Eucharistic homecoming

I think I must have slept rather well. My phone notification to take my first round of pills surprised me into wakefulness at nine. I resolved last night to walk to church this morning. I know I can do the distance, especially if I'm refreshed by sleep and breakfast. Clare, Kath and I walked together to St Catherine's for the Harvest Festival Family Eucharist. The sky, autumnal overcast again, noisy leaf blowers at work clearing leaves in Severn Grove. Thankfully I'm a little more resilient to noise and flurries of movement now than a few days ago, but conscious of constraints in my field of vision when I'm not in bright light and I'm slower to recognise objects and people as a result. 

I received a loving welcome from several congregation members. It was so fulfilling just being there in our usual pew near the altar, with children in front and around us, engaging with Fr Sion as he started some yeast to show the children how it works, as part of his address. Participating in the routine normality of Sunday Mass in a familiar reconnected me to the life of the Spirit at the beating heart of the church in a way that's healing, as it is reassuring. An oasis after a sojourn in a 'dry weary land where no water is ..' It's the same experience of connectedness as I had when receiving the Sacraments from clergy colleagues in A&E

The last time I sat there a month ago, the clot on my brain's occipital lobe was making its impact felt. Today I could see the altar and the eucharistic action clearly, and stand with Clare and Kath to receive Communion without stumbling and clinging to furniture. I was apprehensive about my emotional reaction on top of the stimulus of being in a lively group of people but wasn't overwhelmed, rather I felt uplifted, overjoyed, at home again in God's house, among friends.

Last night Clare prepared the foraged crab apples, cooked them and hung up the boiled mass in a bag to strain out the juice. Alongside making lunch, Clare added the soft brown sugar to the juice which I bought when out for a walk yesterday evening, ready for the transformation of the mixture into crab apple jelly. It's not a huge amount, two small jars, but it brings home a special taste of autumn fruit, subtly spicy and aromatic.

When we'd eaten Kath helped me to open savings accounts with on-line banking, to decant some of my unspent pension into. Santander's current account interest rate has dropped recently, so there's an incentive to take a fruitful initiative. Then she returned to Kenilworth. She has work tomorrow. I walked in Llandaff Fields for an hour before sunset. Owain called to check me out when I was walking. After supper, a new episode of 'Ice Cold Murders' with Inspector Rocco Schiavone in the Val d'Aosta. He investigates a rich young addict's death during Mardi Gras spent in a remote alpine winter chalet with a few friends and relatives. Much of the episode consists of Rocco questioning three other young people staying at the chalet about what led to the disappearance of their friend, exposing the weakness of their story ending with a crime and cover-up being admitted. Meanwhile the CSI and forensic team work in the background to inform him. It's a splendid example of interview cum interrogation, full of subtle tension. It reminded me of dialogues in the 'Line of Duty' interrogation scenes. And now bed.