Cheerfulness Breaks In

Never have I looked so hard for a copy of a book, calling and visiting libraries in Toronto and Ottawa (the latter city offering me an intercity loan..alas, I asked too late); faraway friends scattered about seeking out copies from local booksellers; a kindly gentleman in the nation’s capital advising me that the last two copies he sold went for $125.00 and $150.00; Indigo apologizing for an out-of-print impossibility; Amazon offering it up for exorbitant fees; fellow readers borrowing and re-borrowing from the Toronto library but leery of relinquishing it up, unfinished, to those of us (i.e., me) who could read it in two days and hand it back before the scheduled book club date this Sunday.

I confess, I am afraid that Cheerfulness Breaks In feels antithetical to my mood, which might also have something to do with Rogers’ cable and Internet kaputting en masse (no Parenthood! no email!), with no promise – if Rogers can ever be deemed promising – of a remedy for at least 48 hours), and the fact that the waiter at the Yonge and Dundas Pickle Barrel Restaurant took one hour to retrieve our dinner this evening (he was a mess in almost every aspect, perhaps having been thwarted in his search for a library book).

Add to this (literally) a gain of 1.4 pounds in one week (I found a carb calling card this past weekend while I was away); the enormous elephant plant de-rooting itself; the typical 90-minute drive home from Elmira (we went there yesterday to look at a stove) taking four and a half hours, all of the beautiful snow melting this morning in 7 degree temperatures. It’s enough to try anyone’s patience.

Anyway, if there is someone out there who knows where I might find a copy of Angela Thirkill’s Cheerfulness Breaks In, and is willing to lend it to me, along with some speed-reading techniques (I am completely occupied otherwise between late afternoon Friday through Saturday night, as well as Thursday 4:30-9:30 PM), I would be deeply grateful – so much so, in fact, I might be tempted to follow Angela’s tome with a sequel – Cheerfulness Breaks Out.

~

Note: Loan as a verb is standard English, especially business English, in the United States [close enough] but not in England ~ Funk & Wagnalls Canadian College Dictionary

Note 2: Seconds after writing this entry out by hand, the Internet was back and, with it, a notice that someone had returned a copy of the book, which will be available in my name for pick-up tomorrow at the library (or, in Mayor Ford’s word, liberry). Therefore, Cheerfulness Breaks Out might have to wait until at least next Tuesday. Apologies.

The Loneliness of the Long Distance Underpants

How long do we have to keep old underwear before we are willing to relinquish them? You know—those yawning, gaping, over-stretched, wrinkled, seam-weak, faded underpants—the ones you loved so much when you purchased them you wished you had bought two of everything? The purple-striped ones, the pink ones with the balloons, the elegant black ones with the tiny diamond shapes? What happens to our preferences? Where do they go?

I'm not talking only about tired underwear, but about things we desire one day and dislike the next. For example, last week I spread out, over the dining table, the white lace tablecloth, thinking how beautifully it went with the white picture frames and the bookcase; how summery the room seemed; how clean. But today when I went downstairs the first thing I saw was the stark white tablecloth, granny-looking and a bit prudish, lying on the table as if it had taken the room hostage.

I don't know. Is it me? It used to be that I could put something in its place—a picture, a chair, a lamp—and I would love it exactly in that place for decades. The wall colours I chose would be the most perfect colour choices in the history of wall paint, and the alignment of the couch and chair/s was always absolutely exactly perfect. I remember standing on the stairs on my way up to bed and admiring, over my shoulder, the configurement of it all, marvelling at my ability to place things just so.

Well, not any more. What I love Tuesday is not what I'll want by Thursday, and I have no idea why. My only saving grace, my only hope, is that as I sit here typing I can see, in my peripheral vision, the straw garbage container that holds three pair of my old panties—one purple, one yellow, one white. And as I take a sideways glance, I can at least remember, somewhat vividly, the excitement with which I bought them; the sweetness of their touch; the surety that I would love them always, no matter how faded, torn or undesirable they might become. And here, for a little minute at least, I miss them.

<:^)

Archived Monday, August 17

Posted by Jennifer Coffey at 5:05 PM

 

And the winner is but maybe shouldn’t be…

I don’t think I have been ever less interested in the Oscar nominations.

George Clooney in The Descendants? (The best part was watching him run in flip-flops. He is such a good actor, but not so much in this banal film.)

But not Shailene Woodley—the only good thing in The Descendants?

Meryl Streep as best actress? (I can’t even look at the ads without laughing.)

Tree of Life practically unnoticed? (The film was poetry in motion, which is likely what plagues it.)

Albert Brooks utterly ignored?

No Michael Fassbender? Shame, shame, shame.

Nothing for Rhys Ifans? Am I the only one who thought he was splendid in Anonymous?

Ryan Gosling – not even for Crazy, Stupid Love? What’s wrong with you people?

And where is Charlize Theron? And Spielberg for TinTin?

And what about Mia Wasikowska as Jane Eyre?

Or Phil Ochs: There But For Fortune (released in early 2011)?

And why does Leonardo remain, once again, without a nomination? I haven’t seen the film, and am, in this case...forgive a pun...merely projecting. But I feel he is too-often snubbed. He is great in everything.

Woody Allen for anything but prison? (I liked the movie, but can’t bring myself to choose him, ever.)

Two songs? TWO?

And where’s Take Shelter? Taking shelter?

It could largely be because Sarah is not here that I feel such disinterest. And it could be in part that one of her friends who used to vote has betrayed her in such horrible ways I am losing hair simply typing this. (It is all I can do to keep myself from writing a separate diatribe here.)

Of course I look forward to the evening gathering in numbers small or smaller. I hope to take a break from worries and wistfulness and sit back in my big comfy chair and overeat and chat with friends about haute couture (okay...fancy dresses) and plastic surgery; listen to the speeches, and wait for the best fiddle dee dee moment/s (which shouldn’t disappoint, given the best actress nominees alone). (Frankly, I wish they would give it to Glenn Close, but I am not so stupid as to believe an Oscar in this current conventional climate will go to a woman playing a man.)

While I know, too, that there isn’t room for everyone on the list, the number of people left off is higher than an elephant’s eye and could make for an extremely dull-on-set evening.

That said, I am very happy for four of the best actress nominees (the four who won’t win); delighted for Melissa McCarthy in a transference sort of way (but I have not seen the movie); thrilled for Terrence Malick; pleased by the riveting A Separation; relieved for Gary Oldman (good work, Colin Firth, ensuring your talented friend’s nomination!), and mildly surprised, but not unpleasantly so, for Janet McTeer.

Thank God there is something to look forward to, because I don’t think I am much interested in seeing many of the nominated films, despite several potentially spellbinding performances.

Anyway, when it comes to voting and Oscar pools, may the best wo/man win. All I know is that this year it won’t be me. I can’t be bothered with the odds, let alone the odd choices. Uh uh. Instead, you’ll find me in a corner of the living room smothered in potato chip crumbs and slurring, just a little, on my wine.

 

All the odds are,

They’re in my favour,

Something’s bound to begin...

It’s gonna happen,

Happen sometime,

Maybe this time...maybe this time...I’ll win!

Kander and Ebb

In Memory of Joe

Dogs have given us their absolute all. We are the center of their universe. We are the focus of their love and faith and trust. They serve us in return for scraps. It is without a doubt the best deal man has ever made.  ~ Roger Caras