Girl's Day Out
Nov. 8th, 2002 12:19 am![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
jeanvieveSo my mother sent an email out of the blue asking if I wanted to go to the Christmas Crafts and Foods Symposium downtown. I'm not sure if I did or not, knowing nothing about it, but I automatically said yes. There's few enough times mom gets a chance to get out alone and enjoy herself, I treasure any moments I get.
And Amy wasn't working. Hm... An elabourate schedule was hatched.
8:40 visit orthodontist
9:00 Pick up Amy in Boulder
10:00 Meet mom in Thornton at the castle
11:00 Get to Convention center. Convention center isn't open until noon. Bugger.
11:15 Settle in at Wolfgang Puck's for lunch. Lovely place. Each wall, pillar, etc. is a different colour. I can recommend the catfish and the chinois salad highly.
12:15 Back to the convention center.
I really had a lot of fun. I spent money I haven't quite made yet, and came out of it with Christmas presents and a really stellar black velvet hat that I don't know where I'll wear as I never remember to wear hats much but adore buying them. Not quite at the level of my sock fetish, but comparable in prices.
2:30 Christmassed out. But what girl's day out would be complete without coffee/tea? Off to the bookstore.
3:30 I'm the queen of the $85 cup of chai. But I got more presents taken care of.
4:30 Dump mom off at her car to drive home.
5:00 Went to the gym with Amy, though we didn't have enough time to do anything more than sweat a lot in 17 minutes before we had to get home with Zane arriving. Too many dedicated fitness types at the gym after work anyway. Mental note to continue earlier trend of 11am or, better, 2am. Very quiet then.
6:10 Amy fell asleep on my shoulder, as we were both pouring over the Christiansen book. I bought it with my niece in mind. But after coming home and pouring over it, she may never get to do more than read it when she visits. It was just the sort of perfectly delightful children's books with AMAZING illustrations that one ought to have read to one in bed. I was a little teary at the ending. Not that its unusual. I'm easily manipulated into crying even by commercials, which is why I usually resent it when I know I'm being manipulated and change the channel. Ditto not watching American news channels if I can help it.
11:40 Driving home from taking Amy back to Boulder, found the BBC morning show on the air. At last, real news of what's going on in the world. (Disgusted to find that mostly Republicans elected in my state. Sometimes I really hate Colorado's redneck, cow town politicking. At least the English only amendment failed.) Most interesting was a little blurb on Gibralter getting a ballot issue of whether to enjoy joint sovereignty with Spain and England, or stick with just England. Apparently something like 99% wanted just England.
One wonders. Sometimes I'm not sure whose point of view I look at things from. America has a short history, in the world view of such things. We were settled adventurers, our political system written up by Masons, Puritans, and anyone who didn't like/got kicked out of their own country. And I know I'm a product of that same independant, I'll Decide For Myself and Probably Be Right way of thinking. Arrogance.
And yet I think it would bother me that my country was volunteering to sell me off halfway to another country for concessions not mentioned on the radio, after 300 years of being my country. They talked about Gibralter as being something of a melting pot as well, with British accents, Mediterranean looks and names, etc. But they seem to unanimously want to be British, with a colonial loyalty I can't as an American wrap my brain around.
But then, I sat with Antoine and watched all the classic Australian movies: Gallipoli, The Light Brigade, Breaker Morant... And after each one I would turn to him, bewildered, asking why on earth Australia is still part of the Commonwealth after being treated so shabbily over and over by the British crown and military command. Used as shock troops, stalking horses, and sacrificial penguins, they lost most of a generation to wars Britain took an interest in, often it seems through British idiocy in tactics and decisions. Like an abused wife, they seemed to say over and over that they were loved and loved in return. He couldn't quite explain it. All through the towns we visited, they had more memorials to their Glorious Dead than I'd ever seen.
In America we put statues up mostly to the winners. The heroes. And a few memorials here and there, big enough for a good splash in movies when they're the backdrop. (Pardon the slip into dryness.) So they're proud of their stubborn obedience in the face of fire over and over, with all of them dying? And then nearly quit a few decades later over a CRICKET MATCH?? The best bowler of all time, facing the best batsman of all time. "Its not cricket!"
I'll always remember his bewildered assertion of the way it felt. Antoine, the glib and facile of word and speech, always knowing what to say and in a clever way, fumbling for words. It rocked me, that uncertainty of expression in the face of overwhelming, absolute emotion.
So what is a feeling? Is it self awareness to know that you cling to an idea even knowing that its flawed, foolish, even broken here and there? Is it better or worse to be able to put words to it, and still be able to support it? I have words for most of my stupid and glorious beliefs alike. Does that mean I don't hold them deeply enough, or is it that I'm just willing to let myself start talking and form it into a point when I find one?
Feh. New subject.
Why can't I find the Marianne books on line? Who's silly idea was it to let them go out of print? Wanted to get a copy of Marianne, the Magus, and the Manticore to give to someone so that they'd understand when I also gave them a coupon for 100,000 points to win their battles with. Alas, another notion shot into obcurity by fate. Well, truth be told I wanted to reread the trilogy anyway. Not that I don't have enough recently purchased books lying around.
Feeling terribly cool sitting here in my jammies with my new hat on.
And Amy wasn't working. Hm... An elabourate schedule was hatched.
8:40 visit orthodontist
9:00 Pick up Amy in Boulder
10:00 Meet mom in Thornton at the castle
11:00 Get to Convention center. Convention center isn't open until noon. Bugger.
11:15 Settle in at Wolfgang Puck's for lunch. Lovely place. Each wall, pillar, etc. is a different colour. I can recommend the catfish and the chinois salad highly.
12:15 Back to the convention center.
I really had a lot of fun. I spent money I haven't quite made yet, and came out of it with Christmas presents and a really stellar black velvet hat that I don't know where I'll wear as I never remember to wear hats much but adore buying them. Not quite at the level of my sock fetish, but comparable in prices.
2:30 Christmassed out. But what girl's day out would be complete without coffee/tea? Off to the bookstore.
3:30 I'm the queen of the $85 cup of chai. But I got more presents taken care of.
4:30 Dump mom off at her car to drive home.
5:00 Went to the gym with Amy, though we didn't have enough time to do anything more than sweat a lot in 17 minutes before we had to get home with Zane arriving. Too many dedicated fitness types at the gym after work anyway. Mental note to continue earlier trend of 11am or, better, 2am. Very quiet then.
6:10 Amy fell asleep on my shoulder, as we were both pouring over the Christiansen book. I bought it with my niece in mind. But after coming home and pouring over it, she may never get to do more than read it when she visits. It was just the sort of perfectly delightful children's books with AMAZING illustrations that one ought to have read to one in bed. I was a little teary at the ending. Not that its unusual. I'm easily manipulated into crying even by commercials, which is why I usually resent it when I know I'm being manipulated and change the channel. Ditto not watching American news channels if I can help it.
11:40 Driving home from taking Amy back to Boulder, found the BBC morning show on the air. At last, real news of what's going on in the world. (Disgusted to find that mostly Republicans elected in my state. Sometimes I really hate Colorado's redneck, cow town politicking. At least the English only amendment failed.) Most interesting was a little blurb on Gibralter getting a ballot issue of whether to enjoy joint sovereignty with Spain and England, or stick with just England. Apparently something like 99% wanted just England.
One wonders. Sometimes I'm not sure whose point of view I look at things from. America has a short history, in the world view of such things. We were settled adventurers, our political system written up by Masons, Puritans, and anyone who didn't like/got kicked out of their own country. And I know I'm a product of that same independant, I'll Decide For Myself and Probably Be Right way of thinking. Arrogance.
And yet I think it would bother me that my country was volunteering to sell me off halfway to another country for concessions not mentioned on the radio, after 300 years of being my country. They talked about Gibralter as being something of a melting pot as well, with British accents, Mediterranean looks and names, etc. But they seem to unanimously want to be British, with a colonial loyalty I can't as an American wrap my brain around.
But then, I sat with Antoine and watched all the classic Australian movies: Gallipoli, The Light Brigade, Breaker Morant... And after each one I would turn to him, bewildered, asking why on earth Australia is still part of the Commonwealth after being treated so shabbily over and over by the British crown and military command. Used as shock troops, stalking horses, and sacrificial penguins, they lost most of a generation to wars Britain took an interest in, often it seems through British idiocy in tactics and decisions. Like an abused wife, they seemed to say over and over that they were loved and loved in return. He couldn't quite explain it. All through the towns we visited, they had more memorials to their Glorious Dead than I'd ever seen.
In America we put statues up mostly to the winners. The heroes. And a few memorials here and there, big enough for a good splash in movies when they're the backdrop. (Pardon the slip into dryness.) So they're proud of their stubborn obedience in the face of fire over and over, with all of them dying? And then nearly quit a few decades later over a CRICKET MATCH?? The best bowler of all time, facing the best batsman of all time. "Its not cricket!"
I'll always remember his bewildered assertion of the way it felt. Antoine, the glib and facile of word and speech, always knowing what to say and in a clever way, fumbling for words. It rocked me, that uncertainty of expression in the face of overwhelming, absolute emotion.
So what is a feeling? Is it self awareness to know that you cling to an idea even knowing that its flawed, foolish, even broken here and there? Is it better or worse to be able to put words to it, and still be able to support it? I have words for most of my stupid and glorious beliefs alike. Does that mean I don't hold them deeply enough, or is it that I'm just willing to let myself start talking and form it into a point when I find one?
Feh. New subject.
Why can't I find the Marianne books on line? Who's silly idea was it to let them go out of print? Wanted to get a copy of Marianne, the Magus, and the Manticore to give to someone so that they'd understand when I also gave them a coupon for 100,000 points to win their battles with. Alas, another notion shot into obcurity by fate. Well, truth be told I wanted to reread the trilogy anyway. Not that I don't have enough recently purchased books lying around.
Feeling terribly cool sitting here in my jammies with my new hat on.
