Late Wednesday evening, (technically, it was Thursday but only by an hour or so) I received an e-mail from a dear friend in Toronto. Her mother had died that night. On Thursday morning, my friend's cousin called and told me the service would be on Friday afternoon at 2 p.m. and gave me the name of the funeral home.
So, I took the bus to Toronto and then the subway up to Steeles and Yonge. The information on the Chapel's website indicated that it was 'a couple of blocks west of Yonge', so I decided to walk. It was a good thing I'd given myself plenty of time as the Chapel was about a quarter of a mile away and on the other side of the very busy road. I had to backtrack to the stoplight; however, I did arrive in time.
The rabbi who spoke about my friend's mother had a tendency to repeat her name and then say '____ is here.' I began to wonder if she was going to rise and appear before us. Fortunately, the friends of the almost-departed who spoke when the rabbi was finished were generous in their praise of her and gave us loving anecdotes that I'm sure my friend will cherish.
It was a rather long day for me, but I did manage to visit The World's Biggest Boookstore before taking the bus home. Friday night is not the best night to be on the bus. It was full and I ended up in a seat that slanted sharply toward the floor. But at least I got on. Some folk were not so fortunate and had to wait for the next one.
D. and I had a relaxing weekend and watched Marie Antoinette (the Coppola version) on pay-per-view. It was vacuous. Marie has almost nothing to say, and neither does the Dauphin (Louis), but the costumes and settings were eye-catching. I'd give it maybe two stars, just for the visuals, certainly none for the dialogue. Now I'll have to go and find out who the screen writer was. Damn curiosity. [Edit: it was Sofia Coppola.]
Sunday, we went shopping for a filing cabinet. The box containing the parts is now sitting on my living room floor and the pieces will be assembled sometime this week, when D. is available. I could do it, at least I'm pretty sure I could -- but he has much more fun doing that sort of thing that I do, and I hate deciphering those strange nonsensical diagrams manufacturers of furniture-in-a-box provide. It will be great and maybe even motivating, to have all my stacks of paper neatly filed in one place. I tried to make an appointment with the file fairy, but she stated that she is busy with other more urgent requests until 2010. Even minor deities have their priorities. I suppose it will take me about half a day to get everything filed, counting my personal financial stuff which is already in a small plastic file box, my stories and other writing, and my miscellaneous collection of stuff I might need/want to look at sometime. But I don't have to do that until the cabinet is assembled. Once it is, it will no doubt nag me to fill it.
The short adventure occurred yesterday(Monday). I decided to get my hair trimmed. It was just a little too long at the back and wouldn't curl under for me. My hairdresser's shop is only a few blocks away, so I went in on the off-chance that she could give me a cut. She could. I discussed, or tried to discuss, what I wanted. If I was smart, I'd have said - a little off the top, the back and the sides - isn't that what men tell their barbers. But I said shorter... I don't think I said bald, but I feel kind of bald now. My hair is shorter than many a man's. It won't require much care, so I suppose that's an advantage, and a woman on the elevator told me she liked my new haircut. But maybe she said that because she has very short hair, too. One thing's for sure, it won't be as easily snarled during certain, um, activities.
I'm a woman and I can change, if I have to, I guess. (apologies to Red Green for changing the gender in his slogan)