At least three of my friends have been to Italy this fall. I was there with my mom when I was 19, and I just hated it. The reason was I wasn’t accustomed to men stalking me wherever I went, saying “bella bella bella” in my face all the time. Now I want to return to Italy, because I’d kill to be stalked by men again and also for anyone, anywhere to use the word “bella” in reference to me.
A person (read woman) becomes invisible over the age of 50, and it can be disconcerting. More upsetting are comments from people I meet and to whom I say I still have a kid living at home with me. They look at me alarmed, ask the age of the kid, and then respond with something like, “Wow, you must’ve been old when you had your first child.”
Such are the slings and arrows aimed at the primigravida. It’s a medical term, meaning a mother giving birth for the first time at or over the age of 35. I actually don’t fit the term, but enjoy it. I was 32 when Luke was born, and 35 when I had Nicky, but I wear the label proudly nonetheless.
I was an apparition at the annual library book sale yesterday. It was crammed with people, as always. I was browsing the Travel books section, and found a book on bowel health while in Asian countries, called Shitting Pretty. I picked it up, then found it necessary to tell the stranger next to me I needed the book for my imminent trip to Thailand.
Sadly, this man couldn’t give a fig about me, my book, or the trip, so acted like I wasn’t there, and moved away! Honestly, some people. But it was a great sale, as I got a New York Times dessert cookbook with over 400 recipes and lots of nice pictures. Every book was $1 or $2, so hard to go wrong there.
Last week my friend Beverly and I devoted a full day to thrift shopping and I got some wonderful things. I got a new suede, sheepskin lined jacket for $20 at the Sally Ann. It’s a beautiful pale beige, and I found a great pair of shoes to go with it at The Village. Joy!
I attended a once-in-a-lifetime event in Penticton last Saturday. It was a Celebration of Life, with the recipient in attendance! You know how people always say they’d like to able to attend their own funerals? Our friend Liz planned her own celebration by picking the photos and music for the slide show, inviting the guests and then welcoming us all with a speech at the beginning. I’ll never forget it.
And another unusual, though less dramatic event occurred on Monday. My school pay Maryjoy (one of our “group” from Osoyoos Elementary Junior Secondary School days) had a stopover in Kelowna, so I invited her to join us for dinner. Luke was coming home from Alberta, on his way to Thailand, so Denis was coming over, and of course Nicky lives here.
When I served dinner, Maryjoy said, “Shouldn’t we grace the food?” The four of us look at each and stared blankly, kinda like Romney does whenever someone asks him to explain his former pro-choice stance. I stammered something like, “Please, you go ahead.” Fortunately, she didn’t think badly of us, we held hands, we prayed, and all was well. Afterward I had to endure a small tongue-lashing from the heathen brats, but I didn’t care.