Category: Musing (Page 26 of 31)

It’s hard not to call February 29 a free day. I mean, after all, we only see one of these every four years! It’s like found money, only it’s time. Wow! Time. And,  we never really realize we are saving up that quarter of a day each year for four years. So it’s like putting on a jacket and finding a five dollar bill in the pocket. It’s a lovely surprise. 

 Yesterday I read a bit in the paper that when a baby is born on February 29, doctors urge parents to pick either February 28 or March 1. I should think I would be forever disappointed in my parents if I was born on February 29 and my parents didn’t claim the day as my own. Any other day wouldn’t be my birthday, now would it? I mean really. Who believes that if you don’t have a birth day every year, you really don’t age? That, by the time the fourth February 29 comes around, you are not sixteen but four. Truly?

In my family we’ve been celebrating half birthday, well, just about forever. So why not celebrate your birthday whenever? Things like birthdays are not always convenient. Nor do they always work just the way you want them to. This year I had a terribly under-performing lackluster birthday. Seriously. And so, because of a free day this year, I’ve decided to celebrate my birthday today. The leap year day. God bless you, Pope Gregory XIII. Even though you signed the decree for a Gregorian Calendar in February 1582, you had to wait until 1584 for a real leap year. I do believe that took some courage.

But just for you buffs, who think four (4) is the most important number. Think about this:

Every year that is exactly divisible by four is a leap year, except for years that are exactly divisible by 100; the centurial years that are exactly divisible by 400 are still leap years. For example, the year 1900 is not a leap year; the year 2000 is a leap year.

A lot to think about on a free day.

…brutal things, happy endings. Neal Caffery, of White Collar, quotes Orson Wells “If you want a happy ending, that depends, of course, on where you stop your story.” So where will Once Upon a Time stop? We’ve already seen Snow and Charming marry. We know they’ve a daughter, Emma. Will the happy ending include Emma? And, what about Henry? Will we know his father really isn’t the yuck that Emma remembers? Or, will we not go through the looking glass? Will Storybrooke Maine cease to exist and the EQ will wither and die in grand tradition and Snow and Charming will have Emma. And we’ll never every know Henry?

Yikes! Happy endings. Hecuba, wife of King Priam of Troy, wanders with the women of Troy the defeat of the city. Her comment, at least in my version in High School was “Count no man fortunate, however happy, until he dies.” Those Greeks! Optimistic. Happy souls. And earlier version of Orson Wells perhaps?

Page Eight didn’t have a happy ending. Johnny’s best friend, who is married to Johnny’s ex-wife, dies suddenly of a heart attack. Johnny is left to clean up the mess Benedict, the friend, left behind; the item on Page Eight of a confidential top-secret report. The mess is a swipe at US interrogation methods and the unsuspecting Brits failure to be outraged. A rather awful indictment of the Prime Minister, Alex Beasley [Ralph Fiennes] , who is a little snarky. Say what you will about life being more simple and easy to understand in the mid 20th century, this drama shows the 21st century is a moral slippery slope, and doing the ‘right thing’ is, well, unclear. So unclear, that Johnny, sort of saves the day. oh! and does not get the girl.

Nope. No happy ending. But a satisfying one. So. I was happy.

I am the opposite of a Luddite. Toys are awesome! Techy toys are more awesome. And, a DVR is the best for watching just programs and not TV. I realized that my ‘cringe factor’ is not only alive and well, but able to control the fast forward button on the remote and I don’t have to listen to every word. When the character makes a stupid mistake [like Arthur killing the king in  His Father’s Son on the advice of Uncle Agravaine ] I can speed past. I mean. I know this will only come to no good. Duh! Plot device! When the character is duped, I’m back to speeding. If there were DVR police,  I should get speeding tickets. Hear every single word? Not necessary. Except. I do listen to every word of Once Upon A Time. Confession time. I’m a willing suspension of belief TV watcher. Go ahead. Throw it at me. But this, now this, I’m baffled by the last (?) scene in the Skin Deep Episode. Okay, here’s the scene.

EQ walks to a door with an Exit Sign. Looks semi-furtively back at the flower man, Belle’s dad and a once upon a time ruler. EQ punches buttons on a control pad, walks down stairs, hands a rose to the nurse at the counter and asks if ‘She had any visitors?’ The nurse says, ‘no’ and then ‘not ever’.  But EQ’s gone by now, with the Cheshire Cat knowing smile, and looking through a door at Belle, only not Belle, because we don’t know her Storybrooke, Maine name. Interesting. Yes. Intriguing. Maybe. More like disconnect. Total.

So. EQ? How many people know the exit door goes down stairs? How many have the code? Who was the sketchy guy in the hospital gown and broom in the hallway? Seriously? Visitors? You don’t make mistakes like that. So. Armor chink?

Of course I’ll watch tomorrow’s episode. But. Hello, producers, directors, writers…you’ve put me in a difficult place. You’ve made my willingness to accept your twists and turns a bit more guarded. Beware!

Yeah. Not that far. But. Oh, my. We just got into the first week, sort of playing it by ear when everything changed. Life does that, you know. You’re walking down a path, seeing the sunlight, feeling the breeze and Whack! You’re not. So. You go with what you are given. Scary, but true. Some bad news, but not so bad news. I need surgery. But it’s surgery lots of people have had. Lots of people survive it. I should too. The harder part was being overwhelmed by a bit of bacteria that put me under for three days and has me feeling like the walking wounded, still. It’s that feeling of unknown. Of weakness. Of not in control. For a type A like me, this is tough. And….it’s going to get tougher. Tom is not even close to being the same type A as me. Not that he’s a type B, he’s just, well, different. So different.

I’m going to need to be very chemically dependent, I can tell you. I will have to be drugged not to go nutzy. After all, as I’ve said before, this is my universe he’s entering. He’s asked for resident status and he doesn’t even know the rules. It’s like the game BAFA BAFA. Designed by the Navy back in the ‘ugly american’ days, the game was meant to give some insight into the way we have to handle another culture when the rules have developed or evolved over so much time. It was always fascinating watching people try to navigate the unknown. Trying to ferret out what was real and what was unstated. ‘Visible and invisible’ as we say now in the Creed at Mass. Funny to think that all by my lonesome I developed my own culture. But I think I knew that. I used to say we could live anywhere because we brought us with us. True.

Unfortunately, Tom never played the game!

Wow! It’s Friday. I totally blew off Wednesday, which is trash day. Because with Tom not going to work, I actually lost track of the days of the week. Not that I’m saying it’s Tom’s fault. Just saying…

I have a Day Clock. And you have a sort of idea as to whether it’s the beginning of the day, the middle or the end. It’s kinda cool, and a great conversation starter. But this week I’ve actually had to look at it and check. It’s like we’re on vacation, but not. Tom is still trying to find his place. Funny thing about that. When I stopped working full time back in 1990 [Yikes! Twenty years ago!!!!] I wondered what I would do. Well, no time for that. I was a wife, mother of two young children and was very active in our town government and in our parish.

My biggest issue was learning to say No. No. No. All of a sudden it seemed like I had plenty of time. Well, I had no more time than any other time in my life, but since I wasn’t getting up, dressing, eating, leaving for the train, working in the city [that would be a capital ‘c’ if we were in New York, but since we were in Boston, a lower case ‘c’ will suffice] getting back on the train, coming home. Now, to be fair, we had a nanny. She did the grocery shopping, cleaning the house, changed the linens, cleaned the girls clothes. So you might think, well, I had it easy. Well, maybe. I still had lots of stuff to do, events with the girls, events at church, town government and all that. Plus, although Jean was wonderful, it was still my house and I had to make sure it was all right.

Naturally, when I stopped working [The girls called it retirement. Tom told everyone I was sitting home reading and eating bonbons–I wish] I sort of bought into the idea that I had time. And so I got more involved. Dumb! Really, really dumb! I realized I was doing two, maybe three jobs. What I had always done as wife and mom. What Jean had done as the nanny and what everyone else thought I should be doing with my ‘spare’ time. Yuck. It was awful. I had to learn to say no.

I’m guessing that Tom won’t have to learn to say no. No one expects him to join a board, or volunteer at the SPCA. When I stopped working it was like I had to take the skills I had used in business for the past twenty five years and make sure they stayed clean and sparkly. I’m sure everyone thinks Tom has earned his right to his time. And I agree. ‘Cept, geeze, I do have a couple of projects…..:-)