mjj (flemmings) wrote,


Maybe it was the daycare stomach virus or maybe it was an evening gin and tonic every night for a week, but yesterday my system revolted most spectacularly. Evidence for a virus is that today, though the insides are calm, every joint hurts spectacularly and moving about is a near impossibility. So much the worse that I had an afternoon shift I failed to notice on the schedule, so had to taxi it there and also back, because my Presto card was in my other coat pocket. However I've reached the point where people are no longer snippy about me not turning up for a shift. Instead they worrit that I've had a heart attack or a stroke, which I'm not sure is much better.

What I'd been doing before that text message was watching Two Men and a Truck (up from A Man and a Van from my 20s) remove the article of furniture christened Les Alpes Maritimes by my father being removed from next door on its way to cushy Oakville where my younger brother has now reunited the entire dining room set from Bedford: oak dining room table, six upholstered chairs, marble-topped sideboard and the Alpes, a carved cupboard/ sideboard some eight feet high and seven feet long, which fortunately comes in two separate pieces. Plus clubbed feet if you want them, but we never did, because how would you dust under the thing? Younger bro is now the only one of us with a house big enough to take the thing. I mean, yes, so do I because my house is of course the same dimensions as next door, but I don't have the room. Nor the lifestyle: it held the good crystal and the liquor which my hospitable s-i-l used to bring out when entertaining her many friends and relations. I don't entertain, and not merely because I'm a lousy cook and don't have a Significant Other to make conversation with the guests while I try to do it.

But anyway- au'voir that chunk of my past. If I'm a bit teary, well, I have a virus and my joints hurt. Brother is actually wrestling more with saying good-bye to his books, his duplicate books. I recommended Marie Kondo to him: thank Principles and Practices of Political Distribution in Ontario version 4 for its yeoman service and say good-bye to it, because you still have version 5. My s-i-l doesn't understand holding on to books one hasn't read and may never read. I could quote Robertson Davies at her but it won't make any difference: "Book lovers may not want the books to read immediately, or at all; they want them to possess, to range on their shelves, to have at command." That emotion is not in her repertoire. This no doubt is how she will be able to live in a 600 sq ft apartment.
Tags: place, rl_20

  • (no subject)

    Everyone else's life is being so traumatic just now that I'm trying to be grateful that the only thing bothering me is that the plumber somehow got…

  • (no subject)

    Dear God but Piranesi is oogey-making reading. Like a bad dream or the faintest recollection of something else I read somewhere else but can't trace.…

  • The evening smells of woodsmoke

    Finished Claudine a Paris. Finally. Suck fairy attack: what a nasty piece of goods that girl was. But done and onto the reject pile it goes. For…

  • Post a new comment


    Anonymous comments are disabled in this journal

    default userpic

    Your reply will be screened

    Your IP address will be recorded