Author: AKMA

My two miles this morning went at a more measured pace than the last two mornings, but it looks as though I’m continuing to improve because a five-day rolling average just knocks off the oldest time — in this case, the second or third day I was running to a timer. I was still pretty rusty back on Sunday (!), so although today’s time was nothing special, it still lowers the rolling average because it was better than Sunday’s. Isn’t math wonderful?

So the appearance that I’m still running faster encourages me even though the actual fact of this morning’s run would oblige me to admit that my time wasn’t great. Similarly… no, I suppose it’s not similar. Judge for yourself: Since Christmastime, when I had a sermon spree and preached often over the course of five days, my preaching well has run dryer than is comfortable. I don’t think I’ve done a bad job of it — people have been pleasant and agreeable about my homilies — but I feel like the sort of band whose first album might have been very good, and their second album was all right (especially in the reflected glory of the first), and their third seemed to be coasting… I’m straining more to kindle my imagination for preaching.

Now, be it admitted that in the absence of a Team Rector (and temporarily, of a Team Vicar as well), I’ve been kept very busy with pastoral tasks that might otherwise not fall to me. And my half-time role has swollen to a scale uncomfortably close to full-time. I did a tiny bit of academic writing this week also, and marking for essays. Still, Sunday sermons are possibly the most important task for my imagination week-on-week, and it’s frustrating that I feel less well-resourced to compose them.

Again, not a ‘pity me’ plea; strictly an observation about myself, my situation, and my energies. All of which demand that I return my attention to tomorrow’s homily for St Michael’s.

As of last night, it’s been one year since I was licensed to serve the Parish of Abingdon-on-Thames as their Associate Priest. I had started earlier, since I was already licensed in the diocese, but only on an unofficial basis; for the last year, I’ve been a right down parish vicar (in the non-technical sense) (that is, I’m not the vicar of any church or congregation, but I am ‘a vicar’ in the vernacular, categorial sense of ‘a priest’). In the last year, the Team Rector has retired, and the Team Vicar has been obliged to take time off to recuperate, so my ‘half-time’ status has stretched to fit the circumstances.

The people of St Helen’s, St Nicolas’s, and St Michael’s (and All Angels’) have put up with my oddities with great generosity; the townspeople of Abingdon have received me cordially; and I detect no signs of damage, physical or spiritual, among the congregations. Numbers are up, finances are sound, and the staff work together harmoniously; the gospel is proclaimed, the sacraments duly administered; we’re baptising, confirming, marrying, mourning, welcoming, and giving thanks at a giddying pace. Thanks be to God for setting me to this holy work, and for the Spirit’s support in my trying to keep up with them.

Going to take today as a ‘just run’ day, not going to factor it into my pase average. Better to do it than not, but I don’t feel up to pushing for speed.
Change of plan: it’s raining. Nuh-uh, not going to run, walk, or otherwise perambulate.

There are two or more sides to most questions of syntax and punctuation, but I think this caption illustrates the usefulness of the Oxford comma.

Source (whose headline would benefit from disambiguation)

Not my running pace, though it was good enough today to keep diminishing my rolling average (down to 20:54), but the day and the productivity pertaining thereunto. Ran, coffee and fruit, confront various oparish and university email tasks, shower, Morning Prayer, bus to Oxford for this morning’s tutorial, discover en route that my tute isn’t till 1:00, meander around Oxford will 12:30, pick up a cup of coffee and conduct tute, shop for a few groceries, bus home to Abingdon, deal with parish email. It’s 4:00 and I still have a lot to do (including Sunday’s sermon).

Thank heaven — the weather has been rubbish, but at least we’re getting more hours of [approximate] daylight.

Two miles at a strong pace (rolling average down to 21:07), coffee, shower, Morning Prayer, back home for hot breakfast, staff meeting, lunch…

Ran my two miles, felt all right, rain held off while I was out, which was more than I was expecting. My rolling average is down to 20:52; I’ll be pleased when I get back to 20:00, which I think I remember was my time back before I stopped counting. Weight back toward 77 kg. Coffee, shower, Morning Prayer, bus to Oxford, Paul tutorial, bus back to Abingdon, NT teachers online meeting…
Retirement looks better and better.

Two more miles (rolling avg now 21.55), in chilly, breezy weather — just before it started raining. Coffee, no fruit at hand, shower, Morning Prayer, hurried home make another cup of coffee, toast, then to participate in an online Safeguarding workshop.

I just looked at the cameo photos of the original cast of Twin Peaks as they’re shown on on Apple TV, and if you’ll excuse me, now I need to go make a reservation for a pensioners’ home. In a hurry.

Got up, ran two miles in chilly but dry weather, at a pace a shade better than average (rolling avg now at 21:46), coffee and a banana, edit short homily for the 8:00, shower, dress, 8:00 service, coffee in town while I work through and edit the sermon for the 11:15, then led the 11:15 service. Both services (and homilies) went fine, but on leaving St Nic’s I discovered that sleety rain had begun falling. Walked home in sleety rain, put down my bag, hung up my tweed jacket and put on my cardigan, made my lunch and am now holed up in the living room and will stay here till May.

Ran this morning, an adequate pace. The four-day rolling average for these timed days is 21:49 for two miles: nothing noteworthy, but it’s this pace that I’ll be trying to improve.
Delicious shower — why are some showers more satisfactory than others, when the shower itself is exactly the same? I just made and ate a wonderful hot breakfast, and now I’m about to turn to tomorrow’s sermon.

For most of my adult life, I had an occasional glass of wine at dinner, or a bottle of beer with my burrito or burger, but really didn’t drink much at all. That changed dramatically when we moved to Glasgow, where it was common for friends to gather at the local (one of the locals) (one of the many locals) after work and have a round or two, share some chips, banter and process our working day. Those were lovely, lovely days, and only very rarely did anyone drink too much, at least as far as conventional definitions of social drinking are concerned.

When we moved to Oxford, our drinking pattern changed. We weren’t friends with a cluster of mates who stopped by a pub on our way home from work; and we lived at the college where we taught, so we didn’t pass any pubs on our way home. We did go to dinner at colleges from time to time, and there we did drink more than usual for our Oxford days. On those occasions, I sail closer to ‘too much’, though not enough to give myself a hangover (to take one measure); it’s been ages since I had a hangover, possibly as far back as Evanston days. [Correction — I just remembered a night out at a gin tasting with Meg, on which occasion I definitely got drunk, although not so much that I had a hangover on the next morning — just moved slowly and gently.] But we have gotten into the habit of having a glass of wine (or in my case, a bottle of ale) with dinner. Wine and ale are tasty complements to meals, and they do have a relaxing effect, and this is all pleasant.

But my dear friend Julie Kaufman linked to the recent medical research that emphasises that any drinking at all increases the risk of cancer. Now, I take Julie seriously all the time anyway, but this struck me as especially pertinent as I have begun reorienting my daily life toward healthier choices (like running in the morning, and trying to reduce a bit). I’ve gotten to an age where I’m near the age at which my father died, entering the neighbourhood of an average male life span. I might as well take some steps toward stalling that consummation, so I’ve begun, modestly, to cut back my drinking. That’s mostly by having non-alcoholic beer instead of wine or ale with dinner (Heineken 0.0% is the best I’ve tasted so far, but I’d welcome any other alternative; NA wine is, so far, a total washout). That makes it easier to pass half my days without drinking at all. I’m nettled — I do like wine and ale, and my G&T on occasion — but I still enjoy them, freely. I simply don’t drink them as a matter of course.