Went to visit E this morning because she wanted to discuss her funeral needs. Her daughter was visiting from Wales so between us we chose hymns and readings and discussed other arrangements. E says she is ready to go and she certainly has lived a very full life. (E is 90.)

E was a teacher but it is only in the past years that she has discovered her love and gift for languages. Her grandson goes to a Welsh speaking school so she taught herself Welsh and now reads the bible in Welsh too. She then decided that she ought to learn Greek, and did so. I believe she is also dabbling with Arabic. She does the most incredible cross stitch pictures in detail far beyond my capabilities. What a woman! Put me to shame, that's for sure. One of those remarkable women who we go out to minister to and come away having been ministered to ourselves.

E's daughter was also a very interesting person who produced the most amazing shortbread. (My goodness! This blog is becoming one superlative after another.) However this shortbread, which I think comes from Wales, is fab. Here is the recipe:

Oatmeal Shortbread
(for a round 7" tin)

2oz butter
2ox sugar

Melt these together (saucepan or microwave)

Add 4oz rolled oats
and a few drops of vanilla essence

Press into greased tin.
Bake at Gas 4 (180) for 20 minutes till very lightly browned.

Bliss. And you only need a very small piece.

I need a new passport so I have had to pay a visit to one of those awful booths where you have to simultaneously shoo nosy children from peeking through the inadequate curtain whilst taking your specs off and on to read instructions whilst striking a pose which according to the rules should be 'a neutral expression with your mouse closed' and in which your face should be between 29mm and 34mm high. No pressure then.

It was a ghastly experience and in the first photograph I looked as if I had just escaped from Carstairs. Luckily, if you don't like it you can strike another pose, so I did. In the second one I looked a bit smirky as if I had just been caught doing something very silly indeed so that had to be rejected too. (All of this while taking my specs off and on because they don't like photos with gorgeous magenta Gucci specs). The third pose ensued and in that one I look alarmingly like Gary Glitter which is not a good look on a passport really.

Try again, I thought. But no, that was it. Three go's and that's it. So I had to stick with pose 3. Now I have to bear the shame of taking it to the Post Office and letting someone else look at, whilst holding back guffaws no doubt.

Son #2, who lives upstairs in the Anne Frank suite, came down last night and announced:
"I have just read your blog about the dentist so you don't need to share it with me. In fact, I am just going to read your blog from now on and we need never speak to one another again."

That's nice.

It's hard for an extrovert to share a house with an introvert. I know he gets bored with the minutiae of my life which I feel obliged to share just to make conversation and keep the relationship going. He, on the other hand, is quite happy to only share stories if they are incredibly dramatic and anything less is not worth mentioning.

How did I produce such a child?

I spent an hour in the dentist's chair yesterday with my mouth wide open and, ultimately, an aching jaw. For some time I have had problems with one tooth and it would appear that the roots or nerves were infected. So yesterday was a cleaning out process which sounds painful but the lovely Charlotte (who looks 12) did a marvellous painfree job - except for me having to keep my mouth open for so long. Yes, I know, you'd think it was used to it with the amount of blethering I do.

As I lay there listening to a dreadful radio station of unknown origin I was aware of that strange language which dentists speak to their assistants. Do you think that they make up those code names to make us less afraid? "Pass me the yellow P3, please" as opposed to "Pass me the big pointy scary needle, please."

I have always been blessed with no fear of the dentist and have never been hurt by one. (Except for the one I had a crush on who failed to notice my fluttering eyelashes.) In fact, when I was a teenager I did contemplate dentistry as a job until I was told I needed science. So I have always been quite interested in the process just as I am with all things medical. Doctors, though, have been encouraged to speak in laywoman's terms over the years but not so with dentists. It all remains a mystery and frustrates me that I don't know what they are talking about.

Then it occurred to me that the church might be a bit like that to the outsider. We talk about redemption and salvation and stuff but what does it mean to the incomer? Do they sit there wondering what we are talking about and feeling excluded? Well I am here to tell you it's all about love really. That's it. All you need to know.

And maybe the next time I go to the dentist to get this tooth filled properly I will ask Charlotte to explain it all to me.

The Scotsman reports today:
THE smoking ban has had a dramatic effect on Scotland's pubs, leading regulars to stay at home and causing an 11 per cent drop in drink sales, the leading trade body said yesterday.

I knew it! All that guff about pubs being busier now and folk flocking to enjoy a smoke-free drink. Tosh!

Donald Coggan said that the greatest job in the world was being a priest. I agree. I can't imagine doing anything else now. What a privilege it is to share in people's lives when they are vulnerable or happy or grieving or celebrating. What a joy it is to hold the mystery which was placed in my hands at ordination. I am just bubbling over with it today!

Saturday was cleaning day at church and a skip had been delivered for the remnants of the Big Clear Out. Despite begging for assistance to fill it and give the church a wee makeover, I arrived to find two faithful souls (with their hubbies - thank God) and one new member. So it was left to us to cart all the big stuff to the skip and give the church a wee spit and polish, or in D's case a once over with vinegar and water and now we can see through the glass once more. An hour or so later four more faithful souls turned up but it was not exactly the turn out I had hoped for.

Any suggestions from Blogland on how to get people to love their church more and want more than anything to keep it looking nice?

Then it was a quick rush home to get showered and transformed into something more respectable to attend Bill's ordination at St Michael & All Saints. Oh, they were all there! The glitterati of the SEC were out in force and there were more altar servers in the sanctuary than some churches have in their whole congregation. Bishop Douglas preached an excellent sermon full of good advice for the novice priest. The music was glorious, as ever, and there is nothing quite like a church full of good singers belting it out. (Not to forget Philip Sawyer who did wonderful things on the organ.)

Then we all spilled out into the garden to fight off the wasps and enjoy the nibbles and catch up on the news. All in all, a glorious day and God must be happy with such a sterling effort.

The Today programme has been doing a poll for listeners to vote for their favourite and least favourite hymns. The results are:

Most Favourite
1. Dear Lord and Father of mankind
2. Guide me O thou great Redeemer
3. Be thou my vision

Least Favourite
1. Shine Jesus shine
2. All things bright and beautiful
3. Lord of the dance

I guess it probably reflects the listeners to the Today programme more than anything. I mean, how many young people listen to Radio 4 at 7am on a Sunday morning. But my least favourites are certainly well reflected.

So what are your favourites?
And what makes you cringe?

Took a couple of hours out yesterday to go and see the Ron Mueck exhibition at the National Gallergy. You can see some of the stuff here:
http://www.artmolds.com/ali/halloffame/ron_muek.htm

It was not what I thought Fr Kelvin and I were going to see but I am glad we did nonetheless. It was quite an incredible collection of sculptures and well worth a visit.

We saw a big baby, a big woman in bed, a big girl/woman, a big wild man, a big face and a big black face of undetermined gender.

We also saw a small baby, a small man in a big boat, a small spooning couple, and a small pair of women gossipping.

We came to the conclusion that they all had the look of Episcopalians except for the women gossipping. Not sure about them but one of them was surely CofS and I reckon the other was RC. (That sounds as if we thought Piskies don't gossip but that was not the case - they just didn't looklike Piskies). And we didn't decide on the babies.

However, we managed to come up with some pretty convincing stories about them all and what fun that was. But it was not exactly a fun exhibition - there was a lot of sadness in those faces.

Poor Gary the plumber has not had his troubles to seek on this job.

First of all the bath came with no holes for taps and he had to go and borrow a very noisy drill thing to fix it.

Then the bath panels, when unwrapped, were wood effect and not the ones he'd ordered.

Then the toilet pan was cracked when he unwrapped it so it had to go back. Then when the new one was put in place it is considerably smaller than the old faulty one so there is a patch of no wall and no wallpaper behind it. Not sure how we resolve that problem. Perhaps I could put up a picture of the Infant Child of Prague to cover it.

But the tiles are up and look gorgeous - all shiny white with just a hint of turquoise and lilac on the border. (yes, I know you are surprised that the tiles are not all purple but I had to think of those who will follow me here!)

However I have been told that we can't use the shower until Friday because the grout goes on today and needs 48 hours to set first. Today is Wednesday and I have not had a shower since Monday morning and doing my ablutions in the bedroom wash basin is not fun. But we should have a working bath tonight and I'll have to wash my hair the old fashioned way with a cup.

And I could write a whole blog about toilets wot I have visited over the past few days... perhaps not.

that the plumber came to call. Finally we are about to get a new bathroom with a toilet which flushes without us holding our breath in case it doesn't. Always so important, I think, in a rectory. A flushing toilet, that is.

At the end of the day the plumber has gone and so has the bath and basin and floor tiles. The old loo is still looking suspicious but it's better than a bucket.

No sooner had he left than I heard a suspicious drip so went to investigate. Sure enough a pipe which probably will be a bath tap was dripping on the new floor and below. So the plumber is back.

First Sunday back after a holiday is always a joy meeting and greeting those you have missed and catching up on all the news.

In the absence of an organist we are blessed to have two members of the congregation who are standing in. B played the piano yesterday and for the communion hymn played her violin. It was 'We cannot measure how you heal' and was absolutely glorious. Really poignant.

Jesus said to the crowd,
'I am the bread of life.
Whoever comes to me will never be hungry,
and whoever believes in me will never be thirsty.'

Well, I came and I believed.
And I ate of the crusty bread and the french toast and the croissant and the sliced loaf.
And I did indeed get thirsty.

And when I got thirsty I drank of the Cabernet Sauvignon and the G&T and the tequila and OJ and the Amaretto.

Never be hungry? Ha! So how come we are not all size 10?

Picked up my copy of Inspires (the much talked about SEC magazine). The design in this issue is just fabulous - wonderful layout, contemporary design, eyecatching pics and good use of colour.

I haven't read the content yet so can't comment on that. Why have I not read the content yet? Because with my cataracts I am finding it hard to read when text is on coloured background, or in tiny fontsize. Such a pity because it all looks so pretty.

Last night G and I went to see Black Watch by Gregory Burke and performed by the National Theatre of Scotland. G was given free tickets because he lives in the flats next door to the venue and the noise level of the production is pretty loud so I guess they were trying to appease them.

Anyway, if you see nothing else in the Festival - go and see this. What an amazing piece of theatre! It is based on interviews with former BW soldiers who served in Iraq. We laughed, we cried, we jumped out of our seats and we gasped in amazement at the choreography. I've never seen anything done so cleverly or so poignantly. They were certainly worth the standing ovation they got.

I had to visit the dentist yesterday for some root canal work. Charlotte (the dentist) is a young woman who still gets asked her age when out gallavanting. But her youth certainly did not affect her ability to deal with my sore tooth (for about 8 months have I been eating on the other side now) with no pain whatsoever.

As I was in Linlithgow I popped in to see Fr Pip who is now taking care of my little ex-flocks. It is very strange to go in to a house in which you lived and see how different it looks with other people's things. We had a good catch up with all the news and views.

After that I drove along the High Street to have tea with an old friend and noticed the church was open so popped in there too. Got a lovely welcome from M and E who were on duty. M told me a great joke which I will save for another day. It was lovely to hear about everyone.

It made me think though... as priests we are so involved with the lives of our little flocks. We know their aches and pains, their hopes and fears. We care for them and pray for them. And then we move on and are told not to look back. We must leave them now in the care of another and that is so hard. Oh, we get the magazine but only serves to titillate us with little snippets of what has been going on. Why did S write and thank everyone for their prayers while she was in hospital? It is so hard to let go.

It is our obligation, as Episcopalians, to attend mass every Sunday come rain, hail or scorchio. I'm not sure what happens if we don't attend but it may involve the flames of hell so I'm not taking any risks. (I'm really not good with heat.) And one of the best bits about being on holiday is that you get to go to other churches. So the first thing I do when on holiday is to find the local Piskie/Anglican/RC church to attend. Usually when I am at home on holiday I go back to my roots to the glorious St Michael of All Saints where the atmosphere of prayer and incense helps me sink down with a large "A-a-a-a-h" moment. Bliss.

But this year I thought that for one of my Sundays I would visit St Peter's Musselburgh - it being my closest neighbour. I was at college with the rector - the Rev'd Roger Cooke - and we had some good 'debates' on all sorts of points of theology, he being from the rather more evangelical end of the candle. In fact we even came to the conclusion that we were not so much brothers and sisters in Christ, as distant cousins.

So, if I was the Mystery Worshipper (see http://www.ship-of-fools.com/) this is what I might report.

As I approached St Peter's I noticed the huge banner on the front of the church building advertising the upcoming Children's Club. "It's good to have children in church," I thought.

As I walked in I had to fight my way through lots of groups of people chatting and greeting one another. No sign of hymn books or such like but I assumed they had to be somewhere so persisted in elbowing my way through the crowds and was rewarded with a hymn book and a wee bookie entitled 'Morning Praise: An Informal Celtic Service with Holy Communion'. (Not one I recognise from the Code of Canons!)

Settled in to the pew and managed a wee prayer of preparation despite the hubbub around me. This is a church of people who come to meet people.

Fr Roger was in the sanctuary with some teenagers who were bustling about in preparation. And after the notices it was indeed one of those young girls who took the Liturgy of the Word.

Her name was Miss Chatterbox (yes, really) and she was VERY enthusiastic about worship. She was to be one of the leaders of the Children's Summer Club and we kicked off worship with one of the favourite songs - with actions. I'm not a great lover of songs with actions but most people there seemed to love it.

There was one reading (no Gospel) from 2nd Chronicles which involved a long list of unpronouncable names which would have put any reader into a tounge-tied mess but the young girl who read most of it did exceedingly well. I know older people who won't even read the bible in church in case there is one tricky name, let alone forty.

Then another woman came and did a wee homily about names for the children which involved them all running about and receiving a lollipop at the end of it.

We missed out the Creed - a creed which was unknown to me but charming all the same. Good intercessions though, prayed by an adult and a child.

The Peace was enthusiastic.

The Liturgy of the Sacrament was, thankfully, celebrated by Fr Roger and although I didn't know the Eucharistic Prayer it was very prayerful. (I do love an Irish accent.)

Oh, and we did have three more traditional hymns after the two more lively ones with actions.

The woman sitting next to me in the pews did speak to me at the end in a welcoming manner so that was good.

I didn't stay for coffee so can't report whether it was Fair Trade or otherwise. But it was certainly a different experience for me and left me with lots of questions which no doubt I will put to Fr Roger the next time we meet! St Peter's is a lively young congregation and there are not many who can say that.

More of my next visit to another church later...

Back in the saddle after a restful fortnight doing not very much (except a Confirmation last night - see previous blog).

My plan had been to get away for a few days but NERF (my little old car) decided otherwise. She had been leaking oil for some time and it did seem to be getting worse so I thought I'd better pop in to the garage while I was off just to get things checked out.

Spare a thought for us poor clergy who move around from time to time and have to leave reliable and trustworthy garages who have just got used to nursing our old bangers which is all we can afford. (unless you are Fr Kirstin of course!) So I went to a garage recommended by one of my little flock and after much sucking in of air between teeth and mutterings of "when did you last have this car serviced?" I was informed that my sump had gone. And I didn't even know I had a sump. And a gasket was dodgy too. Whatever that is. But it was all very serious and required £240 worth of tlc. Either that or my engine would be next. So, no choice really.

What did I do then while I was stuck at home?

For the first week I sat out in my lovely garden soaking up the rays and reading a couple of books:
Shroud for the Archbishop by Peter Tremayne (A Sr Fidelma mystery) and
The Chalice by Phil Rickman (a Glastonbury ghost story)
I do like a good whodunnit while on holiday. And I was able to catch the most exciting week on the Archers now that Ed is back from his soujourn into homeless hell. Poor soul.

For a few days I resembled a rather pink lobster but that seems to have calmed down a bit now after a considerable amound of exfoliating and moisturising. It was hot and most unlike any holiday I have ever had in Scotland before. Normally it rains constantly as soon as I even mention the word 'holiday'. Oh, and I love my oscillating fan. Just what a woman of a certain age needs when she has started getting hot flushes at the hottest time of the year. I have been told I have not to think of them as hot flushes but as my inner child playing with matches. All I can say is heaven help you all if that is the case.

For my second week I did some knitting of prayer shawls and watched some movies. (That was when it did indeed rain.) I did a little light housework, put up a clothes line outside and visited the chiropodist and the dentist. How sad.

I was almost bored to tears and am greatly relieved to be back in the saddle doing what I love most. Speaking of which, I did attend two churches for Sunday worship but my reflections on those will have to wait. But they are worth waiting for, believe me!

On Saturday morning I received a phone call from one of my little flock to let me know that Andrew (another of my little flock) was to be baptised and confirmed at Glenalmond Youth week on Sunday night. I was a little sad that Andrew was not being confirmed at St Mark's - we haven't had one in many a year. However Andrew is a Glenalmond junkie and it seemed right that he should be confirmed amongst his friends so I put aside churlish thoughts and set off to drive up to Perthshire (140 mile round trip).

When I arrived it was like a bloggers reunion. There was Bishop David, the Rev'd Gareth Saunders, the Rev'd David Campbell and me! (Although Bishop David suggested I might be a blogeuse.) So Andrew's confirmation should be well reported in blogland.

Glenalmond is a rather posh school in the wilds of Perthshire and the confirmation was held in the charming chapel. It was all rather informal as befits a youth camp and I didn't have to do a thing. (I must do some reflection on my feelings when I am a member of the congregation and not 'up front', but more of that in another blog.)

Andrew's parents and sister were there and all in all it was a lovely evening. He played the guitar too so that will come in handy at St Mark's. Then I had a lovely drive home. I had forgotten how beautiful Perthshire is and how much I miss big skies now that I am back in the city with just my window-width to see.

So welcome to the Scottish Episcopal Church Andrew. And we'll have you on the servers rota in no time!