Too Much Information - and another visit from the Thought Police

What has been preoccupying me for the last couple of days - the state of my insides - definitely comes under the: heading of: Too Much Information.

Hospital visit yesterday?  No, too gloomy a subject, though positive overall as it seems I will get on the new med, though it will take about a month to organise. I have to inject myself - though Captain B is very happy to do it too.  His eyes positively gleamed... Anyway, I injected the nurse's desk with great success - and then practised on my own leg.

The Nurse in Charge is Filippino, which makes me feel at home, as my last congregation was mainly Filippino.  And a lovely warm congregation it was.  

Neither Maggie nor I was at all well, but we did manage to do her February magazine route on Wednesday, although halfway through we had to make a mad dash down the coast road - while NOT exceeding the speed limit (after my slow expat years I have difficulty getting anywhere near a terrifying 30 miles an hour) - so I could dash home to the loo.

Another bit of Too Much Information.

I was so exhausted by all the hospital stuff I never got to the meeting last night, which makes me feel guilty, but I slept all evening and slept all night (first time for days), so I do feel a lot better this morning.

Dan and Gabi are racing ahead with the book and we are now making some final decisions about the cover and about how it is to be published in its virtual version.   The suggested cover photos are a shot of a tumbledown stone wall in Derbyshire taken by Captain B the Great.   The other is also taken by him.  Its a shot of one of my father's paintings we have on the wall here of woodland in Poland.

My father was a country boy from the fields and forest of Belarus which was then in Poland, was then deep in Russia, and is now Belarus again.  The remains of his family were ethnically-cleansed from there many years ago.  In fact, they have not been heard of from the day that Stalin's Red Army arrived in their village - and, presumably, "cleansed" them.

So both pictures are suitable, as the book travels from Poland to Yorkshire, and the Derbyshire moors were our childhood playgrounds. Wonderful playgrounds too.

And, yes, another visit from the Thought Police.  What do I mean miles?!  Well, alright 30 kilograms an hour then or whatever it is we are supposed to call them now.   And have I forgotten that Stalin and his Red Army are officially the "goodies" in WW2?!!

So will I please sweep my missing family back under the Omelette carpet pronto, along with all those millions of others, remembering that You Can't Make An Omelette Without Breaking Eggs.

The problem is that, as there are so many millions of dead under there, the blood will keep seeping through the carpet.

I also know, comfortingly and reassuringly, that shed blood can't be hidden from the Creator of life - no matter how vast the carpet and how thoroughly it is policed.

Jehovah told us that from the start when he said to Cain.   "“What have you done? Listen! Your brother’s blood is crying out to me from the ground."

The blood of Stalin's victims too cries out to God from the ground.   And I know that as long as Jehovah remembers them they will live again.  They will open their eyes in the restored earthly Paradise.

It will be a more joyful awakening than we can now imagine.