Small people need padding

In which it's Fay, not Fey...

So here I am again. This is already becoming a habit. Goodness. 

And where was I? Oh yes. Part of the vitriolic scouring administered by DWE on July 21st centred on his palpable (or so he claimed) disappointment every time he looked for a post on these humble pages. However disappointment quickly gave way to thwarted peevishness because with nothing to read, he couldn’t while away another few minutes from his assigned tasks in Kelowna or Edmonton.

And when one is peevishly thwarted, one strikes out petulantly. 

“What”, he asked menacingly, “is the problem with you? Is it the brain? Has the addling of your brain progressed faster than expected? Is it arthritis in your fingers, appearing before it should? Have you lost mental faculties, or worst of all, have you become nice?! No, obviously you haven’t, so what is it?”

I much preferred the encouragement that PLR gave me the one time I stopped writing, when he, who deems himself lucky enough to live in a country in which gluten-free weddings are possible, said to me, “Hungry, you must continue writing, your public (never mind that they, the public were all related to me at the time) demands it”

Anyway, my point is. I’ve posted, but have I had any words of gratitude from DWE? No. Nothing, I hear the silence of glaciers (before global warming when large chunks of ice didn’t suddenly break away and come crashing down).

This is what us poor artistic types have to put up with. Where oh where is my patron of the arts and damn, again I didn’t get a lottery ticket today. Dr. Shark will not be happy. 

I’ve also started reading Fay Weldon again, and reading her writing makes my mind all awhirl, and fills me with envy that I didn’t think of what she has put down in words. Her sentences seem so simple, but are so true. So sharp and true.

Today, the essence of summer showed up. I can tell when it’s been a good summer day when late in the evening, I sit in my clean tub and see the sweat and grease from sunscreen form an instant ring around the tub. That means, it’s been hot, the sun was out and I took full advantage of the day. 

I also paid a visit to L who has been looking at the odds of my retiring comfortably or not in the not too distant (one can always hope). When I walked into the office, he smiled and quickly reassured me by saying that I would not have to worry about living under Burrard Bridge in my dotage. Good thing too as it’s bad enough being a bridge and tunnel person without being a under the bridge troll.

Tonight there is a moon event of sorts, but I don’t know what. Apparently this has significance for some, but not for me. Time will tell. 

And then special for Micky, the scourge of spammers in the OC: #10. It’s lovely. Simply lovely and filled with goodness. More to come. Maybe, if I can tear myself away from calculating gravitational fields and their effects on birds and pigs.

I look forward to September 16th. I don’t know why, I just do. For hope springs eternal, and without hope, we have nothing. The joys of being acknowledged and know that you’re not invisible. That’s priceless. The problem, however, with precious, is that you become afraid of losing it. Walaubagaimanapun, you take what comes, and wave to that which goes.

To end then for my heart is full, my head is dancing, and my anxieties atwitter with anticipation, here’s something from Fay Weldon that caught my eye and fancy this afternoon:

Actually two things:

“Small unpadded people need softer mattresses than large, padded people” 

See? So simple but so true. And yes, this means that I definitely need more thicker and softer mattresses than most of those around me. Ahem. 

“ was meant to be white, pale and bland, and like sex was not to be enjoyed, lest the pleasures of the flesh overwhelm the spirit and lead to dissolution and disgrace.”

Both from “Mantrapped: A Novel”

p.s. she has to remind people it’s a novel because its structure is unlike any other novel I’ve seen in recent times.