The building remains intact. I arrived to the townhouse this evening heavily sedated with a grande Calm tea from Starbucks and my blood sugar somewhere around my toes. I was a little woozy. Shouldn't have had the caffeine rush of Ceylon and China tea blend with a twist of Madagascar vanilla at breakfast. Phantasms of architectural ruin haunted me during the day with thoughts of the wall crumbled and my kitchen in ruins.
I feared for my Corelle dishes which the company now does not manufacture. They are a beige colour with petite blue flowers circling the edge. Very lovely. The white Pottery Barn dishes that I own I could have set quite cheerfully in the slab's path. The set was a gift from my relative and that, with the Fiesta ware of searing red and orange (again Pottery Barn) which was another gift from same relative, could have been "an unfortunate accident" if I had the cojones to do away with the lot. Oops.
There is not anything more depressing than brightly tinted dinnerware for a night-owl with sombre literary preferences. Our choice of dinnerware show the personality differences between my relative and me. She is urban professional to the tips of her manicured fingernails and likes the hues of sunny climes. I, in contrast, am a struggling neo-Victorian gothic writer whose favourite ankle length dress is a dark Aesthetic indigo sprinkled with early Spring morning blue forget-me-nots or a pair of army green khaki pants from Value Village where I shop not due to any lack of funds but it is the only place on the island I can find thus far that carries a size 3 or 4 trousers. They're comfortable in their slim fit and so am I.
I am also very, very much less frenetic in my imagination than I was before my arrival to the townhouse.
My fears were not realized. The plates are without damage. The house is what it is , simply a way-stop. I did not stay for the excision of the concrete with the consideration it would be better not to have my youngest in the line of danger. The only scars that remain are exposed boards where the concrete had a precarious hitch. There are no prises for the contest and I am an extremely less anxious writer.
I suppose I should offer some consolation prises. These are:
1. My unfailing devotion and eternal friendship. You can't cash it at a bank but it's there forever.
2. A promise not to blog Britney Spears or Paris Hilton or whatever media created bimbo next arrives on the tabloid scene.
3. A promise to blog off the liberal mainstream. I don't know about you, but I think everyone has heard about "climate change".
4. A friendly Public Service Announcement from yours dearly at least once a year.
5. To keep my sense of humour even when I read and comment on the most difficult subjects.
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