Welcome summer. Officially. 🙂 It’s 88 degrees here (well, it will be.It’s not, currently) and will be about 90 all weekend so Emily has plans for A/C, shorts and swimming. What about you? Also, it’s June and we’re almost done with June, so I need to read Mrs. Dalloway this weekend: “Life, London, this moment of June…” Mm. Good stuff.
Both my parents had birthday this week–they were born three days apart, same year, same city. I think that’s awesome. Dad’s was on the 19th and Mom’s is tomorrow. Their wedding anniversary is next week, on the same day at my grandma’s (mom’s mom’s) birthday. It’s a busy time for birthdays around here, I’ll tell ya. But then we’re done until my brother’s in September.
I was talking to a former colleague of mine whose wife is pregnant with their first child. We were talking about the baby’s gender; did they want to know, did they know and they just weren’t telling, etc. I find this sort of fascinating. I don’t think I’d want to know; I’d want like that one massive surprise in the delivery room. But I wouldn’t be all annoyed if I found out beforehand (I’m pretty good at reading ultrasounds at this point in my life. Well, OK, not baby ultrasounds, but abdominal ultrasounds. Same diff, right? Humor me.). So, Colleague seemed pretty sure they were having a boy. So me: “Do you know you’re having a boy, or are you doing an Emily’s dad from 1981 where he bought the child a male teddy bear and was sort of disappointed when his firstborn was, indeed, a girl?” Him: Oh, we know.
Back in 1981, ultrasounds were not that super duper. I don’t think my parents wanted to know, anyway. But yes, there was a teddy bear named Coach, who had a t-shirt that said COACH (hence the highly original name) and a whistle around his neck. I think my dad wanted me to be a boy. But Coach lives on, to this day, with me. Sans t-shirt and whistle. I don’t think the whistle even made it out of my infancy…
Oh, what technology has wrought. (Although, I know, the ultrasounds can be wrong…)
addendum: Dad read this and said he never wanted me to be a boy. Just clearing up the record. 🙂
It must be funny anecdote day over here on da blog. So here’s a bit of a conversation I had with a Francophile friend yesterday:
Me: My high school teacher described Robespierre as “someone you wouldn’t want to take to prom.”
Mary: But he could recite poetry in Latin!
Me: I don’t think that helps.
Mary: It does!
Mary: Whatever….not that I would ever date Robespierre.
These are the kind of conversations I have with my friends. Although I am sure that almost twenty years later, the fact that I remember this bit from Mr. Liptrap’s College Prep World Studies Class should be a credit to him.
Rehearsal over the weekend is actually fairly light, at least tomorrow. We’re blocking parts of Act II, and I’m only in one part of Act II, so I can get there early with my Tim Horton’s iced cappuccino and read some Jane on my iPad mini while people die gloriously onstage. Sounds like fun to me, anyway. Oh, and I get to try on a corset! “I’ll make it fit!” I’ve never actually worn a corset, but I have no doubt that I will not have Scarlett O’Hara’s “18 1/2 inches” of a waist. Ohhhh, no.
Sunday we have a music rehearsal–most of Act I–and then I’m celebrating my parents’ birthdays with them at some sort of dinner post-rehearsal.
Tomorrow night the “over 21” members of the Les Miz cast are going out for dinner and karaoke. I’m hoping they have the Carpenters or Simon and Garfunkel on the karaoke list. I love to sing “Rainy Days and Mondays” at karaoke.
And to round this out: books I read this week: Strange Gods, The Bad Catholic’s Guide to the Catechism, The Art Forger. Also made progress on B XVI’s Doctors of the Church and St. Catherine of Siena’s Dialogues.