For the last 15 years, on and off, I have stuck to a habit that gives me immense pleasure. In a pedagogic effort not to be pedantic and, at the same time, introduce poetry in the lives of my step-children, I took to tacking a poem to the fridge every week or so. This habit went to join the long list of “weird things our step-mother does” but, children long gone, it makes me happy to this day.
On the downside, it might rain again this weekend. On the upside, my garden looks more like Hawaii than the desert it’s supposed to be, and it’s Oscar night on Sunday. That merits a cocktail, a quiche and a long stay on the sofa critiquing clothes. Numbers 1, 4 and 5 are compliments of sofagirl who might not be present on these pages anymore but is very much present in my inbox and, by extension, today, in yours.
Last week I was doing the floor rounds with the Director of the hospital unit where I volunteer and, as I often train others, we were creating a checklist of standardized tasks. While talking, I observed how he perfectly coiled and tied an internet cable: “Do you have a touch of o.c.d?” I blurted out, pretty insensibly.
He grinned “Possibly”. In my world, it was actually meant as a compliment but I am always mildly relieved when I meet people who seem more obsessed than I am when it comes to tidiness.