Against the Wind

Our area is currently under a yellow warning for wind.  There's been a steady blast of around 20 miles per hour with gusts into the 50-60 mph range.  It's been lashing rain hard against the windows and howling.

My emotions over the past couple of weeks have been much like the wind.  Swirling, lashing, angry.  Heinous things are happening in my beloved home state of Minnesota, things past the comprehension of anyone with a conscience or a soul.

When Renee Good was murdered, I wrote the following on Facebook: I never knew I could have this level of rage and hatred inside me, but here we are.  If a deity came along and said to me "I will wipe out every single one of these vermin in exchange for your life," I would volunteer as tribute so fast, it'd make that deity's head spin.  My only request is that I would be allowed to see these vermin become human torches, screaming in horrible agony before turning into a pile of ashes.

I didn't cry.  There was nothing but a hard wall of rage and there was no room for sadness.

People were being terrorized in their own homes.  Tear gas and flash bangs were being thrown at peaceful resisters.  A young boy wearing a bunny hat was used as bait to lure his guardians outside and then sent to a detention center.

And still there were no tears.

Then on January 24, nurse Alex Pretti was executed.  He was tear gassed, beaten, and executed.  Some of his last words were "Are you okay?" directed at the woman he was trying to help after ICE accosted her.

I read the breaking news, and the tears came.  But they were rageful tears without a drop of sadness in them.  My hands started to shake with wrath and fury.  I wanted to punch something.  I spent the day unsettled and so angry, had a hard time falling asleep because my brain wouldn't stop.

By Sunday morning, a lot of the rage had drained away, and I cried tears of sadness.  The anger was still there, banked embers glowing hot, flaring up while I read the obscene lies spewing from the feds.  In the novel 1984, George Orwell wrote “The Party told you to reject the evidence of your eyes and ears. It was their final, most essential command.”

About the only thing that has kept me from going on some sort of rampage has been seeing the stories coming out of Minnesota about the brave and resilient people standing up to this fascist regime.  Their safety is not assured.  As we've seen, people are being summarily murdered by monsters who feel untouchable, who feel they'll never face any consequences for their hideous behavior.

Neighbors are helping neighbors who are too frightened to leave their homes. People are mobilizing with whistles to warn about ICE in the vicinity. Minnesotans are standing toe-to-toe with soulless creatures who would like nothing more than to cause destruction and pain. Folks are donating supplies, keeping watch over memorials, attending vigils, coming together against a common foe.

They are afraid.  They are exhausted.  They are suffering.  But they are holding the line, refusing to let evil win, resolved to drive every last aggressor from the state.

The following is from Lord of the Rings, and I have posted it MANY times over the past year.

A new day WILL come and, as Sam said, the sun will shine out the clearer.

I hope when that day comes and Minneapolis/Minnesota has begun to heal, people will hold onto the friendships and neighborships that were forged in this crucible of horror.  I hope they still check in on neighbors, offer to hold space for those who are struggling, continue to patronize the businesses that provided shelter and sustenance for the community, remember how strong and brave and passionate they were in the face of danger.

There is a Japanese art called kintsugi where broken pottery is repaired by bonding the pieces back together again with a lacquer mixed with gold.  It symbolizes healing and finding beauty in brokenness, suggesting that repaired objects are more beautiful and resilient than the original.

I am so damned proud of my home state and its unyielding grit and determination.  May the brokenness experienced by so many be transformed into stunning beauty.

The Good Doctor

"People pay the doctor for his trouble; for his kindness they still remain in his debt."

― Seneca (4 B.C. - 65 A.D.)

I haven't seen a doctor since we moved to Ireland.  Going to a clinic makes me anxious, which ratchets up my blood pressure.  My BP at home is usually pretty good but as soon as I step foot into a medical facility, it shoots up despite my efforts to be calm.  It's called "white-coat syndrome" and it's gotten worse as I've gotten older.

I have a couple of chronic conditions that require medication and to this point, I'd been able to access an online doctor to get refills of my prescriptions.  However, once it had been more than a year since I'd seen a doctor, the online service refused to do any more refills.

A new clinic opened up recently a couple of miles from our house, so I sent them an email, asking if their physicians were sensitive to white-coat syndrome.  I received an answer very quickly from one of the doctors themselves, Dr. Feeney.

He said he and his fellow physician were aware of and sensitive to patients who experienced anxiety while at a visit; he said many of their patients were afflicted with this issue.

A few days later, I called to make an appointment.  Even that seemingly minor and safe task was something I needed to psych myself up for - making an appointment meant I'd actually have to go.

The gentleman who answered my call was warm, kind, and funny (and married to the other physician at this practice, Dr. McConnell).  It really helped put my mind at ease.

On Saturday, Eli and I went out to do a dry run from the house to the clinic.  We took the tram to Carrickmines with the intent to take the L26 bus to a stop near the clinic.  The bus was supposed to have arrived within 10 minutes of our tram exit.  The electronic board said the bus was due in 22 minutes.  And then 21 minutes.  And then 20 minutes.  And then 22 minutes.  And then 32 minutes.

I said to Eli, "I'm done."

We got back on the tram and exited at the Ballyogan Wood stop, planning to walk to the clinic.  It was a decent enough day, and my rage about what's going on in Minnesota right now powered me through the walk.

For my appointment yesterday, I called up a taxi.  The weather wasn't great, and I wanted to make sure I got to the clinic in good shape and in good time.

Dr. Feeney was the epitome of kindness and concern.  I had sent some of my medical records from Minnesota, and he got more of my history while we talked.  He said he wasn't going to take my blood pressure since that was stressful for me; I had brought him a list of my recent BP readings, and he was pleased with the numbers.

He said he wanted to do some blood work.  I may've hissed at him and made the sign of the cross.  He was wearing a medical mask, but I'm pretty sure he smiled.

He directed me back to the waiting room and said he'd put in the orders and let Moira (the nurse) know I needed her services.   As I settled into a chair, he was pulled into another conversation with the other doctor.

I sat for about 10 minutes or so.  Dr. Feeney came out to consult with the receptionist on something, so he was in the vicinity when Moira came out of her room and asked "Are you waiting for me?"

When I said I was, she replied, "Why didn't you say something?  How long have you been waiting?"

Dr. Feeney heard our exchange, and he said "I am so sorry."  Even the receptionist piped up and said, "That's awful that you had to wait."

They were truly appalled, and while I really appreciated their concern, it amused the heck out of me.

As I told both Moira and the receptionist, in the US it was common to sit in the waiting room 20-30 minutes past your appointment time and then sit for another 10-15 minutes in the exam room once you were taken back.  Sitting for 10 minutes was nothing at all.

Happily, the blood draw went well. The veins in my arm tend to collapse pretty easily, but she was able to get what she needed.  And I didn't pass out, so that was a win all the way around.

One of my "goals" for the new year was to see a doctor and get some of my health-related issues addressed.  I was proud of myself for overcoming my fear and getting it done.

Home Away from Home

In the Before Times (pre-Covid), I started a tradition of taking a weekend sabbatical at a local hotel once a year.  It was always nice to get away from the responsibilities at home and have a reset.

Then Covid reared its ugly head, and my ritual fell by the wayside.

Recently, I felt like I needed to get away again, so I booked a two-night stay from Monday-Wednesday of Christmas week at the Clayton Hotel in Charlemont, which is about 35-40 minutes away from our house by tram.

Eli's office was shut down (he was still working but from home) so it was a perfect time for a sabbatical as he would be home with the cats and they wouldn't be alone all day.

Parts of the hotel had a different function in a previous life.  The following information is from Wikipedia:   Saint Ultan's Children's Hospital was a paediatric hospital in Dublin, Ireland. It was named after Ultan of Ardbraccan, patron saint of paediatricians.  The hospital was founded by Dr Kathleen Lynn and Madeleine ffrench-Mullen with the help of Sinn Féin activists in 1919 and was housed in an old Georgian house constructed around the year 1770.  The committee opened the hospital with a fund of just £70 and 2 sleeping cots. The building was in a state of disrepair and was reputed to have once been a shooting hall used by Lord Charlemont.  It was the first hospital for infants in Ireland and hospital physicians in the early years included Ella Webb and Dorothy Price. Earlier in her career, Lynn had experienced discrimination in applying for hospital positions due to her gender, and Saint Ultan's was the only hospital in Ireland entirely managed by women. It was the first hospital in Ireland to provide the BCG vaccination [used for tuberculosis] and from 1937 became the centre for BCG in Ireland. Dr Barbara Stokes, specialist in children with disabilities, also worked at the hospital.

I grabbed this image from the internet.  See those two windows in the upper left corner of the white building?  That was my room.

This is that part of the building as seen while standing in the lobby. It was almost like looking at a castle keep or something - just had that vibe to it.  The entrance door to this area (in the middle of the photo) had very little height to it.  I'm about 5'6" and the top of the door was only a few inches higher.  There were only four rooms to this section, on the second and third floors.  My room was all the way at the top to the right.

I checked in a little after 3 p.m. on Monday afternoon, and this was my home away from home.

The lights to the room confounded me at first.  None of them responded to flicking on a switch.  I finally figured out that I needed to put my hotel card key into a reader right next to the door (and leave it there).  It would've been nice if there had been some instructions indicating this peculiarity.

After off-loading my stuff, I ventured out again, walking a couple of blocks to a Tesco Express.  I wanted to get some snacks and easy foods for lunch/dinner, as I wasn't planning to go out for these meals.  The room had a mini fridge so it was nice to get some chilled foods along with the usual chips and chocolate.

One of the bathrooms at our house has a bathtub, but it's quite narrow (and I'm not a small person) so I hadn't been able to take a bath.  The stand-alone tub at the hotel was a bit wider, so I indulged in a nice, long soak on Monday evening.

I slept okay Monday night.  It was funny because I woke up around 1:30 a.m. and immediately tensed, expecting to hear Patrick start yelling.  After a few moments, I realized I wasn't at home.

During the week, breakfast service began at 7 a.m.  I was there at 7:02 a.m., wanting to arrive before things could be picked over by other guests.  Usually the breakfast selection at a hotel is pretty weak but Clayton's spread was an exception.

All of those silver domes in the first photo (at the right in the distance) housed the fixin's for an Irish breakfast:  scrambled eggs, bacon, sausage, black and white pudding, potatoes, beans, mushrooms, and tomato.  They also had yogurt, cold cuts, cheeses, fruit, cereals, juices, tea, cinnamon rolls, pain au chocolat, coffee, and assorted breads.

I loaded up a plate with good stuff (scrambled eggs, OJ, sausage, bacon, pain au chocolat, croissant, potatoes, pineapple) and thoroughly enjoyed plowing my way through it.  Had to go back for seconds of eggs, bacon, and potatoes.

Completely stuffed, I headed back to my room and just chilled.  Did a lot of reading, played around on the internet, figured out my focus word for 2026, watched some TV.  It was so nice not to have to worry about feeding the cats, cleaning the litter box, doing laundry, and any of the other mundane things that comes along with living in a house.  Having a different environment or surrounding seems to help bring me clarity because it throws me out of a usual routine.

I didn't sleep as well on Tuesday night.  I couldn't fall asleep until closer to midnight and then I woke up around 3:30 a.m.  The early wake-up time was just as well because people were slamming doors and my downstairs neighbors had their TV on a bit loud at 4 a.m.  I don't know what it is about people slamming doors in hotels.  If the door has a recoil you weren't aware of and it slips out of your hands the first time, I'll give you that one.  But to purposely allow the door to slam shut after that?  You should have your hotel privileges revoked.

I arrived for breakfast around 7 a.m., and we weren't allowed in right away as they were still getting things set up.  A line began to form behind me, and I was like dude, there's gonna be a riot if you don't let us gorge ourselves in the next few minutes.  The spread was just as wonderful, and I enjoyed it just as much.  I smuggled out a pain au chocolat to take home to Eli.

Check-out time wasn't until 11 a.m. but I actually left around 8:15.  As much as I liked being away, I wanted to be home again.  It was still fairly dark (sunrise this time of year doesn't happen until 8:30 or later), and my walk to the tram was pretty quiet.  It was Christmas Eve Day so there was very little traffic on the streets or people out and about.

There was an unhoused man huddled under a blanket at the foot of the stairs leading to the tram platform.  He was holding a sign asking for money.  I know that there are many times when people are only pretending to be homeless and don't have a need to be panhandling.  But I also know there are people who ARE in need.  I don't usually carry much cash with me, but I put a euro into his cup.  Even if he were just grifting, I figured I could part with such a small amount.

You know how you sometimes do the thing where a server brings you your food and says "Enjoy your meal" and like a dummy, you respond "You too!"  Yeah, I did that with this unhoused gentleman.  He said "Thank you" when I dropped the coin into his cup and instead of saying "You're welcome" like a normal person, I responded with "Thank you."

It was nice to be able to escape up the stairs to the tram platform at that point.

While I was waiting for my train, an inbound tram pulled up, and it was interesting to see that the cars were fairly empty.  At that time of day on a usual Wednesday, I'm sure they're packed with folks going to work.  I think my outbound tram actually had more people on it.

After an uneventful ride through the early morning gloom, I greeted Eli and the kitties.  It's nice to get away, but it's always good to come back home again.