Manners

Maria asked a question about whether a restaurant owner was in the right for posting a photo of a table destroyed by a family with badly behaved children. I started to make a comment, but it ran too long, so i’m making it a blog entry instead.

I am a former server, and badly behaved kids or adults in restaurants have always irked me. The worst experience i had involved a six-year old brat who was so bad (how bad was she?) that every patron at every table around theirs clapped when this party with the brat left.

As a server, i couldn't say much, since i waited tables in the days where the customer was always right, but as a customer, i have had a thing or two to say. The most memorable to date was when we were seated at an outside table. The restaurant was a yuppified burger place that grew from a bar. To our left was a table with a mother and her two kids, about 8 and 10, a boy and girl. The kids clearly felt this meal out was a real treat and were very excited. Looked over the menu and told Mom with bright eyes what they'd like to have. There were about four tables to our right. The one on the end was newly in use with a family who had come from a kid's baseball game. The dad had picked the table, the mom was getting something out of the car, and Johnny Slugger, ran from the car towards the outside seating area. He saw Dad wave to him, and yelled at the top of his lungs as he went past our table. His yell went directly into my ear. Dad wasn't more than 16 feet away, and the kid stopped at our table and insisted on yelling at the top of his voice. Something in me snapped and i, able to match him decibel for decibel yelled, "Unless someone is trying to kill you, there's NO reason to yell this loud when other people are trying to eat their dinner and have a conversation!"

Here, Johnny Slugger turned to look at me, mouth agape. Dad got up and swaggered towards our table. He was about 6'4". He yelled at me, how dare i yell at his son, as he was only five. I replied that at five his son was school aged and if he didn't understand how not using his inside voice in this situation was appropriate, that spoke more to poor parenting than it did to anything else. That how i had as much right to be able to sit outside and enjoy a nice meal with my husband without some brat screaming in my ear and some inept parent upset because i found this sort of behavior entirely unacceptable.

Here, the dad realized i was NOT going to back down. I didn't give a rat's ass that he towered over me by more than a foot. I must have given him what my friends call "the look." Several have told me how frightening it is. As i’ve never seen it, i can’t say what it looks like. Only that it seems to stop people in their tracks. Loudmouth Larry still stood watching me, mouth agape.

"Shut your trap, you're letting flies in," i said to him. He obediently closed his mouth.

The father then looked embarrassed, realizing that i didn't give a toss. That the other diners were looking at him, wondering what he would do. I felt extremely alert and in a nanosecond thought of several different things to do if needed.

Ultimately, the father tried to slink back to his table. He and Loudmouth son were very quiet. They were moved to an inside table (the manager had come outside to witness the last part of the exchange), and the father said to me with a whine, "Well, i hope you're happy--we're moving to an inside table."

I replied, "I'll be happier still to learn i've sustained no hearing loss."

The manager went back inside, presumably to show the relocated party its new table.

The kids at the table to my left were wide-eyed. Himself wanted to dive under the table.

I looked at those kids, and said, "I'm sorry to have added to the disturbance. I noticed that both of you have such nice table manners, and it seems a shame no one seems to notice how well behaved you are, but they notice the loudmouth. I'll be sure to use my inside voice from here on out. Again, i'm very sorry."

The mother smiled, and the kids said that was okay, they thought he was a loudmouth, too, and were glad i said something. How kids like him give all kids a bad name. Out of the mouth of babes…i told them i agreed with them.

The manager came back out and approached our table. He asked me what happened. I provided the facts, and how my ear was still ringing (and it was). The manager then asked if perhaps the problem was that i didn't like kids.

I smiled and said, "If that were the case, i'd have asked for another table at once, as we were seated right next to a table with two children," and here i pointed to the table on my left. The manager looked at them a bit dazed. Clearly, he had overlooked them. "However,” i went on, “these children have demonstrated nothing but excellent table manners. (Here, both kids beamed.) So clearly, my issue is not with children, my issue is with unacceptable behavior. I've demonstrated that perhaps too amply. I have apologized, my apology was accepted, and we have moved on."

Here, the manager looked over at the two kids. They both nodded solemnly. The little girl spoke. “She did say she was sorry, and we said okay. Actually, she used her inside voice all along, except for when that kid screamed in her ear. He was REALLY loud.”

The manager then mumbled well, if there wasn’t anything else…I did ask if our server could perhaps refill my water glass. He seemed glad that the request was a simple one, one that could get things back on track.

The server smirked as she refilled my water glass. She apologized for the boy’s bad behavior, and i said it wasn’t her fault. She asked if we liked the food. We did and said as much.

I haven’t thought about that incident in a long, long time. In writing it out now, i wonder if that’s the first time either of those kids had a stranger who was an adult apologize to them for her behavior. It did change me. Any time now i’m at a restaurant where i see well behaved kids, i always make it a point to tell the parents in front of the children how i appreciate their good manners. Zig Ziegler was right. If we spent half as much time catching people doing something right (and telling them) as we do catching them doing something wrong, the world would be a much better place.

I didn't check for bodies

Over the weekend, my home phone started to act funny. I noticed on Saturday evening that it rang a half ring twice, then would stop. I answered one of these calls, and it was a friend to say that she had tried calling a few times, but the line would disconnect. Another friend called me on my cell phone (which i rarely switch on) to say the same thing.

I called the phone company, expecting to take to a computer-generated voice prompting me to push a thousand buttons, when a man's voice came on the line. I explained the problem i was having, and he told me how i could check my line to determine if the problem were inside or outside the house (inside the house, i pay, outside the house, it's a free service call). He ran a check on his end and said it looked as if it were an outside problem.

He scheduled me for Monday, which was fine by me. He wasn't sure there was room in the schedule on Sunday, and i said i'd be out for part of the day, so just as well to have the repairman come Monday. He said that the repairs would take place outside so i wouldn't need to be there. But, Monday was fine, and someone would arrive between 10 a.m. and 6 p.m.

Right after he told me how to check for myself, he said i may not want to go out this time of night to do it (which i didn't, as it was past 9 pm and dark), but i could try it Sunday. About 10 minutes after the phone call, i was checking my email, and a sudden, overwhelming odor of skunk spray pervaded. Damn. Skunk near the house. I'd had one spray the back door a couple years earlier. My eyes were nearly watering, my sense of smell was pretty much gone, and then i remembered that Jim and JoJo were outside. I had a sinking feeling about Jim. He would probably be curious about the little black and white creature ambling around and would want to go up to her and say hello.

He came in and i think he reeked of skunk, but the smell still lingered inside the house, so it was hard to say. Jo also came in. Both had something to eat and drink, and wanted to go back outside. I let them out.

Sunday morning, i let them back in. Jim reeked of skunk spray, and i had the opportunity to try and wash a cat. He did NOT want to be put in the bucket to be washed, so i got my hands good and wet of the concoction in the bucket and rubbed it on him. It was supposed to stay on for five minutes before rinsing, but he started licking himself almost immediately. I rinsed him off wetting my hands and then a small towel. He smelled less skunky, but i couldn't tell if it were lingering skunk smell in the air or on him.

Turned out to be him. I hadn't washed his face at all, not wanting to get near his eyes, but his head smelled of skunk, so i did a second hands-on rub.

He was actually very good, and i sensed that he was uncomfortable having this odor on him, so perhaps that added to his willingness. This morning, i found a few spots that still had a stronger skunk smell, so once again rubbed the stuff on, then rinsed with the wet towel. I didn’t wash his cheeks, and they still reek of skunk, but the rest of him is mostly deskunkified. The strongest smelling spots have gone from watering-eye stench to old rubber smell, so i’m going to call it good.

I enjoyed a hike with a friend yesterday, wasn’t expecting any really important calls to come in, and the two half rings weren't enough to let a caller get to leave a message on the answering machine, so spent my Sunday hiking, running an errand, and doing a little housework after Jim’s first washdown. Last night, both Jo and Jim wanted to stay outside all night.

This morning, after letting Jo and Jim in and feeding the cats breakfast, i remembered that the phone guy said 10 a.m. to 6 p.m. for the phone repair probably meant someone would come five minutes before six because that's usually the way these things work. I settled down to work after washing up the breakfast dishes and giving Jim his third washdown, when to my great surprise, the phone repairman showed up by 11:00 a.m. He was lanky with biceps, and long, curly hair that was starting to grey. He sported a beard and wore a friendly expression. I met him as he alighted from his truck, told him where the outside box was for the phone, and he asked which door he needed to use should he need to provide an update.

About 10 minutes later, he knocked on my door. Wondered which plug i had used for my check. I couldn’t remember. There were two, but i hadn’t thought to check both. Turns out that the problem was likely inside my house after all. He was going to do one more check, where he was going to call me on my home phone. I didn’t hear a ring, but i did hear a faint, very high pitched noise three times. It sounded like a dentist’s drill miles away, and i don’t know that i’d have heard it had i not cocked an ear expecting the phone to ring. I told him what i did/didn’t hear.

He wanted to know where the old jacks were. I knew this and could show him instantly. He thought they might be a problem but he’d need to look down cellar. He glanced at the Bilco hatch and asked if that were the way down cellar. Well, yes and no. If the hatch were unlocked, he could go down there easily enough, but the door at the base of the steps was latched so wouldn’t open from the outside.

I invited him inside the house, and pointed to the cellar door in the kitchen. At the same moment, i realized Phoebe had gone hunting down there every night for the last three nights, and she meowed loudly last night, which is her cry to let me know she’s got something. I usually call out to her, thanking her, and she either leaves it for me as a prize or eats it. I hadn’t checked down cellar, but when Phoebe was ready for bed last night, i hadn’t seen anything at the base of the steps, which is her usual display spot.

“I didn’t check for bodies,” i said, and seeing his eyebrows rise in alarm, i quickly explained about Phoebe’s hunting. “Old house, stone foundation,” i explain.

He nodded and laughed. “I have the same thing and know exactly what you mean. Funny when you mentioned about ‘the bodies.’”

I warned him about the low beams as he’s tall. He was down cellar for five minutes or so, then came back up to check the jack at the hall phone. I told him i hoped it wasn’t too scary down there. He laughed again, showing perfect teeth and said, “No, it wasn’t scary at all.”

Five minutes more, and he went outside to the outside box to do a phone check. If it rang all right, we were in business.

It rang all right, so i answered thanking him. Yes, we were cooking with gas.

He drove away, and during his service call, the mail lady had delivered my mail. I walked out to the mailbox to collect it. At the back door, as i was ready to step out, my eye was drawn to half a dozen feathers and one bird’s foot on the welcome mat. Two of the feathers were a dull green warbler color. At the base of the steps and to the left, i saw a mouse’s head in the gravel. As i passed by the barn, a strong skunk smell still pervaded and hung in the driveway, too. I got my mail, and upon walking back on the walkway, just before the skunk smell at the barn, looked down and right to see a good sized dead mouse.

What a welcome for the repairman, eh? Well, as i said, i didn’t check for bodies.

Anniversary

It's hard to believe it's been a year since a small, orange ball of fluff arrived here to live with us. Jim has grown into a young cat, tall, sleek, and very happy.

Himself and i celebrated the day by toasting the anniversary of our youngest feline's arrival. We also went kayaking and swimming. JoJo lounged on the barn's side porch and welcoming any of the breeze that blew to reduce the effect of the heat. Phoebe stayed inside, hunting down cellar and in the eaves closet and hidey holes. As for Jim, he bounded around the yard, lay alongside Jo for a quick nap, walked along the top of the fence, and after we returned from our swim, greeted us by rubbing our legs and curling his long tail.

In other words, just another day in his life, enjoying every moment he can.

I was hoping to get a good photo of him to show him all grown up. So far, i've been unsuccessful.

I think i'll take a page out of his and the other kitties' books, remembering to savour each moment.

reconnecting and summer

I've shared on here before how i am on facebook and joined only because a fife and drum friend kept badgering us to join. "It'll be fun," he said. "We can keep in touch and share photos."

I finally caved after a year, and yes, while i am friends with a great many of my f&d friends, i have reconnected with others as well and i do enjoy seeing their photos and hearing snippets of their lives.

One of the groups i joined was for my hometown, and that has been a real hoot as some of the people i knew or remembered were just enough older or younger that we didn't socialize much but we knew many of the same people, so it's been fun catching up and reminiscing.

One of the women who ran with a different crowd from me when in junior high and high school, was, i found out, a bit of a shutterbug. She took an amazing photograph of three boys who were a year or two older than i was. She herself was maybe 12 when armed with her camera, she snapped boys being boys, enjoying a moment of summer fun.

Here's a look at the photo. One of these boys attended our last reunion (the reunion included our class and the class a year ahead of us), and although he's taller now and shaves, i still see that bright-eyed boy.

bridal shower

I met a young woman, E, on the boat about three years ago. She was tall, thin, quite self-assured, had a delightful sense of humor, and was dating C, a young man about her age. It was a new romance, and she gushed a bit when she spoke about him, as we are wont to do in that early courtship phase.

Several weeks later, when SFB and I were helping with downrigging, she walked up to us with her arm around a tall, blond man. She shyly introduced him to us, and I said quietly to SFB, “He’s the one.”

“Yes, he is,” he agreed and nodded.

After the sailing season was over, E ended up moving into C’s house. His job requires him to be at sea 60 days and off 60 days. E found a job at a local place and took care of things while C was at sea. Next, they adopted a delightful border collie. Then another border collie or border collie mix.

Earlier this year, she posted two pics on facebook: one of the first dog with the caption, “Pappa asked;” and one of the second dog, “Mamma said yes!”

I attended her bridal shower yesterday. It’s been ages since I’ve been to a bridal shower, I really can’t recall the last one, and I knew I’d be one of the oldest attendees there. Turns out that the bride’s mother, grandmother, older neighbour, and an older woman who until recently was with C’s stepfather were also there, glad to see another not-so-young woman in their midst.

There weren’t any silly games. E’s mom did e-mail C a bunch of questions and put E on the hot seat, asking her how C responded to them. E answered most of them correctly. One of E’s friends in attendance is 6.5 months pregnant with twins, and while everyone asked how she was feeling, and she was glad to talk about her pending arrivals, she was careful to make the afternoon more about E and her upcoming nuptials. Another young woman, Nichole, is getting married a bit after E, in October. I asked her about her wedding plans, and she looked excited and nervous as she briefly explained them.

In this electronic age, and I noted the number of smartphones present, with most being used to take pictures, I wondered about the importance of the bridal shower. Yes, getting married can be nerve-wracking and exciting, but really, if you live with your intended a few years before the wedding, well, you’ve already got the living together thing established, haven’t you? You’ve already got basic stuff most likely as far as housewares. So, does it still feel as special?

I recalled my bridal shower, which took place on my 26^th birthday. My late MIL had a ball planning it, invited loads of women, the table positively groaned with food, and I got some very nice things. I had lived on my own several years so I had a lot of the start-up stuff already. And Himself often stayed over at my place, but didn’t move in until after the wedding, and then we moved to a two-bedroom flat six weeks later, so it felt more like we were living in our place, rather than his living with me in my apartment.

E’s mom asked if she’d open her gifts while we were all there. E said she’d love to, and many of us responded that we were curious to see what gifts she received. She confessed that she’d feel funny if someone got her something that she really didn’t like, because she’d have to fake like it. One of her friends quickly assured her that that wouldn’t be necessary, she was quite sure all of us had gotten her things she’d love. I thought back to my own shower and wedding gifts. There weren’t any that were truly dreadful, and some still survive.

She had hurriedly registered at a national department store and picked a list of things she’d like. This was helpful to me, as I wasn’t sure what she’d want or could use, and I went with the safe containers and lids one could use for leftovers or for food prep. The card I bought was simple and conveyed exactly what I felt. I was glad to be part of her shower.

There were lots of laughs when her first dog wanted to help open the gifts. E gave him bits of paper to play with, and in the case of my gift, he helped to open it before she was ready. We oohed and aahed at some of the nice things she got.

Her mother had wrapped the wedding RSVPs, which E knew she was getting from her mom, and her mom also told us that she was paying for postage, too. She had wrapped the package and adorned it with a paper flower she made. E carefully removed the paper flower, wanting to save it. Her mother scoffed and said she could make her another if she wanted. No, E wanted this one, as a memento.

Next, E opened up a gift from her grandmother. I was sitting beside E so was the first to see that they were old linens. Gram went on to explain, “These were Aunt Lydia’s.” Aunt Lydia, it turned out, had raised Gram, although we didn’t hear more of the story than that. The way Gram said Aunt Lydia’s name, you knew Aunt L was somebody special and wonderful.

There was a linen towel with an exquisite embroidered edge, and a few table runners that had threads skillfully drawn (pulled) to create intricate patterns so it looked almost like lacework.

I asked Gram if Aunt Lydia had done the embroidery. No, but most likely one of her sisters had. Gram then went on to explain about the drawn table runners.

As Gram explained, and lovingly unfolded the table runners, E’s eye grew misty. Tears fell, and I witnessed That Moment where E realized she is getting married. She seemed to take in that she was now entrusted with beloved heirlooms and had entered that Inner Circle.

It took her a few minutes to compose herself. Her mother looked surprised, her gram looked so pleased.

Those tears answered my earlier question. Yes, it still does feel special. It’s still a rite of passage where all who attend wish her well from our own vantage points, which run the gambit from “will that ever be me?” to “I can’t believe I was a bride so long ago.”

I didn’t feel very much older until I was leaving, and one of the younger women asked how long I’d been married. When I said “27 years, well in September, 27 years,” there was a noticeable pause. I then realized the woman who asked most likely wasn’t even 27 yet. I smiled, wished E well, pet her dogs, and headed for home.

It was a lovely shower.

floating thoughts

I am not a morning person and most likely never will be one. My mind is much more active in the later part of the day, which is probably part of the reason i did so well in school. I did my homework after school or in the evening, when i was most alert.

I am one of those who likes quiet in the morning, and although i awake more easily now than ever before, and although i'm far more lucid, i still do not dance as soon as i alight from bed, nor do i wish to engage in conversation. I will say good morning to the kittes and give them a pat on the head or a kiss, and i am happy to see them, but i really don't want to say much else.

They all seem to know this, and don't usually force me to say anything as they watch me pad down the steps into the kitchen and get their breakfast ready.

Doing such mindless tasks allows my mind to wander where it will, and sometimes, i pay attention to where it goes.

Today's thought train popped into my mind, as i made a mental checklist of all the spatulas, turners, and wooden spoons i have in a smallish ceramic container on the kitchen counter. How i've pared down the number of them over the years, it could probably do with another pare down, but i use every one that's in there.

The kitties were looking expectantly, knowing breakfast was coming. Jim rubbed against me, and i noticed his soft fur. JoJo blinked sweetly a few times, as did Phoebe, and i recalled one catering gig i worked when we were in our lean season.

Our lean season lasted several years, and during that time we took on a number of odd jobs to fill our meagre coffers. As i had worked in restaurants through college and for several years afterward, i found waitressing part-time to help quite a bit. As an offshoot, i knew people who catered on the side, and they sometimes needed waitstaff, so would call me or Himself (who tended bar) for jobs. Scott, a friend of Himself's who had met Himself when they both worked at a country club type place, had asked if he knew anyone who could serve as waitstaff for a Christmas party gig. They needed just one person, and everyone he and the caterer knew were already busy. I don't recall now if they had someone lined up who took sick at the last minute or what. In any case, Himself mentioned that i'd be available for the gig, and so i showed up to help.

The background info i was given was simply that it was a bank executive giving a Christmas party for his department or underlings at his home, and i wore my usual fancy dress waitstaff duds of black slacks, white tuxedo front shirt, and bow tie, and since it was a festive occasion, i also wore small pearl earrings. I was given the address, and it was in a posh, uber yuppie neighbourhood. I arrived about five minutes before the required time at the kitchen door, and helped Scott set things up. The caterer knew this man for some time apparently, and this man's dog, barely out of puppyhood adored the caterer. He wasn't a weinmarner, but one of the then fashionable designer breeds, although he made me think of a weinmarner. At any rate, i patted the pup's head, too, and he was no trouble as we got things ready.

The house looked like something out of House Beautiful. Every room was tastefully decorated, matching everything, no expense spared. The kitchen had miles of counter space, beautiful solid cherry cupboards, and everywhere around the house dripped opulence. This executive must've been pretty high up the big bank's ladder indeed.

And yet, despite all the grandeur and finery, there was an overwhelming sadness seeping in just at the very edges at first, but made headway as the evening wore on.

The caterer needed another large spoon for one of the dishes, and asked me to rummage through the kitchen cupboards and drawers to find something. Now, i don't like rummaging through other people's things, i always think it violates their privacy, but i was hired help, and needed to do this. Nearly every cupboard and drawer i opened was bare. BARE! I found a sorry excuse for a large spoon finally, and when the caterer looked in disbelief,  i showed him the empty cupboards and drawers. The few things they contained showed what one might see at a bachelor pad with a tv set that had a bent hanger for an antenna.

I came to realize afterward that no matter where i lived, the kitchen was the heart of my living place, and while i couldn't say it was well stocked with the finest of everything, it was stocked well enough with stirring utensils, at least a few knives for one to chop or slice food, cutlery, dishes, and glassware.

The host was affable to us, greeted the caterer most warmly, the way one does a dear friend, and i could see from the way he carried himself that he'd been used to having his own way for a long time. He was accustomed to people looking up to him, fawning at times, holding onto his every word.

The guests arrived at the front door soon after, all of them dressed to impress or what they thought would impress. The women wore brightly coloured print dresses, which was the rage of the moment, and most of the men wore turtlenecks with sport coats, trying to look successful without wearing the standard business suit they wore to work every day. One poor fellow, clearly eager to impress, wore a white shirt that wasn't ironed with a black vest (at a time where vests had gone out of vogue), black trousers, and a black jacket. A few guests quipped that he looked as if he should be the waiter and said it to one another, but just loud enough for him to hear. He wore a defeated look each time he heard the comment, trying to shrink a little more into himself, showing only another wrinkle in his shirt, or that his hair was just a bit too scruffy and should have been trimmed a fortnight ago. He stood next to me at one point, looking miserable, as someone made the comment again, and i'm sure, couldn't help noticing that my white shirt was really white, ironed, and my overall look was neat and trim, while his was...not.

He mumbled something inaudible to which i replied, "Pardon?" He looked up, said, "Never mind," and i said quietly, "The best way to come to these things is simply to be yourself. Thank the boss for a lovely evening, but don't grovel. If the only thing they can find to say is they don't like your outfit, they're not worth knowing. You are so much more than your job. At least you should be. I know i am."

And here, he looked at me directly. I'm sure it was an unconscious move on his part when he stood a little talller and straightened his shoulders. I asked if he were done with his plate. Yes, he was thank you, and i took it from him.

I circulated easily among the guests, clearing away things, changing ashtrays, providing stacks of clean plates and napkins. Scott was very busy at the bar mixing drinks, and i helped him a little bit.

The host had shown a hint of nervousness just before the throng arrived, midway through some of his lackeys grovelled, which made me say what i said to the Unfortunately Dressed Man, and three-quarters of the way through the evening, the host relaxed a little and enjoyed himself. He delighted in showing off his gorgeously decorated home to a few of the more attentive females.

By the time the party was ending the Unfortunately Dressed Man had had a nice convo with the host, and when one of the cattier women made the "you are dressed like a waiter" comment, he replied with a smile, that he supposed he was, and it was good to know that he had a fall back career should he need one. I was within earshot and smiled to myself, although i saw him look in my direction and smile a bit more broadly at my smile.

The party wound down, and Scott, the caterer, and i cleaned up. I'd had a few women ask me if i could work some parties for them, as they liked my service very much. A few had flirted with Scott, even though he was "the help," and he, too had a few ask if he would bartend some private events for them. I came to find out the caterer often took care of the dog since the host worked such long hours, and he had agreed to take the dog home with him since the host would need to be at work early next day.

There was a goodly amount of food left, and we asked the host what he wanted us to do with it. We usually would simply wrap it up and put it in the fridge but given the amount of leftovers and just him, we were willing to divide it into smaller portions and freeze most of it. He answered that he didn't want any of it, not one trace of food or drink. We wanted to be sure we heard correctly. Yes, we had. The caterer wanted some, but left the lion's share to Scott and me. There were unopened bottles of liquor he didn't want, either, and the caterer was eyeing the bourbon, so he took that. I ended up with among other libations, four unopened bottles of wine that made for nice Christmas gifts, and opened bottles of red and white that i used for cooking.

And the food! Scott, like Himself and me, was in a lean season. The food was a tremendous windfall. The caterer didn't want any of the prime rib or shrimp, and dividing the roast beef three ways still meant plenty for everyone. (yes, there was a beef roast in addition to the prime rib, an assortment of cheeses and salads.)

Scott and i felt almost guilty for getting paid, as the food and drink would put our households in good stead for a month at least. The host was very tired, thanked us profusely for doing such a great job, and gave us each an extra tip for making his party such a success. We both sincerely thanked him and were dumbstruck at his generosity. And sadness.

For all his house's grandeur and designer fashion, it was a lonely shell. The people who had come to his party were wowed by his position, house's opulence, and wanted to impress him in some way. But not one was a friend. The host patted the dog's head, looking somewhat forlorn that everyone was leaving him.

I drove home in my ancient Honda loaded to the gills, walked into my smallish house--using the kitchen door, as the front door was really just for show--and Himself and our geriatric cat Zerbe were in the kitchen. He was drinking from a water glass that had originally been a jelly jar, greeted me warmly with a hug, dressed in his pajamas as it was late, and Zerbe wandered over from her kibble dish to greet me, too. Himself put on a bathrobe, winter coat, and boots to help me unload the food and drink from the party.

We had a midnight/wee hours supper of cold shrimp and beef with glasses of white and red wine. We toasted our good fortune, were thankful for the generosity of the very well-to-do sad host, and as i looked around, i saw nothing designer about our house. I looked at the ash cupboards in the kitchen knowing that the plates my family had given me with their best wishes and love were stacked behind the doors. The spatula in the nearly overstuffed crock by the stove had been Great Aunt Jean's, which she had gotten as a bonus from the Fuller Brush man in 1950-something. The vibrancy and love of our home met me as i entered, and i wouldn't trade it for all the big, executive, heartless haciendas with perfectly coiffed rooms sporting nearly empty cupboards.

I blinked and looked again at the crock near the stove. Hard to believe where my thoughts get to, early in the morning, when i've gotten out of bed but am not really awake enough to do much more than say hello to the kitties and get them breakfast.

I really like flash mobs

And i really like this one they did at Waitrose.

Grocery Store Opera

Only thing is, i didn't see any Scotch eggs. I was half expecting to see Mr John Gray or Mr Tom Stephenson. Still, it made me smile.

Enjoy!