Gardening on the Long Weekend
On May 16, 2015 by Speranza
I was reading lately that gardening fills a void for some women as they mature and become “empty nesters.” This is a term I personally loathe but it’s an economical way to get the point across. As I was kneeling in my garden today, gratefully breathing in the heady scent from my two lilac trees and allowing myself to pause, whenever I liked really, to admire the iridescent navy-blue throats of the grackles that everyone seems to despise but me or to visit with the tiny toad who crossed my glove and then became very still, one foot up, one foot down, in case I had seen him (which I had and was delighted) I thought how different this experience was from an earlier version of my-gardening-self some ten years ago when it was imperative to get those vegetables planted, perennials divided and seeds planted in a kind of dizzying Operation Desert Storm long weekend which bore no resemblance to the calm, contemplative, almost Zen-like experience I enjoyed today.
Happy Mother’s Day!
On May 9, 2015 by Speranza
I can’t remember my mother’s voice or even her face sometimes. On some sensory level I can still feel the softness of her skin as it encased the bone when I would trace my hand back and forth across the planes of her cheek and brow but it’s been nearly forty years now. I dream of her sometimes and all of the normal things I would have liked to have done with her and never did, like treating her to some highlights at the hair salon, imagining her squealing delight at my sons – especially as babies – or having an English tea out somewhere a bit fancy.
My mother was truly beautiful inside and out and possessed great vats of personal charm. In the hospital she received flowers from every tradesperson we had ever hired – and the milkman too, all of whom had received “a bit of cake” and a cup of tea when they were working at our house.
In now vintage photos with her hair falling in a shining rope (“I don’t know, I s’pose you just wound it round your finger, really” she answered unsatisfactorily when I pressed her as to how this was achieved) she looked exactly like Lauren Bacall, a childish pronouncement that pleased her immensely. I once asked her sister (my aunt obviously) if she thought I bore any resemblance to my mother and she looked at me and said “Weeeell, not to be rotten but your mother was a very good looking woman you know.”
Nice.
Why Reading (At All) Still Counts …
On April 20, 2015 by Speranza
Dana Girls
Frasier ( Son #1) has often told me that people are not reading less now but rather, reading differently. He cites his own reading habits here – and many of his hipster friends – who may dip in and out of many respected, intellectual websites and blogs/instagram accounts daily but not necessarily read an actual book with any degree of regularity. But is the ability to settle down and enjoy a longer body of work for pleasure gradually being edged out by all these shorter blasts online?
Is there a case to be made about our attention spans atrophying since the onset of the internet?
I’ll try to keep this brief …
The Year of the Mat
On April 7, 2015 by Speranza
Perhaps it’s because I myself have worked in public service for many, MANY years that I have a certain expectation of how I should be treated by store clerks or basically, anyone behind a counter. Firstly, no matter what kind of slack-jawed, no eye contact person I encounter, I will never be rude or do the whole store meltdown thing but what I will do is happily return home and send a detailed email about “how we did today.” (Which incidentally, is a universal way to get management excited, especially if you send it to someone with a real name at HQ. Just saying.)
And no, I am not a curmudgeon(ette) or even remotely uptight I merely expect to be treated fairly and hopefully with a few jiggers of respect and understanding thrown in if I am trying to resolve an issue.
Okay so last week I presented at a certain store carrying a mat under my arm for a print that needed re-framing. I knew the exact colour I needed which was plain, olive green. I would also have been fine with black.
The woman behind the desk was occupied with other presumably more important framing projects for a good five minutes before looking up and when she did, she did not speak.
Her expression suggested that I had interrupted an instore writing of her LSAT and she only had a few minutes left.
I said that I would like to get an estimate for having a mat cut and that I had brought the correct size with me (here gesturing to mat I was holding).
She pointed to another counter, final-spirit-Christmas-Carol style – still no words – and then joined me at the new counter.
My Heart Belongs to Dyson
On April 6, 2015 by Speranza
About 15 years ago, a friend of mine bought a Dyson vacuum cleaner. I didn’t really pay much attention; I mean I vaguely knew the name but vacuum cleaners are not really something that I find exciting to discuss in most social settings. But she talked about this thing with all the zeal of an evangelist, using body language to show how the carpet fibers were now totally upright and what about the dirt you could actually SEE in that clear canister. Why even bother cleaning if you are just spreading the dust about, she reasoned with open palms. (This from a professional and highly educated woman who does not vacuum for pleasure –usually).
And so it came to pass, with several shedding pets in tow I got one myself …
The first time I used the Dyson, I was astonished that after a few broad sweeps of the carpet there was a swirling core of ginger cat hair in the Dyson’s Oz-like clear canister.
This was especially impressive since we have never actually owned a ginger cat.