Strange

The news I got? About another death close to me? It was my ex-husband. I don’t know more than that right now; I’m waiting for updates from mutual friends. A normal person would call. I should call my brother-in-law. But I don’t want to intrude on his grief right now.

Our divorce was amicable. We had remained friends and often helped each other out in the years after the divorce. When friends told me about a change in his life situation that had him depressed, I took him out for lunch, introducing him to Ye’s.  If a meal at Ye’s doesn’t pick you up out of a funk, well, you’re down deep.  The outing was appreciated.

But when I moved to Windsor, I cut ties, having given everyone–including him–a kiss and a hug.

I might blog more about him and our life together later.  I have him to thank for luring me to Canada, which I plan never to leave.

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There’s no arguing with gravity. My house slipper coasted across a puddle in the kitchen this morning and I fell flat on my left buttock. I’m really glad I didn’t hit my head on the way down, didn’t land on my tail bone, and apparently didn’t throw out my temperamental lower back. My homestay host better be very glad, too, that I didn’t kill myself, because the puddle was the result of her negligence… and frugality gone too far.

When I called her (she doesn’t sleep here these days) to tell her of the leaky ceiling, puddle, and my fall, she asked me to toss a towel down, then proceeded to gasp and sigh about students who point the shower head in the wrong direction when they bathe.  Her failure to acknowledge any culpability did not and does not sit well with me.

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I spent the day in a Computer Assisted Language Learning workshop.

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We got out at around 3:30, and the Bloor Cinema is just a block away from the school. Bright Star was starting at 4:00. I couldn’t resist. I needed some chill time after a day of instruction, certainly didn’t feel like tackling homework first thing when I got home, and didn’t relish the thought of hanging out in the dark, depressing old house for more hours than necessary.  Although the story was not very well chosen if my purpose was to cheer up, the 19th century English scenery was luscious, the actors beautiful, and the costumes eye candy for someone interested in sewing, texture, fabric. The movie was lovely and I’d recommend it, don’t mistake me. But the story of Keats’ life cannot really come out any way but sad.

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Grace in Small Things – 193

• It was sunny and mild today.
• The man who sat in front of me in the cinema turned around to say, “Tell me if I’m too tall.”
• I told him he was not in my way; he went to get popcorn and asked me if I would watch his stuff. Isn’t that cool? In a city this size? A stranger asked me to watch his stuff. I think that’s so cool.
• R’s striped tights.
• The way the deaths of two friends have made me even more aware of how fleeting and precious every day of life is. Not one single hour is guaranteed. Cherish each one.