Over New Year's our household had no hot water. It was only for a few days, and fixed quickly. I married Tim the Toolman, you see - although this time around there wasn't a mad dash for a new element in a shop - husbandly had a spare stashed away. Of course, you probably don't care about this, but I mention it because it was so little a drama. No waiting for a serviceman (with a big bill just for the call), no what-will-we-do-without-hot-water, just a lot of getting on with it.
SPOILER.
We watched the Doctor Who Christmas special (of course we did), The Doctor, the Widow and the Wardrobe and it was one of the best episodes I've ever seen. Don't read any further if you haven't seen it and want to (because I hate knowing even part of a plot - fair warning).
The Doctor helps a lady who has just lost her husband, but being the run up to Christmas, she hasn't told her children. She says, "...because then Christmas is the thing that took their father away." Husbandly looked over at me at this line, waiting for my head to start revolving, since my (foster) mother died on a Christmas morning. Quite some time ago now, but Christmas has been a bit like a semi-rotted chocolate box since. Sometimes it's a nice choccy and other times it's only fit for the bin. The only thing I could think was how nice it is to have a parent who protects you (and have a tear or two roll down my cheek). It would be entirely unfair to say I didn't feel protected as a kid, but true nonetheless. So it goes. (A violin starts playing somewhere, snort.)
SPOILER END.
I've had two days off this time, which really boils down to one since I spent the first day asleep. We have clean things! There is more ironing to do than ever before. Gak!
Today, or what's left of it, will be spent ironing and washing and possibly some more sweeping. It's a hard life.
Small lad is once again playing with the (actual) Lego, having put some away and then pulled the some back out again. I can hear a running dialogue in different voices of the good guys and bad guys having at each other, although sometimes there is only the tone with no words. Yesterday and the day before there was a lot of "nee-nor, nee-nor" as the police chased down bad guys on the plethora of vehicles that came with the kit. It's a hard life.
Husbandly is off somewhere still working on the solar heating things, honestly I just nod my head and smile (or shake my head and ask why). It seems to make him happy.
Tonight there will be roast lamb. Laaaamb. Mmmmmm, graaarrr.
One of the things I used to hate, and possibly still do, though not with the same passion, was being characterised. I loathe explaining something I think or mean and have the person say "so you mean 'X'", only they've got it wrong. It's another way of labelling - encapsulating the complex into a small, easily identifiable box. I know a group of people who do this, all to almost the same degree of certainty, and it's the certainty of the capsule definition that chaps me. It's a kind of first impression, where the meaning received is imposed over the meaning transmitted. Changing someone's mind about what they think you said or meant is more difficult than you would think.
Can you really know another person? Or is your knowing filtered through your own perception of yourself? Or is it a product of a categorisation according to what you think of them by their age, station, whatever?
I'm inclined to think mostly not (although spouses and children, you'd probably come close); yes - but if your knowledge about yourself is limited, you can't really know another; and yes, definitely yes - because we only have so much brain space and unless you're good friends with everyone, you're probably not going to invest the time in actually knowing someone.
Most of us conform to social mores - with more or less idiosyncracies - so categories can work. Of course, as I've said before, I'm a rebel, a crazy young kid (sure), so being stuck in a metaphorical box with a metaphorical label really burns me. For the most part it really doesn't matter, I guess, unless it's your nearest and dearest who have you wrong, but doesn't everyone want to be known? Not in the famous sense, but understood as a person? Isn't that why we have friends and loved ones?
Well, that got a bit ranty towards the end. Ah well. Small lad is getting a bit fractious (I've been typing for a while), so I'd better sign off.
I'm in the mood for coffee. You could join me if you were here, but since you're not, I'll raise my cup to you in your absence. Take care.
