Good: syn: attractive, agreeable, pleasant, amusing, clever, cogent, true, satisfactory, commendable
Bad: syn: poor, disobediant, unhealthy, sorrowful, dilapidated, faulty
Irksome: maddening without the bile-inducing or throbbing vein in the left temple
The Good:
Yesterday was one of my most spectacular Sundays in recent memory.
It started by sleeping in deliciously late (skipping my swimming), then sitting in my favorite room as the winter sun streamed through the window. Practically Rockwellian in its composition. Pug at my feet, me drinking coffee and knitting.
Huh?
Yeah, you read it right. The Baroness knits. With wool and everything (I even own a pair of circular needles - how frickin' edgy is that?)
I am not particularly good at it, nor do I do anything extremely complicated, but I really enjoy it. I find it highly meditative, and that is good.
I then ventured out with the Baron for an afternoon of horse-race watching with a extremely humorous group of friends. Ol' Sol managed to stay put, and while the weather was brisk, we were inside making profits somewhere in the 25 range (cents, to be clear), plus there was an eavesdropping extravaganza at the table beside us - a group of red-hatted "Purple Ladies".
Life was good.
In the evening, I went with one of my bestest friends to a book reading by the very witty and oh-so-New-York-y author and NY Times columnist Jennifer 8. Lee (see her blog here). She was delightful, and regaled us with her tales of researching her book, "The Fortune Cookie Chronicles". If I could conjure up a gig to travel around doing "research" that was funded by a book advance? Oh, the places I'd go. I'll be mulling this thought over for days to come...
I got to speak with her briefly afterwards, as she signed my book. And, like cracking open that thin, sweet-smelling, crescent-shaped wafer to retrieve one's secret message - both the anticpation and the delivery - very good.
It started by sleeping in deliciously late (skipping my swimming), then sitting in my favorite room as the winter sun streamed through the window. Practically Rockwellian in its composition. Pug at my feet, me drinking coffee and knitting.
Huh?
Yeah, you read it right. The Baroness knits. With wool and everything (I even own a pair of circular needles - how frickin' edgy is that?)
I am not particularly good at it, nor do I do anything extremely complicated, but I really enjoy it. I find it highly meditative, and that is good.
I then ventured out with the Baron for an afternoon of horse-race watching with a extremely humorous group of friends. Ol' Sol managed to stay put, and while the weather was brisk, we were inside making profits somewhere in the 25 range (cents, to be clear), plus there was an eavesdropping extravaganza at the table beside us - a group of red-hatted "Purple Ladies".
Life was good.
In the evening, I went with one of my bestest friends to a book reading by the very witty and oh-so-New-York-y author and NY Times columnist Jennifer 8. Lee (see her blog here). She was delightful, and regaled us with her tales of researching her book, "The Fortune Cookie Chronicles". If I could conjure up a gig to travel around doing "research" that was funded by a book advance? Oh, the places I'd go. I'll be mulling this thought over for days to come...
I got to speak with her briefly afterwards, as she signed my book. And, like cracking open that thin, sweet-smelling, crescent-shaped wafer to retrieve one's secret message - both the anticpation and the delivery - very good.
The Bad:
Had a flu shot on Thursday. Not that I don't understand the necessity to steel myself and my family against the pandemic that is threatened every winter, but.
I usually do not have any reaction - this time I got one of those annoying, low-grade headaches like someone was poking my skull with a dull ice pick. My joints ached; my tummy did a little bit of a lurch. The upside? I am so ready to defend myself against last year's germs. If only I hadn't e-Bayed that time machine for quick money. That was a bad decision.
More bad abounded at the clubhouse buffet - this could best be explained if I offered a variation on the garage sale analogy - you know the one where one man's trash is another man's treasure? Here's yesterdays - One person's epicurian nirvana is another person's diabetic third circle of hell.
Three small words - The Dessert Table.
One word to sum up my behaviour at said dessert bar? Bad.
I usually do not have any reaction - this time I got one of those annoying, low-grade headaches like someone was poking my skull with a dull ice pick. My joints ached; my tummy did a little bit of a lurch. The upside? I am so ready to defend myself against last year's germs. If only I hadn't e-Bayed that time machine for quick money. That was a bad decision.
More bad abounded at the clubhouse buffet - this could best be explained if I offered a variation on the garage sale analogy - you know the one where one man's trash is another man's treasure? Here's yesterdays - One person's epicurian nirvana is another person's diabetic third circle of hell.
Three small words - The Dessert Table.
One word to sum up my behaviour at said dessert bar? Bad.
The Irksome
I consider anything "irksome" if it sticks in my craw and stays there, making it hard to swallow, but lodged too far down to bring back up.
For the most part, and for my sanity, I have tried very hard over the last few years to get past outrage, and have also tried to turn the burner off on the equally damaging slow-boil. Let me tell you, this in and of itself is irksome.
Because it is so much easier to just go off.
Yet so much more messy to clean up afterwards. And the Baroness does not like messy.
So the craw-sticker this week was an article that I read in our provinical newspaper. It said that our Canadian Supreme Court has passed a law that will allow, on two of our air carriers (Air Canada and WestJet), an extra seat for free to those who are disabled and those who are obese.
Now, the disabled I can understand. This makes perfect sense to me. More often than not, the extra room is required for either manouvering into and out of the seat, or for their caregiver.
But the obese?
I recognize that there are a distinct group of people out there who have distinct medical issues that wreak havoc with their metabolism. This does appear to be a bona-fide condition, and I suppose could fall into the disability category.
But what about the rest? What about the ones who choose not to make the right choices? The ones who have singly let things get out of hand for too long? How has a decade of overeating and underexercising become a disability?
Where, exactly, will this ever end? Issues like this make me wonder if the term "human rights" should be re-named "expected rights" or "things you must do to make me comfortable because I'm entitled and I do not feel the need for any accountability or consequence to my actions".
Irksome.
For the most part, and for my sanity, I have tried very hard over the last few years to get past outrage, and have also tried to turn the burner off on the equally damaging slow-boil. Let me tell you, this in and of itself is irksome.
Because it is so much easier to just go off.
Yet so much more messy to clean up afterwards. And the Baroness does not like messy.
So the craw-sticker this week was an article that I read in our provinical newspaper. It said that our Canadian Supreme Court has passed a law that will allow, on two of our air carriers (Air Canada and WestJet), an extra seat for free to those who are disabled and those who are obese.
Now, the disabled I can understand. This makes perfect sense to me. More often than not, the extra room is required for either manouvering into and out of the seat, or for their caregiver.
But the obese?
I recognize that there are a distinct group of people out there who have distinct medical issues that wreak havoc with their metabolism. This does appear to be a bona-fide condition, and I suppose could fall into the disability category.
But what about the rest? What about the ones who choose not to make the right choices? The ones who have singly let things get out of hand for too long? How has a decade of overeating and underexercising become a disability?
Where, exactly, will this ever end? Issues like this make me wonder if the term "human rights" should be re-named "expected rights" or "things you must do to make me comfortable because I'm entitled and I do not feel the need for any accountability or consequence to my actions".
Irksome.
