Never made it past Thucydides in my reading of political (yuk) stasis, but the word "Stasis" is still percolating through my meditations and personal inventories. Just marking time. . . Somehow, the word has been calming my anxiety attacks. My analytical compulsions have been asking why, but backing off respectfully with whispers from the quiet voice to just let the mystery be.
I made it to church yesterday. The same church at which I attended the Spanish service. This time I went to the early mass (English) so that I could attend the donuts and coffee they sponsor each Sunday between the two morning English masses. I was rewarded with some pleasant conversation with some recent Chicago immigrants. They moved to the river region while I was following the Mississippi River from the headwaters to here. The father and son didnae contribute much to the conversation, but I gave my cel number and address to the mother when the possibility of sharing lunch came up. She is a retired school teacher. We see what grows.
The wastewater weirds continue. Both the toilet and kitchen sink are blocking intermittently. I am on the verge of calling in a pro, but only on the verge. I've only gotten as far as looking up advertised pros and wondering if I should find out if the building contractor has a plumber lined up and if it would be advantageous to use the same pro for both jobs.
If the building contractor becomes available. . . His wife is in the hospital. She has been suffering Stage 4 cancer for long enough that the family is having a hard time believing the end warnings any more. Grumble, bumble, gripe, yipe. . . Do I really have to care about his problems? I'm on a mission. . .