It has been… a week.
Running first: I didn’t do any running while on retreat or in the USA for Aunt Harriet’s memorial service. Then when I got back home, I jog-walked Tuesday, ran very slowly yesterday, and ran to a slower usual time this morning. None of the injuries (now mostly all fine) from my fall were a factor; it was just the layoff after not exercising for two weeks.
The annual retreat with the Sodality was excellent as always. It’s interesting to observe who attends and who doesn’t; when I was governed by an academic schedule, I couldn’t get away for four days mid-term, so I didn’t participate at all, attending instead such Sodality Days as fit my Saturday-only schedule. Having modulated to parish work, wherein I have an annual retreat written into my Working Agreement, I’ve attended all of the last three years. A few of the original generation of Sodalists still take active part, but a significant number have changed circumstances such that the collegial spirit of the Sodality is less necessary, or the retreat less feasible, than it once was. (I’m a second-stage Sodalist, not able to get away to the founding retreat at Aylesford, but joining formally as soon as I had the opportunity — at a bespoke service at Lincoln College where our dear friend Mother Melanie was then Chaplain.) Newer members, though, have eagerly and energetically taken up the opportunity that the Sodality offers of Catholic worship in an inclusive spiritual community. It’s a good thing.
Then I flew to Boston, to Cambridge Massachusetts, for my Aunt Harriet’s memorial service. Harriet was particularly important to me, as she took over as my primary care-giver for an interval when my mother fell pregnant with Holly, and I was too much for her to deal with. I stayed at Gran‘s house, where Harriet and Nanny Harkness and Rosie and Gran herself watched over me — but primarily Aunt Harriet, unmarried and not yet having children of her own. I caught up there with my cousin Felicity, with Martitia, with Lisa and Peter Adams (not Adam relations), and of course with Uncle Bob, Alison, Rebecca, and Alison’s daughters Rosie and Isabelle. And I wept for Aunt Harriet, told stories, got to know Rosie and Isabelle better, checked in with Uncle Bob, and had long talks with Ali and Becca. This, too, was good — but sad. As more than one person observed, Harriet was the last of the four sisters (my Aunts Isabelle, Grace, Harriet, and my mother Nancy), and with them something profound has changed in the world that knew them.
Home from Boston on the overnight to Heathrow, slept all day Monday, then back full steam into ministry on Tuesday (even though I was running on only about half steam). When is the next holiday?