Saturday 21 June 2008

The Last Man on Earth

Recently, a friend tried to set me up with a guy with whom she thought I’d have a lot in common. Well, she was right—we do have things in common…including the fact that we’ve already dated each other.

Does that mean I’ve officially dated every eligible man in Utah, and I am now doomed to cycle back through them all, over and over again, until one of us gives in and agrees to marry the other? I’m not the first person this has happened to, I’m sure. It’s a small dating world in SLC.

I feel like there should be a loud overhead announcement. “You have reached the END of the line. Please get OFF the dating train and go and buy a cat or three. Mind the gap.”

Sunday 15 June 2008

Me Dad

It’s Father’s Day, (I know it is a hallmark holiday, but still), so here’s a few random lines on Pa D…

When I was little he would amuse himself by making me odd combinations of food for supper if my mum was out for the evening, and seeing if I would eat it (apparently I was very good and always did). Then he’d plait my hair for the night and tie the end in a knot.

He videotapes literary adaptations for me.

He taught me to check the oil and change a tire on my first driving lesson. He’s an impatient man, but somehow showed endless tolerance teaching me to drive. He would simply grab the wheel if I did something scary.

Several people have said lately that he looks a bit like Indiana Jones. No fedora, though. Occasionally a trilby.

He checks my room for spiders before I arrive.

He doesn’t like people fussing over him. He was recently visiting relatives, and they made the mistake of worrying about his health and the long drive he had ahead of him on the way back. He said, “Tell you what. How about you lend me a spade, and if I feel ill on the way home, I’ll dig myself a grave and jump in it?”

He minds his own business.

My dad chooses cards carefully. He can’t stand sentimental cards that say people are “special.” He says there can’t be that many special people in the world. He says if he DID buy a card with the word “special” in it, he would cross it out and write in “run-of-the mill.” It’s probably true—he’s done it before with words like “darling.” To give you an idea of what he does like, this year I got a birthday card of a man ploughing a field.

He stocks up on my favourite foods when I visit.

He mails me chocolate.

He was in hospital once when I flew back to England, and after dropping my stuff at home, I went to the hospital to see him. One of my rather fussy uncles was also visiting him, and was worried about me – would I be OK driving there, having just got off the plane? Would I be able to find the place? Would I have any change for the parking meters? My dad’s answers were “she’ll be fine,” “if she doesn’t know, she can find out,” and (my favourite) “if she doesn’t, it’s her own damn fault.” He didn’t mention to my uncle that he’d left me a message with detailed direction on where to park, and also money for the car park.

Also while in hospital, I confessed that I had broken the wing mirror off his car, and hadn’t been able to get it back on again. “Don’t worry,” he said, tiredly. “I’ll do it when I get out. You won’t be able to. It takes a LOT of swearing.“

That’s my dad.

Saturday 14 June 2008

Magic

I was thinking about technology and how I don’t understand it. I don’t mean like in a George Bush way. I have been instructed in physics. I know how to link to How Stuff Works. My brothers have helped teach me things like how a steam burn is worse than a water burn, and how to change a tail light bulb (I get unreasonably proud of myself for doing CAR STUFF).

But there are several forms of tekknowledgey that, no matter how often you explain them to me, involve a mental leap that I can’t make without screwing up my eyes really hard and steering off the road. I call these forms “magic.” For instance, vinyl. How do all those little bumps and grooves in the record translate to rich, vibrant music that you can bump and groove to? It’s magic. Slightly dated magic (arguable, I know), but magic nonetheless. Radios. The antennae can pick up “frequencies” from thin air and turn them into polyphonic sound? I don’t THINK so. Magic. Don’t even get me started on fax machines.

It’s not related to the complexity of the technology, you’ll note. iPods? Totally science-based. Nuclear physics? Bet I could do it if I put the time into it.

Sunday 8 June 2008

Time for a Fling?

A Highland one. What did you think I meant? We have a choir performance this weekend. I've sort of been discouraging people from attending (just because we're newish, and I want us to be perfect before friends hear us), but I was lectured on my responsibilities today by a fellow choir member, and I suppose she's right -- the point of being in a performing group is not to actively drive away your potential audience.

So, Citrine is performing at the Highland Games (Scottish Festival) at Thanksgiving Point on June 14th at 2pm. Here's more info on the games:

SCOTTISH FESTIVAL & HIGHLAND GAMES


When
June 13-14
Friday: 5 pm – 10 pm
Saturday: 9 am – 10 pm

Where
Electric Park

Admission
Friday Night: $7.00 Adults & Children
Saturday: $10.00 Adults & Children
Both days: $16.00 Adults & Children
Saturday Night Concert Only: $5.00 Each


Summary -
Scot or not, all are welcome at the 34th Annual Utah Scottish Festival & Highland Games, June 13-14, at Thanksgiving Point. Join 12,000 of our closest friends at this increasingly popular event for Scottish dancing and Highland athletics. More than 40 clan tents, 5 fabulous musical groups, ethnic food, vendors, 9 pipe bands, tattos, kid's games, and much more all set amid Utah's own Highlands.

Hear cannon fire signal the Tattoo’s beginning and see an ancient tradition when the Chieftain calls for the clans to gather by torchlight. Fireworks conclude Friday night. Saturday, see athletic events at the U.S. National Highland Athletic Championship. See cultural displays, Highland dance, kilt making, and weaving demonstrations.

Come if you want. Or not. We'll do our best.

Sunday 1 June 2008

Lena is a Construction Worker

Arthur and I went to Ikea for the first time yesterday. We sat in the ikea 70s chairs, raced shopping carts down the self-service aisles, and each bought bookshelves.

The bookshelves were heavy. At Arthur’s house, she decided it would be best to slide the package down the stairs instead of carrying it, so she put down her end. As she failed to keep me apprised of her thought process, the whole weight landed on me and nearly knocked me down the stairs. For the record, she claims this is not true.

With the next package, we were more unified. We both agreed to slide it down both flights of stairs. As we let it go, we both watched it slide down…towards her parents’ valuable, spindly-legged table, laden with decorative photographs and objets d’art. We both raced after it, but fortunately it stopped of its own accord a few inches from the piece. We turned to each other and agreed that we needed to think ahead a little more.

Amazingly, we got all the shelves unloaded without major physical or material injury, and assembled without too much disassembly and re-assembly necessary (though I banned Arthur from hammering after three misplaced holes in the back of one set. In her defence, it was late by this time and the light was bad).

Now for the furniture re-arrangement.