Wednesday, 31 March 2010

Let there be lights.

It will be an early morning tomorrow as the electrician is coming at 7.30 am. 'Wakey, wakey, rise and shine, your country needs you!" was the refrain my father used to rouse us each morning. We all really hated this morning ritual, as well as the way he'd fling our blankets off us - in those days rooms were not heated, and it was cold and miserable in winter (but not like Edinburgh at present with all that snow). In those days we suffered from chilblains, a complaint I have not heard of for years. How we suffered. Nowadays the cold is welcome - and last night it was cool - and it rained, hiding the full moon. Tonight it shines clearly.

On Friday night I went to a concert with a friend, who had won two tickets. I had to do the driving, to a place out of my comfort zone (which includes 99% of Sydney). We got a bit lost, but found our way eventually, and a parking space just near the church. I parked carefully, then got out to see how much room I had at the rear of the car - about 5 centimetres. All throughout the concert I wondered how on earth I was going to manage to get the car out of that space. This worry distracted me somewhat from the truly glorious choral church music of Tudor England, and the wonderful singing.

Afterwards, we found that the car behind me had moved back. No problem. We got slightly lost again, but got home without mishap. Although it was late, there was Dr P, sitting in the dark, watching TV. The lights had gone out, but not the power. He can't remember where the torches are kept, nor the candles or the matches, and although the standard lamps worked, he is too shaky to go around the house in the dark. Having located candles and torches, and noting that it was only the lights which had gone out, I checked the fuse box, and flipped the fuse switch. However, the lights went out again the other day, while I was home, and it made a sparky hissing sound. A bit scary.

Thus the call to the electrician, as it seems that there is a problem. Once upon a time such things were the domain of the male, but not here, not any more. We need some halogen globes replaced, the glass in a light fitting broke overnight some weeks ago, the sensor on one outside light has developed a will of its own, and the other outside light is dangling haplessly from the wall. So it is high time the electrician came and attended to all these things. He has promised to come early so I can get to my Italian class by 9.30. He will probably have to make a second visit.

Today was the last of one of my two Italian classes. My friend Nora gave the argomento on designer clothes, the ubiquity of fake designer clothes, and fashion and how to look good. Somehow we found ourselves wondering how you say in Italian 'tidying up the loose ends'. It seems that knitting Italian style does not result in wool ends having to be sewn in! From there we moved on to the problem of bullying in schools, and in one particular case where the principal seems to be avoiding taking any action. It is a worrying phenomenon. I wonder how much mobile phones and Facebook have to do with such social problems.

Afterwards Nora and I went to a nearby dressmaking and alterations place, where I arranged to have some beautiful purple silk made into a jacket and pants suit for the forthcoming family wedding. It will be done in time, and I hope it all works out. Like lots of women, I have a stash of fabrics, which are brought out periodically, gazed upon, and regretfully put away again. Perhaps if my weight had not been steadily increasing, the fabrics would have been turned into clothes, but because of the desire and intention to lose weight, it has always seemed a shame to use the fabrics on large clothes. That silk, and its friends, have been waiting around for a good fifteen years.

Dr P's daughter called yesterday, and I have organised for her to take over care duties in a few weeks when I go to Melbourne for a family wedding. The next sister, the WSD, ie the problem one, to whom I wrote a year ago in a futile attempt to improve relations, arrives on Saturday morning. Cordiality, hospitality and dignity will, I hope prevail, and I have had fewer sleepless nights than in the past. It will be an interesting week. My second daughter will be here overnight on Saturday, and the Easter eggs and hot cross buns are ready and waiting. I am one of those purists who will not touch a hot cross bun before Good Friday, nor contemplate such a monstrosity as a chocolate flavoured bun. The fact that they have been on sale since January fills me with angst.

Happy Easter to all. I will be playing a lot of Bach.

3 comments:

Isabelle said...

Ah, the St Matthew Passion maybe? I think this is my favourite music in the world... though the minute I think that, I then think of lots of other works.

(Snowdrops? No, they're long over by now. Crocuses are now all squashed by the (now melted) snow. It's daffodil time!)

saffronlie said...

My mother has always kept the same rule about hot cross buns (and no Easter eggs before Easter Sunday), so imagine my shock when she bought both buns and Easter eggs last weekend when I was visiting. We debated for a little while whether there was any biblical merit to either rule, and concluded that God would probably forgive us for our ill-timed greed.

Meggie said...

My Grandmother, who was quite deeply religious, would have been filled with horror to see the Hot Cross Bun recipes being meddled with, and said buns being peddled before Easter! The eggs were never allowed until Sunday! Now Gom is such a sweet toothed baby, he gives eggs all weekend, but he does limit the buns- only because he is unwell.