Well, I ought to write the odd thing about radio – or steam – less the site name become irrelevant.
I’ve started to investigate satellite communication for radio amateurs. Stuffed head with info but a way to go yet. I’m concentrating on Funcube 1 and I’ve been following its progress using software made available by N2YO and the Funcube Dashboard.
More work needed…
Every journey we take changes us, we never come home the same. The greatest journeys — those of loss — change us most. Death or divorce or mourning: these journeys change us irrevocably.
Orpheus learned this long, long, ago; and we still walk that journey to hell and back. Changed but redolent with memory. We discover that the dead must bury the dead: they are no longer ours. We can only look back and sing our song.
I believe it is the function (if such a functional word is appropriate), the function of prayer, to take us on a journey. Not to find answers but to live with questions; and to be changed by the journey. Home takes on new meaning — more sanctuary than home but a place of abiding none-the-less.
Prayer rarely changes things, it is we who are changed; changed in unexpected ways. A journey within a journey; a means of transformation. Not more certain, but certainly more surrendered.
Even this blog will journey. Who knows? God knows.
The Bible invites us to see we are not human beings on a spiritual journey but spiritual beings on a human journey.
I find that, more often than not, we are where we ought to be; indeed, we are mostly in the only place we can be in this stage of our journey.
To pray to know God’s will is fine, so long as it is not really a longing for greener grass: striving to put ourselves in a different place is generally a recipe for stomach-ache.
I went to bed in a troubled state of mind: doctor’s appointment in the morning. I hardly slept and certainly didn’t rest but I lay down anyway and dozed off.
At 1.30 am I woke again, still troubled. Arranging the pillows I sat up, worrying. Then I heard a song: out in the garden a Robin was singing. Such beautiful, bountiful song. No cares, no worries; just the song.
Now I thought how Jesus had said that not one sparrow falls to the ground without my Father knowing. And I remembered how the lilies of the field neither work nor care and yet they are clothed.
And in that moment of deep time I knew that worry is not lifted but walked with. Sorrows, there will be: but never lived alone. My Father cares and knows all my needs. And I am loved, as the songbird is loved – eternally.
I’ve gone back to using the un-smart ‘phone. Been almost a week now including a weekend away.
I was asked if I could take a picture. No,I could not. And the world kept turning.
The expectation of immediacy is what I want to ween myself of. How to keep a memory not bundled in a screen; to wait for something wanted until it is no longer yearned for. These are things that the un-smart permits.
Living without smart phone continued….
When I go away for a break or a holiday I now no longer have a phone camera. I’ve gone back to using my proper camera (Canon Sure Shot 11). Not only do I get pleasure from using it but when I get home there is the pleasure of taking pics off SD card and putting them in folders: something I never actually did with the phone pics.
I have found, after two weeks, that I can live without the smart. In particular, the curtailed ability to be impetuous has gone so I can’t just order something at any time of the day or night and get it by 10 am next morning. This is something of a relief.
Mind you, I can’t look up the train times or the next bus; or confirm how to get to my destination if I’m lost. But how often does this happen? Well not very often really. Not enough to worry.
I have discovered an app that will print my calendar; how extraordinary is that? I shall be going back to a Filofax at this rate. Except that I share my calendar with Vivienne and can’t afford not to continue doing that. But then I still have my iPad.
Last weekend while away I took my proper camera and took proper photos and put them into a 2016 folder. True I shared a few on Facebook, but why not. The key thing here was that I have kept them and feel that they are somehow treasured; this has never been my position with iPhone pictures. Phone pictures are too simple to take: which on one hand is good; but in reality I have never treasured them. I certainly could never have caught a bird in flight.
I’ve often stood on Belper railway station in the morning and wondered why the phone was more important than the bird song.
Yet this is not, surely, a new phenomenon: the city gent with head in the Times, both at the breakfast table and the 8.34, is an image often portrayed in TV shows of an earlier era. The ladies had no equivalent I guess; or were more gregarious in their shared times.
Maybe I’m happiest in my own little world and don’t need technical input; maybe I just like to hear the birdsong.
Arrrr, now, there’s a thing. How do I get my contacts off the Cloud and into my new ‘phone? Much advice but little of it helpful. Folks so often use the internet as a way of uploading innocent daftness.
Anyway, it transpires that the simple solution doesn’t work. Why? Because Apple and Google no speak. Using Chrome I could not save my cloud contacts: but, if I install Firefox I could.
A learning experience.