Meetings, meetings, meetings

For somebody who's unemployed, I certainly seem to attend a lot of meetings. This morning it was the Mental Health Links - in the past other projects we've tackled have proceeded with all due speed and success but with this most recent one we've been talking about it since the summer of 2006 and not really made much progress. We acknowledged the frustration in our midst. It strikes me that I'm hearing fears (whether of commitment, or of encountering the unknown I'm not sure), and if that is the outer world I'm experiencing, my current 'ACIM ' exercises suggest that the outer world is merely reflecting my inner world. A group member has suggested that, as we are all busy people, the proposed 'Mental Health & Spirituality Group' should meet once a month. Chaplain, David A_, countered with the view that as the group is intended to cater for mental health service users, a weekly meeting would be more beneficial, a view I favour. Afterwards I receive a copy of the minutes from our diligent scribe (who has commented before that he who writes the minutes exercises control over the contents) and discover that this has not been minuted. I start to write a hasty email to correct the omission, and then cancel it. Further thought and introspection required. Meanwhile through the amazing power of the internet I have been able to make contact with a lady mentioned in the meeting who has successfully set up a group similar to that which we propose, and she has suggested I attend, guess what, a meeting - to learn more about her group.

Back home I make a fresh batch of yoghurt, adding some evaporated milk to the regular milk and simmering for a while until the volume is reduced, then straining it. As I'm writing retrospectively, I can reveal that this is the best batch so far, having a lovely smooth consistency and good flavour.

After lunch I walk to the Mental Health Forum planning group meeting, with a lovely view from the top floor window out over the brightly beautiful winter's day. My quiet time reading this morning included the encouragement to serve, and when the need for a Minutes Secretary for the Stakeholder Group meetings is made known, I offer my services, pausing only briefly at the thought of yet more meetings.

I walk back home and cook a roast dinner using the leftover chicken from Sunday. There has been a lot on TV lately about the raw deal chickens get, and sponsoring the idea that consumers should mark their displeasure with this by buying ethically-sourced chickens, chickens that have had a happy life. I did look around for happy chickens in the supermarket but ended up buying a Sainsbury's basic. The meat - particularly the breast meat - was tough and chewy, and re-heating it in gravy did nothing to improve the texture.

Jacky and Dave (sister-in-law and hubby) are good cooks, and much like son Dave, bro-in-law Dave doesn't like vegetables, but will eat honey-glazed roast carrots. At Christmas, son Dave also approved these roast carrots, so I've taken to cooking them that way. I'm not altogether sure of the benefits - on the one hand he will eat a portion of carrots with his dinner now, but on the other hand is there sufficient nutritional value remaining in a roast carrot to make it worthwhile when you consider the additional calorific intake? Such are the questions that a loving mum has to consider, along with whether it's really in his best interests me doing his laundry and ironing for him from time to time. But I digress...

In the evening I attended another meeting: Cell group. The house we were meeting at this week is home to a particularly gifted art student, and it is a real delight to look around at some of her artwork on display. She's a beautiful young lady, and has done a well-executed self-portrait which would look great on anybody's wall.

Back home in time to listen in on Vic's telephone conversation with Vix. She's currently temping as a civilian employed by the Police and is pleased to have passed her Level 1 Police driving test. This will give her the opportunity to earn a higher rate and to escape the office occasionally, driving about to collect evidence or CCTV tapes for example.

And so to bed.