America sadly rejects

I woke up at six to listen to the news headlines. Even this early in the American electoral count, it seems that things didn't go in the Democrat's favour, despite the election being considered by pollsters 'too close to call'. By lunchtime it was clear the vote in favour of Donald Trump was bigger than expected, and the Republicans have a majority in the Senate, giving him the Presidency. 

Like it or not, he won the popular vote. This signifies a major shift by the American electorate in a conservative protectionist direction with consequences not entirely predictable in terms of global security and the economy. It's disappointing and worrying to have this additional uncertainty, particularly because of the ambivalence towards measures to mitigate the impact of global warming. 

For a second time the  U.S. electorate has rejected a female candidate for the Presidency. In defeat the Democratic Party is faced with a painful inquest into judgement calls resulting campaign failure. Biden's refusal to pull out of the race at an earlier stage is a major factor, but not the only one. If he'd stepped back earlier, perhaps Kamala Harris would have had more opportunity to make herself known and argue for her policies and vision to a wider audience.  The all day news and comment has been about little else.

Having heard the initial headlines I dropped off to sleep again just about, then woke up to hear a superbly reflective Thought for the Day giving an eternal perspective on this upheaval from an American Methodist Minister who serves at Wesley's Chapel, in London.

There were just five of us for the Eucharist at St Catherine's this morning. While we were chatting over a cup of coffee afterwards I had a phone call from Owain to say that he'd been signed off sick for two weeks due to exhaustion and stress - a result of covering other people's workload as well as his own for the past six months and not being able to afford a holiday because pay increases owed to him are long overdue and stalled due to the change of government. The result is that he's getting £500 a month less than he needs to live on. 

It seems the union's ability to see through agreements made has been anaesthetised by top level government bureaucracy. Not enough people are affected by the impasse to form a critical mass leading to strike action. Anyway, Owain realised he was unable to function at work in time to get the medics to sign him off, and he's got support from good friends. There's little we can do apart from staying in touch with him and making no demands on him. We've been aware for some time that the job had become oppressive, so this doesn't come as a surprise. In many situations these days it seems a digital workplace is a toxic one. What are we doing to ourselves?

I collected this week's veggie bag on my way home and cooked lunch, with two portions of fish pie mix and millet flavoured with herbs and sweet spices, plus carrots and leeks, so fresh from Coed Organics, that the mud caked on them was still wet. It was an alternative to paella and I overdid the millet, but I can see possibilities for further flavour experiments with this recipe.

After lunch, I had another interesting exchange of emails about Grandpa Kimber with Cousin Dianne and when Clare finished here siesta we went for an hour's walk in Llandaff Fields. It wasn't quite enough of a walk for me so I went out again to Thompson's Park, as it was getting dark. There's still no notice posted to say what time the park gates close at sunset, as they have been in living memory. I wonder if the gatekeeper's job has been suppressed to cut costs? It means people can walk their dogs or jog after dark, which is no bad thing nowadays. At one time I think gate closure was a gesture intended to deter rough sleepers. Not that it would, as the fence isn't hard to climb if you're fit. I've seen no evidence of any wild camping there overnight.

After supper I watched a couple of episodes of the new BBC series 'Ludwig', a rather eccentric sort of comic crime drama, in which a brilliant autistic man who creates puzzles for a living solves a succession of murders, investigating his identical twin brother's disappearance. The comedian David Mitchell is in the lead role. His voice is familiar from radio panel games, which doesn't exactly work in his favour in this rather different context, in my opinion.

America votes, the world waits

Still under the cloud today, so dreary. Clare's study group arrived after breakfast. Members commiserated with me over last Tuesday's nosebleed crisis. I worked on preparing next Thursday's Morning Prayer texts ready to record. Clare and I cooked lunch between us, then I went out and got the week's heavy groceries before taking a walk in Llandaff Fields. 

Clare went out at supper time to her meditation group. I attempted to use the quiet time to record what I prepared earlier in the day. The background noise of fireworks, however, punctuated the reflection as I spoke. For the most part, I found it was possible to edit out the interfering sounds, and the audio file is quite acceptable, but the rest of the recording will have to wait until tomorrow.

I sent a pdf of my Grandfather's story to my cousin Dianne earlier, and this produced a long email of her childhood recollections of him telling stories about his American sojourn. I learned that he had earned the cost of his fare across the Atlantic through making and selling brass door knockers, along with his travel companion Archie, and that he stayed with Archie's aunt for a while when he arrived in New York before moving on to Philadelphia. Taking of Philadephia, there's been a lot about the state in the news lately as it's a key swing state in the US Presidential election. Today's the day, and the world waits with trepidation to learn the result, wondering if it will generate violent conflict again. As ever, Trump has been fomenting distrust and slandering his opponents. Will there be a swing back towards honesty, decency co-operation and common sense? We shall see.

Dianne's information can be edited into what I have written so far, but to do so would alter a significant part of the narrative and reduce the eleven thousand word length, not that length matters if it's worth being read. It would be more 'factual'. On the other hand, with a few changes of name and place, my speculative version could stand on its own as a story about a skilled migrant worker a century and a quarter ago. When Dianne and I talk about this after she's read through it in detail, I'll be in a better position to decision about which way to go.

After supper, I watched the final episode of Lolita Lobosco, season two. It was unashamedly romantic and sentimental with several different couples' love affairs portrayed against the background of a murder being investigated, and finally at 20 years, the bringing to justice of the Mafia plotters who murdered Lolita's father. With all ends neatly tied up, I was surprised to learn from IMDB that a series three with four more episodes has already been aired in Italy. I guess it will be a while before we see them.

Story completed

Cold and overcast again today and a good seven and a half hour's sleep, though not quite enough. By the time I had breakfast I began to feel light headed, as if I'd just woken up in the middle of the night. After saying Morning Prayer I fell asleep in the chair for another hour, and woke up feeling much better. In the meanwhile Clare had done most of the shared house cleaning chores, and left the vacuum cleaner in the lounge where I was asleep, to finish off the last room and empty it ready for next time. Somewhat revived, I started making a batch of bread dough. On this occasion it had a higher percentage of strong white flour in the mix as we'd run out of the kind we routinely use. It was interesting to feel the difference in handling this dough. It started out dry and difficult to knead together, but ended up smooth and sticky. 

Just after I'd started kneading, my mobile phone went off and it was Tim from the surgery checking how I am after my A&E crisis - the discharge letter landed in their in-tray this morning. I was pleased to report on my recovery and its manageable ups and downs. Just as pleased that my hands weren't sticky the way they usually are at the early stage. What a good idea to have a follow up phone call, so that I could report recovery is progressing and there's nothing to worry about. It saves them from having to book me in for a surgery visit (hopefully) to check my blood pressure and find nothing has changed. The same pattern now as when I was discharged with high systolic pressure after my gall bladder op. Same old remedy. Expect to recover more slowly than I presume, rest more, carry on as normal otherwise.

I made a lentil for lunch with celery carrot and onion grated and then cooked together in oil before adding in the half cooked lentils to finish off. Simple and quick to cook once you've passed prepared veg through a food processor. Cleaning the food processor takes time afterward unfortunately, but you can add all sorts of flavours to the mix, depending on what you fancy.

Lots more rain on the eastern Spanish coast today, as far as Barcelona. A big row has broken out between Prime Minister Pedro Sanchez and Carlos Mazon head of the Valencia & Alicante regional government, due to the slow local government response to extreme weather warnings given eight hours ahead. For all the weather data in hand, the complexity of the impact of such a fast and heavy deluge when it arrives is I suspect far harder to assess because of the random mix of environmental factors, just working out where and when the worst affected places will enter the crisis is impossible to predict with total accuracy.  This is what catastrophe theory tells us, I believe.

The bread was ready to be knocked back and put into baking tins by the time we'd eaten. It rose quickly and was out of the oven, cooked by three. We went for a circuit of the park, then I did another longer one on my own, and got back after it had got dark. After supper, I wrote for nearly three hours and completed my speculative account of my Grandpa's adventure to America, from which he returned to marry Grandma and make our family identity for what it is.

Early bonfire night

Another overcast day. A good long night's sleep as the light wasn't strong enough to wake me early. Still feeling fragile and disconnected starting the day. After breakfast we went to the Eucharist at St Catherine's. Sion thanks me for taking Wednesday's service, and had to be corrected. He hadn't read the Daily Prayer WhatsApp message I left from A&E, and I forgot to report this to him personally, as he was away for the week in Bologna. Embarrassing. We were again just over thirty in church, as there's no Sunday school for the two half term weekends.

After lunch I slept for an hour and a half and woke up feeling normal and refreshed for the first time since Monday last. A review of my sleep record for this past five days shows that the amount of extra sleep I've had, both night and afternoon is just about equal to the amount of sleep I lost that night in A&E. I expect to get on average about seven and a half hours sleep, but a run of below average nights of sleep can leave me feeling slightly light headed, and not fully alert. I'm wondering if my expected sleep average should be set higher, as it seems I need more sleep and regular to maintain a modestly active lifestyle these days.

We walked in the park for an hour then returned for tea and cake when it got dark. Then we went out again to visit the annual bonfire in St Catherine's Church garden. There were dozens of young children with their parents and and impressive fire blazing fifty feet from the church west door. I took both my Panasonic TZ95 and my Olympus Pen cameras with me, to try out their nighttime settings. The photos I got were a mixed bunch from both. None of the night time customised settings delivered good pictures handheld but the automatic settings did with a little coaxing. The quality of the Olympus images was a cut above the Panasonic, something to remember for next time.

There were hot dogs and a drink available in the church hall, and after a brief time chatting with people we returned home for supper and the Archers, then writing until making a effort to get ready for bed by ten thirty.

All Souls' disappointment

Despite a long night's sleep, awakening late, I felt fatigued, not quite back into my body. I'm still not fully recovered from the shock of the nose bleed, not as resilient as I was in times past.  Clare was up before me, cooking pancakes for breakfast, and I did little apart from reading the news for the rest of the morning. Last night I had a call from cousin Godfrey's daughter Tegwen inviting us to a surprise Sunday lunch in a pub near Nelson, near where I grew up to celebrate the 80th birthday of my cousin Ros. A great opportunity to meet family members related to other families I've not met.

I didn't feel up to going to the Cathedral for the Solemn Requiem Mass at eleven nor to St German's by car for the lunchtime Mass. I just had to make my prayers for the dead alone. Looking for Ros' address to send a card, I opened a digital address file that must be twenty years old, which has been added to but not pruned. That's the point when you realise how many family members on your mailing list have died; parents, in-laws, uncles, aunts and cousins. A very salutary thing to do on All Souls' Day.

When I went out to the shops to buy a birthday card I realised how fragile I was feeling, wondering if my reactions were sharp enough to drive safely. It was enough to persuade me to call Tegwen and send my apologies for missing the celebration. I'm forced to accept my limitations. So disappointing.

I walked for an hour and a half in the park. Fresh air cleared my head but didn't really invigorate me today. After supper, I continued writing Grandpa Jack's story. There were details to investigate and add into the story, to make the portrayal of the background plausible. It made me realise how little I know about the history and geography of the USA. Interesting as much as time consuming. Writing a story is a source of pleasure in several different ways. It means I can get carried away, and despite the desire to get to bed earlier, I rarely succeed.

Recovery not so straightforward

I didn't sleep well, and kept being disturbed by a dry mouth, and probably soreness from snoring. When I woke up at first light, blood was leaking slowly from my left nostril. It wasn't from a lesion cauterised yesterday but another near the tip of my nose, where I've had problems before. It didn't get any worse but sleeping after this disruption was sporadic. When I got up after eight I felt worse than I did yesterday, a step backwards in recovery. It was probably a result of not drinking enough water yesterday evening, so I made myself drink a glass regularly during the day, whether or not I felt thirsty. I didn't feel well enough to drive to St German's for the Mass of All Saints at lunchtime, but had to bow to the inevitable.

Terrible news of flooding in Valencia preoccupied me. The death toll is already 158 and rising, I read Spanish news sites for updates. It's a city I love, having visited with my sister in 2008, and then again in 2012 while on locum duty in Costa Azahar. It seems that the deviation of the river course to the west and south of the city after the floods of 1957 protected the ancient city centre and surrounding areas, but unprecedented colossal rainfall in the sierras above to the west in recent days has unleashed a torrent of water and mud causing the rio Turia to burst its banks, destroying bridges, roads, houses, as the water sped down on to the plain. The scale of this caught everyone by surprise. It wasn't raining when the river started rising rapidly, and for some victims, too rapidly to escape from. More rain is now hitting the entire eastern coast of Spain, and areas of flooding are extending. As forewarned by climate scientists, change in the world's weather patterns is speeding up, with more violent and unpredictable impacts.

The coastal plain to the south of Valencia is where its famous paella rice is grown in the wetlands. Inland there's a huge horticultural area, market gardens and orchards covered by a network of irrigation channels, but if an infrastructure that distributes water gets overwhelmed by flooding it cannot drain away fast enough to avoid dangerous depths of water building up rapidly. People get caught at home and at work. Cars go out of control on fast flooding roads and crash. The flood death toll rose to over 200 while I was reading news reports. It made me think. If Cardiff had a year's worth of rain in half a day as happened here how would the river Taff's current flood defences fare, especially at high tide in the Channel. Already the world is seeing unthinkable weather occurrences. Planet earth is responding to our abuse of it.

Clare cooked mackerel and roast veg for lunch. I slept for an hour and a half afterwards. Only then did I start to feel ready for some fresh air. It was coming up to four when I went out, so I limited myself to a walk half my usual distance with the aim of returning by sunset. When it's overcast like today, darkness seems to descend even more rapidly.

After supper I wrote some more of my Grandfather's story. In the course of looking through some photos I came across a page from the 1911 census on the Kimber family household in Waun Lwyd, Ebbw Vale, and noticed something I'd not taken in before. My grandfather's profession was recorded as 'Rope Splicer, inspector and cycle trader' (presumably his other job after working down the pit). Such a coincidence that I should see this while writing about his time in a Philadelphia steel works. My father was a Rope Splicer too - like father like son. The same I think for Clare's father, following his father into marine engineering at Chatham dockyard. The mystery is how Grandpa Jack became a rope splicer? Did he learn when he was working in Ebbw Vale steel works, or when he worked in a Philly steel works?

I stopped writing at nine to watch the penultimate episode of 'Chateau Murders'. There are enough strands to this story line to make it difficult to follow. Will I understand any better after the finale I wonder.

Undramatic normality.

So good, to sleep well again for seven and a half hours in my own bed. I woke up at the scheduled time to post today's Morning Prayer YouTube link to WhatsApp, then got up and prepared the breakfast. Clever little Fitbit app told me that my Daily Readiness was low, 20% - meaning that it was going to take me a lot longer than usual to recover from physical activity. How it knows, from the measurements it takes, is a mystery. To me it meant the opposite - it was going to take me longer to get started at all! Correct. After a stressful day at UHW yesterday following a sleepless night, there was bound to be a physical price to pay. 

My head didn't hurt at all, but felt like a deflated balloon and my reactions were slow, dull, fatigued. It's just the way I was the day after gall bladder removal, when the surgeons were fretting about my systolic blood pressure being so high during the operation it took extra time to control it. That op came at the end of a fasting day with no water for ten hours. That time I had to persuade the day surgery ward staff to release me, as this reaction to unusual stress was not unknown to me. Just like last night. People tell me to take it easy now - there's no option. Push too hard and you end up making things worse. 

Clare had a flute lesson booked with an new experienced teacher, so I did a little writing and pottered about until lunchtime. I had phone calls from Kath and Owain, also from Roger, and a visit from Mary over the road, who's having difficulty understanding different instructions given to her about how to open her front door. Her memory is failing to piece together in the right order all the component concepts that make up the process. She's intelligent enough to realise she has a problem and asks for help. She came twice. and on both occasions I was on the phone. She then found out about my hospital visit, so I had to explain yet again. Telling and re-telling the same story when your brain is still recovering isn't really what you need for recovery, but that just how life goes.

Clare and I had different choices to cook for lunch so we had to work together at the same time at the stove and the kitchen sink. It's more effort if awareness is blunted by tiredness or pain, but for the most part we cope quite well and without annoying each other. We both needed siestas after lunch. Clare woke up and went out shopping before me. I got an extra three quarters of an hour's sleep, and then felt ready for a walk in the park, not pushing myself but promising myself to quit if I started feeling jaded. I returned at sunset having done three quarters of my daily quota and feeling none the worse for it. The fresh air and easy pace was what I was relying on to benefit me. 

Clare returned as I was gathering in the washing from outdoors, just too late to avoid autumnal dew-fall after a cold gorgeously sunny autumnal day. Then I realised there were a few items of grocery shopping both of us had forgotten, so a quick errand to Tesco's and back covered the last quarter of my daily quota. And I feel none the worse for it. I'm feeling better than I did this morning, and suspect my blood pressure is back down where it should be with a dose of undramatic normality.

A quiet evening of pondering, waiting for trick n' treaters, none of whom showed up, although Clare had prepared a dish of chocolate buttons to offer if any did arrive. When I was returning from Tesco's I saw a small dog with a hallowe'en skeletal designed coat. Also two men as tall as me wearing ghoulish masks, but no kids out playing pranks. But we have ve had several moments when loud fireworks have been set off this evening. Is this a silly season conflation of social moments? Everything is going crazy. 

Tomorrow is All Saints' Day and there's no Eucharist in the Parish, nor in the Cathedral to celebrate one of the ancient Christian festivals, since the Pope's liturgical influencers allowed the festival to be celebrated the Sunday nearest for the sake of those who cannot make a weekday Mass. Today is also Reformation Day, remembering Luther's paradigm shifting contribution to understanding the Gospel of God's grace. 

The current reform of parochial structures and declining attendance as much as decline in available priests has led to the erosion of scheduled public worship offerings. Fewer services, information about them sometimes quite difficult to find on websites, amid the promotion of social activities, fund raising fayres, charity appeals and the suchlike, no matter what fancy web design is utilised. Looked at from the edge of affairs, my habitual positioning, I ask of each one, what is the messaging here? What does layout and presentation of content tell you about this community this represents? 

Several different things may be the answer. But what comes first, matters most? And the messaging is mixed, viewed from a historical context. Last year I ranted about neglected outdated church noticeboards stuck in the past. Fr Sion, when he arrived, insisted on a new simple noticeboard design and content which states serenely and with confidence, what this building is here to do, who it belongs to, and when public worship happens. St German's updated theirs with a similar format last year. It's a first call for passers-by, info which works when their phones are off. That simple directness as a starting point is vital and can be reproduced on-line but rarely is with clear simplicity. 

Is all this lack of clarity about the public presentation of church identity and purpose a consequence of reform? Or symptomatic of a general lack of confidence in the value of life rooted in the prayer of the faithful as it has existed on a twenty century timeline? Thankfully there's a lunchtime Mass at St German's tomorrow and Saturday for All Souls. Anglo-Catholic tradition and teaching persists on the other side of town as it did in West Cardiff's Ministry Area under Mother Frances the way it had done for the past century.  It was never a mono-culture but a distinct ethos of devotion which now seems to be ebbing away. It's that strange feeling of no longer recognising the place which is meant to be home because it's changed.