Wednesday 27 March 2024
The Parish Dance
Saturday 23 March 2024
The Frogs on the Tiling
Once upon a time I was very entertained by "transformation" scenes in popular films. It was fun to believe that streetwalkers could be transformed into elegant ladies, dowdy schoolgirls into princesses, and tough-talking cops into beauty queens over the course of a day at a beauty salon, plus new clothing.
Monday 4 March 2024
Observations from Misfortune
I once thought being car-free was a great blessing; now I think it is a luxury we can no longer afford. The last time we took a taxi anywhere, it became obvious that the driver had no idea how to navigate the area without a GPS, the GPS took us on a highly original route, and the driver charged us £30.72.
The first thing I noticed yesterday was that if I stand back and allow Benedict Ambrose to lift his lightweight rollator up or down a step, strangers will lunge past me to grab it. I am sure they mean to be helpful, it's lovely to live in a society where people care, and. B.A. is a humble, patient man. But it leaves me feeling like a seeing-eye dog who has just been chastised for laziness. People, ask first.
The second thing I noticed was that there was dried dog dirt on a wheel of the rollator. Mindful of the car we were going to travel in after our two bus rides, I wiped it off with a clean paper napkin I fortunately had in my pocket. I know everyone says this, but honesty, do pick up after your dog. Not everyone can see where it poops, especially after dark. (We had gone to a dinner party the night before, and our return journey was out of the Odyssey.)
The third thing I noticed (not for the first time) is that everyone is horrified when I mention the quotes given to us by mobility bathroom salesmen. Amazingly, nobody else has been asked to pay £16,000 for obviously cheap materials and a crew guaranteed to finish the job. I keep checking the internet, and it keeps telling me that people remodelling a small bathroom in the UK in 2024 should expect to pay between £4,000 and £6,000, unless they go all out and buy luxury goods.
One salesmen told us the high price was due to COVID and Brexit. He also told us that nobody uses plywood for waterproof wall panels anymore, and in fact plywood comes from Russia. (The horror!) On the coffee table before him was a catalogue of wall panels from a rival firm, and their centre cores are made from plywood.
As I have not yet spoken to a firm that remodels bathrooms, not just mobility bathrooms ("We did the bathroom for X hospital, have a look at the photos!), I cannot say if it is the word "mobility" that adds £10,000 to the bill. However, as the people most likely to hire a mobility bathroom firm are the elderly and disabled, which is to say the most vulnerable adults in society, I suspect an investigation is in order.
The fourth thing that I noticed is that my nerves are fraying, and that we both need the services of the cancer support service. Unfortunately, the cancer support service is two bus rides away, and when we were last near it and had time to go at once, it was closed.
The fifth thing that I noticed was that I reached a flow state yesterday afternoon while reading my daily two pages of Bolesław Prus's Lalka (The Doll). It is set in 1878, it is hardly a text for foreigners, and when I go over it unaided, I can only get the gist. However, it is great fun to compare the text afterwards to a translation and fill in the gaps.
This reminded me that I sometimes want to write a post arguing against feeling sad all the time. When Benedict Ambrose was very sick in 2017 and I was combining full-time work with second-guessing doctors and either begging them to do something or visiting B.A. in hospital, I received an angry email from an up-to-that-moment cherished friend disgusted by my blogposts about learning Italian. Apparently this then-friend believed that I was not doing enough to help Benedict Ambrose and that I was criminally negligent. I needed to stop going to Italian class and follow her [expensive and lunatic] care plan.*
What she didn't know was that Italian class, and thinking and writing about how speaking a second language changes a brain, and how and why second and third languages get scrambled up when you try to speak them, gave me a respite from acute mental torment. She knew Benedict Ambrose was suffering, but she couldn't seem to grasp that his wife was suffering, too, and that if she sent her wacko email, it would scar the latter for life.
Anyway, when someone you love is very sick, you don't have to be sad all the time. You should feel free to admit that you are sad, but you should also work on keeping depression at bay. Fortunately for me, I have never thought solitary drinking or drugging the path to joy. I am also not a fan of lying on the sofa reading endless paperbacks although I know that works for others. Instead, I disappear into the world of foreign languages, and quite a wonderful world it is, too.
*Yes, I know I have written about this recently. But it was, hands down, the worse communication I have ever received in my life. Never, ever write to the spouse of a very sick person accusing her/him of maltreating him/her.
Saturday 2 March 2024
Thinking about Our Boys
Thinking about Our Boys suggests discrimination, and that's exactly what women should exhibit towards men: discrimination. After all, the Christian woman's ideal is to share her life with only one man (or, if a nun, only with the Son of Man) while being a cordial neighbour to the other men around. It is easier to be cordial when these men are sane, good and safe to know. And the easiest way to ensure that is to avoid the other kind completely.
Sanity, goodness, and safety are merely the essential basics, of course. Young marriage-minded women often have a long list of traits that the Ideal Husband should have. It gets shorter as they get older and realize some of the things on the list are very trivial, or when they fall in head-over-heels with someone with few of the characteristics written secretly in the back of the notebook. Look at me: I married a man with a beard who can't drive.
However, Benedict Ambrose was definitely one of Our Boys, which for me meant that he was a Catholic who went to Mass every Sunday and prayed every day. And since shared Catholicism was my number one value of values, I knew that however much B.A. might irritate me in future (if he did), I would stick by him through thick and thin: he was one of Our Boys. Also, he was funny, clever, kind, talented, and had great dinner parties. But that said, while B.A. was sliding into a coma, all that was left was the shared Catholicism. It was enough.
The importance of thinking about men who share your most cherished values as Our Boys is that it helps dull the negative effects their more amusing traits have on you. In my experience, young women have a harder time understanding that men are not just women in larger, more rectangular bodies. Thus, it might seem hilarious when men are not as good as women are at certain things: striking up conversations with women, colour-coordinating outfits, reading micro-expressions, walking gracefully. It isn't really.
Incidentally, as I am writing primarily for Our Girls, I am sure I don't have to explain how unreasonable it is to say men "just shouldn't look" or "should keep better custody of their eyes" in response to complaints to immodest female attire. Of course, some of the more original-minded of Our Boys will argue that women should dress like statues of Our Lady of Sorrows. He is, of course, making the error of thinking that women are just men in smaller, rounder bodies who will dispassionately weigh such ideas in an abstract fashion and not view them as personal attacks or think immediately of the Taliban. Naturally, it would be an error to take these Our Boys seriously, just as it would be an error to dress like statues of Our Lady of Sorrows. Tell them that you tried dressing like OLOS at one point but gave it up when you tripped on your hem in front of a bus.
In short, I am counselling patience, understanding and kindness. It is a terrible thing to laugh at a well-meaning young man. It is also a bad idea to scold him. Given the very anti-male turn our society has taken, and given the female domination of the education industry, the average young man in the West has been bullied by women from birth and is mighty tired of it. Therefore, instead of employing the "delightful raillery" used by millionaire's daughter Elizabeth Bennett when punching up at the billionaire Mr. Darcy, it is a better idea to give young men the impression that you think they are marvellous.
There is an appropriate degree to this, of course. You don't want to give the impression that you are man-mad, and obviously you must be super-careful in what you say to married men. However, I cannot see that there is anything wrong in giving voice to positive, if trivial, thoughts that come into your mind when you see a pullover you like on a fellow Single or feel that your dance partner has greatly improved.
And that's all I have to say. To recap:
1. Avoid all men who are mad, bad, and dangerous to know.
2. Develop feelings of solidarity with the men you know who share your most cherished values, aka Our Boys.
3. Plan on marrying one of them, or someone like them, one day.
4. Be patient, understanding and kind when Our Boys, though well-meaning, are tongue-tied, puppyish, clumsy, or colour-uncoordinated.
5. Some boys come up with weird abstract theories that you should neither take seriously nor get upset about. If possible, make a joke about it.
Boy: Women should never work outside the home.
Girl: That's why I'm going to marry for money. What's your major?
Boy: Women should dress like Our Lady.
Girl: I tried, but then I tripped in front of a bus.
Boy: Women should not go to university.
Girl: But then how would we homeschool our sons?
6. If your outfit would have been morally acceptable in your town in 1962, it's fine now.
7. Their female-dominated education may have been rather tough on Our Boys. Feed and water them with kind words.