Dead Air

Italians are not the only people who like to sing
Yesterday afternoon, as we updated our care plans and filled out the necessary intentional rounding sheets, a couple of nurses I work with started to sing in Welsh.
I didn't know the words to some of their songs but managed to gently join in with the Welsh hymn Calon Lân as a patient and her visitors came to the hospice corridor in order to listen.
A small human  moment but a tiny powerful one in this mad big world.

This morning I have given my spare bedroom a spring clean.
It now no longer smells of academia and lofty thinking
Of musty papers, dust and dead air.
The windows were opened wide to the cold spring air fresh from Gop Hill and although I aim to repaint and recarpet  the room soon, I washed the paintwork down and shampooed the rub into sweet freshness.
A cheerful new duvet and bedding on special offer at Sainsbury's rebooted the old Victorian bed and I could tell that the ever present Winnie was joyfully thinking " oh goody we are having visitors!" after she watched me plump up the pillows with hopeful brown eyes.
She's ever the optimist


I've made a shepherd's pie and lit the fire
Destry Rides Again is on TCM this afternoon
Sunday chillin

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