Yesterday I thought I would go crazy if I stayed inside, so I wandered down to the Glebe in the rain. I plugged my ears into the MP3 player, which I don’t do often because I feel it kind of alienates me from being wholly where I am, but I didn’t feel like being wholly where I was so it was ok.
The Glebe is a trendy, expensive village-y neighbourhood in Ottawa. I like it, but I feel almost bad for liking it.
Art in the Park was happening in the Glebe, so I wandered among the artists’ tents, looking at art, wanting to feel inspired enough to actually buy something. I wanted to see something I could not possibly live without, but that didn’t happen. That’s more a reflection of my state of mind than of the art. Some of the art was just sitting out in the rain. I don’t know much about paintings, but shouldn’t they be kept dry?
I spent a little time at my friend Stuart’s tent. Stuart makes and repairs jewelry and teaches jewelry-making. And he’s always in a good mood.
Then I checked out the horse man.
After that I still wasn’t ready to head home, so I went down to Irene’s Pub for an afternoon beer with the regulars. My son’s father was there, and he had a pressing question for me: How old is our son? I made him guess, and he was only off by two years.
And then I wandered home in the rain. Bought a bottle of wine, but forgot to open it. Finished knitting the clapotis. Did the laundry. Watched an excellent documentary on CBC about Canadian comedians. And went to bed.
I get it (about the rain and the Glebe). And we watched that documentary and it truly was excellent. Full of great info, interviews, clips. I think it was a whole three hours and we watched it right to 11pm.
At least your son’s father didn’t have to ask what his name was – that happened to my husband when he visited his 89 year old father the other day. Yeesh. And no, the father doesn’t have mental issues either.
Julia, that documentary really brought it all together for me – especially the Canadian gift for political satire. How come your father-in-law couldn’t remember his son’s name? Just a momentary lapse?
We started watching the documentary by accident and just kept on going, really captivated by it.
I am not sure why he couldn’t (maybe wouldn’t?) remember Peter’s name. He had two sons but my husband’s brother (18 years older) died last summer, so there could be some confusion there. And Peter’s sister (20 years older) has a son near my husband’s age who she called by the same first name so Peter had to go by his middle name Peter after that kid was born. I’m busy giving the father excuses but I suspect he might have done it just to show how close he isn’t to Peter. He’s a sly old guy who loves to pull peoples’ chains just to see them squirm. Peter might be middle aged but he is still recovering from that brutal childhood. I mean, one day years ago when I was present, Peter asked his father, “do you like me?” and he had the nerve to respond, “Well, I don’t dislike you.” Grrr. Now ask me what I really think.
Oooh, that’s so sad. Making him change his first name because someone else took it was bad enough…but I can’t imagine a worse answer to the question “Do you like me?”
Some parents are just mean-spirited I guess. It’s to Peter’s credit that he managed to remain a decent human being in spite of his lousy childhood.