Almost Over-excited
It has been so wonderful over the past week, meeting up with old friends. I didn’t realize how much I miss the language until I had it again. Maryna in New York, Minty and Geoffrey in Boston, and Roger has just left with his brother Patrick to drive to Yosemite and Mono Lake in an SUV called 5UZY 320 before he goes to China.
Hopeless ex-pat, and I don’t even know which country I’m an ex-pat of.
By this you will know that we are home again, beautifully taken care of by Felix who even cleaned the stove! Is there some crime he isn’t confessing? I should be ashamed of my suspicious mind. Suscipe is calmer though her shaved side looks horrible, and I have an irresistible compulsion to pick her scabs in company. No wonder my guests leave.
Pleasures of home: a decent bath-tub. Hotel bathtubs here are horse troughs, shallow, straight and in the final, grubby Holiday Inn, dirty. Our pillowslips were unironed and bore faint traces of ancient mascara, the whole room smelt like a hotel room.
In reaction I changed my bedding here in the comfort-and-privacy to the new sheets and duvet cover I bought some time ago and left unwrapped until the shock of expenditure had worn off. Chocolate brown sheets, fine pique white cover, with two pillowslips of each. The winter look for my newly painted room, very Catherine Memmi. Let down sadly by the short-shanks valance (bed skirt in USA-speak), so I’ll have to find a way around that. Yet another demonstration of the gap between concept and realization, or concretion as Alfred would say. How useful my dissertation has proved to be in daily life.
We did enjoy ourselves on the East Coast. Brooklyn was interesting (I will Amazon “A Tree Grows in Brooklyn”) and we became very fond of Vlad the Impala, even though it took three days to find the map light, concealed in the rear-view mirror. The whole car bristled with designer improvements like that. Stefan was thrilled with the second set of radio controls under his fingertips on the steering wheel, and managed to change things I was enjoying so surreptitiously I didn’t realise so didn’t protest. Hum. And the final joke on Vlad – it was beige.
It was a real hardship following my strict regime at breakfast time in the hotels, because just about everything was sugar and starch based. Hard boiled eggs wetly available sometimes, when they hadn’t been wolfed by other guests. And sugar-free Quaker oats, once. The moral is to stay in better hotels I guess.
I am much sharper than I have been of late, and have good energy too. I finished off Stefan’s ice cream in Boston and it made me feel sick and “fat blood”-ish. So, I know what was causing it.
Echo-cardiogram now booked, and so on, and so forth. I am doing it for my vigour.
Hopeless ex-pat, and I don’t even know which country I’m an ex-pat of.
By this you will know that we are home again, beautifully taken care of by Felix who even cleaned the stove! Is there some crime he isn’t confessing? I should be ashamed of my suspicious mind. Suscipe is calmer though her shaved side looks horrible, and I have an irresistible compulsion to pick her scabs in company. No wonder my guests leave.
Pleasures of home: a decent bath-tub. Hotel bathtubs here are horse troughs, shallow, straight and in the final, grubby Holiday Inn, dirty. Our pillowslips were unironed and bore faint traces of ancient mascara, the whole room smelt like a hotel room.
In reaction I changed my bedding here in the comfort-and-privacy to the new sheets and duvet cover I bought some time ago and left unwrapped until the shock of expenditure had worn off. Chocolate brown sheets, fine pique white cover, with two pillowslips of each. The winter look for my newly painted room, very Catherine Memmi. Let down sadly by the short-shanks valance (bed skirt in USA-speak), so I’ll have to find a way around that. Yet another demonstration of the gap between concept and realization, or concretion as Alfred would say. How useful my dissertation has proved to be in daily life.
We did enjoy ourselves on the East Coast. Brooklyn was interesting (I will Amazon “A Tree Grows in Brooklyn”) and we became very fond of Vlad the Impala, even though it took three days to find the map light, concealed in the rear-view mirror. The whole car bristled with designer improvements like that. Stefan was thrilled with the second set of radio controls under his fingertips on the steering wheel, and managed to change things I was enjoying so surreptitiously I didn’t realise so didn’t protest. Hum. And the final joke on Vlad – it was beige.
It was a real hardship following my strict regime at breakfast time in the hotels, because just about everything was sugar and starch based. Hard boiled eggs wetly available sometimes, when they hadn’t been wolfed by other guests. And sugar-free Quaker oats, once. The moral is to stay in better hotels I guess.
I am much sharper than I have been of late, and have good energy too. I finished off Stefan’s ice cream in Boston and it made me feel sick and “fat blood”-ish. So, I know what was causing it.
Echo-cardiogram now booked, and so on, and so forth. I am doing it for my vigour.
posted by Tricia Rose at 2:21 PM
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