My father-in-law was taken by ambulance to a private hospital in Dublin. Apparently he has sepsis, which infected his brain and heart. Last night it looked like he was going into open heart surgery, but for now they're keeping him on an antibiotic drip.
I went to Galway on Tuesday. In a cafe, Myriam told me of her recent dreams, of floods and fire, of apocalyptic mayhem, the product of a climate crisis-fueled anxiety. We agreed: the world as we knew it was over. Later at C-L's birthday dinner, over South American tapas and red wine, I thought about that earlier conversation. All this abundance was finite. The whole world lay on our plates and filled our glasses, but outside darkness gathered, people shuddered in refugee camps, and tornadoes lashed countries into submission.