Feet

 There is a ceremony in the catholic church, to emulate the acts of the prophet J, where the pope washes the feet of the poor and prisoners. It is an act of service and humility. 

Our president is a good, and sincere catholic. He knelt to avoid blocking the faces of the people behind him in this photo. 

I'm not catholic, nor a christian. I can't even commit to atheism, sticking with the unprovable floating of agnosticism. But I also wash feet, often. Especially on days that I work with foot & ankle surgeons. Some jobs foster service. Some jobs, well, maybe they need to be reminded. 

Traditional

 This week off work, as is traditional.  Nothing I must do means a tendency to stop altogether. I get moody, even despondent. I'd planned on gardening, but it's too cold, the soil is not ready.  I read news, and struggle to stay focused. 

This is Zeppo being affectionate and skittish. He loves having his tail gently pulled. 

So, I took on projects, to feel at least a bit of a sense of accomplishment.

Vacuumed out all the cat fur from the cold air return vents. Filled the vacuum canister three times. 

Cleared the toilet paper rolls, shredded and composted them. Cleaned this hidden closet in the bathroom, the bottom section. 

Cleaned and organized the pantry (hall closet) with labels. Getting rid of too much pasta and crackers and olive oil, and rolls of aluminum foil, either to friends or food bank. Keeping the six cans of spray oil because it will eventually get used. 

Yesterday I cleaned out the dishwasher screen and the bits in the bottom - wonder where the fur came from.  Badly needed, no photos. Ran a rinse cycle with vinegar after a long soak as well.

And the duvets. We both slept so well last night.  One more use for the inheritance. I still have enough left for good tea when ever I feel like ordering it, for years to come. 

Eleanor especially approved. They both snuggled in between us all night. 

Again

 I will try again. It's never a matter of how many mistakes we make, it's that we always correct them once more. 

Tomorrow I start my sixth decade, and although I know it does not make me very old, it is certainly the first step. I'm a baby-granny, as it were. Ok, I kinda hate that word, but I'll let it sit there anyway. 

Writing is important to me, but there are times when it needs to settle and germinate underground. Even I don't know what it's doing down there right now. Fighting fear with numbness is familiar to me, and that is what I have been doing. Hope does not come naturally, I learned early on not to trust it. 

And I've gone down the reddit rabbit hole, which both soothes and drains me in near equal measure. I am also on read-only-tweeter, which is easier to switch off. Still, I need to keep an eye on it all, even if I cannot change it, I want to know what might fall on me. On us. That is pretty much all I've been reading. I've tried a few novels, but aside from Pratchett in small doses, I can't seem to get stuck in. 

Watching Richard Osman's House of Games lately.  One of the prizes is a duvet set, which we've been peripherally aware of as a thing before, but never looked into. I did some research, checked the balance on my inheritance, and found a good 50%off sale locally.  We shall try this, since bedding has always been a frustrating issue for us. An experiment. We shall see. So far, I like them (twin duvets,  one each.)

Used henna on my hair, which - last batch - only tinted my hair a bit.  This batch went clown-orange, and I'm trying to add enough blue dye to at least tone it down until it eventually fades. Bother. Bugger. 

Cats are well, they love when we read in bed early, they come in and flop on us to get massages and belly rubs.  They like the blanket on the table, which keeps them from too much interference with our games of Codenames.  Even when we are not there. I think the heating vent and humidifier placement make it even more attractive to them. 

Listened to a radio program about ex-mormons who take psychedelics.  Remembered when I was a kid, all the church talk of saints and visions, and I prayed NOT to be one of them. I figured it would terrify me, and I prayed to be spared.  I think this was a wise choice, all in all. 

Valentine

 

Zeppo keeps his eye on me. 

 "At the end of an age, the denizens of the age still profess to believe that they can understand themselves by the theory of the age, yet they behave as if they did not believe it. The surest sign that an age is coming to an end is the paradoxical movement of the most sensitive souls of the age, the artists and writers first, then the youth, in a direction exactly opposite to the direction laid down by the theory of the age." 

The Message in the Bottle: How Queer Man Is, How Queer Language Is, and What One Has to Do with the Other

I have felt this, the sense that the old and hateful structures are being thrown away by so many, while others desperately cling to them and scream that they are eternal and can never change. But the weight of change is inevitable and leaking through everywhere. And it's not just young people,  many of us have been pushing for a long time. Some of the young people are entitled and wealthy and holding to their father's twisted values and inflated status with fervent hatred. 

Change is happening, we have reached a tipping point, any battles won by the old guard are symbolic and transient.  The will be there, but irrelevant and overwhelmed. 

I woke up this morning with a sense that everything had changed. Rain fell all day yesterday, unusual here - our rain may be heavy, but it is rarely so persistent. Perhaps once or twice a year to get a lingering rain. Turned to snow overnight, but nothing serious, enough to sweep not to shovel. Moisture for our drought, last year was terribly dry.  I'd left the garden last fall, the sunflower stalks left to stand - which pleased the LBBs (little brown birds).  This week, I cut them down and raked up for composting all the old leaves and twigs, well most of them. 

Soaking coriander to plant, despite the snow, it's not all that cold, and cold weather seeds will be fine, or at least worth the risk. 

Love to all, and on this day especially. 

Circus

 However disappointing that the fantasy vindication did not happen, the truth has been clearly shown, the evil masters exposed, and life will go on. Their words will hang about their necks like dead albatrosses, rotting and weighing them down.  They tried for a circus, and failed with their distraction, while giving a vital bit of testimony into the record. 

I keep thinking of Grant's pursuit of Lee, the Overland Campaign, drawing him into engagement after engagement, usually failing to win any battle but the last, and finally destroying the confederate army and winning the war.  It's not how many times you fall, but how many times you get up again.

Love will emerge, good people will change the game, we will go on. 

I cleaned around and under the fridge and stove, largely in an attempt to get all the glass shards from an early morning fumble. My hands and wrists are not adept nor strong anymore, and it's nothing much I can change. The fracture changed the right, an ulnar compression on the left. I can no longer perform chest compressions, and had to get an ADA exception for that work requirement. 

CPR is not a frequent part of my job, I've only performed it once, 20+ years ago,  and was replaced quickly by a young man with significantly more natural upper body strength.  And I cannot count how many codes I've worked over the years. I can still do airway management, after all. I do the drugs, I get the supplies, I get the people, call the ICU, check blood, document, bring the crash cart... this is what a code looks like in the OR. I haven't actually even SEEN chest compressions performed all that often in that situation, since defibrillation and pacing are much more effective, as are treating the underlying cause. The few times we've had to resort to chest compressions, the patients never made it. 

And that is the thing so often omitted from CPR training, how rarely it actually works. And even when it works, survival rates after are... abysmal. Getting the heart going again usually doesn't fix what made it stop. 

The exceptions being young people who have an external reason, drowning, a blow to the chest, electric shock. They can often be saved.  They are not in my OR. I am not a hazard. 

So, I clean, and hold fast.  I chose to hope. 

Trial

 

So.  I watched the trial yesterday, and it's a pleasure to watch professionals running a tight job. So competent and thorough. No fictional, dramatized procedural could be more compelling than the real one I experienced yesterday. 

I keep mixing my metaphors, brick walls and nets to catch all the fish and sea monsters and sheep and goats and covert wolves and making them show their hands. The guilty squirm and squeal and wriggle, or try to hide behind nonchalance and boredom and arrogant privilege, knowing they can walk away. Maybe, maybe not so much. 

My own words are subsumed still.  

I have not forgotten, only put this place in my pocket.