Week 441 Update

One minute before 9 this morning, I set out walking into the crisp 44° air, wearing my sunglasses in protection against the bright orb pouring its stream of light through a cloudless blue sky. It was a perfect morning for a walk, and I relished every single step.

I turned one corner and was struck with this view of a tree shedding its leaves across my path, in preparation for winter.

A short while later my audio book came to a passage that stayed with me. A Tellson's Bank employee , Mr. Lorry, was in conversation, in 1780, with a Miss Pross, who was the servant and caretaker of a young lady, whom she was devoted to. Dickens, as he so often tends to do, shared the inner thoughts of his character thusly:

Mr. Lorry knew Miss Pross to be very jealous, but he also knew her by this time to be, beneath the service of her eccentricity, one of those unselfish creatures—found only among women—who will, for pure love and admiration, bind themselves willing slaves, to youth when they have lost it, to beauty that they never had, to accomplishments that they were never fortunate enough to gain, to bright hopes that never shone upon their own sombre lives. He knew enough of the world to know that there is nothing in it better than the faithful service of the heart; so rendered and so free from any mercenary taint, he had such an exalted respect for it, that in the retributive arrangements made by his own mind—we all make such arrangements, more or less—he stationed Miss Pross much nearer to the lower Angels than many ladies immeasurably better got up both by Nature and Art, who had balances at Tellson's.

From a Tale of Two Cities by Charles Dickens

The rigid lines of conduct enforced upon the people of the time, were not able to alter the basic qualities of humanity beyond recognition nor admiration. The admiration that Mother Theresa nearly universally received from every quarter, and the near worship people still feel for Florence Nightingale and her image of being the "Lady with the Lamp" come to mind as expressions in life of the very quality that Dickens was describing here. There are those on our message board who are no less devoted to selfless service to others. Whether he, or his character, missed the mark on the motivation for Miss Pross, concerning beauty, youth, and accomplishments, is reserved for the time of reflection that is so wonderful while reading a book. To stop, to think over, and understand what might be the deeper river flowing beneath the surface of a story is one of the rewards of time spent with a book, even an audio book.

I continued on, sometimes feeling like I was almost floating on air, caught up between the incredibly beautiful surroundings, and the nearly perfect prose that Dickens wielded so well.

I turned one corner to find a wire fence serving as a perch for dozens of small sparrow-like birds. They would wait for me to nearly reach them and then, as one, they took to their wings and moved a few yards down the fence to light upon their tiny feet once more. Again and again this happened, until they surprised me with a change of course, and flew at my head. I covered my face and head with my arms, but no bird actually made contact. They just blew past me and went on their way.

I came next to a horse corral, where horses have often been present on my walks, but today it was empty. I paused to take this picture of the fence, and off in the distance is a Baptist Church, the very one that, one very dark night, on another Wednesday, a few weeks ago, had let out a meeting, just as Dotti and I walked past, forcing us to navigate past the line of cars in order to continue our walk.

A little farther down the road stands this stump, a mere symbol of the mighty branch bearing tree that it once was. With a plowed field behind it, and newly constructed houses beyond that, there is no doubt that this tree, if it could talk, would have much to say on the changes that have occurred at this very location. I have witnessed many myself, and we have only lived here since April 15!

Just as I reached the corner, only a few yards farther along my route, the Dickens story changed from England to France, and from upper middle class to aristocracy. It is incredible the way this author could cut a particular kind of man into little pieces that must leave the reader shaking his head in disgust, or even cause pity to rise within that a man like the one described could be so decayed inside, so bankrupt of value, but still continue to live out his life as if it was worthy of that effort.

When they say that "the pen is mightier than the sword" it is a pen moved across paper by a man like Dickens that they must be referring to. When he is through chopping up a character into little pieces, one is left with very little by which to find cause that the dissecting was anything but just.

Yesterday, it rained all day long, and so the sunshine was doubly invigorating this morning. And, not only was it wonderful for my walk, but Dotti and I have a big day scheduled with our family: LeRoy, Jim, Tammy, Jamie, and Hunter, and it was very good news that the weather was going to be top notch for the day!