I just finished the past three days in the strangest country I have visited in the past several years: my home when I am by myself. This is novel for me. Despite the fact that Rosa travels a lot, she generally seems to align her schedule with mine. Several weeks ago, however, she planned an annual yoga holiday with her best friend in Georgia at a resort right outside of Atlanta. At the time she scheduled her trip, I had several plans to be in various places but as the time approached for Rosa to depart, I realized that I would be home alone.
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| Rosa on a Previous Yoga Holiday |
I like our home and it is not as if I had never been alone in the house. I had spent the odd night alone in one of our homes over the past seventeen years but these stays were little more than exercises in dropping one set of luggage and picking up another. As Rosa packed last Thursday, however, it became clear that I was going to spend a few nights by myself.
Rosa is smarter than I am, so she offered to cancel her trip. I was shocked, “Why would you cancel your trip? I will be perfectly fine here at home by myself. What could possibly go wrong?” Rosa looked at me for just a moment longer than is comfortable and then turned away without saying anything. I could tell, however, that she was uneasy about leaving me by myself in our home. Rosa is not only smarter than me – she knows me better than I know myself.
My primary thought was, “Great, now I can do what I want, when I want.” Rosa is not a dictator but because we don’t see each other every night, we tend to compromise on what each other wants when we are together. Compromise in my case generally means, “Doing what Rosa wants to do.” It is just a lot easier for me not to make a decision or to question the decisions that Rosa makes. I think of her as the “Minister of the Interior”. She decides what happens in and around home and I am the “Foreign Secretary”; responsible for implementing foreign policy.
Shortly after she left on Thursday afternoon, however, she was subtly transformed from “Rosa” or “HB” (short for “Honey Bunny” since we watched “Pulp Fiction” early during our relationship) into “THAT WOMAN”. I cannot be the only guy to which this has occurred. I am sure that most men are the same as me: they are rarely alone in their own homes. So, when we fend for ourselves in homes where we are strangers, our wives are transformed into “THAT WOMAN” as in the following. “Where does THAT WOMAN hide the damn trash can liners?” Similarly, there is, “Are we out of pesto? How can THAT WOMAN allow us to run out of pesto?”
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| Where the Hell Can They Be?! |
Before Rosa’s plane had even landed on the four hour flight between Larnaca and London on Thursday evening, she had made the full-fledged transformation from my lovely life-partner to THAT WOMAN. Where did THAT WOMAN put my safety goggles? I, of course, was conveniently forgetting that I had not used nor even required safety goggles during this millennium but, by Goodness, THAT WOMAN had certainly hidden my safety goggles.
Throughout Friday and even into Saturday, the errors or omissions of THAT WOMAN caused me several points of consternation. For example, there was, “How does THAT WOMAN expect me to run the damn dishwasher if I can’t find the dishwasher soap [which turns out to be neatly stored in a Tupperware jug in the cabinet conveniently next to the dishwasher]?” Then there was, “I’m out of mouthwash... How does THAT WOMAN expect me to be able to smoke two cigars in one evening without using mouthwash before I go to bed [Answer: she doesn’t expect you to smoke two cigars in one evening, you complete idiot!]?” I found it possible to mentally blame THAT WOMAN for many different trespasses but, in the end, I was only blaming THAT WOMAN because I felt so out of place in my own home.
So, I began to consider our home as a foreign country. As I stated above, I view myself as the Foreign Minister, so I am supposed to deal with foreign countries. So, on Saturday morning, I began a thorough study of this foreign country that I shall hereinafter call, “Rosaland”.
The form of government is Rosaland is monarchical; ruled by a hereditary queen. There is no doubt that “Rosa the First” will be replaced by “Shazia the First” when Rosa either passes or abdicates the throne. The culture is distinct matriarchal where women have two votes and men have none. The organization of the country – which includes, in this case, the furniture, household appliances, goods and even consumables are clearly positioned by “woman’s logic”. This is the reason that dishes are stored as far as possible away from the dishwasher and glasses are stored “across the country” from the refrigerator. This is also the reason that the remote controls are stored in a drawer under the television instead of more conveniently on the table besides the couch.
Operating any heavy equipment in Rosaland requires a very hard to obtain license. I haven’t been licensed to operate heavy machinery in Rosaland like the clothes washer, the vacuum cleaner, the toaster or anything more complicated than a broom. I violated all sorts of laws and regulations by actually operating the dishwasher without a license, but I was running out of glasses and felt the risk of a fine was worth the outcome. In addition, Rosaland is full of “no-fly zones”. These include Rosa’s walk-in closet, her bathroom and the guest rooms – all of which are tightly sealed-off and no-doubt booby-trapped. In any event, it wasn’t worth the risk to venture into these forbidden zones.
Yes, Rosaland is a truly foreign country – even if it seems vaguely familiar when THAT WOMAN is around.
Where to Stay in Rosaland: The weather in the evenings is beautiful even if it is still hot and humid during the day, so I thought I might end up on the patio sleeping in the hammock. The hammock would have made me susceptible to the mosquitoes however, so mostly, I moved between the living-room couch, the dining-room chairs, the patio chairs and our bed. I struggled to find where THAT WOMAN put the mosquito repellent strips. Switching off was good for a few days but I found cleaning up after myself to be tiresome; especially since I lack the necessary licenses to operate heavy equipment in Rosaland. This is a big place and it becomes dusty and messy surprisingly quickly. I didn’t do any heavy cleaning but just picking up after myself took some time.
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| Salmon Ceviche -- just not mine |
What to Eat in Rosaland: Here is what was on the menu since THAT WOMAN left and I have been in Rosaland alone. Thursday night I had three pieces of toast with cream cheese, Tabasco sauce, fresh ground Malaysian black pepper and a touch of salt. I was going to grill outside on Friday night, but I couldn’t be bothered to cook just for myself, so the next best thing was to eat it raw! I took a nice piece of salmon and sliced it thinly, soaked it in lemon juice and Tabasco sauce, added some jalapenos and sliced cherry tomatoes and made my own homemade super-spicy ceviche. It was quick and tasty. I made tuna and sweet corn salad sandwiches on Saturday for lunch then called out for a sheftalia and souvalki mix kebab on Saturday night. Yesterday, I should have been gone but I found myself still in Rosaland so I made a halloumi, tomato and cucumber pita for breakfast and that was satisfying, so I followed that with a louganiko (spicy Cyprus sausage) and halloumi pita in the late afternoon. Last night about 21:00 I made some home-baked garlic bread. I may be living like a bachelor in a foreign country, but I’m eating well...
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| Very nice in a pita -- with or without Louganiko |
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| Warning: Not to be mixed with Tabasco Sauce |
Where to Party in Rosaland: My specialty drink in Rosaland is “The Elixir”. This is sour cherry juice mixed richly with vodka and topped off with lots of ice. I prefer crushed ice, but cubes are fine. My favourite vodka right now is Snow Leopard, a Polish vodka that tastes way, way too smooth. I drank three pitchers on Friday night and smoked two Romeo and Juliet “Dukes”. I was carrying a good buzz but was not particularly intoxicated – just relaxed. Surprisingly, Elixir and cigars didn’t mix all that well with the very spicy ceviche (I can’t think why) and I had a bit of an upset tummy on Saturday morning. So, I stayed away from both Tabasco sauce and alcohol for the remainder of the weekend. I think that it is easier to moderate intake of both when THAT WOMAN is around compared to when I am by myself. I am just thankful that I don’t care that much for Bloody Marys or I might be mixing both vodka and Tabasco sauce ... which sounds dangerous. Anyway, Rosaland seems to be completely devoid of tomato juice and I’m not licensed to operate the blender so I cannot turn a can of peeled tomatoes into “instant” Bloody Mary mix.
What I’m doing in Rosaland: I contemplated and then mostly discarded an entire list of things to do over the weekend in Rosaland. I intended to write in my blog at least twice and only managed to write once – and that I finished on Monday morning! I have about 4,500 CDs that I have been meaning to rip onto my iPod. These CDs go back to the early 1990s and there is some really cool music but the pile is daunting. I timed it and it takes four minutes, on average, to rip one CD. That means that ripping all 4,500 CDs would take 18,000 minutes or 300 hours – minimum. Needless to say, the CD ripping exercise did not finish and barely even was started. The antenna signal line into the dining-room plasma TV and our bedroom plasma TV needs to be re-crimped as the connector is loose and this affects the picture quality. I don’t have the crimping tool and it seemed silly to waste time finding then buying a tool for that one application. I therefore mentally assigned this task to a handyman to be hired by THAT WOMAN in the future. I call this mental assignment “SEP” which stands for “Somebody Else’s Problem”. By making these tasks SEP, I no longer think about them or even worry about them. The stereo needs to be rewired in order to install in-line control switches. This activity has the same appeal as fixing the antenna input ... and therefore I mentally re-purposed this task as SEP. Friday afternoon, I went into the field beside the house, just outside the border of Rosaland, with a rock hammer and broke a few water smoothed sand stones looking for fossils. I found a nice sliver of volcanic obsidian imbedded deep in the sandstone which proves nearby volcanic activity at the time when the sandstone was laid down as sediment but I found no fossils. I enjoyed this activity, however, so I left the hammer out until this morning thinking that I might go fossil hunting again. The sun was hot, however, and the air was humid. So, this morning, I quietly put the rock hammer back in the toolbox. Somehow, figuring out the best way to break hard sandstone is satisfying, however, so I’m sure I’ll revisit that activity when the days become cooler. By the way, the best way to break hard sandstone is to place the rock to be broken on top of another similar rock and then hit both solidly with the rock hammer – this works like a charm! I had convinced myself that I would spend at least one hour in the Rosaland gym each day working out on the cross-trainer and boxing with the boxing post ... but the cross-trainer is camouflaged with bags and I don’t know where THAT WOMAN put my boxing gloves so I was unable to move the workout from the “contemplated” to the “completed” list. I had lots of things planned, but in the end, I vegetated watching the Discovery channel, listened to the stereo, read my books and missed THAT WOMAN – not such a bad weekend, as weekends go, but not very productive.
Travel Plans:
My visa for Rosaland is running out, so I must leave today. Since I am the last inhabitant of Rosaland for a few days, however, I am directed by the Government to disconnect Rosaland from the national electricity grid and ensure that all borders are properly sealed. Here are my travel plans after leaving Rosaland:
* Monday, 20 September 2010: Cyprus – Dubai then driving over to Abu Dhabi to stay at the Shangri-La
* Tuesday, 21 September 2010: Abu Dhabi
* Wednesday, 22 September 2010: Abu-Dhabi – Istanbul - Rome staying at the Sheraton Golf in Rome
* Thursday, 23 September 2010: Rome, the Eternal City - then flying later to London
* Friday, 24 September 2010: London – stuff to do in the office
* Saturday, 25 September 2010: London
* Sunday, 26 September 2010: London
* Monday, 27 September 2010: London - Beirut ... relaxing in Solidere
* Tuesday, 28 September 2010: start in Beirut and then fly to Paris overnight
* Wednesday, 29 September 2010: Paris – Algiers then fly back in the evening to Beirut
* Thursday, 30 September 2010: Beirut ... this is business, really!
* Friday, 1 October 2010: Beirut – Cyprus
* Saturday, 2 October 2010: Cyprus – home for the weekend
* Sunday, 3 October 2010: Cyprus – Dubai in route to Johannesburg
As usual, these plans are subject to change …
Rant:
I don’t have any really important rants today due to my long sojourn in Rosaland, but there are a few items that have been bothering me...
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| One Way to Gain Access |
First of all, what “genius” decided that high-end vodkas should have bottles with corks instead of screw-tops? I suppose a cork is supposed to remind the consumer that this vodka should be considered comparable to a fine wine, cognac or single malt whiskey. I think, however, that corks in vodka bottles are pretentious and a huge pain in the ass! I keep my vodka in the freezer in the kitchen like all devoted vodka drinkers. The freezer is one corner of Rosaland that is under my domain (the only other ones being my small closet and my bathroom, both of which are subject to Rosaland government inspection and frequent intervention). The cork in a vodka bottle will expand to five times its normal size when subjected to freezing temperatures. Because the cork is constrained by the glass bottle, it will simply become so tight when frozen that the space between the cork and the bottle will by sub-atomic – effectively producing a cork-glass alloy. This means that there are only two ways to gain access to the vodka in one of these bottles when it is removed directly from the freezer: a) break the neck of the bottle with a hammer (I thought about this – maybe this is why I left the rock hammer on the table) or b) hold the frozen bottle under a stream of hot water until the cork un-thaws and returns to its normal size. Of course, running the neck of the bottle under hot water to warm the cork also warms the vodka contained in the bottle which defeats the whole purpose of putting the bottle in the freezer! This is a small problem, perhaps, but one that bothered me greatly on Friday evening in Rosaland.
The second rant for today is about emails from e-retailers. I once purchased flowers from 1-800-Flowers.com and the company failed to deliver my order on time. I complained and, after a huge hassle, I duly received a refund plus a coupon for my next purchase. Obtaining the refund, however, had been so aggravating that I vowed never to use the web-site again. None the less, because I have a “positive balance” (the coupon, I guess), I receive at least four emails per week from this e-retailer. I remember placing the order in 1999, so this e-retailer has been sending me emails for over a decade without receiving a single order! I actually tried to remove myself from their mailing list once – this is a BIG mistake. Like a rejected lover, this just made them more ardent to obtain my business. Similarly, a friend of mine once placed an order for Rosa from Victoria’s Secret in the USA. Now, he receives 4-5 emails each week from Victoria’s Secret. I am pretty sure that he enjoys receiving the emails, but I’m glad that his wife knows Rosa and I or he would probably have a lot of explaining to do at home. I have determined that being removed from an e-retailers mailing list is impossible. Therefore, this enters my running list of other items that should not be impossible but simply are including: a) Breaking away from a Jehovah’s Witness who is trying to engage me in a conversation, b) Having a phone call to a helpdesk cheerfully answered on the first ring and c) the England national football team winning any tournament in the world.
My list of impossibilities is much longer, but will wait for another day.
Humour Section:
I’ve had a few complaints about my jokes as being: a) old, b) bad and c) boring. I don’t mind them being old (some of my best friends are old – including one of the complainers [you know who you are!]). I don’t even mind them being bad, but I simply cannot accept them being boring! So, I endeavour to be better in this section.
However, my critics should remember clearly that I am trying to keep my jokes clean ... and this is a stress to which I am not accustomed. I will direct you back to the original entry which indicated that I wanted my mother to be able to read this blog without being offended or embarrassed.
So today, I have decided to revert to quoting my Dad’s sayings for the following reasons:
a) He had the ability to be both humorous and profound at the same time ... a pretty rare trait in my experience
b) He was known for his “one liners”
c) My mother has heard these before, so she shouldn’t be shocked even if the comments are a bit risqué
So here is a selection:
When my mother was mad at him, he would relate:
“When you tell me that ‘nothing’ is wrong, even when I know that something is wrong, I’ll choose to take you at face value. I don’t mind sleeping on the couch; it reminds me of camping...”
About not judging people too hastily:
“People are a mix of good traits and bad traits, son. So, don’t judge someone too hastily just because they happen to be a dirty, rotten, no-good son-of-a-bitch!”
When I was promoted to executive at American Airlines he replied,
“The higher you climb the corporate ladder, son; the more people who can see your ass!”
When I was working with him on his many “deck” projects (more on this another time). He invariably used to say,
“Put your back into it, boy. Manual Labour is not the President of Mexico!”
When I would go out on a date when I was in High School, my Dad would say,
“Listen Son; if you are not in bed by 10pm, come home!”
Whenever he would forget something important he would say,
“Before I was born I was offered by the angels to have an extra long memory or an extra long penis ... I forget my response.”
I remember my Dad fondly each and every day. He was a complex mix of a man, much as I am, I suppose. He passed away nearly twenty years ago (1991) and I have never fully released my grief – nor wish to do so. I think about the way that my life has changed since he passed and I hope that he approves. Dad was a very elegant, attractive and graceful man. I have tried to turn myself into a gentleman, but I lack his natural grace and charm. However, he was also incredibly vain. I like to think that I am not that vain, but I share many of his obsessions with appearance. I tie my tie exactly the way that he taught me (“Half Windsor”) and I simply will not accept a poorly tied neck piece. I believe I am one of the only people in the world that can tie a bow tie without using a “clippy” – just as my Dad taught me. I iron my shirts every day to look exactly like I remember his looking. I keep an excellent travel iron in order to ensure I can iron when there is not one in the hotel. When I am preparing to walk into a meeting, I polish my shoes on the back of my pants – just the way that he taught me. My Dad is a constant presence in my life and I hope that my readers enjoyed a selection of his sayings.
Last Blast:
A good friend of mine, but not yet a follower of this blog, gave me the unhappy news this week that he would be moving away from our company to another. I was very sad to hear that Peter is moving on. I enjoy his company and he is a very good professional. I tried to convince Peter to stay, but he has set his heart on a new start and I honour his integrity even though I wish his decision were different.
Peter told me, “Look, I am sure that we will work together again and will also stay in touch.” I acknowledged his intentions, but I also sent him the text of the following poem by Robert Frost. This poem is not my favourite, but I do like it a lot.
The Road Not Taken (1915)
Two roads diverged in a yellow wood,
And sorry I could not travel both
And be one traveler, long I stood
And looked down one as far as I could
To where it bent in the undergrowth.
Then took the other, as just as fair,
And having perhaps the better claim,
Because it was grassy and wanted wear;
Though as for that the passing there
Had worn them really about the same.
And both that morning equally lay
In leaves no step had trodden black.
Oh, I kept the first for another day!
Yet knowing how way leads on to way,
I doubted if I should ever come back.
I shall be telling this with a sigh
Somewhere ages and ages hence:
Two roads diverged in a wood, and I--
I took the one less traveled by,
And that has made all the difference.
And sorry I could not travel both
And be one traveler, long I stood
And looked down one as far as I could
To where it bent in the undergrowth.
Then took the other, as just as fair,
And having perhaps the better claim,
Because it was grassy and wanted wear;
Though as for that the passing there
Had worn them really about the same.
And both that morning equally lay
In leaves no step had trodden black.
Oh, I kept the first for another day!
Yet knowing how way leads on to way,
I doubted if I should ever come back.
I shall be telling this with a sigh
Somewhere ages and ages hence:
Two roads diverged in a wood, and I--
I took the one less traveled by,
And that has made all the difference.
I have always admired poets because they seem to pack so much meaning into a small set of words. Most poems work at a variety of different levels depending upon the then current circumstances of the reader. At the closest level is the beauty of the words. Frost has an elegant turn of phrase and each line reflects a specific use of meter and rhythm. At the next level, Frost speaks to the moment of walking in the woods and perhaps the irony of indecision regarding not knowing which way to take. We all face challenges in our lives and do not know which route to take.
To me, at the most fundamental level, Frost’s poem speaks about individualism, choosing my own path and not regretting taking a different path from the one prescribed by societal norms. I have never regretted taking “the path less travelled” because it has made “all the difference” to my life. I like to think that I am a free thinker that enjoys life to pretty much its ultimate manifestation of freedom. I have regretted many things but not the fundamental decisions that I have made. I have learned to trust my intuition and may regret individual decisions, but not the sum total of the result. We can only truly know that we have a good life when we are at the end of our lives and we count up the results. If they “good stuff” outweighs the “bad crap” then we have won. So far the “good stuff” has far outweighed the “bad crap” in my life by a pretty wide margin so I feel pretty optimistic about the future.
None the less, I was cautioning Peter about perhaps leaving his current life. Taking a new path is subject to unknowns which can be exciting but is also a bit daunting. The outcome can be successful, unsuccessful or a “sideways step”. I have no doubt at all that Peter will be successful. He has a “good heart” and well intentioned people succeed, in my experience, at least over the long-term. I hope so in Peter’s case.
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