I have never liked bullies. As a child, i was sometimes a target, and the few times i did gang up on someone, i always ended up feeling bad about it.
That doesn't mean i was a shrinking violet, for i'd say my piece and learned that even if my saying something didn't change the situation, it changed the way I felt about the situation. I could say that i had done all i could and move on, perhaps regretting that it hadn't turned out differently, but not living with the regret that i left a stone unturned.
After experiencing several occasions where a group wanted me to say something on its behalf, only to have them abandon me at the critical moment, where i stood to speak and turned around to see no one there, did i learn to say what i did wholeheartedly. If i didn't feel as the group did, i did not volunteer to be spokesman.
I've had a number of occasions since my childhood where i was ostracized for being different, taking the unpopular viewpoint, or for refusing to give in to lunacy. It can seem a rather lonely place, especially right when it's happening, but once things settle a bit, i usually find if not support, then others who have been in that place and give a nod.
I was reminded of that this week when a friend mentioned that he had to unfriend another friend on facebook. Like me, he uses facebook to keep in touch, and as a diversion that adds a light-hearted moment to a work day. One of the people he unfriended earlier was someone i also know; she decided to rant every chance she got when he posted something contrary to her views. Since she is narrow-minded, many things fall into the "right to rant" category. It grew tiresome, and even after he asked her nicely to let it go, she couldn't. So, he did.
From the sidelines, where i was, i could see the pressure building and that neither party looked ready to yield. Neither did, he unfriended her, and she spent quite a bit of cyber ink trying to rally support for her position. Surprisingly, she got it and even now works it into any number of conversations or comments.
I liken it to a bad spill, where there's the initial outpouring of the contents. Once it's spilt, it's spilt. Even then, however, one has a choice about what to do. One can do one's best to clean up the mess, or one can decide to spread the mess around. Even people who get along well will disagree on occasion, and there have been times where i've been on the sidelines and can see validity in both points of view. But when i see someone purposefully spreading the crud around in ever increasingly large circles, i lose respect for that person. They can content themselves to staying in shite all they wish; i have no desire to wallow in such muck.
The internet has given a whole new world for cowardly bullies to have their say, then run away, change their online IDs or ISPs. I can't say how often i've heard others complain about texts their children have received or sent that were bullying in nature. How can they think themselves cloaked when such things can be traced?
When i think back to my younger days with bullies, i find they all seem to be not quite bright and use the bullying to hide an inadequacy. Plus ça change, eh?
Friday, March 30, 2012
Thursday, March 29, 2012
RIP, Earl Scruggs
I like bluegrass in small doses. I've played with some old-time music musicians, who are very talented, and we've had a lot of fun. As it is with so many other things, those who are really gifted make it look effortless, although in many cases, it's the 10,000 hours of playing and practice plus the gift that make it seamless. The rest of us play and practice and while we may become proficient, we never rise to that ultimate level.
Mr. Scruggs made it look so easy. As one easily befuddled by strings, i just watch with amazement.
Mr. Scruggs made it look so easy. As one easily befuddled by strings, i just watch with amazement.
Tuesday, March 27, 2012
Finds-stranger than fiction
A friend, J, and i went shopping on Saturday. She, like me, knits, and unlike me, spins. We ooh and aah, those of us at the knitting group, when she shows us the latest on the bobbin, and it's heartfelt oohing and aahing, for she does nice work.
She wants to learn how to ply properly, which is Next on the List, and to that end, she's gone and gotten herself some nice batts from a farm not too far away. Whilst there, she saw lovely large wicker baskets for sale. These aren't your run-of-the-mill wicker baskets. No siree, they are huge and were used in the 19th century as containers, much the way we use cardboard boxes today.
She told me about them and how she really, really wanted one. The idea caught my fancy, but i didn't know about bringing one home with me (more than one was for sale). She also mentioned something about buffalo hide carts. um, okay. I'm interested. J had told the husband and wife farmers/owners that she'd come back in a few or several days and most likely would be dragging a friend along, but wasn't sure what day. They assured her that someone would be around no matter what day it was, and they hoped she enjoyed the batts.
After a nice lunch on the way up in a place i've always wanted to stop and hadn't yet, we were ready to take a left to go down the road where the farm was, when our eyes were filled with the spectacle of someone dressed in a gorilla suit, waving to passing motorists. We ended up missing our turn as a result, so yes, we turned around and stopped a bit before the gorilla. He was standing by a large yellow sign with the words, ESTATE SALE written on them. Worth a look, we thought.
Seems an older woman had moved on and many of her household effects were for sale. Some dandy old frames, for which i had no use, bric-a-brac, and records--not just LPs, but a box of 45's AND 78's. I came away with a booklet of Steven Foster songs, replete with all the politically incorrect lyrics, as this was a 1951 reprint of a 1934 edition, and two old postcards that i thought an historian friend of mine might like. All for a single dollar.
The sale had been going on for at least 3 hours by the time we had arrived, so i'm sure we would have found other items of interest had we gotten there earlier. While J really liked two of the gilded frames, she couldn't think of where they'd live in her house, so we moved on.
The road to the farm was at the end of the estate sale's property line, so we turned right and went a short distance to the farm. We were greeted by the husband of the husband and wife owners. They have some llamas and sheep, who were outside enjoying the sunny, beautiful day. The husband remembered my friend and she in turn mentioned that we wanted to look at the baskets as well as the yarn. We were walking in the garage, which was attached to the house on its left, and onto another ell at the right corner, which contained a showroom, workshop, and loads of storage space.
The baskets were amazing. He went on to explain that the Royal Ballet still uses these types to store shoes. That these had been made by the blind in England sometime during the 19th century, and they had picked this stuff up as it had been used at a wool mill. They thought them too nice not to take home, although they didn't need all they picked up, as it turns out. J showed me the one she wanted, and i could see it living in her house. He went on to say there were another two available, a closed one like the one J liked, and a large open one. He showed them to us, just in case she wanted to change which one she wanted. The other closed one called to me. I knew right where it would go in my house, and told him so.
And then, he told us about the carts made of buffalo hide. They were used in the wool mills, although the one they kept for themselves they used by the side door to keep firewood handy. He pointed over to the side door on the far side of the garage, and it was covered in wood dust. He had another one they weren't using, and as soon as i saw it, my heart sang. It's shaped very much like the mining cart one sees in the Indiana Jones movie, in which they take a ride, and the hide is thick and stiff. On each of the longer sides, there's a middle seam stitched with sinew. I told him that was going home with me, too.
He then mentioned that an antiques dealer had been by to look at the baskets a day or two after J had been. How it was funny that the baskets were sitting around for months with no one looking at all, and then in the same week, two different parties expressing interest. She was looking at them on the behalf of someone else who lived in New York.
Now, yes, i thought of stereotypical used car salesmen and how they use that tactic to get you to buy things. But, we had already expressed our desire to buy the items, agreed to the price, and the feel of his words were very different from that slimy-i-think-i'm-being-had feeling. The price he quoted us we both found very reasonable, and my basket was a bit less in price than J's, since it was missing the leather straps, like small belts, that could be adjusted to keep the lid closed. Strings had been tied in their place, and i could find bits of leather on my own for new straps, or consider doing some rope work and perhaps making a monkey's fist and loop to serve as a clasp.
We wanted to look at yarn as well. His wife had joined us by this point, and as we walked into their showroom, which was filled with lovely yarn they had spun, scented homemade soaps that they make, and knitted items, some for sale, and others to provide a sample of how the yarn looks knitted, he pointed to another large basket that held a bunch of yarn. "If you'd prefer that basket," he said pointing to the yarn-filled one, "you're welcome to take it instead of the one you chose. It's in better shape."
It was much cleaner and had the leather straps intact. And i can't say why, but it didn't sing to me the same way. I thanked him for the option and told him i was very happy with the one i had chosen initially. How i thought the baskets and buffalo cart should stay here rather than go off to New York. He smiled and laughed.
He helped us load the items into J's car. We could fit two of the three, but not all three at the once, so we contented ourselves with filling up the back of her car with the two baskets and would come back for the buffalo hide cart.
I ended up getting two skeins of a brown/grey icelandic wool to make a hat for myself. They're hoping to get their own icelandic sheep very soon--the fleeces they used for this yarn came from neighbours' sheep. They demonstrated their sock making machine, which had us transfixed. He showed how he could turn a heel within 10 minutes. The wife showed us the socks she was wearing, which had been the first pair she made on the machine. Took her about an hour and a half. They're going to give a how-to class for anyone who'd like to learn in June. It's free, and J and i can both see wanting to have one of those machines. They don't sell them or get any commission, but shall be happy to give us info if we'd like.
He gifted J with several ounces of roving that he said she'd find fun to spin because of the way it was combed? carded? Not sure what term he used, but he said they were long strands, so would make for fun spinning.
We were in the workroom now as that's where the sock making machine was, and we were coming back through to the showroom, when we saw another customer. J had given her credit card to the wife for processing, and i was producing my checkbook to settle up. She had just come in, and he introduced us to Joan. She had knitted up a cowl with some of their yarn and wanted to show them the finished product. It was lovely and looked like it would keep one's neck very warm. She had also come back to say that her client in NY wanted the baskets. Yes, she was none other than the antique dealer.
She was too late, of course, as we had already bought them, and they were in J's car. And the buffalo hide cart was waiting in the wings for our return trip. She was gracious and said the only reason she hadn't bought them the other day was that they wouldn't fit in her car and that she was waiting to hear back from the client, who had just confirmed. She told us they were worth far more than we paid for them, even though she didn't know what price we had been quoted, and that we got a good deal. Now, i don't know if he would offer her the yarn-filled basket as he had me, or if Joan had planned to get all of them and create some sort of display for the client.
We chattered good-naturedly, bade our good-byes, and told them we'd run home with this load and come back for the cart.
The gorilla was still at roadside, waving to all and sundry to take a gander. We waved as we turned for home. We dropped off the baskets at my house. J wanted to get the spot in her house ready before she moved it in, would that be all right? I assured her it would be, and i thought i might wash my basket and let it dry on the patio. We could do the same with hers, if she'd like.
We took the ride back up for the cart. The Sunday drivers appeared to be out a day early. We could see the gorilla and someone else dressed in a canvas tunic and troll face was walking past the gorilla. The gorilla seemed indefatigueable in his efforts to encourage motorists to stop and see what bargains could be purchased at the sale.
I saw a Prius with NY tags turn from the farm road onto onto the main road. "That's Joan," i said.
J looked briefly, then turned onto the farm road. The gorilla waved at us once again, and i waved back. We got to the farm, and the husband helped us load up the buffalo cart. He said that Joan had just left. I nodded and said we saw her as we were pulling off the main road and onto this smaller road. I didn't say it, but noticed her car looked empty. The buffalo cart is now in our barn, and shall be very handy when we've got to move boat stuff that's now stored in the barn over to the boat as she's outfitted.
This seems the sort of thing that one tends to label under fiction, only most English teachers i know would think it preposterous and too staged. Gorillas waving, buffalo hide carts, and someone else wanting the same huge baskets to arrive minutes too late for purchasing. It wasn't even a full moon.
She wants to learn how to ply properly, which is Next on the List, and to that end, she's gone and gotten herself some nice batts from a farm not too far away. Whilst there, she saw lovely large wicker baskets for sale. These aren't your run-of-the-mill wicker baskets. No siree, they are huge and were used in the 19th century as containers, much the way we use cardboard boxes today.
She told me about them and how she really, really wanted one. The idea caught my fancy, but i didn't know about bringing one home with me (more than one was for sale). She also mentioned something about buffalo hide carts. um, okay. I'm interested. J had told the husband and wife farmers/owners that she'd come back in a few or several days and most likely would be dragging a friend along, but wasn't sure what day. They assured her that someone would be around no matter what day it was, and they hoped she enjoyed the batts.
After a nice lunch on the way up in a place i've always wanted to stop and hadn't yet, we were ready to take a left to go down the road where the farm was, when our eyes were filled with the spectacle of someone dressed in a gorilla suit, waving to passing motorists. We ended up missing our turn as a result, so yes, we turned around and stopped a bit before the gorilla. He was standing by a large yellow sign with the words, ESTATE SALE written on them. Worth a look, we thought.
Seems an older woman had moved on and many of her household effects were for sale. Some dandy old frames, for which i had no use, bric-a-brac, and records--not just LPs, but a box of 45's AND 78's. I came away with a booklet of Steven Foster songs, replete with all the politically incorrect lyrics, as this was a 1951 reprint of a 1934 edition, and two old postcards that i thought an historian friend of mine might like. All for a single dollar.
The sale had been going on for at least 3 hours by the time we had arrived, so i'm sure we would have found other items of interest had we gotten there earlier. While J really liked two of the gilded frames, she couldn't think of where they'd live in her house, so we moved on.
The road to the farm was at the end of the estate sale's property line, so we turned right and went a short distance to the farm. We were greeted by the husband of the husband and wife owners. They have some llamas and sheep, who were outside enjoying the sunny, beautiful day. The husband remembered my friend and she in turn mentioned that we wanted to look at the baskets as well as the yarn. We were walking in the garage, which was attached to the house on its left, and onto another ell at the right corner, which contained a showroom, workshop, and loads of storage space.
The baskets were amazing. He went on to explain that the Royal Ballet still uses these types to store shoes. That these had been made by the blind in England sometime during the 19th century, and they had picked this stuff up as it had been used at a wool mill. They thought them too nice not to take home, although they didn't need all they picked up, as it turns out. J showed me the one she wanted, and i could see it living in her house. He went on to say there were another two available, a closed one like the one J liked, and a large open one. He showed them to us, just in case she wanted to change which one she wanted. The other closed one called to me. I knew right where it would go in my house, and told him so.
And then, he told us about the carts made of buffalo hide. They were used in the wool mills, although the one they kept for themselves they used by the side door to keep firewood handy. He pointed over to the side door on the far side of the garage, and it was covered in wood dust. He had another one they weren't using, and as soon as i saw it, my heart sang. It's shaped very much like the mining cart one sees in the Indiana Jones movie, in which they take a ride, and the hide is thick and stiff. On each of the longer sides, there's a middle seam stitched with sinew. I told him that was going home with me, too.
He then mentioned that an antiques dealer had been by to look at the baskets a day or two after J had been. How it was funny that the baskets were sitting around for months with no one looking at all, and then in the same week, two different parties expressing interest. She was looking at them on the behalf of someone else who lived in New York.
Now, yes, i thought of stereotypical used car salesmen and how they use that tactic to get you to buy things. But, we had already expressed our desire to buy the items, agreed to the price, and the feel of his words were very different from that slimy-i-think-i'm-being-had feeling. The price he quoted us we both found very reasonable, and my basket was a bit less in price than J's, since it was missing the leather straps, like small belts, that could be adjusted to keep the lid closed. Strings had been tied in their place, and i could find bits of leather on my own for new straps, or consider doing some rope work and perhaps making a monkey's fist and loop to serve as a clasp.
We wanted to look at yarn as well. His wife had joined us by this point, and as we walked into their showroom, which was filled with lovely yarn they had spun, scented homemade soaps that they make, and knitted items, some for sale, and others to provide a sample of how the yarn looks knitted, he pointed to another large basket that held a bunch of yarn. "If you'd prefer that basket," he said pointing to the yarn-filled one, "you're welcome to take it instead of the one you chose. It's in better shape."
It was much cleaner and had the leather straps intact. And i can't say why, but it didn't sing to me the same way. I thanked him for the option and told him i was very happy with the one i had chosen initially. How i thought the baskets and buffalo cart should stay here rather than go off to New York. He smiled and laughed.
He helped us load the items into J's car. We could fit two of the three, but not all three at the once, so we contented ourselves with filling up the back of her car with the two baskets and would come back for the buffalo hide cart.
I ended up getting two skeins of a brown/grey icelandic wool to make a hat for myself. They're hoping to get their own icelandic sheep very soon--the fleeces they used for this yarn came from neighbours' sheep. They demonstrated their sock making machine, which had us transfixed. He showed how he could turn a heel within 10 minutes. The wife showed us the socks she was wearing, which had been the first pair she made on the machine. Took her about an hour and a half. They're going to give a how-to class for anyone who'd like to learn in June. It's free, and J and i can both see wanting to have one of those machines. They don't sell them or get any commission, but shall be happy to give us info if we'd like.
He gifted J with several ounces of roving that he said she'd find fun to spin because of the way it was combed? carded? Not sure what term he used, but he said they were long strands, so would make for fun spinning.
We were in the workroom now as that's where the sock making machine was, and we were coming back through to the showroom, when we saw another customer. J had given her credit card to the wife for processing, and i was producing my checkbook to settle up. She had just come in, and he introduced us to Joan. She had knitted up a cowl with some of their yarn and wanted to show them the finished product. It was lovely and looked like it would keep one's neck very warm. She had also come back to say that her client in NY wanted the baskets. Yes, she was none other than the antique dealer.
She was too late, of course, as we had already bought them, and they were in J's car. And the buffalo hide cart was waiting in the wings for our return trip. She was gracious and said the only reason she hadn't bought them the other day was that they wouldn't fit in her car and that she was waiting to hear back from the client, who had just confirmed. She told us they were worth far more than we paid for them, even though she didn't know what price we had been quoted, and that we got a good deal. Now, i don't know if he would offer her the yarn-filled basket as he had me, or if Joan had planned to get all of them and create some sort of display for the client.
We chattered good-naturedly, bade our good-byes, and told them we'd run home with this load and come back for the cart.
The gorilla was still at roadside, waving to all and sundry to take a gander. We waved as we turned for home. We dropped off the baskets at my house. J wanted to get the spot in her house ready before she moved it in, would that be all right? I assured her it would be, and i thought i might wash my basket and let it dry on the patio. We could do the same with hers, if she'd like.
We took the ride back up for the cart. The Sunday drivers appeared to be out a day early. We could see the gorilla and someone else dressed in a canvas tunic and troll face was walking past the gorilla. The gorilla seemed indefatigueable in his efforts to encourage motorists to stop and see what bargains could be purchased at the sale.
I saw a Prius with NY tags turn from the farm road onto onto the main road. "That's Joan," i said.
J looked briefly, then turned onto the farm road. The gorilla waved at us once again, and i waved back. We got to the farm, and the husband helped us load up the buffalo cart. He said that Joan had just left. I nodded and said we saw her as we were pulling off the main road and onto this smaller road. I didn't say it, but noticed her car looked empty. The buffalo cart is now in our barn, and shall be very handy when we've got to move boat stuff that's now stored in the barn over to the boat as she's outfitted.
This seems the sort of thing that one tends to label under fiction, only most English teachers i know would think it preposterous and too staged. Gorillas waving, buffalo hide carts, and someone else wanting the same huge baskets to arrive minutes too late for purchasing. It wasn't even a full moon.
Sunday, March 25, 2012
Sunday night Chit-Chat 25 March 2012
Carla says this can be a photo or saying.
A friend of mine took a snap of this bumper sticker while travelling.
Reading
I finally finished a Rabble in Arms by Kenneth Roberts. A friend lent me a book, Treasure Chests The Legacy of Extraordinary Boxes by Lon Schleining. The book contains photos of some wonderfully made chests. I admire woodworkers and indeed all artisans and craftsfolk who can produce beautiful things with their hands.
Watching
Rented the movie My Best Friend's Wedding, because it was one of those i had never seen and thought it might be enjoyable. The cell phones and computer scenes look so dated now. I remember not wanting to see the movie when it came out because i thought it's be too predictable and in part because i thought it might hit too close to home. One of my dearest friends who was like a second brother to me really wanted me at this wedding. And, i really wanted to be there and did attend. His wife, having been brought up with only sisters and having all female cousins, really couldn't understand how a boy and a girl could simply be good friends and nothing else. I do think that woman was the happiest person at my wedding that took place a few years after theirs. The movie had as its premise, that this man and woman did date for a bit first, but remained friends afterwards. I'm glad i didn't see it when it first was released, as that's exactly what so many thought about my friend and me, only we never dated. I had dated his best friend off and on for three years. That relationship never worked, but the friendship i developed with the on-again/off-again boyfriend's best friend remained.
Listening to
The heat kick on. Our week of unbelievably warm weather has left, and we've had grey skies all day with spits of rain.
Cooking/Baking
Emboldened by the success of the scones i recently made, i want to try some bacon, cheese, and chive or onion ones. A friend of mine found a recipe and showed it to me, independently of my trying to figure out how much bacon i'd need. So, it seems like a sure sign that i must make these.
Happy you accomplished this week
Made through a slog sort of workweek!
The oil fired boiler isn't working right, and of course, these things always seem to occur on the weekend. Grrr. I only found out when i realised we had no hot water, as the hot water heater is heated by the boiler. I called the oil company to let them know and asked the after hours person to have someone come round Monday morning. Thankfully, the weather has been warm enough, but i do love taking a hot, long shower. Making do with the camping solar shower is okay, but i'll be glad when we're back to having a seemingly endless supply of hot water. I know, i've gone soft in my old age!
Looking forward to next week
Attending a hockey game with friends midweek.
Thankful for today
Got a chance to rest, finish my book before the due date of tomorrow, and just putter about. My leg is still a bit twingy, so i decided not to play hockey today. It's still a bit stiff and hurts when i bend and put most or all of my weight on the right knee. I overheard two women talking about someone they knew experiencing a soft tissue injury and the one said to the other with a knowing tone, "You know, those soft tissue injuries take six weeks to heal." I hope they're wrong in my case, as my hockey season will be over by then!
Friday, March 23, 2012
Temptation
At a friend's urging i joined Facebook and have found it a nice way to stay in touch with some people. It can also be a big time waster. I ended up liking a few of the local businesses that have fb pages, and one has Free Friday giveaways. They announce in a status what the free item is, and which comment number will be the winner.
Well, i logged onto fb, saw the FREE ITEM status, and could scarcely believe it, as comment #1 would be the winner, and it turned out to be yours truly!
It was only afterward when i let them know i'd go to pick it up straightaway that i discovered my prize is a package of apricots dipped in dark chocolate! Here i had to laugh, because there are three weeks left of Lent, and i have given up sugar and sweeteners. So, of course i'd win a chocolate prize! LOL
I have put the package in the refrigerator, where it shall stay until Easter morning at least.
One woman on my hockey team and one colleague decided to give up swearing for Lent this year. Both said they've not been successful. My colleague decided to switch to foregoing coffee creamer, which was hard at first, "but not as hard as not swearing apparently, since I still haven't had any creamer."
I had told her on an earlier occasion what i told my hockey teammate: a few years back, i tried giving up swearing, too, and was a total failure. I decided to try again for 40 days after Easter and was a tad more successful. I have found giving up sugar much easier but am looking forward to the choccies.
Well, i logged onto fb, saw the FREE ITEM status, and could scarcely believe it, as comment #1 would be the winner, and it turned out to be yours truly!
It was only afterward when i let them know i'd go to pick it up straightaway that i discovered my prize is a package of apricots dipped in dark chocolate! Here i had to laugh, because there are three weeks left of Lent, and i have given up sugar and sweeteners. So, of course i'd win a chocolate prize! LOL
I have put the package in the refrigerator, where it shall stay until Easter morning at least.
One woman on my hockey team and one colleague decided to give up swearing for Lent this year. Both said they've not been successful. My colleague decided to switch to foregoing coffee creamer, which was hard at first, "but not as hard as not swearing apparently, since I still haven't had any creamer."
I had told her on an earlier occasion what i told my hockey teammate: a few years back, i tried giving up swearing, too, and was a total failure. I decided to try again for 40 days after Easter and was a tad more successful. I have found giving up sugar much easier but am looking forward to the choccies.
Thursday, March 22, 2012
old fart
I had planned on attending a concert this evening, but i left it go too late. When i stopped to get tickets earlier in the week, the show was sold out. The woman at the box office told me that i could show up the night of the show and see if anyone were willing to sell a ticket or two, as they don't offer refunds.
I had every intention of doing just that, but to be truthful, i'm tired, i've got loads of work to do tomorrow, and i'm thinking turning in early is far more preferable.
When did i turn into such an old fart?
Yes, young readers may be rolling their eyes just now and saying, "Oh, puleeze" or worse, but you wait, she warns, shaking her finger vigorously. One day, you too, will suddenly find yourself losing steam at an unbelievably early hour and wonder how the hell it happened.
I had every intention of doing just that, but to be truthful, i'm tired, i've got loads of work to do tomorrow, and i'm thinking turning in early is far more preferable.
When did i turn into such an old fart?
Yes, young readers may be rolling their eyes just now and saying, "Oh, puleeze" or worse, but you wait, she warns, shaking her finger vigorously. One day, you too, will suddenly find yourself losing steam at an unbelievably early hour and wonder how the hell it happened.
Wednesday, March 21, 2012
Manners
This morning, John's blog post about the Jehovah Witnesses visiting him popped into my head. I mused about those who think themselves religious and recalled when Himself was elected to vestry and made Junior Warden. Our church had term limits when serving on vestry. One could serve two consecutive terms, then had to take a term off. A number of usual vestry candidates figured that our rector would retire in about 5 years, so those who didn't want to have to sit out the odd term during Father's retirement decided to sit out just prior. They also thought that Himself would be a good vestryman and encouraged him to run.
He did run, was handily elected, and to the surprise of both of us, was chosen to be Junior Warden. The Senior Warden had been a vestryman for years and was a wonderful administrator. Himself has wonderful diplomatic skills, which served him well, although we were both shocked that other long-term vestry members would openly embrace him to be Junior Warden rather than put themselves out there for the position.
Having this new position meant that we were suddenly invited to a lot more
get-togethers than heretofore, and moreover, given that Himself was Junior Warden, we were expected to go. And go we did.
Most of the people attending these functions were at least 20 years older, much better versed in the ways and means of how these things run, and much more affluent, as we were only starting out then. Some gave condescending nods of approval, the way a parent encourages a child when he embarks on a new task. Himself is the type that is eager to please, so it went well for the most part.
I tend to feel somewhat shy at large gatherings, which often surprises people. I don't feel adept at small talk, and while i can and do, it takes an awful lot out of me. I've gotten better with practice, but then it took a lot more effort, and i think i made more blunders or was much harder on myself. I tried to please as well, knowing, however unfair it may be, that Himself would be judged not only on his behaviour, but on his wife's. I wanted him to succeed and wished to do what i could not to encumber that in any way.
So, there we were, at a Big Do, with all the money players, held at the spacious house of one of the Biggest Parishionners. I always got the feeling that the wife went to church because she wanted to worship God; the husband went to church because he felt it was expected of him to attend; but he always gave me the impression that he wanted to be anywhere else on a Sunday morning besides the sanctuary. They were very nice to us, extremely welcoming as we walked into their manse, and i took care not to have my jaw drop.
Their house was beautifully and tastefully decorated with that air of affluence. Not flashy or nouveau riche, and not quite old money either, but with that quiet confidence that comes from having had a most comfortable income for years. The husband offered us drinks right away, and i realised i was surrounded by the three martini lunch crowd. My father's generation. While i'm not a teetotaler, i don't drink very often or very much when i do drink. I did accept the drink to give my hands something to do, and Himself after securing his drink, worked the room like a politician. I was left to my own devices, tried making small talk with some of the other women present, and felt a dismal failure.
I prayed a silent prayer for help, acknowledging that i was out of my league. Well out of my league. Just then i espied a cat, and was immediately drawn to it. I stooped down to pet the kitty, who purred and welcomed my attentions. After a few minutes, i thought i should break away from kitty and find a place to sit. All of the chairs were taken, and no one seemed ready to give them up, least of all for the youngest person there, so i threw manners out the window, and sat down on the floor to pet the cat. After years of being youngest at any number of events where chairs were at a premium, i had always sat on the floor, and to this day, i'm still a floor sitter.
One of the older women gasped at this. I could hear her tsk-tsking me in her mind. She always had the look of eating too many green persimmons, and when she did try to smile, it looked completely unnatural, as if the concept itself were distasteful and foreign.
The cat, meanwhile, thought my idea a capital one, and immediately got up in my lap and made itself at home.
The hostess came into the room, took one look at me and the cat, and said, "You'll have a friend for life now, although he's not usually so friendly with strangers. He'll want you to stay like that for the rest of the evening, but you don't have to do that. When you've had enough, just stand up, and he'll move."
I smiled back, and as we were catless at the time, i told her it was all right with me, as i dearly loved cats and didn't have many opportunities like this. It was true, and the most heartfelt thing i said at the gathering up till then.
The Green Persimmon woman also loved cats, and came over to pet the kitty. He allowed her to pet him, although stopped purring as soon as she patted his head. Her whole face changed as she looked at the cat, and her involuntary smile was genuine. I looked away before she caught me staring at her and thinking me rude.
The food was ready, so i got up from my comfortable floor seat. I was hungry, but reluctant to make the cat move. He also seemed reluctant to allow me to rise. The spacious dining room table couldn't quite fit all of us, and several card tables had been set up to allow seats for everyone. Himself and i sat at one of the card tables. The Green Persimmon woman and another woman, who turned out to be a delight, sat with us.
We all had just sat down. I had unfolded my napkin and placed it in my lap, and Father gave the blessing, to which we had all bowed our heads and said amen, when the kitty, who was patiently sitting beside me, stared hard enough at me, that i happened to notice him. I made eye contact, and in a flash, he jumped up into my lap, and settled himself quite nicely on my napkin. I couldn't help thinking he thought it a hammock for his especial enjoyment.
I smiled at him, patted his head, and commenced to eating.
Himself was talking about some pleasant topic, when the Green Persimmon woman interrupted. "Sorry to interrupt, this just won't do. YOU"--and here she pointed at me, yes POINTED--"CANNOT allow this cat to remain on your lap while we're eating!"
The tone was that of the sternest schoolmistress, which indeed she had been for many, many years. The cat, who had commenced to cleaning himself, stopped in mid-lick to look at her. My face was aflame, everyone in the room stopped all talk and movement, and watched.
The cat slowly drew his outstretched leg in, leaned against me for just a moment, jumped down, and walked out of the room. I fervently wanted to follow and watched him go.
I returned my focus back to the humans at the table. The Green Persimmon woman was in midstream, stating once again that she couldn't quite believe i would tolerate that for an instant. I found my voice and said quietly that i was surprised the cat had done that, but once he settled in my lap, i knew he wasn't going to walk on the table, and i didn't think he was bothering anyone. He had even left me a goodly amount of the napkin to use, which i thought most polite.
Here, the other lady laughed out loud and deftly changed the subject, asking Himself about a church matter that was coming up and dear to her heart, would he mind if she explained a bit of the background?
Reprieved.
As it turned out, the rector decided to announce his retirement soon after Himself was elected. As Junior Warden, he was automatically on the Search Committee for the new rector and also had to interview the Interim priest. That meant more get-togethers, including a Big Do at the Bishop's. There were no cats or dogs there for the St. Stephen's party, but i had learned a lot more about what was expected, and felt much more at ease. Those who had sat out the odd term were more than a bit put out that Father chose to retire a bit early, and their envy was plain when the Bishop's wife approached me at our church's coffee hour and said how much she enjoyed Himself and i attending their St. Stephen's bash. We chatted easily, and i thanked her once again for such a lovely time. Best laid plans, eh?
He did run, was handily elected, and to the surprise of both of us, was chosen to be Junior Warden. The Senior Warden had been a vestryman for years and was a wonderful administrator. Himself has wonderful diplomatic skills, which served him well, although we were both shocked that other long-term vestry members would openly embrace him to be Junior Warden rather than put themselves out there for the position.
Having this new position meant that we were suddenly invited to a lot more
get-togethers than heretofore, and moreover, given that Himself was Junior Warden, we were expected to go. And go we did.
Most of the people attending these functions were at least 20 years older, much better versed in the ways and means of how these things run, and much more affluent, as we were only starting out then. Some gave condescending nods of approval, the way a parent encourages a child when he embarks on a new task. Himself is the type that is eager to please, so it went well for the most part.
I tend to feel somewhat shy at large gatherings, which often surprises people. I don't feel adept at small talk, and while i can and do, it takes an awful lot out of me. I've gotten better with practice, but then it took a lot more effort, and i think i made more blunders or was much harder on myself. I tried to please as well, knowing, however unfair it may be, that Himself would be judged not only on his behaviour, but on his wife's. I wanted him to succeed and wished to do what i could not to encumber that in any way.
So, there we were, at a Big Do, with all the money players, held at the spacious house of one of the Biggest Parishionners. I always got the feeling that the wife went to church because she wanted to worship God; the husband went to church because he felt it was expected of him to attend; but he always gave me the impression that he wanted to be anywhere else on a Sunday morning besides the sanctuary. They were very nice to us, extremely welcoming as we walked into their manse, and i took care not to have my jaw drop.
Their house was beautifully and tastefully decorated with that air of affluence. Not flashy or nouveau riche, and not quite old money either, but with that quiet confidence that comes from having had a most comfortable income for years. The husband offered us drinks right away, and i realised i was surrounded by the three martini lunch crowd. My father's generation. While i'm not a teetotaler, i don't drink very often or very much when i do drink. I did accept the drink to give my hands something to do, and Himself after securing his drink, worked the room like a politician. I was left to my own devices, tried making small talk with some of the other women present, and felt a dismal failure.
I prayed a silent prayer for help, acknowledging that i was out of my league. Well out of my league. Just then i espied a cat, and was immediately drawn to it. I stooped down to pet the kitty, who purred and welcomed my attentions. After a few minutes, i thought i should break away from kitty and find a place to sit. All of the chairs were taken, and no one seemed ready to give them up, least of all for the youngest person there, so i threw manners out the window, and sat down on the floor to pet the cat. After years of being youngest at any number of events where chairs were at a premium, i had always sat on the floor, and to this day, i'm still a floor sitter.
One of the older women gasped at this. I could hear her tsk-tsking me in her mind. She always had the look of eating too many green persimmons, and when she did try to smile, it looked completely unnatural, as if the concept itself were distasteful and foreign.
The cat, meanwhile, thought my idea a capital one, and immediately got up in my lap and made itself at home.
The hostess came into the room, took one look at me and the cat, and said, "You'll have a friend for life now, although he's not usually so friendly with strangers. He'll want you to stay like that for the rest of the evening, but you don't have to do that. When you've had enough, just stand up, and he'll move."
I smiled back, and as we were catless at the time, i told her it was all right with me, as i dearly loved cats and didn't have many opportunities like this. It was true, and the most heartfelt thing i said at the gathering up till then.
The Green Persimmon woman also loved cats, and came over to pet the kitty. He allowed her to pet him, although stopped purring as soon as she patted his head. Her whole face changed as she looked at the cat, and her involuntary smile was genuine. I looked away before she caught me staring at her and thinking me rude.
The food was ready, so i got up from my comfortable floor seat. I was hungry, but reluctant to make the cat move. He also seemed reluctant to allow me to rise. The spacious dining room table couldn't quite fit all of us, and several card tables had been set up to allow seats for everyone. Himself and i sat at one of the card tables. The Green Persimmon woman and another woman, who turned out to be a delight, sat with us.
We all had just sat down. I had unfolded my napkin and placed it in my lap, and Father gave the blessing, to which we had all bowed our heads and said amen, when the kitty, who was patiently sitting beside me, stared hard enough at me, that i happened to notice him. I made eye contact, and in a flash, he jumped up into my lap, and settled himself quite nicely on my napkin. I couldn't help thinking he thought it a hammock for his especial enjoyment.
I smiled at him, patted his head, and commenced to eating.
Himself was talking about some pleasant topic, when the Green Persimmon woman interrupted. "Sorry to interrupt, this just won't do. YOU"--and here she pointed at me, yes POINTED--"CANNOT allow this cat to remain on your lap while we're eating!"
The tone was that of the sternest schoolmistress, which indeed she had been for many, many years. The cat, who had commenced to cleaning himself, stopped in mid-lick to look at her. My face was aflame, everyone in the room stopped all talk and movement, and watched.
The cat slowly drew his outstretched leg in, leaned against me for just a moment, jumped down, and walked out of the room. I fervently wanted to follow and watched him go.
I returned my focus back to the humans at the table. The Green Persimmon woman was in midstream, stating once again that she couldn't quite believe i would tolerate that for an instant. I found my voice and said quietly that i was surprised the cat had done that, but once he settled in my lap, i knew he wasn't going to walk on the table, and i didn't think he was bothering anyone. He had even left me a goodly amount of the napkin to use, which i thought most polite.
Here, the other lady laughed out loud and deftly changed the subject, asking Himself about a church matter that was coming up and dear to her heart, would he mind if she explained a bit of the background?
Reprieved.
As it turned out, the rector decided to announce his retirement soon after Himself was elected. As Junior Warden, he was automatically on the Search Committee for the new rector and also had to interview the Interim priest. That meant more get-togethers, including a Big Do at the Bishop's. There were no cats or dogs there for the St. Stephen's party, but i had learned a lot more about what was expected, and felt much more at ease. Those who had sat out the odd term were more than a bit put out that Father chose to retire a bit early, and their envy was plain when the Bishop's wife approached me at our church's coffee hour and said how much she enjoyed Himself and i attending their St. Stephen's bash. We chatted easily, and i thanked her once again for such a lovely time. Best laid plans, eh?
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