While nothing has exactly improved with my mother or indeed on the progress of the adoption legislation, (WHAT IN THE NAME OF ALL THAT IS GOOD ARE THEY DOING? QUICK! DIVERT LINE OF THOUGHT BEFORE HEAD EXPLODES) the worry-level has become more manageable. Or maybe I have adjusted to it somehow. I am Getting Out quite a bit, what with teaching night courses and being in a performance in the Tr@dFest, and Seeing People. Hotdesk situation commences next week. This is helpful. This is normalising.
It seems there is something to keeping busy. Life is varied and interesting. Odd and funny things happen.
- I went to a fancy supermarket/deli on the way home last weekend. The check-out girl (for whom there may well be a more respectful title), as she gave me my change:
The colour of your glasses is warm and sophisticated with your skin-tone.
I whinnied in surprise.
Warm and sophisticated! She declared, in the manner of a 1960's Avon lady.
Thank you, cashier human, for whom there may well be a more respectful title. You don't get that at Tesco.
- The cat continues to amuse me daily. She broke into her bag of dry food the other day and ate herself silly. Kitty, I admire your ingenuity, your tenacity and your positive body image.
- In the car again, giving a lift (not a ride, American friends, while in Ireland. Unless you want to cause a tremendous guffawing. It means.. something else here.) to a fellow choir member after practice.
I can get out here, she says.
Oh no, it's cold out, I say.
I'm from Siberia, she says by way of explanation.
(Just like Sybil in Fawlty Towers says about Manuel: He's from Barcelona.)
(Plus, SIBERIA! Cool!)
Me: Out you get, then.*
- The entire choir is sitting around the round table in the Place of Ecumenical Worship in the nearby redbrick uni where we sing. Twenty of us, and we are all talking one after another in that alarming way which makes you feel you are taking the floor to perform when you pipe up. Inbetween gamely made comments, awkward silence prevails. One of these is broken by a German tenor (I only mention this because there may a cultural element to his faux-pas) tells us he has a story for us. He was on a swimming holiday with a young Irish woman and two Americans. The Irish woman: I was woken this morning by a cock.
The Americans' jaws hit the floor until it is understood that that is a rooster. HA.
Mortified tittering from the choir, who if taken individually, in another context, probably would have been much less bashful. As it was though, another more awkward silence ensued, ironically the very thing our tenor friend was trying to avoid.
And that brings us to the end of this comedy of manners. (Goes without saying, I hope, that I would love to hear yours.)
Have lovely weekends, my dears. Talk soon.
*Not really. I brought her home.