Introducing Harold Fry

                As mentioned in a recent, previous post, I used my “Couch Convalescence” time to read.  I used to read a lot when I was younger.  Although watching television is not arduous in any way, it requires enduring annoying adverts and noise.  I have a bit of a hearing loss, so paying attention to conversations is necessary.   

                But reading is quiet.  You can stop at any time and pick it up again later.  Okay, if I’m preaching to avid readers, well, then I’m wasting time and space.  Let’s just say that for me, reading can be restorative as well as entertaining, without requiring a lot of energy.

                Last autumn, on a sunny morning, “Maverick” and I waited on Platform One at the local train station to catch a connecting train to Reading.  The express train from London, Paddington to Reading sped by; the silver hulk of train pulled the blare of the engine’s horn behind it, the wind stirring up latent litter and tumbling it across the concrete platform.   

On the brick walls hung posters promoting recent film and book releases.   The photos and fonts presented titles, displayed blurbs of reviews and recommendations and provided images of actors and other illustrations.  On more than one occasion I have made mental notes of these titles, and then researched them on Google later. 

A golden background, with the drawing of a pair of boating shoes caught my attention.  The following description stirred my curiosity. 

 “When Harold Fry leaves home one morning to post a letter, with his wife hovering upstairs, he has no idea that he is about to walk from one end of the country to the other.  He has no hiking boots or map, let alone a compass, waterproof or mobile phone.  All he knows is that he must keep walking.  To save someone’s else’s life.”

          

              Borrowing a copy from the library seemed a good idea.  That is if I could remember once I returned home.  Then a serendipity provided me the opportunity to own a copy.  At the Women’s Day I attended with “Chantilly” last November, I found the book on a table, listed for £1.  I was delighted at the find, quickly putting my pound into the correct person’s hand.  “Chantilly” said that her pastor’s wife had enjoyed the book and gave it a good recommendation.

                So, here it was, two months later, and the opportunity for some uninterrupted time presented itself.  I stretched my legs out on the couch, snuggled back into the pillows that were scrunched up in the couch corner and adjusted the duvet.  Maisy found her spot on top and put her head down. 

                Opening the front cover of the book, and turning past the critiques, the author’s biography and the title page I entered into the world of Harold Fry.  It is immediately apparent that there is discord in the home and marriage of the Fry’s.  There is an underlying sadness.  Harold’s spring day is changed by the receipt of a letter from a former work colleague.  

                Harold’s life is tedium of retirement without a hobby, a marriage without communication and no sense of purpose to motivate him.  But the letter changes that.  His attempt to drop the letter into the closest mailbox turns into a literal and figurative pilgrimage.  

                The walk provides Harold the opportunity to:

·  Be ensnared by his words, which means he must complete the journey he started

·  Discover qualities about himself

·  Ponder the past and sort out memories

·  Realise the freedom that generosity brings

·  Forgive himself for his weaknesses

·  Face his fears

        As I read, I found myself challenged by Harold’s honesty, humility and determination.  This is a story that touches the emotions, because the reader can so relate to Harold, his wife, Maureen and even the people Harold meets along the way.  It doesn’t matter that these people are fiction, the reader grows to care about them.  It is a story of loyalty, kindness, and goodness in a world of disappointment, evil, meanness and grief.  It is a story of resilience. 

               

           Even though I couldn’t wait to read the final act of the story, I was also a bit bereft that my association with Harold Fry was at an end.

The Unlikely Pilgrimage of Harold Fry by Rachel Joyce

 Copyright 2012.   

A Black Swan Book:  ISBN:  9780552778091;

                                              9780552779043

Transworld Publisher,

61-63 Uxbridge Road, London W5 5SA

A Random House Group Company

www.transworldbooks.co.uk

This is the link to get the book on Amazon in the UK.

https://www.amazon.co.uk/s/ref=nb_sb_ss_c_0_23?url=search-alias%3Dstripbooks&field-keywords=the+unlikely+pilgrimage+of+harold+fry&sprefix=The+Unlikely+Pilgrimage%2Caps%2C444 

I'm sorry I can't provide a link for it in the USA.  But I'm sure Goggle will take you to it.

Serving Jesus, Author of our faith,

"Lady Helene"

Night Walk and Sausage Casserole

                Being relegated to recovering my health over 10 days has put me behind on my blog schedule.  So, after calculating where I currently stand, it appears I need to write and post something every day this month.  Forewarned is fore-armed, at least on your part. 

                Wednesday morning’s start was about 4.30 am, certainly not typical for me. (Typical for me is about 9.00 am.) I’d already been up once before for my nocturnal visit to the loo—which is typical for me and a lot women.  I’d settled and was drifting off to sleep when Maisy whimpered and I hoped she was having a bad dream.  My fingers stroked her little head and she seemed to settle.  Well, for a couple of minutes.  After 15 minutes of whining and whimpering, I just knew she wanted to go out. 

So at 4:45 am I flung back the warm duvet, shuffled around the bed and into the hall.  I stepped into my rainbow stripped Wellie boots, drew on my full-length rain coat and hooked Maisy up to her lead.  My four-footed fur-baby scampered down the stairs and waited at the back door, the eight-foot lead fully extended, waiting for me to catch up.  I opened the back door and she darted out.  Within a minute she had found a spot where she could relieve her little bladder.  She looked around, sniffing the air and hoping to catch sight of one of the urban foxes that frequent our area.  I called her, and we moved on.  It was only a couple of minutes later that she found a second spot and completed her toilet.  She was quite happy to make her way back home. 

                The thing about late night/early morning “Maisy runs” is that I get to observe the quiet of the night.  A silver crescent moon hung in a jet-black sky, tiny twinkling stars scattered across the velvety expanse.  A deep, cool breath tickled the phlegm in my throat and random thoughts cast about in my mind.  God spoke to Abraham through the images of the stars.  Those pin-points of light were a symbol of the great nation God promised to raise from Abraham.  I was reminded that I am a part of that promise.  The night is dynamic and inspiring.  But I didn’t want to stay out long, as I had work Wednesday and needed my sleep.

                Although I went straight back to bed, it was actually about 5.30 am before I could get to sleep.  Two hours later I begrudgingly crawled out of bed, raising my eyebrows at Maisy as she lay, curled up in her blanket.  Cheeky little critter! 

                Out the kitchen window clouds the colour of pink cotton candy streaked against a turquoise atmosphere, with gold shining from the East.  Smiling despite my tiredness, I felt hopeful.   Another day to experience God’s love—and find a way to share His love with others.

                I was expecting to be really tired after my time in the office, needing a nap once I got home.  I left the office about 2.00 pm, to the sun shining and to feel the sun’s warmth—though it was lukewarm.  I walked home, sharing a smile with the few who were out.  Unlocking the door, I anticipated a wiggling bundle of fur and maybe a few barks.  But NO!  Neither “Maverick” nor Maisy were home!  That also meant that I didn’t need to trundle back down the stairs to walk her…as she was being walked now.

                Since I wasn’t feeling sleepy or overly tired I shoved a load of laundry into the washing machine, since I’d sorted it on Tuesday.  Waiting for my computer to boot up, I picked up a book and sat on the couch, reading.  

                I’d been home about 20 minutes when I heard the seal on the door open; a little being, dressed in brown-and-black tresses, came like a bolt of energy, catapulted onto my lap, ran over my shoulders and yipped with glee.  For a whole minute Maisy ran circles around my head and arms, delirious with joy at my being home.  I don’t know how she would have behaved had I been standing up—he he!  

                Upon his arrival on Sunday evening, “Noddy” ("Maverick’s" son) unpacked some goodies.  Amongst the lot were homemade sausages.  “Noddy” and his family enjoy a semi-farming lifestyle and raise some of their own meat.  He had brought the latest yield of their butchering labour to share with us. 

                “Noddy” informed us that the sausages would be best in a casserole, as they were a little over salted.  The photo shows my version of sausage casserole.  It has two ounces of rice per person, chopped carrots, onions, parsnips, a tin of kidney beans, a tin of chopped tomatoes, a red bell pepper, and black pepper.  First I grilled the sausages for about five minutes per side, then placed it on the rice and vegetables, covering the dish with foil.  I baked it an hour-and-a-half at 350F/180C.  The temperature should have been a bit higher, (about 400/200) and cooked about ten minutes longer.  I had vegetables left over, so when I reheat it, I will add some sausages from the grocery store.  The sausage was nicely favoured, just a hint of spice.  “Maverick” and I always enjoy the treats “Noddy” brings us.  

Serving Jesus, Author of our faith,

“Lady Helene”

               

Walking to work

                Wednesdays and Fridays I walk to the Parish Office to work.  Although I’m scheduled to be there from 9.00 am to 11.00 am,  I am often there much longer—sometimes till almost 5.00 pm.  But I am thankful that I can serve the parish, the church, in this way. 

          On average, it takes me about 20 minutes to walk to the office.  That’s if I have no interruptions.  Let me tell you about the interruptions that bring a smile to my face.  These are in no particular order.

·         Ms. Sally, the librarian.  When I volunteered at the Tuesday morning coffee shop, which meets in the library, I met Ms. Sally.  Although I haven’t continued to volunteer for the coffee shop, I still like to stop for a wee chat.  We don’t stop for long, usually just “Good Morning—the weather is…”  I also see Ms. Sally on the days I take craft-making items to the library.  I realized that toilet paper/loo rolls, empty yogurt cartons and the occasionally cereal box could be used for children’s projects run by the library.  I asked if they would like us to save these items for them.  And they are glad to have them.  

·         Mrs. Nicola—a young mother.  We met on “The drive”.  I noticed that each day she carried two child-sized scooters on her shoulders.  One day I smiled at her and said, “On the way home from the school run?”  She said yes, and we chatted for a couple of minutes.  Since then we have had many conversations.  We both have “non-British” accents—mine being American and her’s being South African.  She is also a Christian, and likes to sew.  Hopefully we can meet up sometime for a coffee.

·         Mrs. Maureen—whom I met because of her dogs.  Because I’m such a dog lover, I began by asking if I could pet her lovely greyhounds.  Overtime I learned that the dogs were from a greyhound rescue  centre; that the dogs were over 10 years old, the male being older.  Then last autumn she had to have the lovely boy put down.  Mrs Maureen is a widow, and has a daughter.  I enjoy our occasional encounters.

·         Mr. Dave and his “Lovely Girls”  I smile as I write this.  I’ve seen Dave around the parish for a couple of years—always with two white and brown, wire-haired Jack Russell terriers.  One day I asked if I could pet the dogs, and they loved it.  I actually talked to the dogs more than to the man, before I even asked his, I asked the dog’s name.  That’s how I met Cassie.  Suddenly it occurred to me that I should properly introduce myself and ask him his name—which I obviously did.  Then year before last, Dave suddenly had only one dog.  After a few months of only one dog, another dog—a brown puppy—joined them.  I quickly learned she was a Jack Russell terrier and her name is Beau.  These little critters always bring a smile to my face.  I can be half-a-block away when Cassie sees me.  She runs till the lead/leash is fully extended, the begins pulling on the lead/leash to get to me.  She knows she’ll get her head scratched and a good rub.  Then Beau will push in—not wanting to be left out.  And while the dogs get attention, Dave and I chat about the weather, or other local news. 

I’ve met all of these people on Green Drive—which is a misnomer; no one drives on Green Drive.  It is a paved pedestrian and bike path.  But apparently it takes its name from having been a road between a local Lord’s home and Windsor Castle.  That was years before the local area was built up with housing estates, shops and businesses.  Encountering these people, and in some cases their pets, makes the walk to work enjoyable. 

I pray you have a great weekend.

Serving Jesus, Author of our faith,

“Lady Helene”