I am starting to feel itchy to blog again. I don’t have a topic yet, but I think things may be simmering in my feeble brain. Something might just bubble up to the surface soon -- or it might not; I don’t want to get anyone’s hopes up. I just have that feeling.
For now, maybe a simple update on the Grammar Family will suffice. After all, I started this with the idea that it was a forum to unabashedly talk about myself (without doing the icky public diary thing). I had no delusions of creative grandeur back then.
Let’s begin with SRH (not, as in a never-corrected earlier typo, SHR. I don’t know what that might stand for that would reflect that he’s mostly retired. Shy Husband Recluse? Suddenly He’s Resident?) Anyway, he’s very much enjoying his two days at work each week. It’s very gratifying for him as there is always much useful for him to do and clearly they would be very happy to have him come back three, four -- seven days a week. This, for any number of reasons, he won’t do, of course. Two days is good. With the better weather of late he’s been pottering about in the garden in very appropriate retired-chap fashion. He’s no horticulturist but he finds weeding a pleasant activity for an hour here and there.
The Lad has added DJing (as in clubs) to his list of professional activities. It suits him right down to the ground as he has never been averse to the position of centre of attention. He and his partner in this enterprise recently were the openers for some Grammy-winning personage at a big downtown venue. (I was told the Grammy person’s name but as it meant nothing to me, it stayed in my brain about three picoseconds.) They spun music and did their shtick for about an hour and a quarter for a large and exuberant audience. His sister, who attended with a posse of friends, tells me they were a huge hit and had the crowd in the palms of their hands. Certainly when I spoke the next day to The Lad, he was higher, figuratively speaking, than Cheech and Chong put together on any given day in the seventies.
VCCGirl has completed her first year of college with a 3.5 GPA, so we are extremely proud. She had a tough time, academically, in high school and it just goes to show what happens when you’re studying something that actually interests you. These are not Mickey Mouse courses she’s taking, either. A number of perfectly good universities accept VCC Hospitality grads directly into third-year Commerce programs, and they wouldn’t be doing that with a diploma of cartoon courses. She is currently taking a required math course she decided to drop last semester so as to better focus on it by itself, a plan I endorsed (for what that’s worth!) She is doing this while also working full-time, thanks to some understanding and flexible employers. I really admire the work ethic, but this girl has not had a vacation in over two years -- heck, she hasn’t had more than two consecutive days off in over two years, and most of the time, she does not have any complete days off at all, only hours here and there. One worries a little.
As for me, well, nothing changes, and I’m content with that. The other day one of my children half-jestingly accused me of being agoraphobic. I suggested that for one thing, I’d be unlikely to head out into the ocean on a cruise ship as regularly as I do if I were agoraphobic. For another thing, if I am agoraphobic, I’ve been so most of my life. But I’m not. It’s not a phobia that causes me to stay in my house as much as I do. It’s not even a neurosis. It’s a preference. It’s the lifestyle choice of a cocooner. I do choose to be inside over outside most of the time, but it doesn’t have to be my own house. I can be inside a mall just as happily. (Or a cruise ship!) And I do, in fact, regularly walk outdoors without the slightest tremor of nerves. Call me fuddy-duddy and boring if you must. Call me a hermit, a loner, a weirdo, even. But don’t be accusing me of some mental illness from which I do not suffer!
Jeez. Those kids can still push my buttons, can’t they?
Well, okay, so a lot of this ended up sounding like one of those Christmas letters everyone laughs at. Aren’t we great? Aren’t we fabulous?
Well, we are, you know.