It's a Mystery

One of my favorite lines from filmdom is in Shakespeare in Love. The theatre owner (played by Geoffrey Rush) is asked several times how something or other is going to work out, and he says he doesn't know. It just will. How? "It's a mystery."

Seriously, that ought to be my next tattoo. (I am not planning to get another tattoo.) Things have been a little tight around here, what with the Hubs going into private practice perfectly timed to coincide with the economy falling apart, and I thought that today was going to be the day, finally, when I did cry while paying bills, but somehow, it worked out. How? It's a mystery. All I know is, it made me happy enough to take the kid out to IHOP for dinner. (But not the Hubs, since there is virtually nothing there he can eat. Make that absolutely nothing.) Anyway, that makes it a two-smiley-face day for me.

(In the summer of 1929, my father's father, who had worked as a furniture salesman for his uncle for more than ten years, decided to strike out on his own. He was a good salesman and had a lot of contacts. But then, of course, in October, the stock market crashed and contacts or not, he had no business, no nothing. A tough six months or so later, his uncle had a sudden stroke and managed to get the message to his teenage son that they had to get Louie -- grandpa -- back in to run the store, even though they hadn't spoken since he'd left. Voila, the uncle lived, and Louie kept the business going strong, since they dealt in buying and selling used furniture, mostly, and my father grew up comfortably middle class during the Depression. I digress, I know, but I keep thinking of this family story a lot the last few months, as you can imagine.)

As far as the trip goes, the current plan is to go to Charleston, S.C. in late September, when I have a day off work for Yom Kippur, so, a three day weekend. This is still hurricane season, however, so the plan needs work. But Chicago is out. The flaky cousin only wants to "sit and watch the water", according to her sister, so that means an ocean, I guess; she could sit and watch a lake in Chicago. And she wants to go someplace warm. Her sister, the "normal" cousin, wants to go in late June, where, let's get real, everyplace is warm. In fact, anyplace we'd want to go in late June is either hotter than hell, or already booked solid (New England, for example.)

Oy, mishpochah.



waiting for FRIENDS :: ENTRY #2017
READING: Bel Canto by Ann Patchett