Friday, December 12, 2008

Poor Guy; Product Placement;

Not me, although I felt pretty sorry for myself when She Who said it was time to get up. (It was 5:45, which an hour or more early--but she'd been up for God knows how long, and needed a quiet room to try to catch some Zs before the client meeting this morning.)

No, the poor guy is my son, who woke up sick to his stomach at 4, got up at 6, threw up, and needs to stay home from school. Not the best end to the week, or start to the weekend!

(A virus? Something he ate? We'll see how my daughter feels when she gets up. They had carry-out pizza last night, which we didn't touch.)

One of those days I'm very glad to have a big ol' bottle of Cucina hand-soap at the sink, olive oil & coriander scent. I'll be using it a lot today, and--so far, at least--it makes me happy every time.


Speaking of happiness, mille grazie to Laura for her reminder, yesterday, that a new instrument will probably end up making me feel as much guilty as happy. It's funny: I know a fair amount about what makes me happy in the short & longer term by now, but that conscious knowledge doesn't seem to get me out of the rut of hankering after the same things, year after year, even when others might make me happier. Two gifts in the past few weeks--a new pair of zip-up, nicely insulated boots and a new under-the-counter radio-cum-mp3 player for the kitchen--have brought me more pleasure, dollar for dollar, than my last two mandolins. Having the funds to buy my wife a pricey sweater last summer on Inis Meain was a joy, and the fact that the sweater was lost before we got home actually doesn't spoil that memory at all.

Isn't there a poem like that? Hmmm... Not exactly, but here's the one that came to mind, by Wendy Cope:

Some men never think of it.
You did. You’d come along
And say you’d nearly brought me flowers
But something had gone wrong.

The shop was closed. Or you had doubts -
The sort that minds like ours
Dream up instantly. You thought
I might not want your flowers.

It made me smile and hug you then.
Now I can only smile.
But, look, the flowers you nearly brought
Have lasted all this while.


I moved on to a second Crusie essay yesterday, editing. Actually, I moved on to the second essay twice: first in an early version, on which I assiduously wrote comment after comment, and then in a later version, once I realized (right about lunchtime) that the author had already rewritten it. Mr. Efficiency, that's me.

Today I need to spend a few hours curled up with another project, reminding myself at regular intervals that my own flickers of nausea are psychosomatic, not to be trusted. (Black coffee + empty stomach / sick son = get back to work & stop fretting!) Actually, the first thing I'll need to do is clean house, so that my wife's client feels reasonably confident when she shows up at 10. After that, the real work begins.


Since I probably won't be posting more later, I'll sign off and get this up on line. Here's a morning song--at least, it starts off with something about getting up every morning, which is probably what brought it to mind. Haven't heard this one in years, and it feels quite good to to cue it up again.

Rustlings upstairs. Off to work, then. --E


Mark Scroggins said...

I remember seeing the Hüskers about a year earlier than that video, back in college. At the time I thought Bob Mould was a real porker; these days, he seems kind of svelt. Helas!

Laura Vivanco said...

No, the poor guy is my son, who woke up sick to his stomach at 4, got up at 6, threw up, and needs to stay home from school. Not the best end to the week, or start to the weekend!

Poor thing! I hope he's well soon, that whatever caused this doesn't affect your daughter too, and that your nausea remains purely psychosomatic. And seeing how many subclauses that sentence had, how many good things I was wishing you, and how you posted about Ireland, I feel like I now need to add something along the lines of

Deep peace of the running wave to you.
Deep peace of the flowing air to you.
Deep peace of the quiet earth to you.
Deep peace of the shining stars to you.
Deep peace of the infinite peace to you.

After a day spent cleaning the house, looking after a sick child, and trying to fit in a few hours' work, you might actually need some of that "deep peace." And my sincere wishes that the sickness hasn't meant you have carpets that are now in need of deep cleaning.

Aran Islands said...

Take yourself instantly back to Inis Meain, even without the lost sweater - at
And if you want to contribute there or to our facebook page please feel invited.

E. M. Selinger said...

What kind messages from you all! Pale and wan, my son has spent the day (so far) on the couch watching TV and sipping water & Sprite. He's not better yet by a long shot, but so far neither my wife nor I have gotten sick in any serious way. (A little queasy, both of us, but no way to tell if that's the real thing.)

Mark, I saw Husker Du a couple of times--once on this "Warehouse" tour and once a few years before that, opening for REM. An epochal night for R & I: our first kiss at that show, 25 years ago this spring.

Laura, I'd actually love to spend the rest of the day cleaning house. It sounds very restful right now--more so than taking notes on Palestinian poetry! I threw in some laundry just now; I have the bathroom in mind for a special treat in the afternoon, if I'm a very good boy and get all my reading done.

Jem, I'm delighted to get your message, and have just joined the facebook page. We spent a very happy day on Inis Meain, and anything that brings that back to mind is very welcome, especially on a day like this. Thanks so much for stopping by and posting!