I’ve forgotten how to do this, it seems. Six months without blogging. Two years without blogging well. It is one of the many things that got lost since I moved to Dunblane. But now we begin again.
Molly-cat and I are setting out for Durham next month, for what I am thinking of as a ‘sabbatical’. These past two years have been hard, though it will do no good at all for me to explain why. Indeed, I suspect that if you are still reading this, you know anyway.
Lots of people have been remarkably kind and understanding about my going, and many good friends have expressed their relief.
No one seems to find it hard to imagine why I’m going. But people are rather curious about what I will do.
And so am I.
I have a vague plan.
I am going to a place I have always enjoyed, and where I have good hope of being happy for a year. I am going to be nearer to my godchildren — and most especially, to my god-daughter, who is ten this month, and whom I hope to beguile with theatre tickets and chocolate cake and choral evensong. I am going to try to write. Though I’m not sure what that means. Yet somehow the vagueness is part of it, as my parents understood instinctively:
KB: ‘I’m going to try to write.’
Hershe (to Dad, quickly): ‘I always said she should write.’
Dad: ‘write what?’
Yes, that’s it. Anything. But nothing definite yet. So far, suggestions have ranged from ‘The Adventures of Molly-cat’ and ‘Vicar-Becky’s Big Idea’ (children’s books with perhaps too limited appeal); to All-Age church resources, ‘proper theology’, or some sort of book of images and words for prayer.
I suspect I’ll spend quite a lot of time with my camera, one way or another. Durham is a good place for photographs, and photography is a much safer pass-time than baking, which is my other hobby-love.
And then after a proper rest, I will seek bits of work. Someone suggested Open University tutoring. Someone else said that a local theology course might be able to use me. And I suspect that a priest with time and a car might not be wholly unwelcome in a diocese that often seems to be overstretched. But that is to presume too much when the bishops of Durham and Jarrow do not yet know I’m coming into their patch.
It is all very exciting, and just a little bit scary. But whatever comes next it could not be more difficult than the past two years have been, nor more traumatic than the thought of having to pack up the house. Again. Already.
I should have asked if Pickfords has a loyalty card.