That clock has stopped and it is not Sunday...

I sympathise greatly with your plight in the heat. Knowing you as the super mother you really are I know you'll comfort those hot and bothered young ones - keep going! This heatwave has us all counting the hours....how long until morning, until break time, until lunch break, until I can go home, until the sun goes down, until everyone else is in bed?!

30C in British classrooms is not very funny, and I doubt 40C in the south of France is much different. By the way, Flick - have you tried Avon 'Skin so Soft' as a mosquito repellent for the kids? It works a treat on our tasty edible youngest who gets savaged by every bloodthirsty insect in South Norfolk the moment he peeks out the door.

Anyhow - the grandfather clock has stopped here. Twenty-five to Two today apparently. This is out of the
ordinary. We thrive on traditions, and the clock should stop on Saturday evening; it gets wound up again on Sunday evening. That's the way it is. It is one of the many idiosyncratic ways we mark the day of rest in our home. Sunday is timeless, eternal and there is all the time in the world to be with each other and be with God. Stop the world - we are getting off. That's the vibe. The fact it has stopped mid-week in a heatwave means only one thing as far as I can tell - we need a rest! A reset! A nap under a tree and bread for the journey ahead (1 Kings 19). I always marvel at Elijah feeling so down he wants to die and God says: 'Get up, eat, drink - or you will not have strength for the journey.' God calls us onwards, even at the point of death - particularly in the Catholic Church, with 'Viaticum' - literally the last communion someone makes is 'bread for the journey' to eternity. If there was ever a sign we should never give up that was it.

But the clock has stopped. So perhaps we do need that rest. 

It got me thinking though, about the pure, lovely and playful family Catholic traditions we can share - the private ones, the old family ones, the newly invented ones. The ones that make the home a little mini church community all of their own. We don't have as many as we should. Here are one or two enjoy that remind us of our purpose each and every day.

The epiphany blessing: 20 C+M+B 26 is written with blessed chalk on the lintel of the front door. Christus mansionem benedicat - May Christ Bless This House. Graham writes it up with chalk blessed by a priest each Epiphany to remind us that the house - every door and window, has been sprinkled with holy water and blessed when we moved in. I always explain to the children that is the blessing that Casper, Melchior and Balthasar bring with the baby Jesus at Christmas.

Lost car keys? Tony, Tony look around - something is lost that can't be found! A light-hearted prayer to St. Anthony, patron of lost things to help us find all the toys, keys, wallets and socks that go missing on a daily basis. Sometimes, I even ask St Anthony to find a lost me.

Arguments over which grace to say before I meal - we all have our favourites! Myself and the eldest adore the call - response prayer:

Leader: The eyes of all creatures look to you, O Lord.

Response: And you give them their food in due time

Leader: You open wide your hand

Response: And they shall be created

All: You shall renew the face of the earth

However, we never know all the words, get it muddled and have to start again. We basically just like the way this prayer recalls the faces of MopMop and Jumble begging at the table during the dinner! Graham and the youngest are much more sensible, preferring ad hoc prayers of thanks or the traditional: 'Bless us O Lord, for these thy gifts which we have received through thy bounty, through Christ Our Lord. Amen'. No one gets confused, everyone eats dinner in a timely fashion. What can I say - it is an area we are working on.

And then there's the icon of St Walstan - we don't have that many icons - but, this one has to be a rarity - a Norfolk based Anglo-Saxon prince who became a farm worker, known for his miracles both during his life and after his death. The Patron Saint of farm animals and agricultural workers whose holy well remains a pilgrimage site at Bawburgh, Norfolk. I know little about him, but there he hangs in the kitchen reminding me to have recourse to him and all the saints when one of the chickens takes ill. I think he must of been a good cook too, as he seems to take an interest.

Talking of which - of course, the AGA is off and so there is no cooker in the kitchen -  just the gas barbecue, the ordinary barbecue and the air fryer. Naturally, like the wife of Proverbs 31, I had menus all planned for this week, written out, pinned up and provided for. And, more naturally, I have ignored them all, cooked what I wanted to in the heat and refused to stand in scorching the sun with a flaming barbecue. So now I am thinking about another Catholic tradition - can I really make fish kebabs (cod, smoked haddock, salmon and prawn) with a pesto sauce in an air fryer on Friday (weather - 37C)? Will I make one hell of a stink? Oh the sacrifices we go through.....

Time and eternity. Icons and incarnation. And the clock has stopped. 

I cannot wait to hear from you, Flick, about the old and new traditions of Catholic family life in your new house, especially as it is so near Lourdes! We are off to Walsingham this Sunday and will bring your intentions to Our Lady at 'England's Nazareth'