I noticed on Sunday that the neighbour’s child took off her runner and had a good sniff inside while sitting on the altar. I think that this puts us ahead. On the other hand, maybe nobody noticed. We had the American priest again and he exhorted us to “Come Alive”. We had to shout it out regularly during mass so we all stared at the ground covered in mortification and trying not to catch anyone’s eye. Someone will have to talk to him about cultural differences.
Bitter, Bitter, Bitter is the Lemon to the Fritter
It was my birthday on March 10 and on March 9, Mr. Waffle took me to a nice restaurant for dinner. It was filled with tables of older women and we and 4 or 5 other couples were in an alcove away from the main restaurant. I asked our waiter who the women were (IFUW was my initial thought). “They are,” he announced proudly, “the mothers of the rugby players.” Scotland were to play Ireland the following day. We looked dubious, this seemed unlikely. Seeing our expressions he added, “Possibly also the grandmothers.” It was later explained that these were the wives or rugby officials. Clearly an older cohort. And that was all fine and dandy until they got our their guitars (I kid you not) and started belting out 70s numbers (“Torn Between Two Lovers, “Leaving on a Jet Plane”) as well as, of course, “Flower of Scotland” and the ever unappealing “Ireland’s Call”.
Alas, fair maiden.
More Characteristics of Middle Age
When you receive an array of exciting presents and you are, quite genuinely, absolutely delighted with a floral magnetic shopping list that you can stick on the fridge.
Rehearsing Old Arguments with People too Busy Skiing to Care
When we were teenagers, my brother and I fought all the time. We must have driven my poor parents insane. One of our biggest bones of contention was washing-up. For many years, my mother resisted the introduction of a dishwasher to our family home on the grounds that her sisters-in-law were against them. Like many of the better examples of modern technology, it was only introduced after I left home. I digress.
I cannot sit comfortably in the knowledge that the dishes await my attention next door. My brother could sit comfortably in this knowledge indefinitely. So, I was always at him to get up and get on with it. And he always said that he would, in time. But by the time he had finished drying a plate my sister and I would have done everything else around him. Or worse, he would breeze in at the end of our labours and claim credit for doing the work based on a paltry contribution of 2 minutes’ work. He and I used to row like blazes about this (my sister just kept working with her head down).
His argument was that I was obsessive about cleaning and, anyhow, I liked washing up. For him, he argued, it was all sacrifice but for me, it was satisfying. This used to drive me to the edge of reason (a spectacle he always enjoyed).
The other day the Princess and I went to her room and cleared out her “make and do” box. This was a bulging cesspit of random (loosely) craft related material which squatted ominously in the corner of her room. We shrunk it, we re-organised it. And it gives me a warm inner glow; even after several days. Isn’t it annoying the way siblings have insights into your character that elude you until you are middle aged?
But, just so we’re clear here, I’d still rather have sat on the sofa and had someone do it for me.
Misunderstanding
Daniel: Prey is the same as warship, isn’t it?
Me: Well, no, prey is something you chase after and normally a warship does the chasing.
Herself: He means pray and worship and, Dan, the answer is yes.
Is it for this?
I have a tendency to burst into song. Doesn’t everyone? I was walking along with Daniel the other day, it was sunny and I was humming away to myself. He slipped his little hand in mine and tugged gently. “What is it sweetheart?” I asked. He replied, “Stop singing, you’re embarrassing me.”