry from him and makes our future plans much easier. It means I will be able to take a long-term view of building up my paid employment to levels that will support me (and eventually others) well financially, instead of having to grab something short-term that actually hinders my ability to work on long-term plans. It means we can afford for me to take some rest after my degree, which will be much-needed and may lead to significant improvements in my physical health. It's just wonderful news.

Also on Thursday night was a rehearsal with Petite Violinist just for fun--no pressure, no deadlines to work toward, just reading through Handel and having a good time of it. What sheer joy! Of course by the end of the rehearsal we had a performance shoehorned into another concert, so the deadlines are back but they're manageable deadlines for both of us and it is always rewarding to play with Petite Violinist.

By Friday I was pretty wiped out by all of this and spent far too much time struggling with feeling rather miserable, but my last lesson of the day was just plain inspiring. And I realised that I do seem to be making some new friends, online and in person, and this was a great comfort despite feeling rather rotten for most of the day. And really--what day that includes Bach, Brahms and Tallis can be all that bad? Not to mention a bit of Ella Fitzgerald.

Today I am free to rest and that is what I will try to do. Tomorrow I get to teach, and weary as I am the thought still makes me smile. And I've managed to juggle my schedule so that I'll be able to get to Leafy Suburb Church for Evensong; it will be great to catch up with Deacon Friend and if the transport is good I might even sing in the choir again.