Like a rainbow

It’s the last Friday in Pride Month, and one day after the right-wing justices of the Supreme Court declared that it’s time to end the oppression of Whites in academia. So today’s earworm is Cyndi Lauper’s “True Colors”.

I’ve only skimmed the decision—meaning, what Legal Twitter posted in the hours immediately following the release. How Clarence Thomas and Amy Coney Barratt can look in a mirror and see nothing of their hypocritical weaselry after benefiting from affirmative action their entire careers, I do not know. (Although Uncle Tom does indeed have a long history of pulling up the ladder after climbing to the next floor.) Alito, Roberts, Gorsuch and Kavanaugh—well, they’re the very personification of White male privilege; you knew they had it in them.

And invoking Thurgood Marshall in their defense…excuse me while I hurl.

As with their decision on Dobbs last year, I have no doubt in the world that this decision will be overturned. But—as with Dobbs—there will be a whole lotta pain and backsliding until that happens.

Meanwhile, Cyndi reminds us that it takes all colors to make a rainbow. And perhaps it’s good to reflect that rainbows appear when the sun breaks through a storm.

 

 

 

Border patrol

One of the neighbors has been sprucing up their front yard, delineating the planted area from the lawn. IMO, it’s an admirable goal, but I can’t get over the fact that the budget option for a border looks more to me like really bad molars than the stones I imagine they’re intended to replicate.

Viz:

By comparison, here they are abutting actual carbon-based stones.

 

 

 

Reading leaves

So, there’s this hosta in one of my neighbors’ yard.

Overall it seems pretty standard, but when I got up close, there were some interesting deviations. Like these touches of color (maybe some kind of sunburn?):

And these…slices in the leaf:

And this curled-up leaf:

 

Centering

I’m a sucker for hydrangeas, so I’m glad several of my neighbors have them in their front yards. Here are some shots from a week ago:

Just gorgeous.

Yesterday I took a slightly longer walk (trying to crank my steps up to 2K/day) and noticed that in this stage of their lifecycle (a different bush, to be sure), the flowers have tiny blue centers:

There’s always a new layer of beauty, if you’re willing to look.

 

 

Gratitude Monday: time

Three weeks out from knee replacement surgery and I’m making progress. But I didn’t really realize it until talking with a friend yesterday, who asked what’s different between now and February.

When I started ticking off points, I saw that I may be one week behind the last time, not the amorphous stretch of time that it feels like. In February I was driving at week two; this time it’s week three. Not so bad.

I haven’t made it to the floor yet (just consider what getting on the floor when you can’t fully bend a knee is like; then consider what getting back upright is like), so no yoga. Last time I had a lesson at week two, I think. But I’m aiming for it sometime this week.

I feel like I’m more tired, but it may be just that I’m not forcing myself to join work meetings and just letting my body take what it needs from each day.

So today I’m grateful for having the time to heal, and for being able to take the time to do it.

 

 

Both pleasure and suffering

Congressional Republican whack jobs took time out this week from censuring Democrat Adam Schiff for doing his damn job more than three years ago (by leading the first impeachment of BoneSpurs45) to pass legislation removing drag shows from US military bases. Because it’s not about “protecting the children”; it’s about delineating more groups as “other”, with a direct path to extirpation.

So our earworm for today’s—in Pride Month—is “Voi che sapete”, also known as “Cherubino’s Aria”, from Mozart’s The Marriage of Figaro. Figaro is a comic opera, based on a play by Pierre Beaumarchais; there are a lot of machinations around the upcoming marriage between Figaro, valet to Count Almaviva, and Susanna, maid to the count’s wife, Countess Rosina. There’s a whole palaver about the count wanting to invoke le droit du seigneur, but Susanna and Rosina outwit him and save the day, if you’re interested.

Cherubino is the count’s adolescent page, in what’s known as a “breeches role”: the part calls for a high voice and is thus played by a female singer dressed in male clothes. In this case, it’s a woman playing a teenaged boy in the throes of puppy love for the countess. Everyone involved—including the audiences—accepts this without so much as a wink, wink, nudge, nudge and a good time is had by all.

Well, there might have been a bit of a flurry over a woman’s legs being exposed on stage, but it doesn’t seem to have made it to any legislative bodies for outlawing.

Fun fact: breeches roles in operas were originally filled by castrati—young male singers castrated before their high voices changed. That practice went out of style somewhere in the 16^th Century. There's a greater than zero chance that, in their rush to turn the clock back, Republicans might want to go all they way to castrati to "save the children". I mean—probably unlikely, but I wouldn't put it past them.

“Voi che sapete” is all about Cherubino’s crush on Rosina. He describes his feelings and asks if this is, in fact, love.

Here’s Israeli mezzo Rinat Shaham singing it at the Royal Opera House. Listen if you dare.

 

Getting out

Okay, I drove the two miles to PT and back yesterday. The worst part was getting in and out of the car; depressing the clutch was merely uncomfortable.

I confess that when I got out of PT I decided against going to the grocery store because I was well and truly knackered. Wrapped an ice pack around the knee and napped. But that’s okay—the only thing I have to do at the moment is heal.

Maybe try for the grocery store and the library tomorrow.

 

 

SITREP 21: vroom vroom

Major milestone in recovery achieved: I can drive.

Last time round, I hit the mark at the one-week point, so it’s been frustrating to me that it’s taken three weeks this time. Of course—this time it’s the clutch leg affected, so there is that.

It’s not entirely comfortable, but I can do it. I confess that getting into and out of the car is as problematic as it was last time. The door has to be at its widest open point for me to pull off the bending and twisting. Since I drive a coupé, that means I have to park carefully away from everyone else so I can get the door all the way open.

But I am so relieved to be able to do this again; you have no idea.

 

 

 

Poco a poco

Sunday afternoon I took a little walk.

By “little” I mean: out the front door, over three houses, across the street to the guy with the garden, four houses over, across the street and back inside.

It’s a process.

But the garden is worth it. Here’s one of his lilies.

It's as tall as I am. Only a faint fragrance, but still a joy.

 

 

Gratitude Monday: a necessity and a luxury

The only thing I’ve wanted to drink since my knee replacement surgery is sparkling water. So my gratitude today is not just for my SodaStream device (with two extra cartridges), but also for a refrigerator to keep it cold and actual safe water coming out of the Fairfax County system through the tap.

I've lived where the water was contaminated and where there was a cholera epidemic and I’m grateful that my Brita filter is probably superfluous, and that I don’t have to actually boil water for 10 minutes before drinking it.

I’m also grateful that—aside from California in drought—I have not had water rationed and that I can take a swig or wash my hands whenever I fancy. These are basic necessities of life, but they’re luxuries for millions of people around the earth.

What the hell is up with that?