The party�s over�
10:00 a.m.
After my last entry, wherein I chronicled my absolute absence of productive activity, I went to the university to attend an informal session whereby the first of three candidates for the principal�s job answered questions from faculty, staff and students. I got there kind of late and I missed the morning session, which was probably more organized, but it didn�t matter. He seemed like a pleasant fellow, perhaps about 50 years old, in very good shape (it turns out he�s a runner), and he�s had a fair bit of success in his administrative jobs at two other universities. He seems to be committed to the liberal arts ideal of Bushop�s, and I think he would be a friend to music (which I am concerned the present principal is not really). However, he had an annoying habit of saying �et cetera, et cetera� in every other sentence. This got markedly worse as time went on, or maybe I just noticed it more. But he had had a four-hour session in the morning and was going at it again on a Friday afternoon, so it�s possible he was just wearing down.
One very funny thing happened though. A part-time classics prof, who teaches full-time at the college and is very active on the union (this guy is interesting enough to write a book about all by himself) came in and sat in my row but at some remove from me. He promptly fell asleep and started snoring. At first it was just a small sound, and then it started building until everyone could hear him. The principal applicant said, �There are all these tests you keep throwing at me; first the drive from Montreal last night and now this!� Everybody burst out laughing which caused our sleepyhead to rouse himself with no idea whatsoever that he was the butt of the humour.
After that was over I moseyed on over to the music department where I logged into the computer in the part-time office and found all your wonderful birthday greetings. I got all warm and fuzzy feeling inside! Then I headed upstairs where the Humanities department was holding a festival in the lobby and concert hall (chairs removed). There were art works and poetry posted for all to see, a group of music students playing jazz onstage, and an enormous spread of cheese, crackers, sandwiches, et cetera, et cetera, plus free wine and beer. Patsy (who wasn�t there but at her tap-dancing class) had left some students in charge of the classics table, and had provided two bottles of Roman wine, one of which (a sherry-like potion) the students had polished off. The other was wine mixed with sea water, so I tried a sip. It was really rather terrible. First it smelled like soya sauce, and tasted awful. Everyone who tried it agreed. I guess it wasn�t a best seller.
At home again we got a call from the baker (at 5:30) who was terribly concerned because we hadn�t come in to pick up our cake yet and he was closing at 6:00. I assured him that my husband would be there before closing time to pick up my cake. He realized that he had made an erreur (he�s French from France, and has the most charming accent, so unlike our local qu�becois), and apparently he apologized profusely when Hubby came for the pastry. Hubby arrived home with an armload of flowers, really gorgeous ones, which I promptly put in water. The centrepiece is a bird of paradise. It�s an enormous thing, orange and blue, very exotic. Then we all went out to a middle-eastern restaurant and had a fabulous meal of tabbouleh, humus, felafel, rice and salad, with pita for scooping up the humus. Three out of four people ordered the assiette v�g�tarienne and one teenaged boy ordered the shish taouk (chicken on skewers). I�m not too concerned. My daughter also went through a period of carnivorousness, but came back to the one, true way. Perhaps my son will as well. At the restaurant Hubby presented me with a very funny card and a long box that looked like it held a pen and pencil set. I was joking that that was what I always wanted. But upon further inspection, it contained a beautiful gold bracelet which I promptly donned. How thoughtful!
When we got home there was the famous cake (which was fabulously, teeth-tinglingly decadent, chocolate layers slathered with real French buttercream icing) and more presents. The kids presented me with a very cute card enumerating all the hats a mother wears, and when you open it, a crown pops up and settles on mother�s head. Daughter gave me a book, Shakespeare�s Dog, Hubby gave me two books also (short stories by Ethan Coen and a collection of speculative fiction by Canadian authors), and Son gave me a short cylinder filled with red sand which you turn over and over. The first time you turn it over the red sand falls through openings and leaves a picture of two hearts pierced by an arrow. On the second turning the words �I LOVE YOU� appear, the �O� in �love� replaced by a heart. I was having so much fun with this thing. I never get toys anymore! I also opened the present from my in-laws which had been sitting around since last Thanksgiving (that�s mid-October for you guys who don�t know when Canadian Thanksgiving is): a black V-neck T-shirt in stripes of puckered cotton knit alternating with plain. It�s cute. I telephoned them in Florida to thank them. They were complaining that it was cold there, 50�F (about 10�C). I contrasted that to our -15�C and figured there was no contest.
Then we watched a DVD I bought ages ago but hadn�t opened yet: The Road to Bali with Bing Crosby, Bob Hope and Dorothy L�Amour. It was very, very funny. It�s the story of two Vaudville performers who find themselves in Melbourne, Australia and in trouble because they keep proposing to the same women with no intention of marrying any of them (and the families of said women want satisfaction), so they end up signing up for a job as deep-sea divers to dive for sunken treasure. They fall in love with a Polynesian princess, whose father happened to be a Scot named MacTavish, and then for the rest of the movie the two fellows are competing for the affection of the girl, who happens to love both of them. It was full of self-references, talking to the camera, and cameos by famous actors of the day: Humphrey Bogart pulling the boat through the swamp in The African Queen and Jane Russell snaking her way out of a basket to the playing of a reed pipe.
While we�re on the subject of movies, I must tell you a story about the suspension of disbelief, a topic which ilonina brought up. I tend to get really involved in books I�m reading. I wept through the last chapter of Still Life by A.S. Byatt, for example. But I�m pretty good at separating myself from the action onscreen. My husband, though, is just the opposite. When reading a book, he is constantly questioning the plot, but in a movie he becomes totally involved. I will not let him touch me anymore at the movies because after we saw Jurassic Park (the first one), I discovered little bruises on my right thigh in a most interesting configuration. It took me a while to realize that he had been digging into my leg with his fingertips during the scary parts and left a distinctive pattern of purple spots.
<~~~ * ~~~>
