27 July 2008
i feel like a new woman
(But I won't be getting one this week).
new hair, new glasses.
The glasses have only been on for three days so I'm still at that point where the floor seems to slope towards me as I walk. (Driving is exciting and fun!)
Thoughts from the week ...
:: you don't get a lot of change out of a thousand bucks for new glasses when you have a powerful prescription. Sheesh.
:: the good news is that now I'm old (and starting to do the long sighted peer at the tiny writing on the sides of jars, etc), my prescription is going in the other direction and my vision is "improving". Well, that's not what the opthamologist calls it, but I'm being optimistic.
:: the glasses look black in that photo but they're actually maroony plummy kinda sorta. Inside the arm it says both Sangria Swirl, and Moulin Rouge. Which is the style and which the colour is anybody's guess. You also can't tell from the photo but they have gold swirly bits in the corners which sounds a touch Dame Edna but is quite restrained. Your gladioli are safe with me.
:: remember I said the hairdresser replied Just like Posh Spice? when I described what I wanted for my hair? When I arrived at work the next day with the new do, my job share bloke said Just like Cilla Black! and my boss exclaimed at the same moment Just like Mary Quant! which I think displays more about my colleagues' respective vintages and tastes than my hair. (I said as much to which he replied Ah but you knew who Cilla Black was, didn't you? Touche.)
:: Must research how to do acute accents in Blogger.
:: Went to dinner at Shakahari on Friday night with my two oldest friends for a regular catch up (sans partners and children which makes it heaps better). I dawdled in Readings for a blissful twenty minutes beforehand, killing time and browsing. So much nicer than the other one across the road. Every single person in Readings was wearing head to toe black, except for myself (I was wearing brown pants with my everything else black). There's nothing quite like Carlton on a Friday night, is there?
:: I lay in bed until nearly midday yesterday (first sleep-in in MONTHS), ignoring my children and wolfing down Helen Garner's new book The Spare Room in one big gulp. It's very HG - spare, conversational and brutally honest in its tackling of the tickly subjects of friendship, anger, death. Lots of food for thought. My criticisms would be that the only character we really get to know is Helen herself; I would have liked to hear more about the dying friend and then perhaps I would have liked her more? Or at least felt a bit more sympathy. Also the ending felt a bit rushed with its list of one liners about what happened immediately prior and post death, but then one could argue that the story was about the journey towards death ... anyway, it's very moving and lovely to read with its starkly simple prose. And it's set in my old neck of the woods - she mentions Bellair St, Newmarket Station, Racecourse Road, taking the green arrow into Macauley Road, etc. I got a small thrill with each little marker of familiarity.
:: I'm listening to Patrick White's The Aunt's Story in the car right now and getting thoroughly fed up with the pretentious dialogue ("Do you believe in saints, Ludmilla?" "I believe in a pail of milk, with its blue rim" etc). That sort of thing is fine occasionally but it's constant and wearing. Does that mean Patrick White is dated, or I'm just old/cynical? I remember being very impressed with this book when I was about twenty. Let's just say Helen Garner's writing was a breath of fresh air. Time to hit the library for another audio book.
:: Son #1 been sick all week and even a little bit the previous week too. Nasty cough and cold, listless, feverish, falling asleep on the sickbed in the middle of the day and talking in his sleep kind of sick. He's now 99% and itching to go back to school. They've started rehearsals for Twelfth Night and he's afraid he won't get a decent part for being away so long. (He watched Romeo and Juliet on dvd from his sickbed and is all ready for Shakespearian dialogue, he declares).
:: Speaking of Shakespeare, I missed Hamlet. Mr Soup went (it was his birthday) and I stayed home to nurse the ailing child. If it was superb, I do not want to hear about it. Do not leave comments that will rub it in thankyouverymuch.
:: I am so bad at getting myself to bed at a reasonable hour. I finished knitting a scarf last night and immediately (like at 1.13am) cast on the Robin's Egg Hat in a gorgeous red Malabrigo. Which I have now realised will clash horribly with the maroony plummy glasses. Shit. And double shit because I'm now really really tired. And I still have socks and a vest on the needles already so don't need another project to distract me.
:: all my posts lately seem to be Stuff in My Head. So next up, The Festival of Feather and Fan. When they've finished blocking, drying and there's enough light for a photo shoot.
Have a good week y'all.