I've been watching the Olympics periodically. I am awed by those people. Their energy, their enthusiasm -- I'm sure that I never had that much, and certainly not now. They're a joy to watch, from the magnificent games like soccer and water polo to the ones that leave me scratching my head, like table tennis and handball. Who knew handball wasn't played against a wall? Yes, when I heard of the sex activities that happen routinely at the Olympic village, I was a little ticked off -- all those healthy young people, all that testosterone -- but then I realized that I was just envious of them, envious that I'd been even close -- at least, not knowingly; I was a teen, after all, even if one who wasn't very adventurous, and went to a Catholic high school, to boot -- for anything like that kind of uninhibited sex, never would. (Sometimes I wonder what it'd be like to hire a professional, someone who charges phenomenal amount of money, just for a day, just to see what it's like, as much for the curiousity - how can ANYONE be worth that much? - as the experience - holy hell, I'm EXHAUSTED. An idea which comes, I'm sure, from Scent of a Woman, and is very, very unlikely to ever actually happen,both because there's no way I'd actually ever spend that much money for an ephemeral event, no matter how mind blinding and awesome and exhausting - and it takes a lot less, these days, to exhaust me - and because even if I had the money right here and it would disappear if I didn't spend it, the chances that it would damage and possibly destroy my marriage are greater than zero -- which is to say, too high for me. ) So sure, go ahead. Get sweaty in a fun way. The magnificent spectacle you've provided at the Games is worth it.
I'm not sure if I mentioned it before, but we finally heard from the French family who was supposed to come here this summer, and did not. We hadn't heard word one from them since January, and only after I wrote them a physical letter at the end of July, expressing our dismay, and saying that we'd be in France next year, and putting out a tentative can we see you? Or do you for some obscure reason hate us and don't want to see us again? feeler, did we learn that they did try to get in touch with us - granted, two months later than we would have tried, but still, they did, and they thought they actually had gotten an email off, but it turns out they hadn't. And to say that they couldn't come because - well, the reason doesn't really matter, but we believed them, it was something that they'd mentioned as a possibility last summer, but the truth is, we'd have accepted almost any reason; it was the not knowing that was driving us crazy. They assured us that they do still want to see us again, and though they didn't specifically say sure, stop by, let alone while you're in our area, come and live with us , the tone of the note was friendly, and so I was happy again.
Though it does mean, I guess, that I have to start taking French seriously again. I am plateaued - is that a word? - feeling like I make mistakes all over the place, from syntax to spelling to pronunciation to vocabulary, and while I know that the way to address some of that is to write, write, write, and the rest is speak, speak,speak, still I get nervous and apprehensive, feeling that I'm just not good enough. It didn't help my self confidence to talk to one woman - one time; I don't think we'll be talking again -- who is very serious about learning English, and who told me - well, I repeated it back to her that she'd said my French was very bad; she objected, and said I didn't say that, which could have meant but I meant it, and it could have meant its just got a lot of problems.Any way you look at it, it needs work, from someone who will listen to me and correct me gently. Which means, starting up the French language lessons again. My teacher could be stricter, she could push me more (I wish, sometimes, that she would), but I've come a long ways with her, and even though I really don't believe her when she says I'm an incredibly good student (she really does say that, to which I reply then you must have some real slackers), it's nice to be praised, and to feel like maybe I'm making progress. Its just so hard to establish checkpoints - two months ago I could not do xxx, and now I can. But I try. After all, I might need it in France next year.
I read the other day that women react to a guy in a nice suit the way that guys react to a woman in sexy lingerie. Which I am sure has the subtext of assuming you're buff, of course. But still: I don't wear suits, so I guess I'm screwed. Or, you know, not.
Less than a week until my daughter returns home from her summer-long color guard trip; less than two weeks until she leaves for college. We were looking into some stuff today - they hand out the keys to the rooms during Freshmen Orientation, she didn't go, how does she get it -- and I had this weird thought of She's really doing it, she's really going to college. Which I suppose is traditional, parents are always surprised when this happens. Still: we were. I am.
I had a birthday. I am now not only older than I have ever been (weak joke, spurred by Mitch Hedburg's great line about people who say this is a picture of me when I was younger), but also I'm older than I ever thought I'd be. Which is strange because I expect to live to about 85, and that's about 22 years away. Still, its hard to think of myself as this old. I mean, I'm still trying to figure some things out, and I still have this rebellion-against-authority streak that bubbles up every so often, without warning. How the heck did I get to be 63? I know, I know: one day at a time, just like everybody else.
So maybe I should get some sleep. My age, you know, you need it.
2 comments:
Happy B-day! :-)
Thank you. I think it was nice of NASA to wait for my birthday to light that particular candle.
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